Nimmet, Goddess of Love

by Anastasia Rabiyah

  "Ignorance is bliss!" he shouted. "I will watch them take you to Leuj in chains on channel nine. Go then! Take back your money at the counter! Get out of my life!"

  Her mouth tensed, and she spun on her heel. Razi listened to her boots clanking across the tiled hall. Something fell in the living room, clattering against the wall. Then the door opened and slammed shut. Sima was gone. "Good riddance," he muttered, not feeling good about it at all. "Crazy Tarafian."

  He rifled through the bedsheets to find the remote. Turning up the volume, he settled back in the bed, watching the rest of the news. Sima’s scent lingered all around him, the sweet, clean perfume of her skin. He closed his eyes, the reporter’s voice losing coherence as his mind turned. She doesn’t understand. People like that never get it. Angry that she’d left, that they’d fought, he rolled on his side and closed his eyes. The bed reminded him of her, taunting him, and she’d only been gone a few minutes. "Damn," he sighed. "Evil woman."

  The buzz tone sounded, announcing Ailen’s interruption through the digital intercom. "Your guest checked out, Razi. Come up front. I need to talk to you."

  "Be right there," he grumbled. Now I have to hear it from him. Shit. Razi punched a pillow. He rolled off the mattress. Kicking his sandals out from under the bed, he slipped them on. Raking his fingers through his hair, he went to the closet and found a white shirt. Razi buttoned it as he headed through the hallway.

  In the outer hall, the cold, empty marble greeted him. He pushed the glass door open and hurried to whatever tongue lashing Ailen would dish out. The attendant stood behind his counter, tapping at his touchscreen, his face unusually pale. "I’m sorry," Razi began. "I argued with her."

  Ailen looked up and turned his head to the side, his eyes flashing with curiosity. "Must have been a helluva fight." He snorted at his inward joke then went back to typing. "Look, I know it’s going to take you a while to figure out where to go…"

  Tap, tap, tap.

  "So, if you want to stay in the lower room, the spare office, you can. I can’t keep you up high. Not now. Hicklan’s rules."

  Tap, tap, tap.

  Panic rose in Razi’s gut. He swallowed it back, trying to understand. "What are you saying? You’re sending me away?"

  The attendant stopped and glanced up. "You don’t know?"

  "Know what?" He leaned forward, gripping the edge of the counter so tight that his dark fingers paled. "What’s going on?"

  "You must have been a helluva lay." Ailen slapped a set of plastic documents on the space between them. "That bitch just paid your way out. Left you a present too."

  "What?" Razi looked down at the Ward Release. He shook his head in disbelief. "What the hell are you talking about?"

  Ailen snorted, his grin spreading. "Man, don’t tell anyone else what you did to her. Must have been awesome." Dropping a travel pack bag full of shens on the counter, the attendant raised his brows. "She left you a wad of cash. Damn, Razi. I’ve never seen anyone do that before."

  Picking up his release document, Razi didn’t know what to say. To not be a ward of Hicklan, to not be owned by anyone…the concept didn’t register. He gathered the travel bag, cramming it in his pocket. He turned and stared out the glass doors facing the street.

  Rain pounded the concrete and metal walks on either side. Shuttle cars whizzed by in blurred shades of yellow. "Shit, Sima. Shit! What the hell did you do this for?" He clutched the plastic document against his hip and walked out. Looking to the east, he saw only a few men huddled by the waste can. To the west, the wet walkways were empty.

  "Where are you?" Thunder rumbled across the Irnian sky, and the rain beat down. Water splashed up from the street, splattering muck across the ankles of his pajama pants. Razi looked down at his sandals. Wet spots dotted across the leather. "Ruined now," he muttered. "Never had to go outside in these before." The buzzer sounded behind him. He turned.

  "Razi?" Ailen waved at him to come back inside. "Almost forgot." He held up a scangun. "Need to reset your tracker. The release gives permission if you want to go to Central Med and have it removed."

  After searching the wet world a final time for Sima, he went back inside, his shoulders sagging. He held out his arm and felt the warmth from the scangun. His wet skin tingled. The light shut off. He was free. "Ailen." He closed his eyes and wiped the drops of water from his brow. "What the hell am I supposed to do now?"

