Intermix Nation

by M. P. Attardo

  Solomon stirs his tea idly. “It is not the same here,” he says. “In the Deathlands, life is pernicious for everyone, intermix and native alike. Intermix have served the Red Lords for centuries. We all work together, towards the common goal of survival. It is the only way we could ever endure such harsh conditions. So, unlike in Eridies, the Red Lords have the final say for everyone. And they live and die under the Khan’s iron fist.”

  “I still don’t understand,” she presses. “Morgen has amnesty. Khanto wouldn’t be able to touch him if Morgen didn’t agree to it. Why would he throw that away?”

  “Maybe,” Solomon says, “for the same reason Khanto would not touch him at all if Mr. Morgen did not agree to it … regardless of amnesty. Maybe, for the same reason the Khan requested it of him in the first place.”

  “Retribution?”

  “Honor.”

  “Wouldn’t it be more honorable to let it go?” she asks. “Not try and kill him?”

  Solomon smiles. “I said the Khan follows a code he sets for himself, a code he never strays from. Because of this, he is a man of honor. I never said he was honorable.”

  Nazirah is annoyed with Solomon’s semantics. “And what kind of man is Morgen?”

  “Only time and God know the answer to that question.”

  “So … one of them is going to die,” she says, the reality of it sinking in.

  “Yes, Miss Nation,” Solomon replies. “One of them will die.” He sighs dejectedly. “But enough of this morbid talk! They know the stakes and will realize their fates soon enough.” Nazirah remains silent. “May I say how pleasantly surprised I was to find you two had grown closer?”

  “It was Aldrik’s idea,” she says. “He thinks it will help the campaign if it seems like we’re together. It’s all for show.”

  “Is it?”

  Nazirah feels like Solomon has caught her in a lie she didn’t know she was telling. Her voice is strained. “Yes.”

  Solomon is quiet, contemplating his next words. “Miss Nation,” he says, “forgive me for overstepping my boundaries, but do you know why Mr. Morgen joined us?”

  Nazirah squirms uncomfortably in her seat. She doesn’t think Solomon would tell a soul she spied on Adamek’s memories. But she doesn’t exactly want to admit to it, either. “I know some stuff,” she says finally. “I know it’s because Victoria died, although he has no idea I know that.”

  Solomon gazes outside. “Yes,” he agrees, “such a tragedy. The Chancellor was never known for fidelity. In fact, he is quite renowned for his female … appreciation. But when Gabirel discovered his own wife having an affair, he went insane. He shot her in her bathtub, several months back, and has been covering up her death ever since. The rest of the country believes Victoria is bedridden because of illness. Mr. Morgen found her dead and swore his allegiance to us from that moment on. He longs to avenge his mother. I am sure the irony of your situation is not lost on him.”

  “How do you know all of this?”

  Solomon smirks mischievously. “Mostly, I would suspect, the same way you know it yourself,” he says. “I have seen it.” Nazirah blushes into her empty glass. “Mr. Morgen allowed me to view his memories many months ago, when he first asked me to initiate the amnesty negotiations with your brother. He has incredible patience. The negotiations took me several weeks to successfully execute.”

  “Right after my parents –”

  “Yes.”

  “But why cover up Victoria’s death at all?” she asks. “Why not blame it on her health?”

  Solomon taps his fez. “Try to think like the Chancellor, Miss Nation. A dead Victoria Morgen will be memorialized, celebrated, and glorified. It can only lead to questions, inconsistencies in the story, which Gabirel desperately wants to avoid. Especially when dealing with the threat of insurgence. A sick Victoria Morgen, however, simply fades from the public eye. She will become a distant memory, long forgotten and rarely discussed.”

  “So that’s it, then?” she asks. “That’s the whole story? Morgen wants to avenge his mother, so he joins forces against his father?”

  “I would think there is a bit more to it than that,” Solomon says. “But that is the general idea, I suppose.”

  “Solomon,” Nazirah questions, “do you think he feels guilty about anything he’s done? That he genuinely rejects the Medi beliefs? Or is it all just to get at Gabirel?”

