Teyla was resting her back against the side of the Jumper, her legs curled up around as she stared ahead. The painkiller had kicked in and her teammates had been able to find gauze to help absorb her bleeding, yet without the physical pain to distract her she was enveloped in the emptiness of her current situation, drawing little comfort from her friends. McKay and Sheppard were still busy handing out what supplies they could to the former slaves, organizing them into groups to be picked up and dropped off on another planet in subsequent return trips. Grit scraped against Teyla’s incisors and she stopped biting her grimy nails.

She should be out there with her teammates, she knew. She should be out there with the people she led victoriously... but she could hardly find the courage to stand, for she knew that she was not only bleeding her own blood, but the last of Ronon’s as well. The thought that she would now forever be alone, without any mark of Ronon’s existence anywhere other than her heart was felt with every beat of her pulse. “I’m so sorry...” she whispered as she dropped her forehead onto her knees, closing her eyes. “...I have failed you.”

Smith looked up, peering through his small crowd of morbidly curious tavern goers as Curtis strode into the room. The tall man scanned the crowd then his shoulders stiffened as his eyes settled upon the driver. Smith furrowed his brow, leaning back in his seat some while those around him chattered away about what the uprising might mean for the marketplace.

Curtis stalked over to the portly man, narrowing his blue gaze. “You the driver that escaped – Smith?”

Smith cleared his throat and took a sip of the drink he’d received on the house. “Yes indeed.”

“You all retaliated and killed all the slaves?”

The crowd at his table quieted as they looked to Curtis. One woman narrowed her eyes at him.

Smith glanced to his fellows then back to Curtis. “You got a problem with that, mister?”

“That was good stock,” Curtis spat. “And you wasted it.”

“It’s not like they were any of yours.”

“I was gonna buy one from Phelps today.”

The driver tilted his head to look at him better. “You knew Phelps?”

“Only briefly,” Curtis replied.

“You buy often?”

Curtis blinked. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I was in charge of selling his slaves and I’ve never seen you before.”

Curtis swallowed hard, his hand shifting to casually rest on the hilt of the knife in his belt. “Like I said, I only knew him briefly.”

“Phelps personally said he’d sell to you?”

“Yes,” Curtis replied, his hand tightening around the hilt.

Smith chuckled and took another sip of his drink. His voice was quiet. “You’re a god-damned liar.”

Curtis furrowed his brow.

“What you so upset for, anyhow?” Smith looked up at him again, his dark eyes twinkling from his slight intoxication. “Sounds like you’re one of those abolitionist types.”

Curtis let out a breath. “I’m upset that the slave I came all this way to buy is dead is all.”

“Oh?” Smith took a last swig then wiped his mouth. “It’s more’n that.” He smacked his lips as he stood up. “Phelp’s has been dead for two years. Only man left in that house was his bedridden father who couldn’t talk. That makes you a liar, mister.”

Curtis hesitated, wishing he’d never stepped into this tavern, cursing himself for letting his emotions cloud his judgment. His thumb slowly moved to unsnap the buckle holding his knife in place.

“I wonder if you even had a hand in the uprising.” Several of the people around Smith had also risen, warily looking to Curtis.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Curtis snapped.

“Why the hell’re you here?”

“Why are you? How is it that you’re the only one who survived? You must’ve run off like a coward.”

Smith clumsily punched Curtis in the face as the farmer yanked out his knife as he stumbled, whirling around to face the chubby driver. Smith kept his distance when he noticed Curtis’ blade. Curtis wiped the blood off his lip, flicking his bangs out of his eyes as he straightened. Smith licked his lips again, the people around him pulling out their weapons – knives, a hatchet, a few prods. Smith smirked. “Hide all you want, Abolitionist, but there’s no room for you around here. You’re no better than those murdering slaves.” He glanced to Curtis’ knife. “By the looks of it you’ve probably killed plenty of innocent slave owners in your time, haven’t you?”

Curtis took a few steps back, slowly sheathing his knife again. “I don’t want any trouble. I’m only passing through anyhow.”

Smith nodded. “I’ll bet.”

The small crowd began to relax as Curtis backed towards the door and several shadowed him out. Once at the doors, Curtis turned and strode to his mare, mounting and prodding her further into the town in the opposite direction of home, pretending he was leaving by the northern road. Smith and several others from the tavern stepped outside.

Smith spit onto the planks of the sidewalk then narrowed his eyes against the glare of the sun, watching Curtis leave.

