Magpie had found a good place to lay low in the woods. It was a slaty outcrop. She took off the guns, dropped the jackets and carefully constructed a stone safe for them among the needles. As the sun was dropping, she fingered the dull green of the jackets, glanced at the darker green and brown of the trees above and around. Smiling she pulled one on. She cooed gently to herself as she pulled some of the undergrowth over her safe, nodding contently in appreciation of her work. Then she froze. Eyes with large whites turned upwards and scanned the small patches of sky visible between the boughs. The raven cried again. Her body gave an involuntary, jerking shudder beneath the large jacket and she slipped backwards, closer to the dense trunks. Minutes passed and then, ears finely tuned for another sign that the bird was overhead she cautiously moved among the trees. She knew what the raven meant. She knew the raven. She thought of a body, all bloodied to carrion and plucked by days of wind and rain into a strange parody and a raven there, and always a raven. She drew to the trees’ ending and there peered out from the shadows. It was not so dusky that she could not see the strangers from the loch standing in the ruins of their camp, back to back. She looked from them to the ruins of the broch further up the slope. Run, she willed them, even as she drew back. She saw the dark bird perching there. But they walked up the slope. Magpie felt sick helplessness, unexpected and strong. She did not wait to watch, but rather heard the capture as she fled into the trees, blindly running towards the loch edge where the open shore space would allow her to speed away. The jacket flapped around her like the wings of some strange bird.
-
O’Neill froze as he rounded the promontory. In the falling light he saw a figure stumbling towards him along the shore. He half turned to call Teal’c, but then his movement was arrested by recognition as the small figure at last saw him and pulled up, feet digging into the shingle. O’Neill saw the SG1 jacket hung over a tiny body bearing two huge white eyes as wet as the lapping loch by their feet. Magpie saw a tall man, clad as the other strangers in their forest tones, but face covered by a strange hat so that he seemed all shadow and dark. For the smallest moment they stared at one another and then Teal’c scrambled over the promontory rocks. The small figure gave a near inaudible yelp and, almost tripping over herself, fled into the trees. O’Neill didn’t think, he simply followed, heavy boots pounding the shifting pebbles and then suddenly cushioned by the needles as he ran into the close trees. The movement made more of his vision in that place than his eyes would have done and he moved after it, over trunk, rock and under sweeping branch. He heard Teal’c behind him but kept moving on deeper into the trees even as questions began to form in his mind. Eventually he admitted to himself that he could no longer see anything at all under the trees, let alone any figure to pursue. He cursed, the sound rasping and abrupt in the dampened surroundings. A moment later Teal’c came up on him, alert, questioning. O’Neill held up a single hand and they stood there with only their quickly drawing lungs to create a sense of life in the quiet world.
-
Magpie heard them. The more they crashed, the lighter she moved and now, having halted and thrown herself down on the piny bed, she could hear their uncertain stillness. The moments were a quick chance to think. Raven. Strangers, knives, shadow-hats and staffs and strange weapons, but loch side, wet laughter, gold hair and dark. She fought with herself briefly, then decided, stood abruptly, adding a broad flap of the jacket to her jerky ascent, heard the startled voice, and hastened on.
-
At the sudden reappearance of their quarry in the darkness, O’Neill put away questions once more and followed. But his questions returned with a growing sense of being drawn in, of a quarry that waited for you to be near, but not catching-near. He knew they should halt, but the persistent reappearance of the figure in the dark drew him on.
‘Hey’ he called at one point as they crossed a small clearing and he briefly saw the khaki-clad form in the moonlight.
‘O’Neill.’ Said Teal’c sometime later, not a question, more a reminder of reality, perhaps simply of the strong reality of his presence.
‘Yeah, I know’ He replied quietly but he didn’t stop. After a bit the ground began to slope more consistently and then, quiet suddenly, they came upon a burn, cutting a channel among the trees. The water gave off strange quivers of light, and the sound it made as it navigated the rocks finally brought O’Neill to a stand. He watched it and then, without knowing why, looked upstream.
She was standing, caught in the moonlight, quiet still, watching. He took off his cap, running his wrist across his brow as he did so, and stared back. She tipped her head slightly to one side, plucked at the jacket, but held his gaze. He started to climb up towards her. He heard a clamour of bird call, looked up, but saw nothing overhead. She had not moved and he pulled himself up the rocky burnside, every now and then looking down from her, to place his feet or hands. At the top a hand stretched out to pull him over the last boulder, and unthinking he grasped it, being hauled up into the stare of two set eyes. He blinked and the blade was at his throat. There were figures all around, his quarry indistinguishable in their ranks. His eyes thought to turn, but his assailant read their path and with a shake of the head, said no, a single finger rising to the thin lips. He felt hands on him. They pulled away his rifle that he had shouldered on his climb. Small fingers found his sidearm, knife, and explored his pack, all near silently, and without breaking the locking gaze of the eyes that held a blade at his throat. Then they blindfolded him and he felt the knife withdraw.
