Though the door was open a crack, long eons of dereliction had wedged it in place, such that even with four of them heaving against its carved stone face they could not budge it the smallest fraction. Eventually, it was Marrim who, squeezing through the gap, set about clearing some of the debris from beneath it.
That done they tried again, and this time managed to move it back an inch or two, allowing the rest to squeeze through.
That second chamber, which Atrus had named the Temple, was a forlorn sight. It was not long now until the dawn, and in that last hour of the night it seemed impossible that they would find anything that might justify the time they had spent investigating this mystery.
This was a dead world. Or a world so long-abandoned as made little difference.
Marrim, standing in the center of that ruined chamber, turned full circle, taking in the desolation, then looked up through one of the great cracks in the fallen ceiling at the predawn sky.
It felt, to her, as if some ancient tragedy had befallen this place. Some tale so old that even the D’ni, that most ancient of races, had no record of it.
She turned back, looking to Atrus, who stood in the midst of the others, talking quietly, then spoke. “Atrus? What happened here?”
It was not that she expected him to answer; it was just that the question haunted her. Why was there no record of this place? And why had the Books been sealed off all these thousands of years?
“I don’t know,” Atrus answered, coming across. “Perhaps we’ll learn.” He turned slightly, addressing them all once more. “We’ll split into groups and explore the site. One hour. And if anyone finds anything, return here at once.”
They all knew what to do. They had done this now so many times it was second nature to them. Even so, it felt different this time, and as they stepped out through the great archway at the far end of the Temple, there were exclamations of surprise.
The Temple sat at the center of a host of other buildings, on a huge plinth of stone above the rest, while about the edges of that ancient town a great wood grew, the massive trees looming over that scene of ruin.
Not a building stood undamaged. In the growing light of dawn, they could see that long centuries had passed since anyone had ventured here. Weeds grew thickly over the fallen stone.
It was as if the tragedy that had befallen D’ni had also visited this place. Here, too, a great civilization had once flourished, only to crumble into dust.
“Well,” Atrus said, when no one had moved for several minutes. “Shall we see what there is to see?”
§
“Master Atrus!” Marrim said breathlessly. “We’ve found something!”
Atrus turned to her. “What is it, Marrim?”
She grinned. “You must see this!”
At the outskirts of the ruined town, there was a way that wound between the massive trees following the course of an ancient stone drainage pipe that, over the long years, had been exposed to the air and now thrust up from the earth, like the rounded back of a huge snake.
They walked atop that ancient way, until they came to a massive slab of ochre rock that climbed the air in front of them.
“Here?” Atrus queried, for there seemed no way forward, but Marrim went on, climbing the rock like a mountain goat, seeming to find handholds where there appeared to be none.
Shrugging, Atrus followed, finding it much easier than he’d thought. The rock was porous and easy to grip; even so, he felt breathless by the time he’d come to the top of it.
As Catherine came near the top, he reached down and helped her up. Only then did he turn around and look. Only then did he understand just how high up they were.
And even as he registered that fact, his mind seemed to flip and his mouth fell open in sheer astonishment as he took in what he was looking at.
They were on the edge of a great plateau, a sheer drop of maybe half a mile directly beneath them, while below them, stretching from horizon to horizon, was the most beautiful land Atrus had ever seen; a land of lush, verdant farmland, massive fields divided by meandering waterways that sparkled in the early morning sunlight. Scattered here and there amid that vast landscape were buildings—huge, beautiful buildings of gleaming white stone, each set atop a grassy mound, and each one quite unlike anything Atrus had ever seen before, with a grandeur and elegance that took the breath. Godlike they were, such that, staring at them, Atrus wondered what manner of people inhabited this land.
All this Atrus took in at a glance, yet looking more distant, he caught his breath, seeing, in the far distance, its contours veiled in mist, another huge plateau, much larger than that on which they stood, up the soaring walls of which climbed a vast city of the same gleaming stone, the whole great edifice topped by a single massive building, with great towers and gilded domes.
Even at such a distance, Atrus understood at once. Here was something far greater than D’ni; a civilization so vast and ordered that it made his schemes for rebuilding that ancient home seem futile. No wonder they had let the ruins behind him lie untended. What need had they for such when they lived their daily lives amid such splendor?
Looking out across that magnificent landscape, Atrus felt a longing he had never thought to feel. A longing to belong to the land he had first seen only a moment before. And, looking to Catherine, who stood beside him, he saw it in her eyes, too.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
“Yes,” he answered, taking her hand.
For a time they stood there, silent, lost in a haze of astonishment. Then there was a shout from below, from the foot of the rock.
“Atrus? Atrus! What’s going on up there?”
But Atrus had turned back, staring openmouthed once more, his eyes filled with astonishment as they flitted from wonder to wonder in that vast and beautiful land.
§
Atrus dangled in the harness, his left hand steadying him against the rough surface of the cliff face, as he leaned across and marked the trunk. Below him was a thousand feet of tree and rock, an almost vertical drop with here and there a yawning chasm reaching deep into the shadowed interior of the plateau.
