The Warrior's Path

Authors: BadgerGater and Margo

Email: [email protected] and [email protected]

Category: Drama, Action/Adventure, sequel to the episode The Warrior

Summary: Some Jaffa are not fond of the Tau'ri, and of one human Colonel in particular

Pairing: None

Rating: PG-13 Jack's mouth

Season/Sequel: Five, episode the Warrior

Warnings: None

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, SciFiChannel, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Productions; all the powers that be, 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: Margo gave me this idea, and so, this fic is for her.....

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Katano was dead.

The Jaffa rebellion was leaderless, though Bra’tak and Teal’c were respected above all others.

After the attack on the rebel Jaffa’s planet, hundreds of them had escaped, going back to Earth with SG-1. The SGC, unprepared for the sudden arrival of large numbers of alien warriors, had dutifully managed to keep them on the base for three days before arrangements were made to send them back through the Stargate, to a new base on a new planet, unknown to the Goa’uld. Earth’s Alpha site stood ready for occupancy and could serve as the new home of the Jaffa rebellion.

“We’ll send food, supplies, blankets, tents, and whatever else you need to get started,” Hammond promised Bra’tak and the handful of warriors who had attended the meeting. The General didn’t mention weapons, he’d heard O’Neill’s report on how the Jaffa had regarded Earth weapons with disdain. Well, the supply shipment *would* include some MP-5s and plenty of ammo; he didn’t want to see the rebels left unable to defend themselves. Though the Jaffa might not want the Earth weapons, the simple truth was the SGC didn’t have a ready supply of Goa’uld staff weapons or zats to give to these allies.

Hammond had issued orders for all the SG teams to keep a sharp eye out toward procuring such ordnance, but it wasn’t going to be easy. Here and there, certainly, a few weapons would be found. But enough to arm the hundreds who had poured out of the gate from Katano’s camp? Not for a very long time, unless things changed drastically.

Hammond shook his head. Just the logistics of housing the refugees, then sending them on to another world had taxed the SGC’s resources, not to mention the devastation this caused to the program’s bottom line, which was already so far over budget he didn’t even want to think about it. Still, the rebel aliens were, if not a militarily important group of allies, at least a morale boost for the SGC, a rallying point for other Jaffa, and a worry for the Goa’uld.

Hammond was willing to take any help he could get for Earth, no matter how small.

Still lost in thought, the General left the meeting, walking through the hallway, pausing at some of the quarters which had been converted to house the Jaffa. As he walked through, he was greeted with respectful nods. Still, there was something in the eyes of some of those warriors that made him uncomfortable.

George Hammond hadn’t risen to the rank of two star General without developing a finely honed ability to judge the atmosphere in any group.

And there was something disquieting here.

His mind occupied with the myriad other details of commanding the SGC, he wrote off his unease as simply sensing the unhappiness of the aliens at being cooped up in this strange place, at the loss of their charismatic leader, and the uncertainty of their futures.

*****

Two days later, SG-1, Master Bra'tak and a large contingent of Jaffa went off-world. They were all optimistic that the Alpha Site would suit the rebel’s needs as a new homebase.

“This planet should provide a safe base, a place for your families to live in peace, for you to train and hone your fighting skills, and plan raids,” Teal’c had told the Jaffa. “The land appears fertile and there are abundant animals for food for those who wish to hunt. The Tau’ri have already provided many necessities for establishing a community here.”

The rebels had pleaded with Teal’c to join them, and were disappointed that he had refused. After all, he had been the one who challenged and defeated Katano, and in doing so, revealed Katano to be a Goa’uld, bent on destroying the Jaffa’s fledgling quest for freedom. Winning the kalnacshar challenge entitled the man from Chulak to take over leadership of Katano’s army. Teal’c, however, had explained to them that he had pledged his warrior skills to the Tau’ri, but he would help his people settle in to their new home and aid them in any way he could.

They tolerated the presence of the humans because they respected Teal’c and Bra’tak.

*****

SG-1 had been helping the Jaffa for three days now. As evening descended, SG-1 gathered around their campfire on the edge of the large alien encampment. O’Neill stared into the dancing flames, sipping the last of his coffee.

“We are nearly done, here, O’Neill,” Teal’c informed his team leader. “In one more day, I believe our work here will be completed and the Jaffa’s new home base will be well established.”

“Quite so, Teal’c,” O’Neill answered quietly.

The Jaffa raised an eyebrow, staring closely at the Tau’ri Colonel he was honored to call comrade, friend and brother. “You do not seem pleased, O’Neill.”

“That’s because I’m not pleased, Teal’c.”

“I see,” the alien warrior nodded his head. “And would you explain to me what it is that does not please you?”

O’Neill set his empty cup down beside the fire. “I don’t know, Teal’c. There’s just something…” he shifted uneasily.

"Perhaps you are uncomfortable among so many Jaffa..."

"That's true, but that’s not it, Teal'c."

“Perhaps it is something on this planet that places your molars on the brink…”

O’Neill contemplated the fractured phrase for a moment. “No, there’s nothing about the *planet* that sets my teeth on edge. It’s just this uncomfortable feeling I get when things are about to go south…”

“We are not planning on moving the camp, O’Neill, either north or south,” intoned Teal’c.

“That’s not…” O’Neill stopped, glancing over to catch the flicker of a smile on Teal’c’s face. The Jaffa teased subtly. Sure, at first, that was the kind of mistake the former First Prime would have made, but now Teal’c understood the references, and was pulling the Colonel’s leg, or as he would likely describe it, exerting force on one’s walking appendage.

“You know,” O’Neill waved a hand in the air, “just a feeling.”

“I do. But I do not perceive a problem here, O’Neill. The Jaffa will have a sturdy and easily defendable camp assembled within a mere few days. There is no reason for the Goa’uld to suspect this planet, among the many choices your people examined and discarded. This appears to be a good home for the rebellion to grow and prosper.”

“I know, Teal’c. But every time I walk through the camp, I get this feeling like people are watching me.”

“People are watching. The Jaffa have heard of the famous Tau’ri team known as SG-1, and their leader O’Neill. They are curious.”

“Well, curiosity killed the cat you know.” O’Neill picked up his cup once more. “And it feels like more than curious. I just get this itch, right between my shoulder blades, like someone’s about to use my back for target practice.”

“Be assured, we are among friends. The rebels are grateful that Katano was exposed as a fraud, and that the Tau’ri have provided them with this new place…”

“They are grateful to *you*, Teal’c, but I’m not so sure that they feel the same about the rest of us.” O’Neill was remembering Katano’s not so subtle gibes, about things like the Tau’ri weapons, and the humans’ need for sleep. Had his attitude rubbed off on some of the warriors and remained, even after the supposed Jaffa was found to be a snakehead?

“Or maybe it’s just you and your winning ways, Jack,” Daniel piped up from the spot where he sat at the back of their tent, scribbling notes in his journal by the light of a lantern. “Our ways threaten their traditions. It’s inevitable when cultures clash, that the more primitive will lose out to the more advanced. Oftentimes, there’s resentment from those who don’t want to change.”

“Ah, yeah. Well, change happens, Daniel. That’s inevitable, too.” O’Neill stood, stretching his legs. “Think I’ll take a quick walk around the camp before I turn in.”

“I shall accompany you,” Teal’c offered.

“No, I’ll only be a few minutes. Need to use the little boys’ room, you know?” the Colonel grinned. Picking up his P-90, a motion that did not go unnoticed by his teammates, O’Neill left SG-1’s campsite.

The Colonel walked to the latrines, relieved himself, and then strolled out beyond the lines of the camp, into the welcome darkness. It was quiet around the outpost, yet Jack had an odd feeling, as if he was being followed. Twice he circled back on his own route, but found nothing. Turning back toward the cluster of tents, he returned to his friends without incident.

-----

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The Warrior’s Path

Part 2

O’Neill and Teal’c spent the day coordinating defensive plans with the rebels, while Carter finished setting up the generator to supply the camp with power. Daniel, well, Jack wasn’t sure just what the archaeologist/linguist was doing. Interviewing Jaffa, trying to find out what planets they were from, what Goa’uld Lords they had served under, or maybe what their rituals were all about. Something like that.

It didn’t matter. They were all busy doing their jobs, thought O’Neill with a sigh as he helped a squad of Jaffa unpack some of the Earth made equipment. Everything was foreign to them, from flashlights and batteries, to weapons and ammo, to tents and MREs. The Jaffa had no frame of reference to understand how things worked, and had to be shown. Because the Goa’uld had kept them ignorant of basics like science, they had a tendency to believe technology was magic. O’Neill found the job more frustrating than working with green recruits. And conversation? Nothing to talk about, since none of the aliens knew about hockey, baseball, or curling. Sheesh. Jack was sooo ready to go home. Just one more day, and they could turn this job over to one of the follow-up teams.

-----

-----

The next morning, SG-1 gathered at the Stargate shortly after breakfast.

“All the equipment is set up and I’ve taught them the basics of operating it. The camp should be energy self-sufficient, Sir,” Carter explained as she gathered up her gear.

“I’m sure they’ll be fine,” O’Neill agreed.

“We could stay longer, Sir,” the blonde Major offered.

“No, Teal’c and I will have things wrapped up here by late afternoon. You and Daniel might as well head back now. It’s Thursday, I’ll bet they’ve got meatloaf on the menu in the cafeteria. I wouldn’t want you to miss that.” He smirked.

Carter grinned. “No, Sir. I’ll save you some for supper if you’d like.”

“I can live without it, Carter. But if they’ve got pumpkin pie…”

“I’ll check, Sir.”

Just then, Teal’c and a large group of Jaffa approached. “Well, looks like the posse’s gathering, so I’d better go. We’re off to check out a couple of vantage points as possible watch sites,” O’Neill pointed up the forested slopes of the hills that towered above the camp in the wide valley.

“Have fun, Sir.” Carter waved.

“Oh, I will, Major. You know how I love a good forest. Trees, trees, trees, the thrill of my life…” he muttered as he walked away to join the others. Behind him, he heard Carter’s laugh, and, a few moments later, the gate kawhooshed. He turned in time to watch Carter and Daniel disappear into the wormhole.

O’Neill shivered, a sudden chill rippling down his backbone. Looking back over the peaceful camp where the Jaffa were settling in, he shook his head. He was getting paranoid in his old age, Jack told himself.

Joining Teal’c and the Jaffa, Jack and the rebels set off into the forest toward the hills. They climbed for several hours, the Jaffa working their way easily up the steep slope. Twice they stopped to rest, and O’Neill had the distinct impression that at least one of the Jaffa looked at him with contempt. So, okay, the aliens had symbiotes that increased their strength and stamina well past that of even the fittest human. But they were carrying snakes around in their guts, for crying out loud. That was not the kind of trade he was ever willing to make just for a little extra muscle. Nope, not Jack O’Neill.

The group was nearly halfway up the slope when the Colonel’s radio crackled to life.

“O’Neill here,” he answered.

“This is Tre’shan, ColonelO’Neill, I am on guard at the Stargate. A message has been received through the gate, from Earth. Your General Hammond wishes to speak to you. He asks that you return immediately.”

“Damn it.” O’Neill turned toward Teal’c. “Guess that’s it, big guy. Sorry to break-up the party, but duty calls…”

Pra’tan, leader of the Jaffa scouting party, stepped forward and bowed to the Tau’ri. “We understand your need to return, O’Neill, but perhaps Teal’c could stay, and complete the reconnaissance with us? His company is most welcome by my people, and the rare opportunity to share his wisdom and knowledge is much cherished by our warriors. I will send others back with you.”

“No need,” O’Neill waved a hand at the Jaffa. “I’ll hike back on my own. I *do* know the way.”

“Da’tal will accompany you, Colonel O’Neill,” Pra’tan insisted, pointing to a tall, heavily built Jaffa. “You are our honored guest, and we would see you safely back to the gate. This is, after all, a new world to us, and no one knows what dangers may lurk here. We do not yet know that solitary travel is safe.”

