Текст книги "Intermix Nation "

Автор книги: M. Attardo

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

“What are you all looking at?” Grum snarls, glancing around the room. “Get into formation!”

The class shuffles, hastily forming their normal semicircle. Adamek, Nikolaus, and Aldrik do not stand with them, but rather lean against a nearby cement wall.

“Commander Nation, Morgen, and Slome have asked to observe our class today,” Grum begins lecturing. “I initially protested, because many of us,” Grum shoots Nazirah a pointed look, “are not yet where we need to be. However, the Commander insists. He wants to track your progress so that we can target and strengthen your weaknesses.”

Grum clearly doesn’t like Nikolaus questioning his methods or jurisdiction, and doesn’t believe his reasons. Cato squeezes Nazirah’s hand reassuringly, probably thinking the exact same thing.

Nazirah suppresses a small smile, glances at Adamek. She hasn’t seen him since Saturday night. Nazirah hopes that her newfound fighting ability holds, especially with her impromptu, deranged teacher watching her every move.

“Elder Grigori, Mays, you’re up first.”

Grum checks two names off his clipboard. Lumi and Ansel tense, walk into the center of the circle, and begin fighting. Lumi seems unusually distracted. Nazirah cringes as Ansel kicks Lumi hard in the shin, sending her sprawling to the ground. Lumi concedes, which Grum unusually accepts, and the fight is over.

It goes on like this for over an hour. Grum names two recruits, they fight, and then the process starts over again. It’s brutal to watch. It’s even worse to wait in nervous anticipation. Nazirah absentmindedly watches Cato battle Anzares. He intercepts her blows skillfully but doesn’t harm her.

Nazirah surveys the room, realizing that she’s the only one who hasn’t fought yet. Would Grum make someone fight twice? Or would she maybe not have to fight at all … Grum’s personal way of sticking it to Niko?

Cato holds Anzares in a firm bind on the floor, until finally she concedes and pushes him off her. He returns to his spot beside Nazirah.

“Nice job, Caal,” Grum says to him. “The Medis will appreciate your tenderness.” Aldrik snorts and Cato looks perplexed. Grum returns to his list, lazily running a finger down the column of names. “Let’s see here, who do we have next? Ah, here we go. Nation, step forward.”

Nazirah walks slowly to the middle of the room, looking around skeptically. Is Grum going to make her fight herself or something? That’s definitely the type of twisted scheme he would pull. Nazirah looks at Nikolaus for reassurance, but he is focused on Grum. He looks angry, like he knows something is off.

“Professor?”

“Yes, Nation?” asks Grum, setting down his clipboard.

“We have an odd numbers of students today.”

“Your powers of observation are astounding.”

“I don’t have a partner.”

“Thrilled as I am to see you taking an interest in your training,” Grum says, cracking his knuckles, “you are, as usual, wrong.”

“Who am I fighting?” Nazirah asks.

“Me.”

The entire class gasps. Nazirah is supposed to fight Grum? She glances over at Niko, whose fists are clenched. Adamek looks unsurprised. Aldrik appears positively appalled.

“Professor!” Cato speaks up immediately, completely distraught. “I volunteer to fight Nazirah!”

“That’s very sweet, Caal,” Grum says, walking slowly towards Nazirah. “But I don’t think she will benefit from having her hair stroked to death. And besides, you’ve already fought once today. We can’t have any favoritism here, can we?” Grum looks pointedly at Nikolaus.

Panic rises in Nazirah’s chest. Grum is clearly mad that Niko has shown up unannounced in his classroom, questioning his authority, and that Nazirah has defied him for weeks. Now, he intends to teach both Nations a lesson. Nazirah glances again at Niko, but she knows his hands are tied. Grum has set their fight up to seem coincidental. And if Nikolaus tries to intervene, it will look like he’s favoring his sister. Nazirah watches Aldrik storm from the room. Her eyes settle on Adamek, who gives her a small, imperceptible nod.

Nazirah watches as Grum gets into a fighter’s stance. But her thoughts remain on Adamek. He told her the first rule is to always know your enemy. And Nazirah does know Grum. She knows he’s big and threatening, but that makes him slow and cocky. She knows he has a huge ego, is not particularly intelligent, and would never imagine he could be outsmarted by a little girl. Nazirah knows he thinks she’s scared of him, is scared of fighting, and that she couldn’t possibly defend herself.

