Hello! Here we have it then, the last chapter from Jahar's past. This one was very difficult to handle - please let me know what you think! And it is dedicated to those of you who have reviewed so faithfully - thank you :)

Chapter 26

I greet the suns that bless my family, their rays watching over my children and warming my husband in the darkness, Jahar intoned, taking her time to go through the morning ritual. She yawned as she drank the first water of the morning, and noted tiredly that there was really very little sun to be greeted. Threatening purple clouds obscured the heavens, and the wind carried the cold tang of earth and rain, the scent of wet grass blowing into her nostrils. She only ran a short way, as the incipient storm somehow minimised her appetite, and trotted back to the scoop. Farling was unusually quiet, resting with a mild illness which gave him headaches and sapped his energy. Jahar checked his temperature and then sent him out for his breakfast. He trotted slowly, raising a hand to his temples and complaining that the thundering of his own hooves would make his head fall off.

I doubt it, Jahar said. She shooed Tirdellan out after him for a morning run, and her daughter capered far more energetically, leaving Farling far behind. Yawning again, Jahar turned to her main computer and checked her messages. Four new messages, the computer intoned, and alittle thrill of excitement shook her as she opened the first one. More orders for her artwork scrawled across the screen, and she felt a surge of pride as she read the words.

Having heard of your new talent... evaluating your work and finding it very innovative... order seven items...

Jahar's hearts skipped. It had been her mother who had suggested she fill her time by professionally producing her own artwork. Her mother was already a successful artist, and so had been able to introduce her daughter to the contacts necessary to be noticed. Now hardly a day went by without messages filling her screen spilling admiration for her work and pleas for personal samples to be placed in scoops far away, glowing and beautiful. Jahar specialised in moving holographic displays, geometric patterns and swirls which undulated gently in a corner or on a work surface, the soft lights designed to simulate calm and peace within watchers.

More awake now, Jahar read through the messages: three orders for her art and one reminder to service the transport ship she'd been left with after Alloran took The Jahar. She filed the reminder and the orders separately, gave Farling some painkillers as he stepped gingerly back into the scoop and settled him down with some gentle audio displays which would not tax him. Both her children were old enough now to have entered the Andalite education system, and although Farling was staying at home today with her, Tirdellan left for her classes shortly after her morning run.

At peace, Jahar settled down to her project of the day. She felt a little guilty working on a private piece with so many commissions piling up in her files, but this particular effort was intended as a gift for a cousin who had only recently returned from an exploratory trip which had begun long before the war with the Yeerks had, before she'd even met Alloran, and she wanted something to give him when they met after such a time. Frowning in concentration, she drew a pointer through the air and obedient silvery lines trailed in its wake as the sculpture grew and took form beneath her fingers. Such was her concentration that she was unaware of the passing of half the day, until her computer beeped to tell her that she'd received another new message. Putting down the pointer Jahar massaged her fingers ruefully – they were settling into a cramp from holding the delicate instrument so long.

Show message full screen, she ordered, and the computer obeyed. Confused, Jahar read through the short missive at least twice. It was a summons by War Prince Gamaron Ferdiss Cadar to the nearest military base, to discuss 'such things as can not be communicated in any way but personally'. A strange fear curled in her chest as she reread the words. She'd never heard of such a summons for a female with no military rank or role in the least. Her instinctive thought was that Alloran was dead, surely, but then High Command were notoriously poor at confirming deaths. And anyway, a simple report was all she would ever have expected from that.

This was a summons.

A personal meeting.

What had he done? She hated herself for thinking it, but the words wouldn't stop swirling around her head. What had Alloran done now?

As she struggled to rein in her panicked, mad suppositions, a link at the bottom of the message caught her attention, and she ordered her computer to open it. Instantly a strangely familiar Andalite face filled her screen, indicating that she'd opened visual communications with the sender of the message.

You are Jahar Nyleria Teldon? the Andalite demanded. Somehow she found an answer.

I am. Are you War Prince Gamaron?

I am Lieutenant Tarryan, War Prince Gamaron's second in command. With a jolt of recognition Jahar realised where she'd seen him before. He'd been there that day she'd visited Alloran and The Lightwing in its hanger.

For what purpose have I been requested to attend an interview with War Prince Gamaron? she inquired.

