Intermix Nation

by M. P. Attardo

  “I know,” Taj jokes. “You Eridians cannot dance.”

  “Hey!” Nazirah says. “I’m only half Eridian.”

  “From what I’ve seen,” he replies, “the Oseni aren’t much better.”

  Adamek and Aldrik climb some stairs as they talk, entering one of the larger buildings lower in the trees, Valestream’s visitor lodge. Nazirah doesn’t move to follow. There’s nothing on the agenda until tomorrow morning. And right now, Nazirah could not care less about campaigning.

  “Zima was so beautiful, Lumi,” Nazirah continues. “We were in Shizar for less than two days, but it was worth it. I got to see snow for the first time, and the mountains.”

  “It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” she says. “Returning to Zima and working in the hospital was exactly what I needed. Helping those people grounded me … after everything.”

  Nazirah nods in understanding. Walking down the streets of Rafu centered her, too. Seeing the slum put her upbringing into perspective. And Lumi does seem more at peace. Although Nazirah knows the grief from Aneira’s death still lurks painfully below the surface. “That’s great, Lumi,” Nazirah says. “Although it wasn’t so wonderful to learn about the intermix situation in Shizar. I wish you warned me.”

  “I know,” she sighs. “But I wanted you to give Zima a fair shake.” Nazirah only shrugs. “Tell us though, what’s been happening with the campaign?” Lumi glances briefly at Taj before continuing. “There have been so many rumors circulating about you! No one knows what’s fact or fiction.” She lists the juiciest gossip on her delicate fingers. “You and Adamek Morgen are forbidden lovers … you were caught in some insane fire … you were attacked by a psychopath.…”

  None of these are just rumors.

  Nazirah coughs, voice strained. “Well,” she begins, “Morgen and I obviously aren’t together … like that. Aldrik thought it up to garner more support on campaign. We’ve just kind of been going along with it to appease him.”

  Taj smirks triumphantly. “Told you so!”

  Lumi shrugs, reaching into her jeans and pulling out a wad of money. She counts off a few notes and hands them to Taj, who pockets them happily.

  “You bet on that?” Nazirah screeches.

  “Sorry,” Lumi says, not sounding sorry at all. “I thought it might be possible.”

  “How could that ever be possible?”

  “Please, Nazirah. You and Adamek have more primal tension than two NoZimans trapped in a cave during a blizzard.”

  “Lumi!”

  “I’m just being honest.”

  “Even Cato didn’t believe me,” Nazirah says, immediately feeling guilty about mentioning him. But Lumi doesn’t seem rattled in the least. It seems these past few weeks really have changed her.

  “He did have a few choice words for you when we last spoke,” Lumi states.

  Nazirah groans, putting her head in her hands. “We’ve never fought like this before,” she says.

  “People fight, Irri,” Taj says, “so they can make up. That’s what we do.”

  “I think Cato just needed a friend,” Lumi chimes in, unusually supportive. “He really didn’t say much.”

  “How is he?”

  “He misses you,” she says. “I can tell. Don’t worry. You can hash it out once you finally talk tomorrow.”

  “Unless we all get killed,” Taj jokes grimly. Lumi glares at him.

  “Right,” Nazirah says slowly. “So anyway … that’s that. We were in a slum fire in Rafu. But I think the campaign has overall been relatively successful. Although, I’m not sure how much I’ve helped.”

  “Are you kidding, Irri?” asks Taj. “I can’t speak for the other territories. But in Osen, no one has stopped talking about you since that fire. Hearing your name inspires people, gives them hope and strength. They rally around you.”

  “Honestly?”

  “It’s true,” Lumi agrees. “In Zima too. I don’t know if you’re aware, but Niko organized this entire propaganda campaign to promote you. Your face, your story, your suffering has been plastered all over the news, the television, the streets. Glumindo and Badoomi even managed to hack into the Medi stations a few times. People seem to find you relatable … the idiots.”

  Nazirah laughs. She can always count on Lumi to tell it to her straight.

  “And don’t forget about the carrier rebels,” Taj reminds Lumi.

  “Carrier rebels?” asks Nazirah, overwhelmed.

