Текст книги "Intermix Nation "
Автор книги: M. Attardo
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INTERMIX NATION
By M.P. Attardo
Intermix Nation
Mary Attardo
Copyright © 2013 by Mary Attardo
Smashwords Edition
http://maryattardo.blogspot.com/
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
For my mother,
my rock, my Riva.
Chapter One
Nazirah Nation is dead.
She stretches her mind, reaching for her earliest memories and coming up empty. She remembers playing on the sandy coast near her home in southern Eridies, the whitewashed stone of her family’s cottage a comforting constant on the horizon. She spent hours by the sea, a child of the sun. She roamed the sand, collecting starfish and seashells that her mother fanatically glued onto picture frames and proudly displayed throughout their small home. Mason jars filled with smooth black pebbles lined their fireplace mantle, coffee table, and bookshelves.
Outside, the water lapped at Nazirah’s feet. She laughed and built sandcastles that kissed the sky. Lying on the dunes with Cato, she swore that time could stop like this, and she would feel complete.
It was a simple childhood, full of the naïve optimism of youth. It was impoverished. But it was happy.
There was no hate there.
Nazirah remembers her thirteenth birthday particularly fondly. Riva made her favorite cake, vanilla with key lime filling, as a treat. Kasimir, fresh from an inspired trip to the black market, brought Nazirah home a bicycle. They could not afford such luxuries, Nazirah knew, but her parents said it was a special occasion.
Nazirah remembers her joy the first time she saw the bicycle, rusty and bent. She remembers Niko’s envious and sullen glares over dinner, and how proud her father looked after fixing it. All summer long, Nazirah rode the dirt paths around her home, chasing stray dogs, accumulating bruises and scratches, racing the sunset. Afterwards, she would walk sheepishly through the front door, gangly legs trekking dirt. Her mother would gently scold her, hand covering a smile.
There was no hate there, either.
Even in the bad times …
(when Niko tripped her and Nazirah broke her arm and wore a cast for an entire summer … when her father got so sick he couldn’t work and their food stores ran dangerously low … when her parents told her she wasn’t pulling her weight, wasn’t living up to her potential … when she was teased mercilessly in school, called intermix, and ran home in tears for months)
… even then, Nazirah did not understand hate.
That changed four months ago.
Nazirah came home late to a dark house. She and Cato had been hanging out with some neighborhood friends, sneaking swigs of homebrewed tequilux on the rundown boardwalk.
She remembers the crooked smile on her face. She fumbled for her keys, dropping them and silently cursing. She tiptoed through the front door, a low laugh slowly dying on her lips. The scents of jasmine and verbena from the front garden were quickly replaced by the smell of something else. Something foreign and nauseating.
Something wrong.
Buzz fading, eyes adjusting to the low light, Nazirah squinted into the darkness.
She only vaguely remembers collapsing to her knees. Only vaguely remembers her strangled cry. Only vaguely remembers the acidic taste of vomit in her throat.
Nazirah tries to recall her parents, once so full of life and light. But now, everything is muted. Now, everything is numb. Now, when she tries to recall their faces, all she can think of is this … this moment of pure hatred.
Their bodies: awkwardly positioned on the living room floor, bent at unnatural angles, so close they might have been embracing. Their hollow eyes: open but unseeing.
Wet tears still clung to two sets of frozen eyelashes.
And the blood. There was so much blood … splattered on the walls, on the furniture, spilling from matching chest wounds.
Her parents had once been so full of life and light.
Now, they would never laugh again.
#
“If looks could kill, Nazi Nation.” Cato slides into the empty seat on the bench. He playfully nudges her shoulder, setting down his overflowing tray with a thud.
Nazirah stabs a shriveled carrot with her fork, startled out of her lunchtime reverie. Not a reverie: a twenty-four hour nightmare, repeating over and over in her mind for months, with no end in sight, would be more apropos. Nazirah shifts her body away from Cato, turning only to glare before resuming the massacre of her plate.
She knows that Cato Caal, her supposed best friend, is only joking. But she really hates that nickname. She was teased mercilessly with it at school. In addition to her intermix status, which already made her a pariah, her parents’ political leanings worsened matters. But though they had been vocal about intermix rights, they were hardly Nazis.
