Author: Flaim aka Darkfalconheart

Story: You can run with us. (15/?)

Rating: for this chapter: 13 , may be higher in later chapters

Warnings: some violence

Status: WIP

Spoilers: Up to ‘The lost tribe’.

Wordcount: ca.4300

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, names or other various parts of the SG/SGA universe and all rights are with their respective owners. This is a work of non-profit fanfiction, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter 15: Where the fires do burn

Behold one who is born to the fire,

Behold the spark that kindled the flame,

Behold the strength that endures through the night,

Behold one who was born

To burn

To shine

To be a light

In the night to come.

(Prayer from the Pegasus Galaxy)

Pain was the single focus that held Jircanor still together. He had stopped caring about the wounds his body had suffered long ago, the pain had provided him the crystal hard focus to go on, and fight his way back to the gate. He knew that the small measure of ground he had won on his enemies, would not last long. A detached part of his mind noted that he wouldn’t be able to last long any more, there was only so much his body could take, before it would fail him. Kneeling down beside the DHD, he checked the edge of the woods. None of his hunters was in sight, which meant next to nothing. There was a hive in orbit and it would be only a question of time until they caught up to him again. Forcing himself up, he leaned on the DHD while he dialled a coded gate address. Silently he prayed that he was lucky and would find the help needed there. If not, if he found the place empty, he’d hardly have another chance. But this didn’t make him hesitate for a moment. The wormhole established Jir walked towards the gate. The moment he stepped through, he saw his pursuer reach the edge of the woods. A wry smile rose on his bloodstained features, the runner had outrun his hunters for one last time.

He could not prevent himself from landing on the ground on the other side, tumbling down a flight of stairs. Even in the haze he recognised the place by the dark hall, carried by black columns, he would never forget this place, Jhimada fortress.

“Jir… Tarnelións hell, what happened to you?” The familiar voice sounded like it came from afar. Relief flooded Jircanor’s mind, so Syrkan had been at his hideout. “Ran afoul of a hybrid. Nasty piece of work.” It was the last he could say before blanking out.

A painfully prickling feeling woke him, he didn’t need the sensation to guess that he had been woken by the generous use of some drugs. Blinking he realised that most of his wounds were dressed with clean banadages. He tried to sit up, but a strong hand pushed him back. “Jir… try not to move, you make it just worse.”

Syrkan was kneeling beside him, stashing away something, that looked vaguely like a familiar disinfectant. “How bad is it?”

Syrkan’s features grew sad. “There is no use in lying, Jir: if you last until nightfall you are lucky, if you live through the night it’s a miracle.”

Jir nearly managed to smile, his old friend had no reason to be sad. “Then I’ll see a battle won before the night is over.” He replied, taking a slow breath. “But I have a mission to complete before.”

“A mission? Jir, is another Sarkai in need?” Syrkan asked at once. He’d go and help whoever it was, no doubt.

“Two of them, actually. And they are in deep.” Jir found that speaking became a little easier. The drugs were doing their job. “Syrkan – I need to go and find the commander of Atlanteans.”

Syrkan scowled. “I had a run in with some of them not long back. They were looking for one of their number who is Runner.”

Jir nodded. “John. This is about him. Do you have a way to contact them?”

“No, but I know who has… the Belkans are trading with them, so they’ll have means of contact no doubt.” Syrkan replied. “But you are in no shape to go anywhere, Jircanor. Whatever strength you have…”

“Won’t save me anyway.” Jircanor cut in. “So I’ll use whatever time I have for something that’s worth it.”

“Aye, Capitaine.” Syrkan knew he couldn’t change Jircanor’s mind. “But I’ll get the Atlantis commander to come here.”

***

A shudder ran through the ship, followed by another shaking. John saw Ronon rising from his sitting position. The Satedan looked warily to the cell door. “We just docked with another Wraith ship,” he observed in low tones.

John nodded, somehow he didn’t wonder why Ronon was so sure about this. Something had made him uneasy for hours now. It wasn’t just the tension of being imprisoned, or being coped up in the narrow space of the cell. It was something different, like a presence that made him uneasy in a way he could hardly explain. “Some… something is out there.” He wasn’t sure how to articulate what he felt.

