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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