  Chapter Six – Unangi

  The meter in the shuttle ticked off the kilometers, and Sima watched it, calculating how much further the few shens she’d kept could get her. Pocks and puddles crisscrossed the cement road ahead. Rain beat against the shuttle’s tinted windshield. In the driver’s seat, an old man worked the panel, his dried up fingers gnarled from arthritis and wrinkled with age. She smelled the odor of Hemec fuel and smoke on the driver’s clothes. Sima kept her veil on even though it dripped from the rain. Razi was right. The streets crawled with police. As soon as they left the southern quarter of Irnia though, she noticed few people on the metal walkways.

  The cement ended in a jagged line, and the shuttle warbled as it hovered over gravel. "Stop." She looked down at the last of her cash and frowned. "That’s as far as I can afford to go."

  The shuttle whined and dipped, its feet landing against the rough stones outside. The rain seemed angry, clattering against the aluminum roof. Cracking his thin, leathery neck, the driver turned. "You’re not to the Rim yet. It’s about a pass or two down the road. That’s a long walk in the rain, Miss."

  "I don’t have any more shens." She held the glittering paper out, and he took it. Counting each sheet, his lips moved as he mouthed the numbers. Satisfied, the driver dropped the shens in the money slot, and offered her a scraggle-toothed smile. "Miss, I noticed you came from south quarter."

  "Yeah." Her gaze scanned the range of mountains in the distance. Jungle lined the gravel road, the first sign of vegetation she’d seen since coming to Irnia. The trees here were like none she knew. Looming high, they swayed in the storm, vines shifting and twisting from their branches. A mist hung over the lower growth, almost as thick as clouds.

  "Well, I’ll take another kind of payment, if you know what I mean."

  Sima glanced at the driver.

  He winked, his skin crinkling at the corner of his eye.

  "I don’t know what you mean." She reached for the door handle and clutched it. Lightning flashed across the blood-red sky, making the gray clouds orange and fiery.

  "I mean you can come on up here and sit by me. Won’t take me long to finish. You can use your hand." He tapped at his screen and the heater pumped out warm air. "Or you can take that veil off and use your lips. I bet you got a pretty mouth to go with those eyes."

  Sima cleared her throat. She lifted the handle and icy air burst into the small space. "No thanks. I can walk."

  "Suit yourself." Pursing his lips, the driver faced his screen and didn’t look back.

  Her boots crunched in the gravel as she sprinted across the road and stood under a jungle tree as the shuttle’s air jets fired. It hovered for a moment, turned, and the lights flashed. She saw the elderly man’s gaunt face, his eyes roving over her body. She hugged herself to hide the shape of her nipples beneath her wet clothes.

  "What a disgusting place this is," she grumbled. She shook her head and started walking. The jungle did not look as inviting as she’d imagined. She started to jog to keep a steady pace and break the chill of the cold air embracing her. Her mind wandered back to Razi. "Stupid to pay for his freedom. I should have saved more cash." She didn’t feel that bad about it though, eased by the short memory of his warmth, the feel of his arms around her when she fell asleep the night before. "He deserved freedom, even if he didn’t know he wanted it. In time, he will understand."

  Sima prided herself on her stamina. She trained in the gym back home every morning, and much to her father’s disdain, her hips remained rounded. Fate did not grant her the slim-line figure considered so desirable in Tara
f. The jungle moved in the wind and the rain kept pounding down. She stayed as close to the line of trees as she dared, still trying to follow the gravel road. No shuttles came hovering by, and no police cruisers either.

  After running the two passes, she stopped at the Rim. She raised her hands above her head and breathed hard. The gravel ended. Three orange warning signs stood to ward off lost shuttles. An old crater from a past bombing laced the opposite side. Sima swallowed, wishing she had a bottle of Jienga to quench her thirst. She loped to the edge of the jungle and leaned her back against a tree. The bumpy trunk felt like fingers against her back. Grinding into them, she murmured, "A free massage," and eased out a sigh. "I’m never going back." Cupping her palms together, she waited for enough water to puddle in her hands.

  The Irnian rain tasted sweet. She drank it slow, her gaze catching on a small path that wove away from the muddied remnants of a road. "Aha," she said. "The secret way." Determined, she followed it. Goat dung lay along its meandering trail, proof the path led somewhere if only to a herd of mountain goats. Sima cursed it, knowing her fine boots would stink, but she hurried her pace. She climbed high and found herself moving into the first of many mountains. The fog drifted around her, and the scent of the jungle, a primal, musky odor made sweet by the fresh rain caused her to gasp for air. The humidity felt thick, the air thinning the higher she climbed.

