The Myst Reader (56 page)

“You think we should clear more of it, then?”

“I don’t know,” she answered, walking on. “I think we should think about it.”

That afternoon, in the workshop, he talked about it constantly and, come the evening, rather than debate it further, she gave in.

“All right,” she said, looking up from her side of the chessboard. “But only one of us goes through at a time. And we use a rope. We don’t know what’s on the other side. If there’s more quake damage it might be dangerous.”

“Agreed,” he said, moving his Queen. “Check.” Then, smiling up at her. “Checkmate, in fact.”

IT TOOK THEM TWO MORE DAYS TO MAKE THE
gap wide enough. It would be a squeeze, but to make it any bigger would have meant another week’s work at the very least.

“We’ll prepare things tonight,” he said, holding his lamp up to the gap and staring through. “You won’t need much.”

Anna smiled at that “you.” She had thought she might have to fight him over it. “So what am I looking for?”

He drew the lamp back and turned to face her. “Anything unusual. A volcanic funnel, perhaps. Vents. Any pyroclastic deposits.”

“You still think this is part of a larger volcanic system?”

“Almost certainly. These vents and boreholes are only part of it. There would have been a great basin of lava—of magma—deep down in the earth. In fact, the deeper it was, the wider spread these surface manifestations will be. The super heated lava would have found all of the weakest routes through the rock, fault lines and the like. That’s all this is, really.”

“Like the roots of a tree?”

He nodded, smiling faintly at her. Anna had never seen a tree. Not a
proper
tree, anyway. Only the shallow-rooted palms of Tadjinar. Most of what she knew of the world had come out of books, or had been told to her. That was the worst of living here—the narrowness of it.

Walking back with her, he raised the subject, the two of them speaking, as they always did, with their heads down, not even glancing at each other.

“Anna?”

“Yes?”

“Do you regret living here?”

“Do you?”

“I chose it.”

“And you think if I had a choice, I’d choose differently?”

“Sometimes.”

“Then you’re wrong. I love the desert.”

“But you don’t know anything else.”

“I’d still want to be here.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“MIND THE ROPE, ANNA. IT’S GETTING SNAGGED.”

Anna paused, edging slightly to one side, then tugged gently at the rope. It came free. She was halfway through the gap in the rockfall and finding it a tighter squeeze than she’d imagined. She had managed to shrug her shoulders through the narrow hole, but her hips were another matter altogether. Nor could she see anything properly. The tiny slivers of light that peeped through the narrow gaps between her and the wall served more to emphasize how stuck she was than help her.

She could always try and heave herself through, of course, but then she’d most likely tumble down onto the floor on the other side, and it was quite a drop. Besides, only her left arm was free; the other was still wedged between her and the wall.

“Turn yourself about, Anna. Until you’re facing the ceiling. The channel’s wider than it’s tall.”

“We should have waited another week,” she said, trying to do what he said.

“Maybe. But you’re almost there now. Try and edge back a little. Yes … that’s it.”

Slowly, very slowly, she wriggled her way back, until she could feel that her head and shoulders were out over the gap. Now she had to try and free her arm. She tried to bring it up, but there wasn’t room. She’d have to turn again.

“Hold my feet,” she said.

Anna felt his hands grip the ankles of her boots firmly.

“Good. I’m going to try to turn onto my front now. At the same time I’m going to try to free my right arm.”

“All right.”

It was difficult. It felt as if the rock was trying to crush her—to pop her bones—but slowly she managed to turn herself, until she was facing the floor.

Anna could not see anything. The darkness in front of her seemed absolute. Not that the darkness itself worried her; she simply did not want to fall onto anything sharp.

“All right,” she said, as she finally freed her arm. “Now lower me slowly.”

The rock seemed to come up to touch her hands. Above her, light slowly spilled into the tunnel.

“That’s it,” she said. “Slowly now.”

She began to take her own weight, reaching forward slightly with her hands.

“All right. You can let go now. I’m down.”

Anna felt his fingers relent, his hands move back, away from her ankles. There was a faint noise from him, a grunt.

She scrambled up, then turned, brushing herself down. “Are you okay?”

He made a small noise of assent. “Just winded a little. Just give me a moment to get my breath.”

Anna went to the hole and looked back through. The lamp was on the floor by his feet where he had left it. He himself was leaning against the wall, slumped slightly, one hand on his chest.

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

He nodded and looked up at her. “I’ll be okay. I didn’t realize how heavy you are, that’s all.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. Now get on. Tie the rope about your waist. I’ll pass you through the lamp.”

