One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 15, page 3

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Vata Kılímí pursed her lips as she held open the secret door for Pí‘oro. A grimace on his face, he carried the limp body of Zhíno up the steps and into the hallway. Pí‘oro radiated pain, and yet he refused to let the young man lie on the altar. Despite the damage to his already injured body, her husband insisted that Zhíno be moved to a proper bed. His stubbornness had returned.

Pí‘oro carefully walked down the hall to the spare bedroom. Vata closed the closet door and shuffled after him.

“I haven’t heard the helicopter in a while,” Pí‘oro whispered. “Do you think the police are still here?”

“They wouldn’t all have left, dear,” she quietly replied. “Surely someone’s still outside.”

Why wasn’t her husband antagonistic toward Zhíno? The young man had stopped Névazhíno from fully healing him, hadn’t he? Instead, Pí‘oro was almost brotherly to Zhíno. Deep in his soul, however, Vata could feel animosity. She just couldn’t tell who it was directed towards. Perhaps the police? Yes. Probably the police.

As her husband stood waiting, Vata opened the bedroom door and stepped inside, switching on the lights. The bed’s sheet and blanket were folded and crumpled, likely just as Bhanar had left them.

I hope the boy’s staying calm. Névazhíno healed him and Névazhíno will guide him through his incarceration to freedom.

Pí‘oro crossed the room and gently lowered Zhíno to the mattress, laying his head atop a pillow. Vata followed.

Why would Pí‘oro show such loyalty to Zhíno? Hadn’t this been the same man who had tried to run him over with a police cruiser? What had changed? They had been simultaneously healed by Névazhíno. Vata didn’t know of any similar incident in her experience or her mother’s lessons. Perhaps the animal god’s love bound them together. It was entirely plausible. And since Névazhíno had performed two miracles with no sacrifice, it made perfect sense that He was unable to wake up Zhíno or fully heal Pí‘oro. The god had limited energy to use in this plane of existence. That’s what the sacrifices were for, after all: to give Him more energy to use.

Vata pulled the blanket and sheet aside as Pí‘oro removed the young man’s shoes.

Pí‘oro had said he’d died and come back. If that were true, why was he so reluctant to discuss the experience? Surely he now held the answers to questions that humankind had been asking for millennia. What did he see in the afterlife? Why in the worlds didn’t he want to tell her, his wife?

The far corner of the blanket was folded under. Vata couldn’t straighten it out from where she was, so she circled the bed.

She gasped.

On the floor between the bed and the wall lay Fírí in the fetal position, asleep.

“What is it?” asked Pí‘oro.

“Fírí,” Vata whispered, pointing to her.

Pí‘oro nodded and returned to tucking Zhíno in. He left the far blanket corner folded under, out of reach.

I had forgotten all about Fírí, Vata thought. Too much happening. Her mouth twitched a smile. At least I was able to help someone tonight. Neither the police nor Zhíno harmed her. In the morning, I’ll have to teach her the glories of Névazhíno.

To Pí‘oro, she whispered, “Dear, we can’t leave Zhíno here. Fírí would nearly die if she woke up and found him so close.”

“What do you want to do?” her husband growled, clearly perturbed.

She didn’t want to injure Pí‘oro by placing any further strain on his aching body, but she didn’t see any other option. Plus, he had yet to complain about his pain.

“Take him to our bed. We don’t have time to go to sleep yet, anyway.”

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