Class Reptilia

Ember wiped the sweat from her forehead, resisting the urge to double over. Her whole body was fire-hot, and her mouth tasted sour, like acid. Her partner, an unaffiliated Linnaean with his long black hair tied up in a bun, was pale-faced and faint. 

Their instructor, known simply as Mr. Badger, took his place in front of the two rows of students and crossed his furry arms over his chest. He looked down his black and white-striped snout, scrutinizing them with narrowed eyes. “Break’s over,” he shouted. “Jab!” 

With a groan, Ember reassumed her fighting stance, and her partner held out the leather target. She struck out with her left fist, hitting the target with barely enough force to jolt it. Her knuckles stung from the impact, and she knew instantly she’d made contact with the wrong part of her hand yet again. With a shake of her head, she repeated the punch, being careful to keep her wrist straight and to aim between her first two knuckles. 

“Cross!”

This time, she used her right arm, thrusting it forward with as much strength as she could muster. Once more, the target wiggled only slightly, taunting her. She gritted her teeth, frustrated beyond measure at her apparent lack of improvement. 

The instructor called out the punches again as he walked between the students and corrected their form. Ember counted each repetition, willing this set to go faster than the last. Midway through, the burn of exertion crept from her feet to her throat, making each breath painful. Her punches grew sloppier until she was slugging away toward the leather, just hoping to make contact.

Mr. Badger came up beside her, taking the target from her partner and holding it firmly at shoulder level. “Fix your stance, Ember.” 

“Yes, sir!” she exclaimed sheepishly, realizing that she had been standing too squarely, making herself an easy mark for a would-be opponent. She took a step back with her left leg and turned slightly to the side, repeating both punches. Her fists caught the leather in the corner, throwing her off balance. This feels so awkward!

“Stop, stop,” Mr. Badger called out to the class, and Ember’s face grew beet-red with embarrassment. “I know you’re all tired, but that’s when your technique is most important. Our martial arts are designed for real combat, so they must be as efficient as possible. As beginners, you should always take the shortest path to your target. That’s why we’ve been practicing only these two punches. Does anyone know the difference between the jab and the cross?”

No one answered, too exhausted from the two-hour-long training. The instructor shook his head, disappointed. “In a traditional stance, the jab is performed with the left hand. It’s a speed punch, used to test the distance between you and your opponent. The cross is a power punch, performed with the right hand. You can increase its force by rotating your back leg and hips. You must be purposeful with your movements!” 

Most of the class gave him a ‘yes sir’, except for a pisces who was busy throwing up in the nearest bush. You’ve done well enough today,” he conceded. “You can all go home.”

Slowly, the students dragged the equipment back into place. Ember said a quick goodbye to her training partner, who raised his hand weakly in a gesture of farewell. After a moment of deep breathing, she set about unraveling her wraps, long strips of cloth that were meant to protect the delicate bones in her hands. They were damp with sweat and slightly bloodstained, a reminder that her callouses had not yet developed. 

She shook her head, lamenting her lack of progress. Can nothing come easily? She was strong and fairly fit, with good stamina, flexibility, and balance. Why then, did she struggle with the most basic movements?

SLAM! An impact shook the ground, emanating from somewhere in the distance. She walked forward a couple of steps, climbing a tree root to investigate. Though it wasn’t visible through the trees, she knew that the training complex for the ranked—the real fighters—was just a quarter of a mile away. Unlike the outdoor mud pit that served as the grounds for the free, amateur classes, it was vast and fully outfitted, a miniature campus in its own right.

In her ten days of training, one thing had become certain: Linnaeans were crazy about combat. In addition to private coaching, the university and the city of Mendel offered classes for terrestrial, arboreal, aerial, aquatic, and subterraneous species. Sparring matches ran constantly, and other than the massively popular division one tournaments, there were two other circuits in which ranked fighters could compete. 

Then, of course, there was Ember: an unranked, amateur, bottom-of-the-barrel beginner without a single reliable mutation. Level zero. 

“Ember!” someone called, and she turned to see Naz and Carn walking down the trail. In the filtered sunlight of the fall afternoon, the two were an odd pair. The slight pisces spoke quietly, walking gracefully with her sheathed karambit laying against her thigh. Next to her, the much taller fox navigated the trail with caution. In the two weeks since the incident, the wound on his side and the chunk out of his ear had healed over, leaving permanent scars. True to Corax’s prediction, the medics had been unable to save his left eye and had left a white bandage in its place.

Exhaustion forgotten, Ember grinned and jogged to meet up with them. Naz offered her a canteen of fresh water. “How was your class?”

Ember grimaced. “Brutal. I swear I have no talent for fighting.”

“You’ll get the hang of it soon,” Carn assured her. “At least you’re going about it the right way.”

The two women exchanged a glance. Since the day after they’d rescued him, his self-depreciation had been relentless. Although Ember was glad that he had finally come to his senses, she doubted that his new attitude was helping his recovery.

“Come on,” Naz said to Ember, “we’ll walk you back to your dorm.”

The three set off together, moving slowly to accommodate Carn. The path from the training grounds to the unaffiliated dorm was a long but beautiful one, taking them near the Lion’s Tail river and through the west side of campus. 