Teal’c turned to his CO. “I shall return with you if you wish, O’Neill.”

Jack sighed. “No need to spoil your fun, Teal’c. Stay. Finish this, and I’ll see you later.” O’Neill turned reluctantly to Da’tal. “Right, then, let’s go.”

*********

O’Neill and the Jaffa walked steadily downhill for an hour. They were following a game trail through a thick stand of some unknown kind of prickly thorned bush. That was odd, thought O’Neill, he didn’t remember passing through here on the climb this morning. ‘Great spot for an ambush,’ O’Neill thought, his steps slowing. “So, Da’tal, am I losing my mind, or did we *not* come through here this morning?”

“We did not, O’Neill,” said the Jaffa. “We are taking a more direct route back.”

Jack stopped. The tone of voice was odd, off, was that a hint of anger he detected? “Da’tal...” O’Neill turned toward the alien… and stepped right into the punch.

A huge fist, covered in the heavy glove of the Jaffa, slammed solidly into O’Neill’s jaw.

Without a sound, the gray haired human crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

****************

Even as the Tau’ri fell, there was a rustling in the bushes, and the sounds of heavy footsteps approaching. Three more Jaffa emerged from their hiding place, smiling broadly. “You have him!” the first called out with satisfaction.

“Yes, Vic’nan.”

Vic’nan handed over the bindings he carried. Da’Tal turned back to where the human lay on the ground, now semi-conscious, moaning, rolling in an effort to push his knees underneath himself, one hand cradling his jaw.

Groggy brown eyes opened, blinking in confusion as O’Neill tried to understand what had just happened. “Wha…?”

A huge hand grabbed his arm, pulling hard, yanking it toward his back.

Even half aware, years of instinct and training took over. When someone hit you, you hit back and looked later. O’Neill spun, bringing his free arm around to jab toward his attacker’s throat, elbow swinging toward ribs. His hand hit the rigid metal armor, his whole arm going numb with the impact even as he raised a booted foot, swinging toward the vulnerable pouch. The kick didn’t have much power behind it, but it connected with enough strength to stagger the Jaffa. Dizzy, still confused, Jack stepped up, raising his arm to deliver a looping uppercut.

O’Neill’s punch never connected as the other two Jaffa jumped on him from behind. Rolling in the dirt, pinned beneath the weight of two large, experienced warriors, Jack’s struggles lasted only moments before his arms were secured tightly behind him. Rough hands dragged him off the ground, land and trees and sky spinning wildly, and then a rag was forced against his teeth. He turned his head away from the pressure, trying to hold his breath, but he could smell the chemical, something unfamiliar but bitter soaking the rag. O’Neill grimly held out as long as he could hold his breath, until his lungs were starving for air and blackness wavered in front of his eyes, and then he had to breathe.

He opened his mouth and sucked in a lungful of air. Bitter, acrid fumes burned his nose and throat, making his eyes water, his knees giving way even as he tried to form the words, to ask why, what and who the hell they thought they were. But his muscles had mutinied, and before he could utter his protest, he sagged into the Jaffa’s tight hold.

Unable to resist now, the rag was forced between his teeth. Something was pulled over his head, shutting out the light and muffling the sound. He felt more ropes go around his ankles, and more bindings around his knees as the drug blocked his efforts to struggle, leaving him helpless as his limbs slowly went numb. In his last moments of consciousness, O’Neill felt himself being hefted into the air and thrown roughly over someone’s shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

**********

He couldn’t breathe.

First, because something was shoved hard into his chest, making each movement of his lungs an effort. Second, there was something else clogging his mouth and covering his nose so that he had to force each intake of breath, sucking in air.

Don't panic, Jack. Breathe. Breathe. In. Out. It's okay. You're getting air. Just don't waste any on panic.

He was woozy, dizzy, his muscles mush, his body sluggish, his mind clogged with a gray haze.

"He is waking up," said a muffled voice he didn't recognize.

Damn right he was, he thought, wiggling, trying to kick.

Suddenly, he was swooping dizzily through the air. Just as it occurred to him to be worried about what the hell was happening, he stopped with a sickening crash, landing on something hard, his head bouncing.

Oh, he knew that feeling, a rock, under his hip. He'd just been thrown to the ground. Hard. And there were more voices, talking above him, in a language he didn't understand.

Shit. His memory returned with a rush as his head cleared slightly. Jaffa, the Jaffa had turned on him. Who the hell were they? Were they phonies, like Katano? What did they want with him? What were they going to do? He could think of more than a few things, none of them pleasant, but they hadn't killed him outright, so that must mean something.

Though not necessarily something good.

His heart thudded sickeningly when he realized they were speaking in Goa'uld. No, he didn't understand the words, but he'd heard the language often enough over the past five years to recognize the gutteral tones. Tones. God damn. Were those Goa'uld tones? He strained to hear past the whatever it was tied around his head, but he couldn't make out the echoing tones of a snakehead. That was something, it was, in fact, the only thing positive he'd figured out so far.

More talk, then the sensation of someone coming close, and then something wet was poured on the cloth that covered his face and filled his mouth, the now too familiar bitter, acrid smell of more of the drug, and though he fought it, the blackness won, and consumed him once more.

***********

The Warrior’s Path

Part 3

O’Neill was awakened by more rumbling, unclear talk in the language of the Goa'uld. He wasn't moving anymore. Once again, he was lying uncomfortably on the ground.

More familiar sounds, noises that froze his heart in his chest. O'Neill recognized the sound, unmistakable even through the muffling cloth: the dialing of the DHD and then the kawoosh of the Stargate forming a wormhole.

Oh crap.

The renegade Jaffa who had taken him... were they delivering him to the Goa'uld? He knew there were wanted posters out for SG-1, knew the System Lords would reward anyone who brought in a member of the Tau'ri’s most famous team.

Helplessly, he was again picked up and carried; up three steps, four strides on the level, and then the disorientation and intense cold of the wormhole hit him.

The cold ended. He felt the Jaffa carrying him begin moving faster, running, down three steps and, obviously, away from the gate.

What the hell did that mean?

Hope.

It certainly meant they hadn't gated to a ship, or to some planet where they were expected, or where they expected to be welcomed.

Each stride jolted him, the Jaffa’s shoulder digging roughly into his chest, and once again he needed to concentrate on breathing.

Long minutes later, the running ended, but not the movement. Their pace was a swift walk, O'Neill judged as he struggled to assess the situation. Right, he couldn't see, and he couldn't hear well, but there *were* clues. The planet was warm, so this was no ice world, and it wasn't the blazing heat of an Abydos, either. He couldn't taste the air through the remnants of the drug on the cloth in his mouth, but the gravity felt something like Earth normal.

Not much help. It could be any one of hundreds of planets SG teams had visited. Or not.

**********

They kept traveling. O’Neill was switched from one carrier to another, but his captors continued moving at a steady, ground covering pace. The ground wasn't flat, and there were trees. He could smell the pines once in a while. Great. Another useless clue to where they were. At least half the planets in the galaxy had trees, and usually pine trees.

Finally, they stopped. Once more he was tossed unceremoniously to the ground, the gag swallowing his grunt of pain as his arms and side bore the brunt of his landing this time.

Bastards.

More talk, then one set of footsteps left, a Jaffa going to scout ahead? Sounded likely. Once the footsteps faded away, the other sounds became more audible, albeit subtle. After a couple of minutes, Jack realized his captors were eating and drinking. The idea of food held no appeal for him, he still felt nauseous from the chemical he’d inhaled, but God, he was thirsty, the drugs and the rag drying out his mouth, his throat raw from the continuing effort to draw each breath.

No one offered him anything.

The minutes passed slowly.

*********

O’Neill could only guess at the time, but he figured maybe half an hour passed before the Jaffa returned. Jack recognized Da'tal's voice questioning the returnee, then more rumbling voices. Dragged upright this time, O’Neill felt a rough hand on each arm steadying him on his own feet. He felt the slight tug as the ropes holding his ankles and his knees were untied, and sensed the presence of someone very, very close to his face.

"From here, you walk, Tau'ri," Da'tal snarled contemptuously.

Before the words were done, Jack snapped his head forward, hoping to make contact with the Jaffa's face. His forehead hit something, O'Neill felt the satisfying solid smack of his skull against tissue and the Jaffa's sputtering angry, unintelligible words.

The hands once again grabbed his arms, holding him tightly. The Colonel knew retribution was coming, but sightless, he couldn't anticipate or try to protect himself from the blow.

The punch landed in his unprotected stomach, just above the belt, driving the air from his lungs, the hands letting go so he could collapse back to the ground. Sitting down hard, instinctively drawing his knees up toward his chest, anticipating a second blow, he waited for more.

It didn't come.

Fighting for breath, lungs wheezing, Jack dragged air in through his nose, past the heavy cloth covering his face.

They gave him a minute to regain something close to normal breathing before pulling him to his feet and shoving him forward.

Still blindfolded, O'Neill took tiny, tentative steps, trying to feel for his footing.

A hand yanked on his arm. Words were growled at him in Goa'uld, then repeated angrily in English. "Move, Tau’ri! Walk, or we shall drag you."

'Go to hell,' he railed silently, vowing that he would send each one of them there personally.

The pull on his arm tugged him inexorably forward, stumbling.

*****

The air had begun to cool and, coupled with the fact Jack could no longer feel the strong warmth of the sun against the cloth covering his face, he guessed it was evening. They pushed on and finally stopped. Hands forced him to the ground, someone once again tightly tying his ankles.

O’Neill heard the crackle of flames and felt the warmth of a fire started nearby.

For a long time, he lay quiet, listening to the sounds of the Jaffa, and then the silence as they rested. Of course, since they didn't bear the shame of needing hours of sleep, they weren't sleeping. Even at that, once the night went still, O'Neill shifted subtly, testing his bonds gently, then more forcefully, checking for any give, his long fingers searching for the knots.

Just as his fingers found the elusive items, there was a noise behind him. He hunched his shoulders, able to do nothing else to protect himself, but the blow, the flat end of a staff weapon he was sure, cracked solidly against his fingers.

"Lie still," hissed one of his kidnappers.

Realizing there was nothing he could do at the moment, he let his exhaustion claim him, and O’Neill allowed himself to sleep. He needed the rest. Tommorrow, he’d find a way to escape.

------

Teal'c and the Jaffa scouting party returned to the rebel’s camp late in the evening. Gathering the last of his gear from the tent SG-1 had occupied, he bid farewell to Bra’tak and the rebel leaders, and strode into the gate.

"Offworld activation," rang out the voice of Sgt. Walter Davis, deep underground in the SGC compound. As General Hammond trotted down the stairs and hurried into the control room, the technician answered the unasked question. "It's SG-1's code, Sir."

"Open the iris then, Sergeant. This should be Teal'c and Colonel O'Neill returning."

The iris opened, the gateroom staff and the Security Forces personnel staring expectantly at the shimmering pool of blue. After several moments, Teal'c stepped through onto the ramp, his normal bemused expression calmly taking in the room. He nodded at General Hammond, looking down from the window of the control room.

Just then, the gate crackled and disconnected.

Hammond's expression flashed from calm greeting to instant worry. "Teal'c, where's Colonel O'Neill?" he asked. Maybe the Colonel had stayed behind, but George knew the irascible SG-1 team leader too well to assume he'd be happy remaining alone with hundreds of Jaffa.

"He returned home earlier today in answer to your summons, General Hammond, did he not?" Teal'c answered, his sudden concern showing as he raised one eyebrow questioningly.

"He what?" snapped Hammond.

"He departed many hours ago, at your request," Teal'c added, his concern growing.

"What request?"

"O'Neill and I were assisting the rebels in reconnoitering the hills, establishing watch posts to defend the camp. A message was relayed to us via radio, that you had requested O'Neill’s return. He declined my request to accompany him, and departed, accompanied by one of the Jaffa."