You are commanded to attend this interview for reasons which can not be specified over a visual communication, Tarryan replied, and Jahar trembled at the word 'commanded'. What could have happened? Are you able to respond immediately?

Her son was sick. She shouldn't leave him.

But if something had happened to Alloran...

I am, she replied, her thought speak steady through effort.

Excellent, Tarryan replied. I will dispatch a transport ship immediately to collect you.

Farling didn't protest much at being left alone. He hadn't the energy to get himself into trouble, and his temperature was lowering so Jahar felt that he would not be in any danger in her absence. As a precaution she took a small communications unit which she wore on a belt around the junction between her upright upper torso and her horizontal lower body. If he needed her he could call, but it seemed that all he was likely to do was sleep. She ensured that there was plenty of water in a container near him, so that he could remain hydrated without walking far.

The little transport ship didn't take long arriving, and Jahar stepped apprehensively into it. The pilot didn't speak to her, but instead lifted off swiftly and spent the short journey in silence, gazing ahead at the horizon. On the visual screen, the military base they were heading for glided closer, at first a shining silver gleam in the distance and then a growing bubble with cliffs rearing at its back, sparkling waterfalls cascading on either side of it. It sat in front of the steeps cliffs, on an island between two rivers, or two halves of the same great river, Jahar couldn't be sure, the floodplain of the rivers stretching out in front of it, the grasses (blue-green here) rich and long. When the ship had landed on an open landing pad and Jahar stepped out, she found her nostrils filled with the fertile smell of earth and vegetation and above all water, in the rivers, in the grasses, in the clouds hanging overhead.

Lieutenant Tarryan was waiting for her on the landing pad, and he led her, also without speaking, through the open areas of the military base to the central command dome, the great shining bubble placed in the middle of the base. He keyed in a code, and the doors opened for them. Jahar followed him, passing into an interior of interconnected open courts with closed rooms at the corners. The courts were full of Andalites hurrying to and fro: swaggering warriors with shredders, quieter technicians (some females with their toolboxes as well as smaller males), a Captain who walked by leaving ripples of awed silence in his wake. The soaring dome overhead helped dispel the feeling of claustrophobia, and the grass underfoot was short and hardy, specially designed to survive the many, many hooves traversing it every day. She tasted it and pulled a face. It certainly hadn't been chosen for its edibility. Tarryan led her through courtyards and wide passages towards the centre of dome, taking a sharp left suddenly and stopping in front of a door like all the others.

War Prince Gamaron will see you alone. He executed a small bow to her and turned to go. For a very brief second their eyes met, and Jahar was shaken by the look of pity in the other's green depths. What horror awaited her in this room? Steeling herself, she pressed her hand to the entry panel, and the door slid open with a soft hiss. She hesitated on the threshold, and then a male's voice said, Come! the word snapped out like the crack of a tail, and she entered the room, lit by the glow of the consoles that ringed its exterior and dim because of the dark clouds crowding above the domed ceiling.

War Prince Gamaron stood in the centre of the room, waiting for her, and Jahar was momentarily stunned, forgetting her purpose for coming here, forgetting everything. He was a medium sized male, with a lovely high lift to his tail, and there was no way she could have put her finger on what it was about him that stopped her, except that he simply exuded it. Some pheromone rolled off him in powerful waves, heady and very tangible, so that his beautiful golden-green eyes were absolutely hypnotic, the muscles visible beneath the thin blue fur riveted her and every movement he made, the way he shifted his smooth shoulders, the curves of his throat as he turned his head to her, was simply...

Jahar exhaled and realised that she had been holding her breath. War Prince Gamaron took a step forward and she instantly took a corresponding step back because it felt indecent to be so close to something so... exhilarating? Was that the word? Her hearts were hammering harder against her will, her blood racing. For a second she fancied he could have told her that the entire fleet was lost in a black hole, and she's have just stood there dumbly drinking in his golden eyes, his features, the curve to his haunches.

Then he spoke, and the spell broke.

I am sorry to have inconvenienced you by summoning you so cryptically and disturbing your peace, Gamaron said, and Jahar offered a fleeting thanks to whatever being watched over her, for his voice grated and its harsh sound meant that she could tear her eyes away from him and recover her wits.

