Major love to all my reviewers! If parts of this chapter seem a little abrupt it is meant to take pleace over something like a two month long journey, so remember to factor in time if I've forgotten to mention it! And don't judge Jahar to harshly... if she wasn't an alien I'd say 'she's only human' :P

Chapter 31

In a daze I guided the useless terrazite onto The Starwave, and ordered us to take off. The others were silent – the ship seemed so empty now with just me and the children: every sound of our shifting hooves seemed to clatter unnaturally loud. The big lump of metal Visser Three had given me sat in our hold, mocking me from afar, a worthless grey-blue heap filling the vacuum that had been Alloran. We lifted off and Medrar ran scans to see if any Bug Fighters were waiting for us, but the skies seemed clear. Lortif pointed us towards the stars, up and away from Earth, but I touched his shoulder to stop him taking us out of the atmosphere just yet.

No, we're not quite finished on Earth.

What else is there to do, Jahar? he asked curiously. A sense of purpose was filling me, a memory that I'd been promised something, and the certainty that it would come.

Take us to the old construction site, I said firmly. Lortif exchanged a look with Medrar which I didn't miss, a look which wondered if I was losing my mind. Perhaps I was. He'd have shared the glance with Farling too, except my son was staring sulkily out the viewing screen with all four eyes. Still, as the only adult left my command was once again unchallenged, so he swung The Starwave around and piloted us swiftly to the familiar area. Below us sprawled the grey concrete landscape, broken here and there by half raised shells of buildings and the occasional rusting piece of machinery. I scanned the viewing screen, and then pointed when I found what I was looking for. Down there, Lortif. He followed my finger and let out an Andalite curse. Medrar and Tirdellan too gasped and exclaimed, and even Farling broke his gloomy reverie to gaze in shock at the screen. Only I felt no surprise, not even a quickening to my pulse rate. Somehow I had already known it would be as The Third had said.

Standing together, now almost directly below us, were two distinct Andalite figures. As Lortif settled The Starwave down beside them on the rough concrete floor we lowered the shields so that they could see us. They turned and waved, hurrying off screen to the outer doors of The Starwave.

Kipsing, Tirdellan breathed.

Computer, open outer doors, I commanded. We all hesitated, reluctant to leave the viewing screens, even though the figures could no longer be seen onscreen, and then I heard the sound of two pairs of hooves on the decks and Arbat and Kipsing walked into the cockpit. For a few seconds none of us even breathed, but instead just stared at the two of them as if we expected them to vanish again.

They weren't ghosts but solid, whole and unscarred. Kipsing with the arrogant lift to his tail, Arbat with his mocking eyes. They both paused to see us, goggling silently, and then Kipsing tossed his head and snorted.

Well, some welcome back this is!

You're alive, Tirdellan murmured. He turned his main eyes to her and something soft flickered in them. She took a slow step forward and reached out her tail to him. He graciously touched blades with her, caressing hers gently.

So it would appear. He winced, as if a momentary pain had shot through him. Although with very unpleasant recollections. Was I really burned alive?

More burned to death, Tirdellan said, somewhat giddily. Her face fell. And it was my fault.

Nonsense, a female can't possibly take the credit for something so horrific, Kipsing said a little gruffly. It offends sensibility. I suppose this was his way of forgiving her. She certainly brightened up, and then he smiled at her with his main eyes and she returned it, the warmth between them filling the cockpit. I switched my attention from them to Arbat, who had been watching with an amused expression.

And you, Arbat? Any memories? He frowned and raised a hand to his temple.

I admit, Jahar, I have none. I suppose my demise must have been mercifully swift, if indeed I died at all.

I certainly did, Kipsing said softly. I felt it. Arbat shrugged.

I feel that I have merely blinked. Only a second ago we were in the Blade ship, or so it seems.

You were in the Blade ship? Kipsing echoed. What was it like? He turned expectantly to Tirdellan, but she shook her head.

I didn't go. You'll have to ask my brother or his friends. Kipsing turned to the Arisths as if he had only just noticed them.

Did any of you die then?

No, just you two, Medrar replied calmly. His smile was not as friendly as it could have been. Don't you even wonder how it is that you're alive?

Once a miracle has been performed it seems impolite to question it, Arbat observed mildly. I shifted, bringing their attention back to me.

You're alive because of a deal Alloran and I made with a being of the same species as The Ellimist, I said quietly. Alloran went back to being Visser Three's host, in the hope that eventually that will save us all, and you were returned to us. There was a heavy pause, and I didn't miss the horror which flickered over Kipsing's face.

Alloran did that? Arbat asked finally. Why? I felt like something was slowly fragmenting inside me – my resolve, or maybe my hearts.

Because I asked him to, I finally managed. I turned abruptly. Lortif, please take us home. Without saying anything else I strode out, almost racing, as if I could run away from them, heading for my quarters. I had hoped that somehow seeing the two of them alive again would make everything right, that it would balance the sadness within me. And yes, seeing Kipsing alive again lightened my hearts and mitigated my sense of guilt over this whole botched mission, and seeing Arbat alive again was a relief, as if a broken piece of the universe had been slotted back into place.

But it didn't make up for the fact that Alloran was gone again.

