One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 6, page 5

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Bhanar Narak quickly fell unconscious from the pain. Bright dots of colors swirled around in his skull, pulsating in his brain, growing in intensity. Warm colors. Reds, browns, yellows, oranges.

The pain swirled away much quicker than it should have. The driveway was gone, replaced by his home. There sat his motorbike, front wheel lying on the concrete floor, tools scattered around. Faint strains of a Blood Puppy song wafted from his stereo speakers.

It was his garage at home, but something was off. The concrete floor shimmied an odd tint of orange. The posters on the walls blurred and wavered with random regularity. Objects in his peripheral vision faded to oblivion.

Bhanar spun around to find Zhíanoso, the High God of Fire, standing before him. He knew it was Zhíanoso even though he had never seen Him before. Who else would have fingers of flames flicking from His robes and such a stern yet impish smile upon His face?

“Hello,” Bhanar greeted the god, for the lack of anything better to say. How else do you address a figment of your pain-induced dream?

Zhíanoso scratched His ruddy goatee. “Good evening. Come here often?”

Bhanar looked around. His garage was gone. No ground, no air, no water, no metal, no nothing. Just fire.

“Um. . .” Bhanar’s head felt full of fluff and his legs grew weak. Were they still broken? Bhanar looked down. Yes, his legs were still broken, and yet there he stood, his feet firmly planted on solid flames. He’d never had a dream anything like this before.

“Never mind that, Bhanar.” Zhíanoso flicked His hand between them, regaining his attention. “Pay attention to the real world. What are you doing? Pointing your rifle at strangers? Threatening to murder everyone? That is hardly honorable behavior for an emperor. Respect your linage: King Furoíso, King So‘osolopo, Emperor Zéhé, and all the rest!” He shrugged. “Okay, maybe not So‘osolopo.”

“I. . .” Bhanar shook his head. If this was a dream, it was both the most otherworldly and the most real dream he’d ever had. If it wasn’t a dream, then that meant this truly was the god Zhíanoso. But that couldn’t be. Zhíanoso and the rest of those gods were made up by ancient rulers to impart morals and such on the populace. He didn’t exist.

The High God of Fire laughed, His body shimmying with flames. “Oh yes, I exist. I’m your great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandson, after all.”

“My what?” Bhanar frowned. Could the god could read his thoughts?

Zhíanoso grinned at Bhanar, somewhat condescendingly. Around His neck hung a large five-pointed ruby, red as a hot coal. The five points radiated out all in a circle, like petals on a flower. The jewel exuded heat. The necklace was power. The ruby was the Universe, the essence of Zhíanoso’s strength. If he had that jewel, Bhanar could do anything. He could exact his revenge on Zhíno. He could teach Pí‘oro a lesson or two. He could be the commanding emperor that everybody wanted and make everybody do exactly what he told them.

“No.” Zhíanoso lowered an eyebrow.

“What?” The god obviously could read his thoughts, but how? Bhanar tilted his head with a frown. Zhíanoso should be able to read his thoughts. He created the Universe, after all. He must be powerful.

The High God of Fire shrugged. “Yes I’m powerful. Yes, this jewel is powerful. But I’m not giving it to you.” He smirked with a little headshake, bits of fire radiating from his red-orange hair. “Maybe in a couple years. You’re not ready for it yet.”

Bhanar shook his head violently, mouth agape. “But it would solve my problems now.”

“And create a myriad of others.” He clicked His tongue. “No, you must first learn how to act like an emperor--how to be responsible, honorable, considerate, respectful.”

“But I am all that stuff!” And yet Bhanar knew he wasn’t.

“And humble.” The god chuckled, his coat of fire shedding tiny flames. “Now really, be honest with yourself. Have you ever taken the time to understand someone else’s point of view? The media’s, perhaps? The general public’s? Or how about your father’s?”

Bhanar scowled. “You’re telling me You brought me here just to give me a talking-to? Just to say ‘be a good person’? I’m in dire trouble, with two broken legs and a madman shooting at me, and You’re not going to help me?”

Zhíanoso smirked. “Hey, don’t be greedy. You called Me, after all, and I came.”

Bhanar’s head reeled. He’d called Zhíanoso? How?

