Intermix Nation

  “It’s not that obvious,” he says, “unless you already knew.”

  “Fine,” she admits. “I asked Solomon about it, okay? I was curious.”

  “And what else did Solomon tell you?” he asks, eyes flashing. “I’m … curious.”

  “N-Nothing,” Nazirah stammers.

  They walk towards the monastery, stopping at the entrance. “You’re too nosy for your own good,” he says. “You know that, right?”

  “Yes.”

  He sighs. “I shouldn’t be taking you here.”

  “Why not?”

  “The zimbaba don’t ordinarily let civilians enter,” he says. “It’s a holy place.”

  “Are Luka’s guards waiting behind the door or something?”

  “No,” he says. “Even she’s not allowed in here.”

  “And you are?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised,” he replies, chuckling a little. “It’s just another reason she hates me. They agreed to train me, a foreigner, but not her. She’s still pretty bitter about it.”

  “Do you want me to wait here?”

  Adamek is silent then, staring at the heavy doors. They are engraved with the same strange characters as his dusza. “Screw it,” he says, pulling them open. “It’s not like I followed the rest of their rules.”

  It’s tranquil inside, still and quiet. Hundreds of statues, honoring unfamiliar gods, line the walls. They are hewn directly into the rock, calling followers to worship. Wax pillars light the floor, the windows, spilling prophecies.

  Nazirah follows Adamek through several connected chambers. He onerously searches the face of every zimbaba they pass. They chant and pray, kneeling prostrate before their gods. Several stare, expressions ranging from outrage to apathy. Adamek finally walks into an isolated room, stops. He pulls off his coat entirely. The room is empty, save for two zimbaba speaking in a corner, lighting candles. One is extremely elderly, with a round face and protruding ears. The other is slightly younger and much paunchier.

  Adamek hands Nazirah his coat. “Stay here.”

  Nazirah sits on the nearest chair, watching curiously as Adamek approaches the two men. The potbellied zimbaba recognizes him first, his shocked eyes narrowing. “You would dare show your face here, animal?” he demands.

  “Nice as it is to see you too, Monk Ji,” Adamek says coldly. “I’ve come to speak with my master.” Monk Ji moves to strike Adamek, who doesn’t flinch. The second, older zimbaba lightly touches Monk Ji’s shoulder, halting his hand midair.

  “Young Adamek,” this zimbaba says, “you still have much to learn. The riddle is not if you shall speak with your master. It is if your master shall speak with you.”

  Adamek bows his head. “Please, master,” he says, “I’m in desperate need of guidance.”

  “Brother Yi?” Monk Ji snaps. “Shall I remove him?”

  The elderly zimbaba gently pulls up Adamek’s chin, staring into his eyes. He shakes his head. “Brother Ji,” he commands, “give us a moment.”

  A queer feeling overcomes Nazirah as she stares at two pairs of gloved hands. Monk Ji scoffs, snarling at Adamek before stalking out of the room. Only the elderly zimbaba remains. And with his large ears and kind face, this Monk Yi is the spitting image of a primate.

  Of a monkey.

  Nazirah’s jaw drops to the floor.

  This is the monkey? This small, ancient, unassuming bald man? This is who taught Adamek how to fight? How to kill?

  “Please excuse Monk Ji,” the monkey says to Adamek. “Lately, he has struggled to follow the virtues we teach.” He looks at Nazirah. “Like forgiveness.”

  “You knew I was coming?”

  The monkey nods. “We zimbaba have eyes and ears all over the country,” he says. “I needed only open mine to know. Yet I prefer to hear it in person. Why have you traveled here, my wayward son?”

  “I have dishonored you –”

  “You have dishonored yourself,” the monkey corrects. “That is more important. But, continue.”

  “I’ve joined the southern rebellion,” Adamek persists. “We grow stronger every day, but we’re not strong enough. I have come to ask for your alliance.”

  The monkey is thoughtful. “Young Adamek,” he says, “the brotherhood of monks here is more than simple zimbaba, whose fate rise and fall with the tides of Zima. We have been neutral our entire existence. We train and teach in order to carry on our legacy, the skills and knowledge we have honed over the centuries. But we never take sides.”

