Berta's Choice (The Soul-Linked Saga)

by Phillips, Laura Jo

  Chapter 3

  Berta awoke to the sound of knocking on her bedroom door. For one heart-stopping moment she was back on Earth, still a prisoner in the old Brethren desert compound. She’d been getting better lately, waking up normally without her heart racing and her palms sweating every morning, so it seemed more shocking now when the old reactions came back so suddenly.

  “Berta?” Hope called from the other side of the door, instantly easing Berta’s fears.

  “Come in, Hope,” Berta called as she sat up and pushed the sleeves of her nightgown down to her wrists, then reached for the bedside lamp.

  The door opened and Hope stepped in, still wearing her robe. Berta glanced at the clock, surprised to see that it was still very early.

  “What’s the matter?” Berta asked, tossing her blanket aside and turning herself slowly and carefully so that her legs hung over the edge of the bed.

  Hope dragged a wooden chair from the far side of the room over to the side of the bed and sat down in front of Berta. Her long blonde hair hung loose down her back, past her hips, and Berta stared at it for a moment. She’d never seen Hope without her hair in a thick braid over her shoulder, and had no idea that it was so long.

  She realized that she was afraid of whatever had brought Hope into her bedroom in the middle of the night, and was searching for other things to think about. She looked up, meeting Hope’s clear, turquoise eyes with her own slightly rheumy dark blue eyes.

  “What is it?” she asked, wincing slightly at the tremble in her own voice.

  “Berta, I hardly even know how to tell you this,” Hope began. “It’s just so...unexpected.”

  “Is someone sick, or hurt?” Berta asked.

  “No, nothing like that,” Hope said quickly. “Everyone is just fine.”

  Berta blew out a sigh of relief. “I don’t have a lot of people in my life to care about, Hope,” she said. “So long as those people are okay, nothing else is going to knock me off my pins. So go ahead and spit it out.”

  Hope smiled reluctantly. “I’m not so sure about that, but here goes. You already know that you’re a berezi, Berta. You told all of us that when we first met you, back on Earth.”

  Berta frowned as she tried to understand what her being a berezi could have to do with anything. “Yes, I’m a berezi,” she said. “Worst thing that ever happened to me.”

  “Did you know that the word berezi is actually an ancient Jasani word?” Hope asked. Berta shook her head. “It was originally used to indicate an Arima that was not yet mated to her Rami, either because she was too young, or because she had not yet been found.”

  Berta gasped. “Oh crap,” she said softly, her lips numb with shock. “You can’t mean...not really...oh crap.”

  “Yes,” Hope said, relieved that Berta had, apparently, understood before she’d had to explain in detail. “They’re Falcorans, a younger male-set, but highly respected warriors. Their names are Merrick, Torrick and Jerrick.”

  “And they’re here now?” Berta asked, her heart thumping uncomfortably in her chest as she struggled to absorb such impossible news. “How? Why?”

  “They scented you on the sweater you made for Aisling,” Hope explained. “At first, they thought Aisling was their Arima, which I’m sure didn’t go over good with the Gryphons. Once they realized that the scent of their Arima was on the sweater, Aisling told them your name, and where to find you. They came here straight from Berria.”

  “It’s not even dawn yet,” Berta objected. “How inconsiderate of them. Did they wake the babies?”

  Hope smiled. “No, Berta, the boys are still sound asleep.”

  “But they woke you, and the Bearens,” Berta said. “Did they have a reason other than that they wanted to see me?”

  “No, they didn’t,” Hope replied. “But Berta, don’t forget, for them, finding their Arima is a very big deal. They aren’t really in full control of their emotions right now.”

  “That’s no excuse,” Berta said stubbornly. “Do they know how old I am?”

  “Yes, I think that Aisling told them, but I’m not sure they understand what that really means for you.”

  “Well, they’re about to find out,” Berta said. She reached for her cane beside the bed and shuffled slowly toward her closet. “Please tell them I will be out in a few minutes.”