  “I tend to think the best of people,” Solomon replies, “often to my own detriment. But if his views did not shift, I would wonder why Mr. Morgen would go through all of this trouble, all of this effort? It is, however, a question only he can answer fully. And maybe you will learn something unexpected, if you can gather the courage to ask.”

  “I’m not afraid of him,” she snaps.

  “I did not say you were.”

  “But you think I’m afraid?”

  “It is easy to hate,” Solomon says. “It is much harder to understand. I think you might be fearful of what he has to say and what that might mean for you.”

  “Why did you ask me here, exactly?” she huffs.

  “Just for some tea,” Solomon says kindly, “the pleasure of your company, and to offer you some hard-learned advice, if you are gracious enough to accept it.”

  Nazirah nods slowly.

  “Forgiveness usually precedes trust,” he tells her. “But in your case, I think it is the other way around.”

  It makes sense. Nazirah guesses she trusts Adamek in some capacity, believes he’s working towards the success of the rebellion. But she most certainly does not forgive him. “Okay,” she says. “So?”

  “So,” Solomon responds patiently, “since every situation is unique, why are you concerned about feeling what you think is right … what you think is the appropriate norm?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Solomon rises from his seat, patting her gently on the hand. “Just feel, Miss Nation. That is all I am saying. Open yourself up to emotion, whatever it may be. Allow yourself to experience something besides hate. You may be surprised by what you let in.”

  Nazirah contemplates Solomon’s words. She turns around, looking for him, but he is already gone.

  #

  The next two weeks pass like the calm before the storm. The campaign cannot leave the Deathlands until after the rebels receive the full support of the Red Lords. The Red Lords will not endorse the rebels until after their overlord battles Adamek. Aldrik ignores Adamek, angry that he agreed to fight the Khan without seeking approval. Nazirah avoids them both. Everything is at a standstill.

  Each afternoon, Nazirah takes tea with Solomon in the conservatory. Unlike that first day, Solomon doesn’t raise sensitive issues or offer advice. He instead tells Nazirah all about his life, his family history, and his work in the prison. And Nazirah loves to listen, completely fascinated by his magical world.

  The rest of the time, Nazirah reads on her balcony. Or she sits there, overlooking the courtyard garden, lost in thought. Or she watches Adamek. And every day, without fail, he completely infuriates her.

  Adamek doesn’t spend his time preparing for the fight, training, or working on his strategy … no. Instead, he sleeps. Or he sits in the courtyard and reads. The night before the battle, Nazirah cannot take it anymore. She is on her balcony, as usual, watching the sunset and feeling increasingly on edge. Her nerves are fried, fired. She spots Adamek lying beside the fountain, relaxing lazily, and something inside her snaps.

  Nazirah storms out of her room and down into the courtyard. Disregarding the tranquility of the cascading water and the perfume from the flowers, she marches up to Adamek. He is stretched out on the fountain’s edge, in baggy gray shorts and a light blue shirt … reading again. He clearly hears her but doesn’t look up. A voice in the back of Nazirah’s mind demands to know what she is doing, screams at her to let him die. Why does she even care?

  She ignores it.

  Adamek casually turns a page. “If you’re going to continue wheezing a
t me like an asthmatic grandmother, could you at least move a few inches? You’re blocking my light.”

  Nazirah grabs the book, chucks it into the fountain. The water is very shallow, so it unfortunately doesn’t sink. But it does land with a satisfying splat.

  Adamek sits up and faces her. “Was that really necessary?” he asks. “Do you always throw a fit when someone doesn’t give you their undivided attention?”

  “Are you serious right now?” she rants. “I’m trying to be helpful!”

  “And destroying my stuff is helping me how?”

  Nazirah plants her hands on her hips. “You should be training for tomorrow, not reading for pleasure! Who knows how many teeth the Khan has added to his necklace, in the last two weeks alone?”

  Adamek’s eyes flash, green with malice. “And I’m supposed to believe the princess finally descends from her tower, trampling everything underfoot, because she cares about my wellbeing?”

  Nazirah takes a menacing step forward. “I already told you, I don’t care! You know I came because you’re still useful to us!”