She stooped and picked up the rope, fastening it tightly about her waist. It was a thin, strong rope, and they had some five hundred feet of it. That should be plenty for this preliminary exploration. Satisfied, she turned and, leaning through the gap, took the lamp from him.

“This, too,” he said, handing her his protective hat.

She put the lamp down, then tried on the hat, expecting it to be too big for her, but it was a perfect fit. She fastened the leather strap under her chin, then turned, lifting the lamp so that he could see her.

“Good,” he said, his eyes shining in the lamplight. “I’ll give you an hour, then I’ll call you back. But keep your eyes open, Anna. And don’t take chances.”

“I won’t.”

“You’ve got the notebook?”

Anna patted her top pocket.

“All right. Then get going. It’s cold here.”

She smiled then turned, facing the darkness, the lamp held up before her.

THE LIBRARY OVERLOOKED THE DARKENED LAKE
, its long, latticed windows giving a distant view of D’ni, the city’s lamplit levels climbing the great wall of the cavern.

A fire had been lit in the great fireplace. In its flickering light four men could be seen, sitting in huge armchairs about the fire, their faces thrown into sharp contrasts of gold and black. They had eaten an hour ago; now, as it grew late, they talked.

“I don’t know how you can say that, Veovis. Not with any certainty, anyway. Where’s your proof?”

Veovis turned to face his friend, his wineglass cradled in both hands, the light from the fire winking at its ruby heart.

“But that’s just it, Fihar. I need no proof. The matter is axiomatic. You argue that those races we have knowledge of, on those Ages to which we have linked, behave morally. I agree. But they do so because we have made it our business to encourage them to do so. Their morality is not innate, but taught. And we, the D’ni, were the ones who taught it to them. So much we have known for
thousands
of years.”

Veovis turned slightly, looking to another of them. “You, Suahrnir. You are a Maintainer. Is it not so? Is it not one of your prime duties to encourage a stable and moral social framework among the natives of the worlds to which we link?”

Suahrnir was in his middle years and a senior member of his guild. He had already served as Keeper of the Prison Ages and was currently in charge of disposing of all failed or unstable Ages. He pondered Veovis’s words a moment, then shrugged.

“It is, yet even so I have some sympathy with Fihar’s view. We cannot say with certainty until we have seen for ourselves. That, surely, is the scientific method?”

“Nonsense!” Veovis said, leaning forward, his face suddenly animated. “Without D’ni influence and D’ni guidance, those Ages would, without a shred of doubt, be nasty little backwaters, peopled by savages! Have you not instances enough in your own experience, Suahrnir, of such backsliding? Do we not need to be constantly vigilant?”

“We do,” Suahrnir agreed.

“Imagine then, up there on the surface. If there
are
people living up there, then they have developed now for several thousand years without any moral guidance. They will, most certainly, be savages, little more than animals, subservient to their most basic needs. And we have seen, all of us on many Ages, how wild animals behave!”

Aitrus, who had been listening silently, now spoke up. “Unless, like the D’ni, they have an innate morality.”

Veovis smiled and turned to his friend. “I would say that the chances of that were exceedingly small, wouldn’t you agree, Aitrus?”

“I … guess so.”

“There!” Veovis said, as if that capped it. “You know, it makes me shudder to think of it. A whole society governed by lust and violence!”

“And the threat of violence,” Fihar added, clearly half-convinced now by the argument.

“Exactly! And where, in such a society, would there be room for the development of true intelligence? No. The most we might expect from the surface-dwellers is a surly, grunting species, a pack of jackals who would as soon bay at the moon as hold a decent conversation!”

There was laughter at that.

“Then you think the Council should reaffirm their decision?” Aitrus asked, returning the conversation to the place where it had begun. “You believe we should have nothing to do with the surface-dwellers?”

“I do indeed,” Veovis said emphatically. “And to be honest with you, I would not have simply sealed the end of the tunnel, I would have destroyed the whole thing altogether!”

“I see.”

“Oh, Aitrus,” Veovis said, leaning toward him. “I realize what sentimental feelings you have toward that expedition, and I admire you for it, but the venture was a mistake. The Council were wrong even to consider it!”

Aitrus said nothing. He merely sipped his wine and stared into the fire.

“And now I’ve hurt your feelings.” Veovis stood. “Look, I apologize. It was, perhaps, insensitive of me.”

Aitrus looked up at him, smiling sadly. “No, Veovis. You spoke as you saw, and I admire you for that. Besides, I have come to feel that maybe you were right after all. Maybe it
was
a mistake.”

Veovis smiled back at him. “Then you will vote with me in Council this time?”

Aitrus shrugged. “Who knows?”