An iron grip yanked on Teyla’s bicep, hauling her to her feet. She narrowed her eyes at the woman who was shoving her forward with bruising fingers. “That is not necessary.”
The woman furrowed her brow and backhanded her across the cheek, scolding her in her foreign tongue.
Teyla righted herself, her adrenaline screaming at her with feline ferocity to hit the woman back. But her wrists were bound behind her back with cutting twine and, surrounded as she was by the band of traveling warriors, challenging this woman was not wise. The Athosian tore her gaze away from the other female, bearing the throbbing burn of her cheek with gritted teeth, masking the pain. Her chest heaved as she struggled to absorb the fire that was willing her to fight into her tiring muscles, lending them perseverance.
The woman urged her to follow the group of warriors departing their resting place by a river. Despite being shoved, Teyla kept her feet firmly under her and took her first step after the band of her own accord. The dried grey of the rocks on the fringe of the riverbank scudded beneath her boots as she picked her way over them, careful to remain surefooted as she continued to attempt to memorize the landmarks of the path they’d trodden. It was now late in the second morning of her trek as a captive and the more time that passed without any sign of her teammates or a rescue, the more she feared for all of their fates.
Sheppard had been unconscious when they had been separated. Rodney had a head wound and Ronon... Ronon had been torn from her side, beaten from her after the lightest brush of their fingertips, yet in that brush, in that futile attempt to drag her to safety she had glimpsed the tornado of his heart. The warriors had locked the door of the cabin and yanked her away, and within a few feet she could hear him bellow inside, like a caged lion, then after the door shook a sickening silence pervaded the air and she knew that Ronon had been injured. Because of her. For all she knew he had been killed. All of them could have been executed by the handful of warriors that hung back around the village for a short while before rejoining the group.
She had no way of telling where the band was headed, other than deep into the recess of the mountains where she assumed they had some sort of camp or village. The attack had been a massacre – the warriors took little from the dead and seemed intent only on killing as many villagers as possible. Whatever feud the two peoples were locked in, it was one of deep scars. She studied the lithe, muscled forms of the painted warriors around her. They knew she wasn’t from the village, which was why she was still alive, yet she knew not why they help her captive, bringing her with them to their destination. Unlike the villagers, these people didn’t seem to think that she and her teammates brought luck. Looking at the weapons they all bore, she wasn’t sure they would understand something as intangible as luck – it was clear that they made use of everything in their surroundings.
Yet how they considered her, a prisoner, to fit into their plans, she didn’t know, and didn’t let herself dwell on it for fear of the possibilities, and instead focused on the looks of the leaves, attempting to catalogue their shapes and shades to help her navigate back to the village when the opportunity arose.
The pain had become as constant and as customary as the hammering of his heart as he kept up a steady ascent, running when he could, climbing and shoving his way through brush when he couldn’t, but never daring to pause long enough to sit still for any length. He knew that if he rested now his muscles would stiffen and the lack of the distraction of the passing scenery and seeking signs of those he pursued would leave him alone with the pain and his own harrowing thoughts.
The cold air burned his lungs with each labored heave of his chest, but the horror of the thought of what the group of warriors could be doing to Teyla gave him more than enough determination to press onwards without faltering. He’d been unable to save Melena and silently vowed that he’d do everything he could to save Teyla. The fear he had seen in her eyes as she was dragged away from him was the same as that which echoed in his heart. She had gifted him so much and a part of his mind was surprised to realize that he was fighting for her, not as a friend whom he loved, but as a kindred light to his heart, glowing and growing with each smile and light touch. To feel the exhilaration of that young light once more, after it had so long been diminished, had been as if he’d truly seen the sunrise for the first time.
Memories of his affection for Melena once hindered him but now, when faced with the possibility of Teyla being torn from his heart forever, they were hastily tucked away as a flame that would always glow to lend him strength from what she taught him, while Teyla’s laughter flourished where his timidity had been.
He growled as he urged himself to run faster with a flush of adrenaline as the fear of the pain of losing another so dear to him reinvigorated his step. The sensations of his body were eerily comforting for he had been forced into such physical and emotional stress several times before in his life as a Runner. Except that this time he was not the hunted, he was the hunter, and not only did he have his memories for company, but the rekindled hope of a future with one who bade his heart to sing.
The broken branch of a shrub caught his eye and he registered it a few steps later. He doubled back and examined the break; the tear in the fibrous wood ran towards the ground and the branch hung from a twisting tendon of red bark. It had intentionally been broken. He swallowed, the warmth of his own saliva momentarily warding off the throbbing pain of the cold air in his throat. The branch was either broken by someone trying to throw off any potential pursuers by creating a false trail, or by Teyla as a marker of where she’d been.
