Ember’s boots crunched on the rocky forest soil. It was early morning, and she had wrapped a jacket tightly around her shoulders to protect against the remnants of cold. Light filtered through the tree canopy, its thin rays throwing the forest into alternating brightness and shadow. Although the last frost of the season had not yet come, the world was steadily warming. The first buds had broken through the ground, but the wind still rattled the naked branches of the oaks and snowy-white aspens.
Roland’s presence put a damper on Ember’s improved mood. He walked only ten feet away, sporting a black eye and a cast on his left wing, remnants from a recent ranked fight he had fought—and won—with a vermes ranked in the low 320s. As usual, his presence put a pit in Ember’s stomach, though he was pointedly ignoring her other than a hateful look when they crossed paths at a bend in the trail.
By Ember’s calculations, she and the black-hawk eagle had scored similarly in their shared classes, and she wondered if it was his failure to restrain his instinct while acting as Ophelia’s TA that had placed him below her. They had managed to avoid each other in the intermediate class, but in a cruel twist of fate, the proximity of the first letter of their last names (Raiford and Whitlock) had placed them in the same group for the biology class’s excursion.
Seemingly unaware of the dispute behind him, the professor for the second semester in the biology sequence, Dr. Shelby, led the way through the forest. He was a slim, bespeckled human, who—according to popular rumors—had been born to a Linnaean father and human mother. Perhaps because of his lineage, he kept mostly to himself, but Ember found him to be a decent lecturer and a fair grader.
After thirty minutes of hiking, Professor Shelby stopped in an outwardly unremarkable clearing. “Most of you are probably wondering about the purpose of this little excursion,” he addressed the group. “But first, does anyone know what the largest organism on our planet is?”
Because the course was fairly advanced, several hands shot up. “A giant sequoia, professor?” a pisces offered.
“A good answer, but no.”
“The elephant?” someone else supplied. The professor shook his head.
“Bruhathkayosaurus?”
“Incorrect,” Dr. Shelby said. “The species in question is alive today.”
Roland raised his good arm in his typical cool manner. “Largest in terms of biomass or area, sir?”
“Either answer would suffice.”
“Balaenoptera musculus? The blue whale?” he said, looking satisfied with himself.
“Close. It is the largest animal, yes, but not organism.”
Ember smirked, and Roland’s face flushed with annoyance. When no more hands were raised, the professor pushed up his glasses and crossed his arms over his chest. “This organism,” he said, pausing for suspense, “is not a member of kingdom Plantae nor Animalia, but kingdom Fungi.”
“Fungi?” a mammal asked, looking baffled. “Is it a giant mushroom, then?”
There were some laughs amongst the group. “Well?” the professor asked, “do you all have the answer?”
The laughter died down. “Is it a colony?” Ember ventured after a pause.
The professor nodded vigorously. “Very good! Some of you may consider it cheating, but the organism in question is indeed a fungus. If all parts of its mycelium are connected, which I believe is a safe assumption, then it can be considered a single organism.”
“But aren’t fungi plants?” a mammal asked.
“Good question,” Dr. Shelby answered, the most animated that Ember had ever seen him. “Until recently, they were considered plants, but studying them has been my life’s work. In my most recent publication, I concluded that they are more closely related to animals than plants, thus necessitating the creation of a new kingdom.”
As the professor spoke, his voice raised to an almost feverish pitch. It was such a drastic change from his usual manner that a couple of the students took a fearful step back. Perhaps he keeps to himself not because he is human, Ember realized, but because he is raving mad.
“What was the basis of your determination?” Roland asked without raising his hand.
Dr. Shelby’s eyes lit up. “I’m glad you asked. The majority of my work surrounds the fact that fungi are heterotrophs, like animals—that is, they do not photosynthesize, but feed upon other organisms.”
A thought began to take shape in Ember’s mind. “If fungi are similar to animals, does that mean a Linnaean could mutate into a fungal species?”
The other students fell into a stunned silence. “Well,” Professor Shelby said, “what an interesting thought. I suppose such a thing could be possible, though extraordinarily rare. As you know, the mammalia dorms are the largest, even though class insecta is far more taxonomically rich. Why is this?”