The fire god laughed. “Enough of this jibber-jabber. I can’t stand around chatting till the end of time.” He laughed harder, as if this were a joke.

“Wait!” Bhanar reached toward Zhíanoso. “If I called You, I called You for help, right? And You responded to me. You came to my aid. So why don’t You help me? Even if You can’t give me that wonderful ruby necklace, You can help me in some other way, right?”

Zhíanoso frowned thoughtfully for a few moments of eternity. Finally, He nodded slowly, His smile growing. “Very well. Here is your aid: When you get to the springs, follow the water.”

Springs? What? “Like water coming out of the ground?”

The god nodded. “Precisely.”

“But You’re a fire god. Why are You telling me to follow water?”

Zhíanoso shrugged expansively, burning a brighter red. “You asked for My help and I provided. Now stop complaining and grow up.”

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One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 6, page 4

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Vata Kılímí climbed the two wooden steps up from the dirt floor of the chapel, slid her feet into her slippers, and cautiously pulled open the door. The door was nearly a half-meter thick, with shelves of neatly stacked sheets and towels visible on the opposite side. A regular, thin door still separated Vata from the hallway.

She paused and listened. No sounds came from the hallway. Apparently Pí‘oro had not brought anyone inside. There was no need for secrecy at this time.

Vata pushed open the thin, wood door as she pulled the shelves shut behind her. As she stepped onto the plush carpet of the hall, the door of shelves clicked shut and suddenly seemed nothing more than a standard linen closet.

She closed the closet door and shuffled the short distance to their bedroom, then angled across the room toward the telephone.

This young blonde girl was obviously very scared. She hid from both her boyfriend and the police. The boyfriend would be easy to keep out, but the police might be more difficult. If they suspected a murderer--especially a murderer of an Enforcer--was hiding inside Pí‘oro and Vata’s house, it wouldn’t take much for them to obtain a search warrant.

And then they would not only find the blonde girl, they would discover the Kılímos’ hidden chapel. Questions would be raised. The sacrifices would be brought into the open. Vata would probably go to prison. And once in prison, it would be extremely difficult to continue her mission of healing and charity in Névazhíno’s name.

Vata reached the nightstand and its telephone. She picked up her private book of telephone numbers and began thumbing through.

It was extremely useful that Tuhanı was such a small town. Only one judge could issue warrants for this precinct: Ríko Rapımaré.

Vata found his number in her book, picked up the receiver, and began to dial.

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One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 6, page 3

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Fírí Parızada stared ahead of her as the old woman closed the door with a gentle thunk. She was safe. But where was she? Vuzhí and Pétíso! What kind of room is this?

The lighting flickered and wavered, apparently coming only from a circle of torches stuck in the ground where the room expanded out from the hallway Fírí stood in.

The floor was dirt, hard-packed and ruddy brown. The ceiling was black and sloped, probably the bottom of the roof, with exposed beams flying here and there. All the walls had been painted with brown and black patterns which combined the ancient symbols for the earth gods and the Huro Hexad gods. The earth god in that hexad was Névazhíno, the God of Animals, which would help explain the menagerie in the yard. But it didn’t help explain why this woman had what was apparently a chapel dedicated to Névazhíno within her house, or why she had brought Fírí there.

The old woman walked around Fírí and looked up at her. “My name is Vata Kılímí. I am a worshipper of the Creator of All Creatures, the Love of the Universe, Névazhíno. Welcome to our chapel.”

Fírí took a hesitant step backwards. What on Kara had she stumbled into?
The old woman--Vata--showed concern on her face. She reached a withered hand towards Fírí.

“Do not be afraid, dear. My husband and I are here, in Névazhíno’s great honor, to help everyone.” Vata lowered her hand. “Now please, tell me who you are hiding from. I must know, or else I cannot fully protect you.”

Was this old woman sincere? Fírí had never heard of any crazy Névazhíno cults. She’d never seen news stories on Névazhíno worshippers who kidnapped, imprisoned, and did who-knows-what-else to random passersby. But that didn’t mean such cults didn’t exist. Maybe they were good at hiding. Maybe it was a new craze.

