By Rocza
Email: roczadeb@yahoo.com
Story Status: Complete
Sequel Information: Second To None - Third WOT
Season: 9
Spoilers: Stargate Movie, A Matter of Time
Categories: Humor, Angst, HC, Action/Adventure
Pairing: None
Content Level: PG-13, just in case.
Content Warning: Language
Summary: Jon-Jack's clone-tells the story of Indian Boy-Cromwell- and Coyote-O'Neill.
Archive Permissions: Any who want it are welcome. Just give me credit.
Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and Atlantis and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Productions; not me. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement intended. The story is the property of the author and may not be posted without the author's consent.
Author's Notes: This is a small story that I wanted to write in conjunction with Second To None -Third WOT. In 3WOT, Jon tells his flight mates a story. I cut the story out of the original 3WOT because it was long and I really wanted to get 3WOT out to the readers. But the tale itself demanded telling.
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This story begins during the Third Week Of Training for USAF BMT. Jack's clone, Jon, is trying to pass the time with the rest of his flight one evening after all their chores have been done and the Training Instructor has retired for the evening.
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"Ack! I'm not so good with speeches. It's one of my many flaws." Jon held up his hands to stem the tide of boos sent his way. "I'm just sayin'... Alright, I get it." Jon paused for effect. "Fine," he held up his dog tags like an Oscar, "I want to thank my press agent for getting me the part... Yeah, well, what can I really say? You're comparing me to Mary Poppins, fer crying out loud. Are you all so TV depraved that this..." he gestured around the day room, "is ‘must see' entertainment?"
Another round of cheers was his only answer.
"Wow, you are desperate. Wait! I have an idea." Jon poked his head behind the podium where the flight had been storing the magazines that people had been shipped in their care packages. He rummaged around for a minute before pulling out his intended target. He flipped the magazine to a specific article and smirked before asking, "Alright, close your eyes and picture the TV. You somehow got stuck on the Discovery Channel and can't find the remote. So, you are lulled to sleep by the following..."
Jon dropped his voice to a deep bass, "What's the shortest distance between two points? A mathematician would tell you it's a straight line, but an astronomer would say it's a wormhole. Wormholes aren't just some made-up notion from ... Star Trek. Scientists take wormholes seriously and are studying their properties in the hopes of one day creating one. IT'S ALL RELATIVE! Albert Einstein ... laid the groundwork for the idea of wormholes with his general theory of relativity. It states that anything with mass or energy distorts the space around it..." (Wulsin, p6)
Jon stopped, as the boos and hissing grew louder than his reading. "Hey, it could happen," he replied. Sam had sent him the article in jest from one of her weekly science digests. Her post-it note, flagging the article had simply stated, ‘Ya Think!' She had also highlighted the part of the article that used the worm in an apple example.
"Fine, so what do you wise guys want to hear?" Jon asked.
"Fiction. Like Wormhole X-treme," came one answer from the back.
Jon winced, "No way. That Colonel Danning is completely unbelievable. No Sci-Fi."
"No science," was one smart remark from his left.
"How about an old legend?"
"Yeah, but it has to have a moral."
"And a hero."
"And fighting. Nothing beats a good battle."
"Oy... so, let me get this straight. You want a fictional story about an old legend with a moral, a hero, and lots of blood." Jon thought a moment.
He flashed back to Chief Gunderson's words, earlier that day, about Jack and how he had changed. Yeah, not exactly an old legend, but it was an all too familiar tale.
Of course, now that he thought about that plot line he couldn't get it out of his head. He was even spinning it so none of the guys would suspect it was a real story. Ah hell! Therapy by BMT. This is so not what I need.
Yet in spite of his reservations, Jon felt compelled to tell the tale. "Okay, let me tell you the story of two brothers, Indian Boy and Coyote, and how it is never too late to forgive..."
Jon spun the tale.
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Let me tell you the story of two brothers, Indian Boy and Coyote, and how it is never too late to forgive.
This story begins, like all good stories do, at the very beginning. In a small Indian village lost to the mists of time, two brothers were born.
The older brother was dark and brooding. His hair and eyes were black and his skin dark. But he was not grim or sad, just very serious. He went about his life with a dedication, loyalty, and purpose that was unrivaled by anyone else in the village. With his steadfast personality and solid dedication, the boy was like a mountain in the wind, firm and strong. In him, the elders hoped to maintain the tribal traditions. For this reason, he was called Indian Boy.
