Bastian by Elizabeth Amber Page A

in 191 A.D.
    Silvia curled up in the shelter the arch provided, shivering, and when Sal joined her, she snuggled into his warmth. On her side, she stared at the lights in the large white tent where Bastian still toiled somewhere inside. Now and then she could see his shadow in the lamplight. Didn’t he ever tire?
    She ran a hand over Sal’s fur. “It’s good that he’s so industrious, don’t you agree, Sal? Maybe he’ll manage to get a firestone or two out of the ground within the month.” She turned on her back. “One can only hope. Because when next Moonful comes, I’ll have to shed myself of your owner’s body so that I can return to ElseWorld.”
    Sal whined and licked her face, as if he understood and was saddened by the knowledge. “I know, I know. You may be sure I have no desire to go back to Pontifex, but I must. And I can’t return to Rico once I leave him. Still, I promised him I’d find you a good home before I go. And I will.” She yawned and turned over, gazing toward the tent again. “In fact, I think I already have.”
    With the comforting rumble of Sal’s furred belly as a pillow, she was almost instantly asleep. Sometime during the night, a blanket found its way over her and was tucked around her by powerful, masculine hands.
    She snuggled into it, grateful. Half-asleep, she murmured, “Buona notte, papa.”
    Bastian stood there, looking down upon the boy and wondering at the mystery of him. And then he turned toward home.

S cena A ntica III
    May 15, 374 A.D.
    Rome, Italy

    Vestalis Maxima clapped her hands. “Remember, girls. Decorum. All of Rome waits for a glimpse of you at your work on this glorious festival day.” Vestalis served the girls in the capacity of mother, and was constantly attending to their manners.
    Silvia adjusted her infula, letting the ends of the headdress fall to drape around her shoulders. Her hair was growing out again, but only an inch or so thus far, and it currently curled tight to her head instead of flowing wild and free in its former, customary manner. Michaela’s silky, blue-black locks had already shaped themselves into a cropped style that lent her an attractive pixie look. But Occia’s thick, unfortunate hair stuck out from her head in odd dirtcolored tufts that would not be tamed. Under their headdresses, all twelve of the shorthaired girls still looked like boys.
    It was a curious, privileged kind of life they’d all lived for the past three months since coming to serve Vesta. They were set apart from all of Rome and held in high esteem. Each day, they were schooled by revered scholars, who in the normal course of things only instructed highborn males. Unlike all other women in Rome, they would one day be allowed to own property. They were allotted the best seats at races and gladiator bouts in the Coliseum. And as part of their duties, they reigned at numerous public ceremonies, as they would today.
    This morning, having led a procession of worshipful crowds here to the bank of the Tiber, they had then awaited Pontifex. Once he finally arrived to great adulation, he bade them throw their collection of straw figurines called Argei into the river. Over the past few weeks, Roman citizens had placed these simple dolls in the temples to absorb any evil that might be lurking about. The tainted dolls had since been collected and today were to be ritually sacrificed in an effort to purify the city. Silvia pitched a half dozen of them into the Tiber, laughing and leaning out in childish delight to watch them splash. More of the Vestals—Aemilia, Floronia, and Michaela—followed suit, making a game of it.
    â€œWho is that man staring at you?” Occia asked, elbowing her.
    Glancing up, Silvia was overjoyed to see her father. She’d had no contact with either of her parents since coming to the temple, and the sight of him sent her running in his direction. She