Chris Wraight - Dead end

Teyla nodded in appreciation. She cast her gaze across the panoply of woven artifacts, admiring the consistent skill. As she did so, she noticed something strange, high up on the bare rock walls.

“What is that?” she said to Miruva, pointing at an ornate shape engraved on the surface.

The Forgotten looked at it casually. It looked like it had once been carved deep into the unyielding rock, but was now faint and indistinct. The shape was complex. It could have been an inscription, or maybe a diagram.

“I don’t know,” she said. “There are marks of this kind scattered throughout the settlement. I have always assumed they were placed there by the builders of this place.”

Teyla strained her eyes to see more clearly. “Maybe so,” she said. “But I have seen such marks elsewhere. On my home planet, there is a place where engravings are commonplace. Dr McKay has studied the technology of the Ancients, perhaps he will be able to decipher it.”

For some reason, as she spoke, a chill passed through her. The glyph had an unsettling aura. She turned her gaze from it. Something to raise with Aralen, perhaps.

Miruva smiled at the mention of Rodney. “Is that the angry man?” she said, suppressing a laugh. “He is very popular here amongst the young people. They are calling him the Greedy One. He finished twice the normal portion of stew in his first night here.”

“I am sure he will appreciate the gesture,” Teyla said, knowing full well he wouldn’t. “He is an interesting man. Despite his… foibles, he is steeped in the ways of the Ancestors. If any of us are able to decipher it, it is he.”

Miruva paused, and looked at Teyla with a searching expression. “You speak of the Ancestors as if they were far away, and yet as if you were intimately connected with them.”

Teyla felt a little uncomfortable. The fiction that Atlantis was destroyed would one day surely come out into the open. For now, however, the Wraith had still to discover their error. Until that day came, they all had to be careful.

“We have traveled widely,” said Teyla, choosing her words carefully. “The Ancestors left their mark in many places, and we have learned much of their ways. There are some of us capable of using their technology with the power of the mind alone. Colonel Sheppard is one such man. Even those without the gift can now be helped to understand the Ancestor’s technology. We are not the Ancestors, Miruva. But we are moving closer to understanding their secrets.”

Miruva looked thoughtful.

“To use the Ancestor’s machines using only your mind…” she murmured, clearly pondering the possibilities. “That would be marvelous indeed.”

The young woman lapsed into thoughtfulness. Teyla regarded her carefully. It was entirely possible that some of the Forgotten possessed the ATA gene. If there were any descendants of the Ancestors among them, then such a thing should have been possible. However, as the only Ancient artifact they knew about — the Stargate — had been lifeless for generations, they could have had no way of knowing.

“I will leave this here until the judging session,” said Miruva, looking carefully at the rival artworks. “Where would you like to go now?”

Teyla paused, taking in her surroundings, pondering what she wanted to know most about the Forgotten and their ways. As she thought, the sound of children laughing filtered down the maze of tunnels. It came from far off, but was as unmistakable as the sound of falling rain. It warmed her heart to hear it.

“Show me your young people,” she said to Miruva. “It has been too long since I heard laughter — our travels have been too full of danger and loss. It would be good to be reminded that there is still hope in the galaxy.”

They left the room. Above them, the symbol gazed down on the empty room, impassive and cold.

The White Buffalo were magnificent animals. They were entirely covered in thick fur which hung down from their flanks in straggling tresses. Their massive shoulders were easily twice the height of a man. Even draped in such thick layers of insulating fat, their powerful muscles were evident. As they galloped, huge plumes of ice and slush were thrown up behind them. The giant bulls had long, wickedly-curved horns, which they used to plough through the top layers of snow and throw waves of it over themselves.

As their hooves thundered against the terrain, Ronon felt the earth vibrate like a drum. The noise of their bellows was deafening. These indeed were worthy foes. As he ran to keep up with the herd, he realized just how brave Orand and his fellow hunters were to take on such beasts. Despite himself, he felt a sliver of fear. He would have to be at the very top of his game.

The herd numbered perhaps twenty animals. All of them were now lumbering through the ice fields, startled by the near-invisible hunters around them. There were calves among them, protected by a ring of the bulky adult animals. Most of the bulls were juveniles, but there was one truly huge creature at the head of the herd who must have been the patriarch. Every so often, it would issue a great bellow of rage. The noise was incredible.

“Stay close to me!” yelled Orand. “If we get charged, run as fast as you can! They move quick when they’re angry!”

Ronon nodded. It was as much as he could do to just keep up with the sprinting pack of hunters. Despite their heavy furs and the layers of snow they waded through, they seemed able to go on forever. They were now within a spear’s throw of the nearest animals. The pursuers had spread out around the lumbering herd. Their objective was to separate the animals from each other. Some of the giant creatures looked in better condition than others. Ronon guessed that the hunters would keep forcing them to run until one of the weaker or older animals fell behind. Then the killing would start. He just hoped it was the hunters who did it, and not the buffalo.

He looked up ahead. The featureless plains rolled into the distance. The ground had become more broken. They were heading for what looked like a low range of hills. The peaks were flat and snowbound, but at least they provided some break from the endless ice plains.

“Watch that one!” cried Orand.

One of the buffalo veered suddenly to the left. As if aware that he was the weak link, the vast creature headed straight for Ronon. Hooves thundered, and snow shook from the creature’s flanks. The gap between them narrowed frighteningly quickly. For a brief instant, the Satedan looked directly into its eyes. They were tiny and red with rage. Its huge shaggy flanks shook as it plowed heavily through the snow, throwing up torrents of ice. It was coming straight for him.

His legs feeling like lead, Ronon turned and ran. He powered clumsily through the snow, following Orand’s course as best he could. The buffalo bore down on him and Ronon could feel the spatters of snow as they were thrown against his back. Despite the cold, sweat pooled against his back. His heart hammered, and his lungs strained. This was too close.

Suddenly, there was an echoing cry of distress from the charging beast. Ronon risked a look over his shoulder. A spear had been thrown. The buffalo listed to its right, limping suddenly on its forelegs. The shaft of a jar’hram protruded from its shoulder. The spear must have been thrown with amazing force to penetrate the hide of the beast.

Ronon stumbled, trying to get his bearings. The rest of the herd was still close, but their formation had become confused. The wounded buffalo was separated from the others, but not by very much. Everything was still in motion. Hunters darted around the fringes of the herd. The animals themselves still lumbered onwards, desperate to escape the pack of predators in their midst.