He pushed the thought aside, then turned, hearing soft footsteps just behind him.
‘Catherine?”
“Let’s go,” she said. “Tonight.”
“Tonight?” He laughed, then turned slightly, looking at her. “But I haven’t written the Linking Book yet.”
Her face, silvered in the moonlight, was smiling strangely. “No. But I have.” And she handed him the slender book, enjoying his surprise.
§
They linked to a large island, three-quarters covered in forest. There was a clearing beside the cave and a path led down between the trees, but otherwise there was no immediate sign of habitation.
It was mid-morning by the look of the sun in the sky, and it was warm with the suggestion that, as day drew on, it might grow hot.
They quickly searched the cave, looking for a Linking Book, but found nothing.
Now they went down, following the footworn path. Leaf shadow kept them cool as they went, but even so, by the time they reached the clifftop they were beaded with perspiration. A perfect, white sand beach lay thirty feet below them.
“It’s beautiful,” Catherine said, looking out across the scattering of islands that lay like emeralds upon the azure of the bay. “But where are they?”
There were no buildings. No boats or jetties. Nothing but the path to suggest anyone had ever been here.
A bird called from high up in the trees. Atrus turned and looked up at it, putting a hand up to shield his lenses from the sunlight that glittered on their surfaces.
“Let’s try the other end.”
They walked back, taking their time, relaxing in the sunlight. Passing the clearing once more, they went on, leaving the path, winding their way between the great, straight boles of the trees until they stood on a shelf of bare rock, overlooking a vast expanse of ocean.
“This can’t be right.”
“Why not?” she asked, turning to look back through the trees. “It conforms with the Book.”
“I didn’t mean that. I mean, where are they? They have to be here somewhere. It makes no sense unless they are.”
“Then let’s search the island.”
But a long and thorough search of the island found nothing. The island was uninhabited. Even the path, now that they looked properly at it, was partly overgrown.
“Maybe it’s the wrong Book,” Catherine suggested, sitting down wearily on a rock overlooking the island-scattered bay. It was hot now and she fanned herself slowly as she looked up at Atrus.
“It’s possible,” he answered, stepping up onto the ledge above her, “but then what about the book of commentary?”
“A false trail? To make us think they were here?”
“But why?”
“Because they were afraid. And because they wanted to safefuard where they really are?”
“I suppose it’s possible.” But Atrus’s eyes stared out at the perfect, unspoiled shapes of the islands as if to decipher some mystery. He wiped the back of his hand across his brow, then turned to her again.
“Let’s get back,” he said. “There’s nothing for us here.”
§
It was said that the Great King was haunted by dreams, and that those dreams were filled with strange, inexplicable visions that the Great King then wrote down in a large notebook bound in bright golden leather. Or so Atrus’s father, Gehn, had written. But Marrim knew better than to trust what Gehn had written. She had heeded Atrus’s warning to her when Catherine had lent her the notebooks. “My father had the tendency to twist facts to suit his vision of the world.” Even so, she could picture it vividly: the old man waking, his brow beaded with sweat, his hands trembling as he reached out to write down what he had seen in the darkness of his dreams.
Even if it wasn’t true. Even if, like much that was in Gehn’s notebooks, it had been exaggerated down the years, there must still have been a core of truth; some story, some actual event, that had spawned all of the subsequent tales about the Great King, like the speck of grit in an oyster shell about which the pearl subsequently grows.
Marrim closed the book and looked up. Lamps blazed about the camp. Just across from her, Irras and Carrad sat facing each other, Irras’s dark head pressed close to Carrad’s polished skull, the two of them deep in conversation, while a number of other helpers looked on, listening attentively. She knew exactly what they were talking about, for there was really only one topic of conversation at the moment. The visit. The upcoming trip to Bilaris.
She smiled. Like all of them, she was excited by the prospect of venturing into another Age. D’ni was astonishing, certainly, but partly because it was also a gateway to so many other worlds, so many other ways of living. She glanced across at the great stock of Books that were piled up in Atrus’s makeshift library and felt her head swim at the thought of what they were.
She had been blind to the reality of the universe surrounding her. She had thought her tiny world—that world of lodge house and fishing boats, of hill and stream and island—the sum total of existence. But now she knew. Whatever it was possible to imagine could exist.
In theory, anyway.
Marrim stood, then walked across, remembering her conversations with Catherine; recollecting what Catherine had said about the Books she had written. They must have been something to see.
As she came closer to the circle, Irras looked up and smiled at her, indicating that she should take a seat beside him, but she did not feel like sitting down. She felt restless. Eager to get on.
Resting her hand briefly on his shoulder, she walked on, leaving the young men to their talk. At the harbor’s edge she paused, staring out across the darkness of the lake.
At first she wasn’t sure. Then, with a huge grin of delight, she turned to the others.
“They’re coming!”
Irras hurried across and stood beside her, squinting out into the darkness, until he, too, made out the dark shape of the boat. Moment by moment that shape grew larger, clearer. Catherine turned in the prow and, seeing them, hailed them across the water.
Marrim answered, her voice echoing back from the great levels of stone that climbed the cavern walls behind her.