"I didn't recall the Colonel. And he has not returned." Hammond looked around to where Daniel Jackson and Major Carter had just entered the control room. "In the briefing room, SG-1. Now."

***********

Once the group was seated around the table of the briefing room, Teal’c repeated his report. "General Hammond, I must return and ascertain what has happened to O'Neill."

"In a few minutes, Teal'c. I'm assembling a Search & Rescue team as we speak. What happened?"

"Nothing seemed amiss when he departed, or when I arrived back at the camp."

"When you returned to the camp, did you see the Jaffa he left with?"

"I did not. But there are now many warriors residing there. I was not alarmed."

"So where's Jack, then?" Daniel asked, frowning in worry. "He wouldn't have gone off on his own. Are you sure there wasn't any trouble?"

"None, DanielJackson. The camp was quiet. The guards were still at the gate." Teal'c rose, and bowed to the General. "I must return at once, and speak to Master Bra'tak. Perhaps he has an answer. It is possible that there was a further message that was not relayed to me."

Carter was staring at the table. "Sir, Colonel O'Neill was worried, the other night. He said he thought he'd been followed."

"What? By whom?" Hammond questioned.

"He didn't know, Sir. He said he didn't see anyone, just that he had a feeling." Carter ran a hand through her hair, and looked over at the SGC leader. "General, while overall we had a positive reception among the rebels, there were some who resented the Colonel's attitude, back at Katano’s camp."

"His attitude?"

"The fact that we aren't Jaffa, and well, the Colonel wasn't very diplomatic..."

Despite the gravity of the situation, Hammond snorted. "That's no surprise."

“There were Jaffa present there who have opposed us in battle when they served the Goa’uld,” noted Teal’c.

Carter nodded. "And Sir, when we demonstrated our weapons, there were things said. Katano didn’t trust us. And a lot of the Jaffa followed his lead.”

“Katano is dead,” Teal’c stated. “Dishonored, and exposed as a fraud.”

“Yes, I know,” Carter added.

Daniel spoke up quietly. “A lot of the Jaffa didn’t trust us."

"No one would harm O'Neill. It would be against the Jaffa code of honor," Teal'c insisted. "I will return and discover what has occurred. I am sure there is a logical explanation."

"Okay, Teal'c..." Hammond agreed.

"And I will go alone..."

"Is that wise?" the General asked.

"What about us?" Daniel interjected.

"Sir, please..." Carter started, staring wide eyed at the General.

"I believe that there will be less commotion if I return alone. A heavily armed party will be noticed and cause talk. I do not believe we wish to bring so much attention to the situation at present."

Hammond nodded. "All right. You have a go. Keep in touch. I'll send through another shipment of supplies in six hours, and we'll talk then, at 0800."

Teal'c turned to leave.

"Find the Colonel, Teal'c." Hammond ordered.

The alien nodded, and hurried back toward the gateroom.
---------------

The Warrior’s Path

Part 4

O'Neill had no idea how long he'd slept. It didn't seem like long; he was still bone weary, and stiff now to boot after long hours bound uncomfortably hand and foot.

His thirst had grown from an easily ignored annoyance to downright painful. The gag, tied tightly, held his already sore jaw in an achingly rigid position, unable to completely close his mouth to hold in what little moisture he could. His mouth was dust dry. His hands felt numb, and he wondered what damage might have been caused by the long hours he'd been tied, with the blood flow restricted.

He could smell the food the Jaffa were cooking for themselves for breakfast, and his mouth would have watered if he'd had any saliva left. His empty stomach growled.

The day proceeded just as the previous one had ended. No one offered him any food or water, and then he was dragged to his feet, a hand on his arm guiding him forward as he stumbled blindly along between his captors, hour after endless hour.

The sun was getting hotter. He changed his mind. This planet *was* hot, maybe not Abydos hot, but too damn hot for a man now gone a full day without water. They were climbing, too, the slight incline of the well trod trail they traveled adding to his difficulty.

Jack trudged on, occupying his mind by trying to judge directions and distance by the feel of the sun against his face.

Just when he'd thought the trip would go on forever, it ended.

Once again a hand latched onto his arm, and he was pushed to the ground. At first O'Neill thought it was only another rest break. He refused to call them lunch breaks, since he'd still been given nothing to eat or drink. However, the sounds of camp being made were unmistakable, although the sun was definitely still high overhead, which meant it was only around midday.

Finally, then, his hands were untied from behind his back. The gag stifled the pain-filled gasp he couldn't stop as his arms were wrenched forward, forcing him to his feet as his hands were pulled high above his head and tied there instead. Cramped muscles in his arms and shoulders vociferously protested the sudden change of position.

Shit. From one uncomfortable pose to another, he thought angrily.

Hands fumbled around the blindfold, and the heavy cloth was pulled away from his face at last. The light was stunningly bright, and Jack squinted against the painful glow. When his eyes finally stopped watering, he turned to glare at Da'tal.

The Jaffa wore a grin of triumph. "Welcome, O'Neill, to your Jaffa training."

Oh shit.

-------------

Teal'c arrived at the Jaffa rebel camp. Two guards stood at the base of the Stargate.

"Master Teal'c, we did not expect your return so soon," said one.

The other stood silently, not meeting Teal'c's gaze.

The alien member of SG-1 nodded. "I must see Master Bra'tak. At once."

The first Jaffa saluted. "I will have Ma'gro escort you to him."

"Come then," said Teal'c, not waiting.

Arriving quickly at Bra'tak's tent, Teal'c paused and called, "Master Bra’tak..."

The door flap opened quickly. "Teal'c? I did not expect you to return."

Teal’c lowered his voice. "I did not plan to, Master. We need to speak in private."

The two Jaffa ducked into the tent.

Bra’tak’s gaze studied his students’ face. "What is wrong, Teal’c? The worry is plain on your face."

"Have you seen O'Neill?"

"O'Neill? Did he not go into the hills with you earlier today?"

"He did. He was summoned back to the gate by a message from General Hammond. When I returned to Earth this evening, I discovered Hammond had sent no such message, neither had any of the Tau'ri. O'Neill is not there."

"But who could have...?"

"Master, I fear our rebellion may have been infiltrated."

"I do not believe so."

"We did not believe so about Katano, either, master."

Bra'tak dropped his gaze, shaking his head unhappily. "Yes, we were all taken in. Are there others, then? Jaffa still loyal to their old masters, who are here as spies? Saboteurs?"

"Or perhaps there are some that may bear old grudges?" Teal'c remembered telling O'Neill that there were Jaffa in the rebellion who had previously faced SG-1 in battle.

Bra'tak shook his head. "You said O'Neill returned here. Who was with him?"

"A Jaffa named Da'tal."

Bra'tak shook his head. "I do not know him. I will make discrete inquiries among the others and find out if he has returned."

"As will I."

----------------

Over the hours, the ache had built steadily in O’Neill’s knees. Sometime during the night, his calf and thigh muscles had begun cramping from the strain. His shoulders and arms had long ago gone as numb as his hands. Jack dozed, knees locked in an attempt to stay upright, wavering until they could no longer hold him in place. Then his body would sag until his full weight rested on his arms, chafing the already raw and bloodied wrists, pulling on his throbbing shoulders until he could once more force his weary legs to hold him up.

The cold air made it worse, his body using precious energy to shiver in an attempt to warm itself against the chill night.

The darkness seemed endless, but at last the Colonel saw the pale glow of sunrise begin to grow in the east.

Dawn at last, though God only knew if daylight would bring anything better.

Around O’Neill, the Jaffa stirred, having completed their kel'noreem. Once again the captive was forced to watch them eat and drink while he was offered nothing. Occasionally, a head would turn to look over at him as unknown words were exchanged.

Jack didn't like the serious looks on their faces. The gloating ones worried him even more.

Something was about to happen, and it didn't take a genius to know whatever it was, was not going to be fun for the human.

The Jaffa had collected a large pile of wood the night before, and as the sun rose above the horizon, the aliens began chanting, each adding a large branch to the fire. The flames leaped, and even from the distance, Jack could feel the heat.

Oh, God, they weren't going to burn him at the stake or something....

His heart hammered as Da'Tal held aloft a huge knife, and plunged it into the flames. When he pulled it back, the metal was red hot. The rebel warrior held the knife in front of him, speaking words that sounded like prayers, and then he walked toward O'Neill.

Jack braced himself for the feel of hot steel buried in his flesh. Gathering his strength, the Air Force Colonel forced his wobbling legs to hold him up, and locked his gaze on Da'Tal's.

The Jaffa smiled.

Jack went cold.

He felt the heat radiating from the heated blade as it was waved in front of his face, and then it flashed forward.

O'Neill expected pain, but not this.

The hot knife parted the bonds holding his arms aloft, slicing through the tough rope as if it was butter. Jack’s limbs fell forward like dead weights, pulling O'Neill down to collapse in a heap on the ground. On his knees now, his leaden arms on the ground in front of him, head down, he fought to hold back the sob of relief. Within moments his arms began to tingle, then to burn agonizingly as the blood raced into them. Jack slid to the ground, face buried against his sleeve to muffle the whimper as pain flowed in waves as feeling returned to his once numb hands.

As he lay there, Da’tal returned, and once more the knife flashed, and he felt the heat against his cheek as the cloth gag was cut away.

He spit out the gag, retching, gasping for air as his eyes searched for a weapon, an escape, water.

What he found was a pair of Jaffa, one on each side of him, grasping his arms and pulling him to his knees, forcing him to look up at Da'Tal.

"Have you no words of Tau'ri superiority now, O'Neill?" the Jaffa inquired.

"Go to hell," Jack croaked, every word a raw, painful sound.

"Hell is reserved for those who defy the traditions of the Jaffa. It is your destination, Tau'ri, but only after you have learned your lessons, and learned them well."

"Bite me."

Da'Tal stared, uncomprehending of the phrase. "We will do many things to you, O'Neill. This is the rite of Foreesh Pral Na'Tak, or the purification of the unrighteous. It is the test of a warrior's strength, endurance and purity of heart."

"I don't..." O'Neill started to answer, but his dry throat closed up on him and he began to cough harshly.

"Have you nothing to say, O'Neill?" Da'Tal motioned to a man behind him, who handed him a gourd filled with water. He stepped forward, and poured the precious fluid over O'Neill's head.

Desperately, Jack licked at the drops coursing down his face.

"Ah, yes, you wish more water? I can tell. You don't need to say the words. It is obvious. Water. Yes. We will start with water, the first of the sacred steps." Da'Tal turned to his followers again. "Bring him."

O'Neill was pulled to his feet and half dragged, half carried away from the camp, down the hill, and forced once more to his knees, facing a large, deep pond. The water looked incredibly cool and inviting, a deep, rich blue.

Jack licked dry lips, and contemplated making a break for the shore. If he threw himself into the water, he'd be able to drink some before they could haul him out.

Then, of course, he didn't know what was in the water. Hell, he didn't know what planet he was on. The water could be poisonous, it could be acid; it could be full of sea monsters, or shit, it could be teeming with Goa'uld larvae, like back on the Unas' planet.

Was this the Unas’ planet? He looked around quickly, realizing he had no way to know.

Crap.

The water suddenly didn't look so inviting, despite his raging thirst.

And then he no longer had a choice. Da'Tal was back with his knife. Cutting away O'Neill's clothes until the Colonel was wearing nothing but his birthday suit, his socks and boots were also jerked from his feet. A long, narrow cloth was wound around his waist and knotted at his hip.

"Swimsuit, huh?" he smirked.

"Of a sort," Da'Tal answered, still looking like the cat who'd swallowed the canary. He and two others of the Jaffa also stripped down to their undergarments which resembled what had been put on O'Neill, while the fourth held the Colonel.

A strong vine was knotted around O'Neill's wrists, leaving about a foot of slack between his hands. Well, he could swim like that, if he had to, he thought worriedly. At least, until his muscles started to cramp, which wouldn’t take long, as dehydrated and exhausted as he was.

