The Myst Reader (25 page)

If it had only been written down somewhere. Yes, but the Guild Masters had been too clever for that. Such secrets had been passed down by word of mouth from generation to generation. The book did not exist wherein those formulas were written. That was why he had always to search old books, looking for clues, looking to unearth those wonderful, delicate phrases that would best describe this effect or that. But nothing ever said just
why
this phrase worked and that one did not.

Gehn huffed, exasperated with it all, then turned, realizing only then that his acolyte was standing there, ten paces off, his cloak drenched, the dyes run, his dark hair plastered to his head.

“What is it, man?”

“I … I wondered if you wanted anything to eat, Master.”

Eat? He waved the man away impatiently. How could the fellow think of food at a time like this?

Gehn turned, staring out toward the gap in the hills. If only he could remove the Mist Wall …

He laughed quietly. Of course! It had been staring him in the face all the time! The ocean. He had only to make the ocean warm.

“One!”

The man turned, looking back up the slope at him. “Yes, Master?”

“Tell Atrus I shall return in an hour. In the meantime, have the villagers prepare a feast on the harbor front. A feast such as they have never had before!”

ATRUS STOOD BESIDE THE BRIDGE, WATCHING
the islanders go sullenly about their business, while he went over in his head what his father had said to him.

Gehn’s decision not to stabilize this Age played heavily on Atrus’s mind. He felt somehow
responsible
for these people. It was not their fault there were flaws in the underlying fabric of their Age. And if there really
was
a steady deterioration, surely it was their duty, as the Masters of this Age, to set things right.

Atrus sighed, then walked across, conscious of how, in these last few hours, so much had changed among the islanders. Before now they had been nothing but pleasant to him, but now, as they set up the trestle tables and prepared the food, there was an air of resentment, even of hostility, about them which made him feel uncomfortable.

If only he could do something …

He stopped dead, then turned, staring up the slope toward the old woman’s hut. An idea had suddenly come to him: a way both of salving his conscience about these people and of furthering his own first attempts at D’ni Writing.

What if he were to settle here, rather than K’veer? What if he were to persuade his father to let him continue to observe this world, not simply for a few more days but over a period of months, maybe even years? Why, he could have them build an extra room onto the hut for him to use as a laboratory.

Yes, but would Gehn agree?

Atrus took out the map and studied it, tracing the circle of the lake with his fingertips. There was a way of persuading his father that it was a good idea, but it would mean taking a risk. It would mean showing Gehn what he had been working on these past few months.

He let out a long, shivering breath.
Yes, but what if my father doesn’t like what I’ve been doing? What if it only goes to prove to him that I’m not ready yet?

In truth, Atrus had wanted to wait a lot longer before he showed Gehn the Age he had been writing in his practice book. He had wanted to make sure he’d got things absolutely right before he attempted a proper book, but if doing so meant abandoning this Age, abandoning Koena and the girl and the old woman who looked after him, then surely it wasn’t worth it?

He slipped the map away again, then stood there, touching the tip of his tongue to his upper lip.

What would Anna have done?

He knew the answer without thinking. She would have stayed and tried to help, even if it meant sacrificing her own plans.

So be it, then. He had only to persuade his father.

GEHN RETURNED THAT EVENING, JUST AS HE
had promised, appearing on the crest of the hill just as the sun was setting at his back. Silhouetted against that bloodred orb, he raised his arm and called to the islanders gathered below, his voice booming out across the silent lake.

“Look!” he said, pointing out beyond the gap in the hills. “The Mist Wall is down! The Whiteness is no more!”

The islanders crowded across to gape, witnessing for themselves the absence of the Mist Wall. In the blazing orange light of sunset they had a vista of endless ocean. They turned, a great murmur of awe running through them, then, almost as one, fell to their knees, staring back up the slope as Gehn strode down toward them.

Watching from the steps of the temple, Atrus frowned. When his father had not returned within the first few hours he had begun to worry, but now he understood. Gehn had written a new entry in the Book of Age Thirty-seven—something unseen, unobserved, that had got rid of the Mist Wall.

Going down to join his father on the harbor front, where the feast had been set up, Atrus felt a tenseness in his stomach. He was determined to ask him tonight whether he could stay here, to get the matter settled and done with at the earliest opportunity, but he remembered the last time he had asked his father for something—that time when he had wanted to go back to the cleft and visit Anna—and was afraid lest Gehn said no again.

And if he does?

Atrus sighed, then made his way across the bridge. If Gehn refused, that would be it. There was no way he could defy his father over such an important matter. Besides, all Gehn had to do was refuse him access to the book.

No one noticed him come out onto the harbor front. All eyes were focused up the hill, watching as Gehn came down among them, magnificently attired in velvet and leather.

