The Myst Reader (126 page)

The nearer they came to it, the grander everything seemed to be. The locks that raised them up or lowered them down were bigger, the canal itself much broader. Fields gave way to parks. Great houses lay on every side of them now, some so impressive that they seemed the palaces of kings. Yet these were ordinary citizens. Boats were moored alongside the canal now, and sometimes partying groups of people would hail them and call out greetings.

Finally, in the midst of that great sprawl of wondrous buildings, they came to a junction of several waterways and entered a massive curving channel—the King’s Cut, they were told it was called—which carved its deep blue furrow through broad avenues of beautiful mansions lined with the most extraordinary trees they had yet seen in all of Terahnee, the night-black scented leaves drifting down on them as they passed, while ahead of them the city climbed to the sky.

Atrus stared wide-eyed, his neck craned back, and still it seemed he could not see the top. He turned, looking to Eedrah and asked, “How do we get up there? Or is that the way we are going?”

“That is indeed our way,” Eedrah said, “and the boat will take us there.” He grinned. “Have patience, Atrus, and you will see.”

The walls of the channel grew slowly higher and higher on both sides, with here and there a massive wooden gate set deep into the smooth-carved stone.

Coming around the next turn, Atrus noticed a faint rippling up ahead, a sharp line of turbulence drawn straight across the placid watercourse, like a weir. As they passed over it, Atrus turned to look, even as a wall pushed up out of the water behind them, closing off the channel.

At once they were lifted up on a great tide of water, the boat’s pace accelerating with the rush of the incoming water, then slowing as the walls began to grow once more to either side.

Time and again this happened. Time and again they were lifted and the boat rushed forward. And then, suddenly, the walls dropped away and they were out in the open, high up on a massive aqueduct, the avenues of the capital spread out below them like a map, while directly ahead, across an artificial chasm at least a mile wide, was the king’s palace, its towering ramparts piercing the blue sky.

Seeing it, Atrus felt in awe of the power that had built this place; in awe of the men who had planned and carried out such a mighty scheme. Nor was it the sheer bulk of the edifice that took the breath, it was the delicate working of the stone, the careful balance between size and elegance. It had a natural, flowing look, yet nothing in nature could have made so beautiful a structure.

Atrus glanced across and saw that Eedrah, too, was awed—saw by his parted lips, his astonished eyes, that this son of Terahnee had never, until that moment, guessed at the splendor at the center of it all.

Slowly they drifted toward that massive work of stone, then passed into its shadow, the towering entrance arch swallowing up their tiny craft.

They passed inside, into a cavernous hall, the floor a single sapphire pool, the ceiling echoing high above them, not a single pillar supporting that huge mass of stone. But Atrus barely had time to consider that a wonder when, coming to the center of that hall, the boat was lifted on a column of water toward the ceiling.

There was a moment’s shock and fear as they sped toward it, and then the stone parted with a silent rush and they were through, into a great vertical shaft, the walls studded with lamps, the great column of water falling away into the dark beneath.

Up and up they went, and then, even as the wonder of it began to fade, they burst through into a chamber even larger than that from which they had come, tier after tier of benches reaching up on every side, those benches filled with thousands of lavishly dressed men and women. And there, facing them, on a massive throne of cut emerald, a flight of fifty golden steps leading up to him, sat the young king, Ro’Eh Ro’Dan.

He stood up and stepped out onto the top step, smiling broadly, his deep, rich voice filling that chamber.

“Welcome, Atrus of D’ni. I hope your journey was a pleasant one.”

CATHERINE WATCHED FROM THE FOOT OF THE
steps as Atrus climbed to meet the king, greeting Ro’Eh Ro’Dan, who had come precisely halfway down that golden flight, the two men grasping each other’s hands warmly.

The portrait had not lied. Ro’Eh Ro’Dan was a handsome man with sparkling blue eyes and an air of immeasurable authority. Even so, he seemed genuinely pleased to meet with Atrus and greeted him as one might greet a long-lost brother or the son of a favorite uncle. There was no coldness in that greeting, no distance, and that more than anything reassured her.

“Well, Atrus,” the king said, standing back a little, his voice raised so that all in that great chamber might hear, “do you like our land of Terahnee?”

“It is a land of wonders,” Atrus answered, smiling at the other man. “And your people have been most kind. We could not have asked for better treatment.”

Ro’Eh Ro’Dan grinned broadly. “That is good. But we must show you the full richness of Terahnee hospitality. Tonight you will be our special guests at a grand feast, and you will tell me then of D’ni.”

“You have heard of D’ni, then, King Ro’Eh Ro’Dan?”

“Not before four days ago. But now I feel I know it well. Or as well as any scholar in my land.”

“Then it is known to you in your books?”

Ro’Eh Ro’Dan laughed. “Mentions of your land are rare, Atrus. It was some while ago, it seems, since last our lands had congress. But I have had my scholars scour the great libraries of the capital and they have discovered several references to D’ni.”

