“I hope that clarifies your questions about the homework,” Professor Bao said, standing up from his desk and making his way to the blackboard in an unhurried shuffle. When there was no response from her classmates, Ember looked around, unsurprised that many of them had already been lulled into a relaxed stupor. One mammal had even gone as far as to use his backpack as a pillow, though the professor seemed not to have noticed.
“Today’s lesson is a very important one,” the tortoise began. “Students often come to my class with the misconception that our treaty with the thirteen city-states has been without issue since its establishment, but this is far from the truth. In fact, there have been many isolated incidents involving the false imprisonment or mistreatment of Linnaeans in the last one hundred years.”
Ember looked up from her notetaking, intrigued by what he was saying. “Such incidents are notoriously difficult to deal with,” he continued, “as it is usually not the governments of the city-states, but cults of human supremacists or nonaligned settlements that carry out such heinous acts. Therefore, they are not grounds for termination of the treaty. Furthermore, many governments have become experts at verbally cooperating with our efforts to retrieve captured Linnaeans, but providing little assistance in practice.”
His words brought Ember back to her childhood in Maple Valley, a small farming village outside of Vargas. Though it communicated closely with the city-state, its citizens had mostly handled their own affairs—thus, a Linnaean’s appearance could be easily concealed.
“Does anyone know who is tasked with detecting and addressing violations of the treaty?” Bao asked, regaining her attention.
A diligent student in the middle row raised her hand. “Is it Headmaster Corax?”
“Good guess,” Bao replied, “but not directly. Corax oversees the patrol group, and his crows have played a significant role in our security for decades. Though they occasionally spot incidents on the mainland, they are not advanced enough to relay the details to him.”
Ember narrowed her eyes. Even if Bao’s words were true, she suspected that Corax had other, more comprehensive ways of gathering information. “Is it the scouts, then?” she asked.
“That’s partially correct,” the tortoise said. “The primary role of the scouts is reconnaissance: gathering information and supplies from the mainland. They do detect violations to the treaty, but they don’t resolve them.”
Ember exchanged a look with the student in the middle row, stumped. “As you can see,” the professor continued, “what I am about to tell you is not well-known. The brave people that rescue captured Linnaeans and deliver them to the mainland are known as the couriers of the Aurelian Artery.”
Ember jotted down the unfamiliar name. “The artery is aptly named, as it is the lifeblood of Mendel. Mistreated Linnaeans gain their freedom through this top-secret network. There are members of the artery in every city-state, many of them human.”
At his words, some members of the class stirred, their eyes finding the board again. “Humans?” a pisces asked, his voice skeptical.
“The humans in Mendel are not our only supporters, child. We have many human allies on the mainland—relatives of Linnaeans, Linnaean sympathizers, or anarchists who wish to see the downfall of their government. Regardless of motive, we work along with all of them.”
There were mumbles of surprise, and Ember smiled slightly at Professor Bao. Despite what Ciradyl had put her through, she did not want to see humans become synonymous with evil—especially not when her ultimate goal was to deliver her father to Mendel.
A male insect raised his hand. “I understand the ‘artery’ part, but why aurelian?”
“Good question!” Bao exclaimed, impressively animated considering his advanced age. “The artery has existed since before the treaty, but its modern name comes from one of its greatest Linnaean heroes. She was known almost exclusively by her title, the Golden Lance of Mendel.”
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There was silence in the classroom, and Ember realized that like herself, no one had heard the name before. “The Golden Lance served the artery for two decades. In that time, it is estimated that she and her subordinates delivered over six hundred Linnaeans and their families to Mendel.”
“What happened to her?” Ember asked quietly.
“Unfortunately, she passed away eight years ago,” Bao explained. “Although the circumstances around her death were unclear, many of her subordinates went into hiding out of fear, and the artery lost much of its prowess.”
Ember’s quill froze mid-notation. The timeline of the courier’s death eerily paralleled that of her mother’s disappearance. Is it a coincidence, or could my mother have been involved in the artery? Could she have been one of the Golden Lance’s subordinates?
Bao’s head turned toward the skylight, and he sighed. “Regrettably, it appears that our class is coming to an end for the day.”
He was again met with silence, and he clapped his hands together. “Rouse yourselves, students!”
The sound of rustling papers filled the classroom as the students rushed to pack their bags and head for their next lectures. Throwing her backpack over one shoulder, Ember made her way around the desks to the front of the room, where Bao was wiping the board clean with an eraser.
“Professor?” Ember asked, and he turned, slowly fixing her in his milky gaze.
“Ahhh, yes… Whitlock, right? A fellow reptile?”
“Yes, sir. I wanted to know if you have any more information on the Golden Lance or her subordinates. Perhaps their real names, species, or base of operations?”
The professor chewed on a stalk of wheat as he considered her question. “I appreciate your interest,” he said, “but unfortunately, the Golden Lance and her team were some of the most mysterious people in Mendel’s history. They protected their identities above all else, and their real names and faces are unknown to me. Given the nature of their work, I would assume that the majority of them could pass as human and that they spent most of their lives on the mainland.”
“Surely, if the Golden Lance traveled to Mendel, there must be someone who knows her identity.”
Bao nodded. “You are right, but I personally did not have the pleasure of knowing her intimately. I can only recall one person who would be guaranteed to know-”
“Headmaster Corax,” Ember finished.
“Exactly,” the tortoise confirmed. “Two mayors served during the height of the Aurelian Artery, but unfortunately, one has passed away, and the other retired to an unknown location outside of Mendel’s walls.”
Ember frowned, uneasy that the next clue to her mother’s disappearance lay with Corax alone. Though she was not entirely distrustful of him, she was aware that he acted in the interest of a complex strategy, one that might not always align with her own interests.
“Thank you, professor,” Ember said, re-shouldering her bag and slipping out of the classroom.
Even in the chilly, crisp air, Ember felt as though her chest was tightening. She pulled her fang knife from its sheath, watching as the light reflected its intricate patterns and remembering the strange sense of familiarity she had experienced on the day that she had purchased it. It was as if it were made for her: both the way that the hilt sat too comfortably in her hand and the amber-covered compartment for storing venom. But when the shopkeeper’s records had shown nothing of interest, she had chalked it up to an overactive mind.
Now, she allowed herself to consider that the knife had belonged to her mother. The letter from Ember’s father had explained that his wife had suffered from a chronic illness: that she was tired, ate little, and developed welts. Symptoms of an infection, perhaps, or… a Linnaean with inconsistent access to the treatment.
Ember shuddered. It wasn’t the first time that the thought had crossed her mind, but it had been just a feeling—now, the mounting evidence was too great to ignore.
She had been told that affliction was genetic. Hadn’t her skin formed a welt where she had sliced off her scale for Orthus? Didn’t her mother sneak through the window in her hallucinogenic dream, her golden eyes shining?
Ember’s mind conjured an image of her mother in front of a mirror, inspecting her body for scales and cutting them off one by one. Feeling ill, she leaned against a nearby tree for support, trying to remind herself that it was just speculation. After all, how could a single woman fulfill the epic task of hiding that she was Linnaean from her husband?
She clutched her chest, her breaths coming quickly. If my mother was Linnaean… and if, somehow, she served the Golden Lance… my resentment for all of these years may have been misplaced. She would go soon—no, immediately—and find out exactly what Corax knew about her family history.