The Myst Reader (7 page)

That, too, was his own invention.

On some of the earliest trials of the winch, he had found that the rock dragged the rope down much too quickly, and when he’d tried to slow it, the rope had burned his palms. After much experimentation, he had devised a way of stopping the supply wheel after each rotation, so that the winch could only be operated by a series of gentle tugs.

Bending down, he picked the box up again and slipped the curved tip of the hook through its handle, then turned back and, holding the rope out away from him, slowly lowered it over the drop. As the rope went taut, he moved back.

There was only one more thing to do now. Reaching into the inner pocket of his cloak, he removed the ancient D’ni tinderbox.

Leaning over, one hand supporting him against the rock arm, he held the flame beneath the end of the twine fuse on the dangling box, then, when it had caught, released the catch and stepped back.

For a moment he thought it had gone out, then, with a fizz, it began to burn fiercely.

Atrus turned and, half-running up the slope, scrambled over the rim, making for the winch.

This was the most crucial part. If the fuse burned too quickly, or if for some reason the winch jammed, things would go wrong.

Kneeling beside the brake wheel, he slowly began to turn it, listening to it click and click and click, all the while tensed against a sudden detonation, all the while counting in his head.

When he’d counted twenty, he threw himself down, stretched out flat behind the pile of stones, his hands over his ears.

… twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six …

The explosion rocked the side of the volcano. It had been four seconds early, even so that didn’t matter, the box would have been in the correct place, opposite the fault.

Atrus laughed, then, dusting himself off, stood. As the echoes died, he could hear, through the ringing in his ears, the sound he’d hoped to hear—the strong hiss of steam forcing its way through the cap and an accompanying high-pitched mechanical whine.

Still laughing, he climbed up onto the lip and looked down. The winch-arm had gone, as had a large chunk of the ledge, but the vent—protected by the huge rock—was fine. Steam hissed from the cap in a steady, forceful stream.

Turning, looking down at Anna where she stood on the cleftwall, he raised his arms and waved to her eagerly, grinning with triumph.

“It works!” he yelled, pulling the mask down from his nose and mouth. “It works!”

From below Anna waved back to him, then, cupping her hands before her mouth, she shouted something, but it was difficult to make out what she was saying, his ears were ringing so much. Besides, the furious hissing of the steam, that high-pitched whine, seemed to grow by the moment.
Go back
, she’d said, or something like it. Grinning, he nodded, then, waving to her again, turned back to watch the hissing cap.

“It worked,” he said quietly, noting how the cap was trembling now, rattling against the four restraining pins. “It really worked.”

Climbing down, he went across and, taking care not to get
too
close, edged around until he could see the gauges.

Yes!
A thrill of excitement went through him, seeing how both arrows were deep in the red.
It was passing a charge!

He stood back, grinning, then felt himself go cold. Even as he watched, one of the metal pins began to move, easing itself slowly from its berth within the rock, as though some invisible but mighty hand were pulling it from the stone.

Slowly he began to edge away. As he did, the noise from the cap changed, rising a full octave, as if that same invisible hand had pressed down on the key of an organ.

Atrus turned and, scrambling up the slope and over the rim, began to run, ignoring the impact of the heat, fighting it … but it was like running through some thick, glutinous substance. He had gone barely ten paces when he tumbled forward, coming up facing the way he’d come. And as he did, the whole of the rim behind him seemed to lift into the air.

COMING TO, ATRUS LOOKED UP, SURPRISED
by the sight that met his eyes. On every side, the great walls of the volcano stretched up, forming a jagged circle where they met the startling blueness of the sky.

He was in the crater—the rim must have given way.

Slowly he got to his feet. Steam billowed across the rock-cluttered floor of the volcano, concealing its far edges. From time to time a figure would form from the clouds, the crystalline shapes strangely beautiful.

He saw the battery at once. Going over to it, he crouched, then shook his head, amazed by its condition. It was virtually untouched. The polished stone exterior had a few buffs and scratches, but it was still in one piece. Moreover, the dial on the top showed that it was fully charged.

Atrus laughed, delighted. Reaching out, he smoothed its upper surface almost lovingly. At least he knew now that the principle was sound. If he could only find the right vent, if he could only get the pressure right, then it would work and they would have an unlimited supply of electricity. Their lives would be transformed. The cleft would shine like a cat’s eye in the desert night.

Smiling, Atrus raised his head, looking directly ahead of him. For a moment a cloud of steam obscured his view. Then, as it cleared, he found himself staring into blackness.

It was a cave. Or a tunnel of some kind.

He stood, then took a step toward it.

Strange. It seemed almost as though it had been carved from the surrounding rock.

The steam swirled back, concealing it.

“Atrus!”

