The Myst Reader (109 page)

It was late morning on the third day when Tamon climbed the harbor steps wearily.

“So?” Atrus asked, concealing any impatience he felt.

“We have decided we will talk with you,” Tamon answered. “Others will come at high sun. They will listen to what you have to say.”

“You are still in doubt?”

“Not I,” Tamon said, “but you must understand, Atrus. We have been much alone here, and some of the younger men have never seen a stranger. But come … let us eat and talk and then, perhaps, decide what shall be done.”

TAMON HAD NOT KNOWN ATRUS’S GRANDFATHER
, yet he had much to tell Atrus about the circumstances leading up to the fall of D’ni, things not even Anna had told him.

“There were many who blamed her for everything. In those final hours they cursed her name, as if Veovis and that foul philosopher had had no part in it,” Tamon concluded, even as he offered his pipe across the table to Atrus.

Atrus accepted the stubby, ornately carved pipe, then, out of politeness, took a tiny indrawn breath of the acrid smoke. Tamon, watching him, smiled, showing a set of pearl white, perfectly formed teeth.

“Strong,” Atrus said, trying not to cough. His eyes watered.

Catherine, seated beside Atrus, accepted the pipe from him. Tamon watched her through half-lidded eyes. It was clear that he was not used to women who were quite so forward in their ways. As she handed the pipe back to him he frowned, not knowing he did so, then looked away quickly, lest what he was thinking conveyed itself to Catherine.

Yet Catherine, looking on, saw everything. These people had lived so openly these last seventy years that they had lost whatever social masks they’d once possessed. What they were was written clearly on each face: their hopes, their fears, yes, and especially their suspicions, all could be read, as in a book.

But of this she said nothing.

“And you, Master Tamon?” she asked. “Did you blame Ti’ana?”

“Not I,” the old man said, and Catherine could see he meant it. “Oh, I thought her strange, I don’t deny. But she was honest. Anyone with a pair of eyes could see just how honest she was.”

“Then come back with us, Master Tamon,” Atrus said, leaning toward him. “Help us rebuild D’ni. It will take time, I know. A long, long time, perhaps. But time is what we D’ni have plenty of.”

Tamon stared back at him, then shrugged. “I must talk some more with my own people. Discuss things with them further. Only then …”

“I understand,” Atrus said. “Yet in your deliberations, remember this. There will be other survivors. Hopefully many. And they will make the task easier for us all. Every extra pair of hands will make a difference.”

“I see that,” Tamon said. Then, changing the subject, he turned and clapped his hands. At the signal, two young boys—barely out of their infancy—came across and, bowing, presented themselves to Atrus and Catherine.

“My grandchildren,” Tamon said, smiling proudly at them. “Arren, Heejaf … say welcome to the good people.”

The two boys bowed, and then, in perfect D’ni, bid their guests welcome and good health. Atrus grinned and clapped his hands loudly, but Catherine, watching the old man, seeing how proud he was at that moment, knew, even before he had discussed the matter with his fellow villagers, what the answer would be.

IT WAS ONLY LATER THAT THEY LEARNED OF
the old man’s tragedy.

Nine days after the fall of D’ni, his son, Huldref, had volunteered to link back, to try to discover what had happened and whether it was safe to return. He had promised he would be back within a day with news, but Huldref had never returned. Doubtless he had succumbed to the plague that had claimed so many other victims. And Tamon and his wife had been left to grieve.

That night, however, the mood of Tamon and his people was much brighter. News that D’ni was to be rebuilt had stirred the survivors and they were eager to get back and help. Packing what they would need, they prepared to link back to their home Age—an Age many of them, far younger than old Tamon, had never set eyes upon.

“We shall return to D’ni,” Atrus said, taking Tamon’s hands, “and prepare things for your people. There are makeshift shelters and beds. Enough for all of you.”

“Then let us meet again tomorrow, Atrus, son of Gehn,” Tamon said, his old hands gripping Atrus’s tightly. “Tomorrow. In D’ni.”

But Atrus was to have one further surprise. As the disorientation of the link back to D’ni wore off and he looked about him at the harborside, he shook his head, trying to clear his vision. On the far side of the square, a whole village of tents had sprung up. And people! There were people everywhere Atrus looked, sitting on their packs outside the tents, or standing in groups, talking. Seeing him, they fell silent, looking to him expectantly.

“Gavas?” Atrus called, looking to his young helper, even as Catherine and Marrim linked through. “What is going on here?”

“Atrus?” a voice asked from behind him. “You are Atrus, I assume?”

