One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 6, page 3

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Fírí Parızada stared ahead of her as the old woman closed the door with a gentle thunk. She was safe. But where was she? Vuzhí and Pétíso! What kind of room is this?

The lighting flickered and wavered, apparently coming only from a circle of torches stuck in the ground where the room expanded out from the hallway Fírí stood in.

The floor was dirt, hard-packed and ruddy brown. The ceiling was black and sloped, probably the bottom of the roof, with exposed beams flying here and there. All the walls had been painted with brown and black patterns which combined the ancient symbols for the earth gods and the Huro Hexad gods. The earth god in that hexad was Névazhíno, the God of Animals, which would help explain the menagerie in the yard. But it didn’t help explain why this woman had what was apparently a chapel dedicated to Névazhíno within her house, or why she had brought Fírí there.

The old woman walked around Fírí and looked up at her. “My name is Vata Kılímí. I am a worshipper of the Creator of All Creatures, the Love of the Universe, Névazhíno. Welcome to our chapel.”

Fírí took a hesitant step backwards. What on Kara had she stumbled into?
The old woman--Vata--showed concern on her face. She reached a withered hand towards Fírí.

“Do not be afraid, dear. My husband and I are here, in Névazhíno’s great honor, to help everyone.” Vata lowered her hand. “Now please, tell me who you are hiding from. I must know, or else I cannot fully protect you.”

Was this old woman sincere? Fírí had never heard of any crazy Névazhíno cults. She’d never seen news stories on Névazhíno worshippers who kidnapped, imprisoned, and did who-knows-what-else to random passersby. But that didn’t mean such cults didn’t exist. Maybe they were good at hiding. Maybe it was a new craze.

On the other hand, Fírí was momentarily hidden from Zhíno--so long as Vata didn’t let the pot-bellied bastard in.

Fírí tilted her head to the left and tucked her hair behind her right ear, pursing her lips.

“I’m hiding from my ex-boyfriend, Zhíno Zhudiro. He’s about 180 centimeters tall, short light brown hair--receding--with two days of beard on his face--a narrow face--and he’s kind of fat and out of shape.”

The old woman nodded, her gnarled and wrinkled face impassive.

“And while you’re at it,” said Fírí, “could you also keep out the police? I think Zhíno killed an Enforcer, but that auto out front is in my name, so they might come looking for me, instead.”

Vata’s eyebrows raised up momentarily, but she nodded once again. “Very well. I shall do what I can.” She turned and started shuffling down the hall towards the main part of the chapel. She was barefoot.

As Vata walked, she said, “I must leave you alone for a short while. Please, dear, do not do anything rash in the meantime.”

Fírí dropped her duffel bag and watched the old woman disappear around the corner. The circle of dancing flames enticed her, but Fírí held resolute. There was no way she was going into that weird chapel. She yanked her gaze away and gently seated herself on her bag of shoes, focusing her eyes on the reddish dirt of the floor.

She was probably safe now, if the old woman was telling the truth. If not, death still awaited her by the hands of Zhíno.

Despite the lack of a cold wind, a shiver crawled up her spine and down her bare arms. Fírí hugged her knees tight to her and squeezed shut her eyes.

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