The Myst Reader (69 page)

Aitrus laughed.

“Why, the great cavern in D’ni is like a giant skull, filled with busy thoughts, and these books—well, they are like the dreams and visions that come from such intense mental activity!”

Aitrus stared at her a moment, then shook his head. “You are amazing, Ah-na. Why, I have lived in D’ni more than fifty years and never once have I thought of such a thing!”

“Different eyes,” she said, looking pointedly at him, “that’s all it is. Sometimes it takes a total stranger to see the obvious.”

“Perhaps so.”

“But tell me, Aitrus. You spoke of the book’s special properties. What exactly did you mean?”

He looked away. “Forgive me, Ah-na, but perhaps I have already said too much. Such things are great secrets. Grave and greatly guarded secrets, known to only the Guilds.”

“Like the Guild of Ink-Makers?”

Aitrus glanced at her, then smiled. “Yes, and the Guild of Books who manufacture the paper … and, of course, the Guild of Writers.”

“And the writing in the books … is it different from the writing you have been teaching me?”

“Yes.”

For a moment Anna stared at the book in her hands; then, closing it up, she handed it back to him.

She turned, looking about her once again, savoring the feel of the cool and gentle breeze on her arms and neck. Her hand went to her neck, drawing back the fine silk of her long, lustrously dark hair.

“It must have been cruel for you,” Aitrus said, watching her, a strange expression coming to his eyes, “being locked up.”

“It was.” She glanced around at him, then smiled—a bright smile, full of the day’s sunlight. “But let’s forget that now. Come, Aitrus. Let us go down to the river.”

THAT EVENING NEITHER AITRUS NOR ANNA SPOKE
a word about their visit to Ko’ah. But later, in her room, the impossibility of it struck Anna forcibly. She sat on the edge of the bed, her mouth open in astonished recollection.

In that instant after she had “linked,” she had never felt more scared. No, nor more exhilarated. And the world itself.
Ko’ah.
Sitting there, she could scarcely believe that she had really been there. It had seemed so strange and dreamlike. Yet in a small glass vase on the table at her side was the pale blue flower Aitrus had given her.

Anna leaned close, inhaling its scent.

It had been real. As real as this. The very existence of the flower was proof of it. But how could that be? How could simple words link to other places?

On their return from Ko’ah, Aitrus had shown her the Book, patiently taking her through page after page, and showing her how such an Age was “made.” She had seen at once the differences between this archaic form and the ordinary written speech of D’ni, noting how it was not merely more elaborate but more specific: a language of precise yet subtle descriptive power. Yet seeing was one thing, believing another. Given all the evidence, her rational mind still fought against accepting it.

Beside the Book itself, Aitrus had gone on to show her the books of commentary—three in all, the last containing barely a dozen entries. All Books, he said, were accompanied by such commentaries, which were notes and observations on the Ages. Some of the more ancient Ages—like Nidur Gemat—had hundreds of books of commentary.

She had asked him about it.

“Nidur Gemat?”

“It is one of six worlds belonging to Veovis’s family.”

“Ah, I see. And do all the D’ni own such Ages?”

“No. Only the older families own such Ages. The rest—the common people of D’ni—use the Book Rooms.”

“You mean, there are common worlds, that everyone can visit?”

“Yes. In fact, until my father became Grand Master of our guild, we did not have our own Age. Ko’ah was written for my father twenty years ago.”

“And before that?”

“We would visit the Guild Ages. Or Ages owned by friends.”

Anna had smiled at that. “That is some incentive.”

“Incentive?”

“To work hard and make one’s way in the guild. Is there no resentment among the common people?”

Aitrus had shrugged. “Not that I know of. The Common Ages are free to everyone. It is not as if they are denied.”

“No, but …” She had let the matter drop, returning her attention to the first of the books of commentary. “What is this?” she had asked after a moment, looking up at him, again.

There had been a stamped impression on the page, beneath a paragraph of small, neat writing in a bright green ink.

“That is an inspection. By the Guild of Maintainers. They ensure that all Ages are maintained according to Guild laws.”

“And if they are not?”

“Then the Book can be confiscated and the owner punished.”

“Does that happen often?”

“Not often. All know the penalty for misdemeanors. To own an Age is an immense responsibility. Few are trusted.”

“And yet you took me there.”

He had hesitated, then looking at her directly, he had nodded. “Yes, I did,” he said.

