Authors: Elizabeth Amber
Bastian (4 page)
“Twenty hells! Bastian!” Sevin swore as he leaped to his feet. “Not tonight. It's damned inconvenient. Can't thisâwhatever it is you're chasingâwait?”
Ilari ran over, peering inside the tent at him. Keeping one eye on Bastian's rapidly disappearing figure in the distance, he asked with barely contained excitement, “What's happened? Is it a new discovery? Did he say?”
“It's nothing. Here, put this somewhere.” Tossing the urn to the startled man, Sevin threw on his overcoat and snatched Bastian's from its hook. Seeing his brother atop a rise some forty feet from the tent, he took off after him.
The landscape of the Forum was eerie in twilight. Slabs of stone rose here and there like the ghosts of their ElseWorld ancestors, who'd once populated Italy. Lanterns in the hands of workmen bobbed among them like giant fireflies.
Catching up to his brother, Sevin murmured, “High time we made our way to the safety of your home on Esquiline, don't you agree?” He said carefully, “Dane and his wife are likely there already, awaiting us.”
Unhearing, Bastian remained still as death, waiting for another move on the part of the wraith. She stood a mere ten feet ahead, her back to him. And of all those in the Forum, only he could see her. “What have you to show me?” he murmured under his breath. His words were caught in the wind and whisked in her direction. Did she hear? Though an impatient man, he had the patience of Saturn, the Roman God of Time, in certain matters. Such as the divining of the secrets of the ancients, or those of a female.
The object of his fascination began walking again, now and then glancing back to ensure that he followed. He did. Her dainty feet scarcely touched the ground, and made no impression on it. Behind her, his black leather work boots struck the earth soundly, crunching rocks and punching thumbnail-sized mosaic tiles deeper into the dry, volcanic soil of the Forum floor.
Sevin trailed him, silent and watchful now. As far as he could see in any direction, there was nothing unusual on view. But his brother saw something others could not, and every eye was on him. All around them, the slam of picks and scrape of whisks dwindled as minions stopped their work to follow in his wake. Excited whispers were exchanged. One workman gestured to another, who summoned others, until a veritable flock trailed him. They were anticipating a show. All waiting to see what the most celebrated archaeologist Rome had ever known would discover this time.
Sevin had seen his brother star in scenes like this one before. Bastian's gift had first made itself known at the tender age of five, when a vision had led him to discover the Sacred Petroglyphs of the Ancients in ElseWorld. It was a discovery their father had taken credit for, to protect him from the Council's scrutiny. But they'd eventually discovered the truth. And as a result, the entire family had been sent here, to this world. To mine the Forum for treasure, with the use of Bastian's talent.
The wraith halted suddenly at the northeast corner of the Temple of Castor and Pollux. Maintaining a careful distance, Bastian stopped behind her. He widened his stance, feeling the need for greater purchase with the soil and for a connection with whatever lay hidden beneath it. The pastâit was what nurtured him. It fascinated him like nothing in the present ever had.
“Who are you?” he murmured. But the girl only shook her head. Raising her arms to the heavens like an angel, she began to twirl in place, in a slow, ethereal circle.
Whispers escalated among the workmen.
What did he say? What's happening?
Several men crossed themselves against evil.
What did he say? What's happening?
Several men crossed themselves against evil.
But Bastian was oblivious and only waited and watched, his entire bodyâcells, flesh, sinew, bone, muscle, sensesâall open to the past, craving to learn more of its secrets. Suddenly, more filmy apparitions appeared around the first girl, one by one like lights blinking on, until there were twelve young girls in all. Each was dressed in ancient Roman costume, their tunics with long, flowing skirts fluttering to their slim ankles.
“Why twelve?” he wondered aloud, for the philosophers had only written of six Virgins. But he expected no reply and received none.
Clustered in moody grays and gauzy whites, the girls all solemnly appeared to await the verdict of the single man who stood at the center of their group. He was a man of religion, dressed in lengthy ceremonial robes. His authoritative hand fell upon the shoulder of one girl, his first selection. Then he chose another, and another. He would ultimately divide the dozen of them into two distinct groups, each comprising six girls. His hand fell on the last girl's shoulder. The very one who'd led Bastian here.
“Amata,”
Bastian breathed, channeling the man's utterance.
Beloved.
Bastian breathed, channeling the man's utterance.
Beloved.
Her sorrow at being chosen reached out to Bastian like a living thing. She would go into service now, to the goddess Vesta. For three decades, she would tend the sacred flame. And so that nothing should turn her mind and heart from her duty, she would be forbidden to wed or enjoy fleshly pleasures.
As they were led away, a strong gust of wind blew over the vision, ruffling skirts and hair, then moving in his direction. Just as it reached him, the girl darted a glance over one thin shoulder. Eyes that were wise beyond her age found his, as if to determine how he judged what he'd seen. Eyes that were a pure, clear, cerulean blue. Color! Suddenly, she bloomed into a riot of shadesâpearly skin, rosy cheeks and lips, and wild golden hair streaked with copper. His heart pounded with equal parts of joy and shock at the sight of it.
“Your name. Tell me your name!” he demanded, boldly stalking her now.
Her eyes widened and she shook her head, her long firegold hair lifting in the wind. Before he could reach her, the fog swirled, brushing her in mystery. In gloom and gray. The scene dissipated.
And with her departure, he became aware of the whispers. And the cold.
Hells! When had the weather turned?
He glanced around to find himself encircled by curious, fearful faces.
Damn.
