Intermix Nation (37 page)

A queer feeling overcomes Nazirah as she
stares at two pairs of gloved hands. Monk Ji scoffs, snarling at
Adamek before stalking out of the room. Only the elderly zimbaba
remains. And with his large ears and kind face, this Monk Yi is the
spitting image of a primate.

Of a monkey.

Nazirah’s jaw drops to the floor.

This is the monkey? This small, ancient,
unassuming bald man? This is who taught Adamek how to fight? How to
kill?

“Please excuse Monk Ji,” the monkey says to
Adamek. “Lately, he has struggled to follow the virtues we teach.”
He looks at Nazirah. “Like forgiveness.”

“You knew I was coming?”

The monkey nods. “We zimbaba have eyes and
ears all over the country,” he says. “I needed only open mine to
know. Yet I prefer to hear it in person. Why have you traveled
here, my wayward son?”

“I have dishonored you –”

“You have dishonored yourself,” the monkey
corrects. “That is more important. But, continue.”

“I’ve joined the southern rebellion,” Adamek
persists. “We grow stronger every day, but we’re not strong enough.
I have come to ask for your alliance.”

The monkey is thoughtful. “Young Adamek,” he
says, “the brotherhood of monks here is more than simple zimbaba,
whose fate rise and fall with the tides of Zima. We have been
neutral our entire existence. We train and teach in order to carry
on our legacy, the skills and knowledge we have honed over the
centuries. But we never take sides.”

“Maybe it’s time you started,” Adamek
says.

“Our numbers would make little impact,” the
monkey replies. “We could not train the rebels to fight like us in
a thousand years, nor would we want to. And you know well, we use
violence only as a last resort, not as a weapon of destruction. We
kill when we must to protect ourselves, our loved ones, and our
honor. We do not kill as a means of fear, suppression, or
power.”

“I know this,” Adamek snaps.

“I know you do,” the monkey says, nodding.
“So tell me, what is the real reason you have come?”

“That is the reason, master.”

“No, my son,” the monkey presses. “That is a
reason … but it is not the reason.” Adamek remains silent. “Let me
put it another way. When I first agreed to take you in, several
years ago, everyone told me I was insane. To willingly train the
son of the Chancellor? My brothers believed you would abuse our
teachings, twisting them for your father’s destructive purposes.
You were so set in your ways, so belligerent, so intolerant of
anyone unlike yourself. But when I met you, I saw goodness in you.
It was hidden from those who were not looking for it. But the roots
ran deep. I still see that goodness, Adamek, although you have long
lost the way.”

“Why are you telling me this?” he asks.

The monkey gently grasps Adamek’s hands,
stares at them. “The weights you bear are much heavier than when I
saw you last,” he says sadly. Adamek looks away, ashamed. The
monkey touches Adamek’s back, right over his dusza. “But your soul
remains intact. And I sense a change within you that, for a long
time, I feared was hopeless.” He carefully inspects Adamek’s left
forearm.

“Almost a year now,” Adamek says
quietly.

“It suits you.”

“So you won’t help us?” Adamek asks, bowing
his head respectfully.

The monkey embraces him. “No,” he says. “But
you knew that already.” Adamek gives him one final, searching look
before turning to leave. He walks past Nazirah, who clumsily rises
to her feet. She glances at the monkey, only to find him smiling
serenely at her. “My son,” he calls out, “one last thing.”

“Master?”

“Remember the first rule.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Nazirah tosses restlessly all night, unable
to shut her brain off. Adamek wouldn’t answer a single question on
the journey back to the manor, would barely speak to her at all.
Nazirah has to see the monkey again before leaving Shizar. She
bites her nails to the quick the next day, waiting until Adamek and
Aldrik are scheduled to meet with the miners. When she can’t take
it anymore, she grabs her coat, exits through the servants’
entrance without a hitch, and sets off towards the monastery.

She gets to the hanging bridge easily
enough, and musters all of her courage to actually traverse it by
herself. But she does it, teeth clacking, knuckles white, panting
hard. Her nose starts running uncontrollably halfway across, but
Nazirah doesn’t dare wipe it until her feet are on solid
ground.

Nazirah enters the monastery, endorphins
running high. A few stray zimbaba shuffle near the door and she
walks up to one. “Excuse me,” she says, unsure of where to begin.
“I’m looking for the monkey … I mean … Monk Yi. Do you know where I
can find him?” The zimbaba only smiles complacently, enigmatic.
“Hello?” she says, waving her hand in front of his face, “Anyone
home?”

“It is rude to try to break the silence of a
silent zimbaba.”

Nazirah jumps. “I was looking for you,” she
says, turning around.

