She is home.
#
Riva and Kasimir relax on the couch. They cannot see Nazirah, but she can see them. Oh, how she can see them.
Riva leans into Kasimir’s chest, lying in his strong arms. He rubs her shoulders, trying to alleviate her tension. She tenderly plays with the scruff of his beard. “What are we going to do with her, Kas?” Riva sighs. “It’s the second time this week she’s snuck off. Who knows what she’s up to right now?”
“She’s finding herself, Riva,” Kasimir replies. “She’ll come around. She just needs some time.”
“You can’t keep making excuses for her!” Riva snaps. “She’s not a child! She’s hurting herself!”
“No, she’s not a child,” he agrees. “And we can’t continue to baby her. Her choices are her own. But we will talk to her again … when she gets home.”
“If only she were more like Nikolaus.”
Nazirah stands before them, tears streaming down her face. She wants desperately to stroke her mother’s cheek, to embrace her father. But she remains stuck. There’s a muffled noise at the door. Kasimir and Riva share a relieved look, happy Nazirah has returned safely. But it’s not Nazirah.
Nazirah cannot cry out or warn them or tell them one last time she loves them. If only they weren’t sitting ducks, unguarded, waiting for their errant daughter to return home. If only she joined the rebellion sooner, maybe they could have been protected. If only she were more like her brother.
If only, if only.
The door swings open, revealing Adamek. He’s wearing his gloves and is dressed entirely in black, gun in hand. But it’s not the Adamek she recognizes. It’s Adamek Morgen, the man of her nightmares, with the cruel and sinister eyes. Kasimir rises quickly, shielding Riva. Riva screams and Nazirah screams soundlessly along with her. Adamek raises the gun, fires twice.
End of story.
#
Nazirah’s entire body convulses, seizing up. She grips the monkey tightly for support. Hunching over, she coughs, struggling to breathe. “What the fuck was that?” she gasps, wrenching her hands away.
“Many fail the first time,” the monkey says kindly. “The path to forgiveness is not easy to walk.”
“Was that how it really happened?”
“We have many skills, Nazirah,” the monkey replies. “Omniscience is not one of them. You saw only what your mind believes happened. Your fear makes it real.”
“You tricked me!” she cries, grabbing the front of his robe. “You never said I would have to watch my parents get killed! That didn’t help me forgive him at all!”
“The path to forgiveness is not easy to walk,” the monkey repeats. “But in order to truly forgive another, you must first forgive yourself.”
With that one sentence, the monkey strips Nazirah bare, peering deep into her soul and revealing what truth lies there. He uncovers the consuming guilt that taints her every emotion, twists her every desire. Nazirah collapses before him, falling heavily to her knees, the weight unbearable. “Oh, God!” she cries.
The monkey takes Nazirah into his arms. “You wear your grief, your guilt, like armor,” he says. “It only keeps the joy out and the pain in.”
“I’m so sorry!” she sobs incoherently, to the ghosts of her past, her present, her future. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.…”
“There is nothing shameful about wanting happiness,” he says. “Everyone searches for it, but very few people allow themselves to find it.”
“What do I do?” she begs. “Tell me how not to be lost anymore! Please!”
“You are at a profound turning of the tide,” he says, wiping her tears, “in more ways than one. But hard as we try, no man can control the ebb and flow of the ocean.” He pulls her up gently.
“So you’re telling me to just float where the waves take me?” she asks. “That my life will never be my own?”
“I’m telling you,” the monkey whispers, “to become the moon.”
“What?”
“Decide how the tide pulls,” he says. “Choose your own fate. Do not let me, or anyone else, dictate your path. Forge it yourself.”
Nazirah nods, contemplating his words. “Thank you,” she says quietly.
“I have a small request before you leave,” the monkey says.
“Anything.”
“The road of your life has been rough, filled with grit and despair. And I do not see the course smoothing. I wish to give you a protection mark, offering you courage and strength in your most desperate hours.”
Nazirah is stunned. “I would be honored,” she says. The monkey delves into his robes. He retrieves a small bottle of ink and a thin needle, which Nazirah recognizes from Adamek’s memory. Grasping Nazirah’s left arm, he glances curiously at her fake crescent moon. Nazirah laughs bitterly. “It’s part of my disguise, along with the blonde hair and everything.”
The monkey winks. “What blonde hair?”
Confused, Nazirah fingers her locks. She pulls a tendril forward and finds it has returned to its normal copper color. Nazirah looks at her hands, freshly tan. “Did you do this?” she asks, amazed.
The monkey rubs Nazirah’s arm with his sleeve, gently erasing the black paint, the final remnants of Zima on her skin. “It does not suit you, Nazirah, to hide who you are. You are rare, even though you constantly resist that which makes you so special. Embrace it.”
The monkey closes his eyes and starts humming, blindly tattooing her left wrist. His movements are flawless and smooth. Nazirah watches him ink four numbers, followed by a strange symbol. Just like Adamek’s tattoo, she realizes. The monkey bows his head, returning the items to his pocket. Nazirah reads the numbers aloud.
“Zero-five-one-four.”
May 14th, her mother’s birthday. Nazirah understands now why the numbers on Adamek’s own wrist are so important to him.
“A protection mark,” the monkey says, “Courage and strength given by your kin. The best kind of protection there is.”
“But how did you know the date?”
“You knew the date,” he answers. “That is what matters.”
“Yesterday,” Nazirah says, “you saw that his Medi tattoo had changed. You said it suited him.” The monkey nods. “Why did it change?”
“Nazirah Nation,” the monkey replies, handing Nazirah her coat, “do not ask a question if you already know the answer.”
“He doesn’t consider himself Medi anymore,” she says immediately, realizing she has known it all along.
“The mind rejects and the body responds,” the monkey confirms, reaching into his robes again, pulling out a small dagger. The monkey throws it high into the air and catches it, lightning fast. He presents it to her. “A gift.”
“It’s incredible,” Nazirah breathes, tracing the intricate carvings. She unsheathes the dagger and stares at the gleaming metal before carefully pocketing it.
“Something to remember us by,” he says, “Though I hope you never have a need to use it.”
Nazirah gives the monkey a short, awkward bow. He chuckles, embracing her.
“Will I ever see you again?” she asks him.
“That depends.”
“On?”
“On the way the tide goes.”
Nazirah bites her lip. “Would you ever consider training me?”
“It would be both the greatest honor and shame of my life to teach someone so pure the ways of the brotherhood,” the monkey answers sorrowfully. “I am afraid I have no answer for you.” Nazirah nods. “But I will give you this final token of advice, my daughter. The first, most important, rule is to always know your enemy.”
Nazirah smiles because Adamek has already taught her that lesson. “I think I’ve got that one figured out.”
“Just remember,” the monkey says, waving goodbye. “In life, our only enemies are ourselves.”
#
When Nazirah exits the monastery, the sun is already setting. Darkness stains the sky, spilt ink soaking paper. Nazirah throws her hood up, crosses the bridge. Safely on the other side, she sprints back to the manor. She sneaks through the servants’ entrance, quickly retreating to her room. Nazirah shuts the door and leans against it, breathing a heavy sigh of relief. It has barely escaped her lips when she peers into the darkness, immediately freezing. “Morgen,” she greets, trying to sound casual as she pulls off her coat.