At least, Nazirah doesn’t think so. She can’t exactly walk up to a Nazi and ask. Nazis have been extinct for centuries, bygone legends from the Old Country – North America.
Her thoughts turn to her parents once more and a fresh pang of grief surfaces.
It is mid-August, four months since she found her parents murdered. Four months since she became a homeless orphan. Four months since her world so spectacularly collapsed around her.
“Hey, Irri, you okay?” asks Cato, gently touching her arm. “I wasn’t thinking about what I was saying. I was just trying to get a laugh out of you.” The concern on his face is clear.
Nazirah shakes her head a little, trying to vanquish the ghosts.
Everyone said it wasn’t safe for her to stay, that it was too risky, that she was tempting fate. So she reluctantly agreed to abandon her childhood home, leave all of her memories to rot, and come live at the rebel compound.
Not that she was eager to stay home anyway.
Nazirah pauses, collecting herself. She looks up at Cato, amber eyes a bit too bright, fake smile in place.
Cato. Her best friend, who, against all her protests that she secretly hoped he wouldn’t listen to (and he hadn’t) had left behind his comfortable life in Eridies and come with her. He had no reason to leave. His family was still alive and, as a pure Eridian, he wasn’t in danger. But he was kind and foolish, and wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Nazirah squeezes his hand in gratitude, gradually sliding her arm out from under his. “I’m fine, Cato,” she says, mustering inauthentic cheerfulness. “I’m just especially a bitch at the moment. The food here doesn’t help.”
Cato shrugs. He reaches over Nazirah’s body, nonchalantly spearing some of the loathsome vegetables she has been pushing around her plate. He lazily pops them into his mouth, grinning widely. “Oh, okay; got it. That time of the month again already, is it?” He chews, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Several nearby teenage boys snicker.
Nazirah’s face burns with embarrassment and indignation builds inside her. Damn Cato! Even after thirteen years of friendship, he is still a cheeky bastard. Her voice is a little shrill as she responds, louder now because she wants those boys a table over to hear as well. “No, it’s actually not, jerk,” she informs him, punching him harder than necessary.
Annoyed, Nazirah pushes her tray out of his reach. But she can’t hide the small grin that spreads across her face, which she knows is what Cato wanted all along.
Nazirah is surprised whenever she finds herself smiling. She always feels guilty about it afterwards, like all of the happiness in her should have died the day her parents did. It nearly had, she has to admit.
“Hey, that hurt,” Cato says. “Lay off the protein.” Expressions exaggerated, Cato drops his fork and rotates his shoulder, rubbing his arm. His dark eyebrows arch in a perfect imitation of innocence.
Nazirah looks at him, unfazed. “Whatever, you clown. You deserved it.”
Nazirah is momentarily distracted from their conversation by loud laughter at a nearby table. She looks up, gazes around the main mess hall. Long wooden tables line the otherwise mundane room. Faded and cracked linoleum tiles lift from the floor, while dusty old windows frame the walls. This used to be a thriving dining hall, she was told.
Rebel headquarters are stationed on the grounds of an old Eridian boarding school, where wealthy Eridians once sent their children to learn away from intermix and the impoverished. It was abandoned for several years, until the rebels renovated it for a base. They had transformed it and the surrounding grounds into a defense compound, a network of buildings replete with concrete, steel, bunkers, and misery. Nazirah idly traces her finger around the names carved into the table, watching the rebels converse around her. Even with the threat of war looming on the horizon, the majority of them look happy and at peace.
Idiots, she thinks sullenly.
“So …” Cato’s eyes dart around and he leans in conspiratorially. “Who’s got the lovely Nazi so pissed off this afternoon?”
“Really Cato, that name’s not helping you here,” Nazirah admonishes, lowering her voice a bit. “Besides, what makes you think it’s a who?”
Cato laughs, dark brown eyes full of mischief. “Please, Irri. With you … it’s always a who.”
Nazirah smiles genuinely this time. He is right, after all.
Back in their coastal hometown of Rafu, a subset of Eridies, Nazirah was never known for her grace or charisma. She inherited her father’s loud mouth and it often got her into trouble.
