Nazirah has not heard it in a very long time.
Nikolaus is currently hunched over his desk, deep in conversation with a group of strategists, advisors, and fellow commanders. The other two commanders are a pair of stalwart Red West twins, Glumindo and Badoomi. Nazirah and Cato affectionately refer to them privately as Gloom and Doom. Gloom and Doom are usually holed up in the control tower, in charge of weapons technology, defense, and surveillance. Nikolaus is responsible for strategy, offense, and reconnaissance.
Nikolaus looks abnormally stressed. From the back of the room, Nazirah can see his left eye twitching. It is a tic he developed as a child whenever he got anxious. Nazirah hasn’t seen it occur in years. It’s very unsettling.
Niko’s desk overflows with loose papers and books. Some files spill onto the floor as he rifles through them. Nazirah quietly sits in the back of the room, listening curiously.
“I don’t care if he’s on leave,” Nikolaus is saying. “I need to talk to him. Bring him in.”
Nazirah’s attention drifts around the makeshift office. A huge, inked map of Renatus, divided by color into five regions, is pinned to one wall. Thumbtacks are pushed in at various locations, and certain cities have been circled emphatically in red. A large projector hangs near the corner, constantly looping government propaganda speeches, currently on mute. Stacks of yellowing newspapers from every territory, in every language, are piled floor to ceiling.
Sergeant Patch – Aldrik – scribbles Niko’s ramblings vehemently on a ledger. Even from a distance, Nazirah can see his writing looks illegible. She idly considers having a talk with Niko about recruiting some new, younger strategists. With his grizzled beard, ancient face, gnarled fingers, and haggard appearance, Aldrik appears to already have one foot in the grave.
As if reading her thoughts, Aldrik spots Nazirah with his functional eye. He shoots her a dirty look and leans into Nikolaus, speaking privately.
“Unfortunately, we must finish this tactics meeting tomorrow,” Nikolaus tells the room, glancing at Nazirah. “My sister and I have a personal matter to discuss.”
His tone is indecipherable and Nazirah remains seated. There are a few moments of unorganized mayhem as half a dozen rebels stand, scrambling to collect their papers and files from around the room. They clear their throats awkwardly, peeping at Nazirah. Everyone knows that the Nations are siblings, but rarely do people see them interact.
The rebel leaders shuffle outside as Nikolaus shakes hands with Gloom and Doom. From the bewildered looks on their faces, Nazirah guesses they don’t know why she’s here anymore than she does. Aldrik sneers as he walks past, intentionally bumping into her as he ushers the remaining stragglers out the door.
The door closes with a heavy thud. Nazirah and Nikolaus are finally alone. Nikolaus’s back is to her as he studies a wall map of the bullet train system. Nazirah slowly rises from her seat.
“You’re late.” He diverts his attention from the map, turning to face her.
Nazirah walks up to him, rubbing her arm where Aldrik knocked it. She plunges into a mock curtsy. “My apologies, Commander,” she says breathily.
“Quit it.”
“What’s Aldrik’s problem, anyway?” Nazirah asks, arm still smarting. “Old age getting the best of him?”
“You are, I’d guess,” Nikolaus says. “I don’t imagine he’s very fond of you.”
“The feeling’s mutual,” Nazirah scoffs. “I don’t imagine I’m very fond of him either.”
“You’re eighteen years old, Nazirah,” Nikolaus chides. “Stop acting like a child.”
“I’m not acting like a child!” she says, crossing her arms. Nikolaus raises a bushy eyebrow and Nazirah quickly uncrosses them.
“Yes, you are,” he says emphatically. “And I don’t just mean right now. Lateness, missing meals, skipping classes, not turning in assignments … your ingratitude here is legendary.”
So this is about her lackluster attitude! Nazirah makes another mental note to find a garden snake and put it in Bairs’s desk later tonight. “I never asked to be here, Niko!” she complains. “I don’t want any of this.”
