The Myst Reader (74 page)

“And you,” she said, standing.

He smiled. And then he left, leaving her staring at the door, the words she wanted so much to say unsaid, while outside the night birds called, their cries echoing across the darkness of the valley.

THE VALLEY WAS A DEEP GASH IN THE SURROUNDING
land, cut not by a river but by older, far more violent processes. Bare rock jutted from the slopes on either side, the folded pattern of its strata long exposed to the elements so that the softer rocks had been heavily eroded, leaving great shelves of harder rock. At one end of the valley, in the shadow of a particularly long shelf, were the caves. It was there that they began their survey.

Anna knew what Aitrus was looking for, and it was not long before he found it.

“Ah-na! Come here! Look!”

She went across to where Aitrus was crouched in the deep shadow of the overhang and looked.

“Well?” he said, looking up at her triumphantly.

It was old and worn, but there was no doubting what it was. It was the puckered mouth of a diatreme—a volcanic vent—formed long ago by high pressure gases drilling their way through the crustal rocks.

For the past two days they had kept coming upon signs that there was a volcano somewhere close by. Volcanic deposits had been scattered all about this area, but this was the first vent they had found.

From the look of it the volcano was an old one, dormant for many centuries.

“I thought we’d made a stable world.”

He smiled. “We did. But even stable worlds must be formed. Volcanoes are part of the growing process of an Age. Even the best of worlds must have them!”

“So where is it?” she asked.

He stood, then turned, pointing straight through the rock toward the north.

“There, I’d guess.”

“Do you want to go and look for it?”

Aitrus shrugged, then. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

Anna laughed. “Why should I? It’s a volcano.
Our
volcano. Our first!”

He grinned, as if he had not thought of that, then nodded. “Come then. If I’m right, it can’t be far.”

THE CALDERA WAS STILL VISIBLE, BUT TIME
and weather had worn it down. Trees covered its shallow slopes and filled the great bowl of the volcano, but here and there the thin covering of soil gave way to fissures and vents whose darkness hinted at great depths.

It was old. Far older than they had first thought. Not thousands, but millions of years old.

It was this part that Anna had taken a little while to grasp. The Ages to which they linked were not made by them, they already existed, for the making of worlds was a process that took not months but long millennia. Aitrus, trying to make things absolutely clear to her, had summed it up thus:

“These Ages are worlds that do exist, or have existed, or shall. Providing the description fits, there is no limitation of time or space. The link is made regardless.”

And so, too, this world of theirs, their Age, which they had called Gemedet, after the game. It, too, existed, or had existed, or would. But where it was or when they did not know.

Not that it mattered most of the time, but on occasion she did wonder just where they were in the night sky, and when—whether at the beginning of the universe or somewhere near the end of that vast process.

The very thought of it humbled her, made her understand why her father had believed in a Maker who had fashioned it all. Having “written,” having seen the great skill and subtlety involved merely in creating a
link
to these worlds, she now found herself in awe of the infinite care that had gone into the making of the originals to which their templates linked.

Personally, she could not believe that blind process had made it all. It was, for her, quite inconceivable, bearing in mind the complexity and variety of life. Yet in this, if nothing else, Aitrus differed from her. His was, or so he claimed, a more rational approach, more
scientific
—as if understanding the product of such processes were a key to understanding the why of them existing in the first place.

Aitrus had walked down the tree-strewn slope, making his way between the boulders, until he stood beside one of the larger vents. Resting his chest against the sloping wall of the vent, he leaned out, peering into the darkness. For a moment he was perfectly still, then he turned his head, looking back at her through his D’ni glasses.

“Shall we go in?”

Anna smiled. “All right, but we’ll need to bring a rope from the camp.”

Aitrus grinned. “And lamps, and …”

“… your notebook.”

A look of perfect understanding passed between them. It was time to explore the volcano.

THEY GOT BACK TO THE ENCAMPMENT THREE
days later than they had planned, to find that a message had been delivered from D’ni. It lay upon the map table in its dark blue waterproof wrapping.

While Anna began to stow away their equipment, Aitrus broke the seal of the package and took out the letter. He knew it was not urgent—they would have sent a Messenger into the Age to find him if it was—but it was unusual. Unfolding the letter, he squinted at it through the lenses of his glasses. It was from his old friend Kedri, and concerned a query Aitrus had put to him the last time they had met for supper.

He read it through quickly, then, smiling, he slipped the paper into his tunic pocket.

“Well?” Anna asked, coming alongside him. “Anything important?”

“No, but I need to go back.”

“Should we pack?”

He shook his head. “No. I only need to be away an hour or two. I’ll go later tonight. You can stay here. I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

Anna smiled. “You should have a bath when you get back to D’ni.”

“A bath?” He looked mock-offended. “Are you saying I smell, Ti’ana?”

“You positively reek of sulphur!” she said, grinning now. “Like Old Beelzebub himself!”

He smiled at that. In the caves beneath the caldera, she had taught him much about the mythology and gods of the surface, including the demons whom, according to many religions, lived in the regions beneath the earth.

“If only they knew the reality of it,” she had said. “They’d be amazed.”

It was then that he had given her her new name—
Ti’ana
, which in D’ni meant “story-teller,” as well as punning on her surface name. “Do you need me to cook you something before you go?”

“I’d rather you helped me sort those samples.”

“All right,” she said, her smile broadening. “I’ll do the tests, you can write up the notes.”

AITRUS LOOKED ABOUT HIM AT THE TENT. ALL
was neat and orderly. His notebook was open on the small table by his bed, the ink of the latest entry not yet dry. It was time to link back.

Anna was in her cabin. He would say goodnight to her, then go.

Aitrus went outside and stepped across to the cabin, knocking softly on the door. Usually she would call out to him, but this time there was nothing. Pushing the door open a little, he saw that she was not at her desk.

“Ti’ana?” he called softly. “Are you there?”

As if in answer he heard her soft snoring from behind the thin, wooden partition. Slipping inside, he tiptoed across and, drawing back the curtain, peered in.

Anna lay on her side on the pallet, facing him, her eyes closed, her features peaceful in sleep. The long journey back from the valley had clearly exhausted her. He crouched, watching her, drinking in the sight of her. She was so different from the women he had known all his life—those strong yet frail D’ni women with their pale skin and long faces.

It had been more than two months ago, when they had made their first, and as yet only, journey to the mountains north of the camp. On the way Anna had collected samples of various native flowers for later study. Yet, coming upon the wonder of a snow-covered slope—the firt she had ever seen or touched or walked upon—she had taken the blooms from her pocket and scattered their petals over the snow. He had asked her what she was doing, and she had shrugged.

“I had to,” she had said, staring at him. Then, pointing to the scattered petals, she had bid him look.

Aitrus closed his eyes, seeing them vividly, their bright shapes and colors starkly contrasted against the purity of the whiteness—like life and death.

It was then that he had decided, and every moment since had been but a confirmation of that decision—an affirmation of the feeling he had had at that moment, when, looking up from the petals, he had seen her face shining down at him like the sun itself.

Aitrus opened his eyes and saw that same face, occluded now in sleep, like the sun behind clouds, yet beautiful still. The most beautiful he had ever seen. At first he had not thought so, but time had trained his eyes to see her differently. He
knew
her now.

Aitrus stretched out his hand, tracing the contours of that sleeping face in the air above it, a feeling of such tenderness pervading him that he found his hand trembling. He drew it back, surprised by the strength of what he felt at that moment. Overwhelming, it was, like the rush of water over a fall.

He nodded to himself, then stood. It was time to go back to D’ni. Time to face his father, Kahlis.