The younger brother was light and bright in comparison. His light brown hair and hazel eyes a stark contrast to his brother. Unlike his brother, he had a bright and wide view the world. And in this world, he could only see the fun and happiness it provided, or the next challenge to be conquered. He was the flowing river to his brother's mountain. His love of life and laughter often lead him to mischief and pranks on his tribe mates. For this reason, he was named after Coyote the Trickster.
For all their differences, the brothers were closer than any two siblings could be. Indian Boy was always patient with his brother and never became angry when he was the focus of one of his bother's tricks. Coyote for his part would always listen to his brother seriously and pay heed to his words. In their village, the brothers were inseparable. To call for one, would lead to a visit from both. This truth became fact and the tribe couldn't see the need for life to be any other way.
Over time, the boys became men and trained, as men often do, to become skilled hunters and warriors. Both Indian Boy and Coyote became very skilled and were often asked to lead the hunt or to guide the war party. They even lead different parties outside the village without the constant presence of the other. But once back in the village, they would always seek each other out. Even their wives and children were inseparable.
Individually, they were skilled warriors and leaders but together they were invincible, or so they thought. And so, together they swore a pact, to never leave each other, no matter what. It was an honorable pact, even as it was foolish.
Then came the time of great conflict. Game had become scarce and the hunting parties had to venture further and further to find game. More and more the hunters came across hunting parties from neighboring villages. And more and more often these meetings ended in bloodshed.
But Indian Boy and Coyote were quick and clever. They would often steal into an enemy village's hunting grounds and find game. If found, they would fight like three times their number and the enemy feared to face them. So, they hunted and fed the village and always they returned, until the day that one of them did not.
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The hunt that day had gone well. Indian Boy and Coyote had found the doe drinking her fill by a stream. One steady shot had felled her. Indian Boy and Coyote congratulated themselves on their success and headed in to collect their prey. They would have done better to remember that they were still deep inside the enemy's hunting grounds.
Too late, Coyote heard the noise.
Too late, Indian Boy reacted to the attack.
The enemy warriors poured out of the bushes and attacked. The fighting was fierce, but both Indian Boy and Coyote were highly skilled warriors. The enemy warriors were slowly driven back. Until one wild shot found a mark.
Coyote fell to the ground and was still. Indian Boy saw his brother fall and was overcome with dark anger. The ferocity of his attack drove off the enemy warriors for a bit; just long enough for Indian Boy to drop to his knees beside his brother. Long enough for Indian Boy to see the arrow lodged in his brother's scalp with wide unseeing eyes. Long enough to cut Coyote's head dress free as a token to his wife. Long enough to flee back to his village with the news of his brother's death.
Just long enough for Coyote to watch his brother leave him to die.
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Indian Boy returned to the village with his news and his brother's bloody head band. He comforted his brother's wife and young son. He swore that they would never want for anything, that he would care for them as he cared for his own family. And the village mourned the loss of a great warrior, gone to the happy hunting grounds, for that is the way of the warrior.
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But Coyote did not die. The enemy warriors returned within moments of his brother's escape. And they found Coyote, hurt and bleeding in the dirt. They cared for his wounds and turned the proud warrior into a slave.
Each night he was beaten and chained to a tree like a dog. Each day he was worked near death. He was barely fed enough to survive, for even the dogs were fed before him. Some days he was cut, just to see him bleed, because it made the enemy warriors feel strong to so humble the great Coyote.
For many moons, Coyote endured this treatment growing weaker and weaker. And each night that he dreamed, he saw is brother leave him to die, breaking their sacred pact. Their sworn oath to each other. Coyote grew to hate his brother. And his hate grew as large as his love had been, for the depth of that betrayal cut to Coyote's very soul. And after so many moons of mistreatment, only his hate kept him warm at night. In the end, he lived only for hate.
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Then one day a Storyteller came to the enemy village. The Storyteller was housed and fed, as was the custom. Seeing the dirty, broken man chained to the tree, the Storyteller asked about his story.
The enemy warriors boasted of how they had defeated the great warrior, Coyote, who had come to steal their game. How they had felled him with one arrow. How his own brother had been so ashamed and disgraced that he had turned and fled from their attack. They talked about how merciful they were to treat his wounds and care for him as a slave, because his own blood would no longer acknowledge him.
