The Myst Reader (144 page)

IN THE LAST LIGHT OF THE LAST DAY OF TERAHNEE
, nine dark figures stood atop the vault, cloaked and bare-headed at the end. Stepping out from among them, Eedrah placed the ancient Book into the carved niche within the receptacle they had fashioned, reverence in his every gesture. He stepped back and, at a signal from Atrus, Irras and Carrad began to let out the chains, lowering the Book into the deep shaft. As it touched bottom, they let go, watching, fascinated, as the fine links slithered into that eight-sided darkness.

There was a moment’s stillness, and then the great slabs, which had stood like huge stone petals about the shaft, folded down, the last of the nine—a small octagon in itself—tilting over and slotting into place like a capstone, the joint between it and the others so fine, so perfectly made, it could no longer be seen.

Atrus knelt, examining their work; then, satisfied, he stood and turned back to the company.

“Sealing these Books in stone is not as secure as the entrusting of Books between friends. Yet today we do more than safeguard the Ages. We return symbolically to that very first day, ten thousand years ago, when the great Linking Books between D’ni and Terahnee were first sealed. So it was, and so it must be once again. And so we leave this land of hope, to find our own separate destinies.”

Atrus turned, looking behind him at the dying sun.

A bird called, high and sweet in the silence.

They stood there, watching him—Catherine; and Eedrah and his young wife, Marrim; Carrad and Irras; Masters Tamon and Tergahn; and lastly young Allem, from Averone, who had left her parents in her native world to be Marrim’s pupil.

D’ni was once again sealed from Terahnee, the two Ages as inaccessible to each other as lands behind a mirror. A dream under stone.

For a moment longer they stood there, the silence engulfing them, each of them awed by the significance of that moment. The ancient ruins lay all about and below them even as the great world of Terahnee sank slowly into darkness. Then, as the twilight shaded into night, Atrus turned and descended into the vault, the others following in silence, Eedrah alone pausing briefly to turn and look back before he, too, went down into the lamp-lit interior.

The moon now shone.

At a signal from Hersha, the relyimah began to strain, hauling upon the great chains, five thousand years of practice perfected in the ease with which they raised the capping stone, that massive arrowhead swaying gently as it lifted.

Slowly it rose, swinging up and over the vault, Hersha directing his volunteers with quiet, patient words. And then slowly, very slowly, it came down again, hovering an instant, and then sliding into the waiting gap with a sigh of polished stone against polished stone.

It was done.

Silent as shadows they stole away, leaving the two ancients alone upon the plateau. They were still a moment, both blind and seeing eyes staring at the great vault that sat amid the ruins, and then they, too, turned away.

Shadows on the silver. And silence. The circle closed.

FLOWERS IN THE DESERT. THE CHILD’S EYES
OPENED WIDE.
A THOUSAND MILLION STARS DANCE
IN THE DARK MIRROR OF THE POOL
.

—
FROM AN UNTITLED TERAHNEE SCROLL OF
ANCIENT ORIGIN.

“… AND SO IT ENDED, AS IT BEGAN.

“Standing there, amongst that small and humble company, I felt a sense of closure, as if the universe itself had taken pause before the final page was turned, the last word written.

“So it felt, as night fell, there on the plateau where our great journey had begun. Where, several thousand years before, that first great sealing-off of Ages had taken place.

“Time stood still, and as it did, the knowledge of what had happened flowed into me, filling me with the blessed light of understanding.

“The Prophecies …

“For five thousand years and more they had waited for him, hidden and sealed away, like some great magician’s finest trick, created not to please an audience but for his delight alone.

“Yet to talk of ‘magic’ is to somehow belittle the achievement of whoever first drafted those prophecies, for it is now clear to me that their complex phraseology stems from the same root—maybe even from the same bold experiments—that produced the Great Art itself, and just as those words connected Age to Age, so these quite different words connected Time to Time.

“It was seen. I have no doubt about that now. Yet the fact that it was seen changes nothing. Had Atrus known—had he been aware of the awesome significance of what he did—then his actions might have taken on an air of futility, his whole life become a puppet-dance, but as it is I find his actions quite remarkable. Time and again he risked himself. Time and again he set himself against the tide of events. And to what purpose? To fulfill a prophecy? No. For at no point did he ever know the outcome of his actions. His whole life has been forged in a great furnace of not knowing, and ultimately, it is that not knowing, that determination in him to do what he thought was right and not what was expedient, that has made his actions more than something fated: more—much, much more—than something merely ‘Seen.’ Written as he was, Atrus nonetheless wrote his own path, like a Looking Book back to himself.

“And it is of Atrus and D’ni that I must write. For on that day, when the picture of the prophecies came clearly into my mind’s eye, I understood what only the Maker and the Great King had known. I saw the thread of happening that was stitched into every aspect of Atrus’s life to bring him to that plateau at that hour. From the very first of this great history that I have written, to these last words, the purpose of events can now be followed. From the most common occurrence—the death of Ti’ana’s father, which led to her journey down into D’ni—to the largest catastrophe—the fall of D’ni itself, which allowed for that unseen chamber to be discovered—it was all meant to be: to fulfill a greater good and vanquish a greater evil.

“And so, even as the prophecies speak of a great rebuilding, we now rebuild D’ni, not in the great cavern, but in a new Age—an Age that is surely among the finest Books ever written in all the great history of D’ni. And it is the survivors of the old D’ni who will build that new Age. An Age of beauty and perfection and wonder that would take as many volumes to describe as I have yet written.

“But you who have found my histories should know this last thing, for I have written these things only so that they might be known to future seekers, whether they be of D’ni or human origin—that Atrus and I live quietly on Tomahna, with a new daughter, Yeesha, cousin to Marrim’s little Anna. And I rejoice and cry for joy when I dream of the life behind and the blessings of what is yet to come.

“And Atrus? He writes but does not lead. He advises but does not command. He wonders and seeks to understand. He loves life and quietly moves to the mark that the Maker has set for him.”

Rand Miller
is the CEO of Cyan Worlds, which is currently working on
Uru
. When not at work, Miller enjoys photography, guitar, and computer tinkering. He lives in Spokane, Washington, with his wife, Debbie, and three daughters.

Text and illustrations © 1995, 1996, 1997 Cyan, Inc.

Illustrations for
Atrus
by William Cone
Illustrations for
Ti’ana
and
D’ni
by Tom Bowman

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EPub Edition © AUGUST 2010 ISBN: 978-1-401-38221-6

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