“You feel the presence of the Wraith Lord.” Ronon replied. For a moment it looked like he wanted to say something, but then just bit his lip. “We’ll get out of here, somehow.”

John could feel a lot of conflicting emotions from Ronon through the bond. His friend had a good idea what lay in store for them, but he was afraid to speak of it. Somehow he doubted John would believe him and… John nearly gasped when a flood of emotions washed over him. A rush strong and far more addictive than all the enzyme could do, a whirl of strong emotions… a profound shame for something… “Without you, we’d all be dead, Ronon. The were times when we feared we’d never see you again.” It took conscious effort on John’s side to drown out the voice and shut down the link. He felt – knew- he had trespassed on something Ronon had not wished or dared to share with anybody else.

“Those who return from walking in the dark share their knowledge in silence with those who walked the same path.” Ronon suddenly said. “In silence, for nobody else could possibly understand what they experienced.”

John wanted to ask what his friend meant, it was surely another quote from another code or set of rules, but the cell door opened and an armed guard detail came to take them away. They came in great numbers, to prevent any escape attempt. Their leader, a tall Wraith with a sharp, angled face, stopped in front of John sniffing his scent before hissing loudly. “Take them, death upon anyone who let’s this one escape.” He gestured towards John.

“Thanks, I think.” John shot back. “Why don’t you just start on reducing your goons a little? It might add the charm of the place.” Perhaps he could rile up this Wraith enough to make him commit a serious mistake.

But the Wraith just hissed again and the guards levelled their weapons on Ronon. “Resist and he suffers.” The Wraith said, a nearly ironic gleam in his eye. “run and he dies.”

“If you put it like that…” John didn’t resist any further, he could see that Wraith was deadly serious. “All right, all right!”

The Wraith led him and Ronon out of the cell, another group took Bane. “The Lord doesn’t want him. Put him down to the trading goods.” The leader said.

John had to admit: their escort was sharp, alert and saw to it, that they had no chance to escape. They were led through the ship and something that resembled an organic hatch. John could only guess that the tunnel they were passing was some kind of connection between the ships. Without passing that tunnel, John would never have guessed, that they were on another ship already. To him hives looked pretty similar. At least he could tell that they were led straight towards the heart of the ship, the place where the command centre and the Queens were usually located. He had seen those throne-room like chambers before. In front of this one, he saw another guard post. Six he counted, so there were six more to take care of, even if they somehow managed to break free inside.

The door opened for them and John perceived a room, like he had seen it on other hive-ships. The form long, with rounded corners, at the far end stood a high chair, resembling a throne more than everything else. But this room was larger than those he had seen on other ships. Before he could make more observations, he found himself pushed forward, to the middle of the room. Guessing what was to come net, Sheppard stalled, preventing the Wraith guards successfully from forcing him down to his knees. Short-lived as this victory might be. Ronon struggled against the iron grip of the two Wraithguards that held him, but lost and was forced to his knees, the guard behind him, keeping him in check. John struggled against the self same grip, fighting a battle he was to loose any moment, when a well know voice interrupted. “Leave him be.” The grip of the guards actually loosened, as they stepped back, allowing him to stand on his own.

John raised his gaze to the Wraith on the throne, what he saw didn’t surprise him any more. He had recognised the voice, the figure on the throne was all too familiar. “Todd.”

***

“Unscheduled off-world activation, unscheduled off-world activation.” O’Neill turned on the threshold of his office and returned to the command centre. Should the mission to retrieve some tracking devices have gone awry? “Chuck, what have we got?”

“Sir – we’re receiving a code. It is one of our trading codes, the one the people on Belkan use.” Chuck replied, his eyes on his monitors.

O’Neill was familiar with the concept of the trading codes, Atlantis had established a whole network of trading relations, which obviously needed a degree of communications and contact. “Lower the shield.” He ordered. “And call Teyla up to the gate room.”

The shield fell and moments later a tall man stepped through the gate. He was armed, he carried a sword on his back and had a gun in the holster at his side. The way he held his hands, he made sure the Marines guarding the gate could see them. O’Neill turned to Teyla, who came had just entered the command centre. “One of your trading partners?”

