“Hi, Na-zee-rah,” the boy says, pronouncing her name slowly. He looks as nervous as Nazirah feels. The boy glances worriedly at his mother, who nods encouragingly. Nazirah can tell from his bare feet, tattered clothing, and from his mother’s lack of tattoo that he’s intermix. “My name is Cayu,” he says, “and I’m six.” He looks at his mother for reassurance again. “Mrs. Nation was my teacher. I miss her a lot and I miss learning, and I was wondering if you would teach us instead?” Finished, he exhales, smiling brightly.
Nazirah thinks that the questions might not be such a good idea after all. In fact, she thinks they might be a horrible idea. She looks at Cayu for a moment, struggling not to break down, completely unable to talk about Riva.
“That’s very kind, Cayu,” Nazirah says eventually. “Mrs. Nation would be proud. It’s very brave of you to come here and ask that today.” Nazirah smiles a little, because it’s the truth. And if this small intermix boy could find his courage, then maybe she can find hers as well. “I miss her a lot too,” she tells him honestly. “But I don’t have her patience, so I wouldn’t make a very good teacher like she was.” Encouraged, Nazirah speaks more confidently to the room at large. “But this is just another reason why we need your support. Because both intermix and Eridian children need better education systems in place, so that we can all escape our self-fulfilling prophecy of poverty. We need more compassionate, devoted teachers, like my mother. We need better schools, new books, and more funds for education. We need rights, just like everybody else!”
There is unexpected, heady power behind her voice. The room is still, absorbing her words, and then a dozen more hands shoot upwards. Nazirah is so startled that she forgets to call on someone. Aldrik firmly hits her back, making her jump. Nazirah quickly points at a random guy in the corner.
“Hi, Nazirah,” a young man says. Nazirah recognizes him from the illegal marketplace that operates under the boardwalk. “Thanks for speaking with us today. My name is Michus and I live in neighboring Mandar. I knew Kasimir for several years. We often traded together and he even helped me build a cottage for my family.”
Nazirah wrings her hands behind her at the mention of her father.
“I was devastated to learn what had happened to him,” Michus continues, glaring at Adamek, “And to your mother. Nothing would honor me more than to fight in your father’s name. But we are a very poor territory. How can intermix and humble Eridians possibly expect to win against the mighty capital? Isn’t it a suicide mission?”
“I won’t stand here and tell you that this will be easy,” Nazirah says. “I won’t lie to you, Michus. Yes, the capital is powerful. But they have become lazy. They indulge themselves in their skytowers, while we suffer in silence. Look around! Our passiveness kills us a little more each day! Look at how many lives have already been lost. Not just from the senseless murders, but from the constant famine and suppression our territory faces. If we do nothing, we are writing our own death sentences, and the death sentences of our children. And we will have only ourselves to blame.”
Several heads nod in approval. Nazirah sees Aldrik from the corner of her eye, clearly impressed by her heartfelt words.
“I have a question for you, Nazirah,” someone says loudly.
She knows that voice. Nazirah apprehensively scans the crowd for a raised hand, finds none. Her eyes lock onto familiar brown ones and she knows she’s done for. “Cander,” she says.
Cato’s older brother walks purposefully towards the center of the room, so that everyone can see. Cander and Nazirah have never exactly been the best of friends. Especially after Cato left home to join the rebellion. It was a huge matter of contention within the Caal household, although Cato never mentions it. Adamek, Aldrik, and the rest of the crowd watch their interaction curiously.
“You stand before us,” Cander projects, “asking us to risk our lives. Yet you refuse to invoke justice on the ones who have done us the greatest harm. We’ve all lost loved ones to this murderer beside you. Can you assure us that you won’t be so lenient on the Chancellor, on the rest of the loathsome Medis, who know all they need is daddy’s wallet and a mediocre apology in order to keep their heads? Can you tell us you’ve truly forgiven Adamek Morgen?”
The crowd is silent, hushed, waiting. Adamek tenses beside her. Cander’s words persecute Adamek, but Nazirah knows his intentions are directed elsewhere. He’s angry at Nazirah for taking his brother away – for taking him away for most of his life, to be honest. It’s this resentment that fuels Cander’s interrogation.
Nazirah stares at the floor, scuffing her shoe, willing herself not to cry. She’s completely unable to answer his question. Cander knows that Nazirah doesn’t forgive Adamek, no matter what the campaign implies. She may hate him just a little bit less, may understand him just a little bit more. But she doesn’t forgive him. And she can’t lie, not about this.
Aldrik notices her hesitation and quickly steps forward to save face. “Sometimes we must put aside personal vendettas,” he says, “in order to pursue the best interests of others. It’s a hard road that no one wants to travel, and this young woman has unfortunately found herself on it. And I can honestly say,” Aldrik gives Nazirah a significant look and she knows he’s going to ream her out later, “that her actions towards Adamek Morgen have been gracious, affectionate, and merciful.”
Nazirah is none of these things.
Cander looks entirely unconvinced and extremely angry as Aldrik wraps up the meeting with a few brief words. To Nazirah’s complete shock, however, she sees a few people nodding their assent. Do these fools actually believe the complete lies Aldrik’s spinning?
If they do, there aren’t enough of them. There aren’t nearly enough and Nazirah knows she’s failed.
#
“That went well.”
Aldrik looks pointedly at Nazirah, who sits cross-legged on her bed. He sighs, dramatically slumping onto her window seat. Adamek silently leans against the opposing wall. “I’ll do better,” Nazirah murmurs.
“You better,” Aldrik growls, scratching his beard. “I saved all our asses today, Nation. I don’t care if you hate him, if you wish he were dead. During the campaign, when someone asks you if you’ve forgiven Morgen … what do you say?”
“Yes,” she mumbles.
“Try again.”
“Yes,” Nazirah repeats. She tries to sound sincere, but the word is hollow on her lips.
Aldrik moans, tugging his beard. “This isn’t going to work.”
“Why do I even have to pretend?” she asks him. “Why can’t I be honest?” She gestures to Adamek. “We hate each other, but we’re working together towards a common goal! Shouldn’t that be something both intermix and territory-born can relate to? Why do I also have to be some champion of forgiveness?”
“Because honesty’s not enough,” Aldrik says, rising from his seat. “Even if a cause is worthwhile, it doesn’t mean people will rally behind it. A person is smart and empathetic. But people are ignorant and follow the will of the masses. Because they’re scared and they falsely believe that there’s safety in numbers. It’s not enough, you see, for you and Morgen to simply be enemies working together. You need to give the people something that tugs their heartstrings, something to believe in. Morgen can only become Renatus, the face of redemption, if you become the face of forgiveness. They go hand in hand and we need both in order for this campaign to work.”
Nazirah grits her teeth. “So what exactly do you suggest I do?”
“Pull it together,” Aldrik snaps. “Fast. I’ve already set the wheels in motion, during the brief conversations I had after the meeting today. It’s not like I would leave our fate in your fumbling, inept hands.” He doesn’t elaborate.
Nazirah is annoyed. “Are we done here?” she asks.
Aldrik nods. “Tomorrow morning, Morgen and I are following up with some of the suppliers we met today. It shouldn’t be too hard to incentivize these trout fuckers.” Aldrik nods at Adamek, who pulls out a pouch of gold coins and tosses it to him.