The motor eventually dies and the three of them step outside. Nazirah looks through the hazy, blistering heat.
Thousands of small huts line the narrow beach in neat rows as far as the eye can see. They are flimsy at best, constructed of driftwood and cardboard, tied together with some metal sheeting and tarpaulin. Hundreds of children sit lethargically in the sand. The children are all gangly limbs, bloated stomachs, and swollen heads. Some play. Many beg for food. Most just watch with hollow, hungry eyes that have seen too much. Old women, faces lined with deep crags, skin like leather, stare accusingly. Young men kick a ball around in the sand, yelling and shouting.
“Nazirah!” a small voice calls. Nazirah turns around and sees Cayu, the boy whom she spoke to at the meeting. He runs up to them, grinning widely, not nearly as shy as he was yesterday. Nazirah can see that he’s missing his front tooth and she smiles, thinking of Caria.
“Good to see you again, Sir Cayu.”
Cayu brightens and then gets a serious look on his face. “We’ve been waiting for you,” he says, grabbing Nazirah’s hand and pulling her forward. “Follow me.” Concentrating hard, he walks down the rows of huts fast as his chubby legs will carry him.
Nazirah is amazed by Cayu’s ability to be genuinely happy, regardless of the desperation around him. It hits Nazirah that this could have easily been her life, had her circumstances been slightly different.
As they walk through the endless rows, countless intermix stare at Nazirah in wonder, and then at Adamek in complete terror. Some people in Renatus, including the intermix, know Nazirah Nation. But everyone in Renatus, especially the intermix, knows Adamek Morgen.
What does it feel like to have people be so afraid of you? To wield that heavy, heady power over them? The Medis may want power above all else, but Adamek is the one who has it. Whether he wants it or not is another question. Unable to keep her eyes forward, Nazirah gives in and glances behind her. He is watching her, not anyone else, like he knows exactly what she’s thinking.
Cayu leads them into the largest hut in the slum. Inside, it is bare but comfortable and surprisingly clean. The dirt is so impacted from years of traversing feet it is almost like a terra firma carpet. Cayu’s mother is there, holding an infant in her arms. There is also a man Nazirah assumes is Cayu’s father. Several other children, younger than Cayu, chase one another around the hut. Cayu introduces Nazirah, Adamek, and Aldrik to his mother Casha, his father Cayus, and all of his sisters and brothers before Casha gently interrupts him.
“Cayu, darling,” she requests sweetly. “Why don’t you go play outside? Let the adults talk.” Cayu nods, eyes wide, and runs out of the hut. Casha motions for them to sit down on three wooden stools.
“He’s adorable,” Nazirah gushes, sitting. Nazirah doesn’t normally gush about anything, but she feels unusually affectionate towards Cayu. Especially because he’s so fond of Riva.
“He can be quite a handful.” Casha smiles. “He wants to be just like his father.” Casha looks at Cayus hesitantly before continuing. “When I first heard you were planning a trip here, I didn’t believe it. I’m very glad that I was wrong. Your mother was incredibly kind to my son, even when she didn’t have to be, even when it was dangerous for her to be. I am forever indebted to her. You are most welcome here, Nazirah Nation.”
“Is she, Casha?” asks Cayus quietly. He’s tall, with tan skin and broad shoulders. In lieu of a tattoo on his forearm, he sports a painted red circle. “I am Cayus,” he says, “leader of the intermix here. If I may get straight to it, what exactly are your intentions?” Aldrik opens his mouth, but Cayus quiets him with a look. He nods meaningfully at Nazirah. “From one intermix to another.”
“Right.” Nazirah proceeds slowly, unsure of why he’s singling her out. “We’re hoping for your support and for the support of all Eridian intermix.”
“Hoping to spill our blood, you mean,” Cayus says.
Nazirah is surprised. “That’s not what I mean at all.”
“Do you not wish for our able bodies?” he asks. “For our strength of numbers? Will intermix blood not be spilt in battle, should we choose to help you?”
“We’re on the brink of war with Mediah,” Nazirah says, becoming agitated. “Yes, an unfortunate repercussion of war is death. But you’re twisting my words.”
“Or perhaps you are not considering the consequences of them.”
“I’m not your enemy, Cayus!” she argues. “We’re the same, you and I. We both want the same thing.”
Cayus laughs. “Allow me to be perfectly blunt. You are only a first generation intermix, correct? Your father was a resourceful Oseni, your mother an educated Eridian. You have lived a blessed life. My father was intermix, like his father before him and his father before him. We have never had the opportunities that you have had, could not even fathom them. This is how it is for the vast majority of people living in my slum. So with all due respect, Nazirah Nation, we may both be intermix, but we are hardly the same.”
Nazirah is so shocked she almost falls off her stool. Aldrik begins to protest, but Nazirah holds up her hand. She’s been judged her entire life, but to be castigated by her own kind? For not being intermix enough? Nazirah is disheartened to find racism everywhere, even in places she would least expect it to exist.
“With all due respect, Cayus,” Nazirah growls, “you dare judge me for my lack of intermix blood? Am I not diluted enough for your liking? Have I not suffered enough to be deemed worthy by your racist standards? Your uninformed, practically Median values disgust me! They’re what hold intermix back. Not my intentions, whatever you believe them to be! I may be ‘only a first generation intermix,’ but I know a lot more about tolerance than you ever will.”
“So you must,” Cayus says, gesturing to Adamek, who has been watching their heated interaction in silence. “You must be very tolerant to associate with someone who is revolted by you, sickened at the very thought of you. Someone who hates you to the core, simply because you exist.”
From the corner of her eye, Nazirah sees Adamek’s fingers clench and unclench. Casha tries to intervene. “My love –”
“Quiet!” he snaps, raising a threatening hand. Casha looks meekly at the ground.
“Don’t speak to her like that!” Nazirah shouts, seeing red. In that moment, she finds no difference between Cayus and the Chancellor, or Casha and Victoria. And Nazirah is more grateful than ever to call the unbending, iron-fisted Riva Martel her mother.
“Casha knows her place, Nazirah Nation,” Cayus says. “It’s time you learned yours.”
“I know my place!” Nazirah fires back, pointing at the entrance. “It’s out there, with the rest of the world, as an equal! It’s you who must learn!”
“And I suppose you will be the one to teach me?”
“Do you want to live like this forever?” Nazirah asks. “Do you want your children, your grandchildren, to be confined to these slums their entire lives? Living every day in fear and starvation, without any hope of breaking that cycle? I’m asking you to set aside your blatant prejudices and help all intermix regain what we’ve lost! We fight for you either way!”
“Do you know,” Cayus asks slowly, “the soldiers of Mediah come, with their fire cannons? They burn our huts to the ground, trying to slaughter us, for sport. It is a game to them, guessing where the flames will fall.
“We have dealt with this burden our entire existence. We have come to expect it. But that is not what hurts us most, what scars us deepest.” The silence hangs over the hut like a thick fog. There are loud noises, shouting and barking in the distance. Cayus leans closer. “It is the Eridians who deal us the most painful blow – in here.” He pounds hard on his chest. “It is intermix like you, who have lived mere miles away your entire lives, yet have never even contemplated our struggle, our existence. Until you want something from us. It is your indifference to our plight, your apathy, your willful ignorance of intermix poverty that cuts straight to the heart.