Ember looked up with awe as her boots touched the soil of Main Street. All around her, the city pulsed with life’s energy. The ground vibrated beneath her feet, traveling up her legs and into her chest. A leaf fluttered lazily past her shoulder, dislodged by a Linnaean walking across a branch sixty feet overhead. In the distance, a roar hinted at the presence of a waterfall.
“Careful!” Naz exclaimed, gripping Ember’s arm and tugging her out of the path. The horse sniffed at her hair and then heaved the carriage forward, taking the Linnaean couple further down the street.
Ember shook her head, dazed. “Thanks.”
Carn grinned, pointing upward with one finger. “Come on!” With the help of an outcropping, he climbed up the base of a nearby tree. Ember followed hesitantly, then realized that, though it was impossible to discern from the outside, a distinct pathway had been shaped into the wood. It wrapped twice around the trunk, then connected to a root eight feet off of the ground.
Even if Ember had been uncomfortable with heights, the path would have posed no risk. The root was sturdy and flat, at least four feet across at the thinnest point. The sides were higher than the center, making it difficult for someone to fall off even if they weren’t paying attention.
Naz jumped past Carn, taking the lead. As Ember’s eyes traced the path, she realized that it changed direction with almost dizzying frequency, winding between tree trunks and switching between rock, wood, and soil. It ran through undulating roots and hanging ladders, crossing above the road and intersecting with other avenues. Curtains of vines and thick doors sprouted up from nowhere, marking the entrances to tucked-away hollows.
“Let’s look here first,” Naz said, turning suddenly to descend a staircase onto the forest floor. As Ember tried to catch her bearings, she realized that they were on the other side of the road from where they’d started.
Embedded in the tree trunk was a wooden door, which Naz pulled open to reveal a small but brightly lit interior. A bell jingled above the entryway, announcing their arrival.
Ember shivered; it was noticeably colder inside. A long and low counter bisected the store, atop which were wooden trays packed with ice, each one holding bright red cuts of meat of all varieties. Ember’s nose twitched, and to her embarrassment, a drop of saliva dislodged itself from her lower lip.
Well, I’ll be,” a jovial voice said, and Ember tore her gaze away from the meat to see a very large man in a bloodstained apron. Though almost every aspect of his appearance was different from Olga's (the young Ursidae with whom Ember had traveled), he gave off uncannily similar energy. He smiled broadly at Naz, crossing his furry, muscled arms over his chest. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you around here, kiddo.”
“I’ve been in school, Mr. Boris. These are my friends, Carn and Ember.”
“Nice to meet you,” he said. “I’m an old friend of her dad’s. I’m guessing you all got your stipends?” They nodded. “Well, you won’t be needing any of that here. I’ll whip you up something for your travels.”
Ember watched eagerly as he pulled three drumsticks from the ice, setting them atop a grated metal apparatus. He struck a match, lighting the wood at the bottom. The tantalizing smell of grilled meat began to waft up, gathering near the ceiling and then disappearing through a strategically placed vent. When the meat was done, he wrapped the bone in parchment paper and passed the drumsticks across the counter.
A rich, juicy flavor spread across her tongue as Ember took her first bite. “Thank you, sir!” she said enthusiastically.
“She’s not usually so excitable,” Carn pointed out.
“Such is the way with carnivores,” Mr. Boris shrugged. “Now, you kids go and enjoy your day. Come see me again.”
The three waved goodbye as they left the butchery, their mouths full of turkey. They set back out over the path, exploring as they talked and ate. When they passed stores nestled between roots or boughs, they peered through the windows with eager eyes. Following Naz’s lead, they meandered higher, until the draft animals on the path below shrank to the size of Ember’s thumb.
In single file, they climbed up a staircase that spiraled around a fir tree. Ember’s steps were steady, but she held one hand against the trunk, letting the gnarled bark stamp a pattern into her palm. As she looked over the gulf between trees, her heart raced with exhilaration. The rays of the afternoon sun caught the multicolored leaves at odd angles, bathing the path in a spectrum of light. The wind danced through the deep green needles, whipping strands of hair against her face.
It’s as if I’m in another world.
“Come on!” Naz called, and Ember shook herself, following the pisces off of the staircase and onto a branch bridge. At the same time, she picked up on an irregular beating noise, like flapping wings. Curious, she stepped to the edge, peering into the breach. Ahead was a spectacular sight: a broad, orb-shaped treehouse suspended between two massive redwoods. Birds of all species were entering and exiting through holes in the roof, carrying scrolls or small parcels.
“Incredible,” Ember breathed. She stood stock-still, watching as a tiny sparrow emerged from the treehouse gripping a miniature scroll in its talons. It circled once, then swooped low and disappeared between the trees. Only a moment after, a rainbow-colored macaw returned through the same opening bearing a stack of letters.
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“I suppose they’re freelancers, too,” Ember said, thinking back to the draft animals at the university hub.
“Of course,” Carn confirmed. “The birds have extremely high intelligence—equal to that of a human child.”
“No one would believe it.”
Carn smiled, recognizing that she meant the people of the mainland. “They would feel threatened, no doubt.”