  “I will,” Hope said. “We’ll wait for you in the living room.” She stood up and left Berta’s room, closing the door gently behind her. Jackson had promised her that the Falcorans would never do anything to harm Berta, nor would they force her into anything. In that case, she had to admit, she felt a little sorry for the Falcorans.

  As soon as the door closed behind Hope, Berta allowed herself to relax. Her shoulders slumped and she leaned against the door jamb of the closet, staring blankly at the half dozen articles of clothing that were pretty much all she owned. There wasn’t anything pretty, or flirty. Why would there be? She was an eighty-two year old woman who looked more like a hundred and fifty with the current age control medications. Her hair was snow white, her eyesight poor, her spine curved, and she had to use a cane to walk.

  She did not want to meet these men. She didn’t care who they were, what they looked like, or what type of men they were. It didn’t matter to her one iota. She’d lost her entire life to the Brethren because she was a berezi. Now she had her life back, and she had no intention of handing it over to anyone else for the same reason. If she knew what it was that made her berezi, she’d ask Doc to cut it out of her. It had been the bane of her life.

  Her rising temper gave her the energy to stand up straight, grab the first outfit her hand touched in the closet, and get dressed. She slid her feet into her shoes, wrapped her long, white braid around her head and pinned it into place, then reached for her cane. She paused for a moment, took a deep breath, then opened her door and stepped out into the hall. She pulled her door shut, then headed for the living room, her step as firm as she could make it, all things considered. Her hands were shaking in spite of her best efforts to prevent it, but she clenched her jaw and kept walking. As she approached the end of the hall, and the doorway that opened into the living room, the low murmur of voices stopped, and she knew they’d heard her coming.

  She paused again just before the doorway, took a firmer grip on the cane, and stepped into the room. Without conscious thought, her eyes immediately slid past Hope, Jackson, Rob and Clark, and zeroed in on the three Falcorans standing in the middle of the room.

  They were tall, wiry men with dark brows, hooked noses and full lips that curved upward at the corners as though on the verge of a smile. Like all Clan Jasani, they were identical triplets. Almost. The Falcorans had different colored eyes, and a matching colored streak in their long, shiny black hair. One had violet eyes, and a violet streak in his hair just over his left eye. One had orange eyes, with an orange streak, and the third had golden eyes and a golden streak.

  The one with the violet eyes stood slightly ahead of his brothers, and Berta assumed, correctly, that he was the eldest. She met his intense violet gaze calmly, and refused to look away.

  “Berta Simms,” Jackson said, stepping up beside her, “please meet the Falcoran brothers, Merrick, Torrick, and Derrick.”

  As Jackson spoke their names, they bowed, and Berta noted that Torrick was the second brother with orange eyes, and Jerrick was the youngest, with golden eyes.

  “We are most pleased to meet you, Berta Simms,” Merrick said.

  Berta’s hand tightened on her cane at the sound of Merrick’s voice. It made her feel...something. A longing that seemed to echo back through the long, lonely years of her life. A longing she did not want to know, remember, or feel again.

  “I am not pleased to meet the three of you,” she said. The shocked expressions on the faces of everyone in the room, except for Hope, almost made her smile. Yes, she thought, Hope understands. She saw where I spent my life when she was kidnapped on the mere suspicion that she might be a berezi, just
as I was. Of course she understands.

  Berta held up one hand when she saw that Merrick was about to speak again. “I do not mean to be rude,” she said, trying to keep the anger from her voice. Her past life, her current situation, was not their fault. “You can see by looking at me that my life is nearly at an end. I know what an Arima is, and what it means to the three of you. But I cannot be what you want. I’m sorry. It is simply not possible.”

  Berta turned and walked toward the sofa and sat down. Standing too long was painful, and from the look on Merrick’s face, this was going to take more time than she’d hoped.

  “Miss Simms,” Merrick said after she was seated. “We understand that your current physical state is no longer that of a young woman, but we think that can be corrected.”

  “Corrected?” Berta asked with no hint of curiosity or interest.

  “When an Arima goes through the transformation process and becomes a full Jasani, her body is essentially remade. There is reason to believe that the signs of aging will be cured.”