Nazirah knows Grum.

But Grum doesn’t know her.

Nazirah stands in her normal passive position, waiting for him to attack. No, Grum doesn’t know her at all.

His fist flies at Nazirah’s face, fast, but not fast enough. She dodges it easily. That alone shocks the entire classroom, since Nazirah has never defended herself before.

Enraged and embarrassed, Grum pounces. He fakes with his left and then jabs her with his right. Nazirah isn’t quick enough this time. She tries to block, but Grum’s second blow hits her square in the face. Her lip splits open. Nazirah tastes iron, but refuses to concede. This isn’t about standing up to Grum. This is about standing up to herself … for herself. This is about proving she can still be the person she once was.

Grum punches her again, this time in the stomach. Nazirah keels over, coughing up blood. She vaguely sees Nikolaus stepping forward from the wall on her left. Adamek holds onto his shoulder, stopping him. Nazirah stomps into Grum’s instep. He shouts out in pain and Nazirah throws his clipboard at him. She knows it will have no effect, but she needs to buy time. The class watches them silently in horror. Grum catches the clipboard easily, cracking it in half over his knee. He flings it carelessly to the side. A few recruits jump out of the way, narrowly avoiding getting hit by the pieces.

Think.

Nazirah glances at Cato, who appears ready to cry. She remembers a time several years ago, when a bully cornered her in a back alley back home. Nazirah remembers watching as he slowly unzipped his jeans, leering at her. Nazirah dealt with him. She looks into Grum’s face, suddenly calm. She can’t physically overpower him, but that doesn’t mean she won’t win.

Nazirah takes a small step backward, away from her classmates and toward the open space behind her. She tries to look frightened, ignoring both the screaming agony of her abdomen and the blood streaming from her lip. Grum lumbers forward, attempting to close in on her. Nazirah backs up again, more quickly, makes sure Grum is following her. Taking her one chance, Nazirah turns and runs full speed straight at the empty wall. Grum’s heavy footsteps are right behind her. Nazirah jumps as high as she can and launches herself at the wall, kicking and propelling off it. She turns in midair and slams her foot hard into Grum’s head. He falls to the floor, completely unsuspecting, knocked unconscious.

Everyone in the room stares at the two of them, mouths slack, eyes bulging. “The first rule, professor,” Nazirah deadpans, spitting blood, “is to always know your enemy.”

It’s not Grum she is looking at.

Her classmates circle her, breaking out of their spell. They cheer, hugging her and patting her on the back. Even Aneira congratulates her brightly. Cato is the first one by her side, rushing over to hold her up. “It’s good to see you again, Nazi,” he laughs.

The endorphins that kept the pain at bay during the fight are quickly dying. But Nazirah feels amazing. A part of herself that she hasn’t seen in months has resurfaced. And she welcomes it back like a long lost friend … like a blessing.

Aldrik, who apparently went to get help as a precautionary measure for Nazirah, returns with Bilungi at his heels. He enters the gymnasium then halts in his tracks, staring uncomprehending at the unconscious fighting instructor.

Bilungi nearly trips over him. She shoots him a dirty look and rushes over to assist Grum. “Mr. Caal, please take Miss Nation to my quarters.” Bilungi waves some smelling salts under Grum’s nose. “I believe you are familiar with the way.”

Cato nods, helping Nazirah slowly out of the room. Nikolaus walks over to them and gently touches her shoulder, relief clear on his face. “Thank you,” he whispers in her ear.

“He deserved it,” she replies.

Nazirah looks around, searching for the reaction that she really wants to see. She spots him, exactly where he has been all along, leaning casually against the classroom wall.

He’s looking at her, too.

And he’s smiling, genuinely smiling.

Chapter Eight

Summer transitions into autumn without any noticeable temperature change. The days pass by uneventfully. Nazirah attends the majority of her classes, throwing herself into work to distract from reality. She even willingly participates in combat training, doing the bare minimum to placate an even more wretched Grum, who hasn’t acknowledged her presence since getting knocked unconscious. She rarely sees any of the rebel leaders. They are usually on recon missions or in private meetings all day. If Nazirah closes her eyes and doesn’t think about it too much, life seems unnervingly peaceful.