However, it quickly became evident that swimming wasn't what the Jaffa had in mind.

The three aliens picked up the Colonel and carried him into the water.

“You know, I’ve been baptized before,” O’Neill growled as the icy cold liquid lapped against his exhausted body. Within seconds, he began shivering violently.

Da'Tal turned back to the Tau'ri. "The waters of Ja'haleesh. It cleanses the body and also, they say, clears the mind..."

Strong hands locked around O'Neill's arms, and then Da'tal placed his hands on the Tau'ri's shoulders and pushed him under.

---------------

The Warrior’s Path

Part 5

Jack had anticipated the move. He'd been breathing deeply, trying to saturate his tissues with oxygen to increase the time he could go without air. He was an experienced diver, familiar with and comfortable in the water, but he wasn't sure how long he could hold his breath under these conditions.

He sucked in a lungful of air in the final seconds before his head was forced underwater.

Seconds passed, and became minutes. His lungs began to burn, and involuntarily, his body began to fight, thrashing in the water, desperately battling as Jack realized he was running out of air. He couldn't hold out much longer. Adrenaline fueled his exhausted muscles, and he twisted and turned and broke free.

Gasping as his head cleared the water, he dragged air into his lungs, pushing back the lingering curtain of gray. Black dots danced before his eyes as he shivered, treading water.

Da'tal reached forward and forced the gray haired head under once again.

This time, O'Neill hadn't been able to prepare himself, hadn't had a chance to refill his empty lungs, to get enough air for the moment, much less get ready for another dunking. He was still sputtering, fighting for air when Da'tal's large hands pushed him under once again.

Kicking, writhing, throwing his head from side to side, fear hammered through him as his chest went airless and tight. He felt blackness creeping around the edge of his vision, his ears roaring, his lungs burning.

Da'Tal let go.

O'Neill once again popped up out of the water, swallowing mouthfuls of the cold, clear liquid as his head emerged from the pond, coughing, choking, shaking his head, gulping in mouthfuls of air.

The Jaffa were chanting again, or maybe it was just the ringing in his ears. The hands were reaching once more for his shoulders. O'Neill kicked, spun away, tried to evade the grip, but outnumbered by the three of them, he was again overpowered.

Forced under for the third time, the Tau'ri struggled as the three aliens held him down. Lungs bursting, heart racing, he bucked, kicked, shuddered as the wall of darkness raced toward him. Just as it was about to overwhelm him, he was pulled upright into the air once more.

Drawing huge, gasping breaths, O’Neill forced his raging heart to calm, exhaustion claiming him as the adrenaline surge evaporated. Dragged from the water, propped up once more on his knees on the rocky shore, Jack sat shivering, trying to calm his ragged breathing, coughing.

Da'Tal stepped in front of him, lifting the Tau'ri's chin with his hand. Despite the human's pain and exhaustion, the man glared defiantly at his captor. "You have survived the first level, the water cleansing, quite honestly more than I'd expected of such a puny and weak Tau'ri. Next, the penitent must show his obedience..."

"Obedience just isn't my thing," O'Neill mumbled. "Just ask Hamm..."

"Silence! The cleansing by the cold of the water is followed by the cleansing of the heat of the air."

Heat sounded good, O’Neill thought as shudders wracked his lean frame.

He should have known better.

-----------------

Teal'c was pacing in front of Bra'tak's tent when the old warrior returned. "What have you learned?"

"I am afraid the news is not good, Teal’c. The warrior Da'Tal has not returned. Several of those I spoke with have heard him speaking of his dislike of the Tau’ri in general and his hatred for O'Neill in particular. It seems Da'Tal’s father was killed in a skirmish with SG-1, many months ago. Da'Tal has blamed O'Neill for his father’s death, and has talked often of revenge. His beliefs have become radical, and he was a fanatical follower of Katano. Since Katano died, he preaches the need to return to the old rituals to purify the Jaffa race. Several other young warriors have been seen speaking with him, discussing the revival of some of our oldest, and harshest, traditions. These other warriors have also gone missing, including one who was assigned to watch the gate."

"They have taken O'Neill? For revenge?"

"I suspect so. And that is not all, my friend. They were overheard speaking of the old ways, including the three steps of the Foreesh Pral Na'Tak, or the purification of the unrighteous."

Teal'c's face went still. "The three steps? Water, Stone and Blood?"

"Yes. The ritual has not been performed for many years, not since long before I was born."

"Do they know the rites?"

"Yes, and that is our only hope to rescue O'Neill."

Teal'c raised an eyebrow in question.

"If they are following the ancient rituals, then they believe they must perform each rite in its appointed place. They will need to go to the sacred waters of Ja’ haleesh, the rock of Fee’lar and the dunes of Charlon before finding the temple."

"Fee’lar and Charlon, those are names I have heard. But..."

"Yes, they are on Chulak."

"Chulak?"

"I believe that is where they have taken O'Neill. We must go, now, and hurry. He does not have much time."

------------

He was allowed to pull his tattered trousers back on over the loincloth they’d given him, but that was it… no shirt, no jacket, no socks, no boots. Thankfully, they didn’t gag or blindfold him again, at least not for the moment. Be grateful for small things, O’Neill reminded himself, though some food and a towel would have been nice.

Once more, the Jaffa forced O’Neill to walk, the sharp rocks of the shoreline painful on his unshod feet. It was a long hike around the lake, and soon a miserable one as his lacerated feet began to bleed, each hobbling step more painful than the last.

After another hour, so O’Neill gauged the time, they stopped. They were at the far end of the valley now, having followed the shore of the waterway as the small lake opened into an even bigger body of water. They’d walked around the still water and then out onto a rocky promontory that stuck out from the shore. Huge, housesized boulders seemed arranged like stairsteps for giants.

The Jaffa began climbing.

O’Neill decided enough was enough.

He stopped.

A shove propelled him forward. “Climb,” he was ordered.

Turning to face the Jaffa, Jack stood firm. “Ah, no. No climbing. No.”

It was one of the others this time, the one he’d heard called Sar’pec, who hit him, a cuff alongside his temple that drove Jack to his knees, not that it took much to knock him down, as exhausted as he was. He used the opportunity to stay down and rest, even if it was only moments before Da’tal was there.

“What is the delay? We must reach the plateau before the sun has reached it’s zenith,” the rebel leader asked angrily.

“He is refusing to walk further,” said Sar’pec.

“Damn right,” O’Neill hissed.

“Ah, too much for you? The Tau’ri cannot keep pace with us?”

O’Neill let his anger flare. “Well I don’t see you walking barefoot, half naked and with nothing to eat for two days, much less having just been half drowned,” he snarled. “Try it yoursel…”

Da’Tal’s hand grabbed O’Neill by the hair, jerking the man’s head back. “Faithless, Tau’ri, you would criticize what you do not know. The ancient test of the warrior calls on every Jaffa to endure hardship a hundred times this." The Jaffa pushed the human away. “Weak and puny…”

“Yeah. Right. And how tough would you be without your ugly little baby snake, huh?”

Da’Tal was back, snarling, his face only inches from O’Neill’s. “We are Jaffa, strong and pure. We follow the ancient traditions of our people.”

“You follow the ancient traditions of false gods who are nothing but snaky parasites ordering you around like common slav….”

Da’Tal’s face turned red with fury. His fist cracked against the side of the Colonel’s skull, turning everything black.

**********

Jack was being carried again, he realized, as awareness returned slowly. His head ached now like his knees, his feet, his legs, his jaw, just about every part of him. The swaying motion continued, until suddenly the Jaffa stopped and flipped him toward the ground. O’Neill twisted as he fell, catching himself gracelessly, landing hard on his hip. The shock of the landing on hard stone with bruising force momentarily numbed his leg from thigh to toes before it, too, began to throb painfully.

Crap.

He lay on the ground, eyes closed, gathering his strength for whatever was to come next.

The human didn’t have long to wait. Within moments, rough hands were pulling on his bond arms, hauling him upright, marching Jack forward across the rock to the edge of a cliff that dropped several hundred feet down into the water.

“Eh, I’ve already gone swimming today and I’m not much into diving,” he snapped. “Unless you all decide to take a bath. You could all use with one, you know. Too bad Jaffa tradition doesn’t include soap and deodorant.”

Da’tal ignored the jibe. “Diving would not be wise, O’Neill. There are flesh eating creatures in the deep water here, hungry enough even to devour such a poor meal as a scrawny Tau’ri.”

“I’m not scrawny, just lean,” Jack answered.

Da’Tal laughed. “It does not matter.” He nodded at the Jaffa, who pushed the Colonel forward to the peak of the rock face where ancient, rusted, thick chains were fastened into large rings imbedded in the huge stone. Jack was forced to kneel in a small depression on the rounded top of the rock, his arms pulled to the sides and down, chained tightly in place, unable to move legs, hands or feet. “The power of the sun will give you your vision.”

“I could see it better if I had my sunglasses,” he suggested.

Da’Tal smiled, and signaling to the others, they walked away.

Jack pulled ineffectually on the restraints, succeeding only in tearing open the lightly scabbed over raw flesh on his wrists. The chain looked ancient, but the thick links were still sturdy; the large rings still firmly seated into the stone.

Within minutes, held rigidly in the uncomfortable kneeling position, O’Neill’s thighs began to cramp, and his knees burned painfully.

-------------------

The Warrior’s Path

Part 6

Hours passed. Sweat poured down O’Neill’s face as the sun rose higher, it’s intensity magnified by glaring off the rocks and the water which surrounded him. There was no breeze to cool him, only the tantalizing sight and smell of the cool water below.

The heat built as the sun rose higher and hotter in the cloudless sky.

His tongue felt swollen in his mouth, his lungs burned with every breath. He remembered with longing the water he’d been immersed in, was it just this morning? Too much water, too little water, never the right amount of water.

Bastards.

His anger drove him to fight on. No snake carrying overzealous Jaffa was going to take down Jack O’Neill.

-------------------

---------------------

Dusk once again brought welcome relief.

Jack's skin was hot, sunburned; his eyes so gritty he could barely open them; the joints and muscles of his legs nothing more than immobilized bundles of pain.

The air began to cool even as the sunheated rock retained the day's heat.

O’Neill’s legs quaked, the muscles cramping agonizingly as he flexed his toes in an attempt to ease the rigid pose. They were techniques he had learned long ago, how to hold a position for long periods of time, yet nothing had prepared him for this. The human body, and mind, was not designed to endure this.

The rim of the sun touched the horizon. The air chilled, and his shoulders began to shake.

Exhausted, he let his eyes sink closed.

Until he heard the slithering sound behind him.

Sounded like a snake.

Why was he always thinking about snakes? Imagining snakes.

Please, God, he was imagining a snake, or a snake like thing. Hallucination. Fever dream.

He closed his eyes a moment, praying it would be gone, nothing more than a mirage.

When he opened his eyes it was still there.

And closer.

It crawled up the rock toward him, a creature similar to the snakes of Earth, though it's head was wider, broader and much flatter. It raised the pancake shaped head, opened its mouth and hissed, showing four white, inch long fangs.

Oh shit.

The animal seemed to be basking on the heated rock. It moved forward, then stopped, its long sinuous body writhing gently against the rock as if craving the feel of its warmth.

Warmth.

In a few minutes, as the heat dissipated from the stone, his body was going to be the warmest thing on this freakin' rock.

The snake crawled closer.

The pain of cramped muscles disappeared from his mind as he focused solely on the creature sliding toward him.

His heart was pounding as the animal drew nearer and nearer. He could see the tiny, overlapping scales, the subtle pattern of circles ringing the body, intertwined like the Olympic rings, rippling as the beast moved.

Bit by bit it came closer, every few moments stopping its advance and lifting its head to stare at him. Helplessly, O'Neill stared back.