  “Maybe it’s time you started,” Adamek says.

  “Our numbers would make little impact,” the monkey replies. “We could not train the rebels to fight like us in a thousand years, nor would we want to. And you know well, we use violence only as a last resort, not as a weapon of destruction. We kill when we must to protect ourselves, our loved ones, and our honor. We do not kill as a means of fear, suppression, or power.”

  “I know this,” Adamek snaps.

  “I know you do,” the monkey says, nodding. “So tell me, what is the real reason you have come?”

  “That is the reason, master.”

  “No, my son,” the monkey presses. “That is a reason … but it is not the reason.” Adamek remains silent. “Let me put it another way. When I first agreed to take you in, several years ago, everyone told me I was insane. To willingly train the son of the Chancellor? My brothers believed you would abuse our teachings, twisting them for your father’s destructive purposes. You were so set in your ways, so belligerent, so intolerant of anyone unlike yourself. But when I met you, I saw goodness in you. It was hidden from those who were not looking for it. But the roots ran deep. I still see that goodness, Adamek, although you have long lost the way.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” he asks.

  The monkey gently grasps Adamek’s hands, stares at them. “The weights you bear are much heavier than when I saw you last,” he says sadly. Adamek looks away, ashamed. The monkey touches Adamek’s back, right over his dusza. “But your soul remains intact. And I sense a change within you that, for a long time, I feared was hopeless.” He carefully inspects Adamek’s left forearm.

  “Almost a year now,” Adamek says quietly.

  “It suits you.”

  “So you won’t help us?” Adamek asks, bowing his head respectfully.

  The monkey embraces him. “No,” he says. “But you knew that already.” Adamek gives him one final, searching look before turning to leave. He walks past Nazirah, who clumsily rises to her feet. She glances at the monkey, only to find him smiling serenely at her. “My son,” he calls out, “one last thing.”

  “Master?”

  “Remember the first rule.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Nazirah tosses restlessly all night, unable to shut her brain off. Adamek wouldn’t answer a single question on the journey back to the manor, would barely speak to her at all. Nazirah has to see the monkey again before leaving Shizar. She bites her nails to the quick the next day, waiting until Adamek and Aldrik are scheduled to meet with the miners. When she can’t take it anymore, she grabs her coat, exits through the servants’ entrance without a hitch, and sets off towards the monastery.

  She gets to the hanging bridge easily enough, and musters all of her courage to actually traverse it by herself. But she does it, teeth clacking, knuckles white, panting hard. Her nose starts running uncontrollably halfway across, but Nazirah doesn’t dare wipe it until her feet are on solid ground.

  Nazirah enters the monastery, endorphins running high. A few stray zimbaba shuffle near the door and she walks up to one. “Excuse me,” she says, unsure of where to begin. “I’m looking for the monkey … I mean … Monk Yi. Do you know where I can find him?” The zimbaba only smiles complacently, enigmatic. “Hello?” she says, waving her hand in front of his face, “Anyone home?”

  “It is rude to try to break the silence of a silent zimbaba.”

  Nazirah jumps. “I was looking for you,” she says, tur
ning around.

  “Not only are you rude, Nazirah Nation,” the monkey replies, “you are also late. I have been expecting you for quite some time. Please follow me.”

  Surprised, Nazirah follows him into an empty chamber. The monkey closes the door softly, gestures for Nazirah to take a seat. She shrugs off her coat as he sits across from her. “I’m sorry,” she says, embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to be rude … or late.”

  The monkey smiles kindly. “It’s quite all right,” he says. “A sincere apology goes a long way.”

  “How did you know who I was?”

  “Only a blind man would not recognize your face, Nazirah,” he responds. “Luckily for you, but unluckily for the rest of us, the world is full of the blind. Especially among those blessed with the gift of sight.”

  “But how did you know I would come here?” she persists.

  “Because I am not blind,” he says simply.

  “Oh.”

  “I heard what you called me before.”