If I closed my eyes I could still feel that strange and wonderful feeling of his human lips on mine. I could still hear him say 'I love you'. If I tried very hard I could remember the frantic touch of his fingers caressing every inch of me as I melted under his hands, and pressed against him so tight I thought nothing could tear us apart. And that was the most miserable thing, I suppose. Nothing had torn us apart but ourselves. We had walked away from each other, me to my lonely misery and Alloran back to his tormenter. I don't know who of us was worse off, but I certainly felt very sorry for myself.

The soft swish of my doors made me look up, and I trembled to see Arbat standing there.

We are underway, he said softly. Hak Bajeesh, we are going home. I tried a smile, felt it freeze and slide from my eyes.

Without Alloran.

Yes. He hesitated, uncertain and clumsy. I waited to see if he would say anything, but then fell to filling the silence myself.

Arbat, I need to make one thing clear. Alloran told me that his greatest fear was that in his absence we would turn to each other. It felt unbelievably cruel to lay Alloran's anxieties in front of his brother, but I pressed on. I promised him we had not. And I promised him we would not.

I think I understand, Arbat said.

No, I replied. I want you to understand truly. You could gallop beside me and walk under the stars with me and stroke my face for a hundred years, Arbat, and I would not betray Alloran. But since you know that now, since you know your attempts will not avail you, I am asking you to stop trying to seduce me from your brother. You are alive again because of him, and I demand that you honour him during this life. Chilly silence radiated between us, but then Arbat's gaze softened and he took a tentative step towards me.

Do you know, Jahar, the only reason I pursued you was because I knew you would never waver? If I had thought for one second that I could be doing Alloran harm I would never have even spoken to you.

I snorted. An easy claim with hindsight. And if I had fallen into your arms? He shrugged.

The point is you did not. He raised a gentle hand and I tensed, ready to run, but his fingertips only brushed my cheekbone chastely. Jahar, we know what we are. We were once lovers, but now we are brother and sister, and all shall be proper between us. Now there was tiny note of pleading in his thought speak. But surely affection between siblings is permissible?

I don't know what the right choice would have been there. I didn't trust Arbat's protestations of innocence for one second. Perhaps I was flattering myself, but I believed his pursuit of me had always been genuine, that after his anger towards me had cooled over time he had still yearned for me. Would it have been wiser to have stepped away and refused any contact with him, to have firmly set up a wall between us? Perhaps, but I was feeling weak and very much in need of affection. So, for better or for worse, I accepted Arbat's brotherly kiss, and told myself that I wasn't betraying Alloran and never would, even as I relaxed under his soft fingertips.

I was careful. I certainly didn't have sex with Arbat, and made great efforts to avoid anything that could be construed as anything but sibling affection. In fact, looking back on it, on the voyage back to the Andalite world I used Arbat shamelessly, and gave him very little in return. Perhaps I justified it to myself by saying that I was the reason he was alive at all. I banished all thoughts that I was the reason he had died in the first place, and instead wallowed in his brotherly affection (ignoring the dark glint of desire I occasionally caught in his eyes when he thought I wasn't looking) and in the company of a mature male Andalite who could take all decisions out of my hand.

Did I betray Alloran? I honestly don't know. I hope I did not. I didn't feel sick at heart, as I was sure I would have if I had really been disloyal to him. It never crossed my mind that what he had feared most of all might perhaps have been this gentle sliding into using Arbat for solace, as the terrible ache in my hearts gradually dimmed so that I no longer felt an insistent urge always to scream. When I laughed again at a hologram Arbat showed us, truly laughed, and only five weeks after leaving Earth, I felt only a small prick of disloyalty. I could banish it by looking at my daughter and seeing her so rapturously in love with Kipsing. Death had aged him – his cocky arrogance was battered and slightly diminished, and he was the better for it. This time round he clearly loved her back, and although they still bickered their squabbling had lost its hurtful tone.

And I suppose I forgot that every second for Alloran was misery because it is hard work and tiring to be distraught for every second of every day. I settled back into the pattern of missing him, missing him but only in a general way which tinted every day with melancholy. The agonising flame of loss burned down within me, until it was just glowing embers. I pitied Alloran. I tried to send him my love across the gulf separating us, as if I could transmit my emotions across the millions of miles yawning between us. I missed him, and I missed the passion we had only very briefly reignited, but I was with friends. I was going home, and I was with young creatures, and Kipsing and Tirdellan were happy and Farling's gloom lifted like mist off a lake and was replaced by excitement in exploring new corners of the universe, and he laughed as he gathered with Lortif and Medrar and stared in wonder out of our viewing screen. And Arbat was charming.

We had parted again, but Alloran went to our enemies and I went back to our friends, and in that situation it was difficult sometimes to remember how miserable he must be.

I suppose I grew complacent. The Third had made good his promise regarding Arbat and Kisping. I settled down to wait for him to return Alloran to me in the same way. I missed him terribly, of course, but I told myself I had matured, because the pain did not dictate my everyday life.

If I could go back would I try to live differently? Would I keep the pain of our parting like a scab over a deep wound, picking it open again and again so that it will always be fresh and raw? Was there a need for me to bleed every second for Alloran, even if every day he felt fresh insistent misery? Was it really so disloyal for me to realise that I had lived for years without him, and I was capable of doing it again?

I truly believed that I loved him still, as I always had, despite his faults, guilelessly and deeply. Was it so wrong to look to the future and rekindle some hope, and allow the pain of the past to dim?

I don't know. I wonder if I ever will.