It glided past his bare feet, along his leg, and touched his thigh.

Despite his determination not to, he flinched at the touch.

The creature jerked, it's mouth flaring wide and hissing.

Jack forced himself to be still, forced his chest to take shallow breaths, tried to stop the shuddering of his rapidly chilling body.

The snake thing skimmed past him, and came back, rubbing its spiny backbone along his knee before curling up tightly against the warmth of his thigh.

O'Neill didn't move. Hour after hour, he fought his exhaustion, fought the desire to move to ease his tortured muscles, fought the urge to shrink away from the feel of its oddly scratchy skin.

Somewhere near dawn, he lost the battle and dozed.

O'Neill jerked awake as the snake roused, sliding silently across his calves, toward his hands, its lips, if it had lips, or maybe just the rough edges of its open mouth rasping across the back of his hand.

His fingers cramped, and he moaned as he fought to hold them still, and failed.

His hand spasmed.

Without warning, the thing bit him.

A raw shout escaped from his throat as the snake's fangs buried themselves in the tissue of his left forearm. "Arrrgghhhh. God!" he hollered, voice cracking.

He tried to shake his arm, but he had so little play in the chains his frantic scrambling was little more than a shudder.

The creature let him go.

Maybe it didn't like the taste of human blood, he thought hopefully. Maybe he'd poisoned it instead of it poisoning him. He could hope that at least.

The animal slithered silently away into the darkness.

Nothing happened for a long time. Jack began to hope nothing would, that the bite hadn't been poisonous. Sure it stung, but hell, a mosquito bite stung.

He dozed.

As the first rays of the sun peeked above the horizon, Jack felt his arm twitch, felt the first surge of pain as the venom began to work in his body.

His fever grew.

The heat baked him, the oven-like air so hot it seemed to burn his throat and lungs as he breathed. Sweat darkened his hair, trailed down his back, chest and arms. His eyes felt gritty, his skin desiccated as sun and venom combined.

Somewhere near the heat of midday, he began to hallucinate.

A cloud formed above him. It gave him no cooling shade and no rain, but grew slowly, taking on the shape of a fish. O’Neill spent long minutes trying to decide if it was a crappie, a bass or a muskie, and finally deciding it was a shark.

It turned toward him, tail flapping lazily, opening its great maw, displaying rows of glittering, razor sharp teeth. Suddenly, it began to pick up speed, racing forward, ready to devour him. He flinched, ducked, and it was gone.

“Oh, God,” O’Neill moaned, before the next fever dream diverted him.

He giggled. This cloud was a pig, a flying pig, flapping its wings across the sky, soaring, doing loop de loops and barrel rolls as it drew ever closer . But as it came nearer, it changed, no longer holding the humorous image of an airborne porker, but rapidly morphing into something else. The face and body began thinning and elongating, the legs melting into the body until now it was a snake, not a snake snake, but a Goa’uld larvae snakelet, like the one that had nearly gotten him, Hathor’s snakelet, the one that had burrowed agonizingly into the back of his neck as it screamed angrily inside his head.

As the winged snake-thing drew inexorably closer, he struggled, pulling at the chains that held him until his wrists bled and his back and shoulder muscles knotted in agony.

“Bastard,” he croaked, trying to shout but the words were nothing more than cracked mumbles. “Bastard. Freakin’ snake…. Freakin…”

Gasping for air, terror made his heart thump as the beast descended on him, tail twitching, eyes glittering with rage, hissing, fangs dripping it’s flesh eating poison. Jack opened his mouth to scream, but no sound would come from his dry throat as the gruesome thing was upon him.

O’Neill passed out.

His temperature soared, his dehydrated body on the verge of shutting down as the hottest hours of the day loomed ahead.

----------

Teal’c hurried to the Stargate and dialed the coordinates for Earth.

“Teal’c, are we not going after O’Neill?” Bra’tak, walking quickly behind his younger friend, was surprised.

“Yes, Master Bra’tak, but first we must inform Hammond of our destination. He may wish to send more warriors to Chulak. It is still not a safe planet.”

Bra’tak nodded, looking on as Teal’c activated the MALP.

*******

“Incoming wormhole,” Sergeant Davis announced.

“It’s about time,” General Hammond hurried to stand beside the technician, as Major Carter and Dr Jackson also arrived breathlessly in the control room.

“General Hammond, this is Teal’c,” the word’s sounded flat as they came through the speakers, relayed by the MALP.

“We hear you, Teal’c. What have you learned about the whereabouts of Colonel O’Neill?”

“Bra’tak and I suspect he has been kidnapped by a small group of radical Jaffa. Their leader, who believes in a return to the ancient ways of the Jaffa, blames O’Neill for the death of his father. We have discovered information which leads us to believe that Da’Tal and his followers have taken O’Neill to Chulak, with the intent of forcing him to participate in a Jaffa ritual.”

“A Jaffa ritual? To what purpose?” Hammond asked.

“To show him the superiority of the Jaffa way of life, and to exact revenge.”

“Just what is this ritual, Teal’c?”

“Foreesh Pral Na'Tak, or the purification of the unrighteous, consists of three separate tests or trials. It is one of the most extreme of the ancient rites. I regret to inform you that I do not believe any human, not even Colonel O’Neill, can survive it.”

“So how do we stop it?” Jackson asked worriedly.

“Bra’tak and I believe that they have taken O’Neill to the sacred valley of the temple, an ancient structure that predates Apophis.”

“And where is this sacred place, Teal’c?” Carter inquired.

“It is on Chulak.”

“I’ll have a S&R team ready to join you in half an hour,” Hammond offered.

“We cannot wait, GeneralHammond, time is of the essence if we are to rescue O’Neill. Bra’tak and I will depart directly for Chulak, but we will leave a plain trail for the search team to follow. We suggest that the team be heavily armed. Things are still unsettled on my home world.”

“I understand, Teal’c. We’ll have personnel on the way as quickly as we can.”

“Thank you on O’Neill’s behalf, General Hammond.”

“Good luck, Teal’c,” the General stated softly.

-----------

The Warrior’s Path

Part 7

The unconscious human did not feel it as the first fat, wet raindrop hit the rock beside him, splattering in sparkling droplets, hissing where the cool liquid hit the sun heated rock. Another drop fell, and another, and another, until the rain began to fall thick and heavy, cooling the air and the limp body lying upon the rock.

The rain revived him. O'Neill shuddered, opening his eyes and lifting his head, letting the cool drops bathe his skin. Opening his mouth, he drank in the life giving moisture as the rain ran down his forehead, across his sun-seared cheeks and cracked lips.

-------------

Huddled below in the rocks, the four renegade Jaffa watched in wonder as the clouds advanced and the rain began to fall.

Da'tal was furious. Why would the gods aid this blasphemer, this heathen who mocked the ways of the Jaffa? The rain would save the Tau'ri; even as he watched, the rain began reviving the man who could only have had a few hours of life left.

They would have to go to the dunes, now, another long walk, more time lost. Still, when he looked down on his enemy, nearly dead, too exhausted to move, Da’Tal felt his sense of satisfaction return.

The rain had not truly saved O’Neill, nothing would. It had just prolonged his time of learning, and his suffering. Perhaps that was the gods’ intent: to be sure the Tau'ri learned his lesson most thoroughly. Da'tal smiled. There was still so much more the Jaffa could teach the mocking Tau'ri.

-------------

Exiting the Chulak Stargate, Teal'c and Bratak traveled as quickly as they could.

"If the renegades intend to perform the Foreesh Pral Na'Tak..." Teal'c began.

"I am sure of it. A cult has arisen among some who have joined the rebellion, insisting on the return to the old ways, the old traditions. They resented Katano's acceptance of help from Earth..."

"Many did not wish to adopt new ways."

"True, Teal'c. But we must, if we are to gain our freedom. These ha'shak, I believe that they see punishing O'Neill will prove to the Tau'ri that the Jaffa are superior."

"They are simply different, Master Bratak. The Tau'ri are weaker in some ways, but much stronger in others."

"I agree, Teal'c. I have observed them as you have."

"O'Neill will not give in. He does not concede defeat."

"No, he does not, Teal'c, but he will need all of his courage and stamina if we are to save him. I fear we may already be too late."

They increased their pace, heading for the sacred waters.

--------------

The cooling rain revived him. O'Neill spent long moments letting the water wash over him, carrying away the sweat and cooling his skin. He opened his mouth and let the rain water washing down his face trickle into his parched mouth.

Somewhere in the darkness, he heard the Jaffa come for him again. He didn't know what they wanted, knew only dimly in his exhausted and sickened body that he was too stubborn to give in. When they unchained him, his muscles were so cramped and stiffened that he couldn't stand, much less walk, unaided. Once more, he was thrown over a broad shoulder in a fireman's carry.

Again they traveled long hours through the night, Jack only semi-aware. He drifted in and out of consciousness, hoarding his strength.

It was still dark when once again he was dumped unceremoniously onto the hard ground. He landed with a pained grunt, too tired to fight when his wrists were tethered. He simply curled into a ball to conserve his body heat and slept the sleep of the dead.

**********

O'Neill groaned when a hand roughly grabbed his shoulder. Rolling onto his back, every muscle quivering and aching, he opened his eyes to look around.

Surprised, he pushed himself into a sitting position.

Sometime during their trek in the darkness, the forest had given way to rolling sand dunes. The wind was hot and dry, the sun just clearing the horizon, promising another sweltering hot day.

"Ah, our Tau'ri is awake. He is still breathing, by some miracle," Da'tal stepped in front of the captive, licking his lips as he finished his breakfast. "Sorry, we didn't bring food for you. Of course, the true test involves fasting, and we cannot let our guest violate the rules of the sacred ritual. We wouldn't want you to affront the gods, now would we? After all, you are here to learn the true ways of the people, and discover the strength of the Jaffa way."

"All I've seen is a bunch of bullies..."

Da'tal's anger flared, and he slapped O'Neill.

The blow staggered Jack, and blood quickly began leaking from his cut lip. "Now that was manly, hitting a fella with his hands tied..." O'Neill sneered as he wiped the blood from his chin onto the back of his hand.

"Someone in your position should watch his words, O'Neill..." The rebel leader turned once more to his waiting followers. "Come. It is time for the final step to begin."

Da'tal strode ahead as two of the Jaffa grabbed the human by the arms and forced him forward. At first, the Colonel was grateful for the sand, it was so much easier on his torn, swollen feet. As they climbed the first slope, however, the sand sliding away underfoot, they emerged into the sun, and he began to feel the burning heat against his bare, raw feet.

Damn.

They climbed to the top of the first dune, and pushed him to stand upright, looking out over mile after mile of desert. The huge hill of sand dropped away steeply to a green valley where the sun glinted off something shiny.

"There, our destination. The temple, at the Oasis of Pral Na'Tak."

************

Teal'c and Bratak reached the pool.

"Here, there is sign of a struggle," the younger Jaffa pointed out the signs to his mentor. "They camped here the night before last, three Jaffa and one human." Following the prints to the shore of the pond, they found O'Neill's torn shirt and his discarded socks and boots.

Teal'c looked out over the water, and then wordlessly nodded back at Bratak. Splitting up, the two Jaffa began circling around the area until Bra'tak's shout drew Teal'c to the older warrior's side. There, on the far side of the rocky shoreline, drops of blood dotted the surface of the rocks. "Here, someone has walked barefoot, cutting his feet." The old warrior nodded in satisfaction. "O'Neill still lives, then, he has survived the first test," said Bratak, looking at the tracks.

"And the second?" Teal'c asked softly.

"We cannot take the time to detour as far as the rocks, Teal'c. It would is pointless. The time is passed for the second test which follows closely on the first. O'Neill has either survived or he has not, and there is nothing for us to accomplish at Fee’lar. If he still lives, they have gone on to the the final step of the Foreesh Pral Na'Tak. It will be taking place tonight, and it is still a long journey to the temple. I fear we shall be too late."

