One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 18, page 10

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Umo Amuéné sat calmly in the driver’s seat of his parked auto, watching the tow truck turn into the precinct parking lot, Zhudıro’s brown sedan in tow. The reporters swarmed towards it, cameras rolling. As soon as it passed through the gate, though, they drifted back to the main entrance.

With so many civilians in the way, Umo and Lango couldn’t go in guns blazing. Even if they’re news reporters, they’re still unpredictable and innocent.

Lango cracked his thumb knuckles. “What are we waiting for? Let’s just bust in there, trust in Èmmwımwènhı, hallowed by his name, and let God save any innocents who happen to be in the way.” Umo knew his partner’s concept of “innocent” included only Èmmwımwènhese, and only devout Èmmwımwènhese at that.

Umo remained gazing at the precinct headquarters, showing no sign of even having heard Lango. Killing anyone and everyone in your way hardly followed the early teachings of Èmmwımwènhı. It was funny how thugs like Gogzhuè only paid heed to the Singing Prophet’s later lyrics, once he needed force to maintain power.

Briefly closing his eyes, Umo made his decision. They’d have to use their Union-agent badges. It was the only way. Pretend they had a investigation on Zhudıro, appropriate all the evidence--including the shipment of weapons. Clean and simple.

He pulled his semiautomatic pistol from his black jumpsuit and checked the magazine with deft motions. Umo refused to be like Gogzhuè--like Lango. He would follow the true message of Èmmwımwènhı. Unless his life was in danger.

Lango checked his own gun. Gleefully, he asked, “Well?”

If the guns weren’t there, they’d have to rejoin the hunt for the little Zhéporé-spawn, but at least they’d have plenty of extra bodies to help their search.

Perhaps he could figure out some way to tie Emperor Bhanar to his investigation. Require His Majesty’s custody. It was the least he could do for his emperor.

Still without facing his partner, Umo ordered, “We’ll take this calm and smooth. Get your Union badge out.” He slipped his handgun back into its holster. “It’s time to play agent.”

Lango whined wordlessly as Umo opened his door and stepped out onto the street. The inside of the auto had begun to heat up in the sun, but the fresh air hit him with a comforting breeze.

Dressed like orthodox Èmmwımwènhese in rhinestone-studded black jumpsuits, Umo knew the lawmen wouldn’t believe their badges. With enough imparted authority, however, one man could move mountains.

He closed the auto door and strode across the street. Lango’s shoes slapped the pavement as he hurried to catch up. Umo walked straight for the precinct front doors. The reporters and news crews melted out of his path. He ignored the cameras and shouted questions. Thankfully, Lango also said nothing. For a change.

In fact, Lango scurried ahead a few meters and opened the door for Umo. The suave gangster-cum-agent didn’t break stride as he entered the darkness. Through his sunglasses, he vaguely discerned a long desk across the lobby, a lawman in front of it. Behind Umo, Lango definitely snickered as he slammed the door on the gaggle of reporters.

In the sudden silence, the lawman asked, “May I help you?”

Umo flashed his leather-backed brass badge and announced, “We’re taking over the Zhudıro investigation. Give us everything you got.”

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One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 18, page 9

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Vata’s heart raced with a combination of exertion and excitement as she guided the cow through the secret door. With a quick glance back, she pushed the door shut. She’d seen no police.

“Thank you, Névazhíno,” she whispered between gulps of air.

As the cow wandered down the short hallway to the chapel, Vata leaned against the door, her throat rasping with every breath. She hadn’t spotted anybody outside, but she couldn’t look every direction. Someone might have seen her--or the door closing shut. Or heard the door closing.

Her pulse and breathing slowed slightly, but she felt a bit jittery. If the police had spotted her, there was nothing she could do now. She had to start the ceremony and complete it before anyone arrived. She needed Névazhíno’s help getting Pí‘oro back.

She pushed away from the door and hurried after the cow, who was already circling the chapel in exploration. As the cow sniffed her slippers by the inside door, Vata reached the shelves and opened the lid to the plastic box of medicine. With her wiry hands, she plucked out a vial of maximum-concentration tranquilizer and a new syringe.

