Infidel

by Kameron Hurley

  “No. It ended before that, when both sides got perilously close to losing everything. They developed a weapon so powerful it had the ability to completely annihilate the other. There was as much spying and espionage then as now, and it didn’t take long for both sides to gain this power.”

  “You thought Chenja and Nasheen would stop fighting just because they could both breed mutant armies?”

  “I hoped it would give them pause, yes.”

  “I’ve been thinking some about that.”

  “Thinking? Not killing?”

  “There’s been some of that too.”

  “Ah, well.” Yah Tayyib sighed. “What are you here for, Nyx?”

  “Just verifying some information,” she said, sliding off the stool. “What I’m about to do is a big deal. I need to make sure I’m not full of shit.”

  “That’s rather… prudent of you, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, trying something new. You die once and suddenly dying again seems kinda redundant, you know?”

  “I do.”

  “Gotta go,” Nyx said. “Your filter’s gonna go back up in five minutes.”

  She walked to the door.

  “Nyx?”

  She turned.

  “I would have let you in,” he said. “Go to a call box next time instead of blowing up a filter, would you?”

  She shrugged. “Habit.” She walked back out to his desk, fished around for the call pattern Rhys had left. Found the card. Stared at it a long moment.

  “Hey, Tayyib!” She called into his operating theater.

  He walked back into the doorway. “Yes?”

  She tapped the card. “You know any good magicians want to help me kill some bel dames?”

  “I wondered if you’d ever ask,” he said.

  “Why’d you bring me back, really?”

  “Perhaps because I know you’re the only person foolish enough to attempt to murder half the bel dame council,” he said, “including the only other woman to try it.”

  “I like that reason better. Meet us at the train station at eighteen.”

  35.

  Khos drove Inaya to a four-room, three-story walk-up at the edge of their former district. There was nothing left to salvage from the old house. Inaya mourned the children’s projects, the certificate of merit she had received from the Ras Tiegan ambassador (she loved it for the irony, if nothing else), and the big stone tub upstairs, the one with the clawed feet.

  As they mounted the steps, Inaya prepared for the worst. The woman who opened the door was a fleshy matron about Khos’s age, handsome, Inaya supposed, but not beautiful. She felt oddly relieved at that. Her dark abaya did her no favors—they generally didn’t, with fleshy women. Her eyes were blue, like Khos’s, but her complexion was Nasheenian.

  “You must be Inaya,” she said, and held out her hands the way one would to a sister.

  Inaya took them, hesitant. The woman’s hands were warm and rough. Inaya guessed she was a weaver. She had done work like that herself back in Nasheen.

  “Mam! Mam!”

  Isfahan pushed past the Mhorian woman and clung to Inaya’s leg. Tears came, unbidden, and Inaya scooped her up into her arms. “Hello, love.”

  Inaya moved into the room, past the Mhorian, and found Tatie playing at stones with another young boy on the floor. He was too young to be Khos’s original half-breed boy. Had he fathered another? Or was this woman simply as loose as a Nasheenian? The flat felt cramped and depressingly empty. Kitchen, bedroom, and a curtained-off living area to make it two rooms. She didn’t see a privy, and wondered if they had a shared one down the hall.

  Tatie looked up at her as she entered, brow furrowed, frowning. But he did not stir until Khos came in. Then his face lit up, and he ran.

  Khos took Tatie up into his arms. Inaya had to push down a spark of jealousy. At least they hadn’t both clung to the Mhorian.

  “I’m Batia,” the Mhorian said.

  Inaya nodded. She mustered up some semblance of manners. “Thank you for taking us in. There wasn’t much to salvage at the house.” She did not say that she knew her husband paid for the cramped little flat. This is her home, Inaya thought fiercely. It’s not her fault Khos kept her from me. Don’t punish her. She’s trying to make her way, just as you did.

  They had stored all of their relevant documents in a safe deposit box downtown. So they had all of their travel documents and visas, the certificate of insurance, all of the vital bits and pieces of organic paper and official recordings they needed to rebuild their lives here in this little flat.

