The Myst Reader (83 page)

No
, she thought.
Worse than that. Much worse.

 

 

§

 

 

Irras found her crouched on the riverbank.

“Marrim?”

She glanced up at him, then returned her gaze to the surface of the water.

“Marrim? What is it?”

She answered without looking at him. “You
know
what it is.”

“Look. I know you’re disappointed, Marrim, we all are, but it can’t be helped. The elders only let us help Atrus on the understanding that once he made the breakthrough that was it.”

Marrim was silent. She picked up a handful of pebbles and, one by one, began to throw them into the slow-moving stream.

Irras watched her a moment, combing his fingers back through his dark, fine hair. Then, sighing. “Come on, Marrim. Don’t spoil things. You knew this day would come.”

“I know,” she said. “But it’s hard. I mean, it’s not like going hunting, say, or fishing. There, no matter how far you venture, you come back and you’re the same, unchanged. But the journey
we’ve
been on…”

Irras was silent for a long time, thinking about what she’d said, then he shrugged. “You’ll be okay. You’ll settle again.”

“Maybe…”

Irras stared at her, surprised by the uncertainty in her voice.

Yet before he could speak again, to reassure her, Carrad came running up, his broad chest rising and falling from his exertions, sweat beading the big knuckle of his skull.

“Irras! Marrim! You’re wanted! Atrus has called a meeting!”

Marrim looked down. No doubt he wanted to thank them and say goodbye before the feast, because there would be no time for informal farewells later on. But right now she didn’t feel like farewells.

“I saw him,” she said, “speaking to my father.”

Carrad nodded. “Mine, too.”

She looked up. He at least understood what she was feeling, she could see it in his eyes.

“I wish…”

“What?” she said gently, brought out of herself by the sight of his suffering.

“I wish we’d never started this.”

Yes. But it was too late now. It would have been best for them all if they had never learned about D’ni and Books and all the rest of it, but now…

Irras’s voice broke into her thoughts. “
Well?
Are you going to keep Atrus waiting?”

Marrim looked to Carrad, then back to Irras. In appearance the two young men were like rock and wood, the one so broad and solid, the other so agile and slender; but on the inside they were much alike.

“No,” she said, knowing that whatever she was feeling, it was not Atrus’s fault: He had been as good as a father to them, after all. “You’re right, Irras. Let us not keep Master Atrus waiting.”

 

 

§

 

 

The hut was the last of the new buildings to remain standing, and in an hour or so it, too, would be gone, the dark earth beneath its floor raked over, as if nothing had ever been there on the site. Looking at it, Atrus sighed. They had had happy times here, working, laughing, teaching the young people how to use their quick and nimble minds. He would miss that. Indeed, it was only now, at the end, that he realized just how much he was going to miss it.

Atrus turned, looking to Catherine. She was crouched, packing the last of their books into a knapsack. He watched her a moment, the familiarity of her shape, her every movement, ingrained in him. There were lines at her neck now, and a fine web of lines about her eyes and mouth, but these only made her more dear to him. The D’ni blood in him made him age the tiniest bit slower than she, and there was always the consciousness that one day he would be alone, without her by his side, but that only made him savor each moment that much more.

She glanced up, noticing him watching her, and smiled. Then, seeing the concern in his eyes, she stood and came across.

“What is it?”

He hesitated, then. “I wish there was another way.”

“Is that why you want to talk to them?”

He nodded.

“And what will you say?”

“I don’t know. But I feel I ought to say something. As it is, I feel as if we’re simply abandoning them.” He raised a hand. “I know we agreed to all this long ago, but I didn’t know then how I would feel at the end.”

“I know…” There was a sadness in her face that mirrored his own. “But at least they got to see D’ni.”

 

 

§

 

 

“Marrim, Irras, Carrad…come in.”

There was an awkwardness about Atrus’s manner that was strange. It was almost as if the years between his arrival and his imminent departure had melted away, leaving them all strangers again. The three young Averonese also moved awkwardly as they stepped into the shadows of the hut, unable to meet their friend’s eyes, their every gesture a denial of what was happening. This was difficult for them. More difficult than anything they’d ever done.

Marrim, particularly, seemed eclipsed. She was usually so bright, so full of life. Catherine, watching her from where she stood behind her husband, felt her heart go out to the young woman. It would be hard for her to stay here. There was such a hunger in her for new things, and what was new in Averone?

“Friends…” Atrus said, as they sat on the long bench facing him. “I…” He made a tiny noise of exasperation, then, leaning toward them, his hands extended in exhortation, said, “I wish this wasn’t happening. I wish…”

They were watching him now.

Atrus’s voice, when it came again, was subdued, as if he understood that even uttering these words might not help. “I wish you could come with us. I wish that more than anything.”

Catherine saw the small, shuddering movement in each of them. The words had touched them. It was what they wanted. Wanted more than anything. And somehow, strangely, it helped them to know that Atrus wanted that too.

Marrim looked from side to side to her friends, then spoke. “We understand.”

“Yes.” The single word sounded bleak. It all came down to this. Atrus had given his word, and he could not break it. Indeed, he would not be the man he was if that were possible. To be what one said one was…that, too Atrus, was of the essence. And he had instilled that into these young people. What one said, what one wrote—these things mattered. As much as life and death.

“I wanted to give each of you something,” Atrus said gently. “To remember us by.”

Atrus stood and went across, lifting three small parcels from the table at the side. Catherine had noticed them earlier and guessed what they were. Books. D’ni Books.

He returned, then leaned across the table, setting a parcel before each of them, then sat again, waiting for them to open them. But none of them made even the vaguest movement to unwrap the gifts.

“Well?” Atrus said after a moment, clearly trying to understand what was going on. “Have I done the wrong thing?”