Sheppard glanced out at the gathered slaves who were regrouping, salvaging what food stores they could from the smoldering rubble and passing them out. “We can only take about twenty at a time, but we’re gonna do our best to get you all out of here as soon as possible. I’ve contacted my superiors and more ships are on the way.”

Binti listened as she tended to a young man’s burned side.

Sheppard bit his lip at the charred skin. “Our doctors are on their way, too. It may be a while before some of you are ready to go to the new home we’ve found for you.”

“Sheppard,” Binti softly said and the colonel looked over at her. She smiled a little. “Thank you.”

Sheppard glanced around at the injured and malnourished people gathered nearby. “...It’s the least I can do.”

“If only we could do more.” Sheppard, Binti and several others redirected their attention to Teyla as she stepped over.

Sheppard furrowed his brow and stepped to her side. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”

Teyla ignored him and continued towards her comrades. “I know my limits, John.”

The older man took a step away from her, knowing she was right. She held her head higher as she looked out at the freed slaves whose expectant gazes were fixed upon her. “You have done well.” She smiled. “All of you. And I am so very proud. Yet our freedom comes at a great price. Let us take a moment of silence to mourn those of us who were lost... and also those who opposed us and died.” The crowd bowed their heads, mimicking Teyla, and for several long moments all that could be heard was the wind and a few coughs. Teyla looked back up, swallowing hard, knowing that this freedom had cost her a great sacrifice – she had lost a part of her future.

“I, Binti Samale thank you, Teyla Emmagan. You are truly great.” Binti bowed her head and raised her fist upwards. Within a heartbeat, hundreds of other heads were bowed and fists in the air as the other freed slaves said their personal thanks to Teyla. The daughter of Athos smiled, her eyes glittering with tears as she looked out over the hundreds of bowed heads. In that instant she knew that Ronon would be so proud... he would’ve accepted her sacrifice for the greater good of so many. The thought made her let out a shaky breath of release as a tear jetted down her cheek.

Bo was the first to see her father returning and grinned, hastily climbing down from her tree and racing across the meadow to Ronon and Brianna who were playing fetch with Sniffer. “Pa’s back! Pa’s back!”

Ronon felt like his face was going to split from his uncontrollable grin as Bo dashed over to him. He scooped the lass into his arms and tossed her in the air, making her laugh, before jogging over to the road. Brianna jogged along behind him, furrowing her brow when she also caught sight of their father. “...Pa’s alone.”

Ronon’s face was already a myriad of worry and he set Bo down as her father neared. “Curtis!” he shouted, stepping out onto the road to meet him.

Curtis slowed his sweaty mare to a halt, glancing over his shoulder. Ronon looked behind the older man then back to his face. Curtis hesitantly locked eyes with him, panting slightly from his ride, the concern on Ronon’s face locking his words in his throat. Ronon glanced behind Curtis again then looked back to him, his eyes suddenly timid. “...Where’s Teyla?”

Curtis closed his mouth, taking a deep breath through his nose before he answered. “...I’m so sorry, Ronon.”

Ronon immediately took a stumbling step backwards, his heart hammering so fiercely that his breath hitched.

“There was some sort of uprising on the plantation. The drivers killed all the slaves.”

Brianna looked fearfully to Ronon as he stumbled backwards again, afraid he’d trip, never having seen him so clumsy. His voice was disbelievingly quiet then firm. “No... no.”

Curtis shook his head, his eyes soft. “I’m so sorry...”

Ronon was also shaking his head. “It’s not true...”

Bo took a step towards him but stopped herself, looking over her shoulder at her older sister for guidance.

“I didn’t see the plantation myself but I spoke to one of the drivers,” Curtis quietly continued. “The whole place went up in flames. I saw the smoke.”

Ronon swallowed nothing, his mouth dry. He studied Curtis for several heartbeats the turned away, gazing out at the meadow before him as if the ground had suddenly fallen away except for where he was standing. He reached out an arm to steady himself against an oak, his shoulders sagging his head drooped. Bo and Brianna both tore their eyes away from him and to their father. He shook his head a little at them, silently telling them that there was nothing they could do.

Ronon pulled his head back up, his throat constricting so tightly that he could hardly breathe. He was shocked to realize that his eyes were dry... dry when all he wanted to do was scream his anguish and weep until he couldn’t move. He took a few staggering steps away from the three.

“Ronon...” Curtis’ quiet voice wafted to him and he paused, stiffening. “...I might be in some trouble.”

Branded Heart

Branded Heart Homepage
Previous Chapter
Next