On the other hand, Fírí was momentarily hidden from Zhíno--so long as Vata didn’t let the pot-bellied bastard in.

Fírí tilted her head to the left and tucked her hair behind her right ear, pursing her lips.

“I’m hiding from my ex-boyfriend, Zhíno Zhudiro. He’s about 180 centimeters tall, short light brown hair--receding--with two days of beard on his face--a narrow face--and he’s kind of fat and out of shape.”

The old woman nodded, her gnarled and wrinkled face impassive.

“And while you’re at it,” said Fírí, “could you also keep out the police? I think Zhíno killed an Enforcer, but that auto out front is in my name, so they might come looking for me, instead.”

Vata’s eyebrows raised up momentarily, but she nodded once again. “Very well. I shall do what I can.” She turned and started shuffling down the hall towards the main part of the chapel. She was barefoot.

As Vata walked, she said, “I must leave you alone for a short while. Please, dear, do not do anything rash in the meantime.”

Fírí dropped her duffel bag and watched the old woman disappear around the corner. The circle of dancing flames enticed her, but Fírí held resolute. There was no way she was going into that weird chapel. She yanked her gaze away and gently seated herself on her bag of shoes, focusing her eyes on the reddish dirt of the floor.

She was probably safe now, if the old woman was telling the truth. If not, death still awaited her by the hands of Zhíno.

Despite the lack of a cold wind, a shiver crawled up her spine and down her bare arms. Fírí hugged her knees tight to her and squeezed shut her eyes.

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One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 6, page 2

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Zhíno Zhudıro sucked in deep lungfuls of air as he walked through the dark desert. He’d taken a chance at an intersection of trails and found Fírí’s footprints as a result. Soon, the twin of Vítí would be his. Soon, he’d have his auto keys back. Soon, he’d be able to deliver the guns to Gogzhuè and save his own life.

Up ahead, through some sketchy branches, a pale yellow light appeared. Zhíno pushed himself to a jog. The light quickly disappeared. He hadn’t imagined it, though. That was the house right there, a dark blob on the horizon. Someone must have opened a door. Were they coming out or going in? Was it Fírí?

A chainlink fence materialized out of the darkness. Zhíno abruptly stopped and looked at the ground.

In the dim starlight, Fírí’s footprints were barely visible, but it was quite apparent she hadn’t turned either direction. She’d hopped the fence. And so Zhíno had to hop the fence, too. Except that with one broken wrist and a flesh wound to his other arm, climbing would be just about impossible.

“Plague of Rékaré,” he spat.

The house was only a few meters to his right, but Zhíno didn’t see anything there that looked like a gate, so he turned the other way and started hurrying along the fence. There had to be a gate somewhere.

If that Vítí-twin was hiding in this backyard, she was as good as dead. If someone had let her inside the house, it wouldn’t just be Fírí who he’d kill.

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One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 6, page 1

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PART II: THE SECRET CHAPEL

Chapter 6: Divine Inspiration



Lawperson Séara Nulıpésha of the Pívo County Constabulary looked at her wristwatch. Her shift was supposed to end in fifteen minutes, at midnight, but that schedule was out the window. A Colonial Enforcer had been murdered.

Séara had been the first on the scene and was still the only police officer around. She’d reported the location, cordoned off the area with yellow plastic tape and orange pylons from her cruiser’s trunk, and searched the immediate area. But her main purpose now was just waiting for the detective to show up.

He’d been woken up a half hour ago when Séara found the body. He didn’t live that far away; he should be there by now.

The murderer was on the loose, last seen out by the Kılímos’ house. Séara should be over there, hunting him down in the desert. She’d seen the Kılímos just that morning, at the Temple of Névazhíno. Mrs. Kılímí had been as exuberant as always; Mr. Kılímo had been his wonderful, gruff self. If this you-know-what murderer had hurt the old couple in any way, Séara would certainly be shooting at him without much provocation.

If she got the chance to hunt him, that was.

A cool breeze danced across her face and Séara imagined herself riding a horse down a dusty trail, following hasty footprints of a fugitive criminal. But no, here she stood on a quiet city street with nobody but a dead Enforcer for company.

