he knew from Trecosann.
“Your sister isn’t here, Flint,” said Peter gruffly. “I’m sorry to let you down.”
They were the words Flint had anticipated. If she were here then they would have been far quicker to tell him so.
Flint looked away. The ground here had been submerged until recently, and its surface was slick with green slime. He wondered again at how they could live like this.
They climbed the mud slope to the top of the stockade. Its exterior surface fell away vertically to the frothy waters. Flint saw that the walkway was deflating and sinking again. He looked back towards the fringe of the jungle.
“Your defences are impressive,” he told Peter. His words masked an unspoken question: what have I just passed through to get here?
“The wilds,” Peter said, simply.
“I saw... humanoids, in the jungle,” said Flint. “Mutts, perhaps. Only a few minutes’ walk back to the west.”
Peter nodded. “If we had the resources we’d purge the wilds around Greenwater,” he said. “There are mutts, as you describe, and there are all kinds of changed beasts out there. They’re getting closer all the time, getting bolder, too. A lot of them are reasonably harmless: the subservience to the True is ingrained deeply even in the wild stock.”
“But...?”
“You can never be certain. Sometimes the changing fevers can remove the shackles, although thank the Lord we don’t see that often. It’s not just mutts out there, though: the humans are the worst. Some of them are Lost–”
Victims of the changing fever, Flint thought, chilled by dark memories, dark fears.
“–and some of them are just bad to the marrow. You’re lucky you got here in one piece, cousin Flint, lucky you got here at all.”
~
The hard lines of Aunt Clarel’s face made him think of his father. He flinched as her hand brushed against his face, but it was a gentle touch, a sympathetic gesture. The bruising on his nose and jaw was still evident.
“It’s okay,” he said. And indeed his breathing had been easier today, the healing speeded by Lizabel’s therapeutic herbs. “My nose will never be straight again,” he added, softening his words with a smile.
He saw in her eyes that she knew that it was her brother who had inflicted Flint’s injuries.
“Whatever possessed you to come all this way?” she asked.
Flint had been mulling this over throughout his journey. Love for his sister, yes: for years they had been there for each other. He had spent much of his life looking out for her and now she might need him more than ever. But also it was less noble than that. It was an opportunity, a chance to seize the freedom he so fervently still hoped that Amber had seized.
“Can I stay for a while?” he asked. If he had passed Amber en route, if she had, as he had suspected, hidden herself off the track whenever she encountered other travellers, then she may still be on her way to Greenwater. He could head back, he knew, but if he did so he might just as easily miss her again.
Clarel tutted somewhere deep in her throat. “You think I’m going to turn you away do you, you silly young bugger?”
She turned and headed back along the narrow walkway in the direction from which she had come.
Flint shouldered his pack and followed.
~
The small raft maintained its position on the water, despite the steady tug of the Transom’s current. A fibre net trailed behind it, steadily filling and swelling with green scum. According to Clarel’s partner, Chendreth, the locals called this process “skinning the river”.
The algal blooms at the end of the wet season were rich in minerals from the Elphine Hills. Rich, too, in a particular strain of changing vector. Fed into the bladderplant nursery beds at this time of year, the scum instigated vigorous growth, and a promiscuous exchange of traits between varieties. Many of the resulting sports would be useless, the changes too extreme and damaging–like that young mutt pup that
“Your sister isn’t here, Flint,” said Peter gruffly. “I’m sorry to let you down.”
They were the words Flint had anticipated. If she were here then they would have been far quicker to tell him so.
Flint looked away. The ground here had been submerged until recently, and its surface was slick with green slime. He wondered again at how they could live like this.
They climbed the mud slope to the top of the stockade. Its exterior surface fell away vertically to the frothy waters. Flint saw that the walkway was deflating and sinking again. He looked back towards the fringe of the jungle.
“Your defences are impressive,” he told Peter. His words masked an unspoken question: what have I just passed through to get here?
“The wilds,” Peter said, simply.
“I saw... humanoids, in the jungle,” said Flint. “Mutts, perhaps. Only a few minutes’ walk back to the west.”
Peter nodded. “If we had the resources we’d purge the wilds around Greenwater,” he said. “There are mutts, as you describe, and there are all kinds of changed beasts out there. They’re getting closer all the time, getting bolder, too. A lot of them are reasonably harmless: the subservience to the True is ingrained deeply even in the wild stock.”
“But...?”
“You can never be certain. Sometimes the changing fevers can remove the shackles, although thank the Lord we don’t see that often. It’s not just mutts out there, though: the humans are the worst. Some of them are Lost–”
Victims of the changing fever, Flint thought, chilled by dark memories, dark fears.
“–and some of them are just bad to the marrow. You’re lucky you got here in one piece, cousin Flint, lucky you got here at all.”
~
The hard lines of Aunt Clarel’s face made him think of his father. He flinched as her hand brushed against his face, but it was a gentle touch, a sympathetic gesture. The bruising on his nose and jaw was still evident.
“It’s okay,” he said. And indeed his breathing had been easier today, the healing speeded by Lizabel’s therapeutic herbs. “My nose will never be straight again,” he added, softening his words with a smile.
He saw in her eyes that she knew that it was her brother who had inflicted Flint’s injuries.
“Whatever possessed you to come all this way?” she asked.
Flint had been mulling this over throughout his journey. Love for his sister, yes: for years they had been there for each other. He had spent much of his life looking out for her and now she might need him more than ever. But also it was less noble than that. It was an opportunity, a chance to seize the freedom he so fervently still hoped that Amber had seized.
“Can I stay for a while?” he asked. If he had passed Amber en route, if she had, as he had suspected, hidden herself off the track whenever she encountered other travellers, then she may still be on her way to Greenwater. He could head back, he knew, but if he did so he might just as easily miss her again.
Clarel tutted somewhere deep in her throat. “You think I’m going to turn you away do you, you silly young bugger?”
She turned and headed back along the narrow walkway in the direction from which she had come.
Flint shouldered his pack and followed.
~
The small raft maintained its position on the water, despite the steady tug of the Transom’s current. A fibre net trailed behind it, steadily filling and swelling with green scum. According to Clarel’s partner, Chendreth, the locals called this process “skinning the river”.
The algal blooms at the end of the wet season were rich in minerals from the Elphine Hills. Rich, too, in a particular strain of changing vector. Fed into the bladderplant nursery beds at this time of year, the scum instigated vigorous growth, and a promiscuous exchange of traits between varieties. Many of the resulting sports would be useless, the changes too extreme and damaging–like that young mutt pup that
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