The Myst Reader (106 page)

A BURROWING WORM BLINKS IN THE SUNLIGHT
     AND PULLS HIS EYES DOWN OVER HIS EYES.
  EARTH’S MOUTH STEAMS. DEEP VOICES GRUMBLE.
     TIME DRAWS A JAGGED LINE UPON THE SAND
               IN WHICH THE WOMAN WAITS.

—
FROM THE
KOROKH
JIMAH
,
VV. 21660–64

T
HE BROAD LEATHER SPINES WERE OLD BUT
well cared for, the blues and reds, the blacks and yellows and greens of the ancient Books embossed with D’ni symbols that were faded yet still readable. Row after row of them crowded the shelves of the storeroom, overspilling into a second great room: 787 Books in total—all that remained of the tens of thousands that had once graced the great houses and common libraries of D’ni.

Two large desks had been pushed together in one corner of the newly added room, on which were stacked a huge pile of Kortee’nea—blank Books—they had unearthed, to their astonishment, beneath the fallen stones of one of the common libraries.

Seated at one of those desks, his head down, patiently toiling into the night, Atrus was unaware of Catherine’s approach until he felt her hands upon his shoulders.

“Haven’t you finished yet, my love?”

“Two more lines,” he said, indicating the Linking Book he had been working on, “and then I’m done.”

To one side of him, beyond the ink stand and the glowing orange lamp, was a small pile of Linking Books—five in all—that he had prepared already.

It was four months since their trip to Bilaris and they had all worked hard. All of the Books were gathered in—yes, and cataloged and read. The six most likely had been selected by Atrus and Catherine, after a long and sometimes heated debate, and now they were almost—
almost
—ready to go.

A month back, belatedly fulfilling his promise to the elders of Averone, Atrus had sent his young helpers home, to teach the new generation, taking the time, in their absence, to make his final preparations.

Tomorrow they would return, and a new phase of the reconstruction—a painstaking search of the Ages—would begin.

“You have the draft letter?” Catherine asked, easing past him to sit on the edge of the desk.

Atrus reached across and, rifling among his papers, came up with a single sheet. He handed it across, then watched as Catherine quickly read it through.

She looked back at him. “That should do.”

“You don’t think it too formal, then?”

“No. It has the right tone, I’d say. Dignified without being self-important.”

He laughed at that. The letter was an introduction of sorts, as well as being a statement of intent. And when his teams went into the Ages, they would each take copies of the letter, ready to present, if and when they made contact with survivors.

“I’ll make some copies, then,” he said, taking it back from her, “and seal them using my grandfather’s ring.”

Catherine stared at him a moment, then, changing the subject, said, “You’ve missed her, haven’t you?”

Atrus hesitated, then nodded. They were talking, as ever, of Marrim. “It’s strange, Catherine. Marrim was always so quick, so enthusiastic, but something’s changed since we came here. She’s grown.”

“Hungry children grow when fed,” Catherine said, covering his hand with her own. “You should begin teaching her. That copy of the
Rehevkor
we found…. You should give it to her, Atrus.”

The
Rehevkor
was the ancient D’ni lexicon; the principal teaching tool for D’ni children. Atrus himself had learned the D’ni language from it.

“You think so? You think she’s ready?”

Catherine grinned. “She was ready months ago. But first things first. Finish the Linking Book, then come and get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

STEPPING THROUGH THE OPEN DOORWAY, MARRIM
stared into the shadows of the schoolroom. Through the windows on the far side she could see the bay, the sun setting over the water. In an hour she would be gone. To Chroma’Agana, and thence to D’ni.

And then?

The thought of going—of visiting the Ages—thrilled her, yet at the same time she felt a deep regret that she had to leave here. Before now it had been easy, for there had been nothing for her here—except, of course, her family—but this last time things had changed. Now she had a reason to come back.

Marrim walked to the desk at the front of the room. It had all been crudely, hastily fashioned, to the orders of the elders, yet it had served its purpose well. A hundred or more children had crowded into this room by the end, eager to hear her and learn from her. And she, for her part, had been as eager to teach them.

It had been a wonderful four weeks, all told, yet now that it was over she found that she had missed Atrus and Catherine, missed them more than she cared to say. With them
she
was the pupil.

She grinned, remembering those smiling, eager faces crowded into the room in front of her, the sea of enthusiastic hands, the openmouthed wonder as she told them stories about the D’ni.

Maybe that had been wrong, for her brief from the elders was to teach them useful skills—reading and writing and the use of numbers—but it would have been lean fare indeed had she not seasoned it with tales.

She smoothed her hands over the surface of the desk, then, knowing she had come here for a purpose, crouched down and began to take her things from the drawers, slipping them into her knapsack.