Nazirah lies on her stomach, on the worn rug of the library. Her bare feet wave casually in the air, shoes kicked off hours ago. Her ball of hair is knotted in a loose bun, piled high on her head and secured by two pencils. Her face is bent low, buried in a thick textbook. Books, maps, and various other articles are strewn around her in a protective circle. Almost done with all of her makeup work, Nazirah is currently finishing an essay Bairs assigned her on Medi life and culture. Nazirah doesn’t really want to learn about the luxurious Median lifestyle, but she has to admit that the subject is riveting.

The library is quiet, nearly empty. It often goes unused, since most intermix cannot read and most rebels cannot be bothered. Riva taught her children the alphabet at a young age, and Nazirah always loved engrossing herself in fantastical stories. Intermix are not allowed to use the public libraries in Rafu, but Nazirah would often sneak into the main school from the annex. She would read on the floor of the school library after everyone else left, until Riva would find her and scold her and drag her home.

Nazirah imagined she was a princess in the cold north of Zima, or a bootlegger from a faraway land, or even a bird soaring over Renatus. She imagined she was anything other than what she actually was. Reading was her escape. It still is. With Nikolaus always gone, training intensifying, and unrest erupting around the country, Nazirah knows that her hourglass of safety is running out.

Nazirah finishes reading about hilarious Medi fashion trends throughout the decades. She starts on the bullet train system, which carries goods from the outskirts of the territories to the capital at rapid speed. Nazirah looks out the large window beside her and spots Taj and a few others kicking a ball around outside. She wants to go watch, but wills herself to finish working first.

Nazirah casually flips through some photographs of Mediah, completely mesmerized by the sheer size of its gleaming skytowers, its power, and its technology. She wonders what Niko’s grand plan is to overcome these obstacles and she prays it is a good one.

“So she’s literate.”

Adamek slumps down in a chair before her. He drops a pile of strategy books on the table to his right and rests his hands casually behind his head.

“Yes, she is,” Nazirah huffs.

He glances at the books scattered around the floor. “I know this is probably a foreign concept to you, Nation, but we have these things called tables and chairs for a reason.”

“I know what a chair is,” Nazirah snaps, sitting up. “I just exercise my right, as an intermix, not to use one.”

“I see.”

“What are you doing here anyway?” Nazirah asks, annoyed. Someone shushes her. Nazirah turns to see Aneira glaring at them, several tables away. Nazirah rolls her eyes. She returns her attention to Adamek, speaking more quietly. “I would think a place like this was beneath you.”

“And why is that?”

Nazirah searches the room for inspiration. “Because,” she says, “it’s old and secondhand and dirty.”

Adamek chuckles. He rests his hands in his lap. “There’s nothing wrong with getting a little dirty.”

Nazirah flushes. She has heard the rumors, the dreaded girl talk, especially in the lavatory. Girls obsessed about his perfect looks, perfectly high cheekbones, perfectly straight teeth, the way his perfect hair perfectly flips … blah freaking blah. Originally, they whispered about it when in her presence. But now, no one bothers to hide what they think of perfect Adamek Morgen. And it irritates Nazirah no end.

How can they forget everything bad he’s done, just because of how he looks? Are they blind? Can’t they see that that is part of it all? Part of the way he lures people in? He disarms docile dolts with charm and confidence before leading them to the slaughterhouse.

“Aren’t we chatty today.”

Nazirah snaps out of it. “I was focusing on this essay … before I was interrupted.” She sighs, looking distastefully at her notepad. Nazirah feels an unwelcome rant coming on. “I don’t get it!” she complains. “You can’t be that much older than me and you have been here a hell of a lot shorter. Why don’t you have to go through this ridiculous training?”

Adamek looks at her like she is delusional. “I don’t need training,” he says.

“That excuse didn’t work for me.”

“I have friends in high places.”

“I’m sure you do,” she scoffs, thinking of how chummy he is with her brother. Nazirah is suddenly very interested in her fingernails. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Why?” he asks suspiciously.

“Just … curious.”

“Nineteen,” he says, after a moment.

Nazirah is shocked that he is that young. He looks that young, but she always imagined him older. “Oh,” she says. “I’m eighteen.”

“I know.”

“Oh.” Why is she even asking him this?

“Your face has healed.”

Nazirah touches the spot above her eyebrow where there used to be stitches. She’s forgotten she has not seen him since before Bilungi removed those, leaving not even a trace of a scar. Her split lip from Grum has healed as well. “A few weeks ago,” she says.