They fell into silence, watching the birds flutter to and from the treehouse. The steady beat of their wings and their intricate pattern of flight soothed Ember into an almost trancelike state, and she was surprised when she noticed Carn trying to catch her attention again.
“Follow me,” he said, “there’s someplace I’m dying to show you, and they close early on the weekends.”
The two young women followed as he started over the path, walking parallel to Main Street. They descended slightly, passing underneath the treehouse—which was less pleasant downwind—pausing only when Carn required Naz’s guidance. After only a moment, they skirted another tree trunk, coming up upon a thick wooden door engraved with the symbol of a curved dagger.
Carn glanced at Naz knowingly, his ears perked and his ginger tail swishing in excitement. He gripped the handle, tugging open the door and holding it for Ember.
Ember’s eyes widened. Inside the small shop, every surface was lined with weapons. Axes of every size hung against the nearest wall, the largest with a blade larger than her head. Natural shelves held plates of armor, helmets, and chainmail. Hardwood cases displayed ornamental daggers, some broad and others thin as a quill. There were swords, maces, lances, spears, bows, and countless others, many completely foreign.
At the back of the store was a short desk, behind which a blonde woman was sharpening a knife against a stone. Her assured movements and lean muscle implied that she was a skilled fighter. Two striking, curved horns sprouted from the top of her forehead, arching backward over her back. For armor, she wore a vest of interlocking grey plates and a helmet custom-fitted with horn-shaped holes. Though she appeared to be a prey animal, she exuded assertiveness.
“Hello,” the shopkeeper said softly. Ember choked out a reply, finding her throat surprisingly uncooperative. Carn chuckled under his breath. “What are you looking for today?”
Naz pushed Ember forward. “What weapon do you think would suit her?”
The shopkeeper stepped around the counter, her gaze tracing Ember from head to toe. Gently, she lifted one of Ember’s hands, tracing her palm and the joints of her fingers. Ember froze, feeling her face grow red, and prayed that the woman would not notice the bead of sweat beginning to make its way down her forehead. Do I have whatever she’s looking for?
After a full minute of scrutiny, the woman stepped back. “From what I can tell,” she said, “you’ve been training, but not for long, and never with a sword or bow. Your muscles are lean, so you’re more inclined to agility and stamina than brute strength. Do you know your source species?”
Ember shook her head. “No, but my suborder is serpentes.”
The woman took a moment to consider, her eyes running over the weapons on the wall. “In this case, a sword, pike, or bow might be a hindrance. At this stage, it’s best to develop your body before learning to wield a completely new weapon…” she trailed off, tapping her fingers against one arm. “Wait! I know just the thing.”
Quickly, she strode back around the counter, reaching beneath it to retrieve a sheathed knife. The sheath was hard leather, engraved with the symbol of a serpent wrapped around a chunk of roughly cut amber.
“We call this a fang knife,” the shopkeeper explained. “It’s the weapon of choice for many close-combat strikers. It’s also discrete, so you can carry it wherever you go.”
Ember took the knife from her outstretched hand, feeling an inexplicable feeling of trepidation. She unsheathed it slowly, revealing a wicked, gleaming blade. It was indeed fang-like, with a longer reach and less curvature than Naz’s karambit. Its surface was marked with rippling patterns so that the light bounced off of it at odd angles.
On the blade’s surface, she could see her own reflection: her high cheekbones, accentuated by the hollow heat pits on her cheeks; her full olive eyes; and the wild strands of dark hair that had escaped from her ponytail. In the blurry, distorted image, she almost mistook herself for her mother.
“Let me show you something,” the woman continued to say, taking the sheath from Ember and twisting the chunk of amber. It popped off in her hand, revealing a shallow compartment. “This is a custom model,” she said. “The compartment is for storing venom, which can be rubbed onto the blade or used as a poison.”
Ember swallowed, her mouth dry. “Who was this knife forged for?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” the shopkeeper replied, sounding slightly off-put. “It bears the mark of my father, but it was retrieved from the mainland a couple of years ago. I found no mention of its owner in his records.”
“Where is he?” she pressed.
“He passed away years ago,” the woman said, confused.
“Do you know anything else? Like where it was retrieved from?”
She shook her head. “No. Whenever scouting parties go out onto the mainland, it’s the protocol to return any retrieved weapons to their forger in Mendel if the wielder’s family cannot be identified.”
The knife sat solidly in Ember’s hands, imbued with the same distorted familiarity as her hallucinogenic dream a few months before. “I’ll take it,” she said.
The shopkeeper looked taken aback. “Are you sure? I intended to show you this only as a model. This particular weapon is more expensive because it was forged by my father.”
“What is the price?”
“Twenty-five silver disks.”
Ember looked to Naz for help, wishing that she had taken the time to familiarize herself with Mendel’s currency. She knew that the silver disk was equal in worth to one hundred cacao seeds, but the particularities of the other alloys and gems exceeded her.
“That’s equivalent to five gold disks or an opal,” Naz whispered. “About three-fourths of your stipend.”
The sum seemed trivial to Ember. She would receive a second stipend after finals, but another buyer could purchase the knife before she could identify this enigmatic feeling. “I’ll take it,” she said, her voice unwavering. “And please give me a copy of its records.”