The Myst Reader (117 page)

Atrus walked toward it, then mounted the steps.

It
was
ajar.

He set down the lamp, then stepped closer, peering through the crack, unwilling to shine a light through that narrow space until he knew what was on the other side.

It was dark, yet not as dark as the chamber in which he stood, and after a moment his eyes grew accustomed to the half-light within.

Another chamber, larger, grander than the library, but in ruin, a number of its mighty pillars fallen, its great arched ceiling cracked in places, revealing a cloud-strewn night of brilliant stars.

And now Irras came and stood beside him, squinting into the darkness.

“Ruins,” he said quietly, unable to keep the disappointment from his voice.

But Atrus made no comment, only: “Come, let’s fetch the others. It’s time we explored this Age.”

TORN PAGES CURL AND BROWN.
  THE FLAMES FLY UP.
IN THE FLICKERING LIGHT A CRY.
       WHO WILL LIFT THE FALLEN STONES?
WHO WILL LINK THE BROKEN CHAIN?

—
FROM THE KOROKH JIMAH,
VV. 11383–86

A
TRUS TURNED TO LOOK AS, ONE BY ONE
, his party linked through into the alcove, then stepped out into the chamber.

They had brought with them lamps and provisions, and as Oma, the last of them, stepped through, that ancient place seemed ablaze with the brilliant light of the fire-marbles.

Concerned that they might reveal themselves to hostile eyes, Atrus had them extinguish all but one of the lamps. Then, and only then, did he lead them across to the door at the far end of the chamber.

Though the door was open a crack, long eons of dereliction had wedged it in place, such that even with four of them heaving against its carved stone face they could not budge it the smallest fraction. Eventually, it was Marrim who, squeezing through the gap, set about clearing some of the debris from beneath it.

That done they tried again, and this time managed to move it back an inch or two, allowing the rest to squeeze through.

That second chamber, which Atrus had named the Temple, was a forlorn sight. It was not long now until the dawn, and in that last hour of the night it seemed impossible that they would find anything that might justify the time they had spent investigating this mystery.

This was a dead world. Or a world so long-abandoned as made little difference.

Marrim, standing in the center of that ruined chamber, turned full circle, taking in the desolation, then looked up through one of the great cracks in the fallen ceiling at the predawn sky.

It felt, to her, as if some ancient tragedy had befallen this place. Some tale so old that even the D’ni, that most ancient of races, had no record of it.

She turned back, looking to Atrus, who stood in the midst of the others, talking quietly, then spoke. “Atrus? What happened here?”

It was not that she expected him to answer; it was just that the question haunted her. Why was there no record of this place? And why had the Books been sealed off all these thousands of years?

“I don’t know,” Atrus answered, coming across. “Perhaps we’ll learn.” He turned slightly, addressing them all once more. “We’ll split into groups and explore the site. One hour. And if anyone finds anything, return here at once.”

They all knew what to do. They had done this now so many times it was second nature to them. Even so, it felt different this time, and as they stepped out through the great archway at the far end of the Temple, there were exclamations of surprise.

The Temple sat at the center of a host of other buildings, on a huge plinth of stone above the rest, while about the edges of that ancient town a great wood grew, the massive trees looming over that scene of ruin.

Not a building stood undamaged. In the growing light of dawn, they could see that long centuries had passed since anyone had ventured here. Weeds grew thickly over the fallen stone.

It was as if the tragedy that had befallen D’ni had also visited this place. Here, too, a great civilization had once flourished, only to crumble into dust.

“Well,” Atrus said, when no one had moved for several minutes. “Shall we see what there is to see?”

“MASTER ATRUS!” MARRIM SAID BREATHLESSLY
. “We’ve found something!”

Atrus turned to her. “What is it, Marrim?”

She grinned. “You must see this!”

At the outskirts of the ruined town, there was a way that wound between the massive trees following the course of an ancient stone drainage pipe that, over the long years, had been exposed to the air and now thrust up from the earth, like the rounded back of a huge snake.

They walked atop that ancient way, until they came to a massive slab of ochre rock that climbed the air in front of them.

“Here?” Atrus queried, for there seemed no way forward, but Marrim went on, climbing the rock like a mountain goat, seeming to find handholds where there appeared to be none.

Shrugging, Atrus followed, finding it much easier than he’d thought. The rock was porous and easy to grip; even so, he felt breathless by the time he’d come to the top of it.

As Catherine came near the top, he reached down and helped her up. Only then did he turn around and look. Only then did he understand just how high up they were.

And even as he registered that fact, his mind seemed to flip and his mouth fell open in sheer astonishment as he took in what he was looking at.

