Intermix Nation

“I would not expect someone like you tounderstand,” Luka says coldly.

“An intermix?”

“A southerner,” shestresses.

“There’s nothing to understand,” Nazirahscoffs. “You’ve made that entirely clear.”

Luka throws the pelt back over her bonyshoulders. “I knowingly condone the intermix genocide in thiscountry,” she says. “We do what we must to survive, Nazirah. I didnot join this rebellion to fight for your right to live. I fightfor my own life, for the lives of my starving people. I’m sorry ifyou don’t understand my reasons. But they are my reasons,nonetheless.”

“You disgust me.”

“I frankly don’t care.”

“Nation,” Aldrik says, trying to defuse thetension. “We’ll be out of here in little more than a day. As muchas I hate to admit it, Luka’s right. If you really want to help therebellion, help put an end to this genocide, you need to concealyourself here.”

“And if I say no?” she asks. “You’re puttingthe entire fate of the rebellion on me?”

“Did I say that?” Aldrik snaps. “But wecan’t risk starting a premature war because people recognize you.The rebellion doesn’t have the resources to fight opposition inevery territory, defend ourselves, and attack Mediah as well!”

“I hate this!” Nazirah says, pulling herhair. “But I have no choice. I’ll do it.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Luka rolls down a tinted window, nodding ata guard stationed outside the truck. The guard exits theunderground garage through a nearby door which leads directly intothe manor above. The four rebels sit in tense silence until hereturns.

Nazirah shakes her leg, drums her fingersagainst her jeans. This probably a

The guard soon returns, accompanied by anelderly, hunchbacked man. His head is shaved. Exotic characters,similar to Adamek’s dusza, line his scalp. He’s also barefoot,wearing only a deep yellow robe. He shuffles his feet meekly as hewalks. The man is unlike any Ziman Nazirah has ever seen, with highcheeks, frail bones, a flat nose, and almost golden skin. Before heenters the truck, he gives a bow so deep it could rival one ofSolomon’s.

“It’s one of the silent zimbaba,” Adamekwhispers in Nazirah’s ear, making the hairs on the back of her neckstand straight up. She’s almost forgotten how her body reactsaround him.

Almost.

“What’s a zimbaba?” she asks, watching asthe man sits down. He rifles through his deep pockets, pulling outa bag of electric blue powder and shaking it gently into hisoutstretched palm. He spits into his hand and begins rolling thepowder into a small ball.

“A spiritual leader here,” Adamek replies,watching the zimbaba closely. “He’s taken a vow of silence for theremainder of his mortal life, pledging to uphold the honor ofZima.”

Nazirah notices that the zimbaba’s eyes arecompletely clouded over, milky white orbs. He smiles toothlessly,somehow recognizing her presence. Extending his arm, he drops themarble of blue sky and saliva clouds into Nazirah’s reluctant hand.“What am I supposed to do with this?” she asks.

“What do you think?” Luka asks. “Eatit.”

“What is it?” she asks, disgusted.

“An altered strain of MEDIcine,” Lukareplies vaguely. “They use it for plastic surgery and cosmetics …we use it for concealment. It’s obscenely expensive, so we couldonly get our hands on a day’s worth. But it should last long enoughfor your trip here.” Nazirah looks at Adamek, who nods once. Shegrimaces, popping the mushy ball into her mouth and swallowingquickly.

Nazirah instantly doubles over, clutchingher abdomen. She feels like snakes are winding and writhingunderneath her skin. Nazirah squeezes her eyes shut, but the painis over almost immediately. Ears ringing, she opens her eyes,blinking rapidly. “Did it work?” she asks curiously.

Her voice sounds the same. Nazirah inspectsher arms, rolling up her sleeves. Her bruises are miraculouslyhealed, replaced by pale, smooth skin. She looks at Aldrik andLuka, who are both smiling. And at Adamek, who is not.

“See for yourself,” Luka says. The zimbabareaches into his robe, pulls out a hand mirror. Nazirah glancesinto it warily.

It is her face, yet not her face at all. Hercheekbones are just as prominent, nose has the same slope. But herskin is several shades lighter, tan completely gone, like shehasn’t seen a beach in decades. The bruises on her cheek andforehead are vanished. Her hair is unruly as ever, but platinumblonde instead of copper brown. And her eyes are indigo as acloudless Rafu sky. Nazirah touches her face, blue eyes wide.

“You look good as a blonde, Nation,” Aldriksays approvingly. “But this doesn’t mean you can go offgallivanting. It’s still your face. You’re still recognizable tothose who know to look. You can’t leave your room.”

“Fine,” Nazirah scowls. “Are we done?”

“Just one final touch,” Luka says, noddingat the zimbaba. He delves into his robe once more, retrieving athin brush and jar of black ink. He leans forward, gently grabbingNazirah left arm. She pulls away quickly.

“Is it permanent?”

“As if you’re worthy of a real Zimantattoo,” Luka scoffs. “It’s just paint! It will wash off in a fewdays.”

The zimbaba dips his brush into the jar anddetails a perfect replica of the Ziman crescent moon on Nazirah’sforearm. Satisfied with his work, he stuffs everything back intohis deep pockets. Nazirah inspects her arm, touching the markgingerly.

Luka retrieves two heavy coats from acompartment under her seat. She tosses them at Nazirah and Adamek.“Here, take these.”

Adamek shrugs his on easily, but Nazirahstruggles with the fat buttons. Finished, she looks at them,seeking their approval. “Well?” she asks.

“Keep your hood up,” Luka says, sighing.“And say a prayer.”

#

Nazirah rips off her coat as soon as she isalone, growling, popping several buttons. They fall to the floorlike suicide jumpers, plunging eagerly to their deaths.

Nazirah sympathizes.

She tosses the coat carelessly onto asolitary chair. Her room here is cramped, even smaller than herbedroom in Rafu. Nazirah could walk it entirely in three paces.It’s also freezing. Yet the draft feels like the kiss of an angel,because she is so relieved to be free of Luka.

From the garage, they were escorted straightinto the manor. The jackets were for additional concealment only,unfortunately. Nazirah wasn’t allowed to step even a foot outside.After a detour to the kitchens for a brief meal, they were directedto their quarters.

Nazirah thinks guiltily of Cato as she setsthe photo of them on her small bed. He’ll be returning early fromrecon about now, finally reunited with his family at headquarters,preparing to defend them against Ivan’s troops that are slowlyburning their way towards Krush. Nazirah sits on the squeakingmattress, placing the mason jar of black stones next to the pictureframe. She also pulls out her parents’ wedding photo, completingthe triangle of bittersweet memories.

Nazirah traces her mother’s silhouette,thinking of Niko, hoping there is a cottage for them to return towhen this is finally over. She thinks of Caria and Cayu, of howscared they must be right now. She wonders if their paths willcross at headquarters, maybe by luck, perhaps by fate.

Nazirah stares out the small window. The sunhangs low in the sky, the day nearly spent, only a few hours oflight remaining. For a race so fair, every Ziman seems driven bycold and damp darkness. Nazirah touches her platinum locksthoughtfully. She is a child of the sun, not of the snow. Shedoesn’t belong here.

There is a pounding at the door. Nazirahstuffs the photos and jar under her mattress, crosses the roomswiftly, letting Adamek inside. Aldrik bumbles behind, ploppingdown heavily on the chair. “Fucking freezing in here, Nation,”Aldrik gripes. His breath condenses before him as he complains.“Why didn’t you light a fire?”