The Myst Reader (124 page)

Atrus walked across and opened the first of the volumes. As yet he could not read the strange variant script, but he knew, without having to ask, that these were the books of Terahnee history Ro’Jadre had promised him.

The evening had been wonderful. There had been music and dancing, and games—associative and rhyming—and any number of other clever things; things that they had never imagined. His mind reeled when he thought of all the things they had witnessed. The sounds, the tastes, the sights …

“Do you still think these people are not D’ni?” Catherine asked, coming alongside him. “After all you’ve seen? They speak a dialect very close to D’ni. And they write Ages, exactly like the D’ni.”

Atrus smiled. “I concede that the likelihood of them being related to the D’ni is great. But I am certain that the truth is here, in these pages. I shall have Oma and Esel begin work on them at once.”

Catherine was quiet a moment, then she asked, “Does it not make you wonder, Atrus?”

“Wonder?”

“Oh, it’s just that I keep thinking about what Master Tergahn said. About the reason why this Age was linked to D’ni. For all this to exist and for the D’ni to know nothing of it … that seems …”

“Incredible?”

“Yes. And yet the Books were left there to be a link between the Ages. Why should that be?”

“Different paths,” Atrus mused.

“Yes, but why?”

Atrus smiled and gently tapped the open page. “The answer’s here, I warrant.” Then, closing the book, he went over to the door and threw it open. “Oma! Esel! Come! I have a task for you!”

EEDRAH CALLED FOR THEM BEFORE THE ENTERTAINMENT
that evening.

“We can call for the others on our way,” he began, as he stepped into the room, then stopped dead, seeing Oma and Esel seated at the great desk in the corner, Marrim and Irras talking with them animatedly.

“The histories,” Atrus explained. “We have been busy learning something of your world.”

“Something and nothing,” Eedrah said, then, smiling, went on, “As the prophecies say, ‘Through such tiny cracks the past seeps through to the present.’”

Catherine stared at Eedrah, surprised. “You’ve
heard
of the prophecies here in Terahnee?”

“Rumors and old wives’ tales, mainly. But there are those in the city who have spent a lifetime studying such things. Great scholars who fill their lives searching through ancient books to find some snippet here, some snippet there.”

Catherine looked to Atrus, but Atrus seemed uninterested. He had wandered over to the desk again, where Oma was quietly but insistently making a point about a line of text he had translated. For a moment she hesitated, then asked, “Would it be possible to arrange a meeting with one of these … scholars?”

Eedrah shrugged. “I guess so. I don’t see the harm in asking. And it’s said these scholars love to talk of what they know.”

Catherine smiled. “You seen a race of scholars, Eedrah.”

“And so we are. But come … the governor awaits us. I understand he has arranged a very special entertainment in your honor.”

Atrus turned back at this news. “Then we shall leave the books for now. Come, Oma, Esel. There will be time for that on our journey. Our host awaits us.”

THE GOVERNOR STOOD BEFORE THE DOOR, A
faintly amused smile on his face. It was, even by normal standards, a small door, barely large enough for a young child to pass through.

“Who will be first?” Ro’Jadre asked, looking from one to another of his guests. “You, Atrus? Or maybe you, young Marrim?”

Marrim glanced at Atrus, then nodded. “You say that once inside I must choose within thirty seconds or all of the doors close?”

“That is correct,” Ro’Jadre answered. “Sometimes there are two choices, sometimes three. Sometimes you will have to climb, sometimes you will need to descend, but always …
always
you have only thirty seconds to do so.”

“And at the end of it?” Catherine asked.

“You will see. So, Marrim, are you ready?”

“I am.”

“Then go through. We shall see you again … sooner or later.”

Marrim did not quite like the sound of that, but she was committed now. Putting her hand against the door, she pushed, then stepped inside, into a room that was no bigger than a cell. As the door closed behind her, she noted the doors to her left and right, but she had already decided. She would go straight as far as she could go. Two paces took her to the second door. She pushed it open and stepped through.

This room was longer, thinner, the ceiling higher. There was a door in the ceiling but no doorway to her right. Yet even as she took a step toward the facing door, the floor beneath her seemed to move—to turn, though how it could turn she did not know. There were faint noises in the walls. Feeling slightly dizzy, she made her way across to the door facing her. Or was it the left hand door now? She double-checked, the counting in her head warning her that fifteen seconds had already passed.

Straight ahead
, she told herself, pushing the door open. But what if the room
had
turned? Was she still heading in a straight line?

This room—the third room—was circular. Not two but five different doors led off. And there, in the center of the floor, was an opening. A chute of some kind? She went across and stared straight down. Dare she go down there?

An entertainment
, she told herself, reminding herself of what Horen Ro’Jadre had said.
It’s only an entertainment.

