Silence reigned in the chamber. Spyrro waited where she was, keeping her distance from the looming shadow. The craggy brows lowered a little, but the burn of the eyes did not dim. Then, a voice like the croaking of carrion birds, "Are you afraid, child?"

At her words, Spyrro boiled with fury 'This is the monster who took Mei'Savir and Mei'Varsi prisoner!' She returned the fiery gaze, stare for stare, lifting her chin, "I do not fear you – or any other."

"You are a bold, little creature," The hulking shadow gave a snort as she regarded Spyrro from beneath those spiny, heavy brows, "Know you to whom you speak?"

"You are the leader of this ship."

The big female nodded, "And do you know why I ordered you brought here?"

Spyrro set her jaw "The other yautja say I am … your blood."

"You are. I wished to have you in my keeping."

"Why?"

"To bring you up in a fitting manner, as is my right. As you are my only blood living."

Spyrro hissed, like an angry cat, "What about my Father? Is he not your blood?"

"Not anymore." The huge, grizzled head turned towards the stars, "And anyway, he is dead."

Her voice was low and solemn. It filled Spyrro with fear, as if bad news pronounced in that voice must be true.

"He is not dead!" The words flew out of her mouth before she could stop them and she braced herself for an outburst of rage, but the big female did not even turn.

"If he is not dead yet, then he soon will be." She intoned, "The last of my sons. For me, he died long ago; on the day he impregnated that artful, soft-meat s'valitka."

Spyrro did not know the meaning of that word but she guessed it was not a good word, following as it did the nasty, yautja slang for humans. She felt a sharp stab of anger at hearing those dirty words used to describe her Mother, followed swiftly by a gush of shame, 'I have said those words before, and in Mei'Varsi's hearing!'

The shame gave added heat to her anger, spurring her to leap to her Mother's defence, "Mei'Varsi is – " She began and then stopped herself, just in time.

'Mei'Savir told me not to talk about my Mother.' She remembered, 'Mei'Varsi was in agreement. I must obey them!'

The clan leaderhad turned slowly at her words, the burning eyes fixed on her again. "Go on. Tell me of your Mother."

"No."

"You may disregard any authority but mine," The big femalesaid, as if reading her thoughts, "I wish to know about her."

Spyrro glared at her, 'Mei'Savir has expressly forbidden me to speak of her.' She thought, and her small jaws stayed shut.

"Does she have black eyes, as you have?"

The question made little sense to Spyrro, 'Surely, she has seen my Mother's eyes?'

"I said I wish you to tell me of your Mother. Is she dark eyed, like you?"

The hulking figure did not make any move towards her, but the voice altered. It dropped to a low growl, just as her Father's did when he was angry. Spyrro had almost never heard that tone directed against herself – her argument with Mei'Savir on board the Chameleon had been the only time she could remember him speaking to her like that – but it affected her strongly now. She thought maybe it would be ok to answer the question, 'After all, it is not me speaking about my Mother – it is her.'

"Yes." She said, cautiously.

"That is very unusual," The elder female said, "Is she of this clan?"

Spyrro was still puzzled, but on this point at least she could give an honest answer, while betraying nothing, "I… do not know."

She knew Mei'Savir was a Rough Skull, but Mei'Varsi? She knew little of her parents' lives before her own birth. Right now she could not remember if either of them had ever mentioned her Mother being part of the clan.

"You do not know? Did he never tell you of your mother?"

"Tell me of her?"

"He should have educated you about who your mother is – but then, it does not surprise me that he neglected to do so."

Spyrro opened her mouth, but then shut it again. Slowly, realisation began to dawn, 'She does not know who my mother is – how can she not know?" Her brow knotted as she remembered some of the nasty things the Matriarch had said about her Mother and her brothers, "But then… perhaps Father and Mother wanted her not to know…"

"Is your Mother yet living?"

Spyrro did not dare speak, as the elder female scrutinised her closely, "I see from your face that she is. So, your Father's crimes are even greater than I imagined. He had no right to take you from your Mother."

Aghast, Spyrro tried to think of something she could say to undo the crime she had unwittingly laid on her Father's shoulders, "My Mother wants me to be with him, she said it was alright – "

"So he told you." The elder female snorted, "A pretty tactic, to cover his offences with lies."

"Mei'Savir would never lie to me!"

"This is the blind idolatry you have for him – attachment without discipline. That is why it is unnatural for a female child to be in the keeping of a male. And it is not fitting for you to be raised alongside those two half-breed mongrels your Father sired on the soft meat slut."

"They are my brothers!"

"They are abominations, fit only for extermination." Spyrro bared her teeth at this, but the older female went on, "You should have been raised alongside your sisters."

