“Tell me!” Nazirah cries, voice high and pleading.
And he does.
“Adamek Morgen.”
Chapter Three
Nazirah looks out the dirty bus window. The early morning light streaks and highlights her face in patches. Her long brown hair is hidden under a crimson headscarf, which is traditional for native women in the Red West. She tries to appear relaxed, like she’s made this journey dozens of times. If anyone were to glance at Nazirah for more than an instant, however, they would realize she’s no Deathlander. But as people shuffle onto the bus and find seats, they don’t pay her any notice.
Red Westerners are dark skinned, their brown faces warmed by the hot desert sun. They have a melodic lilt to their accents, so every sentence sounds like a song. The women wear henna on their hands, jangling bells on their feet. They move with a natural, fluid rhythm.
Everything about the Red West is intoxicating. Nazirah has only seen images of this part of the country before. She probably would have learned more about it in Territory History, had she ever bothered to go.
Nazirah remembers one evening when she was a little girl. Kasimir traded all day in the illegal marketplace and brought home a Red Westerner to join them for dinner. The peddler delighted Nazirah and Nikolaus with fascinating tales of his homeland. He showed the Nation children the Red West tattoo on his forearm, a gleaming red sun. Kasimir had his own, a white tree from Osen, as did Riva, a black fish from Eridies. All territory-born citizens receive a tattoo on their forearms when they turn thirteen, so that the Medis can easily identify the races, and more readily instigate propaganda. Intermix tattoos are forbidden.
The peddler explained why the Red West is commonly referred as the Deathlands. He said it was because a shaman long ago cursed the territory, so that any man with ill intentions who crossed its border would instantly perish. Years later, Nazirah learned the real reason is because the desert is so arid that no life can easily survive. But the man’s story stayed with her long after he had gone, and she always associated the Red West with magic, mystery, and strangeness.
Before the peddler departed, he gave Nazirah a small memento: broken mosaic tiles in a jar. Nazirah thought it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen and immediately placed it on her dresser. She would take the tiles out every so often, carefully sifting them through her fingers, imagining she could smell exotic spices wafting her way. She begged Kasimir to take her to the Red West, but her parents forbade it.
And here she is, years later, traveling on her own through the Deathlands. White clay houses stand perpendicular to the hilly ground in a jagged line, a crooked smile on the face of the horizon. Minarets and intensely blue doors and shutters add to the territory’s flavor. The aromas of spices and other smells, and the loud sounds in the outdoor market overwhelmed Nazirah early that morning, as soon as she stepped off the train and onto the platform in Rubiyat.
The red dust the territory is so infamous for – that permanently settled in the area centuries ago from some biological organic attack on the Old Country’s soil, which is the cause of the constant aridness and the incredibly difficult lives of the natives – is everywhere. Women hit rugs outside with wooden sticks, beating away the crimson grit. Nazirah feels it in her eyes, in the pores of her skin, in the lines of her hands. She nearly choked on the dusty blanket as she walked around, looking for the rundown charter bus Nikolaus hastily described to her before she departed Eridies.
Life in the Deathlands is an unending battle. It is no coincidence that the Deathlanders are known throughout Renatus for their brutality and violence. Water and food are scarce. The natives are dependent upon the Medis for resources, which are never enough to adequately feed everybody. Nazirah, raised by the ocean, cannot fathom a life so devoid of water.
The rickety bus jolts to life. It groans, kicking up dust in its wake, hobbling towards the prison an hour’s ride away. Nazirah clutches the amnesty pendant, recalling the chain of events that led to her arrival here.
This morning, before the crack of dawn, Nazirah journeyed by train to the largest Red West city, Rubiyat. With doctored identification that Niko had somehow procured, and a bribed conductor, Nazirah had boarded the train easily.
She found her seat in a tiny compartment near the back, mercifully empty. For the entirety of the five-hour ride, although she wanted to just lie down and recover lost sleep, Nazirah was glued to the window, watching the familiar oceanic views of her home morph into something arresting and new.
Nazirah is momentarily roused from her thoughts. An extremely large woman in a royal purple wrap dress, with dozens of gold bangles jangling on each arm, sits down next to her. The woman unapologetically takes up half of Nazirah’s seat, squashing Nazirah into the window. She snaps her fingers, shouting in Deathlandic at her three small children, currently running down the center aisle of the bus, to sit across from Nazirah. Once the children are safely settled, Nazirah’s thoughts drift to where she hasn’t let them go since last night.
Since Niko told her she needed to come here.
Since he said the name that changed everything.
#
“What did you say?”
Her voice was not even a whisper, yet sharp as a blade. Nikolaus stayed silent, allowing her to process it. They both knew she heard.
“Adamek Morgen.”
Nazirah said it slowly, the name heavy on her tongue … foreign … blasphemous. Nikolaus looked at Nazirah like she was a cornered rattlesnake, ready to strike. The floor began to spin, dropping away. The air left the room. Nazirah’s throat constricted, a thousand emotions overwhelming her.
Betrayed by her brother.
“No.”
Still, Nikolaus remained silent.
“No!”
Nazirah shoved Nikolaus, her all-consuming rage vivid upon her face. She screamed incoherently, grabbing the front of his shirt. He was a full two heads taller than she, but she didn’t care. She wanted to claw his eyes out.
“You would offer amnesty,” she growled, “to the man who killed our parents?”
And there it was.
Once Nazirah said it out loud, it became real. Adamek Morgen, murderer of Riva and Kasimir Nation, would walk free, without so much as a slap on the wrist. At the hands of their own son. And Nazirah, in the bitterest twist of irony, would never have her vengeance.
Nazirah’s legs buckled, collapsed underneath her as she fell to the floor. Nikolaus wrapped his arms under hers, steadying her, protecting her. But Nazirah could not look at him, she was so disgusted. She sat on the floor, staring blankly. Nikolaus slowly bent on one knee before her. He grabbed her shoulders, but she turned her face away. Nikolaus tilted her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye.
“Irri,” he said, “I don’t expect you to understand this. Yes, he killed Riva and Kasimir. But the rebels have offered amnesty to many murderers before him. He turned himself in a few days ago, and is prepared to offer us his substantial riches and all of his knowledge and connections. You know who his father is. You know what this means for us.”
“Don’t touch me, Nikolaus! I am so ashamed of you!”
“Nazirah, the rules are the rules,” Nikolaus said. “I am bound as Commander to offer him the same terms that we would offer any other person who requests amnesty. I’m not exactly thrilled either, but it’s what’s fair.”
“Fair?” Nazirah yelled. “What’s fair would be to cut his heart out, Nikolaus, and then feed it to him! Not to give him a goddamn reprieve! How could you trust him? His father is the fucking Chancellor of the entire country! He probably sent him to spy on us! Why else would he ever join us?”
“Nazirah,” Nikolaus said, “you know I can’t tell you the conditions of the agreement. I’m under oath. But the time of our rebellion has finally come. We’ve worked towards this for years – decades – and Adamek Morgen is the missing link we need to set everything in motion. You and I, we must think beyond ourselves, and do what is right for the greater good.” Nikolaus touched her arm, but Nazirah shrugged his hand away. Frustrated, Nikolaus rose quickly, stepping over her legs towards the exit. “I’ll expect you outside in front at 5:00am sharp,” he said from the door. “Don’t be late. And try to get some sleep.”