  By the time the path evened, Sima felt dizzy. She glanced around and saw no signs of life, no mud-plastered huts like she’d read about in Shirka’s Weekly, no rebels running to hide in the brush. "Great," she choked out. "Fantastic plan, Sima. Should have stayed in the damn brothel." Backing up, she collided with a tree and slid down its length until the leafy forest floor cushioned her butt.

  "Time to rest." Closing her eyes, she dropped her hands in her lap. The rain kept coming, but at least the tree sheltered her from most of its wrath. Shivers shook her body. "I should have thought this out." The bed back in south quarter was starting to sound good, and the man she’d left in it, even more so.

  A bell clunked and clanked, drawing Sima’s attention. She opened her eyes and watched a line of black goats rush past. The human voice, almost lost in the wind, made her lean forward.

  "Het, het, het…" The child came chasing after the animals, carrying a long, crooked stick. She had dark skin like Razi. Her oval-shaped face looked just on the verge of adolescence. She shook wet curls from her cheeks and stopped, staring straight at Sima.

  "Hello," Sima said, raising one hand.

  The child moved closer and prodded Sima’s boot with the end of her stick. "Awayoo," she said back. Her brown-eyes gaze traced over Sima’s clothes, and then the shepherd girl looked over her shoulder down the path. She took another step and tapped at the other boot. "C-c-cold?" she stuttered.

  Nodding, Sima drew her hands against her upper arms and rubbed. "Yes, very."

  The girl narrowed her gaze and made a funny face, her lips puckering. "G-g-grand f-f-father." She waved her stick higher, indicating the path. "C-c-come." She smiled and Sima noticed the beauty blossoming in her face."

  Standing, she felt just how soaked her clothes were. Hopefully, this little, stuttering shepherd had a dry place to sit. The goats clopped ahead as the girl trudged up the path, her breathing steady.

  Sima raised her arms high and her back cracked. She turned a last time to face Irnia far below. Smog hazed the air above the city. The pointed buildings looked like jagged teeth across the silvery surface. From such a vantage, the metal walkways shined in intricate grid-ways. Oemir Leuj’s palace rose from the center, a grand display of gold and metal. Its bulbous towers glittered in the red light of midday. She shook her head. "Almost lost to all that."

  She returned to the path and sprinted to catch up with the shepherd girl. The lithe Unangi native glanced back and flashed her playful grin. "C-c-come."

  Sima wondered if she stuttered for lack of the language or if a speech impediment afflicted her. She sidled up beside the girl and touched her shoulder. "I’m Sima," she announced. "What’s your name?"

  The girl smiled and tapped her chest. "Gotiri." She reached out and grasped her hand, her cold, wet fingers small yet firmly holding.

  When they reached her grandfather’s hut, Gotiri bolted away, clucking and shouting at her herd until the goats went into their pen. Sima stood beside the pole and beam fence, waiting. The house stood at the edge of the jungle with a small cleared area at its front. It looked nothing like the traditional Unangi huts Sima saw on the nature channel. Leftover pieces of metal stuck out from the rafters, sheets of silver walkway made up the roof. The walls were a combination of heider brick and mud, filled in with glass bottles and other debris.

  Gotiri returned to her side, and pulled Sima toward the misshapen dwelling. "G-g-grand f-f-ather." She nodded and opened the door.

  The one room home had floors made of stone and packed earth. An ancient man sat in the middle of it on a woven chair. The glass bottles in the outer wall let in rays of colored light. An old, battery-powered television flickered from its place atop a large wood spool, the kind used for cables. Sima swallowed hard. The place smelled of wood chips and spices. Pelts hung from one half of the roof.

  Gotiri stood beside her grandfather, Sima’s hand clutched in her own. She waited until a commercial for Cocoa Kells interrupted the news, before touching his bare shoulder.

