Ash. I am Ash. Falling, sinking helplessly through waves of imagery and emotion that came and went too quickly to understand, he grappled in panic to fix on identity that dissolved like sea-mist in sunlight before the certainty that surrounded him. I am Ash... I... am... Wraith. Guide – Navigator – Commander. No. No, ASH, I'm Ash-
*You should not be here.* The Wraith's mind enfolded him almost absently, intent on something else he could not yet sense. He struggled to free himself, and the creature turned its attention to him with that sudden complete focus that reminded him yet again that this was a predator. The momentary brush of its awareness against his was alien, terrifying, an indelible impression of immense age, and a wiry, supple mind that unrolled his like a map, studied him with a calculating eye, then withdrew. Bitterest irony in the precise touch of its thoughts. *So you're a fixer. Rescue the lost, help the helpless, heal the sick. She abandoned me here... And you wanted to find out what was wrong, what she did to me... You want to know what Wraith are.* A split second of surprise, then grim amusement layered with something between resignation and acceptance. *You've a strong mind, for a human.* He sensed its intent then and flailed, lashing out in desperate self-defence, but it quelled his struggles with ease, folded him within itself with the deft ease of a man pocketing his wallet. *I'll show you.*
A jagged succession of disjointed memories, nested within one another like the restless nightmare images of a fever-dream:
A dim, warm cave of a room, and beyond a door made of webs a woman, luminous, slender, pale-skinned. A Queen, the image crowded with meaning: Hive-mother, protector, ruler, lover... enemy.
Scarlet hair twined in some braided arrangement that was simultaneously severe and sumptuous; pale skin, white and smooth as bone, silver-grey eyes and the barbed black tail of a clan tattoo that licked downwards from the hollow of her throat. Her lips were scarlet too, and curved in a small, cool smile as she allowed his scrutiny.
"You're a Keeper. Frost." A giddy whirl of confusion and fear and a painful, irrational hope.
"No." She perceived what was in his mind without effort, and her lip curled. Her mental voice chilled his heart. *Not any more.*
He noticed for the first time that she wore the leathers of a ship commander, not the decorative garb of a Queen, and once more she read his thoughts and dismissed them.
*And yet I am a Queen.* She lifted his gaze effortlessly to meet hers, and his breath hissed between his teeth with the strain of pushing her mind away. She permitted it, with a kind of amused tolerance, but an icy thread of fear grew in him at the power he sensed there. He formed the words aloud, with painstaking slowness.
"Who. Are. You?"
Her smile was sharp with irony. "I was indeed Frost, Keeper of the clans for many centuries. Our people slept safe as I stood guard over them." She made a small gesture and the web door retracted, leaving them face to face. She was impossibly slender in the tailored leathers, and the height difference meant that she had to tilt her face up to maintain eye contact. Her pupils dilated, and Guide found he was trembling, adrenalin flooding his limbs. Her grey eyes were deep pools of memory, of sorrow, her throaty voice harsh. "Then the Lanteans came and slew my sister, and the hives woke. And now..." She reached out one finely-armoured claw of her feeding hand to touch his face, and her mind's voice sounded through him like the crash of the sea. *Now I am Sanctuary.* She cupped her palm to touch his cheek. The brush of skin on skin sent him to his knees before her, gasping. His heart was pounding, fear and desire and the terror of her cold strength all crashing together. She saw it. The barbs of her handmouth scraped his jaw, feeding membranes licking greedily at his pulse as she gently passed her open hand across his throat in a gesture part caress, part threat. She leaned close to breathe in the smell of him, peered into his eyes, and her voice was soft again, musing. *But what of you? I don't recognise your clan markings. You were a commander, that much is obvious, but your demeanour says otherwise. And you reek of humans even though any fool can see that you have not fed. Why is that?* She wound long fingers in his hair and twisted his face up to hers, fixing him with her pale eyes, and it was all he could do to keep her out. He screwed his own eyes shut, gritting his teeth with the effort of pushing her mind away.
*You cannot lie to a Queen.* She had caught the trailing end of a thread in his mind, and he was helpless as she teased at the frayed edge of memory, then abruptly withdrew, bored with her game, and released him. He slumped against the wall of the holding-pen, trembling, unable to hide his relief. Her footsteps were brisk, receding, and her voice very clear and cold in his head. *You would be wise not to try.*