The Myst Reader (115 page)

ATRUS TOOK HIS EYE FROM THE LENS OF THE
scope, then straightened up. He nodded to himself, as if some guess of his had been confirmed, then turned and gestured for Catherine to take the sample capsule from the shaft.

While Catherine tested the air sample of the second chamber, Marrim studied the surface of the nearest pillar. Like all of the others, its surface was completely covered in the strange, ancient markings. Esel and Oma had already begun the task of copying down the symbols, and though they had progressed little beyond the first two pillars, that had not stopped them from speculating upon their possible meaning.

Oma was of the opinion that this was an early form of D’ni, if only because of its age and location, but Esel was not so sure.

Marrim, looking at them once more, was struck by how beautiful the markings were.

Catherine came across, showing Atrus the sample. “It’s safe.”

“Good.” Atrus turned and looked across the room. “Irras, bring me a cutter.”

THE BOOK WAS HUGE, MUCH BIGGER THAN A
normal D’ni Book, the leather of its cover as thick and hard as slate, but strangest of all was the writing, for like the carvings on the pillars it was in a language none there recognized, though aspects of it were familiar.

For thousands of years the Book had lain there, sealed into the alcove at the far end of that ancient hidden hall. Now, seeing it there, the descriptive panel on the right-hand page glowing softly in the half-light, Marrim felt something between awe and a sheer superstitious fear of it.

Atrus, careful as ever, forbade any of them to touch it. He was determined to find out all he could before they used it.

That was, if they used it at all.

“Burn it,” old Tergahn said, on looking at that strange, alien script. “That’s what I say. If our forefathers thought to bury these chambers and seal the doorways up, then no good can come of it. Burn it, Atrus! Burn it, then seal these chambers up once more.”

“I agree,” Atrus said. “The Book is far too dangerous.”

But Esel and Oma argued otherwise.

“We should copy it,” Oma said. “See what sense we can make of it. In all likelihood it’s related to the markings on the pillars. If we can find a clue to reading it …”

Atrus hesitated. “All right,” he said, after a moment. “But you will take the utmost care in copying it.”

“I still say burn it,” Master Tergahn said, shaking his head, a sour look on his heavily lined face.

“It may well come to that,” Atrus said, glancing at the old man, “but it won’t harm to take a look. That is, if Oma and Esel can unlock the meaning of that script.”

“Burn it,” Tergahn said, more determined than ever. “Burn it now, before any harm is done.”

But Marrim, watching Atrus’s face, saw that Atrus was not about to bow to the old man’s superstitious fear of the Book.

“I hear you, Master Tergahn, and I note what you say. But I shall burn no Book without good cause.”

“Then you’re a fool young Atrus,” Tergahn said, and without another word he stalked away, the sound of his footsteps fading as he vanished into the darkness at the far end of the chamber.

Atrus stared a while, then turned, looking to Oma and Esel once more. “Begin at once,” he said. “The sooner we know what this means, the more comfortable I’ll feel.”

OMA SAT AT HIS MAKESHIFT DESK INSIDE THE
inner cell, dressed in one of the dark-green decontamination suits, complete with gloves and visor. The ancient Book lay to his left, open, the top two pages protected by a thin transparent sheet.

From his position on the other side of the bars, Esel looked on. He, too wore protective garb.

“Well? Is it the same?” he asked, waiting for Oma to check back in his notes.

Oma ruffled through the pages, then stopped, having clearly found what he was looking for, and read through the earlier passage. Half turning, he shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s
almost
the same …”

“Almost?” Esel’s heavy eyebrows went up.

For the last hour or so the two brothers had been debating a passage partway through the text that seemed to have no correlation with the normal, expected structure of such Descriptive Books. In it, many of the earlier passages they had already translated seemed to be repeated, yet with minor changes of phrasing and emphasis.

“The changes are so minor … It’s almost as if the writer is trying to reinforce the earlier phrases.”

“Hmmm …” Esel frowned deeply. “Reinforcement, yes. But to what purpose?”

