Intermix Nation (20 page)

Aldrik turns down a familiar dirt road.
Nazirah catches a glimpse of ocean in the distance and recognizes
the area immediately. The car stops in front of a dilapidated inn.
The engine has barely died before Nazirah is pushing open the door.
She sets her feet on solid ground eagerly. Standing up, Nazirah
smells the salty air and hears the welcoming cry of seagulls.

Rafu is her home and Nazirah misses it so
much it hurts. But all of it hurts. It hurts to stay away. And
somehow, it hurts even worse to return.

Chapter
Fifteen

The inn is even seedier
inside, but Nazirah doesn’t complain. After several bribes, the
innkeepers allow the three of them to stay there and host a few
small meetings.
Aldrik hands Nazirah her
room key, telling her to meet in the lobby in an hour. He leaves
without another word, heading straight for the bar. Nazirah sighs,
setting off down the musty hallway. He’ll clearly be looking out
for her the entire time.

Nazirah opens the door to her room, which is
small but mercifully clean. She’s relieved to find that her two
bags have already been brought up. Nazirah spends two minutes
stuffing her clothes into the tiny dresser. She spends another
thirty seconds perfectly positioning the photo of her and Cato on
the wicker nightstand.

Her hands shake as she tries to drag out the
time. She’s never been much of a public speaker. Nikolaus knows
this. He’s the leader, not she. Nazirah has no idea what to say at
this meeting in … fifty-seven minutes … to win anyone over. She
usually says the wrong thing all of the time anyway.

Nazirah sits on the window seat, staring
nostalgically at the streets below. She idly draws shapes in the
dusty window, then opens it to let in some fresh air. Nazirah
watches people walking energetically. Being away for so long gives
Nazirah a new perspective on Rafu, on the beauty of its simplicity.
She looks at the white cement walls of the bungalows, bleached from
constant sunlight. She looks at the salty ocean, warm even in
wintertime. The cares here seem deceptively small.

The minutes tick away.

Should she prepare something? Will it seem
inauthentic if she writes down a speech? What would she even write?
Niko didn’t tell her what to say; he barely told her anything! Is
he expecting people to rally around the rebels at the sight of her
face? Nazirah doesn’t think that will quite cut it.

Twenty minutes to go and Nazirah cannot
stand waiting anymore. She gives her hair a quick brush and strolls
downstairs. The lobby is empty, but Nazirah spots Aldrik the next
room over, still at the bar. He and Adamek are sitting in a far
corner of the room, heavily engrossed in conversation. From the
number of empty glasses at their table, Nazirah can tell they’ve
been there the entire time.

Nazirah storms over to their table,
bristling in indignation and attracting the stares of several
patrons. She stands over them, arms crossed, clearing her throat
loudly. Adamek glances up at the noise, but Aldrik continues
scribbling away illegibly in his notebook. Without looking, Aldrik
hands Nazirah his nearly empty glass. “Yes, love,” he says,
“another brandy would be divine.” He slaps her backside.

Adamek’s green eyes light up in mirth.
Nazirah’s blood boils. She throws the drink in Aldrik’s face and
slams the now empty glass down in front of him. “Get your own
goddamn brandy,” she snarls.

Several patrons sitting around them stop and
stare at the commotion. Aldrik looks up at her with one astonished
eye. “Oh,” he grumbles. “It’s only you.”

Nazirah slides onto the bench next to
Adamek, glaring at the two of them. “Only me?” she growls. “Yes,
it’s only little old me! Only one-third of your campaign, only the
face of the rebellion!”

Aldrik wipes his own face with the back of
his hand. “Congratulations, Nation,” he snaps. “You’re the face of
the rebellion. Are you hoping for a party or something? Is that why
you’re acting like such a bitch?”

“No! I want to know why I’m being left out
of strategy meetings!”

“First of all,” Aldrik says, “this isn’t a
strategy meeting. It’s a simple financial discussion, which you’ve
never been expected to handle and which neither Morgen nor myself
thought you would particularly enjoy.”

“I thought –”

“Shut up,” Aldrik interrupts. “Second of
all, since you’re practically wetting yourself with eagerness,
Morgen here can tell you all about our prospective budget of
kickbacks and bribes while I go get that brandy.”

