Ember rested on her elbows, watching the landscape slide past. The wind caught her hair, pulling the strands from her bun and whipping them around her face. It was her first time leaving the university in months, and the change in scenery filled her with a kind of hopeful optimism. 

At last, spring was beginning to overtake the dregs of winter. Buttercup flowers poked through the soil, painting the forest floor with swathes of yellow. The deer had awoken from their lethargy and romped between the trees, seeking out anything green. Beneath their feet, rabbits nibbled at the baby sprouts, and brimstone butterflies—freshly emerged from their hibernation—fluttered lightly in the breeze. The songbirds, too, had returned from their migration, filling the air with their lively trills. Occasionally, Ember’s infrared detected a splash of red, and she leaned out to investigate as a hedgehog or a red fox ducked into its burrow. 

Across the open-topped carriage, Carn was sitting with his legs spread wide. His chin was tilted up, the wind mussing his ginger hair. The puppy—now three months old and already twenty-five pounds—was lying on the bench with his front paws on the fox’s thigh. Carn held his leather collar with one hand, deterring him from harassing the draft horse pulling the carriage. 

Naz sat with her feet in Carn’s lap, a forgotten book propped open on her knees. A fading yellow bruise wrapped around her wrist and disappeared under her sleeve. Ember felt a pang of guilt, but the pisces had insisted that Ember show her how to properly escape a wrist lock, which required a tight hold. The three weeks of training hadn’t been any kinder to the fox, though Ember had used her infrared to avoid irritating any of his old injuries. 

Time was suspended in the ethereal Saturday morning light, and even the upcoming midterms seemed impossibly far away. They passed most of the long ride through the forest in comfortable silence; occasionally, one of the friends offered a lighthearted remark, but mostly Ember watched the scenery while the others dozed. Unlike them, she had yet to become accustomed to the city, and she drank in each new sight, stashing it away in the recesses of her mind to be called upon later. 

They slowed at the wall’s eastern exit. The gate—if it could be considered as such—was open, and a mammalian watchman was sitting on a wide branch. It was only Ember’s third time seeing the wall, and she had been unable to give it due consideration on the previous two occasions.

As with the northern segment, the eastern wall was constructed of gargantuan trees whose branches were woven together like a wicker basket. If Ember squinted, their crowns were just barely visible against the brightening rays of the sun, and their roots were large enough to create a significant barrier at the base. 

She tilted her head, bemused. It was feasible that the trees could have been shaped into their orientation, but she failed to understand the mechanism for the gate: it appeared, at least on the surface, a seamless wall of branches that opened outward at will.  

The watchman gave them a nod, and the horse moved forward of its own accord. Ember felt a thrill as they passed underneath the thick web of branches and into the world beyond. 

“Do you know how the gate works?” she asked her friends.

The pisces blinked sleepily as she roused herself. “I can’t say I do. I’ve never watched how it’s done up close, but I’d guess there’s machinery involved.”

“Hmm,” Ember replied, skeptical. Both on the night of her delivery and the night of the solstice, the wall had opened with merely a woosh and the sound of creaking. But when she looked over the back of the carriage, she failed to see any cables or chains. 

She was distracted as the carriage broke out from beneath the cover of the forest and onto an open plane. Instantly, the world opened up like a flower coming into bloom. Ahead, the path transformed into a winding road beneath the vast blue sky, and a tributary of the Lion’s Tail River sparkled in the distance. 

Ember had learned about the farmlands in Bao’s history class, but it was another experience entirely to witness them in person. The hills around the carriage had been carved into receding step-like platforms, where tall grass swayed with the wind. The landscape was dotted with barns and the occasional oak, but mostly, the great open expanse continued over the horizon.  

Near the path, a farmer walked along one of the uppermost steps, leading a pony that pulled a mechanical reaper, a contraption that Ember recognized from her childhood in Maple Valley. “Are they harvesting grain?” she asked Naz.

“Rye and barley. This farm grows it as a cover crop to anchor the terraces during winter.”

Ember nodded thoughtfully. Based on what she had learned in biology, the crop would also discourage weeds while replenishing the nutrients in the soil—a more sustainable model than the monocultures that were common on the mainland’s larger farms. 

As they progressed, the uniquity of Mendel’s agriculture was confirmed: there were only a small number of low fences, and livestock in the form of horned sheep and shaggy bovines grazed freely. Bao had explained that the western farmland was owned by various families, gifted to them by the state under a contract to farm, while the land further away was terra nullius—owned by no one.  

“How can this land have multiple owners? There are so few fences.” 

“The producers know which livestock are theirs,” the pisces answered. “Their ears are marked with tags, and no butcher would agree to process an animal brought in by a thief.”

“Which farm does your father manage?” Carn asked, looking over the vast landscape. 

“There, on the other side of the river,” Naz said, pointing to the left of the carriage. “There’s a lake, too, where they raise trout.” 

“Still, this can’t be enough for a population of forty-five thousand,” Ember said, remembering Naz’s words during an outing to the city. 

“You’re right—most of the city’s food is from wild game and forages. Many residents also have home gardens and practice the arts of pickling and canning.”