After the neutralization of the rogue, the Linnaeans had returned to the outdoors with fervor. The afternoon was pleasantly warm, and the semi-frantic animals and vividly-colored leaves made the atmosphere almost exuberant. It was a bustling hour, with students and faculty passing between the classes, dorms, and mess halls. 

Using a rope bridge, they crossed over the Lion’s Tail and into the campus proper. Carn’s ears perked up as they passed a set of classrooms, setting Ember on edge. Her eyes fell on a group of Linnaeans gathered at a nearby junction, whose poorly-concealed whispers were obviously directed at the three friends. It had become a common occurrence amid the rumors and speculation surrounding the rogue’s defeat. 

“Good afternoon!” Ember greeted the gossipmongers, loud and punctuated enough to make them jump. They scattered, leaving weakly mumbled greetings in their wake. 

“You don’t have to do that,” Carn said, but Ember could tell that he was relieved. While most of the university’s students looked at Ember and Naz with admiration, he had been the subject of their scrutiny and contempt. 

Ember shrugged, and the next few minutes were spent in silence. Around them, the structures grew denser and the path busier. About halfway through the trek, they passed into one of the campus’s main squares, a large clearing where a cluster of giant mushrooms served as benches for eating and socializing. 

“How is your studying going?” Naz ventured. 

Ember kicked a pile of fallen leaves, admiring her ability to redirect the conversation. Still, the topic wasn’t without its issues: after the first exams, Carn had been put on academic probation, meaning he’d be dismissed if he couldn’t improve his grades. 

“Not too well,” the fox replied. “I missed too much… it’s like I’m learning two months of material in a week.”

“At least we still have the weekend,” Ember said. “We’re moving you out on Saturday, and once I finish my study guides for history and habitat analysis, I’ll be able to help you study.”

“Me too,” Naz added, standing on her tiptoes to put an arm around Carn’s shoulders. “We’re in this together.”

Carn smiled slightly, looking down at the path beneath his feet. “Thanks.”

Ember bumped his shoulder, hoping to cheer him up. Though she hadn’t forgiven him completely for what he’d put them through, as far as she was concerned, his injuries and newly developed self-hatred were punishment enough. 

“Look,” Naz said. The three came to a stop, fixated on the center of the square, where a team of students and faculty were erecting an elaborate memorial. Although construction had begun a week before, it was the first day that the centerpiece had taken shape: a wire sculpture of a woman and her companion animal, a small monkey perched on her shoulder. 

A somber atmosphere settled over the group, familiar from the weeks spent in mourning. Ember stilled, feeling her heart beat against her ribcage. Now, for the first time, the woman was recognizable as the body she’d discovered with Morgan. She gazed at it, making an inadvertent comparison to the image of the ravaged corpse that had been seared into her mind. 

“Hello,” someone said, drawing her out of her dark recollections. Ember huffed, slightly annoyed until she took in the woman’s features: she was petite, with orange fur, small ears, and a long tail. All told, she was eerily similar in appearance to the rogue’s victim. 

“Hello,” Ember replied softly. Naz and Carn looked at her confusedly, and she held up a finger, indicating that she needed a moment. Her friends slipped back, giving them space to talk.

The woman wiped her hands on her trousers, leaving behind specks of dirt. “It’s strange that you would pass through here today,” she said. “It’s the first time I came to see the memorial.”

“Another coincidence,” Ember agreed. “You were her family, weren’t you?”

The woman looked up at the sculpture with an expression of yearning. “Yes. My sister was a pacifist, and research was her life’s work. She spent day and night in that insectarium.”

Ember stayed silent, unsure of what to say. She was aware that it must be acutely painful and perhaps perplexing to meet the person who discovered your sister’s corpse and fought her murderer. 

The woman’s eyes burned as she turned to face her. “I am grateful for what you did. But no matter what she believed… what she would have wanted… I find myself wishing that you had not killed the rogue so that I could eviscerate him myself.”

Ember clenched her teeth, stunned. The margay had been saved from a trial—and in all likelihood, the death penalty—by dying from his wounds just days after their encounter. It was a reality that labeled her a killer, though she was not prepared to accept it. 

Her expression must have brought forth some sort of realization in the woman, because her eyes softened. “Please, put little stock in what I say. Perhaps in my grief, I forgot that I was talking to a teenager.”

Ember glanced away, finding Naz’s eyes across the square. The pisces looked prepared to intervene at a moment’s notice, a fact that heartened her. She shook her head slightly, indicating that she was all right. 

“I’m not offended. It’s a beautiful memorial.”

The tension dissolved slightly. “I think so too. This weekend, the volunteers will thread vines over the wires, which will take hold and bloom with lavender flowers in the spring.”

Ember closed her eyes, imagining it. Waterfalls of purple blossoms would trail from the sculpture, dotting the clearing with starbursts of color. By then, the leaves would be bright green again, and animals would be awakening from their hibernation. The sunlight would be new and warm, and the spring air would be crisp and sweet-smelling. 

“Mendel will heal and grow,” she said quietly, “as will we.”