One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 14, page 6

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Pí‘oro Kılímo limped down the steps into the chapel, pain shooting up his right leg. His left hip throbbed in response, and it was hardly alone. The only part of his body that didn’t hurt was his left big toe, and that was probably because he lost feeling in it twenty years earlier. Zhíno had brought him back to life, but had sure done a job worthy of no one but Korutuzho.

The young man was lying on the altar, just as Vata had said. Vata must have been preparing a sacrifice to heal his gunshot wound. That would explain Zhíno’s connection with Névazhíno and ability to venture into the afterlife. Weird things happen under Vata’s spells, that’s for Pétíso-damn sure.

Barefoot, Pí‘oro hobbled across the dirt floor to the wide, stone altar. Zhíno breathed with the slow regularity of the comatose, far beyond mere sleep. Pí‘oro circled the altar to look at Zhíno’s left hand, the one that Bhanar had shot.

His wrist and hand were wrapped with a blood-soaked cotton sock and utility tape. A more common elastic bandage wrapped his upper right arm, also dark with blood. If Vata had healed Zhíno, Pí‘oro wouldn’t be able to tell without removing the bandages. Zhíno the wolf had said Névazhíno sacrificed Pí‘oro to heal Zhíno. No other sacrifices were present in the chapel, so the wolf was probably telling the truth. The only way to corroborate his story was to remove the bandages.

Pí‘oro lifted the edge of the sock-and-tape bandage, peeking underneath. Zhíno’s skin was wet with blood, but Pí‘oro couldn’t see a wound. He pulled the bandage further from the arm, carefully ripping the utility tape. Still no wound. He tugged on the bandage again and it fell from Zhíno’s arm. Despite the mess of blood, there was no injury.

The wolf hadn’t lied. The God of Animals had used Pí‘oro’s lifeforce to heal Zhíno. Why would He do that? Pí‘oro rubbed his forehead, his arm aching from the strain. Oh right. Névazhíno’s a malicious Zhéporé-spawn. I keep forgetting.

Vata entered the chapel, breathing hard. “What are you doing?”

Her black bathrobe swished back and forth as she hurried down the steps, exposing her pale legs--still shapely, but lined with purple veins.

“He’s healed,” stated Pí‘oro.

His wife stopped abruptly, her mouth pursed in a frown. “What?”

Her reaction confirmed his suspicion. “Zhíno’s wounds have been healed. Didn’t you do it?”

Pí‘oro knew the answer before Vata shook her head.

“No, dear,” she carefully replied. “I called Him. I felt His presence. I never started the ceremony, though. Névazhíno must have healed him when He healed you, all by Himself.”

Pí‘oro bristled at her incorrect assumption, but held his tongue. He couldn’t send his wife’s passion end-over-end by decrying her god. It would hurt her unfathomably.

Névazhíno had never--in their experience and all the teachings--healed someone without taking another creature’s lifeforce. It’s just the way He worked. The bastard wasn’t about to change His ways now. Névazhíno had used Pí‘oro as the sacrifice to heal Zhíno. That was a fact.

And then Zhíno had somehow revived Pí‘oro. Had he used a portion of his own lifeforce? It might explain why Zhíno was now comatose. It might explain why Pí‘oro hurt all over. It would have taken Zhíno’s full life to bring Pí‘oro completely back, completely healed. Zhíno didn’t sacrifice himself completely, and so Pí‘oro wasn’t healed completely.

Vata approached her husband, a divine smile upon her face and a sparkle in her eyes. “If He has performed two miracles without sacrifices, we are doubly blessed.”

Pí‘oro edged away from Vata. Her unquestioning devotion to Névazhíno was rather unsettling.

Grasping to change the subject, he blurted, “Should we try to wake him up?”

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