Melissa Scott - The Inheritors

Death stood just inside the doorway, alone, but no less menacing for that, her long black hair caught up in combs of bone, her voice filled with fury and triumph. She had no eyes for anyone but Waterlight, and Teyla understood. Death had not seen Steelflower either. She had seen only a worshipper, a grunt at Waterlight's back, no more to be regarded than Bronze, stunned and forgotten on the floor.

“I am not a child,” Waterlight said. “And you will not kill me like one, craven and begging for my life.”

“So be it,” Death said. “Queen to queen.” She took a step forward, and though her hands did not rise, Teyla felt it like a physical blow, the force of her mind pressing, just as Coldamber's had in the drilling station beneath the sea. Inexorable. Heavy as weight, strong as gravity, pressing her down. Teyla had fallen beneath Coldamber's first onslaught, unexpected and relentless. She had only won later because Coldamber was befuddled with drugs. She knew she could not have stood against her.

But that was three years ago. That was before Guide's tutelage, before she had used her mind as she could, back when she still feared what she was. These things went through Teyla's mind in the moment that she saw Waterlight sway, the moment before Waterlight crumpled to the ground, a small, sad pale heap on the floor.

And Teyla Emmagan stood up. Her hip was bruised again and her leg shook beneath her, but there was the back of the seat to hand. "Look at me, Death," she said aloud.

Death raised her head from where Waterlight lay, no doubt seeing a human guard prepared to die to give her queen one more chance.

“Look at me again,” Teyla said softly, her mind like polished iron, like flowers wrought of steel.

“You will die as surely as your overlady,” Death said, but there was a flicker of uncertainty.

“I will not,” Teyla said. “This is not my day to die. It is yours. Unless you surrender and leave off this war.” An odd serenity gripped her. This was no different from a knife fight, no different from the bantos sticks, mind to mind, though anyone watching would have seen nothing of the maneuver and block, of the clash of one stick against the other.

“You….”

“I am Steelflower,” Teyla said. “And I will give you one more chance. Surrender and we shall make terms, you and I. Otherwise, I will kill you.”

“You cannot be!” Death said. “You aren't.”

“I am.” Block and parry and advance, though they stood still as statues. “The world is not what you think. I exist, part human and part Wraith. We are not so different. Now come. Let us put aside the past and look to the future together. Lay aside the burden of old wrongs.”

Pushing, so very strong, but with no discipline, no sorrow beneath it. For all her bravado, Death was very young. She was not so much older than Waterlight, and filled with anger untempered, ancient pains turned outward, every desire fanned as something that she deserved.

Teyla held, as a fighter holds her opponent at bay with both hands on the stick, holding off the pressure at arms' length, elbows locked. “Put it aside,” she said. “Whatever you have been told, whatever of the First Mothers you remember, whatever injustice you are heir to. Put it aside. You will destroy your people and all others too. What shall your blades and clevermen eat when you have made the galaxy a wasteland, killing that which you cannot consume? How shall the Returned survive when you have narrowed all bloodlines to your own? Do you not understand that you will doom your own people as well as all the other children of the Ancients?”

And there in Death's mind was the Old One — Ashes, Teyla realized with a shiver of recognition. His was the voice that whispered in Death's ear, his the promises of sweet revenge.

“Put him aside,” Teyla said, and still she held, defending but not striking. “Let it go, my sister.”

“I am not your sister!” Death said, and shoved with all her mental strength, crushing and dark as a wave, consuming all within its depths.

The surface of the water broke, and from it rose the white bird. Spray flew from its wings as they extended.

“You cannot defeat me,” Teyla said, and in that moment she knew it was true. The greater strength was hers, born of experience and life, of compassion and love, of all she had overcome to stand there. “But I can defeat you. And I shall if you will not yield.”

“I will never yield to you.” Attack again, all strength extended, a fire that rose to consume–

Quenched by mist. It cut off all light. It cut off breath, shutting down those parts of the brain that made her lungs work, holding synapses inactive though Death's body screamed to take a breath.

“Yield,” Teyla said, and she held. She held until the end, until Death died in the prison of her orthodoxy, until her eyes dimmed and she fell to the floor.

Teyla staggered, leaning forward over the seat and lowering herself shaking beside it. Her hands shook against the soft floor covering, and she sat amid the bodies. In a moment she would get up and see if Waterlight lived. In a moment.

There was a rattle of P90 fire somewhere far away, the sounds of footsteps, of minds, human and Wraith alike. A Wraith boarding party was there, nine strong, and with them three Marines and Captain Cadman. It was Guide's man Swiftripen who led them, the one who had so wanted to impress Steelflower. Teyla felt them check at the door, heard one blade go to one knee beside Bronze.

"This one lives," he said aloud.

Laura Cadman looked in, P90 at the ready, and Teyla moved.

Swiftripen came behind her, and then he saw Waterlight and Death. "What has happened here?"

Teyla did not pull herself to her feet. She was not certain she could yet, but her voice was strong. "Queen Waterlight met Queen Death," she said. "And Waterlight prevailed. Though I do not know if she has survived her victory."

Cadman's eyes widened, and Teyla shook her head a fraction. No. It must be as she had said.

Swiftripen hurried in, flinging himself to the floor beside Waterlight and turning her over gently. "She lives!" he said, his hand to her neck. "The young queen lives!"

"The other is dead," Teyla said. "Death is dead."

Cadman helped her to her feet, one arm about her waist. She smelled of cordite and improbably of oranges. "Are you okay?"

"I shall be," Teyla said. "I am only stunned."

"Okay," Cadman said. "Hang on." Her eyes went to Death where she lay on the floor. "What happened?"

"It is over," Teyla said. Her hip twinged as she put her weight on it, and so she leaned on Laura. "It is over."

“Queen Waterlight did it!” one of Guide's blades said wonderingly. “So young and so brave.”

“And so beautiful.” Swiftripen's thought followed.

They lifted Waterlight up and tenderly laid her on a couch, while another bent over Bronze. Yes, Teyla thought. This is how the legend begins. The brave young queen in her white dress met Death face to face, and hope killed death and the world began again. That is what happened once above the City of the Ancestors, long ago and far away.

She closed her eyes and leaned on Laura Cadman's shoulder.

Radek crouched on the jumper floor, staring at the injured Wraith. He wasn't dead, but that was about all Radek could say for him. Wraith were supposed to be able to regenerate almost anything, but this wasn't looking particularly good. If he were a human — Radek had had the usual first aid training, but nothing he could remember seemed likely to help, and opening the kit carried in every jumper didn't reveal anything that looked particularly useful. Ember opened his eyes then, the pupils contracted to narrow slits; he grimaced, hands scrabbling for a moment along the padding, but then relaxed.