“I didn’t –”

He rises quickly, snatching the empty glass
off the table. “And finally, you better watch your goddamn mouth
around me. You might be able to pull that shit with your brother,
Nation, but the Commander isn’t here. You answer to me now.”

And with that, he’s gone.

Nazirah stares blankly ahead. She slowly
faces Adamek, who immediately bursts into laughter. Nazirah has
never seen him genuinely laugh before. His eyes crinkle at the
corners and his cheeks dimple. “If he didn’t hate you before,
Nation,” Adamek manages to sputter out between laughs, “he
definitely hates you now.”

Nazirah bangs her head against the table,
knowing that he’s right. “I can’t believe he thought I was the damn
waitress,” she says.

Adamek continues laughing, mimicking her in
a falsetto that makes Nazirah cringe. “Get your own goddamn
brandy.”

“I do not sound like that,” she huffs,
playfully pushing his shoulder.

It’s something she’s done countless times to
Cato. But this isn’t Cato. Nazirah and Adamek both have their roles
to play and this isn’t part of the script. At the contact, the two
of them sober up. He takes a sip of his drink. “I see you’re
talking to me now.”

“Was I not before?” she asks slowly.

“In the car, you were ignoring me.”

Nazirah flushes. “No different than
usual.”

“Finished wallowing over your boyfriend,
then?”

“Cato’s not my boyfriend.”

“Does he know that?”

“Yes!” she snaps. Nazirah glances at the
clock, realizing they only have a few minutes until the meeting
starts. She drums her fingers nervously on the table.

“All right there, Nation?” he asks. “You
seem stressed.”

“I hate public speaking,” she says. Nazirah
isn’t sure why she chooses this moment to open up to Adamek, but
there it is.

He shrugs. “So?” Adamek puts a steady hand
over hers, stilling her fingers. “Everyone handles anxiety in
different ways. Your ways tend to be incredibly annoying.”

“And what would you suggest I do instead?”
Nazirah asks, pulling her hand out from under his more slowly than
she needs to.

“Relax.”

“Relax?”

Nazirah looks at his unfinished drink,
suddenly thinking of Victoria Morgen and her electric blue
champagne. She glances at him, sure the guilt is plastered on her
face.

“What?” he asks suspiciously.

“I have a better idea,” she says quickly.
Nazirah reaches for his glass and downs the rest of it in one gulp.
She grimaces as the alcohol burns her throat. “Ugh,” she says,
shaking her head. “That’s not my drink.”

Adamek blinks … blinks again. He says, “That
was … unexpected.”

Nazirah playfully blows in his face, blaming
it on the nerves and the alcohol. “What?” she asks him innocently.
“Intermix girls can’t drink?”

#

The room is small, confining, and crowded.
There are several well-connected fishermen, some lesser Eridian
Lords, and even a few intermix families. Nazirah assumes the
majority of them are here through word of mouth, because the rebels
can’t openly campaign without attracting Medi attention. She
simultaneously wishes people would leave so she doesn’t have to
speak and wants them to stay and garner support.

Nazirah coughs into her hand. The
spontaneous swig of brandy did absolutely nothing to calm her
nerves, leaving only a bitter taste in her mouth. Aldrik looks at
her sideways, clearly worried that she’s panicking.

She is.

The meeting starts. Aldrik initiates, simply
talking about the rebellion, why it was formed, and what the
insurgents hope to achieve. He’s a passable speaker, although
monotonous. Nazirah tunes him out within the first five
minutes.

Unsurprisingly, Adamek is an excellent
public speaker. He doesn’t detail anything sensitive or personal,
merely reiterates what Aldrik said in a more rousing way.

Adamek finishes speaking. Both he and Aldrik
look at Nazirah. The crowd watches her expectantly. They’ve come to
see her: intermix, native Eridian, orphaned face of the rebellion.
They’ve come to hear her words. But she is wordless.

“Hello,” she begins feebly. “My name is
Nazirah Nation.” She stops speaking, unsure of where to go from
there.

Aldrik mutters, “We’re fucked.”

To Nazirah’s complete surprise and
gratitude, a small hand shoots up energetically, tiny wrist shaking
in enthusiasm. She sighs in relief, because questions are specific.
Questions need answers. Nazirah nods at the young boy near the
front. “Yes?”

