“What are you getting at, Luka?” grumbles Aldrik.
“Aldrik, you are SoZiman and my husband,” Luka tells him. “Your presence here will go unquestioned, at least, concerning the insurgency. But there’s a huge bounty on your head, Adamek. Amnesty only protects you from those loyal to the rebels, and you have made many enemies in Shizar. And you, southie. I have no doubt Commander Nation has honorable intentions. But he was wrong to send you here. Everyone knows you. I’m not naïve enough to believe my people wouldn’t turn you both over to the Medis in a heartbeat, if it meant feeding their starving families. It has become a matter of life or death.”
“So Morgen and I are supposed to hide away until we leave?” Nazirah asks.
“No,” Luka responds, staring at Nazirah. “I’ll take my chances with Adamek. He can protect himself. But not you.”
“The girl stays,” Aldrik says tersely.
“Of course she stays!” Luka scoffs. “She’s here already! But she needs to be concealed, Aldrik! No one must recognize her.” The truck rolls to a stop and the engine shuts off. They are now in an underground garage, but no one moves to get out.
“This is completely ridiculous!” Nazirah cries, quickly losing control. “My entire hometown and territory is up in arms, getting destroyed, and I can’t do anything about it! And now you’re asking me to hide who I am? What good am I to the campaign that way? How can I be the face of the rebellion, if no one can see my face? How can I recruit the Ziman intermix, if they don’t know I’m here?”
Aldrik and Luka visibly tense, looking at each other hesitantly. “Nation,” Adamek answers her slowly, “there are no Ziman intermix.”
“How is that possible?” Nazirah asks, not understanding. “They don’t exist?”
“Intermix are a luxury this territory cannot afford,” Luka says curtly, reciting it like a mantra. “They only drain our already depleted resources. We cannot justify feeding intermix mouths, while the native population of Zima starves. The capital subsidizes us for every intermix we … terminate.”
Shizar may be cold as ice, but Nazirah’s eyes blaze fire. “You kill them?”
“Don’t take it personally.”
Nazirah lunges forward, intent on crushing Luka’s albino neck. Adamek grabs Nazirah’s shoulder, holding her back. “Let go of me!” she screams, and he releases her. She pulls off the pelt and chucks it at Luka. Nazirah wants nothing to do with anything Ziman anymore.
“I would not expect someone like you to understand,” Luka says coldly.
“An intermix?”
“A southerner,” she stresses.
“There’s nothing to understand,” Nazirah scoffs. “You’ve made that entirely clear.”
Luka throws the pelt back over her bony shoulders. “I knowingly condone the intermix genocide in this country,” she says. “We do what we must to survive, Nazirah. I did not join this rebellion to fight for your right to live. I fight for my own life, for the lives of my starving people. I’m sorry if you don’t understand my reasons. But they are my reasons, nonetheless.”
“You disgust me.”
“I frankly don’t care.”
“Nation,” Aldrik says, trying to defuse the tension. “We’ll be out of here in little more than a day. As much as I hate to admit it, Luka’s right. If you really want to help the rebellion, help put an end to this genocide, you need to conceal yourself here.”
“And if I say no?” she asks. “You’re putting the entire fate of the rebellion on me?”
“Did I say that?” Aldrik snaps. “But we can’t risk starting a premature war because people recognize you. The rebellion doesn’t have the resources to fight opposition in every territory, defend ourselves, and attack Mediah as well!”
“I hate this!” Nazirah says, pulling her hair. “But I have no choice. I’ll do it.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Luka rolls down a tinted window, nodding at a guard stationed outside the truck. The guard exits the underground garage through a nearby door which leads directly into the manor above. The four rebels sit in tense silence until he returns.
Nazirah shakes her leg, drums her fingers against her jeans. This probably annoys Adamek. But she doesn’t care and he doesn’t stop her. She needs to get away from everyone, especially Luka. Nazirah will attack her again if she has to wait much longer. And this time, Adamek won’t be able to intervene.
The guard soon returns, accompanied by an elderly, hunchbacked man. His head is shaved. Exotic characters, similar to Adamek’s dusza, line his scalp. He’s also barefoot, wearing only a deep yellow robe. He shuffles his feet meekly as he walks. The man is unlike any Ziman Nazirah has ever seen, with high cheeks, frail bones, a flat nose, and almost golden skin. Before he enters the truck, he gives a bow so deep it could rival one of Solomon’s.
“It’s one of the silent zimbaba,” Adamek whispers in Nazirah’s ear, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand straight up. She’s almost forgotten how her body reacts around him.
Almost.
“What’s a zimbaba?” she asks, watching as the man sits down. He rifles through his deep pockets, pulling out a bag of electric blue powder and shaking it gently into his outstretched palm. He spits into his hand and begins rolling the powder into a small ball.
“A spiritual leader here,” Adamek replies, watching the zimbaba closely. “He’s taken a vow of silence for the remainder of his mortal life, pledging to uphold the honor of Zima.”
Nazirah notices that the zimbaba’s eyes are completely clouded over, milky white orbs. He smiles toothlessly, somehow recognizing her presence. Extending his arm, he drops the marble of blue sky and saliva clouds into Nazirah’s reluctant hand. “What am I supposed to do with this?” she asks.
“What do you think?” Luka asks. “Eat it.”
“What is it?” she asks, disgusted.
“An altered strain of MEDIcine,” Luka replies vaguely. “They use it for plastic surgery and cosmetics … we use it for concealment. It’s obscenely expensive, so we could only get our hands on a day’s worth. But it should last long enough for your trip here.” Nazirah looks at Adamek, who nods once. She grimaces, popping the mushy ball into her mouth and swallowing quickly.
Nazirah instantly doubles over, clutching her abdomen. She feels like snakes are winding and writhing underneath her skin. Nazirah squeezes her eyes shut, but the pain is over almost immediately. Ears ringing, she opens her eyes, blinking rapidly. “Did it work?” she asks curiously.
Her voice sounds the same. Nazirah inspects her arms, rolling up her sleeves. Her bruises are miraculously healed, replaced by pale, smooth skin. She looks at Aldrik and Luka, who are both smiling. And at Adamek, who is not.
“See for yourself,” Luka says. The zimbaba reaches into his robe, pulls out a hand mirror. Nazirah glances into it warily.
It is her face, yet not her face at all. Her cheekbones are just as prominent, nose has the same slope. But her skin is several shades lighter, tan completely gone, like she hasn’t seen a beach in decades. The bruises on her cheek and forehead are vanished. Her hair is unruly as ever, but platinum blonde instead of copper brown. And her eyes are indigo as a cloudless Rafu sky. Nazirah touches her face, blue eyes wide.
“You look good as a blonde, Nation,” Aldrik says approvingly. “But this doesn’t mean you can go off gallivanting. It’s still your face. You’re still recognizable to those who know to look. You can’t leave your room.”
“Fine,” Nazirah scowls. “Are we done?”
“Just one final touch,” Luka says, nodding at the zimbaba. He delves into his robe once more, retrieving a thin brush and jar of black ink. He leans forward, gently grabbing Nazirah left arm. She pulls away quickly.
“Is it permanent?”
“As if you’re worthy of a real Ziman tattoo,” Luka scoffs. “It’s just paint! It will wash off in a few days.”