Some fifty feet up from him, yet still some way from the summit, Carrad and Irras also hung, Irras fixing the two broad straps about the trunk of the marked tree, while Carrad began to saw through the base.
Above them was a path of neatly cut stumps, reaching up to where Master Tamon was busily organizing the construction of the platform, using the trunks they had cut earlier. They had been at the task two hours now and already a skeletal structure jutted out over the edge, a skein of ropes securing it until a more permanent fixing could be made.
Young Jenniran was in charge of making and fitting the winch, while Catherine and Marrim were busy organizing food and supplies for the expedition, a dozen backpacks laid out in a neat line at the back of the clearing.
Atrus turned, spinning expertly on the rope, stopping himself with the toe of his boot against the rock face. Looking up, he studied the channel they had cut through the trees and nodded to himself. He had chosen this route because of the slight overhand, turning a natural obstacle to his advantage. It would have been almost impossible to climb down from the plateau, and certainly quite unfeasible to attempt to clamber back in case of an emergency, but when the chairlift was working they could get up and down the cliff in minutes, and transport whatever equipment they needed—not to speak of its use in an emergency.
But he would need to replace Irras and Carrad soon. It would have been heavy work even on steady ground, and though they were still enthusiastic, he could see they were flagging—the slightly built Irras more than his sturdier cousin.
He called up to them, keeping his voice low enough to carry, but not strong enough to be overheard from below.
“Two more, then send replacements down.”
They did not argue, merely nodded, yet he could sense their disappointment. There was nothing they liked more than a challenge, and this—the scaling
of this gargantuan cliff—was a challenge. Looking down again, Atrus felt his astonishment return, renewed every time he looked. Below him the massive trees stood like vast pillars in some demented mountain hall, nightmarishly tilted to the vertical.
At the foot of the plateau, glimpsed through the heavy foliage, was a huge rock, a great spur of dark ochre, its surface bare.
Atrus narrowed his eyes, staring through his lenses at it, then shook his head. It could not be helped. They would have to stop the chairlift some way above that, before the tree cover gave way to barren rock, and run rope ladders down, because if anyone were watching…
He tugged on the rope, once, twice, a third time. Slowly it was let out from above. Slowly he descended, using his feet to push himself out from the rock face. This tree…yes, and that.
But what if they are watching us? he thought. What if they’ve been watching us since we came through—waiting for us to come down? What if they’re setting their ambush even now?
It was not a fear he wished to share, but he had to face it. Whoever they were, the native people of this Age might not readily welcome intruders; even ones as peaceful as themselves.
Atrus looked at his timer. From his estimates they had another six, maybe seven hours of daylight—time enough to finish the chairlift and make the descent. But he did not like the idea of going down there just as night fell. No. They would complete the chairlift and test it. Then they would secure it at the top of the plateau and spend the night up there.
Maybe so, yet even he felt impatient at the thought. He wanted to explore this world more than any other he had ever seen, and he knew that all the others felt the same. He had seen for himself how their eyes kept going to that wondrous landscape, awed—one might almost say stunned—by its beauty.
They would descend tomorrow, at dawn; unarmed, yet prepared, if necessary, to fight their way back to the cliff and back to D’ni.
And the Linking Book?
He would have Master Tamon rig something up to dispose of the Book if an emergency arose. It was easily done, after all.
From above came the sound of sawing, then a call. As Atrus looked up he saw another of the great trunks lift away and then sway its slow way up the cliff face toward the platform.
Tomorrow then, he thought, and turned, facing outward once again, seeing the rich greenness of the land there just beyond the branches, below him and to either side. Tomorrow…
§
That evening they camped in the clearing. The day had been long and hard, but no one wanted to retire, and after supper they gathered on the platform, sitting there long into the night, staring silently out into the sable blackness, upon which was scattered a thousand tiny patches of glowing pearl, like stars upon the night’s dark ocean.
“What do you think?” Irras asked finally.
“I think I could sit here forever,” Marrim answered him, and there was a murmur of laughter at that.
“Maybe so,” Atrus said, standing and stretching, “yet we should get some rest now.”
“Five minutes,” Marrim pleaded, then, pointing, added, “Look, the moon is rising.”
And, true enough, a single, small blue-white moon was just visible above the distant horizon; the smallest of the three that this Age apparently possessed.
Atrus turned, looking across the vast, pearled darkness at that thumbnail of glowing light, entranced by the sight, then nodded. “All right. Five minutes, then.”
§
Dawn found them standing at the foot of the plateau, in deep shadow, the great spur of ochre rock beneath their feet.
A pleasant wood lay below them, on the far side of which was a watercourse. But Atrus did not mean to travel that way just yet. First he would send out scouts, to see what could be learned about the land and its inhabitants. For this task he chose Irras and Jenniran. He had them set their timers, then promise to be back within the half hour.
They returned with just under two minutes to spare, perspiring heavily. The land, it seemed, was prosperous and there were signs of recent activity, but they had seen not a single person.