  Inaya looked over at Khos. He was beaming. Tatie had his arms wrapped around him. The Mhorian, too—Batia—she corrected herself—was beaming also. So happy. Happy to be alive, to be together. Lovely little family.

  “Mam, come see my drawings!” Isfahan said, clapping her hands.

  Inaya set her down and let her lead her behind the curtain to a little sleeping area. The children had hung up drawings along the wall in the corner where they slept.

  “This is you,” Isfahan said, pointing to a drawing of a great green blob. “This is Da”—pointing to some kind of four-footed animal—“and this is us and Batia”—pointing to a stick figure with a brown scribble for an abaya holding hands with two smaller figures colored over in red. Most Nasheenians and Chenjans didn’t encourage drawing living things. Seeing this Mhorian-Nasheenian encouraging it in her children gave Inaya pause.

  Inaya frowned. Next to this drawing was another of a big square building bleeding jagged orange and red edges… and beside it, a swirling green monster hovering above the blazing house. Am I really just a big green monster? she thought.

  She squeezed Isfahan close. The girl pushed her away. “Mam, look, look—” and she showed her more drawings.

  That night, Inaya and Khos slept together with the children in the curtained off sleeping area while Batia slept alone in her bedroom.

  Inaya lay awake long after the children slept, listening for footsteps on the stairs. Pistol shots. Grenades.

  Khos said softly, in the darkness, “I thought you would change your mind.”

  “I thought you were asleep.”

  “You want to go with her, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know what I want.” Not this, Inaya thought. She thought of her life before. Scrubbing floors, taking Tatie back and forth to the madrassa, staying up with her children when they were sick, ferrying information to the rebels, unable to act on it. Crippled, torn. “I love my children,” she said.

  “You have a great gift.”

  “A curse.”

  “A gift. Don’t let all those catshit Ras Tiegan politics cloud that.”

  “They… do you know what they do to people like me?”

  “I wanted to protect you.”

  “I know.”

  “But you’re very good at protecting yourself.”

  Inaya absently stroked Isfahan’s head. Isfahan stirred in her sleep, pressed her warm body against Inaya’s.

  “You should have told me properly about… Batia,” she said.

  “I know. I thought… I didn’t know what to do about it.”

  “You always did hate conflict.”

  “Always running away from it. Always end up back in it. I’ve loved our life the last four years.”

  Married life.

  “I…” she hesitated. “I thought I would too.”

  “What do you want?” He shifted onto his side, propped himself up on one elbow, and gazed down at her. She stared up into his graven face. A handsome man, big and kind. I blame him for my unhappiness, she realized. He’s not the cause of it. He never was. I’ve done this to myself. She had tried so long to do what was expected of her. Married the right sorts of men. Tried to be the right sort of wife.

  “I think…” she said. “I think… this is not the life for me.” She let out her breath. It was like cutting open a rotten wound and draining the pus. Pain. Then relief. What would God think of her? Turni
ng away from her husband, her family? You’re already damned, she thought.

  Khos brushed her hair away from her face. So gentle. “I love you,” he said. “Always did.”

  She took a deep breath.

  “I can help build a better world for them. Especially if both are… are…”

  “Shifters,” he said.

  Hearing it out loud hurt.

  “Yes. I’m afraid, Khos. I’m afraid of myself all the time.”

  “I’m sorry about Batia.”

  She reached out, pressed her hand to his cheek. “I forgive you,” she said.

  He pulled her into his arms.

  +

  Inaya packed her things an hour before the blue dawn touched the sky. She wore one of Batia’s full hijabs, and gloves.

  She woke Tatie and Isfahan. Khos was already up, packing rations.

  “Mam,” Tatie said, “I’m tired, Mam.”

  “Why are you dressed up?” Isfahan said.

  “I need you to know something, love,” Inaya said, and looking at her daughter in the blue dawn reminded her of her mother coming to her in the darkness, smelling of dogs and offal, saying, “They’ve come for me. They’ll come for you, too.”