The hands still on him pushed and pulled him into stumbling movement and he obeyed as best he could their rough directions. He heard the water close, and then stumbled into an icy pool, the water overflowing his boots. He hissed, attempting to retreat. The hands on his back saying ‘no, no’ and pushing him on. He thought he heard the smallest laugh nearby. Then a pair of hands began to guide his feet into the footholds of a proper climb up slimy damp rock. He heard behind him, splashing, but did not break the silence to call to his friend. He felt the spell of the forest and the hands and the water. He felt drugged before threatened by it. He moved with it, allowed it to dull his senses and yet heard again at the edges, the smallest laugh, perhaps to go with the smallest hands which at that point went ruffling into his hair, pushing down his head into an ungainly stoop. A few echoing steps on, they tugged him up again, and held him less closely, as if their trust had grown with his compliance. A single pair of hands clasped his arm and guided him patiently and eventually, with a quick hand to his chest, halted him. Another body bumped against him. Hands pushed him to a hard rock floor. He reached out and felt the material of Teal’c’s uniform jacket, as an answer to his question. Time stretched out. He became tempted by tiredness. He thought of putting up his hands, lifting the fold, but he knew that he would see faces watching him if he did. They did not speak, but he knew they hadn’t gone. Perhaps Teal’c felt the same. His silence said so.
Some hours later, he had begun to seriously doubt that there had been any people at all. He had shuffled back to back with Teal’c and the regular breathing of his friend soothed him deeper, until he started to see a figure moving in the woods. He thought he recognised the jacket, thought it was Carter, made to call to her, but his mouth was dry. She was beyond his reach, always just beyond, further into the darkness. It was very still there, no movement, just darkness and…
The snore, echoed loud. He woke himself, eyes instinctively opening to fabric, hands flailing slightly. He heard laughter, tentative at first and then with growing confidence. Young laughter. A pair of hands clasped his head and pulled off the blindfold. He saw a blur of youthful face, then turned to look at Teal’c.
‘You ok?’ He asked. The spell was broken.
-
They were taken to the broch. All the way Daniel’s attention was split between the throbbing of his bust lip and trying to hear any snippets of conversation passed between their captors. They were all but thrown down the inside steps of the tower. A group followed them down, tied their hands behind their backs while a single huge figure stood before them. He examined Daniel first, his own face shadowed in the tower, then turned to Carter. He stepped forward and she unconsciously shuddered. There was just enough light to see his horribly scared face, the bloodshot eyes, the mauled skin and the coarse beard rebelling from it. He moved close to her and then roughly grabbed her by the shoulders. Daniel watched her looking back into the face, wide eyed, but defiant.
The man snorted, disgusted perhaps. Turning to the other men said, ‘They’re wet.’
‘We saw them by the loch, my lord.’
‘What were they doing there?’ He asked this question looking directly at Sam. Snarled, or perhaps smiled. ‘Search it.’ The other men made to leave. ‘No,’ he said suddenly, ‘there were others’ again looking at Sam. Daniel sucked his bleeding lip and watched her blank face. ‘We’ll search in the morning, the crannog and the forest, but tonight we’ll seek the others.’ He turned with a flurry of his long cloak, cuffing Sam on the head with one hand.
He and his retinue left, two men remaining at the top of the steps, watching. Sam stared at them, face upturned for a moment, and then with a beckoning jerk of the head, led the way over to one of the pillars. They sat down awkwardly, arms pinioned, but side by side. After a pause, Daniel spat onto the grass, bitterly. Now they were still, he realised he hurt and, more than that, he was desperately cold. He had been wearing a thick cloak of adrenaline for the last hour, but now it evaporated into the growing dark. He thumped his head against the pillar, letting out a gasp of frustration. In response Sam moved closer to him and he looked down slightly onto her shivering head of blond hair. He had been going to voice something near to despair, but instead,
‘Er, well it was difficult to see, but it seemed like they were Vikings. At least, fairly Nordic dress, but late, maybe 12th century. What was that?’ Something had swept suddenly over their heads.
‘I think it was a bird.’