Nikolaus circles his chair and stands before Nazirah, leaning back on the desk. Up close, Nazirah can see exactly how tired and strained he looks. When he speaks, the annoyance is gone, replaced by exhaustion.
“And what exactly do you want, Irri?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” she asks. “I want us to leave here, get away from all of this war and violence! I want us to be a family again! You do have a sister who still lives, in case you’ve forgotten.”
Nikolaus’s face hardens, eyes darkening. If Nazirah wanted sympathy from him, she won’t get it now. “Of course I haven’t forgotten!” he spits, slamming his fist on the desk. “Don’t be such a martyr! I’m doing all of this so that we will have a place to go home to! So that we will always have the same opportunities as everyone else, will always have enough to eat! So our children and our children’s children can finally be safe! And I’m not just doing it for us. I’m doing it for every intermix, for every territory-born in Renatus. And you want to – what? – run away and let someone else fight your battles? Let someone else die for you? Do you not understand what we’re trying to accomplish here?”
“That’s not what I meant!”
That’s exactly what she meant. She’s ashamed to admit it to him and especially ashamed to admit it to herself.
“You need to start pulling your weight,” Nikolaus continues, on a roll. “I’ve had it up to here with your moping, piss-poor, woe-is-me attitude. Everyone in this damn place is either an intermix or a refugee. You think you’re the only person with problems? The only person who has suffered?
“You will start going to classes, every damn one! I don’t care how much you hate them! You will show an active interest in the rebellion and everything we aim to achieve, because you are my sister. You’re a role model.”
Nazirah winces; he sounds exactly like Riva and Kasimir. She is so tired of being everybody else’s disappointment. “I’m terribly sorry if my mourning the death of our family is belittling to your authority, Commander,” she says. “You know what? Screw your authority! Our parents wouldn’t have wanted this!” Nazirah waves her arms at the room. “Our parents were all talk, books, and ideas, and look where it got them! Dead … fucking dead. And here we are, orphaned, practically sprinting into the exact same trap.”
“Nazirah, you’re wrong.”
“No, Niko!” she shouts. “We’re turning into exactly what Riva and Kasimir never wanted us to become! They would roll over in their graves if they could see us now!”
“They weren’t buried –”
“It’s an expression, you ass!” she yells. “If they were here, they would tell us to get as far away from this war as possible! You know I want to avenge them as much as you do” – Niko’s eye twitches – “but our parents were fools to think they could change anything in this world! And since we can’t, they would want us to be safe!”
Nikolaus is quiet for a moment. And then gently, so incredibly gently she isn’t expecting it, he takes her shaking hands into his own. “Irri, look around,” he says. “There is no ‘safe’ anymore. Not for people like us. There never was, really. That’s why we need to keep fighting –that’s exactly what we’re fighting for. Riva and Kasimir would be proud of us.” He continues holding her hands, like he’s afraid she’s going to break. “We cannot go back, Nazirah, do you understand? We can only go forward.”
Nazirah doesn’t want to believe him but, in her heart, she knows he’s right. Probably knew it all along. She nods sadly, wanting to leave and crawl under her covers and stay there for good. She takes a small step towards the door, but Niko’s grip on her tightens, preventing her from leaving.
“What is it?”
“I’m sorry to burden you with all this, but there is still more that we need to discuss.”
His tone is different now, cautious and unsure. Nazirah looks a
t him warily because, of the many things Niko is, he is never hesitant. “Okay.…”
“I know our opinions often differ, and that you are not happy here or with my choice of what to do to protect the remains of our family,” he says. “You have been through so much in the past few months that I don’t want to trouble you with anything else, but I need you to do a favor for me.”
A favor?
“I can try and go to class more,” she says, hoping this is what he’s getting at. “But I’m not promising anything long term.”
“It’s not that,” Nikolaus says, “but I would appreciate the effort.” His eyes dart towards the door, making sure it’s completely closed.
“Niko, you’re freaking me out.”
“Do you trust me?”
