Intermix Nation

  “This is completely ridiculous!” Nazirah cries, quickly losing control. “My entire hometown and territory is up in arms, getting destroyed, and I can’t do anything about it! And now you’re asking me to hide who I am? What good am I to the campaign that way? How can I be the face of the rebellion, if no one can see my face? How can I recruit the Ziman intermix, if they don’t know I’m here?”

  Aldrik and Luka visibly tense, looking at each other hesitantly. “Nation,” Adamek answers her slowly, “there are no Ziman intermix.”

  “How is that possible?” Nazirah asks, not understanding. “They don’t exist?”

  “Intermix are a luxury this territory cannot afford,” Luka says curtly, reciting it like a mantra. “They only drain our already depleted resources. We cannot justify feeding intermix mouths, while the native population of Zima starves. The capital subsidizes us for every intermix we … terminate.”

  Shizar may be cold as ice, but Nazirah’s eyes blaze fire. “You kill them?”

  “Don’t take it personally.”

  Nazirah lunges forward, intent on crushing Luka’s albino neck. Adamek grabs Nazirah’s shoulder, holding her back. “Let go of me!” she screams, and he releases her. She pulls off the pelt and chucks it at Luka. Nazirah wants nothing to do with anything Ziman anymore.

  “I would not expect someone like you to understand,” Luka says coldly.

  “An intermix?”

  “A southerner,” she stresses.

  “There’s nothing to understand,” Nazirah scoffs. “You’ve made that entirely clear.”

  Luka throws the pelt back over her bony shoulders. “I knowingly condone the intermix genocide in this country,” she says. “We do what we must to survive, Nazirah. I did not join this rebellion to fight for your right to live. I fight for my own life, for the lives of my starving people. I’m sorry if you don’t understand my reasons. But they are my reasons, nonetheless.”

  “You disgust me.”

  “I frankly don’t care.”

  “Nation,” Aldrik says, trying to defuse the tension. “We’ll be out of here in little more than a day. As much as I hate to admit it, Luka’s right. If you really want to help the rebellion, help put an end to this genocide, you need to conceal yourself here.”

  “And if I say no?” she asks. “You’re putting the entire fate of the rebellion on me?”

  “Did I say that?” Aldrik snaps. “But we can’t risk starting a premature war because people recognize you. The rebellion doesn’t have the resources to fight opposition in every territory, defend ourselves, and attack Mediah as well!”

  “I hate this!” Nazirah says, pulling her hair. “But I have no choice. I’ll do it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Luka rolls down a tinted window, nodding at a guard stationed outside the truck. The guard exits the underground garage through a nearby door which leads directly into the manor above. The four rebels sit in tense silence until he returns.

  Nazirah shakes her leg, drums her fingers against her jeans. This probably annoys Adamek. But she doesn’t care and he doesn’t stop her. She needs to get away from everyone, especially Luka. Nazirah will attack her again if she has to wait much longer. And this time, Adamek won’t be able to intervene.

  The guard soon returns, accompanied by an elderly, hunchbacked man. His head is shaved. Exotic characters, similar to Adamek’s dusza, line his scalp. He’s also barefoot, wearing only a deep yellow robe. He shuffles his feet meekly as he walks. The man is unlike any Ziman Nazirah has ever seen, with high cheeks, frail bones, a flat nose, and almost golden skin. Before he enters the truck, he gives a bow so deep it could rival one of Solomon’s.

  “It’s one of the silent zimbaba,” Adamek whispers in Nazirah’s ear, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand straight up. She’s almost forgotten how her body reacts around him.

  Almost.

  “What’s a zimbaba?” she asks, watching as the man sits down. He rifles through his deep pockets, pulling out a bag of electric blue powder and shaking it gently into his outstretched palm. He spits into his hand and begins rolling the powder into a small ball.

  “A spiritual leader here,” Adamek replies, watching the zimbaba closely. “He’s taken a vow of silence for the remainder of his mortal life, pledging to uphold the honor of Zima.”

  Nazirah notices that the zimbaba’s eyes are completely clouded over, milky white orbs. He smiles toothlessly, somehow recognizing her presence. Extending his arm, he drops the marble of blue sky and saliva clouds into Nazirah’s reluctant hand. “What am I supposed to do with this?” she asks.