He'd revealed too much. Humans already gossiped about them. Wondered about the strange goings-on that seemed to follow him and his family. And now he'd only made them more suspicious.
Hells! When had the weather turned?
He glanced around to find himself encircled by curious, fearful faces.
Damn.
He'd revealed too much. Humans already gossiped about them. Wondered about the strange goings-on that seemed to follow him and his family. And now he'd only made them more suspicious.
Sevin lounged a dozen feet away, having watched everything from his post against a pillar that had once been part of Caesar's temple.
“Where did all this fog come from?” Bastian asked blankly. He shuddered then, hard. The winter breeze came at him like icy fingers, brushing chills in their wake. “Gods, it's freezing.”
“Your coat, brother,” said Sevin. He tossed it to Bastian, who threw it on without questioning how he came to have it with him.
His assistant Ilari was bursting with questions. “Signor? What have you discovered?”
“It appears that some damage control is in order,” Bastian told Sevin under his breath, subtly angling his chin to indicate Ilari and the onlookers.
Sevin nodded. “Your behavior tonight isn't helping in the battle to keep our kind from human detection,” he observed.
“My apologies. It's difficult to be circumspect when one is interacting with an apparition.”
“Understood.”
“Shall we?”
They spent the next few minutes bespelling the workforce into forgetfulness. But that in itself would make them suspicious, for later some would wonder about the time they'd lost here tonight. As the crowd dispersed, Bastian called out to his now-confused foreman, announcing, “We dig here. Starting tomorrow.”
“What is here?” Ilari called after him in surprise.
Beyond him on the overlook at the edge of the Forum, Bastian's eyes met those of a woman. One who'd been his consort for the past three months: Michaela. He knew her eyes were violet only because she'd told him. Knew her hair was a lustrous blue-black and her lips unusually red, only because others had informed him of this.
His desire to sink himself between a woman's thighs had compounded exponentially over the last fifteen minutes. The color he'd seen in the girl had affected him again, as it had this morning. The episodes were related somehow, but his mind would not be up to the task of sorting out the mystery over the coming hours. This was a special night for all of his kindred.
It had just gone dusk. As the moon slowly fattened overhead, his carnal need would dramatically escalate. Like his brothers, he would change physically and fornicate the ensuing night away. Would bury himself in Michaela's welcome, again and again, exhausting himself only with the coming of dawn. But unlike his brothers, he would tread all too dangerously close to the line that separated beast from man.
Fortunately, Michaela was a Companion, and therefore a suitable partner for him on these occasions. She would be unoffended by his lecherous appetites and peculiarities on this night. And she was accepting of the fact that he could not love her. With single-minded purpose, he turned in her direction.
“Wait!” Ilari pressed again. “Tomorrowâwhat will we dig for?”
“The House of the Vestals,” Bastian called as he struck out across the grounds.
“Where are you going now, damn you?” Sevin demanded, catching up to him.
“Moonful, brother,” Bastian told him, slinging a companionable arm over his shoulder. “It's time to heed our Calling, as you're so fond of reminding me. And I see Michaela there on the ridge. Let's be off.”
As they made their way from the Forum, a frenzy of activity commenced behind them. Ilari shouted orders to workmen. Surveyors excitedly unrolled maps by lamplight. All of them making plans. Discussing approaches to the work ahead. They would toil far into the night.
At dawn, Ilari would take the news of Bastian's expectations of a new discovery to Minister Tuchiâthe man who'd sent him to spy and to whom he surreptitiously reported. He, in turn, would spread it to the entire Parliament.
All based on Bastian's word. And with good reason. He had never yet been wrong. Not in the seven years he'd been in charge of the excavations in the Roman Forum.
Silvia morphed from a six-year-old girl back into her adult Ephemeral form. Invisible now, she perched on a low wall to watch the two brothers depart. Pontifex considered Lord Bastian Satyr a brilliant man and, therefore, a dangerous one. A threat. Yet, he was also the man who would lead her to some of the lost firestones. As of tonight, and thanks to her, he was one giant step closer to finding them. Showing him the vision of herself as a girl just now had been risky, but it was the fastest way to convince him where the Vestal Temple and House were buried without revealing her true form to him.
The two men had reached the outskirts of the Forum now. Silvia watched Bastian and Michaela meet, analyzing everything about their initial embrace. She was struck anew by how right they looked together. Both so beautifully made. So golden and perfect. Her fingers went to her pale cheek, tracing the slightly raised edge of the scar there.
She gazed up at the darkening sky. The moon would show itself soon. Its fullness affected all ElseWorld creatures, but none more so than the Satyr. Bastian and his brothers would undergo the Change, might be undergoing it even now. From tonight's dusk to tomorrow's dawn, they would glory in rites of fornication. Theirs would be a night of debauchery dedicated to Bacchus, the ancient Roman god of wine.
How would Michaela deal with all that masculine energy directed her way? she wondered. She would have to ask her about the particulars. Another time.
The trio was moving off now and entering a carriage. Where would he take Michaela? To his home perhaps or to that of his brother? Silvia watched their conveyance disappear on the horizon.
Hopping from her perch then, she headed for the canvas tent he and his brother had recently vacated. Stealthily, she ducked inside. A slight smile curved her lips and she shook her head in amusement. The shelves and his desk were meticulously organized, everything aligned just so. Scrupulously neat, as was his home.
She spied the shard on his desk and took a step in its direction. She'd seen him holding it when she arrived here as a vision earlier, and she had recognized it for what it was. Just the thing she needed to convince Pontifex that all was on a good course here.
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