Genetopia by Keith Brooke Page A

protest. He watched the group depart, Jemmie pulling his little cart, Alal and the others guiding their mutt-drawn wagon along the stone road, heading south.
    Then he turned away. He studied Jemmie’s gift, and then attached it to his own belt. He drew the machete. Its blade was dull, the length of his upper arm; its double cutting edge was marked from use. He returned it to its sheath.
    If Amber had left Trecosann of her own choice then she had almost certainly passed this way. But now Flint realised that his journey would present ever greater choices where his path may diverge from that of his sister. It was, indeed, most likely that she would head for Aunt Clarel’s home in Greenwater, so Flint’s choice of route was a sensible one. But she may easily have reached this point and–even if her intention had been to head for Greenwater–decided instead to head south, drawn to the excitement of Farsamy and beyond. He knew that she would find the prospect of travelling to the big town tempting. She could easily have fallen in with a group of travellers, as Flint had, and then decided–or been persuaded–to stay with them on their journey to the south.
    Or to the north, he wondered? He turned, narrowed his eyes against the warm breeze, and studied the stop-start, humpback progress of the road heading north up Spinster’s Spine. The town of Berenwai was several days’ trek away. It was possible, he conceded, although they had no relatives or friends there and, Clan Beren traditionally being regarded as impoverished neighbours, there would be little to draw Amber in that direction.
    On sudden impulse, he took a fist-sized flint nodule from the ground and struck it against another. Again, and on the third blow it cleft in two: newly cut flint, the best he could do to signal that he had passed. He placed both halves neatly on the arrow pointing to Greenwater. And then he strode across the Farsamy Way, seeking the trail where it plunged into the jungle once again.
    Soon, he realised that the track was heading steadily downhill. He must have passed over the crest of Spinster’s Spine without realising: where distance gave the hills a definite profile, in reality they were little more than a gentle ripple in the landscape.
    Trecosann behind him, he was on his way to Greenwater.
    ~
    As he had yesterday, he eyed the surrounding jungle while he walked. There were still trees and other plants he recognised, but also many that were new to him.
    With Jemmie’s advice fresh in his mind, he wondered if Amber would have acted similarly: hiding from any travellers she encountered. Sensible advice, where you might just as easily encounter bandits and other lawless itinerants as well as the Lost–changed people and mutts cast out or escaped.
    The clear implication, though, was that she might easily hide from Flint–particularly earlier when he had been part of a group.
    So as he walked, he studied the undergrowth, the entrances to animal tracks, the gaps between scrubby thorn bushes, hoping against all odds that he would see her hiding there.
    He thought of old Jemmie’s words. You’re out here for her, and I respect that a lot when there’s not much I’ll respect other people for any more. You’re all she’s got. Was he really all she had? If she was out here on her own then maybe that showed that she didn’t need him to be looking out for her any more. Was he out here for her or for himself, then? A chance to break free.
    Perhaps.
    What did remain true was that there was nothing for him to stay in Trecosann for. And if Amber hadn’t left out of choice, then he was the only one trying to help her.
    It was the uncertainty as much as anything, he realised: he had to find out what had become of her. A selfish reason perhaps, then, after all. He looked around himself again at the forbidding walls of the jungle. He did not regret his decision to come after her, not for an instant.
    By the middle of the day, with the sun high over