  “What do you think?” Luka asks. “Eat it.”

  “What is it?” she asks, disgusted.

  “An altered strain of MEDIcine,” Luka replies vaguely. “They use it for plastic surgery and cosmetics … we use it for concealment. It’s obscenely expensive, so we could only get our hands on a day’s worth. But it should last long enough for your trip here.” Nazirah looks at Adamek, who nods once. She grimaces, popping the mushy ball into her mouth and swallowing quickly.

  Nazirah instantly doubles over, clutching her abdomen. She feels like snakes are winding and writhing underneath her skin. Nazirah squeezes her eyes shut, but the pain is over almost immediately. Ears ringing, she opens her eyes, blinking rapidly. “Did it work?” she asks curiously.

  Her voice sounds the same. Nazirah inspects her arms, rolling up her sleeves. Her bruises are miraculously healed, replaced by pale, smooth skin. She looks at Aldrik and Luka, who are both smiling. And at Adamek, who is not.

  “See for yourself,” Luka says. The zimbaba reaches into his robe, pulls out a hand mirror. Nazirah glances into it warily.

  It is her face, yet not her face at all. Her cheekbones are just as prominent, nose has the same slope. But her skin is several shades lighter, tan completely gone, like she hasn’t seen a beach in decades. The bruises on her cheek and forehead are vanished. Her hair is unruly as ever, but platinum blonde instead of copper brown. And her eyes are indigo as a cloudless Rafu sky. Nazirah touches her face, blue eyes wide.

  “You look good as a blonde, Nation,” Aldrik says approvingly. “But this doesn’t mean you can go off gallivanting. It’s still your face. You’re still recognizable to those who know to look. You can’t leave your room.”

  “Fine,” Nazirah scowls. “Are we done?”

  “Just one final touch,” Luka says, nodding at the zimbaba. He delves into his robe once more, retrieving a thin brush and jar of black ink. He leans forward, gently grabbing Nazirah left arm. She pulls away quickly.

  “Is it permanent?”

  “As if you’re worthy of a real Ziman tattoo,” Luka scoffs. “It’s just paint! It will wash off in a few days.”

  The zimbaba dips his brush into the jar and details a perfect replica of the Ziman crescent moon on Nazirah’s forearm. Satisfied with his work, he stuffs everything back into his deep pockets. Nazirah inspects her arm, touching the mark gingerly.

  Luka retrieves two heavy coats from a compartment under her seat. She tosses them at Nazirah and Adamek. “Here, take these.”

  Adamek shrugs his on easily, but Nazirah struggles with the fat buttons. Finished, she looks at them, seeking their approval. “Well?” she asks.

  “Keep your hood up,” Luka says, sighing. “And say a prayer.”

  #

  Nazirah rips off her coat as soon as she is alone, growling, popping several buttons. They fall to the floor like suicide jumpers, plunging eagerly to their deaths.

  Nazirah sympathizes.

  She tosses the coat carelessly onto a solitary chair. Her room here is cramped, even smaller than her bedroom in Rafu. Nazirah could walk it entirely in three paces. It’s also freezing. Yet the draft feels like the kiss of an angel, because she is so relieved to be free of Luka.

  From the garage, they were escorted straight into the manor. The jackets were for additional concealment only, unfortunately. Nazirah wasn’t allowed to step
even a foot outside. After a detour to the kitchens for a brief meal, they were directed to their quarters.

  Nazirah thinks guiltily of Cato as she sets the photo of them on her small bed. He’ll be returning early from recon about now, finally reunited with his family at headquarters, preparing to defend them against Ivan’s troops that are slowly burning their way towards Krush. Nazirah sits on the squeaking mattress, placing the mason jar of black stones next to the picture frame. She also pulls out her parents’ wedding photo, completing the triangle of bittersweet memories.

  Nazirah traces her mother’s silhouette, thinking of Niko, hoping there is a cottage for them to return to when this is finally over. She thinks of Caria and Cayu, of how scared they must be right now. She wonders if their paths will cross at headquarters, maybe by luck, perhaps by fate.