Teyla’s eyes widened as she saw the man standing down there. “Syrkan?” she asked, clearly not believing what her eyes told her. “General, he is the man, Bran recommended we ask about John.”

“The one who attacked you?” O’Neill inquired. Years on off-world mission had enabled him to assess people he met off-world speedily. And this one down there screamed ‘danger’ in every gesture, even as he tried to tone it down and project a non-threatening pose.

“It wasn’t intentionally, General. It rather seemed to be a reflex.” Teyla couldn’t speak up, because the man down there, raised his voice. “I don’t come as an enemy to your gate. I came to find the commander of Lanteans in Atlantia.”

“That would be me.” Forgoing any further stalling or analysis O’Neill walked down the stairs towards the gate. He stopped only a few paces from the new arrival. Experience with Jaffa and other warrior nations had taught him a good deal about how to handle them. Never hide behind armed guards, direct approach and steady eye contact were usually the minimal rules when talking to them. “what brings you here?” he added.

Syrkan studied him for only a moment silently. “A man came to my hideout this night, a runner – he says he has a message for you, about one of your people who was made a runner about a year ago.”

“And why isn’t he here then?” O’Neill asked. “As you did not want to talk to our people when they came asking.”

The warrior didn’t take the bait. “He is grievously wounded and I doubt he will live to see another day’s rise,” he replied. “thus I came to find you.”

O’Neill’s decision didn’t take long. He knew it was a danger to trust and to follow the man to whatever place he intended to bring them. Their intel was scarce at best. O’Neill’s gut feeling told him, that this was the clue they had been looking for. He had followed this feeling in the past, and it rarely led him astray, yet every time he had went with it, had been a risk. One he would not ask others to take without taking the risk himself. “Have team five down here, ready to move out in 20,” he ordered. “they’ll accompany me. And have another team assist Dr. Beckett with his medical gear.” Meaning that they’d have the full fighting strength of two teams at hand if things went bad.

O’Neill was well aware that the troops and the marines were ill at ease. Not because of the mission ahead of them, they had taken to the fact that they were to follow a local to an unknown location with a calm that told O’Neill much about the level of collaboration between Atlantis and people of Pegasus. No they were nervous about the fact, that he accompanied them into the field… again. Well, they would have to learn that he might be forced to fly a desk often enough, but would not chain himself to said desk. Dr. Beckett seemed somewhat nervous too. “So ye’ found me another lion.” He said, when he checked the heavy package before a marine shouldered it.

“Lion?” O’Neill asked. “Don’t remember cats were mentioned.”

Beckett’s smile told him, that this was in insider joke. “Runner.” The Scottish doctor explained.

“General, the sequence is set for dial up.” Chuck called down to them. He had been conferring with Syrkan about the address they needed to go to. A coded address. O’Neill wondered who had rigged up that safety mechanism without screwing the whole system. Mercy upon that one, if he ever fell into Carter’s hands. “Good! Dial it up!” he called back to Chuck.

The sequence ran longer than usual then the gate locked on and the wormhole established. The teams moved out in routine fashion. O’Neill kept a close eye on Syrkan. The man was hard to read, neither his mien nor his demeanour gave much away, yet there was an amount of tension in him as he walked into the blue light of the gate.

The transfer ended in a closed space, the gate was inside a grand hall. The marines efficiently went out, securing a perimeter. O’Neill’s gaze fell on the makeshift camp on the far end of the hall. The man, who sat with his back leaning against the black stone of the hall, a gun beside him, looked much like a wounded soldier, waiting for the enemy to come for him. Syrkan gestured in the same direction. “Come with me, General.” He said. “Let’s hope Jir held out that long.”

O’Neill didn’t need to call for Beckett, the doctor followed them without needing any encouragement. Getting closer O’Neill saw that the dark-haired man, who was waiting for them, was in very bad shape. There were bandages, bloodstained bandages covering a number of wounds, slow laboured breathing betrayed pain, and potential internal wounds. Yet the gaze that met O’Neill’s was focused and alert. “Syr… you found them?”