It is no inconvenience, she lied dutifully, and he tilted his head, a movement which sent little wobbles to her knees. It had been an awfully long time since she last saw Alloran. Fortunately his rough voice again knocked reality back into her.

Jahar, I am very sorry to be the bearer of distressing news of your husband. That stopped her admiring his well-formed shoulders, like a sharp slap across the face. Somewhere in the universe something had happened to Alloran, and here she was, panting over the messenger. Fear filtered through Jahar's chest and guilt too, like cold oil sticking to her hearts.

Alloran is dead? she whispered, and for a second relief flooded her when his lovely eyes gave a negative. But fear returned, burning, demanding. If not dead then why did War Prince Gamaron look so pitying?

We have received intelligence that War Prince Alloran was sent on a small mission to return two sentient life forms to their planet, Gamaron continued. For some reason he diverted his ship from the mission's schedule and landed on a Yeerk controlled planet. And there he was...

What?

Taken. Gamaron's face told the rest of the terrible story. Jahar said nothing, stood still, said not a word, felt nothing, didn't tremble, just stood there. Gamaron waited for a reaction, then softly, I am so very sorry. It is unthinkable that this Abomination should have been allowed to come into existence.

Is that what they call him now? Jahar asked, her tone level, breath shallow. The Abomination? Gamaron shifted his hands helplessly, a rare sight to see: a War Prince at a loss. Why were you ordered to tell me this? Jahar asked. Why did it have to be in person? Why not a message? It will be common news soon enough. His raw appeal felt like cold clammy weed flung in her face now. Was it for your manner with civilians? she sneered. By all rights War Prince Gamaron would have been justified in physically disciplining her for her tone, but he did not rise to it.

We need to know what Alloran knows, he said calmly. What his slave master now knows.

He knows how to make me forget everything, Jahar said softly. And how to stop time and how to make a moment last forever. Gamaron's expression softened momentarily, but then he seemed to stiffen his resolve.

Jahar, did he know anything about our military arrangements which we are not aware of? Did he take a particular interest in any new inventions? Anything important?

He knows when my daughter pretends to trip over, for sympathy, and when my son is tired but won't say. He knows me, Jahar said quietly. Not things you would consider important, I am sure, but important none the less. She looked up, through the domed ceiling to the looming purple clouds. Under the stars he knew how to make the world wait, just for us. Gamaron shifted and made an uncomfortable sound, and Jahar turned to face him with contempt. You and your commanders knew Alloran as a warrior. You know what military knowledge he has. I can only tell you what he knew as a husband, and I doubt it'll be of any interest, to you or to the Yeerks. But it matters.

I never said it didn't, War Prince Gamaron said gently. And I thank you for your time. He waved her towards the door. Once again, I am sorry for your loss. Jahar blinked, as though surprised.

My loss? she echoed. But, you said yourself, he's not dead. She fought back an inappropriate, hysterical giggle. She stepped from the room, out of the gloom, back into the brightness of the open courts beneath the dome. Tarryan was waiting for her, his eyes soft with sympathy. She wasn't a leper yet – that was to come later. For now she was just to be pitied, as she walked back through the dome to the transport ship waiting for her, silent and bowed under the weight of the choking horror she carried with her. Into the ship, with the silent pilot, and her just as quiet, and across the grasslands and through the first light rain showers, and then down in her fields and out she stepped into the rain, and saw the entrance to her scoop, warm and welcoming, and knew she couldn't go in, not yet, so stood in the rain and watched as the ship lifted off and vanished into the dark veil of water.

She's shivering although it's not cold, Jahar is, but she's also numb, a terrible emptiness in her. Poor baby, she thought she'd seen the worst war could do to her, to Alloran. She now knows she was foolish to think she had known horror earlier. I feel her pain, standing there in the rain, staring wistfully out at the gloom as if searching for an answer. She's just so stunned, like she can't believe this could happen to me.

To her, to me, I, her, she, me.

That's me in the rain, the beginning of me, the beginning of what I am, that empty vessel that was once happy and loving and hopeful but has been crushed by the inexorable grind.

Now all is futility.

Goodbye Jahar. Goodbye wife of War Prince Alloran, who was once young and lovely and happy.

You win world. You win Ellimist. You win and I give up.