It’s so surreal, this almost-conversation they’re having. Adamek glances at the books scattered around her again, trying to read some of the titles. “What are you writing about?”

“The proper way to tape up your wrists.”

The corners of his eyes crinkle in amusement. “I’m not surprised you need this many sources.”

“It’s an informational essay.”

Adamek snorts, picking up the nearest book. His face blanches when he reads the title. He thumbs through the pages. “You’re researching the Medis?”

“It’s for Territory History,” she says.

“Mediah isn’t a territory,” he counters.

“It’s just an assignment,” Nazirah says. “I didn’t exactly attend class much, when I first … came here. I’ve had all these makeup essays to do.”

“Ileana would pull something like this.”

“Ileana?”

“Bairs,” Adamek says, closing the book thoughtfully. “She’s from Mediah, you know.”

“I didn’t,” Nazirah says, surprised.

“Our families are old friends. Her mother is very sick.” He hands the book back to her. “Until next time, Nazi.”

Nazirah holds onto the book, not taking it from him. “Where did you hear that name?”

“Around.”

“You’re not going to tell me?”

“Let’s just say you have even less friends here than I do,” Adamek says. “No idea why, since you have such a winning personality.”

Nazirah wrests the book from him, about to make some sarcastic comment. Her focus shifts when she sees Adamek’s sleeve roll up, revealing his Medi tattoo. He rises to leave, but Nazirah grabs his wrist, stopping him. She stands quickly.

“Morgen, your tattoo,” Nazirah says, staring. “It’s different.”

“Different?” he asks, tensing.

Nazirah quickly flips through the book he just handed her, where she knows she has recently read about the Median tattoo. She finds the page, triumphantly showing it to him. “Look here, see?” She points to a picture in the textbook. “It’s supposed to look like this, a pair of crossed swords with the word ‘Merus,’ meaning ‘pure,’ under it. Yours is more ragged around the edges, kind of blotchy and deformed.” She leans forward to inspect it further, but he pulls his arm away.

“So the book is wrong,” he says coldly. “Drop it.”

“But if the book is wrong about this insignificant thing,” Nazirah argues, confused by his anger, “then who knows what else we’re wrong about? You could tell Nikolaus –”

He grabs her wrist. “Listen, little girl,” he says, “if you want to keep that pretty head of yours, which talks without considering the consequences, then don’t involve yourself in situations beyond your intermix comprehension.”

A hush settles over the library. Its few occupants openly stare at the two of them, all pretenses of reading thrown aside.

“Let go of me,” Nazirah hisses. “Or I swear you’ll be sorry.”

“At least then I’d know you’ve put our lesson to good use.” Adamek releases her wrist and looks at her meaningfully before leaving.

#

“Cato, come over here for a second!”

Nazirah sits down beside Lumi on the grassy hill, watching the recruits kick a ball around. Cato breaks from the game and trots over to them. He wipes his forehead with his shirt, breathing hard. “Hey, guys. Did you finish your essay, Irri?”

“Almost,” Nazirah replies. “Show me your arm for a minute, will you?” Cato looks at her curiously, shrugging as he extends his right arm. “No, the other one.”

Cato extends his other arm, revealing his Eridian tattoo. Nazirah grabs it, looking closer. She notes with disappointment that the fish silhouette looks exactly like always. “What are you looking for?” he asks.

“Never mind,” she sighs.

“Are you sure?” jokes Cato. “Because I have several other extremities you’re welcome to inspect.”

“You’re sick,” she says, laughing. “Go back to losing your game.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Cato gives them a short salute and then runs away. Nazirah turns to Lumi. “Can I see yours?” she asks.

Lumi nods, sticking her arm out so Nazirah can look. The black crescent moon of Zima appears exactly like what Nazirah has read about. It seems that the history books are accurate after all, which means Adamek’s tattoo is the enigma. Nazirah tries to recall when she saw him in the prison, or that night in the workout room. Did it look different then? She can’t remember.

They watch the game for a few minutes in awkward silence. Lately, Lumi has been more sullen than usual. Nazirah wonders if Cato has anything to do with it. “I just don’t get it,” Lumi scoffs, shaking her head.

“Don’t get what, Lumi?”

“You,” Lumi snaps. “I don’t get you.”

“Me?”

“You’re such a walking hypocrite,” Lumi rants. “One day you’re miserable, then you’re happy. One day you’re a doe-eyed, orphaned little virgin, and then you’re an ass-kicking whore. You’re so hard to read.”