"Then we must increase our pace."

Just then, the pair heard noises along the trail behind them. Bra'tak signalled Teal'c to hide, and they both slipped quietly behind the rocks, waiting and watching silently.

A half dozen Jaffa approached, following their trail, stopping where the searchers had paused to study the remains of the rebels' camp.

Teal'c watched warily until the lead tracker turned, and then the SG-1 member stood. "Rac'nor?"

"Teal'c!" Rac'nor saluted, then bowed low and saluted again as Bra'tak stepped out of his hiding place. The other Jaffa saluted as well.

"Why have you followed us?"

"We wish to help you, masters." the young Jaffa replied. "Forgive me, Master Bra'tak, but I overheard your words as you went about the camp. I know you search for O'Neill, and that one of our own has betrayed the friendship of the Tau'ri, who seek to be our allies."

Teal'c thought back to that long ago day when Rac'nor had helped him escape. He had explained to the young man about O'Neill, about why he, a Jaffa who had once held the honored post of a First Prime, now took the orders of a lowly Tau'ri. Teal'c had told the young man about the honor and courage of O'Neill, about his quest to destroy the Goa'uld, and how this one man, of all those he had encountered in his many decades of life, had the soul of a true warrior. O'Neill was the leader Teal'c had spent a lifetime searching for, a man who he believed could help him lead his people to freedom.

Rac'nor had understood.

"We have come to restore the honor of the Jaffa," Rac’nor explained.

Teal'c raised a long eyebrow in question.

"The action of Da'tal and his clique, to kidnap the Tau'ri, to force him to perform the rituals, dishonors us all."

Bra'tak looked questioningly at the warrior from Chulak.

Teal'c studied the others for long moments, looking from one to the next. "We accept your assistance. Now we must be on our way, if we are to reach O'Neill in time

---------------

Captors and captive started down the dune face. O'Neill stumbled, slipped in the hot sand, skidding down the hill. One of the Jaffa grabbed hold of him, and he cried out as the viselike grip tightened on his arm where the snake had bitten him. The limb was still painfully swollen, the swelling extending all the way from his hand up to his elbow and throbbing steadily.

In the heat, Jack swayed, licking cracked lips, sweat beading on his forehead and trickling down into his eyes. The glare of the sun off the sand was blinding him, despite his squinting.

They marched on, O'Neill oblivious to his surroundings as the heat built and his thirst once again increased from an annoyance to an agony, the benefits of the rainwater he’d swallowed were long since gone. He trudged on, grimly putting one foot in front of the other, determined to outlast the bastards.

At last, the Colonel felt the difference in the air, and raised his head to see they'd gotten close to an oasis. The moist air turned cool as they reached the soothing shade of the trees. Staggering on, Jack locked his gaze on the small pond beside the huge stone building, praying it wasn't a mirage.

It wasn't. As they approached, he summoned up the last of his strength and stumbled into the pool.

The Jaffa watched, but did not interfere as he scooped up water with his hands, sucking it greedily out of his palms. He let the first mouthful roll around on his tongue, and then he swallowed it, and another and another, forcing himself to drink slowly, fighting back the desire to gulp it down. He knew that would be counterproductive, that he wouldn't be able to keep the water in his stomach if he drank too much too fast. The cool liquid lapped around his knees as he stood savoring each drop, splashing it on his face and down his chest and neck. It soothed the ache in his feet, his knees and his swollen arm.

When O'Neill finally had the strength to look up, he realized they were all watching him, Da'tal's gaze a calculating stare.

With a sinking heart, O'Neill knew this test wasn't over yet, not by a long shot.

Da'tal watched, and finally he smiled, a feral smile that made Jack’s skin crawl. "Good, O'Neill, refresh yourself. That is the pool's purpose, to prepare those who arrive here for the final test. We would not want you to be so weakened that you are unable to fully appreciate the final step of the Foreesh Pral Na'Tak. Even a Tau'ri must be properly readied to shed blood for his god."

*********

The Warrior’s Path

Part 8

They let him sleep undisturbed through the afternoon. The Jaffa didn’t try to stop him when he staggered upright and stumbled back to the pool for more water, but watched carefully with their dark, ebony eyes. Two of them stayed with him every minute, shadowing his moves, following him to the water, their watchful eyes never wavering.

Realizing there was no escape for the moment, Jack limped back to the shady spot and once more curled up to sleep, gathering his strength for the ordeal he knew was yet to come.

Finally, at dusk, he was awakened.

Da’tal stood over him once again. “It is time, Tau’ri. The final phase begins.”

O’Neill swallowed, unsure if the final part was good news or not. He looked from Da’tal to the others, and saw no sympathy, no compassion anywhere.

It was going to be a long night.

Jack was stripped down to the odd knotted undergarment once again, and then the Jaffa surrounded him, forcing him to walk forward into the temple. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, looking up the stone steps, and shook his head stubbornly. He couldn’t see an avenue to escape, but that didn’t mean that Jack O’Neill was going to walk meekly forward like a lamb to slaughter. “If you want me up there,” he nodded to the doorway at the top of the stairs, “you’ll have to carry me. I’m not walking to my own funeral.”

“Then carry you it shall be, human.” Grimly, Da’tal nodded. Strong hands gripped Jack’s arms and began dragging him up the stairs, the rough stone digging into his already battered feet.

At the top, he was marched forcibly through the oversized, intricately carved doorway. Daniel would be going crazy over this place, O’Neill thought idly. To him, however, there was no excitement over the temple’s beauty. The Colonel knew only too well that beauty and evil went together far too often and too well.

His worst fears were confirmed as he was lead into the dim interior. Da’tal, walking in front, lit candle after candle, chanting unintelligible words as he did so, the rumbling sounds repeated by the Jaffa who were dragging him forward. Finally, they reached the front of the building, climbing three more steps to a small dais that included a pair of intricately carved pillars. Before them stood an ornate table of sorts, covered with symbols that Daniel might have understood, or Teal’c or Bratak. O’Neill didn’t, but he knew he would be finding out soon enough.

Da’tal lit a dozen or more candles that covered the top of the table.

“You know, I’d love to have the candle concession for you Jaffa. There must be a fortune…Oooph!” A fist was planted firmly into his ribs, driving the air out of his lungs.

“Quiet!” hissed the Jaffa he’d heard the others call Vic’nan.

Da’tal chanted, and lit more candles, the flames dancing, the flickering light making the people and creatures painted on the walls seem to spring into motion.

Finally, after long minutes of more chanting and more candle lighting, Da’tal turned back toward O’Neill and nodded. “It is time.”

Hands reached for his arms.

In one last desperate bid for escape, O’Neill ducked under the reaching hands. They hadn’t anticipated his quick move, had grown lax in their over confidence that he was too weak or too cowed to attempt escape. Four long strides, ignoring the pain in his torn feet, and he was off the dais, darting through the large open area and out the door, running headlong down the stairs, taking them recklessly, three at a time, praying he didn’t stumble or he’d take one hell of a fall.

Down the steps, onto the sand, feet flying, legs churning, lungs burning with the effort. The only cover was the small grove of trees to the left, he’d noted them earlier. Perhaps there he could hide, somehow, in the darkness.

Run.

Breathe.

Escape.

There, almost there, just a couple more strides and he’d be into the woods.

A hand locked around his ankle, snatching him off his feet. O’Neill crashed to the ground gracelessly, grateful for the softness of the sand as he rolled, spinning to his feet to face the Jaffa. Weaponless, he tossed the handful of sand into his pursuer's unsuspecting face, the alien going down, digging at his eyes and coughing. Jack lurched upright, feet digging in the soft dirt, and ran once more.

Behind him, he heard a sound he knew, hunching his shoulders as he sprinted, listening to the distinct snarl of a zat powering up. He knew it was coming, he was as prepared as he could be when the charge enveloped him, but being prepared couldn’t stop the pain, or the weakness. Blue fire engulfed him, and writhing, the Colonel crumpled to the sand once more.

In the throes of the zat’s stunning blast, O’Neill was helpless as he was lifted and carried back into the temple. He couldn’t protest this time as he was returned to the dais and held between the tall, slender pillars, spreadeagled, his arms raised high and wide above his head. Heavy restraints were buckled tightly around his torn wrists. His ankles, too, were pulled wide and fastened in place just as snugly.

Da’tal’s face was shadowed, but his eyes reflected the flaring candlelight, seeming to glow, or at least so it seemed to O’Neill’s exhausted imagination.

The smell of some sort of incense, or burning oil, was all but overpowering.

The Jaffa stalked around his captive, his hands reaching out to touch. “Here, and here, I think. And here, too,” he muttered. As the large, heavy fingers jabbed at his wrists, elbows, shoulder, chest, and ribs, Jack jerked, pulling as far away as his bonds would allow.

Da’tal grinned triumphantly. “Good, you are awake. We can begin, then, Tau’ri.”

The rebel leader looked over the human one more time, then leaned closer to whisper. “Did you know, human, that revenge is a particular part of the Jaffa code? Has Teal’c taught you that, that we repay those who harm us?” Da’Tal paused, leering at the captive bound before him. “Regardless, I shall teach you much of a true Jaffa’s revenge, carried out not from a distance with your pitiful mechanical weapons, but inflicted up close, where one can observe and savor the results. You owe me, O’Neill. You killed my father. You stole his life, not with the true weapon of a Jaffa, but with the soulless Earth weapon your kind prefers.” DaTal grabbed Jack’s hair and yanked the man’s head back. “Do you not remember?”

“Hell, no.”

“His name was Doc’ nar. He was leader of the team securing an escaped prisoner, a shapeshifter.” Da’tal, still holding the man by the hair, shook the prisoners head.

Jack tried to think, to remember. “Shapeshifter…Tyler?” O’Neill whispered.

“No. His name was Doc’nar.”

“He died a warrior’s death. In battle.”

“He died needlessly. He did not live to see the Jaffa become free, because you ended his life. You did not need to kill him.”

“He was trying to kill me!” the Colonel protested.

“As his son, revenge is my right. You took his life. Now I will take yours.”

The rebel leader turned away from O’Neill and walked back to the table. There, among the candles, was a tiny pot holding an especially bright flame. A small box sat beside it, holding long thin metal rods, so narrow as to be like wires.

Or needles.

‘Oh shit, I hate needles,’ thought Jack O’Neill as Da’tal dipped the metal into the flame, holding it there for long seconds, and then turned to his captive.

“The Foreesh,” he said, softly, “the final test.” Jack could feel the heat radiating off the small slender rod as Da’tal waved it in front of his face. With his free hand, the rebel warrior ran long fingers down O’Neill’s arm, stopping near the elbow. “This is a good place to begin, I believe.”

Jack’s mouth was so dry he could barely form the words, but he’d be damned if he’d let this sorry son of a bitch see a United States Air Force Colonel squirm. Or be quiet. “You know, I just don’t believe in acupuncture…arrrgghhh.”

Hot molten fire, jammed through skin and flesh, frying the sensitive nerve endings.

“You bastard,” O’Neill hissed, when he could gather enough air to speak.

“The penitent must first give up his stubborn belief in his own invincibility,” intoned Da’tal.

Jack writhed as the metal continued to burn into his flesh, his arm twitching as the heat caused neurons to fire uncontrollably. O’Neill battled to shut down the pain, box it up, file it away and ignore it.

Long before he was done, Da’tal was back, another red hot metal rod in his gloved hand. This time, the Jaffa ran his fingers along O’Neill’s collarbone. “Here, I think, for the second Foreesh.” Da’tal laid the hot needle against the human’s skin. Jack smelled his own hair and flesh ignite and burn at the point of contact, then the Jaffa leaned his weight into the push, slowly forcing the dull end into the tissue, burning its way through the layers of soft flesh.

Jack bit his lip in an effort to hold in the pain until he felt the coppery taste of blood rise against his tongue. A moan escaped him as the rebel leader pulled back.