  “Niko dispersed dozens of them throughout the four territories,” Taj explains. “Their sole purpose for weeks now has been to instigate propaganda about the rebellion and spread rumors about you. You know, drum up support and stuff. Just the other day, I was taking a leak in the woods and a carrier told me –”

  “Enough about me,” Nazirah says quickly. “Lumi, I know you’ve been working in the hospital. Taj, you’ve been here the whole time?”

  “Yes,” Taj says. “Isn’t Valestream unbelievable? The entire village gains altitude every year as the trees grow.”

  “I’ve never seen trunks so wide,” Lumi says, looking around.

  “The trees are treated with some sort of MEDIcine,” Taj says. “It makes them grow unbelievably quickly … and strong. Valestream is the main supplier of lumber to Mediah. I’ve been helping the loggers cut the trees down, redistributing timber to the rebels so it can be dispersed throughout the territories. Everyone here is amazingly supportive.”

  Nazirah has never seen either of them look so satisfied, so optimistic. She wonders if the other recruits feel this way as well, a foreign hope springing inside of her. Maybe, just maybe, they actually have a shot at winning this war. “How do the Medis feel about this redistribution?” she asks curiously.

  “Well,” Taj says proudly, “we’ve been lying to them for weeks now. Telling them the winter is harder than expected, our workforce has suffered, stuff like that. Basically coming up with every excuse possible for why we aren’t meeting our quotas.”

  Lumi quirks an eyebrow. “And they actually believe you?”

  “Course not,” he chuckles. “But the Chancellor has his hands full, what with the anarchy in Rafu and the march to Krush. He’s trying to keep the Eridian dissent quiet as possible, not wanting the rest of the country to know how big the rebellion has become.”

  “But how is Gabirel explaining the lack of resources to the capital?” asks Nazirah.

  “He’s apparently saying there’s some sort of epidemic raging throughout the territories … that the government is intentionally restricting supplies because our goods are contaminated.”

  Nazirah feels uneasy about the whole situation. It seems too simplistic, like they’re missing a huge piece of the puzzle. She remembers the Chancellor in Adamek’s memory, sitting leisurely beside his dead wife, smoking a cigar. Somehow, Nazirah doesn’t think Gabirel casually dismisses dissention or deception.

  “How do you know all this, Taj?” Lumi asks. “They never told us anything classified at the hospital.”

  “Grum told me.”

  Nazirah chokes. “Grum … as in Mather Grum?”

  “As in Mather Grum, whom you gave a concussion in combat training?” Taj clarifies.

  “Yes.”

  “That would be the one.”

  Lumi makes a face. “He’s here?”

  “For weeks now,” Taj says. “He’s actually not that bad. Drinks like a fish, but who doesn’t? He keeps to himself most of the time, transporting resources and intercepting information. Looking forward to a rematch, Irri?”

  Nazirah is not. “I think that was just beginner’s luck,” she mumbles, recalling her much less successful encounter with Ramses.

  “You underestimate yourself,” Lumi says. “You may be small, but you’re relatively smart. It was your brains that helped you win that fight with Grum, not your brawn.”

  “I guess.”

  Feeling the tears welling, Nazirah looks away, trying to erase the memories of Ramses … hitting her … punching her … tou
ching her. With so much happening in the last few days, Nazirah hasn’t allowed her mind to go there. But what would have happened if Adamek hadn’t saved her?

  She would be dead.

  “It’s true?” Lumi whispers in shock, noticing her reaction. “What happened in the Red West? The Khan’s son tried to….” She trails off.

  Nazirah nods sadly, wiping a tear away with the back of her hand. “Morgen saved me.”

  Taj glances at Lumi, but she’s distracted by Nazirah’s wrist. Lumi grabs her arm, staring at Nazirah’s tattoo in disbelief. “Where did you get this?”

  “An old monastery in Shizar.”

  “Zero-five-one-four,” Taj reads out slowly, confused.

  “Protection marks are not something to take lightly, Nazirah,” Lumi snaps.

  “I’m sure loads of Zimans have them.”

  Lumi shakes her head. “They don’t,” she says. “It’s like the dusza, a lost tradition. They’re extremely rare.”

  “I still don’t see what the big deal is.”