  “I need you both to know that I love you very much. I’m going to do some important work. But it means I may be gone for a while.”

  “How long, Mam?” Isa said.

  “I don’t know. You’ll be big when I see you again, though. Batia and Da will take good care of you while I’m gone. I want you to be polite to her. You promise?”

  Tatie looked at her suspiciously. “When are you coming back?”

  “She’s your second mam. You know, like your friend Akhshan has. You know Akhshan’s two mams?”

  “My friend Riara has four,” Isa said. She held up three fingers.

  “That’s right,” Inaya said. “That’s right.” She took Isa’s hand and kissed it. Tears were spilling down her cheeks, soaking her veil. “It will be just like that.”

  She hugged them both, so tightly that Tatie started to squirm.

  “Get some sleep now,” she said.

  She kissed them again and pushed past the curtain into the main room. Khos stood in the kitchen.

  “I called Rhys,” he said. “Nyx put them on a train to Beh Ayin last night. You should be able to meet them at a hotel called the Petit Bijoux.”

  “Beh Ayin?” She frowned. Sudden understanding dawned. “The magistrate,” she breathed.

  “What?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Nothing, I… I know where they are.” She took the food he offered and pressed it into her pack.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  She nodded. “You watch after them. You promise me.”

  “I love this life, Inaya. I’d give everything for it.”

  Including me, Inaya thought. Yes.

  He walked her to the door. She hesitated on the threshold. God, give me the strength for this, she thought, and sent out a prayer. Keep them safe. Please, God, in all your infinite mercy, keep them safe.

  She stepped into the blue dawn.

  Khos shut the door behind her.

  The morning was cool, almost cold. She looked back once. Once was enough to nearly lose her resolve. She did not look back again.

  36.

  The train to Beh Ayin was crowded. Nyx had expected something a little more posh, considering the Tirhani streets, but Beh Ayin was out in the contaminated wilderness. The train practically hummed with filters. There were filters over the doors coming in, and none of the windows opened. Everything was slathered in bug-repelling unguent.

  Sitting on the sterilized seats made her skin itch right through her clothes. She ended up sitting on her coat.

  They were a motley crew, so Nyx had split them up into a couple of groups. She got enough attention on her own as it was. Yah Tayyib and Rhys shared a compartment in first class. They looked the most like they belonged there, and Yah Tayyib could afford the ticket. Nyx rode in third class with Eshe at the back of the car. Suha had her own seat at the front of the same car next to some fussy old Ras Tiegan woman. Most everybody in third class was foreign, and there wasn’t enough room for them.

  Nyx walked up through second class and found it was less than half full, and every passenger a neat little Tirhani. She convinced a suspicious porter that all the privies were full in second and she’d piss on the floor if she didn’t get by.

  She knocked on Rhys and Yah Tayyib’s compartment door.

  “Come,” Rhys said, in Tirhani.

  Nyx rolled the door open.

  Rhys was alone, sitting against the window with a tattered book in his ugly hands. He wore trousers, and she couldn’t help but look at the outline of his long legs. Outside, the verdant Tirhani jungle whooshed past: huge amber trees and ropey vines as wide as her arm. A giant suckered insect of some kind thudded on the window, then flew off.

  “Everything all right?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” she said, rolling the door closed behind her. “Just kinda crowded back there. Wanted some air.”

  He closed the book. She’d assumed it was the Kitab, but no, it was some poetry book.

  She sat across from him, near the door.

  “Hungry?” she asked.

  “No.” He opened the book again.

  She fidgeted. They had packed a few weapons in the cases at their feet, but mostly the cases were full of bugs. Useful things Yah Tayyib and Rhys said might help secure a safe house in Beh Ayin.

  “Thanks for coming,” she said, lamely. It felt stupid the moment she said it.

  “I’m not doing this for you,” he said. “I’m doing this for my wife.”

