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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