After her parents died, the rebels welcomed Nazirah with open arms. They fed her, sheltered her, trained her, and provided her with the safety that she had so brutally lost. But that wasn’t enough for them. Her brother was a Commander, who had been stationed at the base for nearly two years. The rebels expected Nazirah to follow eagerly in his footsteps, taking up their fight against the government with no questions asked. They expected her gratitude and enthusiasm, but Nazirah could offer them neither.
Nor does she want to.
Nazirah hears what they whisper about her, in combat training and in the hallways. She is Nazirah Nation, the bitch who lost everything because of the government, but doesn’t care enough to avenge her parents’ deaths or take up their cause. She is Nazirah Nation, the girl who won’t even cry over her loss. Most people steer clear of her, claiming she needs space and time to adjust. But Nazirah knows the truth: she’s a disappointment.
Let them stay away. That’s perfectly fine with her.
But secretly, what they think bothers Nazirah. Of course she yearns to avenge her parents! She wants to savagely maim, castrate, decapitate, and slaughter the monster who murdered them. Visions of vengeance keep her awake at night. She tosses and turns, sweating and screaming and biting hard into her pillow. Burning hatred is what keeps her feeling, even after everything else goes numb.
And that scares Nazirah. It scares her straight to the core. Because lately, she isn’t sure of the real reason she can’t sleep anymore.
Yes, Nazirah advocates what the rebels are fighting for! What intermix doesn’t? Centuries ago, after the Final War ended, the survivors of the Old Country pulled themselves from the brink of destruction, uniting to form a new nation. Blame was cast around in spades. Every possible vice, belief, and ideal was shrouded in a negative light, as the self-appointed leaders of the New Country tried to figure out what went wrong. With their unique power, influence, and wealth, the Medis were a beacon of hope in a tumultuous time. Their singular goal was to form a nation of peace and justice, unheard of in the Old Country.
Ultimately, the Medis blamed the Final War on America’s diversity. No country, they said, could ever run efficiently with so many cultures, religions, and ethnicities interacting together. Ready to clash and kill at the slightest provocation.
A central capital was established. Surrounding territory lines were drawn: Zima, Osen, Eridies, and the Red West. People were relocated. Millions were killed, all in the name of serving a higher purpose. And in the end, a new nation arose.
Renatus.
Reborn from the ashes of what had been lost.
Kasimir Nation, Nazirah’s father, was an Oseni from a small village called Valestream. His skin was the color of wispy clouds against the sun. Nazirah used to joke about how easily he burned during the Rafu summer. Kasimir was tall and broad, with sinewy muscles from a lifetime of eating forest game. He had a grisly brown beard to match his grisly brown eyebrows, and a deep, bellowing voice. He made his living hunting, logging, trapping, and trading on the black market.
As a child, Nazirah loved bouncing on Kasimir’s knee, listening to legendary stories of his childhood in the Oseni wilderness. Nazirah grew up hearing of evergreens so tall they blocked out all light from the sky, of rolling hills and winding rivers that a man could get lost in forever. Nazirah loved his tales, no matter how tall. Kasimir’s heart never left the wilderness of Osen. Even years after his departure, he would still tear up at the thought of its beauty. He would never admit to that, though. There was always something in his eye.
But Kasimir had fallen, and he had fallen hard.
On his most fortuitous venture to Mandar, a small town in coastal Eridies, Kasimir was trading with a wealthy merchant when he spotted the merchant’s youngest daughter, Riva.
Riva Martel, soon to become Riva Martel Nation. Riva was fragile and delicate, with olive skin sun-kissed and salty from the ocean, so unlike the strong forest girls of Valestream. Riva’s face was heart shaped, her exotic almond eyes like honey.
With one glance, Kasimir knew he never wanted to look at another girl again.
Riva’s parents wept, called her a whore and blood traitor. How could she possibly marry someone not of Eridian descent? How could she voluntarily exile herself from her people, from her family? How could she ever love a wild, disgusting, vile Oseni ogre, who would leave her once he found someone younger and more beautiful?