"My… sisters?"

"If you had been raised in your proper place, with me on the Vortex, then all the clan would have been your sisters… as they will come to be, in time." The Matriarch's jaws curled in on themselves, "Given your father's lack of self-control, it is likely you have blood sisters, born of other females, unknown to you. Males are incapable of restricting themselves to one female – especially males like him."

"My Father has neverbeen disloyal to my Mother – " Spyrro clapped her hands over her mouth to stop even worse flying out.

The GhaRan-S'i-Ka laughed then, the noise starting deep in her chest, as if iron files were scraping together, but moving up her throat to emerge as a guttural snigger.

"You are wilfully ignorant, my girl. You yourself heard him admit his dishonourable relations with the ooman bitch. He is unrepentantly lecherous – and she was doubtless just one female amongst many conquests left in his wake." She flexed her talons, "You can expect no loyalty – no affection from males such as your father is. They are easily attracted, easily satisfied and then – just as easily – they leave."

"Lex, do not leave me!" Scar stared down at her face, clasped between his hands, cold and still, "Do not go where I cannot follow – I will not let you!"

Panic flooded him. Casting around desperately, his eyes fell on the knife. With sudden, savage resolution, he snatched it up and held it, the point resting in the hollow of his throat, "I will not let you go." He hissed again, "Not if I have to come to the next world and drag you back, myself!"

He tensed, his grip tightening on the handle as he prepared to stab it upwards into his throat. A mania possessed him, a feverish need to blot out all thought and all feeling. He wanted – needed – to escape: to be released from this awful, crushing sensation in his temples and his chest.

Unbidden, the faces of his children appeared before him; he saw their misery and grief; saw their helplessness in the face of enemies that far outstripped them. He closed his eyes to shut them out, the point of the blade still resting in the hollow of his throat, his fingers still wrapped around the hilt, every moment gathering his strength to do it and every moment feeling his arm weaken.

"I have failed them…. I have failed them! I let her die! I cannot abandon them. I cannot go with her…"

The pain of it struck him with stupefying force; an armoured fist in his gut, driving the breath from him. He doubled up, still clutching her, the useless knife clattering from his fingers onto the stones.

"Bitch goddess!" His howl echoed around the chamber, "Do not take her from me!"

Scar clasped her cold face in his talons again. He had never been given to praying but he was on his knees now, "Mother of Darkness, I know you swallow all souls in the end… I know you do not attend to the trifling pleas of mortals… but I command you to hear mine…"

Closing his eyes, he searched for the stillness inside himself; the dark, silent place within, where the goddess reigned and burned like a flame, "I have always been your champion, Nameless One. I have killed in your honour, I have dispatched to you countless offerings; lives unnumbered. Now I ask, no… I beg…" He looked down at Lex's pale, lifeless face, "She is a creature of shadow, your creature – as I am. Return her to this world. Take what you want from me; my life, my soul… whatever you wish – take it! Whatever you demand, I will do it! Give her back to me, for I cannot live in a world where she lives not."

Taking a deep breath, he pushed the switch to increase the charge of the krei'ithala, his own breath stilled as the power level crept slowly up… and up. Then he pressed it to Lex's chest and the current slammed into her, her body arching upwards again in a violent paroxysm, up and up until he thought he couldn't stand it anymore...

A spluttering gurgle burst from her throat.

"Lexsss!"

Immediately, he shut off the power, pulling her onto her side, holding onto her as she fought to expel the water that had driven the air from her lungs, gasping and choking, water bubbling up from her mouth in great, mucus-laden retches.

"Breathe, demon, you must breathe…"

She was racked by heaving coughs, her eyelids were screwed shut. Then they fluttered open and she stared past him with vacant pupils. He put his hands either side of her face again, needing to hear her; needing to know if her brain had survived the oxygen starvation, "Lex – speak to me! Tell me you hear me!"

"Scar?"Her voice was just a croak, seeming to fight its way out from deep in her chest. Then she collapsed, coughing and choking and sobbing against him, covering him in tears and slimy, brackish water. He held onto her dumbly, weak with relief. Hearing her voice, he suddenly felt on the point of collapse, as if his own lungs had been starved of breath just as hers had been.

"What's… happening?" She laboured to get the words out between heaves.

"You arrre safe…. You arrre with me."

"Where are we?" Her head turned fretfully, eyes bleary, disorientated, "I feel… so…"

"Lexsss, you are… alive, ask no more." He pressed one hand against her chest, sighing to feel the pulse thudding beneath the skin, her lungs filling with air.

Somewhere, beyond the tonnes of rubble, there was a sound like a storm in the distance.