  Nazirah stares out the small window. The sun hangs low in the sky, the day nearly spent, only a few hours of light remaining. For a race so fair, every Ziman seems driven by cold and damp darkness. Nazirah touches her platinum locks thoughtfully. She is a child of the sun, not of the snow. She doesn’t belong here.

  There is a pounding at the door. Nazirah stuffs the photos and jar under her mattress, crosses the room swiftly, letting Adamek inside. Aldrik bumbles behind, plopping down heavily on the chair. “Fucking freezing in here, Nation,” Aldrik gripes. His breath condenses before him as he complains. “Why didn’t you light a fire?”

  “I didn’t know how to,” Nazirah explains. They never had a need for their fireplace at home.

  Adamek rolls his eyes. He picks up some logs from the corner and tosses them into the fireplace, bending down to ignite them.

  Aldrik rubs his hands together. “Moving on,” he slurs. “Let’s make it quick?” He has clearly tapped into his flask. Nazirah doesn’t blame him. She would do the same thing, if she were married to Lady Luka.

  “Go for it,” Adamek tells him.

  “To reiterate,” Aldrik says, “Morgen and I meet tomorrow afternoon with the mine owners. If we can’t bribe them to help us, we can at least bribe them to stay quiet.”

  “Sounds promising,” Nazirah says.

  “Shut it, Nation,” Aldrik grumbles. “I’ve had enough of you today to last me several lifetimes.”

  “Anything else?” asks Adamek.

  “That’s it,” Aldrik says. “We leave the following morning for Valestream. Morgen, you do not leave your room except for the meeting tomorrow. Nation, you do not leave your room at all. Your meals will be brought to you. Think of it as a reward for your hard work, ceaseless enthusiasm, and unparalleled charm.”

  Nazirah glares at him. “Wonderful.”

  “Excellent,” Aldrik says, rising from the chair. His stiff joints crack and clack. “Oh, and Nation? Welcome to Zima.”

  Aldrik slams the door shut and Nazirah faces Adamek. “Is he still upset about this morning?” she asks.

  “Most definitely,” Adamek says. “But right now, I think he has more … preoccupying concerns.”

  “Like how to get back into Luka’s good graces?”

  “Like how to get back into Luka, period.”

  “Ew.”

  Nazirah makes a face, but can’t stifle a grin. Adamek stands before her, leaning casually against the bedframe. Nazirah is painfully aware they haven’t been alone since this morning. And the events of last night beat on her mind, restless little drummers, not letting her forget.

  Adamek gently tugs a loose, platinum tendril. “What do you think of your new look?” he asks.

  “I hate it.”

  “Me too.”

  “Really?” she says, raising an eyebrow. “I thought you preferred blondes.”

  “Are you jealous?”

  “That’s laughable.”

  “Who’s laughing?”

  “Why don’t you like it?” she asks.

  “You look exactly like everyone else now,” he says candidly. He untangles his hand from her hair. “It’s just not you.”

  Adamek glances out the window beside them and Nazirah follows his gaze. It’s snowing lightly. Nazirah presses her face to the glass, wistful, fogging it up. The room may be a coffin, but the view is unearthly. The town spreads out below her, the mountain range rises in the distance, the deep ravine drops off to her right. Snowflakes melt centimeters away on the other side of the pane, untouchable, intangible.

  “This whole campaign is becoming a nightmare,” Nazirah says sadly. “I feel completely … useless. Everyone I care about is in danger. My home is …” she stops, unable to finish. “And to top it all off, my one day in Zima and I have to stay inside.”

  Beside her, Adamek appears conflicted, then determined. There’s caution in his eyes, mixed with delicious mischief. “Can you keep a secret, Nation?”

  Can Nazirah keep a secret? Of course she can keep a secret! Adamek still doesn’t know about her unescorted trip down memory lane, after all. “Depends on the secret,” she says.

  “A very big secret,” he teases, fire flames dancing across his face. “Lord Luka would probably have a stroke if she ever found out.”

  “But that’s the secret I would most love to tell,” Nazirah replies, returning his half-smile.

  #

  Adamek and Nazirah walk quickly through the frozen hallways. They pass several young maids and a few zimbaba, shuffling about in saffron robes. Hoods pulled up, heads turned down, they both go completely unnoticed. Adamek strides through the large manor easily, knowing the winding stone corridors like the back of his hand. “Did you stay with Luka while you were in Shizar?” Nazirah asks curiously.