Vata had helped Fírí and Zhíno, and this was how the young couple repaid her kindness. Most people were grateful and gracious, but not those two. They’d shown their gratitude by kidnapping her husband. With Névazhíno’s help, though, Vata would get him back.

She removed the cap from the needle and jabbed the needle through the rubber seal on the vial. As she pulled the tranquilizer into the syringe, Vata turned to face the cow.

“Come here, dear,” she cooed.

The cow turned at the sound of her voice, inquisitiveness cast in the cow’s huge brown eyes.

“That’s right. Come here.” Vata set the empty vial on a shelf and held out her hand to the cow.

The large animal started forward. Vata entered the circle of flaming braziers, enticing the cow to the altar. Vata knew she’d never get the cow on the stone slab, but she had to hope a sacrifice adjacent to the altar would still gain the attention of the Love of the Universe.

Once He saw her sacrifice, Névazhíno would surely assist His loyal priestess. He’d helped her with smaller tasks before, certainly. Like Judge Ríko’s infection or little Séara’s broken leg. Or Zhíno’s gunshot wounds, for that matter. The God of Animals would definitely rescue Pí‘oro’s stolen body and entrapped soul from the squabbling betrayers, definitely.

When the cow reached the altar, Vata stabbed her in the neck with the syringe. The cow bleated weakly, but Vata stroked her nose, murmuring, “It’s all right, my dear. You’ll be with Névazhíno soon.”

The cow’s eyelids drooped, changing the huge eyes to narrow slits. Her front legs buckled and she slammed to the dirt floor.

Vata hurried back to the shelves for her ceremonial knife. The time was now.

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One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 18, page 8

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Zhíno Zhudıro heard someone talking. With all his might, he concentrated on the very familiar voice. It was the only other thing in his universe besides himself.

“. . . Zhíno? How did . . . you helping him?”

The slightly nasal, soft voice was now unmistakable. It was Fírí.

“Fírí!” Zhíno called out into the void. “Where are you?”

This wasn’t like when he talked to her before. Her swirling essence was nowhere to be found. He couldn’t dive into her colorful maelstrom to communicate. He obviously couldn’t communicate at all, since he got no response.

Another voice appeared, deep and male. “. . . Zhéporé-spawn god . . . heal Zhíno. And then Zhíno . . . afterlife and gave me his energy, his . . .”

Zhíno was exuberant. It was Pí‘oro! The old man was talking to Fírí, which meant he was alive--and even though Zhíno couldn’t hear all of it, it sure sounded like Pí‘oro knew that Zhíno had sacrificed himself for him.

Pí‘oro was still talking. “. . . back to life. I must . . . assist my brother.”

If there were anything to float on, Zhíno would have been buoyed by his sudden happiness. His soul brother was alive, and Pí‘oro considered Zhíno his brother, as well. Zhíno no longer regretted his actions in the slightest.

“Pí‘oro! Brother!” he shouted.

But there was no response. The voices had stopped.

Nevertheless, Zhíno’s soul smiled. He may not be able to communicate with them, but he at least knew that Fírí and Pí‘oro were safe and nearby.

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One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 18, page 7

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Fírí Parızada and the old man reached the bottom of the gully and started riding their horses at a walk up the splashing creek, weaving between boulders exposed by the erosion. She glanced back up the hill, but couldn’t even see the rim of the gully from all the trees and bushes in the way. The pepper spray in her pocket was seeming less and less necessary, but she’d only feel truly secure once they arrived in Éíkızo and she ditched the old man and Zhíno.

Zhíno may have saved her life in the past, but he had threatened her life just last night. It had been a gradual change over the past year or so, his growing more and more violent, more and more crazy. There was no way in Pétíso’s hells that he’d changed back so suddenly.

Unless the Zhíno from her dream was reality; unless he truly had a life-changing otherworldly experience.

Fírí pursed her lips and sighed through her nose.

They arrived at the head of the gully, a small clearing with a clear pool of water in the center. Around the pool grew a carpet of moss and wildflowers--pink and purple and white sparkling in the green. Fírí’s gaze drifted upward to towering cottonwood trees, their tops twinkling in the breeze, hemmed in by cliffs on three sides almost as high. At the end of the gully was a cave--not much more than an overhang, but enough to disappear from view of any searching helicopters. Fírí scowled. It would suffice for a couple minutes, but they needed to get moving as soon as possible.

