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Authors: M. J. Rose
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time.
Much to his horror, Julius realized that one of the firefighters wasnât a manâbut a woman who hadnât stayed back with her sisters. She shouldnât be there, it was too dangerous. But the men were too busy to try and pull her away or warn her to be careful. Even if theyâd tried, he knew it wouldnât have made any difference: she would have been right back on the front line two minutes later.
Defiance was typical of Sabina, whoâd been a constant challenge to the sisters whoâd trained her. Although theymarveled at her clairvoyance, they complained that her tenacity and willfulness werenât suited to being a priestess.
Neither was her contempt for him.
In front of others, she showed him the minimum of respect required to keep out of trouble. But when no one else was around, if their paths crossed, she let her feelings show. There were days it made him want to laugh that she looked at him with so much antagonism; others when he wanted to punish her for her impudence. It disturbed him because there was no reason for her reactions. And even less reason that despite her antagonism to him, he felt drawn to her. Admired her. Cheered her on.
As the head priestess, she proved exemplary. But unlike the other Vestals, Sabina possessed a stubborn streak, a refusal to give up all of her personality to the group, which propelled her to become one the most educated of all the nuns in recent years, studying medicine and learning how to be a healer, although it added extra responsibility to her already full life. When tired customs didnât make sense to her, she questioned them, changed them and breathed life into the old order. Even when it alienated her from the older sisters and conservative priests, she fought back bravely, passionately. Recently, the most traditional among them were applauding her efforts.
A section of the house collapsed with a loud crash. The fire was winning the battle. Sabina worked as hard as Julius did to smother the flames; she was as valiant a fighter as any man there. When their eyes met for a brief second, Julius looked away, chilled, despite the fireâs heat, by the look she flashed at him. She was determined to live, which meant the fire had to die. But either sheâdinhaled too much smoke or she was just too exhausted, because suddenly she fell to the ground.
Angry blisters marred her cheeks. Her robe was ripped up the side and across the front, exposing her long legs and breasts, all blackened with soot.
None of the other men seemed to have noticed. If she wasnât dead, one of them was bound to trample her to death. Julius couldnât let that happen. Leaving his post, he ran to her, picked her up and carried her lifeless body out of the way, the heat at his back becoming less and less intense until he wasnât aware of it anymore.
Sabina was heavy in his arms, and he felt the full burden of her: of her position as head of the nuns, of her complicated response to him, of her power and vitality. Finally far enough away from the fire, he laid her down on a patch of grass, allowing himself to focus on her and give in to his curiosity and his obsessionâbecause if he was honest with himself, despite his best efforts and for no rational reason he knew, that was what sheâd become.
Putting his ear to her breast, he listened for her life sounds. All he heard was his own nervous heart beating so loudly in his ears. But from her chestâsilence.
No, it wasnât possible that the fire had beaten her.
Not Sabina.
He didnât realize he was shouting until the wind threw his own howl back at him.
No. Not Sabina.
She had too much energy, too much resolve.
He wanted to pray, but the grief crowded out all the words. He shut his eyes. The smell of jasmine and sandalwood emanated from her skinâmixed in with the bitter smell of the smokeâwhispering to him, hinting of something heâd never had and now would never
Much to his horror, Julius realized that one of the firefighters wasnât a manâbut a woman who hadnât stayed back with her sisters. She shouldnât be there, it was too dangerous. But the men were too busy to try and pull her away or warn her to be careful. Even if theyâd tried, he knew it wouldnât have made any difference: she would have been right back on the front line two minutes later.
Defiance was typical of Sabina, whoâd been a constant challenge to the sisters whoâd trained her. Although theymarveled at her clairvoyance, they complained that her tenacity and willfulness werenât suited to being a priestess.
Neither was her contempt for him.
In front of others, she showed him the minimum of respect required to keep out of trouble. But when no one else was around, if their paths crossed, she let her feelings show. There were days it made him want to laugh that she looked at him with so much antagonism; others when he wanted to punish her for her impudence. It disturbed him because there was no reason for her reactions. And even less reason that despite her antagonism to him, he felt drawn to her. Admired her. Cheered her on.
As the head priestess, she proved exemplary. But unlike the other Vestals, Sabina possessed a stubborn streak, a refusal to give up all of her personality to the group, which propelled her to become one the most educated of all the nuns in recent years, studying medicine and learning how to be a healer, although it added extra responsibility to her already full life. When tired customs didnât make sense to her, she questioned them, changed them and breathed life into the old order. Even when it alienated her from the older sisters and conservative priests, she fought back bravely, passionately. Recently, the most traditional among them were applauding her efforts.
A section of the house collapsed with a loud crash. The fire was winning the battle. Sabina worked as hard as Julius did to smother the flames; she was as valiant a fighter as any man there. When their eyes met for a brief second, Julius looked away, chilled, despite the fireâs heat, by the look she flashed at him. She was determined to live, which meant the fire had to die. But either sheâdinhaled too much smoke or she was just too exhausted, because suddenly she fell to the ground.
Angry blisters marred her cheeks. Her robe was ripped up the side and across the front, exposing her long legs and breasts, all blackened with soot.
None of the other men seemed to have noticed. If she wasnât dead, one of them was bound to trample her to death. Julius couldnât let that happen. Leaving his post, he ran to her, picked her up and carried her lifeless body out of the way, the heat at his back becoming less and less intense until he wasnât aware of it anymore.
Sabina was heavy in his arms, and he felt the full burden of her: of her position as head of the nuns, of her complicated response to him, of her power and vitality. Finally far enough away from the fire, he laid her down on a patch of grass, allowing himself to focus on her and give in to his curiosity and his obsessionâbecause if he was honest with himself, despite his best efforts and for no rational reason he knew, that was what sheâd become.
Putting his ear to her breast, he listened for her life sounds. All he heard was his own nervous heart beating so loudly in his ears. But from her chestâsilence.
No, it wasnât possible that the fire had beaten her.
Not Sabina.
He didnât realize he was shouting until the wind threw his own howl back at him.
No. Not Sabina.
She had too much energy, too much resolve.
He wanted to pray, but the grief crowded out all the words. He shut his eyes. The smell of jasmine and sandalwood emanated from her skinâmixed in with the bitter smell of the smokeâwhispering to him, hinting of something heâd never had and now would never
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