  Berta lowered her eyes to her hands and studied them absently while she thought about what he’d said. After a long moment she sighed and shook her head. “No,” she said. “I do not want to do that.”

  “Why not?” Merrick asked in surprise.

  Berta frowned up at him, her eyes narrowing angrily. “I do not believe I owe you an explanation for my decision.”

  “No, you do not owe us an explanation,” Merrick said. “But we ask for one.”

  Berta glanced at Hope, who raised her hands and shrugged. It was up to her.

  “Is there a place where we can talk privately?” Merrick asked Jackson.

  “Berta?” Jackson asked, putting the decision in her hands.

  Berta looked at Merrick for a long moment, then Torrick and Jerrick. She’d been very careful to give no outward sign of it, but she clearly sensed all three men, and their emotions. They were rocked by her appearance, even though Berta was certain they had been forewarned. They were even more shocked that she’d flatly refused the chance to become young again. But more than that, they were deeply afraid that she would send them away without giving them a chance.

  The idea of herself with these three handsome young men was ludicrous at best, twisted at worst. Could they not see that?

  “It’s fine, Jackson,” she said with a sigh. “I will speak with them alone. But I will not leave the ranch,” she added, turning her gaze on Merrick. “You must promise me that.”

  “Of course,” Merrick agreed.

  “The Katres have a house here that is somewhat isolated,” Jackson said to Merrick. “They have given us leave to loan it out at our discretion during their absence. I will speed travel Berta over there while Clark gives you directions.”

  Berta saw Merrick nod in agreement, and stood up, making heavy use of her cane.

  “Merrick,” Jackson said, his usually calm, easy-going manner replaced by a stern, no-nonsense expression. “Our ancient law states that no one may interfere between a male-set and their Arima. Be aware that I will not hesitate to violate that law if I feel it is necessary. If you object to this, you should leave now and lodge a complaint with the Council. Until then, Berta Simms is under our protection, and we will act accordingly.”

  Merrick gritted his teeth even though he had already guessed as much. He bowed in acquiescence. “We understand, Lord Jackson. We will obey Miss Simm’s every wish while she is in our care, and no harm shall come to her.”

  Jackson nodded. He bent down, gently lifted Berta into his arms, turned slightly and disappeared. Before Berta had time to take a deep breath Jackson was lowering her to her feet at the Katres’ front door. He opened the door and flipped on the lights, before guiding Berta inside.

  “Berta, I want you to take this,” Jackson said once Berta was seated in a chair near the fireplace. He held out his vox and Berta took it. “If you need anything at all, you just tap it and ask for me, all right?”

  “Thank you, Jackson,” Berta said with relief as she took the vox and slipped it into her ear. “It makes me feel better to know I’m not on my own out here.”

  “Never,” Jackson said, gazing into Berta’s eyes until she nodded, understanding how serious he was. He turned toward the fireplace, saw that the logs were set properly for a fire, and waved his hand. The logs burst into flame, sending a wave of delicious warmth over Berta.

  “The Falcorans fly, Berta,” Jackson said. “They’ll be here in a moment. Are you sure you want to do this? You don’t have to. I’ll stay here with you if you want.”

  Berta was tempted. She trusted Jackson, and his brothers, Clark and Rob, absolutely. But she felt as though this was her task to do. It was not the Falcorans’ fault that she was their Arima any more than it was hers. She had to refuse them, of course. But there was no reason that it had to be done publicly. She had no desire to shame them.

  “This will be fine, Jackson, thank you,” she said. “If I need you, I have the vox.”

  Jackson nodded, then turned and headed for the door. Just as he reached for the doorknob, the door swung open, revealing the Falcorans. Jackson’s pale blue eyes met Merrick’s violet eyes for a long, telling moment, then he turned and disappeared.

  Merrick stepped into the house, Torrick and Jerrick right behind him. He paused as Jerrick closed the door, trying to decide the best way to approach Berta Simms. This was a delicate situation, that was certain, and they’d already made too many mistakes in the past twenty-four hours. First, they’d assumed that the woman staying with the Gryphons was their Arima, and had acted rashly in their excitement. They’d approached the Gryphon Consuls’ home without following even the most basic rules of propriety. Then they’d skirted the edges of insult in their behavior toward the women under the Gryphons’ protection.