The Storyteller remembered and, as was the custom, told the tale at the next village.
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When the story finally reached Indian Boy and his village, the tale had grown, as tales do with the telling. The Coyote described in the story bore little resemblance to the proud happy warrior that the village had known; not only in his practice of evil deeds prior to the fight, but the speed of his defeat and the depth of his fall from grace. Many in the village dismissed the story outright; they would rather believe that their friend and fellow warrior was dead.
But Indian Boy did not dismiss the tale so quickly. Hope surged through him, as he thought about being reunited with his brother once more. Once he was set on a course, like the mountain, nothing could move Indian Boy from his chosen path. He argued his case with the Chief and was granted permission to lead a war party to rescue his brother. Many warriors volunteered to go with the war party. Even the young apprentice Medicine Man, Skylark, volunteered to go. For Coyote was well respected and loved among his people.
So righteous was Indian Boy's wrath and heated was his blood that the enemy fled in terror before him. The once proud enemy warriors cowered in fear of Indian Boy's war party and they fled before giving more than a token resistance. And so the war party was able to free Coyote from his enslavement without incurring a single scratch.
Yet, when the warriors finally laid eyes on their friend, Coyote, and they could finally see the extent of the abuse he had endured, they could feel nothing but pity. He was broken in body, spirit, and mind. As they circled around him, he would only smile and say that this was a good last dream, to see his friends once more, before he allowed death to take him to a better place. It was only when he saw his brother that Coyote was moved with any kind of spirit.
Coyote shot dark evil looks at his brother. "I guess the dream is not so good," he told the others. "For the traitor stands before me bold as a bear. Leave me, fiend, that I may die in peace, for I have no brother." And with that he turned away from them all and willed himself to die.
But young Skylark would not allow that. He took charge from the stunned Indian Boy. He directed the other warriors to build a travois and went about binding Coyote's wounds and straightening his limbs. When Skylark was done, he could see that his body and maybe even his mind would eventually mend, but all would be lost if Coyote wanted to die.
When they were ready to make the journey back to the village, Indian Boy refused to allow anyone else pull the travois. He alone would bear the burden of carrying his brother, along with his shame, sorrow, and guilt. It was a heavy load that Indian Boy carried so willingly.
Skylark spent the entire journey beside Coyote, coaxing and cajoling the warrior to continue this journey. He talked of Coyote's wife and young son. He talked of the young warriors needing training and of the old enemies that needed killing. He used every skill he had as a medicine man to renew Coyote's flagging spirit. And eventually, he succeeded in rekindling a tiny spark.
Coyote made it home to his wife and son. But to Coyote, his brother was dead.
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Years passed, Coyote and his family moved to a different village, far from Indian Boy and any chance sightings. And for Indian Boy that merely compounded his guilt.
His brother, whom he loved and respected above all others, could not stand to look him in the eyes. In fact, went out of his way to avoid acknowledging him in any way. When Coyote finally moved to another village, Indian Boy heard him remark to another warrior that the move was to escape Indian Boy's taint, that sometimes the urge to kill him was too strong to resist.
And so, Indian Boy bore his burden of guilt, for he believed that he deserved every bit of spite and hate his brother shared. Because he understood it. He hated himself for leaving his brother to that fate. He too could not forgive himself for that one mistake.
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But Coyote needed his brother more than ever. The hate and pain that he had cultivated to keep himself alive at the enemy village, was slowly poisoning him, twisting his gut until he had to kill something, anything to make it stop.
First, his wife grew more distant, and then his son. It seemed that he seldom talked to anyone about trivial matters, like making bread. And no longer was the sound of laughter heard so freely, if at all, from his lips.
When he moved his family, he thought that he would find peace away from the constant reminder that Indian Boy had provided. Instead he found that his darkness no longer had a target.
He led more and more war parties as times passed. Seldom leading a hunt. He even acquired a blood thirsty horse to aid in his battles. Until one day, he came home and found that his war mount had killed his son. It was on that day that the small spark of spirit, that Skylark had tried so hard to kindle, finally blew out all together. On that day, Coyote lost the battle with his darkness. Instead he allowed it to consume him.
Coyote left his wife all his possessions and walked out of the village on his last journey. No longer would he seek the company of people, for they brought only pain. No longer would he flee death, for his spirit was already as dead and his soul longed to follow.