  “We have the Eridian fishermen,” Adamek says evenly. “Cayus refused us because of my actions. The Red West will align with us, whether I win or not. Your brother has complete access to my funds in the event of my demise. Slome is a native of Zima, perfectly capable of handling them on his own. He can figure out Osen easily enough. You don’t need me.”

  “You’re ‘Renatus,’ Morgen,” Nazirah scoffs. “You’re the love of my life, remember? Of course we need you! What game are you playing?”

  “What game are you playing, Nation?” he asks. “I know you want me dead.”

  Nazirah opens her mouth, shuts it.

  “What, not so chatty now?” he mocks. “Worried that I’m onto you? That I know this whole situation makes you feel like the coward you know you are?”

  “I’m not a coward!”

  “Bullshit! You wish you were the one challenging me … fighting me … killing me. But you’re too afraid. So you’re not.”

  “Shut up!”

  “Tell me I’m wrong!” he yells.

  “I said to fucking shut up!”

  Nazirah slams her hands into his chest, pushing him backwards into the fountain. He grabs her arms, dragging her over the edge with him. The two of them wrestle for dominance in the shallow water. She rolls on top of him, strangling him. He flips her over, pushing her shoulders down. Nazirah chokes as fluid fills her lungs. She kicks him. Cursing, Adamek pulls her up by the wrists so they are sitting. She stares at him defiantly. The water pounds into her face, blurring her vision.

  “Tell me I’m wrong,” he repeats, not angry, not anything at all.

  “You’re not wrong,” she says. “So don’t die tomorrow.”

  “Irri!”

  Nazirah wrenches her wrists away as if electrocuted. She stares into Adamek’s face, eyes wide, before turning her head. “Cato!” she cries.

  Her voice sounds unnaturally chipper, like there’s nothing strange about sitting in the fountain with Adamek, getting pelted by water. Cato stands before them, stunned silent, smile wiped clean. Increasingly aware how bad this looks, especially since her soaked white dress is now clinging to her like a second skin, Nazirah struggles to extricate herself from the fountain. Cato quickly comes to his senses, rushing forward to help her. He hasn’t changed much in two weeks, save for some stubble and the bewildered expression. “Hi,” he says, unsure.

  Nazirah attempts to hug him. Cato is understandably distant. He remains fixated on Adamek, also drenched and out of the water, soggy book in hand. Nazirah protectively crosses her arms in front of her chest. “What are you doing here?” she asks, not knowing what else to say.

  “Visiting you,” Cato responds slowly. “I was able to take a few days off from assignment. Solomon arranged it. I wanted to surprise you.” He looks between the two of them. “What is this, Irri?”

  “What do you mean?” she asks nervously.

  “What do I mean?” he says in disbelief. “Why were you sitting in the fountain?”

  Adamek holds his book up, droplets of water rolling down the binding. “Dropped my book,” he says casually. “Nation was assisting me in retrieving it.” He looks at Nazirah. “She’s … helpful like that.”

  Nazirah shoots Adamek a nasty glare. “Cato, I’m really happy to see you,” she says honestly, shivering. “Can we go upstairs and talk? I want to hear everything.”

  Cato looks conflicted. “O-kay,” he concedes eventually, allowing Nazirah to pull him away.

  “Nation!” Adamek yells, calling out to her. Cato stiffens. Nazirah turns, looks at him questioningly. “Your day will come.”

  He disappears, walking in the opposite direction. “What did he mean by that?” asks Cato suspiciously, as they walk through the corridor.

  “No idea,” Nazirah says quickly, entering her room. “I think he was trying to get to you.” Nazirah doesn’t know why she can’t tell Cato the truth. It would be so much simpler. But she’s buried too deep in lies to dig herself out.

  Nazirah grabs an old pair of sweatpants and a ratty shirt before walking into the bathroom, changing out of her waterlogged clothes. She comes back to find Cato sprawled on her bed.

  “A lot different from home, huh?” he asks, looking around appreciatively. He smiles a bit, noticing the picture he gave her. The suspicion isn’t gone from his voice, but there’s wonder there too.