  Now they were faced with the woman who truly was their Arima, and she clearly had no interest in them, or even the possibility of being young again. He had no idea how they were supposed to handle this situation, but he knew they had to think first, and step carefully. Jackson had already made it clear that he would not be as tolerant as the Gryphons had been, and he had no wish to test the Bearens’ resolve.

  He had never seen anyone who looked as old as Berta, but that didn’t matter. She smelled like sun warmed sugar peaches, a scent that he already knew he would never get enough of. But she also smelled wary, nervous, and a little angry. The first two he thought he understood, but the anger confused him. Why should she be angry with them? They had done nothing to offend her that he could think of.

  He approached the fireplace, bowed, then took the chair opposite her. He waited while Tor and Jerri found two more chairs in the kitchen and brought them out so that they formed an arc before the fireplace. Berta sat quietly, waiting, it seemed, for him to start.

  “Miss Simms,” he began, “we know very little about you. We were told that you were kept captive for most of your life, and that you are eighty-two years of age. Would you mind telling us more?”

  Berta tilted her head curiously. “I don’t really understand why you’d want to know more. Isn’t my age enough to deter you?”

  “Deter us?” Merrick asked in surprise. She lived with the Bearens, so he’d assumed she understood the true meaning of an Arima, and what finding her meant to them.

  “Yes,” Berta said. “I’ve got to be at least three times your age. That’d be fine if you were ten years old, but you’re not. And please, call me Berta.”

  Merrick smiled. “As you look older than you are, Berta, so do we look younger than we are. As of our last birthing day, we are one hundred and eighty-three years old.”

  Berta was too surprised to hide her reaction. She’d forgotten that Clan Jasani lived very long lives. Now that she thought about it, she remembered Hope telling her it was because of their ability to regenerate. So, they were not younger than she was. Not that it mattered.

  “You three aren’t human,” she said. “I am. We age differently. The numb
er of years doesn’t matter so much as the result of those years. I am old. You are not.”

  “Will you tell us why you seem angry with us, Berta?” Merrick asked, deciding to set the matter of age aside for now.

  Berta stared at the flames in the fireplace for a long moment as she tried to decide whether to tell them the truth, or not. She had a basic understanding of what an Arima was, and she suspected it would be very difficult for them when she turned them away. Because of that, she thought they at least deserved to know her reasons. She sighed and leaned her head back against the chair, gazing up at the ceiling rather than at their faces.

  “Have you ever heard of the Brethren?” she asked.

  “Yes, we have,” Merrick replied. “We were briefed on the events that took place on Earth while the Bearens were there.”

  “Then you know that they seek berezi,” Berta said. “Only by mating with berezi can they genetically regress, one generation at a time, to their original reptilian state.”

  “Yes, we are aware of that,” Merrick replied. Everyone now knew that the Brethren were descendants of Clan Jasani’s eternal enemies, the Narrasti.

  “When I was twenty years old my parents gave me a ground car for my birthday,” Berta said, her voice soft and wistful. “I was home from college for summer break, so I decided to drive my new ground-car to my grandmother’s home and visit her for a week, then return to college afterward. I stopped somewhere along the way; a restaurant, rest area, refueling station, I don’t really know where it happened, and I was marked as a berezi. I was abducted and taken to a small compound surrounded by a hundred miles of desert. I remained there for the next sixty-two years. For forty of those years I lived in that compound alone.”

  Berta lowered her head and met Merrick’s gaze with her own. “My life was stolen from me because of something I didn’t know anything about, and could not change. Now, once again, I am wanted because of that very same thing that I can do nothing about, and cannot change.

  “The three of you are certainly nicer about it than the Brethren were. You have better manners, and you aren’t terrifying to look at. But in the end, you’re not that different. It doesn’t matter to you who I am, what I think, how I feel, or what I want. You don’t even care that I’m an old woman because you think there’s a way to fix that so I’ll look younger and be more acceptable to you.”