The Myst Reader (6 page)

Turning, looking down at Anna where she stood on the cleftwall, he raised his arms and waved to her eagerly, grinning with triumph.

“It works!” he yelled, pulling the mask down from his nose and mouth. “It works!”

From below Anna waved back to him, then, cupping her hands before her mouth, she shouted something, but it was difficult to make out what she was saying, his ears were ringing so much. Besides, the furious hissing of the steam, that high-pitched whine, seemed to grow by the moment.
Go back
, she’d said, or something like it. Grinning, he nodded, then, waving to her again, turned back to watch the hissing cap.

“It worked,” he said quietly, noting how the cap was trembling now, rattling against the four restraining pins. “It really worked.”

Climbing down, he went across and, taking care not to get
too
close, edged around until he could see the gauges.

Yes!
A thrill of excitement went through him, seeing how both arrows were deep in the red.
It was passing a charge!

He stood back, grinning, then felt himself go cold. Even as he watched, one of the metal pins began to move, easing itself slowly from its berth within the rock, as though some invisible but mighty hand were pulling it from the stone.

Slowly he began to edge away. As he did, the noise from the cap changed, rising a full octave, as if that same invisible hand had pressed down on the key of an organ.

Atrus turned and, scrambling up the slope and over the rim, began to run, ignoring the impact of the heat, fighting it…but it was like running through some thick, glutinous substance. He had gone barely ten paces when he tumbled forward, coming up facing the way he’d come. And as he did, the whole of the rim behind him seemed to lift into the air.

 

§

 

Coming to. Atrus looked up, surprised by the sight that met his eyes. On every side, the great walls of the volcano stretched up, forming a jagged circle where they met the startling blueness of the sky.

He was in the crater—the rim must have given way.

Slowly, he got to his feet. Steam billowed across the rock-cluttered floor of the volcano, concealing its far edges. From time to time a figure would form from the clouds, the crystalline shapes strangely beautiful.

He saw the battery at once. Going over to it, he crouched, then shook his head, amazed by its condition. It was virtually untouched. The polished stone exterior had a few buffs and scratches, but it was still in one piece. Moreover, the dial on the top showed that it was fully charged.

Atrus laughed, delighted. Reaching out, he smoothed its upper surface almost lovingly. At least he knew now that the principle was sound. If he could only find the right vent, if he could only get the pressure right, then it would work and they would have an unlimited supply of electricity. Their lives would be transformed. The cleft would shine like a cat’s eye in the desert night.

Smiling, Atrus raised his head, looking directly ahead of him. For a moment a cloud of steam obscured his view. Then, as it cleared, he found himself staring into blackness.

It was a cave. Or a tunnel of some kind.

He stood, then took a step toward it.

Strange. It seemed almost as though it had been carved from the surrounding rock.

The steam swirled back, concealing it.

“Atrus!”

He turned, looking up at Anna, high above him, silhouetted against the crater’s lip.

“Come up! Come up here now!”

Atrus frowned. “But my battery…”

“Now!”

 

§

 

Walking back, she was unnaturally silent. Then, suddenly, she stopped and turned to face him.

“Atrus, what did you see?”

“I saw…” He hesitated, surprised by her question.

“Atrus. Answer me. What did you
see?”

“My battery. My battery was charged.”

She let out her breath. “And was that all?”

“There was steam. Lots of steam.” He frowned, then. “My battery. I’ve got to get my battery.”

He made to turn back, but she placed a hand gently on his arm. “Forget the battery. It’s too dangerous. Now come, let’s clean you up.”

