Class Reptilia

Ember repositioned herself on the tree root, digging her fork into the cut of chicken. Her mouth watered at the taste: complex, juicy, and fresh. The dark meat had been baked in butter, broth, and herbs, infusing it with flavor. It was a distinctly different experience from the dining hall food, which was prepared with quickness in mind. 

The restaurant, the Hummingbird House, was the perfect location to watch the city wind down. Its outdoor pavilion was tucked against the base of a banyan tree, enshrouded by hanging prop roots. If she looked upward through a gap in the tree’s crown, she could see Linnaeans on their commutes back home. To her right, she could hear the clopping of draft animals’ hooves. 

True to its name, miniature, picturesque bushes with tube-shaped pink flowers created the perfect environment for the elusive hummingbird. They hovered four or five feet off of the ground, their tiny wings beating with frantic frequency. Beneath them, almost comically round quail roamed the forest floor for scraps. A little wooden coup with a wire door—intended to protect them at night—sat at the back of the pavilion.

“Why did you do that?” Carn asked, and Ember paused mid-bite. The weight of the knife against her thigh left no question that he was referring to her impulsive purchase. Though the strange connection had faded since she had left the weapons shop, she had the sense that it could reawaken at any moment. 

“I don’t know, either,” she admitted. “It felt like the only choice.”

“That’s your reason? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you make a decision that wasn’t based on logic.”

Ember shrugged. “Aren’t I Linnaean?”

“Point taken.”

In the moment of silence that followed, a group of Linnaeans in soot-colored overalls passed overhead, engaged in rigorous conversation about a recent fight in the Division One tournament. From their clothing, Ember guessed that they worked underground or in manufacturing, two sectors she knew next to nothing about. In fact, before that day she had only interacted with admins, professors, and researchers, allowing her to forget that any city would need shopkeepers, butchers, engineers, and hundreds of other professions to function. 

“I know we’re only freshmen, but what do you all want to do after graduation?” she asked, directing the question to both of her friends. 

Naz glanced at Carn. “Unlike you, I don’t think higher education is in the cards for either of us,” she said good-naturedly. “I’d like to work in human relations. Essentially, condensing and interpreting the information we receive from mainland scouts and overseeing any negotiations with the humans that might arise.”

“I’m not sure,” Carn said thoughtfully. “Before my injury, I was considering training to be a scout in my last two years of university. Now it would be difficult, and I’ve never been a brilliant fighter. Maybe teaching?”

Ember considered it, deciding that both of their choices suited them. On the other hand, her future was veiled with uncertainty. The instability of the Linnaean treaty—reinforced by the abuse she’d witnessed during her kidnapping—hardly seemed conducive to determining her career aspirations. “Truthfully,” she said, “I’m having trouble looking past tomorrow. I can’t help but feel that everything could come apart at any moment.”

Carn gave her a sympathetic look. “That’s how I felt when I first came here, too,” he replied. “You’ve only been here, what, three months? You’ll settle in by the time the year ends.”

Ember shook her head, slightly frustrated. “It’s not just that. After my mother disappeared, my father was the only person by my side. When we moved to Ciradyl, he became a low-ranking miner just to support us, and wouldn’t let me leave the academy to help pay the bills.” The image of him cooking a meal in their small kitchen flitted through her mind, making her voice tighten. “On the night that I was taken from Ciradyl, he encouraged me to run away even though he would have been killed in retribution. How can I live peacefully here knowing that I left him behind? He could be rotting away in a mainland prison.”

Both of her friends looked back at her with wide, surprised eyes, and she realized that she had shared something deeply personal, a rare occurrence. She looked down at her plate, suddenly self-conscious. 

“The mainland is a cruel place,” Carn said softly. “Maybe Mendel is too good to me if it made me forget what it felt like to lose everyone in my hometown.”