Syrkan nodded. “Jir, this is General O’Neill, commander of the Lantean troops, General… Capitaine Jircanor.”

O’Neill didn’t lose time with more formalities, they were not really important here. He bent down, so he was eye level with the wounded man. “Your friend said, you had a message for us,” he began.

A curt nod was the first reply. “Aye, that’s true. I was with John and Ronon for some days before we got separated. The Wraith implanted a tracker into John that interacts negatively with your own subcutaneous transmitters, causing them explode when coming close. From what I gathered – it has already happened at least once.”

“That’s what happened to Shelleau?” The gears in O’Neill’s mind were already spinning. It was the first time a useful explanation of the river incident came up.

“Right.” The wounded man took another slow breath. “John and Ronon were taken by a dart, when we were separated. It was no random culling, I was standing right beside them, and was not taken. The pilot of the dark did a precise job, he had to bring them, no one else. The dart was marked with the sign of the T’shachailiyiis Alliance. It’s a fairly new conglomerate of hives. Rumour has it, they are under the control of a Wraith Lord, who hasn’t shed his skin yet. If he’s the one who marked John, I do not know.”

“Marked?” O’Neill inquired. He vividly felt like in that first year after re-opening the gate, when he had needed Teal’c to provide them with at least some level of information.

“John carries the mark of a Wraith Lord… that’s why the wild Wraith didn’t dare to touch him. The mark is incomplete, the Wraith Lord has fed on him, or given life back, maybe both but he has not brought him to the burning point and over the threshold yet.” Jircanor shook his head tiredly. “Don’t try to understand it – it’s too long an explanation for me to give.”

“But we know what we need to get Sheppard and Ronon out of this mess.” O’Neill said. He would get his intel, but not here and now. He turned to Beckett. “Doc?”

Beckett’s eyes were focused on the ancient scanner in his hand. “General, there isn’t much I can do here… that lad needs extensive surgery.”

“Can we bring him to Atlantis?” O’Neill wondered if the man could survive the transport.

“Stupid idea…” Jircanor spoke in lower tones now, conserving his strength. “my transmitter was blanked some days ago, so it can’t be repeated without killing me for some time.”

“And they transplanted it right into your spinal cord….” Beckett’s voice trailed off. “Great God…. Lad…did you do this to yer’self?” He exclaimed when he saw the readings.

“Cut out transmitter one and two, they went for foolproof with the third.”

O’Neill held the gaze of the wounded runner. “We have to thank you. We will get Sheppard and Ronon out of this mess, you have my word on that.” If there was nothing else he could do, he could let the runner know that his death had a meaning, that what he had done would make a difference. “Doctor Beckett here will take care of you.” They had to get moving, with these news time was of essence. The eyes of the runner told O’Neill that the man understood, in a life left behind a long time ago he had been a soldier himself.

O’Neill ordered the marines to stay behind to protect Doctor Beckett. He knew he had laid a heavy burden on the man, staying behind with a dying man was never easy. But if there was a chance, slim as it might be, that the man could be saved, Beckett would find a way to do it. The gate dialled out, back to Atlantis and in O’Neill’s mind the plans for the next steps were already forming.

***

“Todd.” John didn’t know if he could be astonished any more. “Long time, no see. You know… you don’t really look the role of a Wraith Lord.”

The Wraith rose gracefully from his seat and walked towards them. He stopped only a few paces from them. “As I told you once, Sheppard: there is much of Wraith you do not know.”

“I got that.” Sheppard shot back. “I hope you don’t plan on another hoax, after taking down the Queen, being an impostor Wraith Lord.”

“He hasn’t shed his skin yet.” Ronon spoke with a tense level of aggression in his voice.

“So now you Wraith aren’t bugs any more but snakes?” Sheppard let his mouth run with whatever he could come up with, and be it only to mask the nagging dread inside him. “Shedding the skin and all.”

