The Myst Reader

by Rand; Robyn Miller; David Wingrove

  Indeed, they were so taken by their surroundings that it was a moment or two before anyone saw the boat that was moored on the far side of the bridge.

  “Atrus!” Oma hissed. “Look!”

  The boat was long and broad, its prow elegantly curved, a great awning of yellow silk overhanging the deck, below which rested a number of elegant-looking couches. Beneath that awning, one hand resting lightly on the supporting pole, stood a tall young man dressed in a flowing robe of lavender edged with black. His hair was midnight black and cut in a strange yet elegant fashion, and his eyes were a deep sea green. But the strangest thing of all about him was that, though he looked directly at them, he seemed not to have seen them at all.

  “Do I see you?”

  Atrus stopped dead. The words, spoken in a clear yet heavily accented D’ni, had come from the stranger, yet still the man did not seem to look at them.

  Was he blind? Marrim wondered, seeing the lack of movement in those eyes. Or were those green eyes lenses of some kind?

  Atrus took another step toward him. “Where are we?”

  The young man did not seem to hear him. “Do I see you?” he repeated.

  Atrus turned, looking to the others, puzzled by the young man’s behavior, then turned back, stepping closer, stopping no more than four or five paces from where the young man stood in the boat.

  “We are from D’ni,” Atrus said, speaking slowly and precisely. “We have come from D’ni.”

  There was a movement in the young man’s eyes—a movement that wasn’t quite a movement, more a reassessment. A look of understanding slowly entered those orbs that, until a moment before, had seemed sightless.

  “From Ro’D’ni?”

  Atrus hesitated, then nodded.

  “Then come,” he said, the D’ni words clear despite the strange accent. “You must be hungry after your long journey.”

  The young man looked about him, taking each of them in one at a time, his eyes resting slightly longer on the figure of Marrim, the eyes narrowing slightly as he noted her boyish hair.

  Then, putting out both hands to Atrus, he introduced himself.

  “Forgive me. My name is Hadre Ro’Jethhe, son of Jethhe Ro’Jethhe. Welcome…welcome to Terahnee.”

  §

  The boat moved slowly, silently down the stream, its smooth passage within the channel unaided by oar or motor such that the D’ni, seated aboard the strange craft, looked about them in wonder.

  Wherever they looked, their eyes found delights, as if this while land had been sculpted—each plant and bush arranged just so to please the eye. The shape of the land, its textures and coloring: each element blended perfectly, with now and then a contrast—be it a brightly colored flower or a specially shaped rock—that would cause them to smile with sheer pleasure.

  As for their host, though he was genial enough, he was not greatly forthcoming. Whenever Atrus asked a direct question, Hadre would answer vaguely, or change the subject, or even act as if Atrus had not spoken, and this, like his behavior in those first few moments they had met, puzzled Atrus. And yet there seemed no darker reason for it. From what Hadre did say, it seemed they were to stay at the great house that evening. Moreover, the young man made it quite clear that they were very welcome and that if there was anything they wanted—anything—they were only to ask and he would see to it.

  They sat back, lounging against the broad, ornately decorated gunwales of the boat, entranced by their surroundings. As the boat came around a turn in the stream and, passing beneath a decorative arch, glided into a sunlit glade—a small bowl in the surrounding hills—Atrus was surprised to find a picnic set up for them.

  They climbed from the boat, amazed. A dozen couches were set up within that pleasant space, and at the center of it all a great table was piled high with food—all manner of fruits and other delicacies—that, when they finally tasted them, proved delicious beyond all belief.

  Oma, who had sustained no harm from his earlier forgetfulness, now turned to their host and smiled. “This is most excellent.”

  Hadre smiled. “I am glad you like it, Master Oma,” he said, impressing them all, for Oma had been named but once on the journey, and then only in passing.

  But that was not the only instance. Hadre had only to be told something once and he remembered it.

  When they had eaten their fill, Hadre ushered them back onto the boat and they continued their journey.

  Once more the land opened up about them as they glided silently through an endless vista of wonders. As they came around one bend they were confronted by a great waterfall of tiny blue flowers, beneath which they passed, finding themselves a moment later within a cavernous space, the roof of which was formed by the roots of a single massive tree. And on they went, past sculpted banks of wonderfully scented blooms and out into a valley where, directly ahead of them, the great house rose like a glacier from the mound on which it sat.

  “The Maker’s name!” Atrus said, under his breath, not merely because the building was far bigger than he had guessed at from a distance, but because he saw now what they all suddenly saw: that what they had taken to be simple whiteness was not in fact white at all but a whole rainbow of colors within the stone, as if the whole building were one great prism. Yet the stone was not transparent; the different colors in the stone seemed to shift with every moment, as if alive.

  Closer they came and closer still, and then, with a strange little rush, the channel turned, taking them through a long, low archway and beneath the walls of the building into a huge, shadowed courtyard of startlingly blue marble, about which level after level of balconies looked down, great clusters of gorgeously scented blooms—bright gold and startling crimson, jet black and emerald—trailing from them. Six massive stone ramps led up from the courtyard, each entering the house through a beautifully carved wooden gateway, beyond which were huge double doors inlaid with pearl.