  “No,” he says, turning another corner.

  “Then how do you know this manor so well?”

  “I’ve been here several times before.”

  “Why?”

  “What did I say about asking questions?”

  “Don’t ask a question if you don’t want to know the answer.”

  Adamek gives her a meaningful look as they pass by yet another blonde maid. Nazirah realizes she probably doesn’t want to know after all. He opens a nondescript door leading outside. Nazirah walks through, antsy, almost frantic. She inhales sharply, the deviant frost surging through her, so cold it burns. Nazirah lifts her arms up, spinning in a wide circle. She tips her head back, letting the hood fall. The snowflakes melt on her face. Everything is muted, a hushed whisper.

  “I keep forgetting this is all new to you,” he says. Adamek stands before her, hood also down. He rubs some flakes off Nazirah’s nose before pulling back and shoving his hands into his pockets. White crystals frame his eyelashes, salt his hair. A devil disguised as an angel, Nazirah thinks.

  Or maybe she has it twisted.

  Nazirah shivers lightly. “I never thought it would be like this,” she says, unable to meet his eyes.

  “The snow?”

  She shakes her head, clearing it. “Right.”

  “What were you expecting?”

  “What door did we come through?” she asks quickly.

  “Servants’ entrance.” Adamek shrugs. “Let’s take a walk.”

  They trek along a deserted stone path overlooking the ravine. The snow has stopped falling, leaving only a light, crunching dust. Adamek leads them away from Shizar, away from civilization, and into the wilderness. Nazirah blows into her frozen hands. “How’s your arm?”

  “Fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where are we going?”

  Adamek sighs. “Patience is a virtue, Nation.”

  “So is honesty.”

  “So is silence.”

  Adamek finally stops. He turns around, smirking. Nazirah peeks over his shoulder, peering curiously behind him. “You’re joking,” she says.

  “Come on, Nation.” Adamek takes an effortless step backwards onto the narrow hanging bridge. The ropes gently give, swaying over the abyss. Wooden planks groan under his weight. He smiles, completely at ease, wind ruffling his hair.

&nbs
p; Nazirah wipes her hands, sweaty palms on blue jeans. “No way, Morgen!” she squeals. “I’m not into suicide.”

  Adamek takes another step backwards. “Where’s that Eridian, cliff-diving courage?” he teases.

  “Back in Eridies,” she answers seriously.

  “You’ll be fine.”

  “What if I fall?”

  “I’ll catch you.”

  “What if you miss?”

  “I never miss,” he says, extending a hand to her.

  Nazirah looks at it, hesitating. It’s his hand all right. The same long fingers, trim nails, calloused knuckles, bruised from last night. The same black scratches, prominent as ever. This hand traced the lines of her face, laced through her fingers. It helped her fight, saved Cayu. It killed Riva, Kasimir, and countless others. A hand of life and death. A hand that gives and takes. And it waits for her to decide, steady, unshaken.

  She grabs it.

  The air crackles. Adamek pulls her onto the rickety bridge. With knees knocking, Nazirah clutches the ropes. Adamek holds her waist securely, making sure she doesn’t lose her footing. They begin walking across. “You do this for fun or something?” she asks, shaking.

  “Not exactly,” he replies. “It’s better not to look down.”

  Nazirah looks at him. “Where does this lead?”

  “You’ll find out.”

  “If you won’t answer any of my questions,” she huffs, “why bring me along?”

  Adamek steps onto solid ground, shrugging. “Because everyone should experience snow,” he says, “at least once.”

  “And we couldn’t do that by the manor?” she grumbles, hopping onto the ground beside him. There is a huge monastery before her. It is carved entirely into the face of the mountain. The setting sun, peeking through receding storm clouds, bathes the monastery in orange and golden light, giving it the illusion of being aflame. Nazirah knows immediately where they are. “This is where you trained?” she asks, astonished.

  “Who said anything about training?” he says sharply.

  Nazirah swallows hard. “It’s pretty obvious,” she mumbles. “Luka said you stayed in Shizar, and you have the dusza.…”