‘And their swords were, yes they were definitely late, that type of blade, later than the Saxon steel period, could be Frankish imports, but probably later still…’ Sam made a small choking noise,
‘Oh, Daniel.’ He could hear her smile through her chattering teeth and felt himself grinning.
‘Well, this isn’t too bad is it, could be worse and I just thought, you know, know you’re enemy. Two guards, do you think?’ He dropped his voice as he said the latter. She shook her head.
‘I saw them calling down to some more people in the passage.’
‘Maybe we could draw them in?’ Sam considered this. Somehow draw them into the dark space and then set on them enough to confuse them, make a dash up the stairs…. If it had been O’Neill …
‘Don’t think so, Daniel.’ He seemed a little relieved. ‘Lets just concentrate on’, she grinned, ‘knowing our enemy.’ She shivered into the night as Daniel kept up an impressive monologue on Viking material culture, but eventually even he ran dry of things to say and fell silent.
A figure dropped down the steps, came and squatted down in front of them. He was difficult to see in the dark, but Daniel saw him put out a hand to Sam’s arm.
‘You’re frozen.’ He commented. Daniel felt defensive, tried to sit up slightly, but he’d misread the tone of voice. The man stepped back, pulled off his woollen cloak and dropped it over them. ‘Here.’ He seemed to be waiting for a response, disappointed when it wasn’t forthcoming. He took a few steps away, called up to his companion. ‘Håkon, give me your cloak.’ They couldn’t hear Håkon’s response, but the man came back empty handed. Daniel was now awake with interest. He thought he saw embarrassment in the man’s movement.
‘Thank you.’ Sam’s lead had been to keep silent, but he acted on instinct and, though she shifted slightly, she offered no protest. The man nodded. He lifted up a leather flask which hug from his belt, tugged out the wooden bung with his teeth, and proffered it. Seeing Daniel’s hesitation,
‘It’s water,’ he gestured, ‘your lip.’ Daniel looked into the man’s face, close now.
‘Thank you.’ He said again. He found himself moving forward to help the man clumsily pour water onto his face. Some of the water splashed onto his damp shirt.
‘Would you like some?’ Pushing the bottle towards Sam, who shook her heard.
‘Nils, you son of a whore…’ the voice floated down from the wall above. The man stood abruptly.
‘Aye.’
For a moment longer he stayed, looking at the pair, who were shuffling in an attempt to better arrange the cloak over themselves. Put out a hand, and then changed his mind and disappeared back up the stairs to become a silhouette once more.
-
O’Neill woke into light, sat up suddenly; eyes open to a sight that he could not quite believe. Then a flood of memories, injected his mind with understanding.
‘Good morning, campers.’
They were sitting on a ledge overhung by a craggy wall of a gorge. The burn, in bursts of white water, passed beside them a few yards away. On the far side, a set of jumbled boulders and beyond that the low entrance of a cave. A scatter of figures sat on the boulders, watching him. One turned and called into the cave, then after a couple of seconds rose and disappeared into it. The watchers looked tired, motley, fascinated. O’Neill found himself wishing for Daniel’s usually unasked for appraisal of the strange people they met, but all he had was Teal’c, deep in meditation. He considered his watchers. He could tell that there was something strange about their dress. There were rough clothes in dark colours anachronistically mixed with flashes of colour, identity, different cuts and materials. And the faces. They were all young, had seemed pale the night before, but now appeared like a tumbled group of children and youths gathered from any street, or perhaps from many streets. There were a few older faces, a sandy haired man with a stubble beard, a woman with tightly curling hair and a relaxed grip on a longbow. Perhaps these were the real guard, the others bystanders. He rubbed a hand over his own stubble.
‘Any chance of a cup of coffee?’
A group emerged from the cave, blinking in the light. In the middle of the group was a slight woman, who looked directly at him. She spoke in a low voice to the sandy haired man, who nodded and rose
‘You heard’ he said, ‘go on.’ The watchers dispersed and he and the curly haired woman withdrew up the burn’s course. O’Neill read the order as a demand for a return to everyday life. He stood up. No one protested. Stretched. The group around the woman had also dispersed, two of them going to a pool in the burn to wash. There was a small figure already there, he took a step forwards.
‘Any chance I could have that back?’ He gestured to the jacket lying on the rocks next to a small figure who was vigorously spraying water over her head, over those around her, like a bird in a puddle. One of the others gently pushed her, but she chattered and splashed regardless.
‘You have one of you own.’ The woman replied. She had dark brown hair, pulled back by two braids that ran around her head. She wore a short brown jacket, with a belt running over one shoulder. At her waist, a cloth wrapped sword hung, her left hand resting on the covered pommel.
