One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 8, page 2

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Vata Kılímí felt Névazhíno’s presence fading away. He had answered her prayer. He had healed the boy’s legs. And yet a corner of her soul ached from the loss of His touch.

As the whirlwind settled to stillness and the last sparking bolts of untamed energy dissipated, Vata opened her eyes. Her dog was dead, limp on the altar, his slit throat no longer seeping blood. His lifeforce had gone to serve a greater purpose.

The young man moaned and blinked open his eyes, immediately propping himself up on his elbows. His gaze darted around the chapel, pausing on the dog’s body, Vata, and her knife.

Setting the blade down, Vata reached past the dog to pat the boy’s shoulder.

“Relax, dear. The wonderful Névazhíno has healed you. It is truly a most wonderful event.”

It was a wonderful event, but even the warmth and buoyance from His visit was already a dwindling memory.

The boy furrowed his brows, his mouth partly open. His eyes focused somewhere to Vata’s right. In a thick foreign accent, he replied, “But no, it was not . . .” His gaze snapped to Vata’s face and his mouth closed sharply.

Having no idea what the boy was attempting to say, Vata circled the altar to stand closer to him. “Let’s put you to bed. Most beneficiaries are quite tired after the ceremony, even when it isn’t the middle of the night.”

The foreign boy slowly swung his legs off the altar, flexing them with a growing smile. The grin stretched into a yawn as he leaned forward. He shook his head with clenched eyes.

“I am tired. Do you have a . . .”

“Bed?” He apparently had not comprehended Vata’s prior offer. His grasp of the Sarıman language was perhaps slim.

“Yes, bed.” He nodded sluggishly.

“Yes.” Vata held out her hand.

Past the boy, against the far wall, the blonde girl sat with her arms crossed. She watched the scene with a scrutinizing eye, but remained silent. That made sense, as this healing had little to do with her. It was a pity she didn’t need healing. Vata certainly wouldn’t mind calling upon Névazhíno once again.

The foreigner hopped down off the altar with extreme confidence, not taking Vata’s offered hand. His feet landed and he let out a brief laugh of joy, which was understandable considering the divine miracle which just occurred.

Vata placed a gentle hand high on the boy’s back, gesturing forward with her other. “Right this way, dear.”

He began walking, not needing any assistance. Névazhíno had healed him strong and fully, as Vata knew He would.

Perhaps the other victim, the one in the back yard, was injured. Oddly enough, it didn’t seem like the animals noticed him any longer. Hopefully Pí‘oro had brought him inside already.

Halfway to the door, the foreigner turned to look at Vata with a frown. “Is there near here a . . . bhèutsnozo?” He shook his head. “Water out of the ground?”

“A spring?” Why on Rívorí would he be asking such a question at this time? There wasn’t a spring near the house, not anywhere terribly close. “There is one spring several kilometers north of here, out in the desert. It flows from the aquifer that Tuhanı’s wells tap.”

The dark-haired young man scowled, but nodded. Vata realized that perhaps she confused him with words like ‘aquifer,’ if he didn’t know ‘spring.’ He seemed to understand the gist, nonetheless.

As they continued to the interior door, Vata began wondering what types of injuries their next beneficiary would have. What animal would she need to prepare? Which of her pets would sacrifice his life for a stranger?

Vata sighed. She would have to wait and see.

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