Last of all she removed her journal from the bottom drawer, pausing a moment to open it and read the last few entries. She had noticed how Atrus wrote everything down, keeping a daily record of events, but she had never thought to do the same until two months back, when, on a search of one of the midlevel houses, she had come upon an unused notebook. Since then, she had made the time each evening to set down her thoughts about the day’s activities, to
reflect
on what she’d done. And now that she did, she understood the purpose of it. If she were a boat, making her way across life’s water, then the journal was her compass. It let her steer her course. For how could she know where she was going without a reference to where she’d been.

Which made it only all the more curious that Atrus’s father, Gehn, had not seen that. Reading his journals, she had found it strange how little Gehn had reflected on the world about him. Gehn’s was not, as she understood it, a true intellectual curiosity, he was interested only in forcing the world to fit his first conception of it: a conception warped by his youthful experiences and the unbridled power of the art of writing.

Marrim closed the notebook and slipped it into the sack, then looked about her again. Even in the last few minutes the shadows in the room had deepened. In a moment the sun would sink below the horizon and it would be night. And she would be gone from here again.

She had already said her good-byes, her mother clutching her tearfully, her father taking her hands and squeezing them—as much emotion in that as in all her mother’s embraces. Now Irras and Carrad awaited her at the clearing in the wood. But still she stood there, reluctant to leave while one shred of light remained.

At such moments there was no logic to events; one had to go with the feeling.

The sun’s last light threw a bar of red across the open doorway to her right. Into that light now stepped a child. A young girl.

Marrim blinked, as if she had imagined it, but the child was still there, looking across at her, the dying light reflected in the moist pools of her eyes.

“Allem?”

Allem slowly came across. From close up Marrim could see she had been crying.

“You will come back, won’t you, Marrim?”

Marrim knelt, embracing her. “Of course I will.”

“You promise?”

“I promise. Now go. Your father will be angry if he knows you are here.”

The girl nodded but did not pull away. “I had to come. You’ve meant so much to us.”

Marrim sniffed. “And you … I enjoyed teaching you. You were good pupils. You made it easy for me.”

The girl looked up. “Can I come with you?”

“Come?” Marrim went to shake her head, but Allem spoke again.

“I don’t mean now. I mean later. When I’m grown up.”

Again Marrim made to shake her head, but then, relenting, she nodded. “Yes, Allem. When you’re older.”

ATRUS AND CATHERINE WERE IN THE LIBRARY
on Chroma’Agana to greet them, as first Irras, and then Carrad, and finally Marrim linked through.

“Well …” he said, stepping back. “All is prepared. When the teams link through we can begin.”

The other team members would arrive tonight, but Atrus had wanted his team leaders back earlier to brief them.

“Which Ages did you finally choose, Master Atrus?” Irras asked. He had helped Atrus catalog the Ages.

“Six in all,” Atrus answered. “I’ve chosen old worlds to begin with. Family Ages of some solidity.”

“Will we be using the Maintainers’ suit?” Carrad asked.

“Not this time,” Atrus said, yet he glanced at Catherine as he did so, as if this had been a topic of debate between them.

They linked through to K’veer. There Gavas awaited them with a boat. Marrim greeted him, then took her seat in the stern, staring past the overhang of rock into the cavern beyond.

As they rowed out under the ledge and onto the lake, Marrim glanced at Atrus and, seeing him watching her, looked away, smiling to herself. It was so good to see him again. So good to be back. She had enjoyed her spell teaching, but this was her real work.
This
was where she belonged.

That morning’s briefings were long and highly detailed. Atrus was leaving nothing to chance. He had prepared information for each of the team leaders, giving them details of the terrain, the names of the families who had owned the Ages, and, as a precaution, basic points of D’ni etiquette. Last of all he handed them copies of the letter of introduction he had penned. Marrim stared at hers a moment, studying the dark green seal that had the imprint of a D’ni letter at its center, then slipped it into her jacket pocket.

The afternoon was spent in preparation, making up backpacks for each team member, with all-weather clothes and sufficient food. It had been decided that they would camp out in the Ages, if necessary, with one team member remaining at the link point, ready to get a message back to D’ni at a moment’s notice.

“I don’t expect trouble,” Atrus said, explaining the decision, “but we had best prepare for it.”

Even so, he would not let them take any weapons into the Ages. Their intentions were peaceful, and should the worst come to the worst and they were taken prisoner and searched, he did not want their captors finding anything upon them that might suggest otherwise.

“The Ages themselves are harmless. The Maintainers were careful to ensure that. And the survivors, if there are any, will undoubtedly be D’ni. They may not welcome you at first, but they will certainly not harm you.”