Lumi’s words sting, but she’s just being honest. Nazirah can tell Lumi isn’t trying to hurt her; she’s just telling her how she feels. And a part of Nazirah sees the truth in her words. “I didn’t realize I came across like that,” she mumbles.

“Of course you don’t,” Lumi sighs. “Why would you? I just don’t get what everyone sees in you. What makes you the special one? You’re not the only one who crap has happened to. You’re not the only one who ever lost someone.”

Lumi lost her mother when she was only a child. And her entire family has been uprooted from their home. Nazirah feels ashamed that she has never asked about any of it. She says, “We can talk about –”

“Don’t,” Lumi interrupts. “Just … don’t.”

Nazirah clasps her hands together. They sit there, silently, watching Taj kick the ball between two designated garbage cans. He whoops enthusiastically, stretches his arms out, pretending to soar around the field. Everybody cheers.

“I miss her,” Lumi says suddenly. “I didn’t appreciate her until I lost her. I’m so lost now. I wish I could talk to her again.”

Nazirah understands exactly how Lumi feels. “I know,” she says simply.

“I know why you were asking before,” Lumi says, “about the tattoos. I noticed it too.”

“Noticed what, exactly?”

“Oh please, Nazirah,” Lumi scoffs, fidgeting with a strand of blond hair. She seems uncomfortable. “You’re not the only one here with a brain and two eyes. Adamek’s tattoo; it’s unusual.”

“You saw it too, Lumi?” Nazirah asks, excited.

“Obviously.”

“Do you know why it’s abnormal?”

“No idea.” Lumi shrugs her shoulders gently and Nazirah’s hopes deflate. “He’s got so many tattoos I didn’t even notice at first. But I noticed his dusza right away. That’s pretty impossible to miss.”

Dusza? Nazirah has never heard the term before. “What’s a doo-shah?” Nazirah asks, trying to pronounce it correctly.

“Really, Nazirah?” asks Lumi, peeved. “Didn’t you learn anything from your research on Zima?”

Nazirah looks at her guiltily.

“His dusza … his soul tattoos.”

Now Nazirah is beyond lost. “His what?”

“It’s an ancient tradition of ours,” Lumi says, “like the scratch marks on his hands. I can’t explain it too well to a southerner. Centuries ago, before our warriors fought in battle, they received the dusza. It’s an extremely painful ordeal, but it offered them protection, so they did it.”

“Protection from their enemies?”

Lumi shakes her head. “Zimans believe that when you kill, you lose a part of your soul. “The dusza … it’s an old wives’ tale that almost nobody takes seriously anymore. If you have it and you kill another, it’s supposed to protect you. Your soul remains intact. But it comes at a terrible price: unbearable guilt, the burden for the lives you’ve taken.”

“Why would Morgen care about getting Ziman soul tattoos?”

“Search me.” Lumi shrugs. “Like I said, it’s a fable, a bedtime story every Ziman child grows up with. I almost didn’t believe he actually had it, when I first saw it.”

“Lumi,” Nazirah asks curiously, “I’ve never seen this dusza on Morgen. Where exactly is it?”

Lumi stiffens. “On his back,” she says.

“When did you see his back?”

“God,” Lumi sighs, looking away in embarrassment. Nazirah gets an unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach, as Adamek’s words ring in her head.

Don’t ask a question, if you don’t want to know the answer.

“Oh,” Nazirah says, realizing.

Lumi faces Nazirah, unusually vulnerable. “Don’t tell Cato, okay?”

“So you and Morgen are uh … dating?”

Lumi frowns. “No, Nazirah. We’re not dating.”

“But –”

“I really don’t get it!” Lumi interrupts, throwing up her hands. “I thought it was all an act, but you really are that naïve.” Lumi stands, wiping invisible specks of dirt from her legs. Nazirah remains seated, face aflame. This is the second time someone has said that to her recently. It must be true. “Cato cares about you a lot, you know,” Lumi says, before leaving. “Don’t mess it up.”

Nazirah sits alone on the grass, trying to decipher her torrent of clashing emotions. She feels compassion for Lumi, uneasiness about Adamek, and embarrassment for herself. But there’s more to it than that. Trapped in thought, she distantly watches the final plays of the ball game. A wave of sickening revulsion surges over her, once Nazirah pinpoints exactly what else she’s feeling.

Jealousy.