4

~~~~~~~~~~

 

The moon was barely up when, making sure not to wake his grandmother, Atrus crept out. Taking a rope and the large piece of sack from the storeroom, he ventured out onto the volcano’s slope.

Halfway up the slope he paused, feeling a renewed sense of shock at the altered shape of the caldera’s rim. That physical change seemed somehow linked to another, deeper change within himself.

Atrus stood at the rim, looking down the loose path that hugged the volcano’s inner slope. Staring down into that darkness he experienced a sense of threat he’d not felt before.

He climbed over the rim, moving down into the darkness, disconcerted by the unfamiliar rumbling that emanated from the depths below. A tiny shiver ran up his spine, stirring the hairs at the back of his neck.

Out on the volcano’s floor it was strangely warm and humid. Atrus looked about him, then slowly made his way across, his heart pounding, his eyes searching the nearest outcrops of rock. Steam swirled and hissed, wreathing those shapes, transforming them in the moon’s fine, silvered light.

The battery was where he left it. For a moment he crouched over it, his left hand resting loosely on its familiar casing. But his eyes were drawn to the tunnel’s mouth. Compelled, he walked across.

Then, taking the tinderbox from his inner pocket, he pressed the catch and stepped inside.

In the glowing light from the tinder he could see how the tunnel stretched away into the darkness, sloping gradually, like a giant wormhole cutting through the solid rock. It was cool there. Surprisingly so. As if a breeze was blowing from within the tunnel.

He walked on, counting his steps. At fifty paces he stopped and turned, looking back at the way he’d come. From where he stood he could not see the entrance. The curve of the tunnel obscured it from sight.

He walked on, as if in some kind of spell, compelled to see where this led.

The smell of sulfur was far less strong than it had been. Other, stranger smells filled the air. Musty, unfamiliar smells.

Atrus turned and went over to the wall, placing his palm against it. It was cool and smooth and dry. He was about to move away when some irregularity farther down the wall drew his attention. He walked over to it, holding up the tinder, then stopped. Facing him a single word had been cut into the wall—a huge thing half his own height and twice his breadth.

D’ni! There was no mistaking it. It was a D’ni word!

Atrus stared at it, not recognizing it, but committing it to memory.

Until now, he had only half-believed the things his grandmother had told him. There were days, indeed, when he had imagined that she had made the books on her shelves herself, in the same way she seemed to conjure her paintings from the air, or turn a piece of unformed rock into an exquisitely carved figure.

Such thoughts had disturbed him, for he had never known his grandmother to lie. Yet the tales were so strange, so fantastic, that he found it hard to believe that such things had ever really happened.

Atrus began to back away, to head back for the entrance, but as he did he almost slipped on something beneath his feet. It rolled away from him, beginning to glow, softly at first, then brightly, its warm red light filling the tunnel.

He went across and crouched beside it, putting his hand out tentatively to see if it were hot. Satisfied it was cool, he picked it up, holding it between his thumb and forefinger to study it.

It was a small, perfectly rounded rock—a marble of some kind. He had collected rocks and crystals for almost ten years now, but he had never seen its like. He cupped it in his right hand, surprised by its lack of warmth.

Dousing the tinder, he slipped it into his pocket, then straightened up, holding the marble out and looking to see if there were any others, but several minutes’ search revealed no more.

Then, knowing that time was pressing, he turned and hurried out, meaning to raise the battery before Anna woke and wondered where he was.

 

§

 

It took almost an hour for him to drag the battery back up to the rim. Anna came and helped him the last thirty feet or so, standing on the lip above him, straining on the rope, while he knelt and pushed the battery from below.

In silence they carried it down the slope to the cleft.

Anna disappeared over the cleftwall, returning a moment later with a bowl of water. Atrus sat, staring at his hands where they lay folded in his lap, waiting for her to chastise him for disobeying her, but she was silent still.

“It was my fault,” he said finally, glancing at her, wondering why she had said nothing. “I wanted to put things right.”

Expressionless, she handed him the bowl. “Drink that, then come. I’ll make you breakfast. I think it’s time I told you a story.”

 