Two more years. In two years, she’d have the seniority needed to apply for the equestrian squad. She’d survived her first year on the force, and they say if you don’t quit in the first year, you probably won’t quit anytime soon.

Séara stared up at the stars, barely visible thanks to the nearby street lamp and her cruiser’s flashing red and green lights. Well, if I don’t get on the equestrian squad in two years, I will quit. I can always go be a schoolteacher like Mom wants.

Her mother was always complaining that policework was too dangerous, but Séara had never even drawn her gun yet, in the line of duty. Plenty of time on the shooting range, which was fun and all, but she’d never been forced to test herself in a real-life situation. Maybe, just maybe, if Detective Sétıpímo arrived anytime soon, Séara would be able to join the hunt for the murderer and test her marksmanship in the open field.

Séara looked over the crime scene once again. A yellow racer auto had its door ajar, the window behind it smashed in. The murderer must have been trying to steal it when the Enforcer showed up. Why would anyone kill a policeman over a stolen auto? It just doesn’t make any sense. Maybe she was reading the scene wrong. Maybe there was something else going on. Her opinion didn’t matter anyhow. That’s what Detective Sétıpímo was for.

The sound of an approaching siren forced Séara to look up. It wasn’t a police siren, however, but an ambulance. Tuhanı didn’t have a hospital, so that meant the ambulance had to come from all the way up in Sémı’aréíso. And they still beat the detective there.

The driver turned off the siren as the ambulance pulled to a stop, but left his red strobe on. Mixed with her cruiser’s lights, the street resembled one of the nightclubs in Éíkızo that Séara hoped to be at tomorrow night.

The driver and another medic hopped out of the ambulance, running up to Séara.

“We need to check the victim,” stated the driver, his eyes already on the dead Enforcer.

“Go ahead,” replied Séara with a hand to the corpse. “He was shot in the face.”

The medics ducked under the yellow tape and scurried to the body.

Séara didn’t know why the medics bothered to stop here. Did they not believe her original report when she said the man was dead? She’d heard on the police radio that the murderer had run over a foreign civilian with the stolen cruiser. Surely these medics needed to go save him.

The medics straightened up. “He’s dead,” one of them sighed.

Séara bit her lower lip.

As they ducked under the tape again, one of the medics asked, “You’ll stay here, right?”

Séara nodded. “I’ll be right here. Don’t you worry.”
“Don’t let anything happen to his body,” the driver commanded over his shoulder as he hurried to the ambulance.

Before Séara responded, their doors slammed and the ambulance accelerated eastward down the street, siren blaring. And Lawperson Séara Nulıpésha was once again alone with the dead man.

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One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 5, page 7

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Fírí shivered. This night of her death was cold and getting colder.

No! Don’t think like that. You’re not going to die. You’re going to get out of this. That old lady is going to help you.

But it had been so very long since that woman disappeared back into the house. So very long. Who was she kidding? She wasn’t going to survive the night. Thus ends the life of Fírí Parızada, mourned by no one, shunned by all.

A mostly white puppy tentatively approached where Fírí sat, its head down and its tail wagging.

Come here, Fírí thought, extending a hand towards the dog. Come warm me up.

But the puppy jerked away from her hand and vanished in the darkness.

Why does this always happen to me? I reach out to the puppy; it runs away. I ask the old lady for help; she locks me out of her house. I try to stay good to Zhíno, stand beside him; but he gets all paranoid and starts shooting at everybody in sight. I do everything in my power for my parents’ approval--study hard, come home early, and all that; and they shun me as if I never existed. For all they care--for all anybody in any of the worlds cares--I might as well die tonight. No one would care. No one would notice.

Fírí slumped against the cabinets, letting her arms drop to the duffel bag on which she sat, lacking the motivation to any longer hug her legs for warmth. This was it. Zhíno would arrive and kill her. Or, if that old man and kid pair got there first, they’d probably rape her first and then kill her. No point in fighting it any longer. It was going to happen, and nobody cared.

Next to Fírí’s shoulder, something creaked a long, low groan. She slowly turned her head to look.

Yellow light spilled into the yard from a giant rectangular hole in the house. It was as if a huge section of the wall had just disappeared.

How odd.