“Learning that one is powerless is the first step toward accepting the Jaffa way.”

“No…way,” Jack whispered, shuddering.

Da’tal leered at the human. “You will learn. You will concede. You will fully understand the folly of your ways…”

Turning back to the candle-covered altar, Da’tal retrieved another hot spike, this one shorter than the last. With a smile, he reached up to the Colonel’s hand, squeezing the fingers, bending them back. Jack thrashed desperately against his bonds, vainly fighting to loosen the bindings as Da’tal pushed the spike home. Pressed against the back of the human’s hand, forcing it between the delicate bones until it emerged through the palm, blood immediately beginning to leak slowly in ruby red drops down toward the long wrists.

“The hand that was raised against us shall burn and bleed,” the Jaffa chanted. Picking up a second metal rod, he inserted it an inch from the first, also through the palm as Jack went momentarily limp against his bonds.

Shaking his head, forcing his knees to lock, O’Neill pushed himself defiantly upright, glaring at his torturer. Anger would give him strength, anger would help him fight, anger would allow him to defeat the pain, box it up and lock it away where it couldn’t hurt him.

Da’tal took his time, talking as he heated the next long, slim metal rod. When it was ready, he walked behind O’Neill.

The Colonel twisted, trying to watch, but unable to bend far enough around to see what the Jaffa was doing. His muscles tensed in anticipation. He knew the pain would come, but not where. Jack could feel the heat rolling off the metal as it was waved slowly down along his backbone. Da’tal stretched out the moment, relishing his control over the captive Tau’ri, enjoying the power he held.

The waiting was agonizing, the anticipation of the pain as bad as the bite of the needle itself. “Bite me, you bastard,” O’Neill spat through clenched teeth.

Even expected, the pain was shocking in its intensity as the Jaffa inserted the red hot metal into his hip, it’s length pushed in until it hit bone.

A moan escaped the lips of the captive as nerves screamed their pain messages and he staggered, his leg momentarily going numb before the agony raged the length of his limb.

“Pain is the weakness of the body, a thing to be tamed,” Da’tal whispered as he procured another hot needle from the flame. Again, he walked behind O’Neill, and the Colonel braced himself in the split second before the metal was shoved under the skin, along the lower left rib, fire eating its way through tissues and nerves.

Da’tal worked methodically. One rod into the ribcage, one in the other hip, another through the left calf. O’Neill bit his lip until more blood flowed, writhing silently, determined to hold on. He could see the small box and there were only six rods left inside it. Only six left, he chanted silently to himself. You’ve made it this far, you can make it the rest of the way. Nothing to it. Piece of cake. Piece…

Da’tal had stepped behind him once more, another long needle clutched in his gloved hand. His other hand ran lightly along O’Neill’s skin, along the outer thigh, and stopped. A momentary touch against his skin, and then the rod was spearing under the skin, into the flesh, into the fragile tissues of the knee.

O’Neill jerked frantically against the bonds that held him in place as agony sheared through the joint. A groan bubbled up out of his throat. “Oh God, ohgod ohgodohgodohgod,” and then the swirling darkness rose and overwhelmed him.

The gray haired human sagged, unconscious.

“Puny Tau’ri,” Da’tal muttered as he turned away. “Unworthy. Weak. You see why they are not worthy allies of the Jaffa? They deceive themselves into believing they can prevail against the power of the Goa’uld, when they cannot even stand for the ritual. Unable to heal themselves. See, his wounds continue to bleed.” The Jaffa turned to his followers with undisguised contempt. “The Tau’ri claim to be our ancestors, the first race of man. Their claim is a falsehood, a deception. Without their tools, their cold metal weapons, they are too weak to be the race that spawned the Jaffa.”

“Fuck you.” The voice was a raw whisper.

Da’tal spun back to the captive. “Ah, it awakens, does it?” He grabbed the short gray hair to lift the man’s head, looking into pain glazed eyes that still managed to glare defiantly.

“You.. ain’t.. so freakin’ tough…yourself… without your… baby snake,” the Colonel mumbled.

Da’tal’s laughter echoed hollowly in the confines of the temple. “You are useless.”

The Jaffa strode once more to the altar, taking a short, thick rod from the flame. Walking around O’Neill, he let his hand trail down the arm and across the shoulder. Reaching the point where neck met shoulder, he thrust the needle deep into the muscle.

O’Neill’s whole body went numb and he shuddered, fighting to hold onto his balance as agony raced through him. Jack ground his teeth together to stop the scream of anguish from pouring out of his throat. The room spun, walls shifted, candles blinked out of existence, everything went gray and wobbly.

Breathe, Jack, he reminded himself as he fought to slow his racing heart.

He’d not managed to conquer his mutinous body when Da’tal was back, at his other shoulder this time, once more impaling him with the hot metal.

O’Neill’s eyes rolled up in his head, and he passed out again.

----------

The Warrior’s Path

Part 9

He didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious. Gradually, awareness returned, and Jack forced his legs under himself once more, straightening his knees with an agonized groan. That relieved the pressure on his wrists, but there was nothing he could do about the rest of the pain. Change what you can change, accept the rest, he reminded himself. Hold on. Help will come. Help *will* come. Help will…

-------------------

Teal’c stepped stealthily along the temple wall, stopping to peer cautiously into the candlelit room. What he saw made him hiss in anger as he took in the scene: Da'tal and his rebel Jaffa crowded around the candle covered dais, and SG-1’s leader, bound to thick stone pillars, slumped unconscious or dead. Light glinted off metal embedded in a dozen places in O'Neill's body, each marked by trickles of blood glinting wetly, appearing a deep rust red in the dim light. The dark blue of recent bruises marred the human's jaw, ribcage and hip. “Bra’tak?”

“Do not fear, Teal’c. O’Neill lives.”

“We must act now.”

“Enter stealthily.” Bratak whispered, his voice cold as he stared at his companions. “Shoot to kill if you must.”

-------------------

The slap snapped O’Neill’s eyes open again. Da’tal was there, in front of him, another glowing metal spike in his hands, waving it in front of the human’s face.

Oh shit, thought O’Neill, as the slender heated rod was moved in front of his eyes.

Someone was behind him as well, Jack realized suddenly. A strong arm wrapped around his throat, holding his head locked into position as he struggled futilely, unable to keep the fear out of his eyes this time. He felt the heat of the metal as it was moved slowly, inexorably closer to his cheek, his eyes...

“Hold still, Tau’ri. Much damage could be done if this is not inserted perfectly,” said Da’tal. The hot metal touched his skin and O’Neill writhed as the Jaffa began to push it into his cheek…

A staff weapon fired, the sound thunderous in the quiet confines of the temple. Da’tal’s face, just inches from O’Neill’s own, showed sudden shock, and then the Jaffa jerked and slumped, falling against the human.

More noise, more staff blasts, shouting, confusion.

The arm around his neck disappeared. Jack jerked frantically against the restraints as he watched candles slide off the altar, hot wax rolling against Da’tals body where it lay on the floor, the robes beginning to smolder.

Suddenly, someone was there behind him again. Jack couldn’t see, it was dimmer now, most of the candles were out, the room cloaked in clouds of choking, swirling smoke. He couldn’t tell if it was friend or foe beside him as he jerked wildly against the bindings once more.

“O’Neill.”

“Teal’c?” The Colonel’s voice trembled with relief at the familiar tones.

“Yes, it is I. Be still. I will have you free in a moment.”

Sharp steel easily cut through the bindings on O’Neill’s ankles.

The human shifted, trying to ease the strained knees and tired legs, battling to hold on a few minutes longer.

Reaching upward, Teal’c carefully slid his knife under the tight leather that held the Colonel’s left hand aloft. Slowly, he sliced through the binding. The arm dropped heavily, Teal’c just managing to catch it as O’Neill groaned.

“Ah, crap, careful. Careful.”

The strong, dark hands reached up to the other pale, bloodstained limb, again sliding the knifeblade under the constricting leather. This time, the warrior of Chulak gently held onto the long fingers, easing the arm downward as O’Neill swayed and crumpled toward the floor.

Teal’c caught him, trying in vain to find a place to let the man lay down without doing further damage. The Foreesh rods bristled from O’Neill’s pale skin, leaving nowhere.

“O’Neill, we must move over there…” Teal’c nodded at the steps.

The man nodded, staggering within his friend's grip, but remaining grimly upright for the three strides needed. Teal’c helped ease him downward, allowing O’Neill to sit carefully on the steps of the dais. Too exhausted to sit up on his own, Jack leaned against the altar with one relatively undamaged shoulder as his teammate pulled the canteen from his belt, and opened the cover, handing it to his leader.

Jack looked up and nodded his thanks, unspoken gratitude in his gaze. He grasped the container with one hand, but it slipped, his blood slicked fingers too weak to hold it. Teal'c's large hand quickly closed over the human's shaking ones, helping him lift the canteen to his lips. O'Neill drank greedily, and after several long swallows, let his head sag with a sigh. "Thanks..."

"You are welcome, O'Neill."

Bra’tak was suddenly beside them, Rac'nor at his heels. “O’Neill?”

“Hey, guys,” Jack started to raise a hand, thought better of it, just nodded. “Thanks.”

The elderly Jaffa was studying the Colonel closely, noting the Foreesh rods bristling from his body. “We must remove these,” Bra’tak looked from his former pupil to the bloodied, exhausted Tau’ri. “It will be painful for him.”

“Know that,” O’Neill mumbled. “Just get the damn things out of me before I do it myself, huh?” he opened one eye, and nodded. “Now. I’ve had enough of being a pincushion.”

Without further talk, Bra’tak took hold of the first needle, one inserted under the Tau’ri’s lower rib. Gripping it firmly, he jerked it out quickly.

O’Neill sucked in a breath, shuddering, eyes squeezed tightly shut. “Now that hurt.”

“They will all hurt, O’Neill,” said Bra’tak bluntly.

“Yeah, Right. Just what I needed to know. So get done, huh?” the Colonel didn’t even bother to open his eyes.

Methodically, Bra’tak removed the metal rods from O’Neill’s hip, ribs, back and neck, the human emitting nothing more than a low gasp with each one. Five were left, the five most difficult, the old Jaffa knew.

Bending down, the elderly warrior touched the Foreesh in the human’s knee. “This one, next, human,” he said softly. "You are ready?"

O’Neill opened his eyes, licked dry lips and nodded.

Bra’tak pinched the metal between gnarled fingers, and withdrew it in one quick motion.

“Ahhh, God, ahhh,” Jack threw his head side to side.

“Tell me when you are ready to go on,” Bra’tak said, kindly.

O’Neill looked up into Bra’tak’s weathered face, exchanging a look of thanks. The old warrior had given the human a chance to take control, and he was grateful for that small bit of understanding.

“Elbow,” O’Neill whispered.

Bra’tak obliged.

Jack was barely able to bite back the shout of agony as the metal was pulled from the joint. It had hurt almost as much coming out as going in.

“Three left, O’Neill,” Teal’c encouraged.

The gray haired head nodded. “Wrist.”

Bra’tak examined the arm carefully. “This could be difficult. The bloodcarrying vessels are very near. I could do further damage. Perhaps we should leave it for your Doctor Fraiser…”

“No. Just do it,” Jack rasped.

Bra’tak nodded. Gripping the now cold metal, he pulled, sliding the needle-like device free.

O’Neill gasped, writhed, grabbing the wrist with his other hand as blood spurted.

Teal’c had a bandage prepared. Peeling Jack’s fingers off the damaged wrist, the Jaffa quickly wrapped the wound tightly. O’Neill sank back against Teal’c, the huge warrior holding him as one would cradle an injured child. For long moments, the human leaned against his friend’s strong grip, eyes closed tightly. Finally, the brown eyes opened once more. “The last two. Both of them. Together,” he tried to keep the pleading out of his voice.

Bra’tak nodded.

Teal’c tightened his grip on his friend’s shoulders.