"What is that?" She stared up at him, eyes round and full of alarm, and now she spoke in yautja, "S'Kia, what is happening?!"

He looked down at her; at the way her head rested against his arm; at the veil of shadowy hair hanging down; at the dark whiplash of the hard meat's tail scarring her throat. He knew the shift into his language was an attempt to force an answer from him, 'I must not distress her further, she has already died once this day.'

"It is… nothing, demon. Nothing." He soothed, lifting her in his arms, "But we are… leaving this place."

Rivulets of dust hissed from the ceiling as the crash of blows echoed down the corridor, 'Not yet, Nameless One. When we are free, you may take what you wish but I am not ready to fulfil my side of our bargain yet!'

Isaac was still hunched over the controls of the Chameleon, when he looked up… and had to stop himself lurching backwards to find Varrik at his shoulder, "What do you... want?"

"The transmission," The Rough Skull said "What was it?"

"What transmission?"

"You said there was a transmission to this ship just before we left, what was it?"

Isaac shifted uneasily at being in close proximity with Varrik. He looked around the cockpit, but Selim had gone to the sleeping pod to be on his own. Halkrath was engaged in a complicated procedure with some piece of equipment. Only Rika was nearby, sitting in the co-pilot seat, apparently paying them no attention. Like S'Kia, these yautja seemed to have the ability to appear self-assured in any new surroundings. He guessed this must be from their savage upbringing, 'I suppose the socially awkward ones get weeded out early. S'Kia always acts like he owns the place, no matter where he is!'

"I have not… viewed it," He said, his eyes narrowing, "I wanted to get us to a safe… distance first."

Varrik snorted, "It could have been a warning they were about to fire the Cutter's guns on us!"

"Then they did not make good their threat." Rika observed.

Isaac flicked a control abruptly, "Watch it, if you want."

The cockpit lit up, a yautja face he did not recognise filling the screen, orange eyes and brows covered by dark, black spines that swept upwards in jagged rows.

"Varrik," He said, "I have been searching for you. Where are you going?"

"One of your command?" Rika asked.

The Rough Skull captain did not answer, but his brows drew down as he watched the screen.

"I know it is you, aboard the Abomination's ship." The large male on the screen went on, "I know you feel some sort of… loyalty to him, but you are sealing your own death! Have you caught his madness yourself? You will lose your rank and gain nothing but a swift execution. It is not too late to conceal what you have done. Cease this insanity and turn back, before – "

Varrik reached out and terminated the message, moving so fast it made Isaac jump. Without another word, the Rough Skull captain turned and stalked off in the direction of the sleeping pods.

Isaac glared after him. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Rika watching him. "You do not like Varrik?"

Isaac did not answer, instead he focused his attention on the controls.

"He was the one who led me to you," Rika said, "He has sacrificed his rank and perhaps more to help you."

Isaac's frown grew darker as he bent lower over the controls, "I did not… ask him to."

Rika raised his brows, "His friend is right to say he risks a death sentence – as we all do. He is honourable. He is doing this because of the admiration he has for your Father and your Mother."

"Ha!" Isaac gave a sour laugh, but he restrained himself from saying any more, knowing Selim would want him to be diplomatic, 'You think I should be grateful to him, dont' you? All of you just love telling people what they should do, but I know what he is.' He gritted his teeth, 'An evil, bullying son-of-a-bitch. Just like S'Kia.'

Lex wavered in and out of consciousness. Her chest and throat were a mass of agony but she couldn't remember why: 'What's happening? Am I injured or ill or…' Her breath caught painfully and she scoured her mind, trying to piece together what was going on. Memories and half hallucinations competed in her brain, getting tangled together: waking up at the military base in Nevada; regaining consciousness in the medipod onboard the Chameleon; giving birth. All of them hazy and jumbled … none of them coherent … none of them fitting her current situation.

Like a drunken gambler, her memory threw up card after card that made no sense: another time when Scar had carried her down a long, dark corridor, when she had been helpless, unable to move, 'Are we on the ship? The gel tank … hypothermia… is that why I'm so weak?'

She looked up at him, her confused brain trying to understand why he wore no bandages, 'But he was injured, wasn't he? No… wait… that was years ago… before we had the children…'

Her head rolled back as she struggled to reassemble a coherent picture from the whirl of memories. She stared up at him and images flashed into her mind, confused and confusing. She saw him facing down the Queen on the deck of the seabound platform, turning to look at her through a curtain of hammering rain; watching her with huge, yellow eyes as she lay in the medipod; standing in front of her, swearing he was going to kill D'Kand, on fire with rage.