With the old man still on it, Pí‘oro’s gray waded into the pool and began to drink. Pí‘oro patted her shoulder. “Wait just a moment, old girl.”

Fírí dismounted from her roan, landing with both feet on the cushy bed of moss and wildflowers. Pí‘oro guided the gray back to dry land and dismounted, then began untying the saddlebags and Zhíno. Fírí hesitated at the thought of taking the time to untie the bags, but they needed to sponge down the horses to cool them off and the saddlebags and her duffel would just get in the way--or wet. If the old man started to remove his saddle, though, she’d protest.

As Pí‘oro lowered Fírí’s ex-boyfriend to the soft ground, Fírí dropped her duffel of cash nearby. Holding the saddlebags, she asked, “Is there a sponge in here?”

The two horses, free of weight, began toward the pool again.

“No. Just use your hands,” Pí‘oro replied as he picked up his saddlebags and outstretched his hand toward Fírí. “Give me the bags.”

Fírí handed it over, and as the old man took the saddlebags up to the cave, she removed her shoes and socks, rolled up her pants, and waded into the knee-deep pool. The cool water sent a chill up her legs and spine. She had an urge to take a drink of the refreshing spring water, but not with the horses standing in it, she wouldn’t.

During the ride, Pí‘oro had made a comment about Zhíno saving his life, but Fírí didn’t really understand. If it was true, it would explain why the big man was helping Zhíno, but Fírí couldn’t figure out how it was possible. Zhíno had gone straight from wielding his gun to laying comatose, with no time to rescue anyone.

Pí‘oro returned to the clearing, heading for Fírí’s comatose ex-boyfriend.

Fírí asked him, “What happened between you and Zhíno? How did he save your life? Why are you helping him?”

The big man rubbed his forehead, a slight frown upon his face. “I . . . Névazhíno killed me.” He held up a hand, as if anticipating Fírí’s next question. “Just trust me. It happened.” His face twisted with anger. “The Zhéporé-spawn god took my life to heal Zhíno. And then Zhíno came to me in the afterlife and gave me his energy, his lifeforce, so that I could come back. And that must be why he’s now comatose.”

Pí‘oro held out his arms expansively, his expression calm once again. “Our souls have been joined. He brought me back to life. I must do everything possible to assist my brother.”

You were dead? Zhíno brought you back? Fírí’s head reeled. How did Zhíno do that? Where’d he get the power? She stared at the man in question as Pí‘oro lifted him and carried him up to the cave.

With both hands, she scooped up water onto her roan’s shoulders and rubbed it downward in a smooth motion. The horse’s body was hot to the touch, the hairs rough on her palms. She repeated the action, glad to have an anchor on the real world. The cool water, the hot flesh, the splashing drops.

She glanced over her shoulder to see Pí‘oro returning. He removed his boots and socks, and joined her in the pool, scooping water over his horse.

But my dream. Zhíno had come to her and apologized. His actions in her dream matched what the old man had said.

“Last night, I had a dream with Zhíno in it.” She closed her eyes, trying to bring it back. “It was so real, unlike any dream before. Zhíno apologized to me for yesterday’s insanity. He promised he’d protect me, just like he used to.”

“Just like he saved me.”

“Exactly.” Fírí reopened her eyes and focused on Pí‘oro’s kind, wrinkled face. “Something changed him.” Somewhere in that unconscious plane of existence, Zhíno had changed.

Pí‘oro cracked a smile. “For the better.”

She nodded. Yes, for the better, thank Vuzhí. But a smile did not come to her face. Fírí wanted to believe that Zhíno would be better once he awoke, but still. . . Life would be so much simpler without him, and right now, simple was what she needed.

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One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 18, page 6

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Detective Sétıpímo Marıdaré leaned back in the interrogation-room chair, chewing on his pen cap. The foreign kid wasn’t budging from his wild story and it all was holding together, just so long as you believed in miracles.

Bhanar looked at him expectantly, but Sétıpímo let him wait.