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But the Spirits have a strange way of punishing and rewarding the strong ones. The heroes so often sung about. Coyote left seeking his death, but instead found his life.
His journey took several months, and is a tale in itself, but two important things happened on this journey. First, he found a pure spirit. A seer whose purity of spirit refused to let the darkness fester in his troubled soul. Whose bright light forced Coyote to look into himself and find truth.
Second, he found a new purpose. No longer was he an angry, bitter warrior. But now he was a leader and a protector. This purpose grew to fill up the void in Coyote's heart, it rekindled his spirit, and finally healed that part of him that was so broken by the loss of his son.
But the Spirits were not done with Indian Boy and Coyote yet.
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There finally came the day when the village where Coyote was living needed help. The news came to Indian Boy's village quickly. And while Indian Boy dreaded the reception his brother would give him, he could not turn away and do nothing. He would offer his help, even if Coyote killed him for it.
From the stories told, Coyote's village was under attack. So, Indian Boy brought a war party to the village to rescue the people. What he found instead was Coyote preparing to do battle against an old grizzly bear alone.
When Coyote first saw Indian Boy, after all those years, the old anger and pain rose up inside him. He fought and won for control of his anger. He had a new purpose now and he was no longer burdened with that darkness. Though he now realized that some of that darkness would always remain with him. For it had shaped who he was and helped to define his new purpose. No, he was not happy to see Indian Boy, but he was no longer ruled by the dark and could live with the pain of acknowledging him.
Indian Boy was glad that his brother appeared to be doing well, in spite of his continuing anger. He could see, in a sudden insight, that he had once again abandoned his brother when he needed him most. Guilt and remorse flowed through him as he realized how his brother had struggled to heal himself all alone. And Indian Boy resolved that no more would he allow Coyote to suffer for his lack. No matter how painful, he would not leave Coyote's side willingly again.
So, with great reluctance, the two brothers, reunited once more in a tentative alliance, moved to do battle with the old bruin harassing the village.
The brothers tracked the bear to a large cave. That was when they found out why the bear had been harassing the village. Someone had wounded it gravely. It was in pain and angry at the humans who had caused its pain. They would have no choice but to kill it. And a wounded bear did not die easy.
Together they threw together a plan to trap the bear under a huge net weighted down with rocks. Once the bear was caught, they would be able to approach close enough to finish it off. The net was easily made, but the two brothers argued over the bait. Each one wanting to take on all the risk. They finally decided that they both would play bait and maybe reduce the risk to each.
Just before the approached the cave, Indian Boy stopped Coyote. He quietly and humbly asked his brother for forgiveness for abandoning him all those years ago. But, Coyote was still angry at Indian Boy and at the time decided that he could not answer. Indian Boy accepted his answer and together they approached the cave with the bear.
By throwing rocks and sticks into the cave, the brothers enticed the bear to chase them. They ran swift and sure through the woods to the net. But the Spirits are a fickle group, and just as the brothers cut the net free, Indian Boy tripped and fell. The bear was hampered by the net but not so much that Indian Boy was out of reach.
Coyote panicked. He tried to grab is brother and pull him to safety, but the bear reached Indian Boy at the same time. Coyote struggled and pulled, stabbing at the bear's neck and paws but to no avail. It had Indian Boy and was determined that they would die together.
It was in that instant that Coyote realized how badly he wanted to forgive his brother. Only now with death running through the woods towards him, did his hatred cease to blind eyes, to see that he still loved his brother as much as always. That it was Coyote's hatred that had driven them apart. With this realization, his anger, fear, and grief left him speechless.
But as always his brother was the steady one. With his broken body slowly bleeding out next to the still form of the bear, Indian Boy smiled at his brother and said simply, "I forgive you." And there he died, happy, in his brother's arms at last.
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Jon had spun the tale for a good hour. His flight mates had become entranced by the tale. However, now that the story was finally over, they came alive once more.
"Wow, O'Neill, did you just make that up?" Jackson asked.
"Yeah, kinda, sorta. It is a completely original tale of sorrow and woe." Jon was still caught up in the emotions of the story. The re-telling of this old pain had left him drained physically and emotionally. He was not exactly firing on all cylinders right now.
He glanced at his watch hoping for escape and found salvation. "Oh, will you look at the time." He tapped on his watch-face a few times for emphasis, "we got just a few minutes till lights out. Okay, Campers, let's settle in for the night."
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END