The old teacher wrapped his finger around the remaining metal embedded in the human’s palm and without giving warning, pulled.

“Aaaggghhh, damn, damn, damn,” O’Neill bent forward, cradling the hand and wrist, rocking to hold in the pain, to keep himself from uttering the scream that was rolling upward in his throat. He felt sick, so nauseous that he'd have emptied the contents of his stomach, if there'd been anything in it to empty. Biting his lip to hold down the bile and suppress the moan, he leaned against the cool stone of the dais, gathering his strength.

"We are done, O'Neill," Bratak said softly.

"Already?" the human mumbled as the old Jaffa began to gently disinfect and bandage the wounds. Taking hold of O'Neill's arm to clean the wound near his elbow, Bra'tak stared and gasped as he spied the four inflamed fang marks in their distinctive pattern. "The Karak? You were bitten by the Karak?"

"Flat snake thing?" the Colonel asked in a barely audible whisper.

"Yes, on the rocks..."

"Hmm. Yes," O'Neill agreed.

In the background, the other Jaffa began talking among themselves, realizing the human had indeed undergone and survived all three steps of the ritual.

As Bra'tak finished cleaning and binding O'Neill's wounds, Teal'c returned, carrying a thick brown robe. Gently they helped the wounded human slip into the soft folds of cloth. "We should leave quickly, O'Neill," his teammate suggested.

The Colonel nodded, and pointed at the dead Da'tal. "I'll need his boots, then."

"You should not walk," Bra'tak stood behind Teal'c's shoulder. "The others have made a litter, and will carry you."

O'Neill's eyes blazed, wide open, dark and angry. "I really don't think I want any help from the likes of them," he waved a hand at the waiting Jaffa.

"They were not part of Da'tal's cult. They are Jaffa , as we are as well, O'Neill," Teal'c reminded him, “yet you accepted our help.”

Jack's eyes drifted shut. "You," he emphasized, "are brother, and friend. You, I trust. Not..." he waved a hand in the air.

"Rest, O'Neill, and we will leave once it is light," ordered Bra'tak, unwilling to disagree with the wounded man. "In the morning, if you are strong enough to walk, you may do as you desire, human, foolish as that wish may be."

Teal'c helped O'Neill drink once more from the canteen, and slipped him the painkillers he had procured from the first aid kit.

Sliding down to lie flat on the floor, O'Neill curled into the warmth of the voluminous robe and slept, exhausted.

In the morning, they walked out of the temple and back towards the Stargate. O'Neill didn't ask where Teal'c had procured the soft, clean socks. Da’tal’s boots, while not a perfect fit, were loose enough to give room for his swollen feet, probably better than his own boots would have done under the circumstances.

Jack walked grimly, expressionless, moving steadily. Midway through the morning, he stumbled, and accepted Teal'c's assistance, and kept walking, one arm thrown over the big Jaffa's shoulder for support.

Somewhere early in the afternoon, O’Neill’s exhausted body could not longer go on and soundlessly he slipped from his feet to his knees. After that, Jack relented and allowed the others to carry him on the stretcher they had constructed from tree limbs and the capes of the Jaffa. He dozed as they bore him through the long afternoon and evening before finally meeting the heavily armed Tau'ri rescue party.

Things got chaotic then. O'Neill recognized the worried faces of Carter and Daniel, Major Griff, too. A medic rebandaged his wounds and started an IV. Quickly, he began to feel the heaviness of painkillers and sedatives invading his limbs.

They traveled through the night once more, and reached the Jaffa camp in mid-morning, not pausing but moving directly on to the Stargate.

The Colonel's stretcher was set down in the shade as the weary rescuers dialed up the gate. The medic checked his patient, then stepped back as Rac'nor and several others approached.

O'Neill suddenly realized there was an unknown form hovering above him.

"O'Neill..." the voice was soft and respectful.

Jack's eyes snapped open, and he peered up at the young Jaffa standing above him. Knowing there was no danger, the exhausted Colonel closed his lids once more. "What do you want?" he asked wearily.

"I, we," Rac'nor waved a hand at his fellows standing behind him, "have come to apologize for the wrong done to you by these false Jaffa. They have dishonored all of us..."

"Yeah, right," O'Neill was too tired to listen to more talk of rituals and honor.

"You have completed the Foreesh Pral Na'Tak, and have earned the highest rank of the Jaffa warrior."

"Whatever," the human didn't care, at least not at the moment.

"To survive the three steps of Foreesh Pra Na Tal shows courage of body and spirit, a courage our own comrades failed to display in forcing it upon you without your consent. Yet, you prevailed, and have forever earned the respect of all true Jaffa. We will honor the name of O'Neill, and cherish the alliance you bring." Rac'nor, and the dozens of warriors with him, saluted the wounded human.

O'Neill smiled. Maybe something good had been accomplished after all, if this time Earth and humans had truly earned the respect of these aliens who could be valuable allies in the fight against the Goa'uld.

Teal'c and Bra'tak stood beside the Tau'ri Colonel, watching.

"Perhaps now humans and Jaffa will fight side by side for the good of all our races," the old Jaffa said softly. "O'Neill has shown them that the Tau'ri have honor of their own."

"Indeed," Teal'c bowed toward his mentor. "I have known from that long ago day on Chulak that O'Neill was a warrior of honor, and worthy of the respect of all Jaffa."

"And he has proven it to all of them, Teal'c. A considerable achievement,” Bra'tak grinned “for a human."

-----------------

The Warrior’s Path

Part 10: Epilogue

O’Neill had only a few, confusing memories of his arrival back on Earth. Doc Fraiser had been waiting at the base of the gateramp, her medical team swiftly transferring him from the makeshift stretcher to a gurney. He remembered seeing Hammond’s face, and Daniel, Teal’c and Carter, all looking worried and relieved at the same time.

Making a rapid assessment once her patient reached the infirmary, Dr. Fraiser was appalled at the Colonel’s condition. Vivid bruises marked his torso, hip and jaw; his wrists were raw and inflamed; and he had more than a dozen puncture wounds, the worst of them in his hand and wrist. The soles of his feet were cut and swollen, and the S&R medic had shown her the marks on O’Neill’s forearm where the snake-like Karash had bitten him. He was clearly exhausted, dehydrated, and making a valiant, though faltering, effort to hide the fact that he was in considerable pain as he slipped in and out of consciousness.

She was relieved when all the x-rays proved negative and the blood tests showed no sign of toxins from the snakebite. The wounds would need to be carefully cleaned and he’d need a course of intravenous antibiotics to stave off the possibility of infection, along with fluids to rehydrate his system, and pain meds to make him comfortable. In truth, he’d been incredibly lucky, again, Janet thought as she made notes on the Colonel's chart.

All the tests completed, Janet headed back for the curtained off area where O’Neill was waiting. As she entered, she paused to study her patient one more time. He was lying quietly, which told her a lot… O’Neill was never still unless he was unconscious or in real pain, which was further revealed in the way his left hand, the uninjured one, was clenching the blankets covering him. Add in the tight lines on his face and the rigid set of his jaw, and she knew he was hurting badly.

“Colonel,” she announced her presence, and was greeted by the brown eyes opening, looking tired but more alert than she’d anticipated. “I’ve got the test results back, and there’s nothing broken.” She stepped to the head of the bed and adjusted the IV, turning up the dosage on the painkillers. “I’m increasing your pain meds and you’ll be feeling more comfortable in a few minutes. Then we can get started on cleaning these wounds. We’ll have to watch for infection, but all in all, Colonel, you’re doing fine,” she finished with a reassuring smile.

“Home in time to watch the Simpsons, then, huh, Doc?”

“Not quite, Sir,” she replied with a grin, and, seeing him relax as the painkillers took hold, she set about treating his injuries.

********

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he awakened again to the familiar sounds and smells of the infirmary. Assessing his own condition, O’Neill decided he was still among the living, at least for the time being. The aches permeating his body were still there, though sweetly dulled by painkillers. He would never admit to it, but he’d been mightily relieved when Doc’s happy juice had kicked in. He was still tired, so very tired that for long moments he lay unmoving, savoring the pleasant sensations of knowing he was warm and safe and home. So, yeah, he couldn’t ever admit to that, either, that it felt damn good to be back and awash in a chemically induced blissfully pain free state.

“O’Neill?” The quiet inquiry was in familiar deep tones.

Jack supposed it was the change in his breathing that had given him away, revealing that he’d awakened. Teal’c was pretty damn observant.

Reluctantly, the Colonel opened his eyes.

The lights were dim, must mean it was night, he figured. The infirmary seemed quiet, the usual daytime bustle muted, confirming his assessment.

Teal’c was standing at the foot of the bed, looking like a guard dog on watch.

“Hey, Teal’c,” he rasped.

“It is good that you have awakened, O’Neill.”

Jack wasn’t quite sure he agreed at the moment.

“Doctor Fraiser says you will recover completely.”

“S’pose so,” the Colonel whispered hoarsely.

“You have won great honor among the Jaffa.”

“That and a buck will buy you a cup of coffee, Teal’c.”

The Jaffa looked quizzically at his commander.

“Never mind, T. We can talk about it later.”

Teal’c remained standing quietly, still at attention, staring at the wall behind O’Neill’s head. Jack’s brain was still pretty fuzzy from all he’d just been through, but even at that, he knew something was wrong. “Okay, what’s up, Teal’c?”

One Jaffa eyebrow raised in question. “Up?”

“Something is bothering you.”

The stately head nodded.

“Are you going to tell me, or do we have to play 20 questions? Because I’m really not quite up to games, my friend.”

“No games, O’Neill. I am here to make apologies.”

O’Neill thought for a moment. Had he missed something? Nothing he could think of required Teal’c to apologize. “Why?”

The Jaffa shifted his gaze to meet O’Neill’s eyes. “I must apologize for the behavior of my people, O’Neill, for the wrong they have done to you.”

“No.”

“You will not accept my apology?”

“No, I will not. Because you didn’t do anything to apologize for unless, of course, you’re sorry you rescued me? That was you who rescued me, wasn’t it?”

“Indeed, O’Neill, Bra’tak and I were able to secure your release from Da’Tal and his followers.”

“Then I should be thanking you.”

Teal’c nodded. “It is no less than you have done for me.”

O’Neill sighed. “So we’re even then?”

“We are not. I must make amends for what the Jaffa have done…”

Jack pushed himself partially upright using his left hand, which seemed to be in much

better working order than the right which was wrapped in layers of confining bandages.

“No. No amends, no apologies, no anything, Teal’c,” O’Neill closed his eyes for a moment as he thought about how to say what he meant, which was never easy for him. “You called me brother once. Did you mean that?”

“I would not have said it if I did not mean it, O’Neill.”

“Okay, then. Brothers don’t need to apologize, especially for the actions of other folks. You aren’t responsible for what they did.” O’Neill let his tired eyes close for a moment, and focused on trying to remember, but the details from those last minutes in the temple were pretty dim. “You did catch them all?”

“Yes, O’Neill.”

“They’re dead?” Jack asked, eyes still closed.

“Indeed. None of them survived.”

O'Neill's brown eyes reopened as he let himself sink back onto the bed. “Then the threat is over.”

“Bra’tak is searching for others who may have been involved, and he will find, and banish, all those who followed Da’Tal.”

“Good enough, then. All I need to know is that it won’t happen again.”

“It will not,” Teal’c pledged.

“Your word?”

“My word.”

O’Neill lifted his heavy lids. “Then that’s all I need. Your word. Now I’m gonna sleep…”

“I shall stand guard.”

“I don’t need a guard here, Teal’c. Go. Do your kel no dream thing. Tomorrow, if you still think you owe me something, you can sneak me in a pizza…”

Teal’c nodded, and smiled. “I do not think Dr. Fraiser would approve of such a culinary choice, O’Neill…” The Jaffa did not finish his sentence. Jack was no longer listening, but rather, snoring softly as he slept.

========================== The End