The pseudo-emperor’s story meshed with the rumors that had been whispered around Tuhanı for decades: Vata sacrificed animals to Névazhíno. The kid claimed the god was Zhíanoso, not Névazhíno, but that hardly mattered. It was unlikely he’d heard the rumors, anyhow. Sétıpímo had always assumed the rumors were merely part of the miners versus ranchers, Kínıtíní versus Névazhíno rivalry in the town, but perhaps there was some truth to the stories after all. The old girl had an aura of superiority and perfection that sometimes rankled others, no matter how genteel and nice she was, so it had seemed natural that they would single her out.

One thing was certain in Sétıpímo’s mind, however: Bhanar Narak was innocent. He hadn’t killed the Enforcer; he hadn’t been complicit in any of it. All his gun-waving had just been self-defense. The real perpetrators were the Narakamíníkan couple, Zhíno Zhudıro and Fírí Parızada. Before Sétıpímo could interrogate them, though, he would have to wait for the lawmen to catch them.

The detective pushed his chair back from the table and stood. “Wait here,” he commanded, the pen cap sticking out from between his teeth. He collected his notes and headed for the door.

If Vata truly was sacrificing animals, Sétıpímo would have to find the chapel. It apparently was a hidden room somewhere in their house. He didn’t want to arrest Vata, but the law is the law. Up till today, he’d only heard rumors--not enough to act on. Now that he had an eyewitness account, no matter how strange and mystical it sounded, Sétıpímo was compelled to search the Kılímos’ house for the chapel.

But that could wait until after the murder investigation.

He exited through the observation room to the main office.

They still needed to get into the Kılímos’ house to retrieve Pí‘oro’s body and do a cursory check of the gunfight in the kitchen, so Sétıpímo had plenty of cause to enter, but it just didn’t feel right to barge in on the grieving widow. Sétıpímo had held the lawmen outside through the night, but maybe it was now time to go in.

He’d like to get a warrant from Judge Ríko, however, just out of respect for the old girl.

Crossing between the desks, headed straight towards him, walked little Séara.

The detective stopped and pulled the pen cap from his mouth. “Has Tamé got the autos back here yet?” Another item on Sétıpímo’s list: a thorough search of the automobiles used by Zhudıro and Parızada.

Séara halted a meter away, her hands behind her back. She nodded sideways. “One so far. The sedan.”

Sétıpímo scowled. What’s taking him so long? “Very well. Tell him to get the cruiser next. Bhanar Narak is free to go. He might not want his pickup towed here.”

The corners of Séara’s mouth turned ever-so-slightly upward, joined by a crinkling near the eyes. “Yes, sir.” Apparently she had taken a liking to the famous foreigner.

Sétıpímo took a step around the girl, but stopped. “Help get him processed and out of here. When he leaves, try to avoid the front door. There’s quite a crowd out there.”

As he headed for his desk to get the search-warrant paperwork, the detective grinned to himself. If little Séara was so enthralled by the pseudo-emperor, the least he could do was let her spend some time with him. At least something good might come from the day.

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One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 18, page 5

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Lawperson Séara Nulıpésha simmered as she drove back to the precinct headquarters. She wanted to do the best job she could to help catch the murderer, but Vomıvé refused her assistance. The constabulary radio overflowed with information of the search, how they were looking under every boulder and inside every cluster of bushes for any sign of the suspects, but nobody had found a Ahísıhíta-damned thing so far. The desert was just too big and the search party was just too small.

She pulled into the precinct parking lot, slowing just enough to let a pair of scavenging reporters get out of her way. It wasn’t until after she passed through the gate into the back lot that she realized that Tamé had disappeared.

Séara parked her cruiser and got out, slamming the door. She couldn’t call him; he didn’t have a radio in his truck. “He was right behind me,” she muttered. “What could’ve happened to him?”

Crossing her arms, she stared at the chainlink gate.

She should have been paying better attention to the tow-truck driver. Vomıvé had been explicit in directing Séara to keep an eye on Tamé, and she’d blown it. How was that for doing the best job she could?

The seconds stretched into minutes.

Séara grimaced. She’d have to go looking for him.

She threw open the cruiser door, plopped inside, and yanked the door shut. Just as she started the engine, the front end of Tamé’s tow truck appeared on the other side of the gate.

Séara took a relaxing deep breath and turned off the auto’s engine. She’d have to chew out Tamé, but at least no one would be chewing her out.