He turned, looking up at Anna, high above him, silhouetted against the crater’s lip.

“Come up! Come up here now!”

Atrus frowned. “But my battery …”

“Now!”

WALKING BACK, SHE WAS UNNATURALLY
silent. Then, suddenly, she stopped and turned to face him.

“Atrus, what did you see?”

“I saw …” He hesitated, surprised by her question.

“Atrus. Answer me. What did you
see?
”

“My battery. My battery was charged.”

She let out her breath. “And was that all?”

“There was steam. Lots of steam.” He frowned, then. “My battery. I’ve got to get my battery.”

He made to turn back, but she placed a hand gently on his arm. “Forget the battery. It’s too dangerous. Now come, let’s clean you up.”

T
HE MOON WAS BARELY UP WHEN, MAKING
sure not to wake his grandmother, Atrus crept out. Taking a rope and the large piece of sack from the storeroom, he ventured out onto the volcano’s slope.

Halfway up the slope he paused, feeling a renewed sense of shock at the altered shape of the caldera’s rim. That physical change seemed somehow linked to another, deeper change within himself.

Atrus stood at the rim, looking down the loose path that hugged the volcano’s inner slope. Staring down into that darkness he experienced a sense of threat he’d not felt before.

He climbed over the rim, moving down into the darkness, disconcerted by the unfamiliar rumbling that emanated from the depths below. A tiny shiver ran up his spine, stirring the hairs at the back of his neck.

Out on the volcano’s floor it was strangely warm and humid. Atrus looked about him, then slowly made his way across, his heart pounding, his eyes searching the nearest outcrops of rock. Steam swirled and hissed, wreathing those shapes, transforming them in the moon’s fine, silvered light.

The battery was where he left it. For a moment he crouched over it, his left hand resting loosely on its familiar casing. But his eyes were drawn to the tunnel’s mouth. Compelled, he walked across.

Then, taking the tinderbox from his inner pocket, he pressed the catch and stepped inside.

In the glowing light from the tinder he could see how the tunnel stretched away into the darkness, sloping gradually, like a giant wormhole cutting through the solid rock. It was cool there. Surprisingly so. As if a breeze was blowing from within the tunnel.

He walked on, counting his steps. At fifty paces he stopped and turned, looking back at the way he’d come. From where he stood he could not see the entrance. The curve of the tunnel obscured it from sight.

He walked on, as if in some kind of spell, compelled to see where this led.

The smell of sulfur was far less strong than it had been. Other, stranger smells filled the air. Musty, unfamiliar smells.

Atrus turned and went over to the wall, placing his palm against it. It was cool and smooth and dry. He was about to move away when some irregularity farther down the wall drew his attention. He walked over to it, holding up the tinder, then stopped. Facing him a single word had been cut into the wall—a huge thing half his own height and twice his breadth.

D’ni! There was no mistaking it. It was a D’ni word!

Atrus stared at it, not recognizing it, but committing it to memory.

Until now, he had only half-believed the things his grandmother had told him. There were days, indeed, when he had imagined that she had made the books on her shelves herself, in the same way she seemed to conjure her paintings from the air, or turn a piece of unformed rock into an exquisitely carved figure.

Such thoughts had disturbed him, for he had never known his grandmother to lie. Yet the tales were so strange, so fantastic, that he found it hard to believe that such things had ever really happened.

Atrus began to back away, to head back for the entrance, but as he did he almost slipped on something beneath his feet. It rolled away from him, beginning to glow, softly at first, then brightly, its warm red light filling the tunnel.

He went across and crouched beside it, putting his hand out tentatively to see if it were hot. Satisfied it was cool, he picked it up, holding it between his thumb and forefinger to study it.

It was a small, perfectly rounded rock—a marble of some kind. He had collected rocks and crystals for almost ten years now, but he had never seen its like. He cupped it in his right hand, surprised by its lack of warmth.

Dousing the tinder, he slipped it into his pocket, then straightened up, holding the marble out and looking to see if there were any others, but several minutes’ search revealed no more.

Then, knowing that time was pressing, he turned and hurried out, meaning to raise the battery before Anna woke and wondered where he was.

IT TOOK ALMOST AN HOUR FOR HIM TO DRAG
the battery back up to the rim. Anna came and helped him the last thirty feet or so, standing on the lip above him, straining on the rope, while he knelt and pushed the battery from below.

In silence they carried it down the slope to the cleft.

Anna disappeared over the cleftwall, returning a moment later with a bowl of water. Atrus sat, staring at his hands where they lay folded in his lap, waiting for her to chastise him for disobeying her, but she was silent still.

“It was my fault,” he said finally, glancing at her, wondering why she had said nothing. “I wanted to put things right.”