Ember’s expression softened. From what Carn had said and her readings for history class, she knew that almost nearly every family in Bayport had been impacted by the slave trade. In the orphanage where Carn had grown up, a steady stream of difficult children—Carn’s only family—would have been sent out to sea each year. Out of all of her friends and acquaintances, he probably related to her situation the most. 

“I understand your determination to find your father,” Naz added gently, “but do you really need to fight that harpy eagle? Give me some time to look for another way.”

“Okay,” Ember consented, though she doubted that the pisces would be successful. If there was an easier way to contact her father, she trusted that Orthus would have told her. “Enough of this,” she said, raising her glass. “Today has been special. I’m grateful to you both for bringing me here. I never imagined that such a place could exist.”

The heavy mood dissipated, and her friends smiled, touching their glasses to hers. “Cheers to Mendel,” Carn said. 

***

The new scales on Ember’s fist gleamed as she threw a cross, catching Sam on the cheek. One hand shot up to his face, the other held wildly in front of him to fend her off. Though she had controlled her power, her angular knuckles had sliced the skin just below his eye. 

“Can you continue?” Mr. Badger asked, looking down his snout-like nose with a firm expression. Sam nodded, his eyes narrowed in determination even as his mouth hung open, sucking in air desperately. If he quit now, he would receive a low score on his one-month evaluation. 

In a choppy, somewhat-awkward motion, Sam turned out his front foot and swung at Ember with a roundhouse kick. She lifted her knee before it made contact, flinging his foot away with her shin. She waited as he caught his balance, her eyes shifting to meet Mr. Badger’s to see if he realized what she had: she could have bested her opponent at least three times already. 

She let him strike at her again, moving her body just enough to avoid his punches. He grew exhausted, sweat soaking his clothes and flying from his face. She could tell that his technique had improved, yet his hits seemed to travel through the air as slowly as if they were fighting underwater, and the set of his shoulders gave away the trajectory of each strike.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mr. Badger nod slightly. Finish him. 

For a moment, Ember didn’t move. She felt the ground solidly beneath both feet, a sensation that traveled up her calves and into her thighs. Her muscles tightened, and she sprang forward explosively, a knee outstretched to catch Sam between his ribs. As she made contact, she watched his face devolve into panic: an expression she herself had worn when faced with the overwhelming pressure of the rogue. 

He stumbled backward, gasping for breath, and she took the opportunity to turn, planting both hands on the forest floor and whipping around with one leg outstretched. Her ankle caught Sam’s front leg, sweeping him clean off of his feet. He hit the ground hard, coughing as he fought to suck air back into his lungs. 

Ember stood, dusting her hands off on her pants as she processed what had happened. Mr. Badger remained quiet, so the only sound was her opponent’s labored panting. There was an unexpectedly solemn feeling in the air—the result of Sam being left behind. In their spar only two weeks before, Ember had won by a narrow margin, but now, the gap between them had widened to the point of no return. 

As Mr. Badger pulled Sam to his feet, Ember retrieved her fang knife from a nearby rock, returning it to its sheath. It hadn’t left her side in the week and a half since she had purchased it in the city. Since then, she had spent half of her training time learning to wield it. 

The instructor finished checking Sam over, patted him on the back, and made his way over to Ember. “I’m impressed,” he said in his characteristically low voice. “You’ve improved by leaps and bounds since you first joined my class, and I can tell it’s not just from talent. Your movements show confidence that can only be developed through experience. You’ll receive the maximum score on your evaluation.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ember replied. She looked back at Sam, who was sitting in the dirt with his legs stretched in front of him. “What happens now?”

“There are still some things for you to learn before you graduate from the beginners class. Until then, I’m going to pair you with Jisu; she’s in a similar situation.” He pointed across the training grounds at a young, black-haired woman who was shadowboxing in preparation for her evaluation. Most of her visible skin was covered in sleek black fur, and her ears were distinctly feline. From her movements, Ember could tell that she was a practiced fighter—perhaps more so than Ember herself. 

“Thank you,” Ember said again, inclining her head. “I’ll introduce myself after her fight.”

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