  He jumped as if he hadn’t known anyone was there, and his half closed eyes flickered. "Awayoo, Gotiri." He patted the girl’s hand and then turned his gaze on Sima. "Awayoo." His voice sounded strained and distant. He waved a bony hand that lacked its final finger. When the old man leaned forward, offering his hand to Sima, his blanket slipped over his soiled, wool shorts and fell off his knees. She realized he had no lower legs.

  "Awayoo," Sima said and clasped his palm. "I’m Sima, from Taraf."

  "Why you come here? This no good place for you." He gave her a grim look. "Taraf free. Unangi die soon." He shook her hand and released it. "Oemir. He bombs at night."

  Sima sucked in her bottom lip. "Rebels?" she asked, hoping he’d be able to lead her to them. The Unangi rebels were her ticket out.

  "Gone, gone back to the mountain." He shook his fingers by his ear. "They gone now. Come spring, maybe fight again."

  "I need to get to them." Sima hoped he would understand the serious tone in her voice. "I need to get to Alga."

  "Hmmph." Grandfather shook his head, and Sima saw scars across one of his temples. "Alga very far for you. Stay." He patted the arm on his chair. "Stay and care for Gotiri." Grandfather held up both hands and clapped them together. "Mother…boom." He stuck out his tongue and closed his eyes as he let out a slow, gagging sound. "Father…run, run to fight." His face shifted with sorrow. "You stay. Take her. Me old, me die soon. Come the Hicklans. Come take Gotiri for her face." He pointed at the girl who now sat in a corner carding wool in even strokes.

  "Hicklan?" Sima gasped. "Hicklan wants to take her?" She thought of Razi and his story about being sold to the company.

  "Pretty face. Like her mother." Grandfather shook his head, his lips working over his crooked teeth. "Pay shens. Me! I say no. Go away. Gotiri not for sale." He held his hand up in the air. "You understand?"

  "Yes," she whispered. Sima trembled from the cold and the dark world she’d entered. Reaching up, she unfastened her black veil and tugged it away.

  Grandfather’s eyes widened. "Sima Alonwei," he croaked out. "Sima Alonwei. They are looking." He pointed at her and cackled with newfound glee. "Sima Alonwei," he said a final time, whistling through his teeth.

  Chapter Seven – Debit Record

  Razi settled in on the olive colored couch in Ailen’s lower office. The small television flashed high in the corner of the narrow room. The attendant’s desk looked like he never used it, and he watched a ball of hair and dust beneath the chair with a wary eye, sure it moved at least once. "Sima, what have you done?" he grumbled. The bag of cash jutted uncomfortably into hi
s hip from his pajama pocket. His Ward Release sat on Ailen’s chair. He snatched it up and shoved it in his other pocket.

  The tone sounded over the intercom, and he closed his eyes. "At least that’s not for me anymore." He started to tune it out until he realized the panicked pitch in Ailen’s nasally voice.

  "…checked out some time this morning. Yes, yes she did charge that amount. Oh… Here."

  Paper crinkled, and Razi heard the nervous tap, tap of Ailen’s fingers striking his touchscreen.

  Something’s way wrong. Sitting up, he reached across and grabbed his Release. Very, very wrong.

  Another voice sounded over the com, one he didn’t recognize. "You’re sure she’s gone? You’re not hiding her, are you?"

  Ailen wheezed. "No, she said she had a great time. Wanted to pay up and be on her way. I didn’t know who she was."

  Razi started up the stairs to the office, but at the swing door, he hesitated. Through the one way glass, he counted six of Irnia’s finest patrolmen. One tapped his stunner on the counter, his eyes barely visible beneath furrowed, bushy brows. "Which room?" he growled out.

  "Seven. Look. You know the drill. I know the drill. Hicklan is a big company. We have rules here, and we pay our percentages on time. No cameras and plenty of privacy. This, this Sima chick, she’s not here. She came, she fucked, and she went back to her slushy little life. That’s what people want when they come here. Now, please, get out before you scare away my customers."

  "Ah, no," Razi murmured. "No, Ailen, not this time." He saw the stunner tap a final time, and bushy brows turned his back on the attendant. The others did not. A skinny one with a narrow face drew his gun and shot Ailen in the face.

  Blood spurted, and Razi ran back down the stairs, gritting his teeth. "Shit, shit, shit," he whispered. "Not good." He bypassed the office and ran through the janitor’s walkway. Dodging a cart of cleaning supplies, he found the service door and left the building.