You would lead me into exposed space! she wanted to cry. But the wolf waited until Ulrika, no longer able to stand up to its power, gave in. She turned and followed it.

     The animal came to a halt at last, stopping, turning, waiting for her to catch up. Then he sat on his haunches like a stone idol awaiting sacrifice. He watched Ulrika with his acute golden eyes, his ears pricked and alert.

     When she neared him, Ulrika said, "What do you want of me?" and then he vanished before her eyes, fading like shadows at noon, fading as thewolf at General Vatinius's side had faded, until he was gone and Ulrika was left in the barren wilderness, her ankle throbbing, her mouth and throat parched with thirst, while jackals sent their unearthly yelps to the stars. Other predators, Ulrika knew, would soon be on the prowl.

     She turned and took a step, but her ankle gave way. With a cry she fell. When she tried to stand, she realized in horror that she could not. She was unable to walk.

     Exhaustion overwhelmed her. Every ounce of strength and energy seemed to have drained from her body. Tears stung her eyes as she massaged her leg and sensed the gathering of night creatures, circling her, watching, waiting.

     Ulrika felt the impersonal stars looking down at her, witnessing her distress. She felt the black sky and the cold winds as nature went about its business, ignoring the woman in peril.

     Help me, cried her frightened mind, sending her silent plea to the All Mother whom she had revered all her life.

     As she lay there, trying to gather strength to crawl back to the hills, Ulrika placed her hand over Sebastianus's scallop shell. It brought comfort. She pictured the man she loved, tall and strong, she conjured up his voice, his scent, the feel of his warmth and power. She wished she had gone to Babylon with him.

     Overcome with fatigue, Ulrika laid her head down and felt the desert sand beneath her cheek turn to cool grass, and when she opened her eyes, it was the middle of the day, with a pale blue sky above. And before her stood a woman, tall and beautiful, creating an altar of scallop shells, a wild, untamed countryside surrounding her, wind whipping her long hair, sculpting her long white gown into a marble masterpiece.

     "Who are you?" Ulrika said.

     The woman smiled in a secretive way, and whispered: You already know the answer.

     And Ulrika did know. She was the ancestress Sebastianus had spoken of. A distant priestess named Gaia, from whom he had descended.

     "Why do you appear to me?" Ulrika asked.

     "To tell you that there is nothing to fear."

     And then the altar and coastline vanished, and Ulrika was back in the mocking wasteland, stars winking overhead.

     And then she saw—

     Sebastianus!

     Ulrika sobbed with joy. He was here! In the Judean wilderness, coming toward her over the arid, salt-crusted ground, his blue cloak billowing about him like the sail of a mighty ship. She reached for him. "Sebastianus, you came back!"

     But it wasn't Sebastianus—a stranger stood before her. She could not get a good look at him, for light now emanated from his body—a blinding light glowing about his head like a brilliant nimbus, streaming out into the cosmos.

     And then a voice—it was not something she heard but rather felt all around her—a man's voice commanding: "Call out for help, Ulrika."

     "No, I must not, for then the animals will know where I am."

     "They already know where you are. They are closing in."

     Ulrika held her breath and listened. She heard soft footfall, rapid breathing, grunts.

     Her blood ran to ice. The beasts of the night were drawing near.

     "Call out for help," the glowing apparition said again. "Quickly! Now! Shout, Ulrika, fill the night with your voice."

     She opened her mouth but no sound came out. Her throat was too dry.

     "Again!" the shining spirit said. "At once! With all your strength!"

     Ulrika reached deep within herself, gathered the last of her strength and life force and, stretching her mouth wide, screamed at the top of her lungs. "Help me! Someone, please! Help!"

     And suddenly Ulrika was surrounded by a warm light. It engulfed her, embraced her like loving arms, lifting her up, buoying as if on a golden sea. She felt waves of compassion and security wash over her. She heard the voice, deep and mellow, say, "Do not be afraid. Everything is going to be all right."

     Ulrika felt peaceful and serene. She had never known such calm, such quiescence. It was beautiful.

     I am dying, she thought in detachment. The animals have found me.They are devouring me. This is what it is like to die. But I do not mind.

     "Hello? Is someone out there?"

     She ignored the call. It was only her imagination. And she didn't want to leave the light. The warmth was soft and precious. She wanted to stay in it forever.

     "Who is out there?"

     She opened her eyes. She blinked up at frigid stars overhead, felt the night cold sweep into her flesh, swift and biting. Where did the warmth and light go?

     Ulrika sucked air into her lungs, tried to gather strength into her limbs. What had just happened? Struggling to a sitting position, she looked around. The hills stood black and silent behind her. Ahead, the salt-sea lay silver in eerie starlight. Who had spoken just now?

     And then she saw the lights, bright little sparks growing larger as they drew near. A voice called, "Is someone there? Call out so that we can find you."

     "I am here!" Ulrika cried, struggling to sit up. She waved her arms. "Here, over here!"

     The bright glows drew near, and Ulrika saw that they were torches carried by two women. "Are you all right?" one of them asked.

     "Dear child," the older of them said, "are you out here all alone?"

     "I hurt my leg," Ulrika said. The women spoke a dialect that was prevalent in this part of the Empire—a mixture of "common" Greek and Aramaic, with which Ulrika was familiar.

     They reached for her and, each taking one of her arms, lifted Ulrika to her feet. The younger of the two, a woman in her forties with strength in her body, steadied Ulrika and helped her along over the ground.

     Wordlessly, they made their way to an outcropping of rock, passing around it and up a narrow ravine, where Ulrika saw a group of black goatskin tents standing protected from the wind. The older of the two women went into the largest of the tents, while the second placed her torch in a sconce outside, and then she helped Ulrika into the tent.

     Ulrika welcomed the blessed warmth and light within, and sank with relief onto a bed of blankets and sheepskins. As the younger of the two women handed Ulrika a cup of water, she said, "I am Rachel. This is Almah.Welcome to our home, and peace be upon you."

     Ulrika gratefully sipped the water and told them her name, adding, "I was certain I was going to perish out there. I do not know what I would have done had you not found me."

     "We did not know you were out there," Rachel said. "And then we heard your call for help. It is a good thing you had the strength to cry out."

     "I almost didn't," Ulrika said, trying to recollect the vision that had come to her—first, an ancient priestess named Gaia, and then a stranger who seemed to glow with an inner light. It was he who had commanded Ulrika to call for help.

     Details of the dwelling's interior began to register on Ulrika's brain as the water refreshed her. Rachel's home was a typical desert tent with a center post holding up the ceiling, creating a spacious living area that was warmed by a charcoal brazier, brass and clay lamps glowing here and there. Rugs covered the floor, a small table held bowls, pitcher, utensils. A pair of sandals hung on a peg, along with a cloak, small and feminine. Ulrika assumed that the other tents she had glimpsed, smaller than this, were used for storage, or perhaps other people were sleeping there.