The Myst Reader (9 page)

ATRUS RAN DOWN THE MOONLIT SLOPE, CALLING
to Anna loudly as he ran, the dust flying up behind him. As he came to the cleftwall, he almost vaulted it, forgetting to remove his sandals.

“Grandmother! Grandmother!”

Her head poked from the kitchen window, startled. “What’s happened?”

Atrus stood on the swaying bridge, breathless, gasping his answer. “A stranger’s come! He sent me on ahead!”

Anna’s mouth fell open. “Gehn …” she said, almost whispering the word. Then, collecting herself, she ducked back inside. There was the sound of a metal bowl falling against the stone floor, and then the outside door flew open. Barefoot, she hurried down the steps that hugged the wall, her haste surprising Atrus.

“Grandmother?”

But she barely seemed to heed him as she circled the narrow rim of the inner wall and began to climb the rung ladder.

Atrus turned, watching as she clambered up onto the cleftwall, even as the stranger with the ash-white hair, the man who called himself his father, strode across and stopped, barely ten feet from the cleft.

“Mother?” he asked quietly, tilting his head slightly.

“Gehn,” she said once more, hesitating. Then she stepped closer, hugging him tightly. “Where have you been, my son? Why in the Maker’s name did you not come back?”

But Atrus, watching, noticed how the warmth of her embrace was not reciprocated, how lightly the stranger’s hands touched her shoulders, how distant he was as he stepped back from her, like a great lord from one of the tales.

“I came to see the child,” he said, as if he’d not heard her. “I came to see my son.”

ATRUS LAY SPRAWLED OUT ON HIS BELLY ON
top of the cleftwall, staring across at the shadowed rectangle of the kitchen, and at the bright square of the window in which Anna and the newcomer were framed. Though the two had been talking for some while now, little of real importance had been said. Even so, there was a strange tension between them. Anna, particularly, seemed to be walking on eggshells, afraid to say too much, yet keen to know where Gehn had been and what he had done. By comparison, Gehn was relatively taciturn, ignoring her questions when it suited him not to answer them.

Just now, Gehn was sitting on the polished stone ledge, to the right of the tiny galley kitchen, beside the door, his booted feet spread wide, his long, delicate hands resting on his knees, as he looked up at Anna. He had removed his cloak. Beneath it he wore a close-cut suit of midnight blue, the jacket edged with scarlet and decorated with a pattern of repeated symbols in red and green and yellow. It was so rich, so marvelous, Atrus could barely keep his eyes from it. But there were other fantastic things to be seen, not least of which was the pipe that lay beside him on the ledge.

The bottom of the pipe was a hollowed wooden bowl, from which a shaped glass stock, trimmed with silver, led to a curved copper mouthpiece. A tiny domed cap was set into the bowl in front of the stock, while at the center of the bowl, feeding into the glass of the stock, was a thick silver spindle.

As Atrus watched, Gehn took a tiny glass sphere from a pouch in the thick leather belt he wore. Turning it upside down, Gehn shook it gently, revealing a clear liquid that moved slowly, glutinously, its surface reflecting the yellow lamplight like oil.

Resting the sphere on his knees, Gehn unscrewed the lid to the spindle and set it aside, then poured a tiny amount of the liquid into the stock and replaced the lid. Then, taking a small leather bag from his jacket pocket, he took something from inside.

Atrus gasped. It looked like the marble he had found earlier. Gehn placed it within the domed cap.

Anna turned from where she stood and looked at Gehn. “Will you be staying long?”

Gehn glanced at her, then replaced the lid of the cap. “No. I have to leave tomorrow,” he answered, his voice heavily accented.

“Ah …” There was regret in Anna’s voice; hurt in those dark, familiar eyes. “It’s just that … well, I thought you might stay with Atrus a while. Get to know him, perhaps. He’s a good boy. You’d be proud of him. And after all …”

Gehn tightened the cap and looked up at her, his face expressionless. “I intend to take him with me.”

Anna turned, facing him, shock in her face. “With you?”

Atrus, watching from the darkness, felt his pulse quicken, his mouth grow dry. His heart was thudding in his chest.

Gehn lifted the pipe, staring at it, then cupped it between his hands and pressed his thumb down on the silver spindle. There was a snapping sound and the pipe seemed to come alive, burning briefly with a fierce blue light. After a moment, that same light filled the whole of the stock, making the strange, oil-like liquid gently bubble.

In that strange, unearthly light, Gehn’s face seemed very different, the shadows inverted.

“Yes,” he answered, meeting Anna’s eyes. “Have you a problem with that?”

“But Atrus belongs
here
…”

“Here?”
There was incredulity in Gehn’s voice. “And where is
here?
Nowhere, that is where. A hole in the ground, that’s all this is. Yes, and that’s all it will
ever
be. This is no place for a son of mine. No place at all.”

Anna fell silent, watching Gehn as he lifted the copper mouthpiece to his mouth and inhaled, the muscles in her cheek twitching oddly. Then she spoke again, quieter than before, yet with a firmness Atrus recognized at once. “But he’s not ready yet. He’s too young. There’s so much he has to learn …”

Taking the pipe from his mouth, Gehn interrupted her. “Of course Atrus is ready. Why, he is exactly the age I was when I first left here. And as for his education, that is the very reason I returned, so that I could teach him.”

“You?”