It was Marrim who answered him. “We thank you for the gifts, Master Atrus, but we cannot accept them. We have finished with all that now, and we must settle here, in Averone.”

But Catherine saw the look of longing in her eyes, quickly suppressed, and felt almost giddy at the thought of what they were doing here. Atrus and she had not even
begun
to imagine the effect they would have on these young people.

She looked away, unable to bear it any longer. Yet even as she did there was a knock on the door.

Atrus looked up, even as the young Averonese turned in their seats.

The door swung slowly open.

“Gevah!” Atrus said, standing and giving a tiny bow.

The old man looked about him, taking in the situation at a glance, then, with a nod to Atrus and Catherine, he stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

“Forgive me for intruding,” he began, “but I have come from a meeting of the elders.”

Catherine saw the three young people deflate at the words. If there had been any glimmer of hope, it had died in that moment.

“They asked me to come at once,” Gevah continued, “before a great mistake was made.”

Atrus blinked, then. “You can tell the elders that I will keep my word. These presents are but a token. I…”

“You misunderstand me, Master Atrus,” Gevah said, interrupting him. “The mistake I am talking of is not yours but ours.
You
have been as good as your word. No, we have discussed the matter at length and are of one mind. The link must remain open.”

Atrus simply stared at the old man. The young people were also staring, but their eyes were bright now and there were the ghosts of disbelieving smiles on their faces.

“Averone must remain Averone,” Gevah said, “so it is right that the workshops should be pulled down. But there have been other changes. Changes that cannot be pulled down and raked over.”

Gevah looked at the three young people who were sitting there and smiled.

“Oh, we are old, but we are not stupid. We have eyes, yes, and imaginations, too. We see how you have changed, and we are proud of you, just as Master Atrus is proud of you.”

Catherine could contain herself no longer. “Then they can come with us? To Chroma’Agana? And D’ni?”

Gevah turned to her. “On one condition. That they return here, one month in two, to serve as teachers to our young, to pass on the skills they have learned.”

And now, as one, the three jumped up, whooping elatedly and hugging each other, crying with joy. Even old Gevah was included in their hugs.

When things had died down, Atrus asked, “What made you change your mind, Gevah?”

The old man smiled. “The fact that you did what you had promised you would do, and without protest. It made us think. It made us see how much we had to lose if you were gone.”

Atrus stood, then came round the table and embraced the old man. “Then let it be so. We shall take great care of these young people. And they will return, to pass on what they know. They will make you doubly proud of them, Gevah.”

“I know,” the old man said, stepping back, his eyes dwelling long on the three young people. “In fact, I am certain of it.”

 

 

§

 

 

It was very late when Atrus and Catherine returned to their stall in the great lodge house. Now that the link was to remain, the feast had been a merry one, all of their young helpers in such a mood that it was hard to believe that they had all just volunteered for yet more years of long and grueling work.

Settling down beside Catherine, Atrus yawned, then gave a small chuckle.

“What now?” Catherine whispered, snuggling in to his side.

He looked up at the great raftered roof of the lodge house high above and grinned. “The look on Marrim’s face when she finally opened her present,” he whispered. “Why, you’d have thought I’d wrapped up the sun itself and given it to her!”

Catherine nodded thoughtfully, then. “She’s a hungry one. Starving for knowledge and for strange exotic places. Oh, I know that hunger, Atrus.”

“Yes,” he said quietly, conscious of the hundreds of sleeping Averonese surrounding them. “And now she’ll have a chance. We can teach her, Catherine. Teach her how to write.”

“Yes…”

Atrus was silent for a long time after that. He lay there on his back, his arm curled about Catherine, unable to sleep, staring up into the dark, thinking about what lay ahead.

The breakthrough to D’ni was only the first step. The real work had yet to begin—the gathering in of the Books, the searching of the Ages. It would be a slow, laborious task.

Catherine must have sighed, though she was unaware of it. Atrus lifted himself up onto one elbow and looked down into her face. “What is it?” he whispered.

She met his eyes. “What if no one survived? What if we’re alone?”

“We won’t know—not until we’ve tried. But I can’t believe there aren’t some D’ni somewhere. Can you?”

She smiled, calmed by his certainty. “No.”

“Good,” he said. “We’ll worry about all that in the morning.”

 

 

§

 

 

“Marrim! Marrim! Look at this! Have you ever seen the like?”

Marrim squeezed past Irras then stopped dead, astonished by the sight that met her eyes.

“Books!”

The long, low room was filled to bursting with books: on shelves on the walls, in piles on the floor, and on both desks; even stacked up on the tall-backed chair that rested behind the bigger of the desks. More books than she had ever dared imagine. Why, she could spend years in this one room alone and never read half of them!

She turned, excited, to find Atrus standing there.

“Master Atrus…”

He stepped past her, looking about him.

“This was my father’s room,” he said. “His study.”

Atrus walked across and lifted something from among the books on the desk—an elaborate-looking pipe. He lifted it to his nose and sniffed, then placed it back, a strange expression on his face.

“He must have been a clever man,” Irras offered.

Atrus turned. “Clever…yes.” But he said no more.

“There are Books here,” he said after a moment, his pale eyes narrowed. “D’ni Books. There might be functional Ages in some of them. Marrim, go through the shelves and the piles on the floor. Gather them together. But don’t be tempted by them. Some of these worlds are dangerous. That’s why we use the suit, remember? Your task is to locate them and bring them to me. Afterward, when all are gathered in, we can decide which ones to visit.”

The two youngsters nodded.

“By the way,” Atrus said, “where’s Carrad?”

“With Catherine,” Irras answered. “They found a boat. They’re trying to repair it.”

“Ah…” Atrus nodded, but Marrim, watching him, noticed how distant he seemed.