What kind of a question is that? He’s her brother! She may not always agree with him, she may not even like him half the time, but of course she trusts him.
“You know I do.”
“I can’t tell you much,” Nikolaus says. “We’ve had a request for an amnesty agreement and I need you to go to the Deathland prison to close the deal.”
Now Nazirah is really confused. Amnesty requests are nothing new. In the four months she’s lived at the compound, Nazirah has heard of several, although she doesn’t know the details of any of them. Amnesty agreements are official pardons granted by the rebels to various Renatus lowlifes and criminals, in exchange for crucial information about the government. Between its strongholds, the rebellion has illicit connections with several prisons around the country, so it’s able to make these negotiations under the Medi radar. Many prisoners request amnesty, but most are rejected because their information is not valuable enough to merit it.
Amnesty pacts are highly classified. The conditions of negotiation and information provided are known only to the commanders. Sending a mere recruit like Nazirah to go and confirm the pact is unheard of. And in the Red West, no less! Is Niko giving her some sort of test?
“I don’t understand.”
“Look, Nazirah,” Niko says. “I know you’ve never done anything like this before, and I know it’s a lot to ask, but I need you to do it for me. It’s an extremely important, time-sensitive matter. We’ve already negotiated the prisoner’s terms, and he’s agreed to ours. You don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to. You don’t even have to look at him. All you have to do is give him this.” Niko reaches into his pocket and holds up a small pendant. Nazirah recognizes it as the necklace every person granted amnesty must wear. “Oh, and get him to sign his name,” Niko adds as an afterthought. “That’s it, I promise.”
A million questions race through Nazirah’s mind. Amnesty pacts are sacred to the rebels, and are not something entered into lightly. “Why me, Niko?” she asks. “Why can’t you go, or another Commander – or even Aldrik?”
“Because they don’t know about it,” Niko says. “I haven’t told anyone else yet. Not until after the pact is officially made. And I can’t go. Everyone knows who I am, and everyone knows I’m a commander. I’m too noticeable, Irri. People may know your face because you are my sister and because of what happened to our parents, but they won’t recognize you as easily. You’re small, smart, and can think on your feet.
“Listen to me carefully: this amnesty pact is what we need to tip the scales in our favor. What the prisoner is offering is invaluable. I need you to do this for me. You’re the only one I trust to get it done.”
Nazirah remains skeptical, but Niko has a point. And if this is what the rebels need to help them win the war, and get Nazirah home faster, then so be it.
“Of course I’ll do it, Niko,” Nazirah says. “I still don’t understand, but I’ll do it if you really want me to.”
“Thank you.”
“Who’s it for?” she asks.
Nikolaus is silent then. He searches her face, eyes asking something she does not comprehend. Nazirah has the sinking feeling that something is about to happen, something important. Something, something, something … but she cannot begin to imagine what it is.
“Tell me!” Nazirah cries, voice high and pleading.
And he does.
“Adamek Morgen.”
Chapter Three
Nazirah looks out the dirty bus window. The early morning light streaks and highlights her face in patches. Her long brown hair is hidden under a crimson headscarf, which is traditional for native women in the Red West. She tries to appear relaxed, like she’s made this journey dozens of times. If anyone were to glance at Nazirah for more than an instant, however, they would realize she’s no Deathlander. But as people shuffle onto the bus and find seats, they don’t pay her any notice.
Red Westerners are dark skinned, their brown faces warmed by the hot desert sun. They have a melodic lilt to their accents, so every sentence sounds like a song. The women wear henna on their hands, jangling bells on their feet. They move with a natural, fluid rhythm.
Everything about the Red West is intoxicating. Nazirah has only seen images of this part of the country before. She probably would have learned more about it in Territory History, had she ever bothered to go.