As Tamé guided the suspects’ brown sedan into a parking stall, Séara marched to the building entrance.

A thought crossed her mind. Since she was here, perhaps she could go check on Emperor Bhanar, to see how he was doing. Pí‘oro’s death had hit him hard, too, she could tell. Maybe she could talk to him for a bit, get him to let his feelings out. Being stuck in a cell all night by himself with no one to talk to must have been torture for the young man.

At the building doors, Séara paused and turned back. Tamé was out of his truck, lowering the automobile to the pavement.

Séara called out to him, in her most authoritative voice, “You’d better come inside, Tamé.”

The middle-aged man waved a hand at her, glancing over his shoulder.

Séara spun on her heel and went in. Behind the desk across the small lobby, Lawman Laparıpasamé glanced up and said, “Hi, Séara. How’s it going out there?”

She could hear the same staticky voices of the constabulary radio as she’d been listening to in the auto. Tépíto had it on, at the desk.

“You know as much as I do, from the radio.” Séara crossed the lobby and leaned on the chest-high desk. She meant to ask about the status of Bhanar, but a different question crossed her lips first. “What are you doing manning the back desk?”

The dark-haired lawman shrugged. “Zhulızho has his hands full with the reporters at the front, so he asked me to cover for him.”

While Tépíto spoke, the tone of the radio reports grew more urgent. The two lawpersons stopped to listen.

“. . . taking ‘no’ for an answer. Should I apprehend?”

“Negative, lawman. Control her by other means.”

“--get some help here?”

“Group five, going to assist--”

“--three, going to assist home base.”

Tamé burst into the lobby, the metal door rebounding off the doorstop. “I’ve delivered the Sonla and still have to go back for the other two.” He removed his green ball cap and scratched his scalp, glaring at Séara. “What do--”

“Shhh!” Séara waved her hand for him to shut up.

On the radio, a lawman was saying, “--down, Irézí, just calm down. You’ll get your story--”

“Oh,” said Tépíto, straightening up.

Séara turned her thoughts away from the radio, as well. It was just that stupid television reporter, Irézí what’s-her-name, causing trouble.

Séara stuck out her chin at Tamé. “What happened? Did you stop at the pub for another drink? You were supposed to stay right behind me.”

The tow-truck driver scowled, shaking his head. “What in Pétíso’s hells are you talking about? You ditched me back there! How am I supposed to keep up with you when I’m towing a fifteen-hundred-kilogram automobile and you’ve got the pedal floored on your souped-up cruiser?” Tamé huffed and rolled his eyes.

Séara didn’t think she’d been going that fast, but she had to admit she hadn’t been paying attention to her speed.

“Fine, whatever.” She took a step back and gestured at the desk. “Just fill out your paperwork and keep working.”

Tamé shot her a dirty look as he approached the desk.

Tépíto started digging around for the appropriate forms. “Um. . . Hold on a second.”

Séara couldn’t help him any, since she’d never worked the desk--too much responsibility to give to little Séara--which meant this was her chance to check on Bhanar.

“Can you buzz me through, Tépíto?” she asked, jabbing a thumb at the locked door to the rest of the building.

“Sure,” the lawman replied and absentmindedly pushed the door-release button.

The lock buzzed and Séara pulled it open, heading in search of the only other person around who had cared about her old friend’s death.

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One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 18, page 4

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Vata Kılímí prayed to her god, “O Névazhíno, God of Animals, Creator of All Creatures, Love of the Universe, I need Your aid.”

The elderly woman stood just inside the circle of flaming braziers, her arms outstretched, her head tilted back, and her eyes closed.

“I have always been faithful to You. Surely this is evident to One as wise and powerful as You are. I would not request Your assistance if it was not in Your service, as this most certainly is.”

In the back of her mind, Vata noticed the lack of Névazhíno’s presence, but she did not let this slow her prayer.

“During Your healing of my loyal husband and the young man, Zhíno, it is apparent that Zhíno’s spirit took control of my husband’s corporeal form. I wish to give You a sacrifice for Your assistance in returning my husband to control of his own body, but I cannot, for the police have surrounded our house.”

Her arms grew weak, but she did not let them lower. Usually, by this point in a prayer, Névazhíno’s spirit buoyed her soul and gave her energy. Then again, she usually started the prayer with a sacrifice.