“To make it more stable, perhaps?” Atrus said, coming across from where he had been checking one of the big E.V. suits.

“Then why not a direct repetition?”

“Because that would be redundant. By making such subtle changes in the repeated phrases, the writer may have been attempting to make the Age he was writing
more specific.
”

Oma had turned to face Atrus. “But why not simply put in those subtleties first time round?”

“As I said. To make it all more stable. I know from experience that the more subtle you try to be, the more
specific
, the more unstable your Ages are likely to be. It was the one great flaw with the worlds my father wrote.”

“Then why did the practice cease?”

“Who can say? Things change. Perhaps they felt it
was
redundant and let the practice lapse.”

“Maybe,” Oma said. “Yet I rather like it. That is, if it is what you think it is, Master Atrus.”

“And I,” Atrus said, smiling. Then, changing the subject, “Are you still having problems with the phraseology?”

Oma grinned and looked to his brother. “We were, but we think we’ve mastered that now. Most of the oddities are simple structural inversions in the individual sentences. They probably accord with standard speech patterns of that time.”

Atrus nodded. They knew now, for certain, that the underlying basis of the ancient script
was
D’ni, for the primitive forms matched the modern ones virtually one-to-one.

“So how long do you think it will take you to complete the work?”

Oma looked to his brother. “Two days? Three at most.”

“Then keep to it. And Oma …”

“Yes, Master Atrus?”

“You might ask Marrim and Irras to look at the characters you have not yet managed to translate. They have a fresh eye to the language, and who knows if they might not see what more familiar eyes would overlook.”

“I shall prepare a page for them.”

“Good. Then I shall leave you to it.”

IT WAS TIME, ATRUS DECIDED, TO MAKE A DECISION
.

For the best part of a day he had sat alone at his desk, reading through the translated copy of the Book.

“Well?” Catherine asked finally, taking a seat across from him.

Atrus considered a moment, then answered her. “It is phrased so strangely. Unlike the D’ni Books we are used to. There is a certain …
ambiguity
to it. And yet, on the surface, it seems a safe and stable world. Those reinforcing phrases would seem to make it so. Yet what if there’s something we’ve overlooked? Some small yet crucial detail.” He shook his head. “I can’t risk one of our people being trapped there.”

“Then do as Master Tergahn said. Burn the Book. At least that way you’ll remove the temptation.”

Atrus laughed. “You think it
is
a temptation, then?”

“Of course it is! The young people think of nothing else … talk of nothing else. Why, they are so curious about what lies on the other side of that page that they would link at once, if you gave permission, without a moment’s thought for their safety.”

Atrus stared at her. “I didn’t realize.”

“On the other hand …”

“What?”

Catherine looked down, a strange smile on her lips. “You or I could go.”

“And take the risk?”

“Or destroy the Book.”

They stared at each other a moment longer, then, with a tiny shrug, Atrus reached across and took one of the last of their small store of blank Linking Books from the side.

“Okay,” he said, glancing up at her. “I’ll write a Linking Book. But
I
go, understand? No one else.”

“Yes, my love,” she answered, watching him open the slender Book then reach across for the pen. “You alone.”

WHEN IT WAS DONE, ATRUS GATHERED TOGETHER
the small team who had been working on the project and told them the news. There were grins and cheers and then, strangely, silence, as the full implication of what Atrus had said sank in.

“But you can’t!” Irras said. “The risk’s far too great!”

“No greater than for any of you,” Atrus answered, determined not to be swayed by any argument of theirs. “I’ve made up my mind and it won’t be changed. I link through, tomorrow morning, once everything’s in place. Carrad, Irras, you’ll be responsible for the suit, all right? Catherine will run the laboratory. Marrim … you’ll assist her. Master Tamon …”

“Atrus … Irras is right. You cannot go. You’re far too important. If anything went wrong …”

“Precisely. If anything went wrong it would be on
my
conscience, and I cannot have that.”