  “Home,” Hadre said simply. Then, stepping from the boat, he turned and bowed graciously. “Welcome Atrus and Catherine. Welcome all. Welcome to the house of Ro’Jethhe.”

  §

  Atrus stepped through the great entrance arch and into a hall of cool marble, at the center of which was a round pool. A circle of slender pillars surrounded it, each a distinct color, the stone sculpted to resemble the stems of flowers, each pillar blossoming where it met the ceiling, the giant petals folding outward, so that the ceiling seemed like a huge floral bed, the interplay of color delightful to the eye.

  Atrus stared up at it a moment then looked to his young host. “Is all of this great building yours, Hadre Ro’Jethhe?”

  Hadre turned, smiling pleasantly. “It is my father’s house. And all the lands surrounding it are his.”

  They walked on until they stood beside the pool, looking down into its crystal depths. The pillars to either side of them soared up into the ceiling, fifty, maybe sixty feet above their heads, dwarfing them. From this close the stone, which, from the doorway, had seemed frail, now looked thoroughly solid and immovable.

  Thus far Hadre had been the only person they had seen in all of Terahnee, but now two other men—smaller and more stockily built, discernibly different from Hadre, and not merely in their physical attributes—entered the hall from a narrow doorway to the left and, hastening across, bowed low before Hadre. They wore long flowing cloaks of a soft wine-red cloth, but what was most distinct about them was their silver hair—not white, but silver, like a fine wire—which was swept back off their foreheads and tied in a tight bunch at their necks.

  “Master?” the elder of them asked. As he turned, Atrus noticed he had two vertical purple stripes beneath his right ear.

  “Kaaru…Jaad…” Hadre said, “these are my guests. You will take great care of them and see to all their needs.”

  “Master!” the two men said as one, then stepped back, seeming almost to vanish as they slipped into the shadows beside the pillars.

  Hadre turned back to his guests and smiled. “And now y
ou will forgive me, Atrus, but I must tell my father the news. He will want to greet you personally.”

  §

  After Hadre had gone the two servants led Atrus and his party through into a second, smaller hall where, once again, a meal had been laid out ready for them.

  As in the clearing in the wood, a number of couches had been placed in a circle about the center of the room, within easy reach of the endless delicacies that graced the central table.

  Having seen that they were comfortable, Kaaru and Jaad stepped back, seeming to blend once more into the shadows of the walls.

  This second hall was both more modest—in its scale—and more opulent—in its detail—than the previous one. Marrim, looking about her, could not help but admire the care these people took. Each bowl, each spoon, each tiny fork, was a work of art, not to speak of the arms of the couches, or the carved panels that filled each wall between the swirling marble pillars.

  Not a surface was overlooked. Even the simplest thing was decorated. Yet the overall impression was not overly decorative. There was an underlying simplicity that formed a perfect contrast with the intricate designs. Nothing was out of place here; nothing overwrought.

  Looking across, Marrim saw how Atrus stared at the myriad of things surrounding him, looking from one to another with the same awed look, and knew at once that he, too, had seen what she had seen. Yet when he looked up, there was a strange, almost wistful smile on his face. Seeing it, Catherine, who had also been watching him, asked:

  “Atrus? What is it?”

  Atrus picked up one of the delicate spoons, tracing the molded pattern on its bowl with his thumb, then laughed; a strange, brief, haunted laugh.

  “All this,” he said finally. “It reminds me.”

  “Of Anna?”

  Atrus nodded. “There was never a surface she could leave alone. It was as though the whole universe was a blank page on which she was compelled to write.” He paused, then. “I sense it is the same for these people. I look around and see the same blend of simplicity and embellishment.”

  “They must be great dreamers,” Catherine said.

  “Yes, and fine craftsmen, too,” Esel added, looking up from the beautifully glazed bowl he was holding.

  Marrim nodded, then reached out to take the cool drink so close to hand, sipping at the blood-red liquid delicately. Like the drink she had had in the clearing, this was both refreshing and intoxicating, though not in the way that wine was intoxicating. There was such a scent to this, such an overwhelming taste, that it was as if her senses had been numbed until the moment she had tasted it.

  “This Hadre and his father,” Irras said. “They must be very rich men to own all this. They surely cannot all live like this.”

  “On the contrary…” a voice boomed from the far side of the chamber, “ours is but a humble estate.”

  At once they were all on their feet, facing the newcomer—a handsome, elderly looking man with neat dark hair and a stern, patrician air. Yet even as that sternness registered on the mind, the old man smiled and, opening his arms, walked across and embraced Atrus warmly.

  “Atrus! Friends and companions of Atrus! I am Jethhe Ro’Jethhe, and you are welcome to my house. Stay as long as you will. My home is your home.”

  And with this little speech complete, he walked among them, taking hands or embracing them, coming to Marrim last.

  “Young lady,” he said, with a slight bow of his head, as if he spoke to someone high above him in status. “I am indeed most pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  Marrim, both delighted and embarrassed by the sudden attention, ducked her head down, feeling a faint flush come to her neck.

  And then it was Atrus’s turn to thank Hadre’s father for his hospitality.