She knew almost at once that something was wrong. She could see it in Atrus’s face. Catherine was as cheerful as ever, but Atrus was withdrawn.
As he climbed up onto the quayside, Atrus beckoned Irras, then, without waiting for him, turned and walked over to the makeshift library, disappearing inside.
Irras was with Atrus barely two minutes. When he emerged, he was frowning, as if he’d been told something he didn’t want to hear. He brushed past Marrim as if she wasn’t there. She turned, meaning to follow him, but Atrus called out to her.
“Marrim! A word…”
She went inside.
“Here,” he said, glancing up and holding out a folded piece of paper. “You’ll need provisions for a week.”
Marrim unfolded the paper, then looked back at him. It was a map of one of the upper districts.
“There’s still a lot to be done,” Atrus said, “so we’d best get down to it. I want all the Books collected in.”
She understood. They weren’t going. The trip to Bilaris had been canceled.
“We must complete the search,” Atrus said, opening his notebook and reaching for a pen. “Only then will we know the full extent of our task.”
“We’ll go tonight,” she said.
He looked up at her. “It’s all right. Marrim. Tomorrow will do.”
Marrim nodded, then back away, but it was only when she was standing outside, the paper held loosely in one hand, that it really hit her.
We aren’t going. After all that, we’re not going!
There was a moment of disappointment, and then Marrim looked at the map again and her determination was reborn. They would find all of the Books there were to find. And among them there would be Books that worked—that linked to functional Ages. And in those Ages, surely, there would be survivors.
But first it was up to her to find the Books.
Marrim slipped the map into her pocket. Tomorrow? Forget “tomorrow.” She would gather her team together and begin the search tonight.
PART TWO
A BURROWING WORM BLINKS IN THE SUNLIGHT.
AND PULLS HIS EYES DOWN OVER HIS EYES.
EARTH’S MOUTH STEAMS. DEEP VOICES GRUMBLE.
TIME DRAWS A JAGGED LINE UPON THE SAND
IN WHICH THE WOMAN WAITS.
--FROM THE KOROKH JIMAH
VV. 21660-64
The broad leather spines were old but well cared for, the blues and reds, the blacks and yellows and greens of the ancient Books embossed with D’ni symbols that were faded yet still readable. Row after row of them crowded the shelves of the storeroom, overspilling into a second great room: 78 Books in total—all that remained of the tens of thousands that had once graced the great houses and common libraries of D’ni.
Two large desks had been pushed together in one corner of the newly added room, on which were stacked a huge pile of Kortee-nea—blank Books—they had unearthed, to their astonishment, beneath the fallen stones of one of the common libraries.
Seated at one of those desks, his head down, patiently toiling into the night, Atrus was unaware of Catherine’s approach until he felt her hands upon his shoulders.
“Haven’t you finished yet, my love?”
“Two more lines,” he said, indicating the Linking Book he had been working on, “and then I’m done.”
To one side of him, beyond the ink stand and the glowing orange lamp, was a small pile of Linking Books—five in all—that he had prepared already.
It was four months since their trip to Bilaris and they had all worked hard. All of the Books were gathered in—yes, and cataloged and read. The six most likely had been selected by Atrus and Catherine, after a long and sometimes heated debate, and now they were almost—almost—ready to go.
A month back, belatedly fulfilling his promise to the elders of Averone, Atrus had sent his young helpers home, to teach the new generation, taking the time, in their absence, to make his final preparations.
Tomorrow they would return, and a new phase of the reconstruction—a painstaking search of the Ages—would begin.
“You have the draft letter?” Catherine asked, easing past him to sit on the edge of the desk.
Atrus reached across and, rifling among his papers, came up with a single sheet. He handed it across, then watched as Catherine quickly read it through.
She looked back at him. “That should do.”
“You don’t think it too formal, then?”
“No. It has the right tone, I’d say. Dignified without being self-important.”
He laughed at that. The letter was an introduction of sorts, as well as being a statement of intent. And when his teams went into the Ages, they would each take copies of the letter, ready to present, if and when they made contact with survivors.
“I’ll make some copies, then,” he said, taking it back from her, “and seal them using my grandfather’s ring.”
Catherine stared at him a moment, then, changing the subject, said, “You’ve missed her, haven’t you?”
Atrus hesitated, then nodded. They were talking, as ever, of Marrim. “It’s strange, Catherine. Marrim was always so quick, so enthusiastic, but something’s changed since we came here. She’s grown.”
“Hungry children grow when fed,” Catherine said, covering his hand with her own. “You should begin teaching her. That copy of the Rehevkor we found…. You should give it to her, Atrus.”
The Rehevkor was the ancient D’ni lexicon; the principal teaching tool for D’ni children. Atrus himself had learned the D’ni language from it.
“You think so? You think she’s ready?”
Catherine grinned. “She was ready months ago. But first things first. Finish the Linking Book, then come and get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day.”
§
Stepping through the open doorway, Marrim stared into the shadows of the schoolroom. Through the windows on the far side she could see the bay, the sun setting over the water. In an hour she would be gone. To Chroma’Agana, and thence to D’ni.