  Nazirah’s eyes grow wide. “I didn’t … I wasn’t.…”

  The monkey holds up a gloved hand. “I am teasing you,” he chuckles, touching a large, wrinkled ear. “It is my defining characteristic. There are twenty-six monks in Shizar, always. You saw one of my brothers, Monk Ji, yesterday. When I first joined the order, I was christened Monk Yi. I quite like my more commonly used nickname, though. Monkeys are intelligent, curious and friendly … all things I strive to be.”

  “Is that what your family calls you?”

  “They’ve all passed,” he replies thoughtfully. “I had a name once. But that too has eroded from my mind like water on stone.”

  “You don’t remember?” she asks, astonished.

  “It was a very long time ago.”

  “How long could it possibly be?”

  He only smiles. “Enough of my misfortunes,” he says. “You did not come here for that.”

  “I don’t know why I’ve come here, to be honest.”

  “No idea at all?”

  “Confusion, I guess,” Nazirah says. “About Morgen. I want some answers.”

  “An answer begins with a question.”

  Nazirah struggles for the words. “Lately,” she says, “I’ve felt … better … when he’s around.”

  “And?”

  She sighs. “And … happier.”

  “And?”

  “And … human.”

  “That is still not a question.”

  “What kind of a person,” she asks earnestly, “does that make me?”

  “A very good person, I would imagine.”

  “I don’t feel very good,” she says. “I feel like a selfish, scared coward most of the time.”

  “But not all of the time?”

  “I guess not.”

  “You wear your grief like armor,” the monkey says. “It is sad to see, especially in one so young.”

  “Your student caused my grief.”

  “But you are the one letting it fester.”

  “Do you take no responsibility?” she demands. “He learned everything from you!”

  The monkey stares solemnly at his gloved hands. “Not everything,” he says quietly. “I do blame myself, Nazirah, more than you realize. I blame myself for not being a better teacher, like my own master was to me. But I do not regret training him. We all stray from the path. How we find it again … that is what truly defines a person.”

  “Have I strayed?”

  “Would you be here otherwise?”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be silent or something?” she huffs in annoyance.

  “There are many types of zimbaba,” the monkey says, laughing, “just like there are many types of people. You have a rebellious spirit. I can see why he likes you.”

  “He has a funny way of showing it.”

  “I’m sure he does,” the monkey says. “But you would not have been here yesterday, if he did not.”

  “Why is he so reckless?”

  “Nazirah,” he says seriously, “do not ask a question, if you do not want to know the answer.” Nazirah looks at him oddly. “Ask me something you really want to know.”

  “How do I forgive him?” she whispers.

  The monkey is quiet for a long time. “Before we agree to train a student,” he says, “the brotherhood gives a series of tests. I do not typically offer them to a civilian, but I feel you may benefit from one.”

  “What kind of test?” Nazirah asks warily, worried he might try and dangle her over the ravine or something.

  “One of the hardest order,” he answers. “A test of forgiveness.”

  She thinks it over before responding. “Okay,” she agrees eventually.

  The monkey nods, stripping off his gloves. Nazirah cannot help but stare at his hands, which are so blackened with scratches and scars they make Adamek’s look pristine. “As I said,” he whispers sadly, noticing her focus, “We all stray from the path.”

  The monkey grasps her hands, chanting in an archaic, babbling tongue. The edges around him blur. The room twists, disappears. His song booms, warps, and then fades away entirely. The monkey’s grip tightens and loosens, becoming effervescent. And then he isn’t there at all.

  Loud ringing destroys her ears. Nazirah winces, squeezing her eyes shut. As soon as she does, the ringing stops, followed only by dampened silence. When she opens them again, Nazirah finds she isn’t in the monastery anymore. She isn’t even in Zima.

  She is home.

  #

  Riva and Kasimir relax on the couch. They cannot see Nazirah, but she can see them. Oh, how she can see them.

  Riva leans into Kasimir’s chest, lying in his strong arms. He rubs her shoulders, trying to alleviate her tension. She tenderly plays with the scruff of his beard. “What are we going to do with her, Kas?” Riva sighs. “It’s the second time this week she’s snuck off. Who knows what she’s up to right now?”