After a moment more of discussion, the three friends fell once again into companionable silence as they neared their destination: the springtime farmer’s market, held after the last freeze of winter. When the road branched, Naz patted the horse’s left buttock, directing it toward the river. 

It was lively along the water’s edge: wildflowers grew in the rich soil of the banks, visited by insects; livestock stooped to drink; and Mendelians gathered water with buckets. Scaffolding stretched over the river, where the roots of leafy greens trailed in the current. Further down, the running water spun a wheel connected to a stone millhouse. 

“It’s called aquaponics,” Naz explained when Ember asked, “a combination of aquaculture—raising fish—and hydroponics—soilless plant farming.”

The road grew congested with Linnaeans, some on foot and others riding on the back of draft animals. Many lugged their harvest, and Ember even spotted an antennaed man with his hand deep in a white brood box, pulling out a honeycomb. 

At long last, they reached the site of the market. Naz called the horse to a stop, and they unloaded from the carriage onto a wide path. The stretch was packed with vendors: some had brought fold-out tables, but the majority displayed their goods in wheelbarrows, on the back of carts, or spread out over a cloth. Ember recognized leeks, cauliflower, cabbage, and Brussels sprouts, sweeter for having been touched by frost.

The three friends set off down the first aisle, the puppy following close behind. It was a different crowd than the university: families manned the booths, carrying sacks of wheat or collecting payment; barefoot children ran amongst the rows, nibbling on handouts; and the elderly walked with their relatives’ support. Ember saw a great deal of older Linnaeans, their skin darkened by the sun, their faces lined with wrinkles, and their haphazard mutations supported by homemade bandages. 

Naz could hardly walk ten steps at a time before being greeted by a family friend. She answered warmly to the inquiries about her health and studies, and Ember wondered if they were the same people who had looked after her when she first arrived in the city. 

The best of the crop, the pisces explained, had already been sent into the city’s restaurants and to the university; the sale was the excess from the families’ private stores. Although the vendors had prices on display, when Naz was recognized, they were inundated with goods free of charge. 

The three friends spent hours walking between the displays, talking and occasionally drinking with the locals. They spent the longest at the booth manned by Naz’s father, who turned out to be a rosy-faced pisces with the same striped patterns as his daughter. He fussed over the three friends, reminding Ember enough of her own dad to make her eyes sting. 

They filled their stomachs with smoked meats glazed in honey and their arms with fresh vegetables (regardless of how many times Ember argued that she was mostly carnivorous). Carn’s dog was offered biscuits and scraps, and eventually, he grew too full even to investigate the barrage of new smells. 

When the sky showed the first signs of darkening, the three friends extracted themselves with much hardship, making their way back to the trailhead. The horse was waiting for them, eating from a trough of oats, and they harnessed him with the help of Naz’s father. 

It wasn’t until they were heading back—their goodbyes exhausted, their stomachs full, and enough produce at their feet that they would have to share it to prevent spoilage—that Naz fixed Ember with a serious look. 

“What is it?” Ember asked immediately, worry creeping into her consciousness. 

 “I have something for you,” the pisces said tentatively. “But promise me you won’t do something impulsive.”

Ember sat up straighter, almost vibrating with attention. From the way Carn was watching out of the corner of his eye, she suspected it must’ve been important enough to let him in on it beforehand. “Yes?” 

Naz pulled a scrap of paper from her pocket, depositing it in Ember’s hand. She looked down, surprised to see a set of coordinates along with a list of directions written in Naz’s neat handwriting. 

“It’s the address for the mayor that the Golden Lance served. I’m sorry it took so long—he wasn’t easy to track down.”

Ember’s hand shook as she tucked the paper into her innermost pocket. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Naz held up a hand. “Wait. This guy’s a recluse; he lives outside the walls, and I couldn’t find a single person who's seen him in the last three years. I know I can’t stop you from going, so take us with you.”

Ember frowned. Since coming to Mendel, she had done everything related to her parents alone. “Where did you say he lived, exactly?”

“Well, it’s technically in the Old Forest,” Naz said with a sigh. “If my sources are correct, the last leg of the trip must be taken on foot.”

“It’s not that I’m ungrateful,” Ember said carefully, “but I’ve heard that the Old Forest isn’t safe—I might need to defend myself or move stealthily. Carn has a great sense of smell, but neither of you have infrared vision, can climb trees, or know how to navigate.”

“You don’t know how to navigate either-” Naz started to argue. 

Carn stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “Maybe Ember is right. You both bailed me out with the margay… I want to go, but I’m afraid we’ll get in the way.” He met her eyes. “We’re not strong enough yet.”

Naz pursed her lips, looking unhappy. “What about one of the reptiles?” she asked after a pause. “Maybe Marcus? Doesn’t he already know about your father?” 

Ember wiped her hands on her trousers. Letting someone else in on the situation with her parents was out of the question, but she couldn’t deny that Marcus was an adept navigator and fighter. Besides, Naz was looking at her with hopeful eyes, and she couldn’t disappoint her again. 

“Fine,” she agreed. “I’ll ask him tomorrow.”