Class Reptilia

The journey south was long and arduous. The carriage traveled from dawn to dusk, only pausing for the horses to rest and drink. The lonely miles stretched endlessly behind them, uninhabited except for a few villages nestled between the rolling hills. Ember sat quietly against the seats, memorizing each landmark. 

When the men looked back to check on the girls, their expressions were haggard and travel-worn. Ember had yet to see them rest, and the flask nestled between them was on its last dregs. She didn’t dare question them again for fear of their volatility. 

Ember saw the first trees when the sun began to sink again. They sat atop the hillsides like lonely sentries, their branches reaching high into the sky. “The forest is spreading,” the leader growled. “Those are new trees.”

“How can that be?” another asked. “They are already taller than the firs up north.”

All three men stirred. “It’s the Linnaeans’ doing,” the leader whispered. “There is sorcery at work here.”

Soon more trees cast shadows over the path. The tall grass of the countryside cropped up in smaller segments until it gave way entirely. The horses slowed, whinnying nervously. Ahead, the dense forest expanded in every direction. The trees were unlike any Ember had ever seen, thick-limbed and massive, with leaves so dark they were almost black. They arched over the road like the entrance to a dark citadel. The old, broken bricks of the single-lane road cut through their midst, long since overtaken by patches of underbrush. 

Everyone inside the carriage started as a caw sounded nearby. A raven swooped low over the carriage, fixing its beady black eyes on Ember and Olga. Ember shivered, watching it bank away over the trees. 

“Go on!” the leader shouted to the driver. A moment later, the horses began the slow and unsteady march under the first of the trees. The canopy blocked the last rays of the dying sun, and it grew so dark that anyone would have believed the sky to be starless. The air was cool and heavy with humidity. For the first time in hours, Olga lifted her head and raised her nose to the air. “We’re close,” she whispered to Ember, her eyes gleaming.

Close to what? Or whom? Ember wanted to ask, but Olga had already returned to her quiet half-slumber.

The driver lit another lamp, but the darkness absorbed the light only a few yards away from the body of the stagecoach.  “Can’t they put up some lights?” one of the men muttered, fiddling with his dagger. 

“I do not claim to understand the ways of the beasts. Maybe they can see in the dark.”

The driver spurred the horses into a trot. Ember clutched her bag with both hands, watching the treeline with wide eyes. Every few moments, some strange shape would dart across the carriage’s path, just out of reach of the light. The air was alive with the buzzing of insects and the crackling of twigs and leaves, and more than once Ember thought she glimpsed a glowing pair of eyes. 

As they traveled, the forest grew darker and denser still. North, south, east, and west blended together until Ember feared that the path had led them astray. The jolting motion of the carriage and the directionlessness made her head throb dully. 

It was Olga who saw the first firefly. She stirred from the corner and traced it with her finger as it darted around the coach and disappeared into the trees. The men glanced at each other and nodded in grim acknowledgment. 

After the first, the rest came in clusters of five or more, frolicking overtop the carriage lanterns. The animals grew bolder, too: an owl with tufted ears watched them as they passed; squirrels crisscrossed over them on the branches overhead, and long-legged deer bounded up the trail. In the distance, a pack of wolves howled, startling the horses, who no longer needed any encouragement to run as briskly as they could over the uneven ground. 

Soon, a warm glow leaked through the trees, lighting up the path. The driver turned the horses toward the light until the carriage reached a row of gargantuan trees, each one hundreds of yards tall. Their interwoven branches formed an impassible wall that shone from within. 

The horses came to a reluctant halt, and the carriage settled in the dirt. Stationed on either side of the trail were two tall figures, humanoid in shape but shocking to behold. Spiraling from the top of each of their heads was a pair of curved antlers, stretching out at least a foot in either direction. The rest of their faces were concealed by angular, interlocking metal plates that fortified their heads and necks. 

For a moment, everything was still. The guards gripped their staffs and stared down the carriage, making Ember’s captors fidget in their seats. 

Her eyes traced the treeline, looking for some clue therein, and alighted upon another figure. Like the other mature Linnaeans, the being was clearly not human. He sat perched atop a nearby branch, his feather-covered arms tucked to the side like the wings of some great bird. As she watched, his head turned sharply to the side, tilting each way as he considered the new arrivals. Satisfied with what he had seen—or sensed—he jumped from the branch, gliding down an impossible height and landing in front of the carriage. 

Ember’s captors jerked backward in their seats, uttering curses, and a foul smell permeated the air. “You may go no further,” the bird-man said, his voice hoarse and croak-like. “Linnaeans, come out now!”