The old woman stepped into view, peering into the yard. She seemed out of breath for some reason.

“Hey,” Fírí murmured. “You came back.”

The woman snapped her head down at Fírí. “Oh, there you are, dear. You gave me such a fright. Please come inside quickly.” She looked up again to scan the yard, as if she, too, expected Zhíno to arrive any second.

Leaning against the wall and the cabinets, Fírí pushed herself to her feet. She was saved. This old woman hadn’t abandoned her.

Feeling suddenly hale, Fírí snatched up her duffel bag of shoes and money. She might yet get a chance to spend it. She might yet survive the night.

She stepped through the doorway.

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One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 5, page 6

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Bhanar Narak lay at the edge of the driveway, clutching his empty rifle to his chest. He knew he should stop the bleeding from his shin’s compound fracture, but he felt a little light-headed and it was so much more comfortable to just lie there and not move at all. He could almost ignore the pain if he didn’t move.

Above him, two men spoke. Had Zhíno joined Pí‘oro? Were they partners in crime, now just standing there watching while Bhanar bled to death? The second man talked down to Pí‘oro and the old man answered dutifully. Was Zhíno the boss and Pí‘oro his flunky?

Or was this someone else entirely? Pí‘oro was a good guy, right? Demeaning, slow-witted, and annoying; but good. He wouldn’t be obsequious to some Zhéporé-spawn idiot assassin. Maybe the other guy was a police officer.

“Bhanar?” asked the policeman. “I have to move your leg to stop the blood. It may hurt.”

He spoke with precise enunciation, slow enough for Bhanar to understand. Maybe he didn’t need extra lessons in the Sariman language, after all. Maybe just all the Sarımans needed to stop mumbling.

“Do it,” Bhanar replied and gritted his teeth.

Hands gripped his right leg on either side of the break, sending shivers of agony rolling up Bhanar’s body. They lifted his leg into the air, tightening something around the break, squeezing the splintered bones against each other. Bhanar pressed his head into the ground, grinding his scalp against the gravel, his face twisted shut. His hands clenched themselves white around the barrel and stock of his rifle. He bit both his lips together and iron blood filled his mouth.

Eventually, they lowered his leg to the ground and released it. Sparks of pain continued to dance throughout his body, but Bhanar forcibly relaxed his muscles, loosening his grip on the rifle and sinking against the ground. He unclenched his jaw and opened his eyes, blinking repeatedly.

He was correct; it was a policeman. He wore an ink-black uniform just like back in Zhuphío, shiny shield badge on one pocket and a nametag above the other. Too dark to read it, though. His very short, blond hair glowed like a fuzzy halo with the house lights behind him.

“Stay calm,” said the policeman. “I called an ambulance.”

Bhanar took a deep breath and replied, “Get Zhíno.”

The blond man nodded. “We will. I called for backup.” He reached out one hand towards Bhanar, palm up. “I am a Colonial Enforcer. I need your rifle.”

Bhanar was safe now. The police were here. The Enforcer had called for backup. The bastard Zhíno would be arrested, he would be imprisoned, and maybe--just maybe--he’d be put to death. What were the Narakamíníkı-Sarıman laws on capital punishment? Does he actually have to kill someone, or is intent enough to execute the Zhéporé-spawn?

The Enforcer repeated, “Your rifle, Bhanar,” his hand still extended.

“Yes.” Bhanar held up his bulletless gun.

The policeman took the weapon with clean rubber gloves. He stood up and asked, “Are you well enough for questions?”

Other than the constant agony and light-headedness, Bhanar felt fine. He propped himself up on his elbows. “Yes.”

“Very well.” The Enforcer nodded crisply. “I will return soon.” Carrying Bhanar’s rifle at almost arms-length, the blond man strode down the driveway.

Pí‘oro stepped in front of Bhanar. “Let’s get you inside, son, where it’s comfortable. And safe from Zhíno.”

That’s right. Zhíno’s hiding in the desert somewhere and us two now don’t have any protection. He didn’t really care to go inside the old man’s house, but it was better than lying in the driveway. Zhíno was already a lot closer than any ambulance or Enforcer backup could be.

“Let’s go,” Bhanar replied.

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