ANNA SLEPT WELL THAT NIGHT, AND IF SHE
dreamed she did not recall it when she woke. Refreshed, she sat up, looking across at the delicate blue flower in its vase beside her bed, her mind at once filled with the wonder of what she had witnessed the day before.

Aitrus was not at breakfast, and at first she thought that maybe he had left early to go to the Guild Hall, but then, at the last moment, as she was finishing her meal, he rushed into the room in a state of immense excitement.

“Anna! Wonderful news! Veovis is to be given a
Korfah V’ja!
”

She stared at him uncomprehendingly.

He laughed. “I’m sorry. The Korfah V’ja is a special ceremony to mark the Guild’s acceptance of his Book—his first Master work, that is. It is a momentous event. Few guildsmen are ever given one, and Veovis is immensely young to have been granted such an honor!”

“And Veovis … he
wrote
this Book? Like the Age we went to?”

Aitrus nodded. “Only much better. Incomparably better.”

The thought of that made her reassess Lord Veovis. She had thought him merely a rich man’s son, a politician. She had not even considered that he was also a “creator,” let alone a great one.

“Then it will be a great occasion, no?”

“The greatest for many a year. All of D’ni society will be there. And you must come with us, Anna!”

She looked down. Usually she hated social occasions, but the thought of seeing all of D’ni society—and of meeting Lord Veovis once again—filled her with a strange excitement.

“When is to be?” she asked, looking back at Aitrus.

“A week from now,” he answered. “On the anniversary of Kerath’s homecoming.”

IT WAS A SMALL CEREMONY. THE SIX ASSISTANT
grand masters and the Grand Master, Lord Sajka himself, stood in a half circle on the great platform, while the celebrant, Veovis, stood before them, his Book, the work of sixteen long years, on the podium before him.

The day was bright and springlike, the blue sky dotted with clouds. In the distance, snow-capped mountains marched toward the south and the great ocean. Below them the great plains stretched away to east and west and south, while to the north the ancient settlement of Derisa was tucked into a fold of hills.

This was the oldest of the guild’s many Ages—the Age of Yakul, made by the first great Writer of the Guild, Ar’tenen, and here, traditionally, the first official ceremony took place.

There would be a second, more public, ceremony later, on Veovis’s own world of Ader Jamat, at which this moment would be reenacted for all to see, but this seemingly low-key event was by far the more important.

Each of the seven senior members of the guild had read the great work that was today accepted into the guild’s own canon, and each had given their separate approval for this ultimate recognition of the young Guild Master’s talent. It was 187 years since the last Korfah V’ja and it would be many years before another. Only ninety-three Books had been accepted into the canon in the whole of the long history of the guild—among them the Five Great Classics of D’ni—and only four guildsmen had ever received this honor younger than the man who now stood before them. Among those four was the legendary Ri’Neref.

A faint breeze gusted across the open space, rustling their cloaks, as Lord Sajka, Grand Master of the Guild of Writers, stepped forward and, in a tongue as distinct from the common speech of D’ni as that of the surface-dwellers, pronounced the Words of Binding.

And then it was done. As Veovis bowed his head to his peers, Lord Sajka smiled and, in the common speech, said:

“Well done, Veovis. We are all immensely proud of you.”

Veovis looked up and smiled, conscious of the great honor being accorded him.

“My Lord, Guild Masters … I hope to prove worthy of your approval. It is a great privilege to be a member of the Guild of Writers, and I count myself blessed the day I chose to enter it.”

And so it was done.

As, one by one, the elders linked back to D’ni, Veovis turned and looked about him at the ancient world of Yakul, and wondered if, one day, several thousand years hence, some other guildsman would stand on an Age he had written and wonder, as he now wondered, what kind of man it was whose imagination had wrought the connections to such a world as this.

He turned and walked over to the linking book. It was time to return to D’ni, to pause and reflect before beginning the next chapter in his life. For his next work would be something other, he was determined on it; not just a great work but a classic.

But before all, celebration. For today was his day. Today he became a great man, honored before all D’ni.

Veovis placed his hand against the glowing panel and linked, a smile appearing on his lips even as his figure shimmered and then faded into the air.

ON THE BOAT ACROSS TO K’VEER, ANNA BEGAN
to have second thoughts about meeting so many strangers at the ceremony.

With Aitrus it was fine, for it was only the two of them, as it had been with her father, but with all others, even with Aitrus’s parents, she felt ill at ease. She was not by any means a social creature. How she should act and what she should say, these things were a complete mystery to her.