“Then there
is
a link?”

“Do you mean, are we cousins?” Ro’Eh Ro’Dan grinned once again. “It would certainly seem so. The language, the fact that we both write Books. Both facts speak eloquently for a distant split between your people and mine, Atrus. For what reason, who knows—we cannot fathom it from the ancient books—but now that breach is healed. Those who were parted now have come together. And I am glad it is so. Most glad indeed.”

IT WAS LATE WHEN THEY FINALLY RETIRED.
Of all the feasts they had attended in Terahnee, this had been the most sumptuous, each course a feast in itself, such that after a time they had not eaten so much as tasted the food before complimenting their host. Not that Ro’Eh Ro’Dan had seemed to mind. He had been far more interested in what Atrus had to say of the D’ni Guilds and the Common Book Rooms and all of those many other things that were, it seemed, quite alien to Terahnee life. In particular, he had been fascinated by the mention of the Maintainers, and had questioned Atrus a full hour and a half about their practices.

“Astonishing!” he had said finally.

“Why so?” Atrus had asked. “If anything, the absence of such a body is what I find most incredible about your land, Ro’Eh Ro’Dan.”

“You think so? Why, I would find it strange indeed if, in a land where everyone has all they wish for, anyone should want what another has enough to take it. And as for quarrels, they happen, yet if a society is
civilized
enough, and the people distant enough from each other not to let it bother them, then violence cannot take seed. Still, I suppose it is all a question of what one is used to.”

“That is so,” Atrus had agreed. “Yet it is still quite astonishing to find that in an orchard so vast and varied as Terahnee, one does not find a single rotten apple.”

Ro’Eh Ro’Dan had inclined his head at that. “It has all to do with good horticulture, Atrus. True breeding brings the best results, wouldn’t you say?”

But there the conversation had ended, as the great gong sounded and the entertainer—a scholar, versed in the ancient prophesies—had stepped up to begin his recitation.

Now, three hours later, Atrus sat down on the edge of the massive bed and began to pull off his boots.

“I think he will be receptive to the idea, Catherine.”

Catherine was standing before the mirror. Looking up, she met Atrus’s eyes in the glass.

“He seems a kind and cultured man.”

“Indeed. A man after our own minds. Yet having spoken to him one thing troubles me.”

“What thing is that?”

“What he said about his people. About their breeding. It made me consider our own people.”

“They are good people, Atrus.”

“Oh, I know that. Yet can we vouch for every single one of them? D’ni and Averone and all? What if one bad apple among them spreads contagion? This is a land without contention. I would be loath to introduce it to them.”

Catherine smiled and turned to face him. “I think you worry too much, Atrus. You know our people. They are the best. They will fit in easily here. So put your proposition to him, then burn the Books and seal the Temple up.”

“And Chroma’Agana?”

“Oh, I shall miss it, but it’s a small price to pay.”

“Are you happy here, Catherine?”

She came across and took his hands, smiling down at him. “Very. Now put your doubts aside. This is what you wanted. So reach for it. Heal the breach and bring the D’ni home to Terahnee.”

He smiled and squeezed her hands. “It shall be so.”

IN THE DAWN’S FIRST LIGHT THE PINNACLE OF
the king’s high chamber, a slender tower separate from the rest of that great stone pile, jutted from the great bowl of darkness beneath, its whiteness touched with gold. A narrow bridge of stone linked it to the rest; a curving line of white etched delicately on the black.

Looking across at the king’s tower from the recessed doorway in which he stood, Atrus hesitated, thinking of the meeting to come, then stepped out onto the bridge, his booted footsteps echoing in the silence, his cloak flowing behind him in the cold morning air.

He had woken while it was still dark and, dressing quietly so as not to wake Catherine, had ventured out. It was not that he had expected to see the king so early—indeed, he was surprised to learn from the steward that Ro’Eh Ro’Dan was already in his rooms—merely that he felt he needed to walk and consider precisely what it was he was to say to the king that morning.

Yet here he was, before the sun was fully risen, stepping out across the dark to meet with him.

Halfway across, he stopped and, grasping the balustrade, leaned out, staring down into the shadowed depths. Down there—a mile or more below where he stood on that narrow parapet—the city slept, oblivious of him. He took in the pattern of the parks and buildings, the endless bridges and canals, pleased by what he saw, then raised his eyes, looking to the distance, to rolling hills and wondrous mansions stretching from horizon to horizon.

It truly was a land without equal.

He took a long breath, then let it out, giving a single nod, as if in that moment he had confirmed some fact that until then had not been certain.

“Atrus?”

He turned. Ro’Eh Ro’Dan was standing at the far end of the bridge, his head bare, his dark blue cloak wrapped tightly about him.

“Come … there’s breakfast if you want it.”

The very informality of the words and the casual gesture that accompanied them reassured Atrus. The friendly intimacy of the previous evening was still there between them, and as Atrus stepped up to Ro’Eh Ro’Dan, the other took his arm and, with a smile, led him inside.