Laura Jo Phillips (5 page)

The three of them had been appointed by the Dracons as overseers of the entire project, with an unlimited budget.  Once construction was complete, Berta would be the supervisor of Arima House.  Talinka, who had long experience in running Bride House, would teach her what she needed to know and assist her.  Hope would assist Berta when Talinka could not be there.

The women had already approved the plans for Arima House, and ground had been broken the morning before.  It would be a sprawling u-shaped structure on one level with eight bedroom/bathroom suites for Arimas, a private suite for Berta, and a separate wing for additional staff. 

“By the way, I meant to tell you Berta, we got a message yesterday from the Gryphons,” Hope said when they took a break from the plans and turned to the refreshment tray her housekeeper had brought in. 

“How is Aisling?  And Karma?” Berta asked. 

“They’re fine,” Hope replied.  “What’s interesting is that Aisling is the Gryphons’ Arima.”

“What?  I thought the whole problem with them was that she wasn’t their Arima.”

“Apparently the Controller she had caused some hidden brain damage,” Hope said while she prepared herself a cup of tea.  “After two weeks in a healing tank, the damage was healed.  She’s definitely their Arima.”

“Well, I’m happy for Aisling, of course,” Berta said.  “But what does that mean for all of the other women who’ve been freed in recent months?”

“They’re all going to be notified, with a recommendation to spend some time in a healing tank, just to be safe.”

“That’s good,” Berta said.  “The idea of walking around with brain damage and not even knowing it gives me the creeps.”

“Yes, me too,” Hope agreed.  “Jackson said that a message has already been sent out to the Katres, and they’re working on a message now to send to the Director.  They want him to handle informing the women who’ve already returned to Earth.  All of those women have been given new, secret identities just in case there are still Brethren on Earth.”

“Speaking of healing tanks,” Talinka said as she poured herself some coffee, “I have some news that I hope will be welcome.”

“What’s that?” Hope asked.

“I know that neither of you knew Riata, but she was an Alverian Empath Healer who lived here, on Jasan, for many years,” Talinka said.

“Yes, we’ve heard of her,” Hope said.  “I understand that she did much for the Jasani, and is still greatly missed.”

“Yes, she was an exceptional person, as well as an exceptional healer,” Talinka said.  “There are very few Alverian Empaths who are true Healers though, so when High Prince Garen requested that a new Healer be sent to Jasan, there wasn’t one available.”

“Is there one now?” Hope asked.

“Yes, there is,” Talinka replied, smiling.  “He’s a cousin of mine, and a very talented Healer.  He had volunteered his services on another world but the political situation there has become difficult and he was forced to leave.  A few weeks ago I sent a message asking him if he’d found a new appointment.  When his reply indicated that he hadn’t, I asked him to come here.  I learned this morning that he has agreed, and will be here in a couple of weeks.”

“That’s wonderful news,” Hope said.  “Have you told the Dracons yet?”

“No, but I will before I leave this day,” Talinka said.  She tilted her head at Berta, sensing confusion from the older woman.

“Please, ask me your question, Berta,” she said.

Berta shrugged.  “I don’t mean to be rude, or sound stupid, but with the doctors we have here, headed by Doc, and healing tanks, why is a Healer needed?”

“A Healer can do many things that a healing tank cannot,” Talinka replied. 

“Such as?”

“There are still many Clan Jasani who are mated to human females,” Talinka said.  “Those women who are able to become pregnant will always give birth to triplets, which can be dangerous for human women.  A healing tank cannot help them should something go wrong.  Nor can a healing tank cure disease, or correct birth defects.  And, finally, healing tanks do not work on Clan Jasani.  They heal very quickly on their own, but there are times when a Healer may be all that lies between them and death.”

“I see,” Berta said.  “Healers sound like miracle workers.”

“Yes, I think that in some ways, they are,” Talinka said.  “But the truth is, Berta, that I asked my cousin to come here for your sake.”

“My sake?” Berta asked in surprise.  “I am not ill, Talinka.  At least, not that I’m aware of.”

“No, you are not ill,” Talinka assured her.  “But my understanding of the aging process in humans leads me to believe that a strong Healer may be able to reverse it.”

Berta stared at Talinka for a long moment, unable to think of a single thing to say in response to such a stunning statement.  “Did you ask your cousin about it?” Hope asked when she saw that Berta was speechless.

“I did,” Talinka replied.  “He said he would like to find out.”

“Why?” Berta blurted finally.  “Why would you ask him, and why would he be willing to try?”

“As you know, we are Empaths, Berta,” Talinka said after considering her answer carefully.  “We feel the emotional pain, the happiness, and everything in between of those around us.  Restoring your youth to you would be like giving you back something of what was stolen from you.  I believe that you deserve that gift, as does my cousin, Jareth.  Unless you do not want it.”

“Can healing such as that erase scars?” Berta asked, striving for a casual tone.

“No, I’m afraid not,” Talinka replied.  “Scars cannot be healed, Berta.”

Berta nodded, hiding her disappointment. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” Talinka replied with a smile.  She was not offended by Berta’s question.  She understood the woman too well for that.  “Your happiness is all the reward we seek.”

Berta stared into her coffee cup for a long moment, her mind racing with the implications of what Talinka had just offered her.  After a time she shook her head.  “I need to think about this,” she said.  “Do you mind?”

“Of course not,” Talinka replied.  “It is completely up to you, Berta.  This is your life, and the choices are yours to make.”

***

After they’d approved the plans for the Rami houses and Talinka had returned to Bride House, Berta went into her room and closed the door behind her.  She sat down on the edge of her bed, and stared at the drawer in her nightstand.