  “She’s finding herself, Riva,” Kasimir replies. “She’ll come around. She just needs some time.”

  “You can’t keep making excuses for her!” Riva snaps. “She’s not a child! She’s hurting herself!”

  “No, she’s not a child,” he agrees. “And we can’t continue to baby her. Her choices are her own. But we will talk to her again … when she gets home.”

  “If only she were more like Nikolaus.”

  Nazirah stands before them, tears streaming down her face. She wants desperately to stroke her mother’s cheek, to embrace her father. But she remains stuck. There’s a muffled noise at the door. Kasimir and Riva share a relieved look, happy Nazirah has returned safely. But it’s not Nazirah.

  Nazirah cannot cry out or warn them or tell them one last time she loves them. If only they weren’t sitting ducks, unguarded, waiting for their errant daughter to return home. If only she joined the rebellion sooner, maybe they could have been protected. If only she were more like her brother.

  If only, if only.

  The door swings open, revealing Adamek. He’s wearing his gloves and is dressed entirely in black, gun in hand. But it’s not the Adamek she recognizes. It’s Adamek Morgen, the man of her nightmares, with the cruel and sinister eyes. Kasimir rises quickly, shielding Riva. Riva screams and Nazirah screams soundlessly along with her. Adamek raises the gun, fires twice.

  End of story.

  #

  Nazirah’s entire body convulses, seizing up. She grips the monkey tightly for support. Hunching over, she coughs, struggling to breathe. “What the fuck was that?” she gasps, wrenching her hands away.

  “Many fail the first time,” the monkey says kindly. “The path to forgiveness is not easy to walk.”

  “Was that how it really happened?”

  “We have many skills, Nazirah,” the monkey replies. “Omniscience is not one of them. You saw only what your mind believes happened. Your fear makes it real.”

  “You tricked me!” she cries, grabbing the front of his robe. “You never said I would have to watch my parents get
killed! That didn’t help me forgive him at all!”

  “The path to forgiveness is not easy to walk,” the monkey repeats. “But in order to truly forgive another, you must first forgive yourself.”

  With that one sentence, the monkey strips Nazirah bare, peering deep into her soul and revealing what truth lies there. He uncovers the consuming guilt that taints her every emotion, twists her every desire. Nazirah collapses before him, falling heavily to her knees, the weight unbearable. “Oh, God!” she cries.

  The monkey takes Nazirah into his arms. “You wear your grief, your guilt, like armor,” he says. “It only keeps the joy out and the pain in.”

  “I’m so sorry!” she sobs incoherently, to the ghosts of her past, her present, her future. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.…”

  “There is nothing shameful about wanting happiness,” he says. “Everyone searches for it, but very few people allow themselves to find it.”

  “What do I do?” she begs. “Tell me how not to be lost anymore! Please!”

  “You are at a profound turning of the tide,” he says, wiping her tears, “in more ways than one. But hard as we try, no man can control the ebb and flow of the ocean.” He pulls her up gently.

  “So you’re telling me to just float where the waves take me?” she asks. “That my life will never be my own?”

  “I’m telling you,” the monkey whispers, “to become the moon.”

  “What?”

  “Decide how the tide pulls,” he says. “Choose your own fate. Do not let me, or anyone else, dictate your path. Forge it yourself.”

  Nazirah nods, contemplating his words. “Thank you,” she says quietly.

  “I have a small request before you leave,” the monkey says.

  “Anything.”

  “The road of your life has been rough, filled with grit and despair. And I do not see the course smoothing. I wish to give you a protection mark, offering you courage and strength in your most desperate hours.”

  Nazirah is stunned. “I would be honored,” she says. The monkey delves into his robes. He retrieves a small bottle of ink and a thin needle, which Nazirah recognizes from Adamek’s memory. Grasping Nazirah’s left arm, he glances curiously at her fake crescent moon. Nazirah laughs bitterly. “It’s part of my disguise, along with the blonde hair and everything.”