§

 

Atrus had been sitting on the ledge beside the kitchen window, the empty bowl beside him as he listened, fascinated, to his grandmother’s tale.

He had heard all kinds of tales from her across the years, but this was different; different because, unlike the others, there were no great deeds of heroism, no man to match the hour. Yet, finishing her tale, Anna’s voice shook with emotion.

“…and so, when Veovis finally returned, the fate of the D’ni was sealed. Within a day the great work of millennia was undone and the great caverns of the D’ni emptied of life. And all because of Ti’ana’s misjudgment.”

Atrus was silent a while, then he looked up at Anna. “So you blame Ti’ana, then?”

She nodded.

“But she couldn’t have known, surely? Besides, she did what she thought best.”

“To salve her own conscience, maybe. But was it best for the D’ni? There were others who wanted Veovis put to death after the first revolt. If their voices had been listened to…if only Ti’ana had not spoken so eloquently to the Great Council…”

Anna fell silent again, her head lowered.

Atrus frowned, then shook his head. “I didn’t know…”

“No…” Anna stared a moment longer at her hands, then looked to him and smiled. “Nor does it really matter now. All that is in the past. The D’ni are no more. Only the tales remain.”

He took the still-glowing marble from his pocket and held it out to her. “I found it on the floor of the volcano.”

At the sight of the marble her whole countenance changed. “
Where
did you say you found it?”

“In the volcano,” he said, his voice less certain than before. “Near where the battery had fallen.”

She stared back at him. “In the tunnel?”

“Yes.”

Slowly Anna reached out and took the fire marble from his hand, holding it up, she dropped it suddenly into the bowl of water at her side. Instantly it was extinguished.

“You must not go there again, Atrus. It’s very dangerous down there.”

“But grandmother…”

She stared at him, her normally gentle face harder than he had ever seen it. “You must not go there again, Atrus. You’re not ready yet. Promise me, Atrus, please.”

“I promise.”

“Good,” she said, more softly, reaching out to rest her hand upon his shoulder.

 

§

 

Each afternoon, as the sun began to descend and the shadows spread across the foot of the cleft, Anna and Atrus would sit in the cool shade on the low stone ledge beside the pool and talk.

Today, Atrus had brought his journal out and sat there, the ink pot beside him on the ledge, copying out the word Anna had drawn on a loose sheet. For a while he was silent, concentrating, his keen eyes flicking from Anna’s drawing to his own, checking he had the complex figure right. Then he looked up.

“Grandmother?”

Anna, who was sitting back with her head against the cool stone wall, her eyes closed, answered him quietly. “Yes, Atrus?”

“I still don’t understand. You say there’s no English equivalent to this word. But I can’t see why that should be. Surely they had the same things as us?”

She opened her eyes and sat forward, stretching out her bare, brown toes, then, placing her hands on her knees, she looked at him.

“Words aren’t just words, Atrus. Words are…well, let me see if I can explain it simply. At the simplest level a word can be a label. Tree. Sand. Rock. When we use such words, we know roughly what is meant by them. We can see them in our mind’s eye. Oh, what precise
kind
of tree, or sand or rock, for that we need further words—words which, in their turn, are also labels. A large tree. Or, maybe, a palm tree. Red sand. Or, maybe, fine sand. Jagged rocks. Or, maybe, limestone rocks. The first word alters our sense of that second word in a fairly precise manner. At another level, words can represent ideas. Love. Intelligence. Loyalty. These, as I’m sure you see at once, aren't quite so simple. We can’t simply add an extra word to clarify what we mean, particularly when the ideas aren’t simple ones. To get to the real meaning of such concepts we need to define them in several ways. Love, for instance, might be mixed with pride and hope, or, perhaps, with jealousy and fear. Intelligence, likewise, might refer to the unthinking, instinctive intelligence of an ant, or the deeper, more emotionally rooted intelligence of a man. And even within men, intelligence takes on many separate forms—it can be slow and deep, or quick and sparkling. And loyalty…loyalty can be the blind loyalty of a soldier to his commander, or the stubborn loyalty of a wife to a man who has wronged her. Or…”

She saw he was smiling. “What is it?”

He handed her the loose sheet back. “I think I see. At least, I think I know what you were going to say.”