And then?
The thought of going—of visiting the Ages—thrilled her, yet at the same time she felt a deep regret that she had to leave here. Before now it had been easy, for there had been nothing for her here—except, of course, her family—but this last time things had changed. Now she had a reason to come back.
Marrim walked to the desk at the front of the room. It had all been crudely, hastily fashioned, to the orders of the elders, yet it had served its purpose well. A hundred or more children had crowded into this room by the end, eager to hear her and learn from her. And she, for her part, had been as eager to teach them.
It had been a wonderful four weeks, all told, yet now that it was over she found that she had missed Atrus and Catherine, missed them more than she cared to say. With them she was the pupil.
She grinned, remembering those smiling, eager faces crowded into the room in front of her, the sea of enthusiastic hands, the openmouthed wonder as she told them stories about the D’ni.
Maybe that had been wrong, for her brief from the elders was to teach them useful skills—reading and writing and the use of numbers—but it would have been lean fare indeed had she not seasoned it with tales.
She smoothed her hands over the surface of the desk, then, knowing she had come here for a purpose, crouched down and began to take her things from the drawers, slipping them into her knapsack.
Last of all she removed her journal from the bottom drawer, pausing a moment to open it and read the last few entries. She had noticed how Atrus wrote everything down, keeping a daily record of events, but she had never thought to do the same until two months back, when, on a search of one of the midlevel houses, she had come upon an unused notebook. Since then, she had made the time each evening to set down her thoughts about the day’s activities, to reflect on what she’d done. And now that she did, she understood the purpose of it. If she were a boat, making her way across life’s water, then the journal was her compass. It let her steer her course. For how could she know where she was going without a reference to where she’d been.
Which made it only all the more curious that Atrus’s father, Gehn, had not seen that. Reading his journals, she had found it strange how little Gehn had reflected on the world about him. Gehn’s was not, as she understood it, a true intellectual curiosity, he was interested only in forcing the world to fit his first conception of it: a conception warped by his youthful experiences and the unbridled power of the art of writing.
Marrim closed the notebook and slipped it into the sack, then looked about her again. Even in the last few minutes the shadows in the room had deepened. In a moment the sun would sink below the horizon and it would be night. And she would be gone from here again.
She had already said her good-byes, her mother clutching her tearfully, he father taking her hands and squeezing them—as much emotion in that as in all her mother’s embraces. Now Irras and Carrad awaited her at the clearing in the wood. But still she stood there, reluctant to leave while one shred of light remained.
At such moments there was no logic to events; one had to go with the feeling.
The sun’s last light threw a bar of red across the open doorway to her right. Into that light now stepped a child. A young girl.
Marrim blinked, as if she had imagined it, but the child was still there, looking across at her, the dying light reflected in the moist pools of her eyes.
“Allem?”
Allem slowly came across. From close up Marrim could see she had been crying.
“You will come back, won’t you, Marrim?”
Marrim knelt, embracing her. “Of course I will.”
“You promise?”
“I promise. Now go. Your father will be angry if he knows you are here.”
The girl nodded but did not
pull away. “I had to come. You’ve meant so much to us.”
Marrim sniffed. “And you…I enjoyed teaching you. You were good pupils. You made it easy for me.”
The girl looked up. “Can I come with you?”
“Come?” Marrim went to shake her head, but Allem spoke again.
“I don’t mean now. I mean later. When I’m grown up.”
Again Marrim made to shake her head, but then, relenting, she nodded. “Yes, Allem. When you’re older.”
§
Atrus and Catherine were in the library on Chroma’Agana to greet them, as first Irras, and then Carrad, and finally Marrim linked through.
“Well…” he said, stepping back. “All is prepared. When the teams link through we can begin.”
The other team members would arrive tonight, but Atrus had wanted his team leaders back earlier to brief them.
“Which Ages did you finally choose, Master Atrus?” Irras asked. He had helped Atrus catalog the Ages.
“Six in all,” Atrus answered. “I’ve chosen old worlds to begin with. Family Ages of some solidity.”
“Will we be using the Maintainers’ suit?” Carrad asked.
“Not this time,” Atrus said, yet he glanced at Catherine as he did so, as if this had been a topic of debate between them.
They linked through to K’veer. There Gavas awaited them with a boat. Marrim greeted him, then took her seat in the stern, staring past the overhang of rock into the cavern beyond.
As they rowed out under the ledge and onto the lake, Marrim glanced at Atrus and, seeing him watching her, looked away, smiling to herself. It was so good to see him again. So good to be back. She had enjoyed her spell teaching, but this was her real work. This was where she belonged.
That morning’s briefings were long and highly detailed. Atrus was leaving nothing to chance. He had prepared information for each of the team leaders, giving them details of the terrain, the names of the families who had owned the Ages, and, as a precaution, basic points of D’ni etiquette. Last of all he handed them copies of the letter of introduction he had penned. Marrim stared at hers a moment, studying the dark green seal that had the imprint of a D’ni letter at its center, then slipped it into her jacket pocket.
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