Riva could not be persuaded and was shunned from Mandar. Her hometown was a peaceful fishing community. The residents didn’t wish for her death, although they could have enforced it. Riva and Kasimir packed their sparse belongings and left quietly in the night, pledging themselves to each other on the Eridian coast with only the stars to bear witness. They did not return to Valestream; the journey was far too dangerous for the pregnant Riva. So Kasimir built them a small cottage on the water in neighboring Rafu and made a meager living trading illegal wares. Riva, once a wealthy merchant’s daughter, never looked back. Their first child, Nikolaus, arrived a few months later. Nazirah followed a few years after that. Both children were intermix. And both children were loved more dearly than life itself.
Riva, highly educated until marriage, had strongly encouraged Nikolaus and Nazirah’s own schooling. They were homeschooled until Riva became fed up with their constant bickering and lack of supplies. Through several called-in favors and black market deals, Riva bribed some affluent Eridians and procured a small annex to one of the poorer schools in Rafu. In one room, Riva taught dozens of intermix students, including her own two children. She never asked for any money in return; she knew no one could afford it.
Nazirah shamefully remembers her first day of class, looking in disgust at her starving, lice-ridden, and shoeless peers. She remembers how fiercely her mother scolded her afterwards for judging them. Nazirah’s parents were smart, able-bodied, and resourceful. Nazirah herself was only a first generation intermix. Most were not so fortunate.
Riva taught her intermix students the alphabet and arithmetic. But, more importantly, she taught them justice. The pillars of her classroom were peace and love and self-worth. She advocated equality and fighting for what you stood for, especially in the face of opposition.
Once Nikolaus graduated, he joined the small but energetic rebellion in Krush. The rebels were intermix and territory-born refugees, and Riva and Kasimir were immensely proud of their son. They scolded Nazirah for not living up to her potential, for not trying to do more. But Nazirah was young and rebellious, and didn’t want to live by anyone else’s rules.
After she refused several advances from one of Rafu’s Lords, Riva and her teachings were exposed to the Medis. They warned her to stop. She didn’t listen.
The Medis came in the night. They heard of the growing rebellion and needed a scapegoat. Needed to set an example to keep the rest in check. They blamed Riva and, by extension, Kasimir.
The rest is history.
Of course Nazirah agrees with the rebels! But she has already been through so much. She has already lost so much.
What Nazirah really wants is to take her brother and Cato and run. Run as far away from the Medis and the rebellion and the threat of war as she can. But she doesn’t know where they would go. And she doesn’t think they would make it very far. And she knows the other two wouldn’t come. Cato, maybe, could be convinced. But not Nikolaus. And Nazirah would never leave without him. He is the only family she has left.
So Nazirah will stay.
But she won’t like it.
“Irri, snap out of it.” Cato waves his hand in front of her face. “I could be having a more exciting conversation with these carrots. In fact, I think I am.”
“Sorry, Cato,” Nazirah says guiltily, intent on giving him her full attention this time. “You’re right … it is a who that’s bothering me.”
She and Cato met in school, although Nazirah was only ever allowed inside the annex. She was five, he was six. One afternoon, some Eridian bullies cornered her outside. Cato defended her, even though the boys were older and bigger. By the end of the day, Nazirah and Cato had matching black eyes and their friendship was forever solidified. Cato is closer to her than Nazirah’s biological brother.
“And that person would be?”
“Captain Jerkoff, who else?” She sighs dramatically.
“He’s Captain Jerkoff this week, is he?” Cato snorts. “How original. And does Captain Jerkoff know that’s how his sister lovingly refers to him?”
“I don’t know,” Nazirah says. “Probably.” She watches as some fellow recruits enter the mess hall. “Commander Jerkoff is more appropriate. I haven’t seen him enough to ask which name he prefers.”
It’s true. Her brother has been practically nonexistent in Nazirah’s life for years. Nikolaus was always the golden child of the family, the one who grew off Riva’s teachings to become a political activist and rebel. He is five years older than Nazirah, and at twenty-three has accomplished more than most intermix do in their lives, becoming the youngest commander of the entire rebellion.
“Irri, he’s grieving in his own way,” Cato reminds her gently. “Just give him some time. He’ll come around.”