Choices.  Decisions.  Options.  These were the most difficult aspects of her new freedom for Berta.  In the beginning, just trying to decide what to eat from the amazing number of available options in Hope’s kitchen had been overwhelming.  She’d gotten much better over the past months with everyday things like that.  But big decisions, like the one Talinka had just offered her, took much more thought.

Finally making up her mind she reached down and opened the drawer, and picked up the neatly folded navy blue sweater within.  She unfolded the sweater, revealing a small ball of yarn that exactly matched the color of her eyes, still attached to the bottom of the sweater.  The sweater had been sitting in the drawer for weeks now, only a few stitches from completion.  Now, she’d decided, was the time to finish it.

She picked up the knitting needles which still held uncast stitches stacked along their lengths, wrapped a length of yarn around her finger, and began knitting.  She worked slowly and deliberately, keeping her mind focused on her task instead of allowing it to wander as she usually did when she knitted.  When she finished the final stitch she reached for a pair of scissors and clipped the yarn with shaking hands. 

She stood in a field of tall, blue grass, the sun shining brightly in the lavender sky.  She looked around, but saw nothing else.  Just grass, sky, the sun, herself.  She looked down and saw a stone path beneath her feet which ended one step in front of where she stood.  Had she been walking and reached the end of the path? she wondered.

She took a step, and the path lengthened about eighteen inches in front of her.  She took another step, and it lengthened again.  She looked back over her shoulder and saw that the path stretched out behind her as for as she could see.  But no matter how slowly or how quickly she walked, the path before her was never more than a step ahead of her feet.

She wondered what it meant and paused for a while to think about it.  After a time she took another step, then another.  Suddenly, the path split.  Which way should she go? she wondered feeling a little panicky.  Wasn’t that why she was here?  To decide which path to take?  Yes, she thought, that felt right.  But what help was it for to see two paths before her.  She already knew that much. 

She looked in the direction of one path, then the other, but that was of no use.  They looked the same.  She turned around and looked behind her.  But what good was that?  It didn’t matter where she’d been.  That was done and over with.  She needed to go forward, not backward, and she needed to know which path was the right one.

She turned back around in frustration, then froze as understanding began to seep into her mind.  She sighed softly as the grass faded away and she was, once more, sitting on her bed with the sweater in her lap.

So, she thought, the past is done, and can’t determine my future if I refuse to allow it.  And the path I set my feet on is up to me.  There are no promises.  Only choices.  

Chapter  6

Sergio Farnswaite looked out the transport window beside his seat and gasped at what he saw.  Mile after mile of rolling hills and valleys covered in blue grass stretched as far as he could see, broken here and there by small clumps of tall, leafy trees.  He narrowed his eyes on a group of...something...as the transport flew over them, and shuddered when he realized he was looking at cows.  He thought they were cows.  If they weren’t cows, they were, at least, livestock.  He shuddered again. 

He’d been both flattered and, frankly, confused when he’d received a special invitation from the Princess of Jasan.  His designs were aimed at young jetsetters with lots of money and no idea in the world how to dress themselves properly, let alone decorate their palatial estates.  He was popular and successful at what he did, but he’d never had a Royal client before.  Now he wondered if it had been a good idea to come here.  Not that he’d had a choice in the matter.  He just hoped she didn’t want him to decorate a barn for her...livestock. 

Stop it this instant Sergio
, he admonished himself sternly. 
You will be on your best behavior and act as though you love things like grass and trees and...well...whatever else grows out of the ground.  You will keep your lip zipped, and the sharp side of your tongue hidden.  Just remember what will happen if you lose this job. 
That was a thought that made Sergio’s already pale complexion turn whiter than ever.

As Sergio continued to stare out the window he saw buildings appear in the distance.  The closer they got, the more his disappointment grew.  This was even worse than he’d feared.  A motley collection of wooden buildings scattered about without much rhyme or reason amidst more trees and more grass.  For a moment he hoped that the transport would fly over the rustic settlement, indicating that it was not their destination after all.  When the transport slowed and began to descend, he sighed.  The way his luck was going lately, he wasn’t all that surprised.

He checked his tie, a thin metallic green affair with a perfect half Windsor knot pulled loose so that it hung precisely even with the second button of his yellow and red stripped shirt.  He ran his fingers lightly over his hair, knowing by touch that it was mussed just exactly right.  He reached for his purple jacket, which was lying carefully across the seat beside him so that it would not get wrinkled or creased, and slipped his arms into it.  Then he opened his travel bag and checked himself in the mirror.

While he was perfecting his appearance, the transport landed on the blue grass of the makeshift airfield and the front passenger door of a black ground-car parked nearby opened.  Sergio closed his travel case and looked back in time to see a young woman with long black hair step out of the car.  She was dressed simply in black slacks and a long sleeved white blouse, which made Sergio smile with satisfaction.  If the locals all dressed like this woman, his edgy clothing would definitely stand out.  Which was, of course, the point.  If the locals dressed the way he was currently dressed, no matter.  He always traveled with enough luggage to adjust his own look so that he stood out from the crowd.

A few minutes later Sergio reached the foot of the transport steps and walked toward the black haired woman.  He carried his travel case over his shoulder, but left the rest of his luggage for the military types on the transport to deal with.  He had no idea why he’d been required to take a military transport, but as it wasn’t his idea, he saw no reason to lug his own suitcases around because of it.

“Are you Sergio Farnswaite?” the woman asked him.

Sergio smirked inwardly as he took in the young woman’s appearance.  Young, fresh, very pretty but, by her dress, clearly reserved and probably shy.  No doubt naive in the ways of the galaxy.  She’d be putty in his hands.  They always were.  He only hoped she was the Princess.  That would certainly make things easier.