“Not only are you rude, Nazirah Nation,” the
monkey replies, “you are also late. I have been expecting you for
quite some time. Please follow me.”

Surprised, Nazirah follows him into an empty
chamber. The monkey closes the door softly, gestures for Nazirah to
take a seat. She shrugs off her coat as he sits across from her.
“I’m sorry,” she says, embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to be rude … or
late.”

The monkey smiles kindly. “It’s quite all
right,” he says. “A sincere apology goes a long way.”

“How did you know who I was?”

“Only a blind man would not recognize your
face, Nazirah,” he responds. “Luckily for you, but unluckily for
the rest of us, the world is full of the blind. Especially among
those blessed with the gift of sight.”

“But how did you know I would come here?”
she persists.

“Because I am not blind,” he says
simply.

“Oh.”

“I heard what you called me before.”

Nazirah’s eyes grow wide. “I didn’t … I
wasn’t.…”

The monkey holds up a gloved hand. “I am
teasing you,” he chuckles, touching a large, wrinkled ear. “It is
my defining characteristic. There are twenty-six monks in Shizar,
always. You saw one of my brothers, Monk Ji, yesterday. When I
first joined the order, I was christened Monk Yi. I quite like my
more commonly used nickname, though. Monkeys are intelligent,
curious and friendly … all things I strive to be.”

“Is that what your family calls you?”

“They’ve all passed,” he replies
thoughtfully. “I had a name once. But that too has eroded from my
mind like water on stone.”

“You don’t remember?” she asks,
astonished.

“It was a very long time ago.”

“How long could it possibly be?”

He only smiles. “Enough of my misfortunes,”
he says. “You did not come here for that.”

“I don’t know why I’ve come here, to be
honest.”

“No idea at all?”

“Confusion, I guess,” Nazirah says. “About
Morgen. I want some answers.”

“An answer begins with a question.”

Nazirah struggles for the words. “Lately,”
she says, “I’ve felt … better … when he’s around.”

“And?”

She sighs. “And … happier.”

“And?”

“And … human.”

“That is still not a question.”

“What kind of a person,” she asks earnestly,
“does that make me?”

“A very good person, I would imagine.”

“I don’t feel very good,” she says. “I feel
like a selfish, scared coward most of the time.”

“But not all of the time?”

“I guess not.”

“You wear your grief like armor,” the monkey
says. “It is sad to see, especially in one so young.”

“Your student caused my grief.”

“But you are the one letting it fester.”

“Do you take no responsibility?” she
demands. “He learned everything from you!”

The monkey stares solemnly at his gloved
hands. “Not everything,” he says quietly. “I do blame myself,
Nazirah, more than you realize. I blame myself for not being a
better teacher, like my own master was to me. But I do not regret
training him. We all stray from the path. How we find it again …
that is what truly defines a person.”

“Have I strayed?”

“Would you be here otherwise?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be silent or
something?” she huffs in annoyance.

“There are many types of zimbaba,” the
monkey says, laughing, “just like there are many types of people.
You have a rebellious spirit. I can see why he likes you.”

“He has a funny way of showing it.”

“I’m sure he does,” the monkey says. “But
you would not have been here yesterday, if he did not.”

“Why is he so reckless?”

“Nazirah,” he says seriously, “do not ask a
question, if you do not want to know the answer.” Nazirah looks at
him oddly. “Ask me something you really want to know.”

“How do I forgive him?” she whispers.

The monkey is quiet for a long time. “Before
we agree to train a student,” he says, “the brotherhood gives a
series of tests. I do not typically offer them to a civilian, but I
feel you may benefit from one.”

“What kind of test?” Nazirah asks warily,
worried he might try and dangle her over the ravine or
something.

“One of the hardest order,” he answers. “A
test of forgiveness.”

She thinks it over before responding.
“Okay,” she agrees eventually.

The monkey nods, stripping off his gloves.
Nazirah cannot help but stare at his hands, which are so blackened
with scratches and scars they make Adamek’s look pristine. “As I
said,” he whispers sadly, noticing her focus, “We all stray from
the path.”

The monkey grasps her hands, chanting in an
archaic, babbling tongue. The edges around him blur. The room
twists, disappears. His song booms, warps, and then fades away
entirely. The monkey’s grip tightens and loosens, becoming
effervescent. And then he isn’t there at all.

Loud ringing destroys her ears. Nazirah
winces, squeezing her eyes shut. As soon as she does, the ringing
stops, followed only by dampened silence. When she opens them
again, Nazirah finds she isn’t in the monastery anymore. She isn’t
even in Zima.

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.