  “Look,” Lumi says, pointing to the symbol. “This is the mark of whoever gave this to you. It’s not just a tattoo, Nazirah. It’s an unbreakable bond. Zimbaba believe they literally sacrifice a piece of their souls to the gods, in order to offer protection. It’s not something one typically gives a stranger.”

  “He never said anything like that,” Nazirah says, rubbing her wrist. “He said it was protection given by my kin.”

  Lumi shrugs. “Maybe that’s what he considers himself.”

  Nazirah thinks of the monkey, nameless, life shrouded in mystery. With scarred and blackened hands he called her daughter. The monkey strayed from the path but somehow returned to it. Is it in Nazirah to deny Adamek that same chance?

  Is it in her to give it to him?

  “Speaking of kin,” Taj says, “There’s the kinsa here, a ways down.”

  “Kinsa?” asks Lumi.

  “A sacred Oseni shrine,” he answers. “Basically a circle of trees around some stones. It’s how the Oseni honor their loved ones. It’s pretty interesting. You might want to check it out before we leave tomorrow.”

  Nazirah rises, stretching her arms. “That’s brilliant, Taj.” She smiles. “My father was from Valestream, did you know? Kasimir loved the pebbles I collected from my walks on the beach, said they reminded him of the kinsa from his childhood. It’s the main reason my mother put them all over our cottage … like we were bringing a little piece of Osen to Rafu.”

  Taj and Lumi stare at Nazirah oddly. In all the time they’ve known her, she has never spoken so freely about her parents. “Do you want to go now?” he asks, shooting Lumi another glance.

  Nazirah sighs. “No, I should probably go check in with Aldrik and Morgen. We’re meeting with some Oseni tomorrow morning, so I’m sure they want my head by now. I’ll go later, though.”

  “Irri,” Taj says, “don’t miss the loggers’ bonfire tonight. You can show your face and appease Aldrik. It’ll be a good time … a final hurrah, yeah?”

  “Yeah,” she agrees, smiling. “I’ll see you both later.”

  Nazirah waves goodbye, lazily humming an Oseni melody. She turns, walking towards the building Aldrik and Adamek entered. Back facing Lumi and Taj, Nazirah doesn’t see their bewildered expressions, their exchange of pointed looks. She doesn’t witness Lumi’s self-satisfied smirk. She doesn’t notice Taj reaching reluctantly into his pocket, returning the money he won and then some.

  #

  Nazirah interacts with various Oseni at the bonfire, hearing them recount their struggles. She wants to meet them, these men and women who resemble Kasimir in shape and spirit. And they, shockingly, want to meet her too. Countless intermix and Oseni approach Nazirah, wishing to shake her hand, touch her, thank her. Grum shoots Nazirah scathing looks. He and Aldrik eventually leave, heading brusquely for the nearest canopy tavern. Adamek doesn’t make an appearance.

  An hour or two pass. Nazirah spends the remaining time with Lumi and Taj, drinking hot cider around the fire. The Oseni sing about their homeland, deep voices resounding through the forest, steins clanking and overflowing with mead. Nazirah follows along, off-key. Their voices bring tears to her eyes, spilling love and regret. Tomorrow afternoon, the campaign will finally return to Krush, to whatever fate awaits it there. And Nazirah gets the distinct, unsettling feeling that her hourglass is nearly spent.

  The Oseni disperse as the fire dies, sloughing off the grease of the day, trekking towards slumber and higher ground. Lumi and Taj rise, calling it a night. “Irri, you coming?” he asks.

  Nazirah gets up as well. “I’m actually going to find that kinsa.”

  “Do you want company?”

  “Thanks, Lumi, but I’d rather go by myself.”

  “See you tomorrow, Irri,” Taj says kindly, taking Lumi’s hand.

  Nazirah quirks an eyebrow, smiles. “Goodnight, guys.”

  Nazirah treks down a worn dirt path in the direction Taj points out. There’s cloaked darkness, but patches of moonbeams guiding her way. Yet even in the shadows, Nazirah doesn’t feel alone. Even the quiet here isn’t quiet. The forest breathes life, especially in this latest hour.

  As she walks, Nazirah notices that her sight is improving, as though the trees themselves emanate light. They become thicker, older, leaves disappearing. The branches knot, twist, and bend shape. The bark peels, lightening from mahogany to ash to silver. Nazirah touches the lustrous, sterling trunks. These trees must be sacred for the Oseni to not cut them down. The Medis would kill for something so beautiful.