“O Névazhíno, Love of the Universe, I beseech You: please distract the police so I may obtain a sacrifice suitable for You. You are the most noble of all the gods. I have all my trust in You. My husband’s life is in Your hands.”

With that, Vata brought her hands together in front of her chest and lowered her head.

She held that position while she listened to the universe. Névazhíno remained absent.

After a moment, Vata sensed increasing agitation coming from the policemen’s souls. She wasn’t well connected to them, so she wouldn’t normally sense their emotions, but when scores shared the same feeling, it came strong to her. She concentrated, trying to divine their exact situation. Had they found Pí‘oro? But no, their essences were moving southward, toward the front of the house, toward the driveway, leaving the area within sight of the back yard completely abandoned.

Vata broke her pose and shuffled at her top speed toward the hidden exterior door. Whatever was occurring to draw the ire of the policemen, it was the distraction she needed. It was Vata’s prayer answered.

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One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 18, page 3

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Pí‘oro Kılímo spotted the trees of Rosí Spring as he and Fírí crested a rise in the dusty desert. Side by side, their horses galloped down the slight slope, obviously relieved to be running downhill instead of up. Both horses were lathered heavily and would need to rest awhile once they reached the shelter of the trees. As soon as the horses were ready, they’d continue down the creek and circle around Tuhanı to throw off the police. When they got to the next town, he’d call his youngest son from a pay telephone to come pick them up. Pí‘oro grinned exuberantly at the thought of the grand adventure they were on: running from the police, helping his soul brother escape, living life to its fullest.

“We moved in together when I was sixteen,” said Fírí, continuing her story about Zhíno. “In Rívorí years, that would be about nine, I guess. Anyway, we had to lie to our landlord about our ages, tell them we were both eighteen. Zhíno had almost enough money to get by--probably from dealing drugs, but he wouldn’t let me know--but we got late on the rent and were evicted after a year or so.”

“Then you went back to your parents?” asked Pí‘oro. As they neared the edge of the trees, he reined in his horse to a trot.

Fírí did the same with her roan as she shook her head. “No, no. I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t stand to be around them. They didn’t even care I was gone.”

Pí‘oro frowned. It seemed so odd to him that her parents wouldn’t care about her. How any parent could abandon their child just flabbergasted Pí‘oro. Devotion to one’s children was the most natural and strongest urge for any parent. He and Vata loved their three sons infinitely and they returned the love in kind. Their bond with little Séara was nearly as strong, and she wasn’t even blood. Her only relation was through the Névazhíno priestesshood, and yet they loved her like a true granddaughter. It pained Pí‘oro to consider their love was based upon a foundation of evil that was the God of Animals, but love it still was.

And now Séara and Vata were on opposite sides of the law, with the police surrounding the house, likely to burst in at any moment and discover Pí‘oro gone. He almost hoped Vata got hauled away to prison for her dealings with the cruel god. The Union had outlawed animal sacrifices for a good reason.

He slowed his gray horse to a walk and rubbed his forehead. “Well, we’re here.”

“Is this the creek?” Fírí glanced around at the abrupt transition from desert to green forest.

Pí‘oro nudged his gray mare a few meters ahead toward the hidden trail in the bushes. “Yes. This is Rosí Spring, the start of the creek. A good spot to water the horses and hide for a short while.”

He had wanted to protect Vata from the evil truth about Névazhíno, but maybe that had been the wrong decision. If she still trusted that murderous god, then she would probably turn to Him for help with the police. It was entirely possible that the capricious Névazhíno would strike Vata dead on a whim.

But no, Vata and Névazhíno were together tight. She was His, and He was hers. The god wouldn’t hurt her. And if He did, perhaps she deserved it, just for forcing Pí‘oro to pray to that Zhéporé-spawn for the vast majority of his life.

His mare nosed her way into the bushes, knowing the trail as well as her rider. Once through the initial layer of branches, the trail sharply descended diagonally down into a gully. The undergrowth thinned out as the trees grew taller, so that Pí‘oro could almost see the creek ten meters below.

Fírí let her horse follow Pí‘oro’s. “So anyway, we lived on the streets for most of that year, spent the winter in a homeless shelter, that sort of stuff.” She kept talking about her life in Narakamíníkı.