Todd laughed, it was a nearly amused laughter. “When the Lantean’s left this galaxy they used one of their last weapons to send us to sleep, to make us like the lesser Wraith and send us to a long slumber. Hoping we would eventually sink to their level, become like the Wild Wraith, forget what we are.” Todd raised a hand. “some of us slept and dreamed in the long darkness, some of us were caught, imprisoned nearly forgotten and some of us were lost.” A sharp hiss accompanied his words. “But we are waking.”

The words fit well what John had learned from Ronon earlier, back in their cell. “Good for you.” Something inside him warned that it wasn’t wise to be smart-mouth around here, that he’d better not annoy Todd too much.

“Shedding our skin, becoming as we once were, is a process that requires strength, a tremendous amount of strength, to revert the change forced upon us.” Todd said, his voice sinking into a hiss.

And suddenly John understood, that’s why they were here, that was the reason they had been brought here. The clarity was frightening, and it left a painful knot in his stomach. “Let Ronon go, Todd,” he said hoping his voice wouldn’t shake. “you can take what you need from me.”

“No!” Ronon shouted, struggling against the Wraith, that still held him in check. But the Wraith ignored him, his eyes held John’s gaze. “You are very brave, Sheppard. This I knew when I saw you in the Genii-prison. More worthy to be a brother, than most born to the spark.”

John raised his chin, forcing the fear down, meeting Todd’s eyes as calm as he could. Marshalling all his courage he held still. The Wraith raised his hand, it took all the self control John had not to flinch, when the hand touched his chest and a familiar surge of pain ran through his body.

***

“Wormhole established, we have the signal of the MELP.” Chuck reported. O’Neill tapped his radio. “Schmiedeberg, come in.”

The crackling of the radio gave way to a clear signal. “Schmiedeberg, here.”

“What’s your status?”

“The teams are on opposite sites of the compound, Sir. We have watched the comings and goings and it looks like the intel checks out: it is a supply depot. Troop presence isn’t exactly minimal, but we should be able to sneak in, after nightfall.”

O’Neill nodded the mission was running as planned. “There was a change of situation, Captain.” He went on. “We received new intel and our time is running short. Can you obtain the devices faster?” O’Neill had been on the other end long enough to know that some choice words were probably running through the Captain’s mind right now.

“Yes, Sir. It can be done in approximately two hours.” Came the reply. “But it means raising hell here and come in hot, when we return.”

O’Neill couldn’t suppress a short grin. He knew why he had kept then man on the mission. “You have permission ‘to raise hell’ Captain.”

***

The pain was worse than all he had ever been through before. A burning that began in depths of his body and rose like a wave to the surface. He knew he should long have crumbled to the ground and died, but there was something, a burning brand, a fire that fuelled the pain, that made him hang on, that sustained him, that let the fire burn even brighter. The pain grew more intense, more intense than anything he could ever have imagined. That it didn’t drive him mad, was the exhilaration that grew from it. He was alive, more vibrantly alive than he had ever been, the burning fire in him was a light that he wouldn’t extinguish even if it meant living with the pain for the rest of his life. The light enveloped him, as the pain drowned out all other sensations, in a wave of agony and exhilaration John felt his body being burned and washed away in the fire.

It ended abruptly, the fire grew colder, the pain faded away, the cold drawing him as he fell to his knees. His body shaking in pain, but alive – so very much alive – he could see his hands, still strong and young. Somewhere from afar he heard Ronon’s voice.

“Behold one who was born to the fire,

Behold the spark that kindled the flame,

Behold the strength that endures through the night,

Behold one who was born

To burn

To shine

To be a light

In the night to come.”

John looked up, and found his face reflected in one of the controls on the wall. A face very much alive, somehow a little more ageless than it should be. The shaking grew violent, as his body gave in to the residue pain, and he fell to the ground. Looking up he saw Todd’s face, but it was changed, gone were the gaunt Wraith features and the grey skin. The pale, more human form was no less frightening, the power behind those features could not be denied. A Wraith Lord in the truest sense of the word. The Wraith bent down beside John, his hand gently resting on John’s aching chest.

A cool sensation, like water tickled over John’s skin, numbing the pain. “The spark burns bright in you, brother.” The Wraith whispered. “it will sustain you, in the dark where ordinary lives perish.”