Chapter 8: 8: An Imbalanced Diet

Ember poked at her salad with a fork, looking across the table at Carn and Naz. “I’m enjoying it all so far. Campus management is very unique, but the professors for biology, history, and habitat analysis take a more traditional approach. I’m not sure which I prefer yet.”

“The classes you’re most comfortable with probably won’t be the best for you,” Carn pointed out. “I hated my elective during the summer, Estuary Exploration, but it’s where I met Naz. Now we’re best friends.” 

He elbowed her in the side, and she rolled her eyes. “He’s right, for once. Even I’m taking my first combat course this semester.”

Ember blinked in surprise. She would never have expected Naz, the most gentle Linnaean she knew, to study fighting. “Combat? Like they do in the tournaments?”

“Hell no. Mine’s based on self-defense. You have to take at least one martial arts course to graduate. It’s been required since Corax became headmaster.”

Ember tilted her head. “Where I’m from, in Ciradyl, fighting is a soldier or guard’s job. It’s considered improper for a scholar to train in combat.”

“As you’ve seen, Mendel is a lot more dangerous than Ciradyl,” Carn cut in. “But I think Corax was looking toward the future.”

“What do you mean?”

Carn and Naz exchanged a look. “The treaty between Mendel and the mainland has always been shaky at best. The reason they haven’t attacked us yet is that they’re afraid of our strength and because they think we’ll infect them. It was only… what, only one hundred years ago that they stopped killing us on sight?”

“What did you say?” Ember asked, leaning across the table. “The cities killed Linneans on sight? I thought they all died until the treatment was discovered.”

“No, no,” Naz shook her head. “It’s true that some Linnaeans died of their mutations in the early days, and it was just as horrible as the stories say. But most were executed by the church as soon as anything irregular was identified by their doctors, their teachers, or even their family. It wasn’t until a group of Linnaeans fled into the forest and built Mendel in secret that our people grew in numbers. Once we were strong enough, we confronted the mainland and negotiated the treaty so that all new Linnaeans would be delivered here.”

Ember’s heart thumped harshly in her chest. She knew how much the outside world hated Linneans, so why hadn’t she considered the possibility of the history she knew being wrong? After all, it hadn’t been long ago that Ciradyl’s officials threatened to execute her if she refused treatment. “That’s horrible,” she forced out, “I had no idea that Linnaeans were murdered so young… I thought they died of their mutations or became a danger to society.”

“Of course, that’s what the cities and the church would like everyone to believe. But even now, do you think anyone would object to the execution of a Linnaean? They think we are monsters. That’s why Corax wants us to be ready to defend ourselves.”

Naz reached out, taking Ember’s hand. “I know it’s a lot to think about. Sometimes I wish I didn’t know.”

“This is heavy talk for lunchtime,” Carn added. “Let’s finish eating and then do something fun.”

Ember took a deep breath, knowing that she would never forget what her friends had told her. She took another stab at the salad, bringing a cluster of lettuce and fresh berries to her mouth.

She paused. The food tasted odd—thick and flavorless on her tongue. I’m just in shock, she told herself, but the more she chewed, the more unappetizing it became. It was as if she was trying to eat something completely inedible, like a textbook or a handful of dirt. 

She spat the half-chewed glob into a napkin, trying to be discrete but failing to conceal a gag. As Carn and Naz stared, she could feel her face growing beet-red. “I think there’s something wrong with this,” she choked out. 

Carn dragged the tray across the table, looking skeptical, and he and Naz—both omnivores—tried a forkful of the salad. The moment he swallowed, he burst out laughing, and Naz kicked him under the table. “There’s nothing wrong with it,” she said with a slight smile. “You’d better make an appointment with your advisor.”

“At least now we know you’re a carnivore,” Carn added. 

***

Ember could hear the crowd from half a mile away. She stuck close to Naz and Carn as hundreds of Linnaeans emerged from between the trees and flooded toward the hippodrome. Upbeat music played from wooden flutes and animal-hide drums, mixing pleasantly with the chorus of voices. More than a few Linnaeans had a companion animal by their side, and the forest fauna sensed the excitement and watched from between the trees, some even venturing out onto the path for handouts.

Dozens of merchants had set up stands, selling all a manner of goods: clothes embroidered with the athletes’ names, smoked wild game wrapped in paper packages, and sweet sodas flavored with berries. They called out to the match-goers, offering samples and good wishes. Carn looked at the food longingly as they passed, and Naz had to pull him along. The items were intended for adults rather than students—although tuition, supplies, and food were free on campus,  anything extra had to be purchased with the gems that served as Mendel’s currency. Hence, many students showed their support for the athletes by painting their faces or wearing homemade masks in the shape of their fighter’s species. 