They were on the edge of a great plateau, a sheer drop of maybe half a mile directly beneath them, while below them, stretching from horizon to horizon, was the most beautiful land Atrus had ever seen; a land of lush, verdant farmland, massive fields divided by meandering waterways that sparkled in the early morning sunlight. Scattered here and there amid that vast landscape were buildings—huge, beautiful buildings of gleaming white stone, each set atop a grassy mound, and each one quite unlike anything Atrus had ever seen before, with a grandeur and elegance that took the breath. Godlike they were, such that, staring at them, Atrus wondered what manner of people inhabited this land.

All this Atrus took in at a glance, yet looking more distant, he caught his breath, seeing, in the far distance, its contours veiled in mist, another huge plateau, much larger than that on which they stood, up the soaring walls of which climbed a vast city of the same gleaming stone, the whole great edifice topped by a single massive building, with great towers and gilded domes.

Even at such a distance, Atrus understood at once. Here was something far greater than D’ni; a civilization so vast and ordered that it made his schemes for rebuilding that ancient home seem futile. No wonder they had let the ruins behind him lie untended. What need had they for such when they lived their daily lives amid such splendor?

Looking out across that magnificent landscape, Atrus felt a longing he had never thought to feel. A longing to belong to the land he had first seen only a moment before. And, looking to Catherine, who stood beside him, he saw it in her eyes, too.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“Yes,” he answered, taking her hand.

For a time they stood there, silent, lost in a haze of astonishment. Then there was a shout from below, from the foot of the rock.

“Atrus?
Atrus!
What’s going on up there?”

But Atrus had turned back, staring openmouthed once more, his eyes filled with astonishment as they flitted from wonder to wonder in that vast and beautiful land.

ATRUS DANGLED IN THE HARNESS, HIS LEFT
hand steadying him against the rough surface of the cliff face, as he leaned across and marked the trunk. Below him was a thousand feet of tree and rock, an almost vertical drop with here and there a yawning chasm reaching deep into the shadowed interior of the plateau.

Some fifty feet up from him, yet still some way from the summit, Carrad and Irras also hung, Irras fixing the two broad straps about the trunk of the marked tree, while Carrad began to saw through the base.

Above them was a path of neatly cut stumps, reaching up to where Master Tamon was busily organizing the construction of the platform, using the trunks they had cut earlier. They had been at the task two hours now and already a skeletal structure jutted out over the edge, a skein of ropes securing it until a more permanent fixing could be made.

Young Jenniran was in charge of making and fitting the winch, while Catherine and Marrim were busy organizing food and supplies for the expedition, a dozen backpacks laid out in a neat line at the back of the clearing.

Atrus turned, spinning expertly on the rope, stopping himself with the toe of his boot against the rock face. Looking up, he studied the channel they had cut through the trees and nodded to himself. He had chosen this route because of the slight overhang, turning a natural obstacle to his advantage. It would have been almost impossible to climb down from the plateau, and certainly quite unfeasible to attempt to clamber back in case of an emergency, but when the chairlift was working they could get up and down the cliff in minutes, and transport whatever equipment they needed—not to speak of its use in an emergency.

But he would need to replace Irras and Carrad soon. It would have been heavy work even on steady ground, and though they were still enthusiastic, he could see they were flagging—the slightly built Irras more than his sturdier cousin.

He called up to them, keeping his voice low enough to carry, but not strong enough to be overheard from below.

“Two more, then send replacements down.”

They did not argue, merely nodded, yet he could sense their disappointment. There was nothing they liked more than a challenge, and this—the scaling of this gargantuan cliff—was a challenge. Looking down again, Atrus felt his astonishment return, renewed every time he looked. Below him the massive trees stood like vast pillars in some demented mountain hall, nightmarishly tilted to the vertical.

At the foot of the plateau, glimpsed through the heavy foliage, was a huge rock, a great spur of dark ochre, its surface bare.

Atrus narrowed his eyes, staring through his lenses at it, then shook his head. It could not be helped. They would have to stop the chairlift some way above that, before the tree cover gave way to barren rock, and run rope ladders down, because if anyone were watching …

He tugged on the rope, once, twice, a third time. Slowly it was let out from above. Slowly he descended, using his feet to push himself out from the rock face. This tree … yes, and that.

But what if they are watching us?
he thought.
What if they’ve been watching us since we came through—waiting for us to come down? What if they’re setting their ambush even now?

It was not a fear he wished to share, but he had to face it. Whoever they were, the native people of this Age might not readily welcome intruders; even ones as peaceful as themselves.

Atrus looked at his timer. From his estimates they had another six, maybe seven hours of daylight—time enough to finish the chairlift and make the descent. But he did not like the idea of going down there just as night fell. No. They would complete the chairlift and test it. Then they would secure it at the top of the plateau and spend the night up there.