“Hi, Na-zee-rah,” the boy says, pronouncing
her name slowly. He looks as nervous as Nazirah feels. The boy
glances worriedly at his mother, who nods encouragingly. Nazirah
can tell from his bare feet, tattered clothing, and from his
mother’s lack of tattoo that he’s intermix. “My name is Cayu,” he
says, “and I’m six.” He looks at his mother for reassurance again.
“Mrs. Nation was my teacher. I miss her a lot and I miss learning,
and I was wondering if you would teach us instead?” Finished, he
exhales, smiling brightly.

Nazirah thinks that the questions might not
be such a good idea after all. In fact, she thinks they might be a
horrible idea. She looks at Cayu for a moment, struggling not to
break down, completely unable to talk about Riva.

“That’s very kind, Cayu,” Nazirah says
eventually. “Mrs. Nation would be proud. It’s very brave of you to
come here and ask that today.” Nazirah smiles a little, because
it’s the truth. And if this small intermix boy could find his
courage, then maybe she can find hers as well. “I miss her a lot
too,” she tells him honestly. “But I don’t have her patience, so I
wouldn’t make a very good teacher like she was.” Encouraged,
Nazirah speaks more confidently to the room at large. “But this is
just another reason why we need your support. Because both intermix
and Eridian children need better education systems in place, so
that we can all escape our self-fulfilling prophecy of poverty. We
need more compassionate, devoted teachers, like my mother. We need
better schools, new books, and more funds for education. We need
rights, just like everybody else!”

There is unexpected, heady power behind her
voice. The room is still, absorbing her words, and then a dozen
more hands shoot upwards. Nazirah is so startled that she forgets
to call on someone. Aldrik firmly hits her back, making her jump.
Nazirah quickly points at a random guy in the corner.

“Hi, Nazirah,” a young man says. Nazirah
recognizes him from the illegal marketplace that operates under the
boardwalk. “Thanks for speaking with us today. My name is Michus
and I live in neighboring Mandar. I knew Kasimir for several years.
We often traded together and he even helped me build a cottage for
my family.”

Nazirah wrings her hands behind her at the
mention of her father.

“I was devastated to learn what had happened
to him,” Michus continues, glaring at Adamek, “And to your mother.
Nothing would honor me more than to fight in your father’s name.
But we are a very poor territory. How can intermix and humble
Eridians possibly expect to win against the mighty capital? Isn’t
it a suicide mission?”

“I won’t stand here and tell you that this
will be easy,” Nazirah says. “I won’t lie to you, Michus. Yes, the
capital is powerful. But they have become lazy. They indulge
themselves in their skytowers, while we suffer in silence. Look
around! Our passiveness kills us a little more each day! Look at
how many lives have already been lost. Not just from the senseless
murders, but from the constant famine and suppression our territory
faces. If we do nothing, we are writing our own death sentences,
and the death sentences of our children. And we will have only
ourselves to blame.”

Several heads nod in approval. Nazirah sees
Aldrik from the corner of her eye, clearly impressed by her
heartfelt words.

“I have a question for you, Nazirah,”
someone says loudly.

She knows that voice. Nazirah apprehensively
scans the crowd for a raised hand, finds none. Her eyes lock onto
familiar brown ones and she knows she’s done for. “Cander,” she
says.

Cato’s older brother walks purposefully
towards the center of the room, so that everyone can see. Cander
and Nazirah have never exactly been the best of friends. Especially
after Cato left home to join the rebellion. It was a huge matter of
contention within the Caal household, although Cato never mentions
it. Adamek, Aldrik, and the rest of the crowd watch their
interaction curiously.

“You stand before us,” Cander projects,
“asking us to risk our lives. Yet you refuse to invoke justice on
the ones who have done us the greatest harm. We’ve all lost loved
ones to this murderer beside you. Can you assure us that you won’t
be so lenient on the Chancellor, on the rest of the loathsome
Medis, who know all they need is daddy’s wallet and a mediocre
apology in order to keep their heads? Can you tell us you’ve truly
forgiven Adamek Morgen?”

The crowd is silent, hushed, waiting. Adamek
tenses beside her. Cander’s words persecute Adamek, but Nazirah
knows his intentions are directed elsewhere. He’s angry at Nazirah
for taking his brother away – for taking him away for most of his
life, to be honest. It’s this resentment that fuels Cander’s
interrogation.