  “Think nothing of it,” Ro’Jethhe said, with a lazy gesture of dismissal. “I am sure you would do the same were we the visitors and you the hosts.”

  Atrus smiled. “Indeed we would.”

  The old man’s smile encompassed them all. “Well, then. So it is.” Then, turning to Irras. “But forgive me my rudeness, Master Irras. You asked a question, and I gave you but a partial answer. Come then, let us all be seated once more, and I shall answer all your questions.”

  §

  It was late afternoon when finally Jethhe Ro’Jethhe clapped his hands and stood.

  “Kaaru! Show my guests to their rooms!”

  At once his servant was at his back, waiting to do his bidding. Turning to Atrus, Ro’Jethhe smiled. “You have traveled far, my friends. I am sure you will wish to bathe and change your clothes before tonight’s entertainment.”

  “Entertainment?” Atrus sat forward. It was the first time Ro’Jethhe had mentioned it.

  “Oh, it’s nothing much. A simple thing. A few friends—local landowners—will be invited. And my sons, of course. It will be a chance for you to meet everyone.”

  Atrus smiled. “We thank you, Jethhe Ro’Jethhe, for your kindness.”

  “Not at all,” the old man said, looking about him and smiling. “I am glad you are here, Atrus. You and all your party. And remember, whatever you want, you have only to ask.”

  The two men bowed to one another, then Ro’Jethhe turned and swept from the room, his son hurrying to catch him up.

  §

  The bedroom, like all else, was massive. A huge bed—big enough, it seemed, to sleep a small village—rested in the center of a huge, high-ceilinged room. Here the pillars were thick, eight-sided things of a midnight basalt. Eight of them formed an octagon about the center of that long and airy chamber, thrusting up out of a floor that was made of wood, the broad slats of which were coated with a fine dark red lacquer inset with all manner of ingenious patterns. The partition doors were huge, paneled things, set into walls so thick they reminded Atrus of a fortress he had visited once on an ancient D’ni Age. Most impressive of all, however, was the wide balcony that led off of the room, and gave a perfect view of the surrounding countryside.

  A fine silk hanging of pale lemon and blue shimmered in the late afternoon breeze as Catherine stepped beneath it and out onto the stone flags of the balcony.

  “Atrus…”

  He stepped through, joining her there at the balustrade, the two of them silent a moment as they stared out across the sloping lawns toward a copse of trees; no tree the same, the combination of colorings and textures a delight to the eye. A strange bird called, high and sweet.

  Threading her arm through his, Catherine smiled up at him. “Have you ever dreamt of such a place, Atrus?”

  “No,” he said. “My mind reels before it, Catherine. To think that it is all like this.”

  For Jethhe Ro’Jethhe had told them that far from being a rich man, he was but a common citizen, and that there were many—the governor of the district among them—who lived in a far more palatial manner, though how that could be Atrus could not imagine, for this was luxury beyond anything he had ever experienced. Moreover, Ro’Jethhe himself had proved an intelligent and witty man, immensely cultured, quick to understand, and always generous in his comments. Atrus had warmed to him at once.

  Even so, it was hard to take in much of what Ro’Jethhe said, and had Atrus not already had that glimpse of the land from the plateau, he might have counted it as boastful. Was this place really as big as Ro’Jethhe claimed? Two hundred million citizens! It was difficult to imagine, even though he had seen how the land stretched away from horizon to horizon. Why, if they all lived like this, then the wealth of this land must be truly phenomenal. D’ni, even at its height, was as nothing beside it.

  While they bathed and changed, Catherine and Atrus talked further of what they had learned from Jethhe Ro’Jethhe.

  Terahnee was ruled by a king, supported by a council of advisers, under which were the district governors. Yet astonishingly enough, despite the size of the kingdom, there was no equivalent of the Guild of Maintainers. No one policed Terahnee because no one needed to. It was that, more than anything else that
they had seen or heard, that most impressed Atrus, for to him it revealed the high moral standard this culture had attained.

  This was a land without wars, or theft, or fraud.

  “All this…” Atrus said, gesturing at the mosaics, the statuary, and all the other innumerable beautiful things that surrounded them. “All of this is quite remarkable, yet without a moral depth it is nothing. The true, defining mark of a civilization is how its people treat each other.”

  “They have servants…” Catherine began.

  “Yes, but they clearly treat them well, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. Kaaru and Jaad might bow their heads before their masters, yet there is nothing servile about them. Indeed, I sense an air of great pride about them.”

  “Do you not find that strange, Atrus?”

  “In a land such as this? No. Some must work while others plan and organize the work. So it is in all societies. So it was to a degree in D’ni.”

  “To a degree.” But Catherine left it there. Besides, she was not really in disagreement with Atrus. To keep a world this beautiful must take a great deal of organizing. And Atrus was right. She had never before met with such servants.

  Changing tack, she asked another question that had been playing on her mind.

  “Atrus? Do you think they are your kin?”

  “D’ni, you mean?”

  “Yes. There is the common language, after all…”

  “That might have been acquired, or shared, maybe, back in the distant past. It’s possible this was an Age that, losing its connection with D’ni, went its own way.”