  “To say the very least,” she replies, sitting beside him. They’ve been apart for barely two weeks. Nazirah doesn’t understand why it feels so different.

  “Solomon isn’t giving me this kind of treatment,” he huffs. “My room is nice, but this is palatial.” He looks at her meaningfully, deadpans, “He must really like you.”

  “Yes,” Nazirah agrees uncomfortably. “Solomon has been gracious to us. But I feel completely isolated here. How have you been? What’s recon like?”

  “It’s good, Irri,” Cato answers, a smile lighting up his face. “It’s actually really good. It’s hard work, for sure, and dangerous. But it’s exciting and important. We know information about the rebellion before anyone else does.”

  “Really?” she asks. “Like what?”

  “Well, we heard about what happened in the Eridian slums,” Cato says, shaking his head. “I can’t believe Niko thought that would be a good idea. You were lucky to leave with your lives.”

  Nazirah looks down at her arms, shivering slightly. The burns may have healed, but she still feels the searing flesh, still remembers the blackened bodies. Those visions plague her already haunted dreams. “I know,” she murmurs. “And for nothing.”

  “For nothing?” Cato repeats, confused. “Irri, Eridian intermix are migrating to the compound by the thousands.”

  “What?” asks Nazirah, stunned. “That’s not possible!”

  “It is,” Cato explains. “I don’t think Cayus is exactly happy about joining forces with us, but he feels indebted to the allies after you and Morgen saved his eldest son. And I think the intermix are realizing that inaction is not working.”

  “I can’t believe it.”

  “Niko told me he’s never seen anything like it … an army of intermix. They’re calling themselves the ‘free people’ of Renatus.”

  “You’ve spoken with Niko?”

  “Only yesterday,” Cato responds, “for a debriefing. He’s insanely busy, especially with all the intermix showing up. He says they have completely taken over the meadow behind headquarters with their huts. Gloom and Doom are apparently working around the clock to secure the base, erecting more concrete protection walls around the compound, digging additional underground bunkers and air-raid shelters, rewiring and expanding the electric fence, importing weapons, trying to keep the mass exodus of intermix off the Medi radar for as long as possible.”

  “How are they feeding everyone?” she asks.

  “With the fishing quotas you convinced the Eridians to redistribute away from the Medis.�
��

  Nazirah is astonished the campaign has had such a dramatic effect in only a few weeks. “I can’t take any credit for that,” she admits. “But that’s amazing we’re getting so much support.”

  “I know.” Cato smiles. “And that’s not all of it. Even Cander has been securing more allies around southern Eridies, recruiting his friends and contacts.”

  Nazirah is truly astonished now.

  “I spoke with him about a week ago,” Cato continues, face shining. “For the first time in … a long time. We’re not where we used to be, but it’s a start.”

  She gently touches Cato’s arm. “That’s great,” she says, because she knows how much it must mean to him.

  Cato gets a serious look then. “It’s not all good news,” he says. “The slum attack was poorly executed, conceived in the final hour and designed to look unintentional. You may be safe here under the Salaahi armistice, but you need to be careful. There have been more than whispers, dark rumors shadowing the country. The Medis are strengthening their army and they won’t go down without a fight. The Chancellor is targeting you, the face, as offender number one.”

  “I get it, Cato,” Nazirah sighs. “I knew the risk when I agreed to do this. I never expected Gabirel to give up easily.” Nazirah shudders at the memory of him stroking Victoria’s lifeless cheek. “He can’t be underestimated.”

  Cato takes her hand. “I will do everything in my power to protect you,” he promises.

  Nazirah smiles sadly. “I know you will.”

  “Tell me more about you.”

  Nazirah grabs her bag off the floor, rummages through it. “Well,” she says, “You probably heard from Cander that I visited your family when I was in Rafu.” She takes out the locket, gently pulls it over Cato’s head. “From Caria, with love.”

  Cato’s eyes fill with unshed tears. He opens the locket, stares longingly at the photo inside. “They are well?” he asks shakily.

  “They are,” she replies. “They miss you, and are proud of you. Of us both.”

  Cato is quiet for a moment, collecting himself. “How’s Caria?”

  “Toothless.”