Marrim eased herself over the lip and slid, down, down into darkness, then felt the chute turn and straighten.

How far had she descended? Twenty feet? More? She got to her feet and walked forward, her hand outstretched before her.

Her hand met the flat, smooth surface of a door. She pushed.

And stepped out into daylight.

No
, she thought,
impossible.
For now she seemed to be at the top of the building, the sunlight coming down through a clear glass roof.

Two doors and thirty seconds to choose. Left or right? For there was no door facing her in this room.

Besides, that plan had been abandoned. So what now? What alternate strategy did she use to get herself through this maze of rooms?

Guesswork
…

She went left, into what seemed to be a corridor, a single door at the end of it, another exit—a square hole without a covering hatch—in the center of the ceiling. Yet even as she walked toward the door at the far end, the room seemed to turn yet again beneath her.

And this time, she knew she was not imagining it. The rooms were moving all the while. Or maybe not all the while, but sometimes—perhaps when she made a certain choice.

But there was no more time to think. Reaching up with both hands, Marrim pulled herself up into the dark.

Or almost darkness, for there was light—a big square patch of light—some way ahead of her, yes, and another just behind.

Another choice.

She turned 180 degrees, and as she did she began to mentally retrace her steps, for in that instant she had understood. It was not necessarily the choice you made, it was the remembering. Her first instinct had been correct—she was certain of it now. The quickest way was to go straight ahead.

For a time there was nothing but rooms—fifty, maybe eighty rooms on who knew how many levels—and then, stepping through a door, Marrim came out into a huge, sunlit dome, beneath the transparent roof of which was a massive water garden, with streams and islands and bridges and, at the very center of all, a huge pagodalike structure in what looked like pearl, beneath the sloping roofs of which was a circle of chairs, most of which were filled by guests.

Seeing her, Ro’Jadre stood and came to the rail, looking across to where she stood. “Well done, young Marrim,” he called. “That was quick indeed. Why, I have known guests lost in there for days on end.”

Marrim blinked, wondering if she was being ribbed, then asked, “And what would happen to them?”

“Oh, we would send someone in to bring them out. Eventually. But do not fear, Marrim, we would not have let you languish in there too long. Nor any of your party.” He smiled, gesturing for her to come across the bridge. “But tell me, how did you manage to work it out?”

ATRUS, WHO HAD BEEN LAST TO ENTER THE
maze, was the second to emerge, less than five minutes after Marrim.

Stepping into the first room, he had had no real expectations of the experience. A maze was, after all, only a maze. Yet as the rooms had begun to turn and he had got deeper in, he had begun to enjoy it, until, at the last, he had found a real delight in working out the puzzle.

It had been like tunneling through the rock, and after a moment all manner of memories had come flooding back and he had seen his father’s face clearly for the first time in many years.

A maze of moving rooms.
Ingenious
…

He had said the word aloud, unaware that he had done so.

“I am glad you think so,” Ro’Jadre said, coming across the bridge toward him. “I was telling Marrim. It is never the same twice. For each traveler, the maze is entirely different.”

Atrus frowned. “How, then, is it done?”

“Oh, the rules of manipulation were set centuries ago. We but perfect an ancient art. But, sad to say, the days of the great maze-makers are long past. There has not been an original new maze for many years. At least, none I have heard of.”

“And those rules … they determine which rooms move and which do not?”

“That is so. Though not all the rooms
can
move. Like any building, the maze must have structural integrity. But within that rigid framework there is a great deal of flexibility. More than you can possibly imagine. If it were not so, then the maze would soon lose its power to fascinate.”

“Do you ever play the maze yourself, Ro’Jadre?”

Ro’Jadre smiled. “Very seldom these days. I am not as sprightly as I was. But the young people are very fond of it, particularly when the choosing time is shortened.”

“Shortened?”

“To ten, sometimes even five seconds.”

Atrus nodded, imagining it. To have to negotiate the maze under such circumstances—to have to run and clamber and slide like a hunted animal, afraid of being trapped—that would be a game of considerable skill, especially when one also had to attempt to keep the ever-changing map of the maze in one’s mind at all times.

It was ten minutes before Catherine emerged. Another fifteen and Esel stumbled from the door, looking flustered, his dark eyebrows formed into a heavy frown. Last to appear, almost two hours after Marrim had first emerged, was Oma, who had a dazed and slightly startled look about him.

“Everything was fine until the rooms started moving,” he said as he took the last vacant chair. “After that …” He shook his head.

“And yet none of you were trapped, and none took more than two and a half hours,” Ro’Jadre said. “That
is
impressive, particularly when none of you had ever played the game before.”

Marrim leaned across, whispering something to Atrus. Atrus considered a moment, then nodded.