Cautious as ever, Atrus sent out Carrad and Esel to make another sweep of the land, but when they returned half an hour later, it was only to confirm what Irras and Jenniran had reported. The land was beautiful but empty.
Taking Catherine aside, Atrus debated the matter a moment, then addressed the rest of them once more.
“If my estimates are correct, the nearest of the dwellings we saw from the plateau is a two-hour walk from here. We’ll make for that, sending out scouts along the way. We have ample food and water, so our only problem will be one of secrecy. If you must talk, speak to an ear, otherwise remain silent. And keep to the trees. But don’t bunch. Keep in a line behind me.”
He paused, then added, “Jenniran, I have a special task for you. You will be our anchor, here at the foot of the plateau. From time to time I shall send a messenger back to report on what we have found. I need you to relay those messages back to D’ni, through Master Tamon.”
Atrus turned back. “Now let us be on our way. But remember, though the land looks peaceful, we do not know the nature or customs of these people. So take care at all times.”
And with that, Atrus turned, leading the way down off the rock and onto the plain below.
§
An hour’s walking brought them to the middle of an orchard of low trees with dark red trunks whose verdant branches bore a strange purple fruit. There they rested, seated on the rich green grass that lay like a carpet between the smooth boles of the trees.
The day was hot, but it was cool enough beneath the branches. If Atrus was right, the great house they had seen from the plateau lay directly ahead, but as yet they had had no sight of it. Atrus sat there now, his measuring instruments open on the grass beside him as he wrote in his notebook.
Marrim closed her eyes and rested back on her elbows, her legs stretched out. For a time she drifted, thoughtless, her head filled with the hum of the local insects. Earlier, she had caught and studied one of them—a large, beelike insect, its “fur” bright red with a spiraling black stripe about the abdomen—and found that it lacked a sting. But so it was here. The beauty of it, combined with the warmth of the day, washed over her like the waves of a warm ocean on a summer’s day.
Oma, who had wandered away for a moment, returned to the clearing, gazing about distractedly, one of the dark, perfectly spherical fruits in his hand. Seeing Atrus he looked across and smiled.
“Oma!” Atrus bellowed. “What in the Maker’s name are you doing?”
Oma blinked, then stared at the partially eaten fruit in his hand and, horrified, dropped it as if it were a burning coal. “I’m sorry, I…” He swallowed. “I forgot, Master Atrus.”
“Forgot!” Atrus leaned toward him. “If you’re sick, you look after yourself, you understand?”
“But Master Atrus…”
Atrus turned his back. “All right,” he said, “we’d best press on. Irras…scout ahead.”
As Irras hurried away, they rose silently and, slipping on their packs, made their way slowly after Atrus, spread out like shadows beneath the trees.
They had not gone far when Irras returned.
“There’s a path,” he said. “It runs straight.”
“Toward the house?” Atrus asked.
Irras shook his head. “It crosses our way.”
“All right. Let’s go and see.”
It was a broad, well-tended path of loosely chipped white stone, raised up just above the level of the ground to either side. Small culverts, containing the narrow irrigation channels that were everywhere in this land, ran beneath it at regular intervals, while on its far side was a great field of tall, exotic-looking plants with flame-tipped flowers, and beyond that a tree-capped ridge, its foliage dense and dark. As for the path itself, just as Irras had said, it ran straight to left and right. Yet the house, if Atrus’s calculations were correct, lay directly ahead.
�
��Maybe it curves,” Esel suggested.
“It doesn’t look as though it curves,” Irras answered him.
“No,” Atrus agreed. “Yet maybe we should follow it a while. Perhaps it meets another path, farther along.”
Carrad made to climb up onto the path, but Atrus called him back. “No, Carrad. We keep to the trees.”
Chastened, Carrad did as he was told.
Turning to the right they began to walk. At first they were silent, but after a while, reassured by the peacefulness of the day, the beauty of the land through which they moved, Atrus began to talk.
“It makes you wonder,” he said, pausing to turn and look about him.
Catherine came alongside him. “Wonder what?”
“What kind of people they are who tend this land.”
“A generous people,” she said, without hesitation.
Atrus looked to her. The rest of the party had stopped and were looking about them at the surrounding fields, fanning themselves in the afternoon heat. “You think so?”
“I do. Just look at how rich this land is. There’s so much here. They can afford to be generous.”
Atrus smiled. But Catherine went on. “Where there’s little to go round, each man—and woman—must fight for their share. But when there’s so much…”
“It isn’t always so,” Atrus said. “When I lived with my grandmother, we had little or nothing, yet I would not say we were ungenerous.”
Catherine laughed. “That’s different. What if there had been three or four families living in the cleft, each needing to rake a living from the little that was there? What then?”
“Maybe,” he said, without any real conviction. “But I feel you’re right.”
They walked on, lost in the day’s beauty, each with their own thoughts about the wonders that lay on every side. Half a mile farther on, the path gently climbed, crossing a small, delicately arched bridge. Beneath its single span flowed a stream; a broad blue channel that meandered gently through the fields to their right, finally losing itself among the trees far to the left.
The Myst Reader Page 73