Pí‘oro deeply inhaled the moist, organic air--a refreshing change from the typical desert dryness. Despite his best efforts to concentrate on Fírí’s story, his thoughts drifted back to the first time he and Vata had gone to the spring, before they married. They had gladly given in to the temptations created by such a lush, verdant environment. The sex was great.

Sharply, the blonde said, “But Zhíno took care of me through all of that. He always protected me, shielded me from all the unpleasantness.”

She hesitated, as if a thought caught her attention.

Pí‘oro glanced back to see Fírí staring blankly into the trees, as if remembering some particular incident where that innocent, young Fírí of the past needed a strong man’s protection from the undesirables of the street. And Zhíno had been the man to protect her, just as he had aided Pí‘oro.

“Zhíno acts tough,” commented Pí‘oro, “but when it comes right down to it, he’s a kind-hearted soul. He saved my life and it sounds like he saved yours, too.”

Quietly, the blonde replied, “More than once.”

They let those be the last words for the remainder of their descent into the gully.

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One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 18, page 2

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Umo Amuéné parked his auto across the street from the Pívo County Constabulary’s Tuhanı Precinct Headquarters. He wasn’t worried about being spotted by the police since the parking lot in front of the building was overflowing with news reporters. Various television stations’ news crews and some newspaper and magazine reporters and photographers milled around, talking in small groups between their brightly blazoned vans and automobiles.

“What are they doing here?” whined Lango.

Umo scoffed. “They’re waiting for news on the pretend emperor.” It pained Umo to refer to His Royal Majesty in such a term, but he had a facade to maintain. “He’s being held here, remember?”

“Right, whatever.” Lango cracked his knuckles, one finger at a time.

A lone police cruiser pulled out of the precinct parking lot and turned eastward toward the Kılímo residence. There couldn’t be more than two or three policemen remaining inside the building. Umo and Lango could take them out with no difficulties, if it weren’t for the reporters.

Umo smoothed his pompadour as his eyes darted around the assemblage across the street.

A direct attack wouldn’t work. They’d have to play it smooth.

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One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 18, page 1

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Chapter 18: Possessed, Obsessed



Vata Kılímí sensed the police swarming the desert around her house, faintly recognizing their animal spirits. None of them approached the house directly, and yet the animals of her menagerie in the back yard felt agitated. Between missing their morning feeding and the unusual activities of last night and at that moment, their agitation was completely understandable. It pained Vata to think she could do nothing to ease them. The police obviously did not want to arrest her yet, but they might get other ideas if she wandered around in the back yard for a half hour, feeding the animals, practically daring them to arrest her.

She had to do something to rescue Pí‘oro, and soon. But what? Zhíno had betrayed their help. It was the logical conclusion. It was the only answer that explained everything. During the healing, the young man had taken over Pí‘oro’s body as means to escape. Why else would Pí‘oro agree so readily to go traipsing across the desert with Fírí? Zhíno must have possessed Pí‘oro’s body.

But what could Vata do about it? She couldn’t call Éhara or any of the rest of the group for help. Even if the Union agents weren’t listening to her telephone line as Éhara suspected, there wasn’t much her old friend could do from outside. She wasn’t as powerful as Vata; she would need the chapel to focus Névazhíno’s strength.

A helicopter flew over the house, shaking the walls of the chapel. On the shelves, the ceremonial knives and matchboxes and other assorted items rattled around.

She had to call upon her god. The Love of the Universe would surely be able to help her--and be willing to help her, His faithful servant and priestess.

Vata stepped toward the circle of flaming braziers, the dirt floor cold and gritty on her bare feet.

The only way to surefirely attract Névazhíno’s attention was to sacrifice an animal spirit to Him. Vata wrung her hands together. It had to be a large animal, to garner His goodwill. With the horses gone, stolen by Zhíno and Fírí, that left the cows. Vata would have to sacrifice a cow.

She began shuffling her way towards the back door.

What if the police break in during the ceremony? A grim smile passed briefly across her face. I’ll have to pray to Névazhíno that doesn’t happen.

Leading a cow through the hidden exterior door would surely draw their attention, however.

Vata stopped, halfway down the hallway. She needed a distraction.

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