“Because mammals are genetically the closest to humans,” Roland supplied, leaving Ember simultaneously impressed and irritated.
“That’s right,” Dr. Shelby agreed. “A far greater number of nucleotides would need to be displaced for a fungal species to be created, and it’s possible that such a Linnaean would find itself incompatible with its human side.” He pulled out a pocket notebook, furiously scribbling notes.
“Professor?” the female pisces prompted after a moment. “You were saying about the largest organism?”
“Ah, yes,” Dr. Shelby acknowledged, looking up from his notebook with a flash of displeasure. “Arguably, the largest organism lies below our feet: Armillaria ostoyae. By my calculations, this particular specimen spans about three square miles, which would bring it in at 30,000 tons.” He pulled a scroll from his shoulder bag, unraveling it until it pooled about his feet. On the parchment, Ember could see increasingly complex calculations that explained the dark bruises beneath the professor’s eyes.
“The majority of this species is subterraneous,” he added, bending to pluck a brown-capped mushroom from the soil. “The recognizable portion is merely the fruit.” He gestured for the class to gather around. Using a brush, he pushed back the soil, exposing a white substance that branched in all directions. “This the mycelium, the true body of the fungus,” he explained. “It consists of individual filaments called hyphae. These are interwoven with the roots of the forest plants, creating an expansive network.
“It is via this network that plants communicate—nutrients can be transferred between individuals and infochemicals relay information about pathogenic attacks. The network is nourished by the bodies of the animals that die in the forest, including ourselves. In this way, we are all intimately connected.”
It took a moment for Ember to grasp the enormity of the professor’s words. In a sense, it confirmed what she had felt, especially on the night of the Winter Solstice: that the city and its inhabitants were a single, breathing organism.
Dr. Shelby answered a handful of questions before calling the class back to attention. “Your assignment today is to forage for the fruits of this mushroom and carefully document their positions,” he explained. “These will be used to further my research. You have forty-five minutes.”
The class dispersed, and Ember found a spot within sight of the clearing to begin her foraging. She drew her sample collection kit from her bag, pulled on a pair of gloves, and crouched down next to a cluster of mushrooms.
The work had a repetitive yet soothing quality. Each mushroom had to be twisted from the soil, cleaned, and placed in a specimen bag, and its location had to be precisely noted. It didn’t escape Ember that the real purpose of the excursion was to do Dr. Shelby’s work for him, but she couldn’t muster any real frustration; the task allowed her time to think about the mycorrhizal network, and she turned over the possibilities in her mind as if examining a particularly interesting artifact.
Most of Ember’s time in the previous two months had been dedicated to training, and she had become particularly masterful with her infrared vision. It no longer exhausted her to use it for longer periods at a time, and she had developed the habit of using it whenever possible, especially when performing idle tasks.
It was for that reason that she sensed Roland’s presence long before he intended.
Her hands stilled. She breathed in once, bagged the mushroom she was working with, and turned around to face the raptor. “Do you need something?” she asked.
He tilted his chin up and narrowed his orange eyes. His great wings hung behind him, the monochrome feathers complementing his aristocratic bearing. Ember thought, not for the first time, that such magnificent mutations were wasted on him.
When he didn’t reply, she set her jaw and tried again. “What do you want, Roland? Surely you’re not planning to fight me during our class field trip.”
He smirked, and Ember prepared herself for whatever was coming. She wasn’t going to rise to his bait, not when there were a thousand other more pressing matters to attend to: her father’s captivity, her mother’s disappearance, and the coup in Ciradyl, to name a few.
“Orion, the Golden Eagle, has decided to claim me as his disciple,” he said.
Ember’s blood turned cold. It was extremely rare for a ranker in the 300s to have a master, and rarer still for them to be publicly claimed. It means that the Golden Eagle trusts Roland to best any challengers. It was an honor of the highest order, one that placed him firmly in an exclusive club outside of her reach.
Ember’s skin buzzed with anxiety as she fought to return her face to a suitably neutral expression. “I don’t know why you’re telling me,” she managed to say.
He shrugged, looking triumphant, and slipped back through the trees. “Catch me if you can,” he added over his shoulder.
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