“OK,” said McKay, failing to hide his doubt. “I’ll be back at the Jumper when you need me.”
The two men stalked off in different directions without saying anything else.
There was nothing else to say.
Artificial night had fallen in Sanctuary. Just as Geran had promised, the diffuse sunlight gradually faded into darkness, leaving a silvery sheen across the pastureland. The Forgotten retired to their dwelling places, seemingly content with their lot. There were friendly calls across the village before the fires were extinguished. The whole place descended into a comfortable silence.
Teyla found herself strangely reluctant to move from the porch of her own dwelling. After the privations of life on the surface, it was hard to shift her muscles into action and contemplate moving away from Sanctuary. She had no idea how much time has passed since she’d awoken, nor whether the daylight patterns in Sanctuary matched those of Khost. In any case, she wasn’t tired. She’d waited long enough. The time had come to get moving again.
Miruva had not come back. That was a disappointment. Teyla had hoped for more from her. Still, she couldn’t wait forever. Uncurling her legs from under her, she stood up and began to walk out of the village.
No one was about. Starlight — or what passed for starlight — lit her way. Less than a mile ahead of her loomed the gigantic cliff she had been escorted down by Geran. There were no lights on it, no sign of life. Only the black hole of the balcony, two-hundred feet up, marred the dark surface.
Again, a dim sense of foreboding welled up within her. She admonished herself — such fear was unworthy, just as it had been with the Banshees. Clearly the architects of Sanctuary knew how to manipulate minds as well as matter. She pushed her fears down within her and concentrated on the task at hand.
Leaving the village behind, she began to walk back towards the cliff. The Hall of Arrivals was the obvious place to start looking for a way out. The size of it and its perpetual darkness, meant that any number of portals could be hidden within. She began to plan her journey, trying to remember the route she’d taken from the chamber in which she’d first found herself.
“Traveler.”
The voice made her start, and she whirled round. Geran stood on the road. There were others behind him, cloaked as before.
“Geran,” said Teyla. “I did not expect to see you here.”
The man walked toward her. In the low light, his expression was hard to read.
“Nor I you,” he said. “It is not… usual for us to venture out after dark.”
Teyla kept her distance from him.
“Oh? Why not?”
“There are certain rules here. They are not onerous. Just designed to make sure that our peace is maintained.”
“And who created these… rules?” asked Teyla. Geran came closer, and she began to back up.
“Does that matter? You know the importance of rules. You’re a Forgotten, after all.” Then a smile spread across Geran’s face. It wasn’t pleasant. “You are a Forgotten, aren’t you?”
“I told you. I’m a traveler.”
“Where from?”
Teyla stopped backing away. There were many of them, perhaps ten. They spread out, encircling her. A lot to take on, but not impossible. “I do not see what concern that is of yours. You have been very hospitable to me, but now I must go. My friends will be searching for me.”
Geran shook his head. “I can’t allow that.”
“You have no power over me, Geran,” warned Teyla. “If I choose to leave, you cannot stop me.”
“We’ll see about that,” snapped Geran, motioning to his men. “Seize her.”
But Teyla had already started moving. One man stretched out his hands to grab her. She ducked under them, evading his grasp. Another went for her waist. She grabbed his arm, pulling it toward her, throwing him down to the ground. Taken off-guard and off-balance, the man thumped into the gravel hard.
The others tried to get a hand to her. Teyla weaved her way through them, aiming precise punches and kicks to disable without causing permanent injury. All she had to do was break free of them and make a run for the Hall of Arrivals. They wouldn’t follow her up there.
A man came up towards her, fists balled. His blows were clumsy, and she darted under his guard with ease. One jab to the ribcage was all it took and he too was lying in the dirt.
That gave her the opening she needed. Teyla sprang forward, running between the pursuing hands of two other men. She twisted free, bursting out from the group and scattering the Forgotten in her wake. She was out.
Almost. Something heavy hit her on the back of the head, and she staggered. Stars cascaded before her eyes, and she stumbled to the ground.
She tried to right herself, to maintain a defensive posture, but then she felt her arms clamped roughly behind her back. Someone pushed her to the ground and she felt the gravel against her own face.
“Keep her down.” Geran’s voice was angry. Teyla twisted her head round, and saw him walking toward her. He had a line of blood running from his lips. So she’d at least given him something to think about. “Tie her up,” he ordered his men. “We’ll bring her back to the village. There’s something about this one that needs further investigation.”
Teyla struggled against her captors, but there were just too many to shake off.
“You are making a mistake, Geran,” she said, the frustration leaking into her voice. “If there is any hope for your kind on Khost, you must let me go.”
Geran squatted down beside her, feeling his jawline gingerly.
“Oh no,” he said. “That’s not how it’s going to be. Don’t you remember what I said when you first arrived?” He did his best to smile. “Once you come here, you never leave.”
Chapter Thirteen
Sheppard stared at Aralen, trying to keep himself calm. It wasn’t easy.
“It’s no good,” said the old man, shaking his head. “Your friend Teyla is gone. There’s no point in searching.”
“Just one guide. C’mon, Aralen — that’s all I’m asking for.”
“You would be taking our guides into danger. And if the storms close on you, you will perish on the ice. It is madness. You are a madman.”
“Yeah, well I’ve been called a whole lot worse than that,” growled Sheppard. “But I don’t have a choice.”
Aralen was unresponsive. He seemed to have been traumatized by Miruva’s disappearance, and had a vacant look in his eyes. Though Sheppard could sympathize with his loss, time was short.
“Do you not think we’ve thought the same, many times?” the old man said. “We have lost so many people. We have never succeeded.”
“Look, you don’t have the gear I have,” said Sheppard, carefully keeping the frustration out of his voice. “I have a… magic box. It’s real good at finding people.”
The leader of the Forgotten looked back at him with mournful eyes. “You don’t even know where to start looking.”
That, Sheppard had to admit, was true. The only thing anyone had been able to tell him about the Banshee abductions was that they never left a trace of their victims behind. There were no trails, no marks, no clues. Just heading out on to the ice wasn’t much of a plan, but it was the best he’d been able to come up with.
“Not quite true,” Sheppard said, trying to make it sound as if he wasn’t just making it up on the spot. “I’m gonna head where Ronon and Orand went. I should be able to detect them, even if they’re holed up somewhere real inaccessible.”
Aralen started to say something, but then shook his head resignedly. He didn’t look like he had the energy for the argument.