48 years earlier…
“Four hundred and twenty-two.” Huang dipped his forefinger in the ash pot. It was the only words he permitted himself upon rising from each slumber. The only words he allowed to mark the passage of time. He pressed his finger against the wooden panel beside the stove and swept downward, the short slash joining the many of others of his exile.
Four hundred and twenty-two days. A useless, but necessary task since discovering the Tau’ri hut upon the frozen shores. At times it seemed the sun would never reappear. Other times, it seemed to never set. He silently reprimanded himself. He should be grateful to have found the Tau’ri’s long-forgotten domicile.
When he’d originally set out to return to the Chappa’ai so that he might warn his master of the being of light, a blizzard had so blinded his passage that he had become lost. It was only after many hours of wandering that he stumbled upon the abandoned wooden hut and discovered its contents. Within he found crates of food, furniture, and a fully equipped kitchen. Along the back wall hung frozen carcasses of blubbery, flippered creatures.
Most importantly, he’d found black and white papers bearing images of men. Tau’ri men. Some pictures had the men on skis, others showed them standing beside massive dogs bearing collars.
Where the men had gone was unknown. Huang could only assume that the being of light had taken them.
Turning away from the blackened marks upon the wall, he lit one of the many oil lamps he’d found around the square hut and hobbled over to one of the hut’s few windows. His toes had healed many days ago, but walking was still a challenge.
He gazed at his reflection in the window through weary eyes. Cracked lips. A straggling beard that warmed his face and throat. Though it was not a First Prime’s proper appearance, it was a truth he had come to accept with one exception.
Raising the ashen finger to his forehead, he drew the wénshēn of Lord Yu between his brows. Another daily ritual. Another means of seeking solace amongst the failure of his lot.
He peered out the window toward the shoreline. Many days ago, long sunsets had splashed wild colors across the sky, followed by an endless barrage of darkness and a night sky full of stars. The night’s black had now turned to a red-tinged blue, the scattered clouds almost purple. Barely a sliver of the sun was above the far horizon, but it was a start. Soon daylight would come again and he would have to make a decision. A decision that gave him great unease.
Satisfied with the soot-stained tattoo, he returned to the stove. The last of his fresh meat simmered within the pot. He had learned through trial and error of the need to hang the mournful-eyed creatures for several days before cooking them. The brains he could cook upon taking down the legless beasts, but the meat tasted more of fat than meat if not aged.
To remain or to go? That was the decision he must reach before the ice thinned again. If he stayed, he would need to hunt soon, a difficult challenge as he’d lost his staff weapon months ago, while attempting to cross the thin ice that separated the hut from the glacier that held the Chappa’ai.
Four hundred and twenty-two days.
Huang sank onto a wooden chair by the stove, soaking in what heat he could to disperse the hut’s cold air. Had too much time passed to warn Lord Yu? Would his master consider him dead?
A pounding at the door. He bolted to his feet, staring in horror. Had the being of light come back?
Voices shouted from outside. Men’s voices, in a language he did not know. Huang grabbed the lamp. If necessary, he would use it as a weapon.
The door burst open and three men stumbled in, all dressed in great orange coats, their hoods lined with black fur.
Huang raised the lamp menacingly. “Stay back!” he yelled in Goa’uld, his tongue thick from lack of use.
The men pulled back their hoods. All three wore beards though the tallest of the three kept his short around his long face. In unison their hands raised in surrender, the tall man speaking to him again in the mysterious language.
“Bie guan wo!” Huang warned them to stay back again, this time in the tongue of his Tau’ri ancestors.
The tall man’s eyes widened and he smiled. “Wo de shang di, ni shi zhong guo ren!”
You’re Chinese!