The Myst Reader

by Robyn Miller

  “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.

  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 se
e 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 whole land had been sculpted—each plant and bush arranged just so to please the eye. The shape of the land, its textures and colorings: 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 you 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, eac
h 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.