Her memories were shrouded in a fog, her chest filled with hot lead. He clicked as he lifted his fingers to her throat to check her pulse, putting a hand to her face, "You are still… cold."

"What's wrong with me, Scar?" She had to force the words out of her raw throat, "Am I sick?"

"Not… exactly, but you need rest and… food, also.

A thought came to her, "Where's… the Chameleon?"

"Lex, do not be… concerned, I will… think of something."

She breathed steadily for a moment and then started in horror as another thought surfaced, 'If the Chameleon is lost … but how can the Chameleon be lost, when the children are on it?'

"Selim… Isaac… Spyrro… where are they?"

"We are going to them soon… I swear it."

She barely heard him. She could not fight off the dark red flood of exhaustion that rolled in, swamping her in unconsciousness…

Selim sat on the edge of his bed, in his room – the room he had slept in as long as he could remember. This room had always been familiar and comforting to him before, now he could barely see its beloved walls for his own wretchedness.

'I have killed one of my own kind. I felt his life drain away. But I was I protecting my brother! I was doing what Mei'Savir would wish. Then… why do I feel this way? What is wrong with me?

He had barely thought about what he was doing when he launched himself at that Rough Skull, instinct had taken over. Moments later, he had come back to himself, covered in blood, the memory of the last few moments replaying in his head in sickening slow-motion. He had rinsed the blood from his hands but almost he fancied he could still feel the sticky residue on his skin. He could smell it; the iron tang of it clinging in his nostrils, adding to his sense of unease.

'All my life I have been trained to fight, to kill.' He thought, 'But Mei'Savir never told me that it would be like this…" He shook his head "But I cannot be thinking about this! I should be thinking about Spyrro … about finding Mei'Savir and Mei'Varsi!'

Selim ran a hand through his plaits and stood up, the walls of his sleeping pod suddenly much too confined for him. Stepping out into the corridor, he was suddenly face-to-face with Varrik, as the adult male emerged from the cockpit, his face twisted into a scowl. Selim managed to lurch backwards before they collided with each other, the Rough Skull captain shifting reflexively into fighting stance.

"Watch where you are going!" He snapped.

Selim lowered his head in acquiescence. He did not want any more violence right now. Varrik had proven himself their ally. Even if he was not particularly friendly, Selim felt he should be grateful.

"I wanted to thank you," He said, not knowing if there was some form of yautja etiquette he should be observing, "You helped us to escape… and we are both grateful."

Varrik tossed his head "It was a debt of honour from long ago. To your Father. Your Mother also."

Selim could sense the other's temper cooling; his shoulders relaxing a fraction, mane settling back round his shoulders.

He was suddenly desperate to ask the Rough Skull to talk more, to tell more of what he knew about his parents' past. Both of them were always so reluctant to discuss it, 'Maybe he knows why they were expelled… and how they came to be at war with the clan. Maybe he even knows how Isaac came to be separated from me at birth, how he came to be in the care of the humans…'

Hungry as he was for details about his parents' former, unknown lives, he restrained himself from asking, 'I do not wish to push my luck too far.'

The Rough Skull captain rubbed his hand across his face, he looked tired, his eyes bloodshot.

"If you wish to sleep, you can use my parents' chamber," Selim motioned to the room.

Varrik looked up sharply, "The room where you Father sleeps? That he shares with the witch? No."

"But they are not here."

"I cannot accept." Varrik voice was brittle, taut with formality.

Selim frowned, "Why?"

Varrik watched him for a few moments, as if trying to decide whether Selim were making fun of him. Then he narrowed his eyes, "You were raised off ship, boy, so you do not understand. If S'Kia discovers I have been in his quarters, he will kill me."

"Kill you?!"

"Certainly. No Sain'Ja could tolerate such an insult." Varrik raised one spiny brow, as if trying to lighten the mood, "And who knows what dark horrors lurk in the bedchamber of a sorceress? Perhaps I would curse myself just stepping over her threshold!"

Selim did not know what to say. Though they were close in age and spoke the same language, he sensed a gulf between himself and the other male. He and Isaac and Spyrro roamed where they pleased onboard the Chameleon, it was their home. He did not fear his parents. He did not recognise the strange, dark picture Varrik was painting of them. It was like walking into a familiar room and finding all the furniture up on the ceiling.

Varrik regarded him for a few more moments, then he put his hand on Selim's shoulder, "I shall rest in your quarters."

Then he stalked past, before Selim had a chance to object.

Tenjp: Yeah, I definitely think Scar feels vulnerable now but - like you say - he has done for a while, ever since their relationship started.

lexia: Hope I didn't leave you hanging too long!

LovyDovy7: Sorry about the cliffhangers, but I hope they were a bit enjoyable - kinda?!