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.