Atrus turned to find himself facing two men, in their thirties; a small, rather rotund man with disheveled hair, and a taller, dark-haired man with huge dark eyebrows and a frowning face. From their pale eyes he knew at once who they were.

The first of them—the one, he presumed, who had spoken—offered his hands.

“I am Oma,” he said, “from Bilaris. And this is my brother, Esel.”

“WELL,” SAID ATRUS, ONCE THEY WERE ALL
seated about the desks in the makeshift storehouse, “when did you get here?”

“Six hours back,” Esel answered. “Just before you last linked.”

Atrus narrowed his eyes. “You saw that?”

“We witnessed everything,” Oma said, getting in before his brother could speak again, one hand nervously combing through his lank, disheveled hair. “From the very start. We saw you …”

“We saw you, on K’veer,” Esel said. Unlike his brother, he sat very still, like a statue, his face formed into what seemed a permanent frown. Indeed, looking at the pair from where she sat at Atrus’s side, Catherine could not think of two men who looked less like brothers.

“You’ve been watching us all the time?” Atrus asked.

“Most of the time,” Oma conceded. “We weren’t sure.”

“So what made you change your mind and join us?” Atrus asked.

“Intuition,” Esel said.

Atrus waited, and after a moment Oma explained. “Things
felt
right. We watched what you were doing and there seemed no harm in it.”

“We talked a long while,” Esel added, “back in Bilaris, and we …”

“About that,” Atrus interrupted. “We visited your Age. There was nothing there.”

“So it seems,” Oma said, a faint smile on his lips. Again his fingers raked through his lank hair. “After D’ni fell our father thought we should take precautions. He decided that we should move from the main island. We built dwellings on the smaller islands …”

“On the far side of them,” Esel added, “where they couldn’t be seen from the main island.”

“So that’s it!” Atrus said, sitting back and steepling his hands, the mystery solved. “And your father …”

“Died twelve years ago,” Oma said, looking down.

“I’m sorry,” Atrus said.

“He was a Guildsman,” Esel said, after a moment. “A Master in the Guild of Archivists. He taught us.”

“And it was your idea to come back?” Catherine asked, speaking up for the first time.

Again the two men looked to each other.

“Our father never wanted us to,” Oma said. “Oh, he came back several times himself, but the mere sight of what had happened here would always darken his spirits. In the end he stopped coming.”

“But you came back,” Catherine prompted, “after his death.”

“Yes,” Esel answered. “Our people looked to us, you see. On Bilaris … well, there was no future on Bilaris.”

“And there’s a future here, you think?” Atrus asked.

“Yes,” the two men answered as one, then grinned—the same grin from two very different faces. And suddenly Catherine could see that they were indeed brothers.

“We want to help you,” Esel said.

“There are many craftsmen among us,” Oma added, “stonemasons and technicians.”

“That’s good,” Atrus said. “But how many of you are there?”

“The number will be no problem,” Esel said, sitting forward slightly. “We can live under canvas until more permanent quarters are available. And we can bring food from Bilaris. Fruit and fish. And fresh water.”

“Excellent,” Atrus said. He was about to say something more, but Catherine spoke again.

“Forgive me, Oma and Esel, but what exactly do you do?”

Oma looked to his brother. “We are … historians.”

“Of a kind,” Esel said quickly, a strange look of censure in his eyes.

“Of a
kind?
” Catherine asked, watching him closely.

“Of the self-taught variety,” Esel said, looking directly at her.

Again, there was that openness about him that she had seen in Tamon earlier. The loss of masks. As if, in being forced to live away from D’ni and its intense social pressures, they had all shed several layers of skin.

“Then you are among fellows,” Atrus said, “for we have all been forced back upon our own resources since D’ni fell. There is no shame in being self-taught, only in not seeking learning in the first place.”

“Well spoken,” Oma said, grinning once more. But beside him Esel just stared at Catherine, unaware that he was doing so.

WHEN TAMON AND HIS PARTY FINALLY ARRIVED
the next morning, they began to organize what part each would play in the coming reconstruction. It was generally agreed that the overall planning would be left in Atrus’s hands, but that Tamon, as a former member of the Guild of Stonemasons, was to be placed in charge of the actual stone-working.

There was a need, of course, to create sufficient living quarters for those returning from the Ages—for they had already outgrown their harborside site—but it was also felt that some kind of gesture was necessary: something that would symbolize the rebirth of D’ni. It was Tamon’s task to come up with a suitable scheme, something that would raise their spirits but not divert too much time and energy away from more practical measures.