  Nazirah enters a clearing, a ring of pure white trees before her. She recognizes them instantly, immortalized in the tattoo that marked Kasimir’s arm. She squeezes through, running her fingers over the glittering ivory bark that radiates starlight. The trees house the kinsa, a shallow circular pool filled with thousands of black pebbles and stones. Kasimir spoke often about it, had hoped to take Nazirah and Nikolaus there one day. All Oseni travel to Valestream in their lifetimes to visit the kinsa and offer names to the gods of honor and protection.

  Nazirah walks to the edge of the pool, its fluorescent water glowing in the dark. She always thought the electric blue water was one of Kasimir’s tall tales, but it really does exist.

  Nazirah glances across the pool, finds she is not alone. He stands a few yards away, barefoot, jeans rolled at the ankle. His eyes are closed, head bent in prayer. “It’s rude to stare, Nation,” Adamek says plainly, looking up.

  “How did you know it was me?” she asks.

  “How could I not?”

  “Did you offer any names?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Nazirah bends down, unlacing her boots and pulling them off. She rolls up her jeans. Retrieving the dagger from her back pocket, she scrapes some bark off a nearby tree. Returning the knife, Nazirah steps into the kinsa and wades over to him, water splashing her calves.

  “Give me your hands,” she says. Adamek slowly holds them out, black scratches visible in the blue light. Nazirah turns them over gently. “This side,” she whispers. Nazirah rubs the ivory bark over his palms, diamond dust on skin. Then she does it to herself.

  “How do you know to do this?”

  “Kasimir,” she replies simply. From her jacket, Nazirah pulls out four black stones she took from the mason jar before the bonfire. She places one in his hand, keeping the rest.

  “What do I do with it?”

  “You’re curious today,” Nazirah says pointedly. She turns the three rocks in her hands. Crumbled white bark meets black stone. Nazirah picks one up. “Aneira,” she says, before gently skipping it across the pool. It makes a soft splash when it finally sinks. Nazirah closes her fist around the remaining stones. She kisses her knuckles twice, two teardrops fall. “Riva, Kasimir,” she says softly, skipping them as well.

  The waters below dance across the planes of Adamek’s face. He turns the final stone in his hand. “Is this for her?” he asks.

  “I t
hought maybe you would want to say goodbye.”

  He shuts his eyes, closing his fist. Kissing his hand, he whispers the name before skipping the stone. He watches it sink to its final resting place. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I loved her.”

  “I know.”

  “My father may have pulled the trigger,” he says, “but I sealed her fate. It was my karma, for thinking I could play God with no consequences. It seems He isn’t so forgiving after all.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Would it matter if I said no?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fine, then.”

  “How do you deal with the guilt?”

  He laughs bitterly. “Isn’t it obvious, Nation? I don’t.”

  “Then what do you pray for?”

  Adamek seems conflicted, unsure. Nazirah is reminded of how young he is, only nineteen. He is still a teenager, a kid forced to grow up too soon.

  Like her.

  “Salvation,” he says candidly. “Redemption, forgiveness.” He shakes his head. “Take your pick.”

  “And you think you deserve these things?”

  “I pray for them,” he answers, “despite what I think.”

  “But you have the dusza,” she says. “It shouldn’t matter.”

  “There are many ways to break the soul.”

  She hesitates. “Do you regret any of it?”

  He looks at her, steady. “I regret all of it.”

  It is the answer she has been seeking for months, since she first met him in the prison, since before that. Nazirah believes every word, but feels absolutely no different. She whispers, “I think I knew that already.”

  Nazirah has kept something locked away deep inside. She never planned on letting it see the light. But it has turned from dull itch to insatiable thirst. And since their argument last night, Nazirah knows she needs it to move forward. She’s sprinting towards the edge of the cliff, but it’s the only way off this plateau. She grabs his hands again, flipping them around and tracing the scratches. Adamek tenses like he knows what’s coming. “Don’t say it.”

  “Show me.”

  It is a plea, a command, a desire, an apology.

  Adamek wrenches his hands away. He begs, “Don’t ask this of me.”