‘It belongs to one of my team.’ His tone was a little more antagonistic than he intended.
‘She was cold.’ The woman replied, looking down to the pool. ‘Come.’ She turned and led the way up the stream. The small gorge narrowed here, and he noticed another cave entrance, with a group sitting in it. Beyond that there was a waterfall, sealing the gorge with its steep face. She paused as they reached it.
‘May I?’ He requested before leaning forward and diverting some of the spray over his face. After a moment, he went to join her on a rock nearby. She was looking up, to the top of the gorge, and he followed her gaze. For a brief moment he saw the sandy haired man, holding a bow and looking back down on them, before he disappeared over the lip. O’Neill smiled slightly to himself. So they were still under guard. Going nowhere. For a second staring at the waterfall, some of last night’s torpor returned and he thought, ‘Why would I want to?’ Then he shook his head clear.
‘How did you get that jacket? What’s going on?’ Those where the questions he should have asked earlier. She didn’t reply and then, glancing at his face, asked,
‘Who are you?’
‘I’m Colonel Jack O’Neill. I’m… we’re explorers.’
‘Explorers?’
‘From Earth, heard of it? The Tauri.’
‘Earth? I do not know it.’ She tossed back her head thoughtfully, ‘but your friend is with the lizardmen.’
‘With the Goa’uld? You know the Goa’uld?’
‘We know them.’
‘Teal’c was with them, but now he’s with us. He’s part of my team.’
She studied him. ‘I understand.’
‘You do? ... and you’re not with the Gou’ld, at all?’ He loosely gestured with one hand.
‘No.’ There was a pause. Jack pushed back his cap,
‘So what the hell is going on?’
‘What are you doing here? Why did you come here?’
‘Well, we like bogs, for a start.’ For a moment he thought she hadn’t followed, but then she gave him a thin lipped smile.
‘It was you last night, with the knife, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, you are easily snared… K’nell.’
‘Er, its colonel.’
‘Kernel?’
‘Yeah, right, but it’s a rank… a title, my name is O’Neill. Jack O’Neill.’
‘And you are a leader, O’Neill?’
‘Of a team of four, yeah. I need to go and find my other team members.’
‘You cannot do that.’
‘No, I need to, they will be wondering where we are, we should have gone back to them last night and… how did you get that jacket?’ She sighed, looking up at the small stretch of sky above.
‘Magpie decided.’ O’Neill waited. ‘She decided it all.’ There was another stretch of silence, in which O’Neill sensed a kind of sadness, a weight of knowledge. He squinted up at the sun. ‘Well,’ he thought ‘I know what that feels like.’
‘My name is Lief. I do not have a rank.’
‘But you are a leader?’ She only smiled in reply.
‘Last night… I have spoken to Magpie. She took the jacket.’ She paused, but when he moved to speak, she held up a hand. ‘She told me… she saw your friends, down by the loch, out on the stoneways. They left some things on the shore. We call her the Magpie, she acquires things.’
‘Steals them.’
‘Collects them, like a magpie. She sees things too. She saw the Odinsmen.’ She read his blank expression, seemed relieved by it. ‘You do not know them. You are indeed strangers to this land. The Odinsmen took your friends.’
‘Whoa there, what do you mean?’
‘I was not there. I did not see what happened.’
‘But… come on, give me some information here.’
She looked at him shrewdly. ‘Magpie took your friend’s weapons. She did not know what they were. She did not know who you were.’ O’Neill made a frustrated noise, made to get up. ‘When she saw the Odinsmen,’ Lief put out a hand to hold him back, ‘it was too late. She fled, ran into you. She was frightened of you, but she recognised your cloth. You were going towards the Odinsmen. She was frightened, but she brought you here, to us.’
‘And who are you?’ He gestured around the gorge.
‘We are of the Picti. We are the Gaterunners.’
‘Gate, as in Stargate?’ There was real, direct interest in his eyes now.
‘The circle gate to the worlds?’
‘Sounds like we’re talking about the same thing. You’ve been through the Stargate?’
She laughed at his astonishment. ‘You are amazed? Is that not where you sprang from?’
‘Well, yeah, but…’
‘Odin forbids it. However, we are the Picti.’
‘Odin, the god? Is he around?’ She laughed again.
‘You are a strange man.’
Heliopolis Main Archive
A Stargate: SG-1 Fanfiction Site
Odin's Blade
by AbacusSite Navigation
Support Heliopolis