Anna’s tone was incredulous, yet Gehn seemed indifferent to her criticism. “Who better? I am, at least, educated to the task. And I
am
his father.”

Gehn set the pipe down and leaned toward Anna, frowning. “You
did
tell him about me?”

She looked away, a tightness in her face.

Gehn stood, angry now. “You mean you told him
nothing?
Kerath damn you, woman! How
could
you?”

Anna kept her voice low, conscious of Atrus outside, listening. “And what was I to say? That his father left the very hour he was born? That he didn’t even care enough to
name
him?”

“I would have called him Atrus. You know that.”

She turned back, glaring at him, suddenly, explosively angry. “Yes, but you didn’t!
I
did. Yes, and
I
raised him.
Me
, Gehn, not you. And now you want him back, as though he were a parcel you’d left with me for safekeeping! But boys aren’t parcels, Gehn! They’re living, growing things. And Atrus hasn’t finished his growing.”

“I shall decide that,” he said gruffly. “Besides, he can help me with my studies. Be my assistant.”

“Your assistant?”

“In my researches. I have need of a willing helper, and the boy seems willing enough.”

“Researches into what?”

“Into the D’ni culture.”

“The D’ni?” Anna laughed bitterly. “All that has gone. Don’t you understand that yet?”

“No,” he answered, drawing himself up, a note of pride entering his voice. “You are wrong. That is where I have been these past fourteen years. In D’ni. Researching, studying, seeking out the great and mighty secrets of the D’ni culture.” He gave a single, dignified nod. “I tell you, none of it was lost. It is still all there.”

Atrus, watching, felt a shiver go down his spine, a tiny ripple of disbelief making him feel, for that instant, that he was in a dream.

Still there? But that was impossible, surely?

Anna shook her head dismissively. “No, Gehn. You forget. I’ve seen it with these eyes. It’s gone. Destroyed. Can’t you accept that? Can’t you forget the past?”

Gehn stared back at her coldly, imperiously, accepting nothing. “Oh, I can easily believe that
you
would like to forget it!”

She stared back at him silently.

“You never valued it, did you?” he continued, not sparing her. “You never cared for it the way
I
cared. But I am not having that for my son. I want him to know about his past. I want him to be proud of it, the way
I
am proud of it.” He bristled with indignation. “I shall not betray
him
the way you betrayed
me!
”

“Gehn! How can you say that? I did my best for you!”

“Your
best
? And how good
was
your best? This hole in the ground you call a home? Is
this
your best?”

Anna looked away. “Atrus should decide. You can’t just take him.”

Gehn leaned right in to her, his face only inches from her own. “Of course I can. I am the boy’s father. It is my right.”

“Then let me come with you. Let me look after the boy while you are teaching him.”

Gehn shook his head. “That would not be right. It would not be the D’ni way. Or do you forget that also? Do you forget how you gave me up to the Guild when I was but four years old?”

“But …”

His voice overrode hers harshly. “But nothing. He is coming with me and that is that. If you wish to help, you might pack a knapsack for him for the journey. Not that he’ll need much.”

“But Gehn …” She reached out to touch his arm, but he pulled away from her. Turning, Gehn reached down and picked up his pipe, then, tugging open the door, he stepped out, into the open air.

For a moment he stood there, turned away from where Atrus lay, drawing on his pipe, the light from the kitchen making a silhouette of him, then he turned back, his chest and arms and face revealed in the faint blue glow of the pipe.

“Atrus?” he said, speaking to the boy where he lay on his belly on the cleftwall. “Go to bed now and get some sleep. We shall be leaving early in the morning.”

C
ROUCHING BESIDE HIS MOTHER’S GRAVE
, Atrus leaned across and, careful not to disturb the earth, plucked one of the delicate blue flowers. Placing it in the journal he had open on his knee, he closed the book gently, then slipped it into the small leather knapsack at his side.

For a moment he simply stared, taking in the sight. In the half-light he could not discern their proper color, yet he had only to close his eyes and he could see the flowers in the sunlight, like a quilt of lilac lain on that bed of rich, dark earth.

Goodbye
, he said silently.

To be truthful, Atrus did not really know what to feel. Excitement? Certainly, the prospect of traveling—of seeing D’ni—thrilled him, yet the thought of leaving here, of leaving Anna, frightened him. Too much had happened far too quickly. He felt torn.

“Atrus! Come now. We must go.”

He turned, looking across at the figure silhouetted against the dawn light at the far end of the cleftwall, and nodded.

Anna was waiting for him close by. Embracing her, he felt a kind of panic, a fear of not seeing her again, well up in him. She must have sensed it, for, squeezing him tightly, she then moved back, away from him, holding his upper arms and smiling at him.

“Don’t worry now,” she said softly. “I’ll be all right. The store’s full and what with all those improvements you’ve made for me, I’ll not know what to do with myself half the time.”

Her kind face lit with a smile. “Besides, your father has promised me he’ll bring you back three months from now to visit.”

“Three months?” The news cheered him immensely.

“Yes, so you must not worry.”

She reached down, then handed him his pack. He had watched her earlier, selecting various items from their meager store and placing them into the pack for his journey, including all of the tiny cakes she had cooked only the previous day. Atrus stared at the pack, his fingers brushing lightly against its brightly embroidered cloth, moved by the simple care she took over everything, knowing he would miss that.