I'm sure there was a vision. There had to be, as that's the whole symbiotic exchange. It’s how Mother worked her fortunes. While the syopterae feed on our smoke-saturated brains, we go to Tera. We experience visions there. Past or potential futures. I don't remember one that first time. I do remember Mother wiping the streaming tears from my eye, her own dead eye darting fish-like and upside-down as she bent over my face.

Maribel had not spoken of that day in the thirty-eight years since it had happened. But she thought the pig-boy deserved to know what would happen. “When they pronounce him guilty,” she said, “Father Domingo will come and get you. He will want you to pray at the shrine of Saint Rafael for the power of transmogrification. He will tell you the words to use. Then he will take you to the village square. Everyone will be gathered and the man tied up there. You’ll make the man swallow a cup of something and command his devil to take the form of a javelina.”