Ember stopped short as three Linnaeans crossed the path: a woman and a man, each holding a hand of a small child as she walked between them. Like her parents, the child had a long grey horn right between her curious eyes. 

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Ember grabbed Naz’s arm. “Look!” 

Naz giggled. “You haven’t seen a family before?”

Ember looked at the ground, feeling rather dumb. “Well, Linnaeans are pretty rare, so I thought…”

“I’m not sure about the science behind it, but the condition runs in the family. My father is Linnaean, and he lives in Mendel too.”

Carn nodded. “I’d say most Linnaeans have at least one parent like them. We’re discussing it in Biology II, and they’re calling it heredity. ” 

Ember immediately thought of her father, and hope rose in her chest. “What about the parent who isn’t Linnaean? Or if two Linnaeans have a normal child? Could they live here too?”

“There are some families like that,” Naz answered thoughtfully, “but most of the non-Linnaeans in Mendel were born here. Under the terms of the treaty, the mainland is only required to deliver the Linnaean, not their family.” She looked at Ember curiously. “Why, is there someone you left behind?”

“Yeah,” Ember swallowed, saved from elaborating by their arrival at the entrance to the hippodrome. It was even more clogged with bodies than the university trails, and by the time they had reached the ticketing station, it was almost time for the fight to start. 

Carn pulled their tickets—three leaves inscribed with black ink—from his pocket and presented them to the station associate, who handed the stubs back to them and wished them a good time. The three filed into the stands, picking a spot three-quarters of the way up the bleachers.

The oval field below was shorn and evened, lined all around by coaches, medics, and referees. There was a raised box for the announcer and a special section for Mendel’s VIPs, where Ember caught sight of what might have been Corax’s black feathers. 

“It’s almost time for our first match of the season!!” the announcer boomed, and most of the crowd jumped to its feet, cheering uproariously. “As most of you know, this is a single-elimination tournament between the athletic department’s top eight ranks! These fighters have been vying for a spot all spring and summer, and now they’ll get their chance to compete for the year’s title and a ticket into the Apex Association! As always, the matchups are completely random. First onto the field is our challenger, college junior Quentin Crawshaw!”

A figure emerged from an arch at the bottom of the hippodrome, running to the center of the field and waving at the crowd. “Ranked seventh in the athletics department, a red-shouldered hawk, Buteo lineatus!”

The crowd broke into cheers and jeers, with the latter overwhelming the former. Ember leaned forward, curious to see the fighter. He was shirtless, well-muscled but not bulky. As he looked up again, she could see that he had a short, hooked beak for a mouth. His skin was feathered starting at his shoulders down to his calves, but most magnificent were the long, monochrome wings that scraped the ground below him. Unlike Corax’s ‘wings’ which were an extension of his arms, Quentin’s were separate appendages altogether. Incredible. Can he really fly? 

“Lucky bastard,” Carn breathed, staring at Quentin like he was some sort of god. “I hope he loses.”

“Don’t be mean,” Naz chided, eliciting a grumble from the fox. “I think he’s handsome.”

As the hawk found his place in center field, the announcer took the stage again. “Next up is our defender, fourth-rank Mateo Moore! A cape buffalo, Syncerus caffer!”

The crowd stomped their feet, shaking the stands. “We want Moore! We want Moore!”

A hulking shape emerged from the arch and the spectators erupted into hysterics. Mateo was massive in every sense of the word, at least nine feet tall and crudely cut like a sculpture made from stone. Heavy horns hung on either side of his head and a thick black hide covered every inch of exposed skin. He broke into a lumbering gallop with his back hunched and his head lowered. 

“It’s an unlucky matchup,” Carn said into Ember’s ear. “Quentin is very skilled, but his chances of beating Mateo aren’t good.”

“Are they really going to fight head-on?” Ember asked, eyeing Mateo’s horns. “Quentin could be killed.”

“They both know the risks. They want to learn from each other and become stronger. The referees will stop either of them from dying or from being seriously injured.”

“Linnaeans tend to heal faster than normal people,” Naz added. “We also have much better hospitals here than on the mainland.”

Ember shrugged, still skeptical but willing to accept that these matches were part of Mendel’s culture. Mateo came to a stop in front of Quentin, and the officiator took his place between them. “No eye gouging, no puncture wounds to the heart, and no ripping of limbs are allowed,”  the announcer rattled off. “Only submission holds can be used on the neck. The winner will be decided when either fighter forfeits, becomes unconscious, or cannot medically continue. Now… let the match begin!”