He moistened his lips, his eyes rapidly scanning his surroundings. Further down the steep hillside the ground leveled out a bit and into a gravelly shore which served as a riverbed when the river that now ran beside it was full. Scanning the visible length of the snaking water he could see no fallen trees or other means of crossing the rushing white. He looked back to the broken branch, fighting down the side of him that instinctively wanted to keep running for the sake of movement and honing in on the logical part of his mind that told him to choose his course of action wisely.
He flushed with visions of Teyla being brutalized and the image drowned out the rest of his senses, inhibiting his coherent mind for a few heart-gripping moments. Needing to move, he made his way down the fallen leaves of the hillside, skidding to a halt on the gravel along the river. His eyes roved the smoothed gray, white and black stones, coated with the crust of the dried minerals of the water. There were several indentations from feet, yet they could be from the wildlife that frequented the river.
He growled lowly in frustration, half-turning to resume his trail further up the hill when he noticed a bleached tan hue among the leaves of one of the nearby trees. He took a step towards it, angling his head to better see as his breath clouded before him. It was a thick twine rope and following its length upward with his eyes revealed it to be secured to a branch above. Stepping on the exposed roots to get close, he unintentionally tore some of the chunky bark loose as he grabbed at the end of the rope. Sticks rained down on him as he yanked the twine free and he blinked the bark and dirt out of his eyes.
His upper lip curled as he now confirmed that the broken branch had been a ruse. He backed up and hopped onto the knot at the bottom of the rope, swinging across the river as his palms burned from the scratchy twine. He landed in a clearing on the opposite side, wincing as his ribs were jarred, stealing his breath, and tucked the rope into some low-hanging branches. The terrain ahead had clearly been trampled and he knelt beside one of the tracks, pressing his fingers into the mud within the footprint. It was cold, moist, and dented easily beneath his fingertips. The corners of his lip lifted in a small smirk as he rose and picked up speed once more. He was catching up.
Teyla eyed the approaching dark-bellied clouds as she swallowed water the war chief offered to her from his leather flask. She let the excess trickle down her cheek, not bothering to wipe it with her shoulder since any movement now aggravated her bleeding wrists around her twine bonds. It was the third morning. She knew that even if Sheppard and the rest of her team survived there was nowhere to land the ship on the slopes that they were climbing. Her hips and quads were stiff from the past few days of ascent and her feet were blistering and sore.
The thought of losing Ronon and her other friends brought such a deadening weight to her chest that she wouldn’t allow herself to think of it. The pain of her weeping heart would only weaken her resolve to maintain as much of her stature as possible. There was still a chance that they were alive and she’d learned over her years in Atlantis to never prematurely assume death.
Swallowing, she looked into the obsidian eyes of her captor. His gaze held hers for a moment before traveling over her form. Though she knew him to be the leader of the war party she did not hide her sneer and she showed as little outward apprehension as possible as he studied her. A shiver slithered down her spine as he fingered her un-pierced earlobe, making the hair on her arms and the back of her neck stand on end. She jerked away and his brows twitched together. He cocked his head a little and his bone and bead earrings jangled, a small light in his eyes showing his amusement at her defiance. Yet she held his gaze, unblinking, willing all of her determination to survive and to escape into the set of her jaw and the strength of her eyes. He reached out his hand again to touch her face but was distracted by a fellow warrior calling his name.
Turning to face his comrade, the two spoke heatedly for a moment. Several others stepped forward, listening to their alarmed voices with concern etched onto their brows. Teyla glanced at them then back to the war chief, whom she had discerned was called Mogodda, as he singled out two warriors and spoke several commands to them, gesturing towards their back trail. They nodded then departed together, loping back the way they’d come.
Mogodda pivoted, glaring at the warriors surrounding them. He barked an order and they began to move once more, their weapons and supplies clanking in a chorus. Teyla took a step to follow but paused when she felt his gaze on her again. She turned to face him and he was eyeing her suspiciously, his eyes falling to her tied wrists. She glanced him over, feigning disinterest, and then turned her back on him, falling into step with the others.
Her eyes once more flicked to her surroundings as she chewed the inside of her lower lip. Mogodda seemed to think that someone was following them, which fed the blossom of hope in her chest that at least one of her teammates had survived. She knew she couldn’t reach her pursuer before the dispatched warriors did, but her resolve to escape that night solidified. She had waited long enough and she didn’t want to face the revelation of Mogodda’s reason for her capture if she could avoid it.
She fought back a smirk. Whoever was on their tail was fast and not far behind, or else Mogodda wouldn’t be so perturbed. She bit her lower lip again as the hope of Ronon’s survival fluttered in her chest.
Now Is Light
Now Is Light Homepage
I. Prologue: Teasing Out Dreams
II. Serpentine Tune
III. Tailing Not Far Behind
IV. For A Few Fleeting Moments
V. Dangerous Creatures
VII. No Fear
VIII. Emboldened
IX. Looming Into Heartstrings
X. Failing Light
XI. Epilogue: An Intimate Whisper