Without a moment of hesitation, Olga swung open the door and approached the wall of trees. Ember pulled her bag into her arms and glanced at the men one last time, finding not an iota of compassion in their horrified expressions. With her mouth set in a grim line, she slid across the seats and followed the younger girl. The moment her feet hit the ground, the driver spurred the horses to turn and retreated into the forest.

The bird-man watched them go and waved his hand for the horned guards to open the gates. With only a whisper of a sound, what had appeared to be a seamless wall of branches opened inwards to reveal the city within. 

Ember’s breath caught in her throat. The City of Mendel pulsed with the light of a million fireflies dancing between the colossal trees. Structures fastened from the forest itself took shape in the distance, a heterogenous combination of the natural and the manmade. 

A group of Linnaeans waited by the entrance with eager expressions. Their mutations represented all a manner of creatures known and unknown, ranging from beautiful to grotesque. They watched wordlessly as the feathered man beckoned Ember and Olga toward him. Up close he was even more uncanny, his skin speckled with midnight-black feathers his limbs bony and bent at strange angles. His dark eyes glistened cleverly, an ageless gaze that made Ember feel off-kilter. 

“Welcome to Mendel,” he spoke. His eyes traced the girls, lingering on Olga’s injuries. “I know that you have traveled far and that you have gone through much. Here your persecution will end.” He gestured at the city behind him, a ghost of a smile tracing his thin lips. “I am Professor Corax, lead scientist in Mendel and headmaster of the academy’s upper division. It is good to meet you both.” 

He clasped Olga and Ember’s hands in turn. “Young one,” he said, turning toward Olga, “you will go with our healers.” He looked meaningfully at the group, and two middle-aged Linnaeans emerged. They took Olga by the arm and spoke to her softly, leading her away into the city. She looked over her shoulder at Ember once and waved goodbye. 

“Wait,” Ember protested, “where are you-”

The professor silenced her with a wave of his hand. “Come. Walk with me.”

Hesitantly, she agreed to join him on the path, and they set off underneath the trees. For a moment, neither spoke, and the babble of the forest city filled the air around them. Ember couldn’t help but stare in wonder. While the outside world had forced nature into submission, Mendel had embraced it. There were no paved streets, only packed dirt trails and rope bridges that snaked in between the trees. Wooden dwellings perched on branches hundreds of feet in the air, and burrows rimmed with stone led to tunnels underneath the ground. Larger buildings loomed in the distance, mostly concealed in the shadows.  

“What will happen to Olga?” Ember asked, breaking her gaze from the spectacular city. “She was badly injured by her mutations, and the men in Draycott beat her.”

Corax looked down at Ember, his calm expression growing hooded. “Yes…they fear what they do not understand. But she will be happier here.”

Ember lowered her head. “How can you know? She is alone.”

“For her mutations to have progressed so far, she must have been in hiding for years. Now she can live freely.”

“What about her condition? Is she too far… developed?”

The professor shook his head. “Child, there is no shame in being Linnaean. If she were a bird I might be concerned about her dosage, but she is an Ursidae. She is naturally strong.”

“A what?”

“A bear,” he grinned. 

“How do you know?”

“With some, it is easy. With others, it is not so.”

With a caw, a large black raven wove between the trees and settled on Corax’s shoulder. It rubbed against him, nestling its head between his neck and ear. By its size alone, Ember recognized it as the bird that had sighted the carriage at the entrance to the forest. 

“Is that your pet?” Ember asked, watching it guardedly. 

“Pet? No. She does not belong to me, although sometimes she watches over the forest in my stead. Animals like to gather here. They understand us, just as we understand them.”

Ember was silent for a moment. “Professor… in Ciradyl they told me that my blood turned the serum red, but I feel nothing. I think I may be here by mistake.”

The professor tilted his head up and laughed, a sudden and jarring sound that made the raven flare its wings. “No, my dear. You are as Linnaean as anyone else in Mendel. Some progress more slowly than others, and some species prefer to conceal their changes. We will see soon enough.” 

Ember took a deep breath, reveling in the freshness of the forest air, and found that she could accept Corax’s words. She would trust him—provisionally—until her situation became less precarious. “Where will I go?” she asked. “I have nothing: no family and no money.” 

The professor considered her thoughtfully. “What you do now is up to you. You can work in the city or stay in one of our community halls while you receive treatment. But I suggest that you enroll in the upper division of the academy. It is a four-year program that will be an opportunity to further your studies and learn more about your identity.”

“Okay,” Ember consented. “How do I apply?”

“Come with me,” Corax replied, and she could tell that he was pleased by her answer. “Tonight you will stay in the unaffiliated dorms.”