As Gehn stepped out into the open space, his acolyte, Koena, stepped forward to greet him. He bowed low, then scattered a handful of tiny yellow petals at Gehn’s feet.

Gehn looked about him, coldly imperious at that moment, then, spying Atrus between the tables, gestured for him to come across.

“Father?” he asked quietly, noting the strange look in Gehn’s eyes, but Gehn was not to be interrupted. Turning to face the crowd, he raised his arm again.

“From henceforth, there will be no mention of Mist or Whiteness. From this hour the very words are forbidden! But now let us eat. Let us celebrate this new beginning!”

Atrus stared at his father’s back, wondering what he meant by that—whether it was, truly, a “new beginning.”

Yet as the islanders filed past to take their seats at the long tables and begin the evening’s feasting, Atrus saw how their eyes stared at Gehn in awe, scarce able to credit that such a wonder had come to pass.

IT WAS LATE—VERY LATE—WHEN THEY FINALLY
retired. Making his bed up in the corner of the tent, Atrus was conscious of his father pacing up and down behind his screen, the glowing pipe visible through the thick silk panels. They had barely spoken since Gehn’s announcement, and Atrus had a good dozen questions he wanted to ask his father, but he sensed that now was not the time. Besides, he was tired, and if there were things to discuss, nothing was that urgent that it could not wait until the morning. Not even his idea of staying here.

He was just settling, turning on his side to face the tent wall, when he grew aware of the scent of Gehn’s pipe close by. He turned, to find Gehn standing over him.

“We must be gone from here tomorrow.”

“Gone?”

“I have things to do elsewhere. Important things.”

Atrus hesitated, then sat up, staring at his father in the half dark. “I was going to ask you something.”

“Then ask.”

“I thought I might be able to help you … you know, if I made some long-term observations of the island. I thought maybe we could have the islanders build a hut for me. I could move my things here from K’veer and maybe have them make me an extra room for my experiments.”

“No.”

“No? But …”

Gehn turned away. “No buts, Atrus. The notion of you being here on your own, unsupervised, is completely out of the question. It does not fit with my plans.”

“But if we could understand why things are going wrong …”

“You will not persist with this, Atrus. I have more important concerns than this trifling Age.”

“Then why did you give me the phrases to study? Why did you remove the Mist Wall if you were thinking simply of abandoning this Age?”

“You presume to know my reasons, Atrus?”

“No, it’s just that I feel your original instinct was right. If we can understand what is going wrong here, we can prevent such things from happening elsewhere.”

He heard his father’s sharply indrawn breath, but instead of the expected explosion of anger, Gehn was silent.

Atrus sat forward. He could barely see his father in the darkness. The white moon was still up, but its light barely penetrated the thick canvas. The only real illumination in the tent was the gentle glow of Gehn’s pipe, which cast its faint blue light over his chin and mouth and nose.

“Father?”

Gehn turned his head slightly, but still there was no answer.

Atrus fell silent, waiting. After a moment, his father turned and came across again.

“What you say has some merit, Atrus, and, as you say, accords with my original intentions. And even should this Age deteriorate further, it might prove useful to investigate the manner of that deterioration. Likewise, the building of a special hut here—for experimental use—is a good one, provided, that is, no books or journals are left here which might fall into the wrong hands. That said, I still cannot permit you to stay here alone, Atrus. It is too dangerous. Besides, we must keep up with your lessons, and as I have other Ages to attend to, I cannot be forever coming here. No. You shall remain on K’veer, but we shall continue to visit this Age from time to time, and while we are here you will continue with your detailed observations.”

It was far less than Atrus had hoped for, yet it was something. He knew now that his guess had been right. Gehn had been willing to abandon this Age and leave it to its fate. Now, at least, he had the chance to do some good here. And if he
could
discover what was going wrong, then perhaps his father would begin to trust him and allow him greater liberty.

But that was for the future. As he lay down, the scent of Gehn’s pipe lulling him in the darkness, he recalled the look of astonishment and awe on the islanders’ faces as they stared out at the endless ocean. And as he drifted into sleep one final insight came to him from the darkness.

He made the ocean warm …

G
EHN STOOD SEVERAL PACES OFF, WATCHING
as Atrus dug the spade deep into the grassy surface of the meadow, using his booted heel, then pushed down on the handle, turning back the turf, exposing the dark richness of the earth beneath.

Throwing the spade aside, Atrus knelt beside the hole. Taking a dark blue cloth from inside his pocket, he lay it beside him, then began to lay out the instruments he needed—spatulas and droppers, scoops and pipettes, and four small capped jars containing variously colored chemicals— removing them one by one from the broad leather belt he wore about his waist.