Koh

Zebulun and Quinn halted their mounts on a hill overlooking a small village. It was quiet. A light breeze blew from the west.

"What village is this?" asked Quinn.

"The village of my birth," said Zebulun.

Quinn whipped his head around and looked at Zebulun with wide eyes. "Really? This is Koh?"

Zebulun nodded.

"Do you still have family here?" asked Quinn.

"I don’t know," said Zebulun. "I haven’t been back since my father died."

"Was that when you joined the army?" asked Quinn.

Zebulun shook his head. "Before. My father died when I was ten. No one from our village would take me in, so they sent me to an orphanage a day’s ride west of the capital. Men from the army came by a few times a year to inspect the boys. They usually waited until a boy was fifteen or sixteen, but I was big for my age. They took me at fourteen."

"You’re big for any age," said Quinn. "What about your mother?"

"She died in childbirth."

"Brothers or sisters?"

"No."

"Oh," said Quinn. He was quiet for a moment. "So you never knew your mother?"

"I did not."

"That’s so sad," said Quinn. "I mean, mine took off when I was young, but at least I had a mom for a few years. I’m sorry, Zeb."

Zebulun nodded.

"You were in the army ever since?" asked Quinn.

"I was," said Zebulun. "I’d probably still be soldiering if not for Sarah. She gave form to the doubts I had."

Zebulun paused for a moment to look at the village, took a deep breath, and said, "Let’s see who needs our help."

They rode down into the village. Zebulun dismounted and strolled, leading the mounts, taking everything in. The aroma of food filled the air as the women of the village prepared the evening meal. The men wouldn’t be back from tending the ranchers' herds til sundown. Children played in the dusty road. They stopped and stared at the strangers with big eyes.

Zebulun stopped at the well for a drink. They watered their equines and filled their waterskins.

An old woman approached. "Hello, strangers."

"Hello," said Zebulun. "I’m Zebulun. This is my companion Quinn. I was born in this place."

The old woman came closer. She stood on tiptoes and squinted up at Zebulun.

"You Asher’s boy?" she asked.

"I am."

"You look like him," she said. "He was a big fella too. What have you been doing all these years?"

"Soldiering," said Zebulun. "But no more. Now I am prophet of Ur, creator of the world. I wander the land and heal the sick and injured. Does anyone here need help?"

The old woman stared at him for a moment. "You get hit in the head a lot in the army?"

Mirth entered Zebulun’s eyes. "Not too often."

"He’s serious!" said Quinn. "I seen him do it."

The old woman looked at Quinn with a cocked eyebrow, then turned back to Zebulun. "In that case," she said, "you came at a good time. Your mother’s sister fell ill not long ago."

"Take me to her," said Zebulun.

She took them to a small house. They waited in the courtyard while the old woman spoke to Zebulun’s aunt. The old woman emerged and said, "She will see you."

Zebulun went inside. His aunt lay on a bed, thin and pale. She looked at him with pleading eyes.

"Zebulun," she said.

"Aunt Keziah," said Zebulun. "Good to see you."

"I’d hug you," she said, "but I can barley move. I’m not well."

"That’s why I’m here," said Zebulun.

She watched with confusion as Zebulun placed his hands above her torso and closed his eyes. After a moment, he opened them and said, "It’s some kind of corruption. Wait a moment."

He let the power of Ur flow into his aunt. It destroyed the invader. Her flesh darkened; her breathing eased.

She looked up at him in wonder. "How can you do this?"

"I’m a prophet now," he said.

She looked at him, then looked away. Tears welled up and ran down her cheeks. Zebulun put a hand on her shoulder. She grabbed it.

"Oh, Zeb," she said. "I’m so sorry."

"What for?"

"For not taking you in," she said. "I should have. I was afraid the others would shun me as they did your mother. They never stopped hating her for refusing to marry that vile, disgusting toad. He had promised the village riches. When she married your father, he instead did everything he could to make our lives hard."

"One of the big ranchers?" asked Zebulun.

"Yes," she said. "Mortimer or something. He was stupid, ugly, and mean, but he was rich. Jael wanted nothing to do with him. She married your father instead. The others never forgave her. Your parents' life was hard because no one would help them."

She looked up at him through the tears. "And now you’ve come back and brought me back from the edge of the grave, like it never happened. I’m so sorry, Zeb. I should have cared for you."

Zebulun squeezed her shoulder. "All is forgiven. I went where I needed to go to set me on this path. It wasn’t pleasant, but it was necessary."

Keziah grasped his hand and kissed it. She held his hand to her face for a time.

Her stomach growled. She chuckled with tears on her face. "I haven’t been able to keep anything down," she said, wiping her eyes. "Even water would come back up. Now I feel hungrier than I ever have. Can I fix you something to eat?"

"My companion would love you for it," he said.

This was cattle country; some of the men got beef as part of their wages. She sat them down to a home-cooked meal of meat, potatoes, and black-eyed peas. Quinn ate as much as Zebulun. Keziah almost matched them.

After dinner, the people gathered in the square. They marveled at the lost son’s return. Zebulun offered healing to anyone who needed it.

He spoke of the Law of Ur. The people showed skepticism.

"We cling to the old ways," said one old man. "We revere our ancestors, as our ancestors did theirs. We do not truck with gods."

"Continue to revere your ancestors," said Zebulun. "Keep praying at their shrines. Ur is unconcerned with such things."

"He doesn’t want our worship and devotion?" asked a young woman.

"No," said Zebulun.

"I never heard of a god that didn’t want no worshipers," said a young cowpoke with a grin.

Zebulun smiled with his eyes. "Now you have."