  “Right. I know. I—” she stopped. Chewed on her words. This was always where she pissed people off. It wasn’t a great time to do that. He wore his pistols at his hips again. His hair had started to grow out. Her gaze moved across his clear, pretty face, the broad shoulders, slender chest, and settled there on the ugly hands. The too-big, short-fingered stevedore’s hands. Dead man’s hands.

  She pulled her gaze away. “You call that woman you know out here? The one you told me about?”

  “Tasyin doesn’t know where they’re staying. But she did infer that they’re coming to an agreement soon. A day or two. Not much more. We’ll have to work fast. If they get the weapon… I don’t know.”

  “Maybe they’ll sell it to Nasheen and Chenja at the same time. Save us some trouble.”

  Rhys shook his head. “Still doesn’t take care of the coup.”

  “No. That one’s up to us, whether or not they make the deal.”

  They sat in silence a good while longer.

  “Tayyib go out for food?”

  “Privy. The train makes him sick.”

  “Hrm,” Nyx said. She sighed and stood. “Well, that’s enough air, I guess.”

  “Nyx?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Make me a promise.”

  Nyx hesitated. Felt herself fidgeting again. Fuck, what was wrong with her? “Sure,” she said, “if I can.”

  “I need you to promise that no matter what happens, you won’t look for me. You won’t come for me.”

  “You think I would?”

  “If you needed me. The way you needed me this time.”

  “Rhys-”

  “I want your oath, Nyx. I want a bel dame blood oath that when I leave here you won’t look for me again.”

  Give it to him, she thought. You owe him that.

  “I do this and we’re even,” she said.

  He didn’t answer.

  Nyx pulled the dagger at her hip. It was small enough that it hadn’t raised too many eyebrows on the train. She made a smooth cut across her thumb. Blood welled up. She stood, reached out and pressed her bloody thumb to his forehead, left a smear of red behind.

  “I swear I won’t come for you. By God, even. You want my bloody print on paper? You want witnesses? Want me to wait for Tayyib?”

  “No,” h
e said. He kept his dark eyes locked with hers while he wiped the blood from his forehead with his sleeve.

  “Good enough?” she said.

  “Good enough,” he said, and went back to his book.

  Nyx grit her teeth. “That’s it? The best you’ve got?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Why did you come, Rhys? Why go to all the trouble?”

  “I told you. My wife asked me.”

  “Fine.”

  He closed the book, raised his head. “What did you expect me to say, Nyx?”

  “That you missed it. All of it. Not the worst parts maybe, but the good parts. If you didn’t, you’d be back there with her instead of me.”

  She rolled open the door and stepped into the hall. Fuck him and his—

  Yah Tayyib stepped out of the privy in front of her. She sighed and made to push past him.

  “Didn’t go as well as you hoped?” Yah Tayyib said. She wanted to punch the smirk off his tattered face.

  The train suddenly spasmed. Nyx lost her footing and jerked forward, smack into Yah Tayyib. He flew back. The whole train juddered. Screams.

  Then Nyx was tumbling. Loud voices. More screaming. Noise. Darkness.

  The world stopped moving.

  Nyx’s stomach heaved. She vomited.

  She was tangled with a crush of others. When she put out her hands, she found bare earth. The stink of her own vomit made her move. Push through the debris.

  Nyx scrambled for a twisting sliver of light among the wreckage and slithered free. Her head spun. She clambered up on top of the twisted car and stared out at the jungle. Her hands and knees were scraped and bloody. She turned and looked behind her.

  The first class car had split open on the track. She staggered off the car and back toward the rest of the wreckage. Bodies littered the jungle floor. The car had split open and let them tumble down the slight rise of the track and into the jungle. Beyond the strip around the tracks, the free contaminated world buzzed and whirred.

  She crawled over the wreckage, onto the track. Most of the rear of the train had tumbled off, but nothing had broken open. Most folks would probably be alive. The front half was in worse shape. Much worse. The front three cars had carved out a long swath of jungle ahead of them.