Nazirah eyes him skeptically. Cato has known Nikolaus practically his entire life. They both know Nikolaus isn’t just grieving. “We don’t exactly … mesh,” she grumbles. “And now I’ve been summoned to meet with him regarding a ‘matter of extreme importance.’ I’m supposed to go to his office tonight after Territory History.”
Although Nazirah wants nothing to do with the rebellion, part of the agreement for her staying at the compound is that she trains and learns with the other recruits. All recruits endure an intense series of classes and combat training before they are officially initiated into the rebellion. Nikolaus told her it would look like he was playing favorites if she didn’t join them.
Nazirah hates combat training and weapons education, and is bored out of her mind during Territory History. But she does enjoy meeting other intermix and refugees. Headquarters thrives with a diversity Nazirah never imagined before. It makes her heart ache, because she wishes her parents could experience it too.
“The ‘matter of extreme importance,’ Irri, is probably that you never go to Territory History.”
“I haven’t seen him in weeks!” Nazirah rants, ignoring Cato. “He didn’t even ask me in person! He sent Sergeant Patch to tell me.”
“Sergeant … Patch?”
“I don’t know his real name, Cato, obviously.” Nazirah throws up her hands. “It’s Nikolaus’s lackey strategist. You know,” Nazirah gestures conspicuously to her face, “the guy with the eye patch.”
Cato’s expression is a mixture of amusement and reproach. “You call him Patch?”
“Not to his face.”
“It’s actually Aldrik.” Lumi Grigori sits down gracefully across from Cato. She tosses her long golden hair over one shoulder, an effortless motion that Nazirah thinks must be practiced. Lumi is tall and leggy, with paper-white skin and icy blue eyes. She’s a prime example of pure Ziman blood. Her frosty personality fits her well. Nazirah is about to tell Lumi exactly where she can go, but Cato shoots her a sideways look and kicks her under the table.
“Thanks, Lu,” he says.
Cato is a true Eridian gentleman. He is always nice to everyone – not because he has to be, but because he wants to be.
Nazirah mimics Cato in her sweetest tone. “Yeah, thanks Lu.”
“Of course, Cato,” Lumi says, ignoring Nazirah. She flashes Cato a toothy smile, flicking her hair to her other shoulder. Nazirah inwardly groans. It’s painfully obvious that Lumi has a thing for him. But since Cato is the densest boy on the planet, Nazirah will have to deal with Lumi’s self-aggrandizing, preening mating rituals until he gets the point.
Lumi is the eldest of three snowy Grigori daughters. Her mother died in childbirth, when Lumi’s youngest sister, Yuki, was born. Yuki is now twelve, Aneira fifteen, and Lumi eighteen. Her father was once the most powerful Lord in Zima. Lumi was raised like royalty in a stone manor overlooking the icy mountains of the North, and wanted for nothing her entire life.
A few months ago, civil unrest erupted throughout Zima. Lumi’s uncle, her father’s younger brother, took it as an opportunity to stake his claim over the Grigori land. With Medi soldiers backing him, he attempted to assassinate Lumi’s family. A close confidante tipped them off in the nick of time and the Grigoris fled. They left all of their possessions behind and traveled as far south as possible to Eridies. Lumi’s father enlisted in the rebellion, in return for the insurgents’ help restoring his power after the war.
On one hand, Nazirah sympathizes with Lumi and her loss. On the other hand, she wants to reach into Lumi’s throat and rip out her vocal cords.
“Anyway,” Nazirah says, returning to their previous line of conversation, “Aldrik cornered me today, demanding that I go see Nikolaus.”
“Do you have any idea what he wants?”
Nazirah doesn’t have a chance to answer Cato, as they are interrupted for a second time. Lumi’s younger sister, Aneira, their friend Taj, and a few other recruits sit down at their table. Cato shrugs at Nazirah sympathetically, dropping the subject.
Normally, Nazirah doesn’t mind Aneira’s company. She is by far Nazirah’s favorite Grigori. Aneira has an innate sadness Nazirah empathizes with. But Nazirah really wanted to discuss her reservations with Cato before seeing Niko. Not that she would have known the answer to Cato’s question, because Niko never tells her anything.
Nazirah finishes her lunch in silence.