Nazirah remembers one evening when she was a little girl. Kasimir traded all day in the illegal marketplace and brought home a Red Westerner to join them for dinner. The peddler delighted Nazirah and Nikolaus with fascinating tales of his homeland. He showed the Nation children the Red West tattoo on his forearm, a gleaming red sun. Kasimir had his own, a white tree from Osen, as did Riva, a black fish from Eridies. All territory-born citizens receive a tattoo on their forearms when they turn thirteen, so that the Medis can easily identify the races, and more readily instigate propaganda. Intermix tattoos are forbidden.
The peddler explained why the Red West is commonly referred as the Deathlands. He said it was because a shaman long ago cursed the territory, so that any man with ill intentions who crossed its border would instantly perish. Years later, Nazirah learned the real reason is because the desert is so arid that no life can easily survive. But the man’s story stayed with her long after he had gone, and she always associated the Red West with magic, mystery, and strangeness.
Before the peddler departed, he gave Nazirah a small memento: broken mosaic tiles in a jar. Nazirah thought it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen and immediately placed it on her dresser. She would take the tiles out every so often, carefully sifting them through her fingers, imagining she could smell exotic spices wafting her way. She begged Kasimir to take her to the Red West, but her parents forbade it.
And here she is, years later, traveling on her own through the Deathlands. White clay houses stand perpendicular to the hilly ground in a jagged line, a crooked smile on the face of the horizon. Minarets and intensely blue doors and shutters add to the territory’s flavor. The aromas of spices and other smells, and the loud sounds in the outdoor market overwhelmed Nazirah early that morning, as soon as she stepped off the train and onto the platform in Rubiyat.
The red dust the territory is so infamous for – that permanently settled in the area centuries ago from some biological organic attack on the Old Country’s soil, which is the cause of the constant aridness and the incredibly difficult lives of the natives – is everywhere. Women hit rugs outside with wooden sticks, beating away the crimson grit. Nazirah feels it in her eyes, in the pores of her skin, in the lines of her hands. She nearly choked on the dusty blanket as she walked around, looking for the rundown charter bus Nikolaus hastily described to her before she departed Eridies.
Life in the Deathlands is an unending battle. It is no coincidence that the Deathlanders are known throughout Renatus for their brutality and violence. Water and food are scarce. The natives are dependent upon the Medis for resources, which are never enough to adequately feed everybody. Nazirah, raised by the ocean, cannot fathom a life so devoid of water.
The rickety bus jolts to life. It groans, kicking up dust in its wake, hobbling towards the prison an hour’s ride away. Nazirah clutches the
amnesty pendant, recalling the chain of events that led to her arrival here.
This morning, before the crack of dawn, Nazirah journeyed by train to the largest Red West city, Rubiyat. With doctored identification that Niko had somehow procured, and a bribed conductor, Nazirah had boarded the train easily.
She found her seat in a tiny compartment near the back, mercifully empty. For the entirety of the five-hour ride, although she wanted to just lie down and recover lost sleep, Nazirah was glued to the window, watching the familiar oceanic views of her home morph into something arresting and new.
Nazirah is momentarily roused from her thoughts. An extremely large woman in a royal purple wrap dress, with dozens of gold bangles jangling on each arm, sits down next to her. The woman unapologetically takes up half of Nazirah’s seat, squashing Nazirah into the window. She snaps her fingers, shouting in Deathlandic at her three small children, currently running down the center aisle of the bus, to sit across from Nazirah. Once the children are safely settled, Nazirah’s thoughts drift to where she hasn’t let them go since last night.
Since Niko told her she needed to come here.
Since he said the name that changed everything.
#
“What did you say?”
Her voice was not even a whisper, yet sharp as a blade. Nikolaus stayed silent, allowing her to process it. They both knew she heard.
“Adamek Morgen.”
Nazirah said it slowly, the name heavy on her tongue … foreign … blasphemous. Nikolaus looked at Nazirah like she was a cornered rattlesnake, ready to strike. The floor began to spin, dropping away. The air left the room. Nazirah’s throat constricted, a thousand emotions overwhelming her.
Betrayed by her brother.
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