The Myst Reader

by Rand; Robyn Miller; David Wingrove

  “And so he shall,” Ro’Jethhe quickly said. “It is only a momentary indisposition. Eedrah will be honored to accompany them.”

  Horen Ro’Jadre smiled. “Good.” He looked about him briefly, then walked across to take the vacant couch at the very center of the amphitheater. As he did, all returned to their couches.

  There was a low chime in the air. As it faded, the light in the amphitheater changed as lamps behind the surrounding falls switched on, making the crystalline curtain of water shimmer magically. At the same time a large section of the amphitheater’s floor slid aside and a platform rose from beneath.

  Six young men stood on the platform, naked to the waist; perfect physical specimens who bowed, then began a routine of gymnastics that left Marrim mesmerized by their dexterity.

  All was going well, when suddenly one of the young men seemed to catch the ankle of another and went tumbling over, falling heavily. He made no sound—indeed, the whole performance had been carried out in silence; a silence broken only by the thud of feet or hands on the platform, the hiss of escaping breath—and even now, as he lay there, grimacing, clearly in pain, he made no sound.

  From his couch to the right of Marrim, Ro’Jethhe clapped his hands. At once the performance ended, the platform returned into the floor.

  Almost at once the conversation started up again, Ro’Jethhe himself taking the lead, returning to a subject they had been discussing earlier. No mention was made of the performer’s error, nor of D’ni.

  They ate, and drank, and later, in a momentary pause in their talk, the governor spoke directly to Atrus once again.

  “I am told by friend Ro’Jethhe that some of you wear special glasses in the daylight. May I ask why this is?”

  “Of course,” Atrus said. “It is a hereditary aspect of our race. Our eyes are sensitive. The daylight hurts them. And so we wear these lenses.” And with that Atrus took his own lenses from his jacket pocket and, walking across to the governor’s couch, handed them to Horen Ro’Jadre.

  The governor studied them a while, fiddling with the silver catch at the side of the lenses, then peered through them, fascinated, it seemed, by the details of their manufacture. Then, smiling pleasantly, he handed them back.

  “You will come stay with me, I hope, Atrus. On your way to the capital. It is on your route and I should welcome the chance to talk with you some more.”

  “That is…”

  “…most kind, I know.” Ro’Jadre laughed. “Oh, kindness has nothing to do with it, my friend. I am curious to know more about you and your fellows.”

  “Then we shall be glad to stay. Oh, and governor?”

  “Yes, Atrus?”

  “Might I send back a messenger, to my own people, to let them know what has transpired.”

  “Your people…” The governor blinked. “Of course…yes, of course. You must do so at once. To let them know you are well.”

  Atrus bowed. “That is…”

  “…most kind.”

  And this time both men laughed; their laughter joined by all, guests and locals alike.

  “Well,” Ro’Jadre said, looking about him, his face filled with pleasure, “let us continue with the rest of our entertainment. Jethhe Ro’Jethhe, will you begin?”

  Their host bowed his head slightly, acknowledging the invitation, then, after a moment’s thought, spoke softly but clearly into the sudden, expectant silence”

  “Old, but newly found. Hidden, yet in full sight. A newly hatched egg with an old cracked shell…”

  And Marrim, looking about her, found herself amazed once more. Riddles, she thought. They’re playing riddles!

  §

  The journey back was merry. They had drunk far too much—even the normally sober Atrus—and enjoyed themselves far more than any of them had anticipated.

  “That was just so clever,” Oma said, leaning heavily against his friend Esel. “That one about the bird and the lock with the silver pick. How they think them up I’ll never know!”

  He grinned and looked about him, then, seeing Hadre at the prow, put his hand to his mouth, acknowledging his gaffe, but the young man seemed not to mind.

  “We play riddles from our earliest days,” Hadre said. “As I said before, we love the things of the mind. Mental games and memory tests—we delight in all such challenges. They keep one sharp and alert.”

  “Then you are to be applauded for it,” Oma said, making a pretend toast in the air. “For myself, I would surely die of indolence, living as you do.”

  “I am sure that is not so,” Hadre said, sounding more sober than any of them. “I saw you at the library, Oma. I saw how you drank in the sight of all those books. If you want, you can take one or two of them to read on the journey to the capital.”

  Oma, overwhelmed by the offer, stood and bowed at the waist, bringing ripples of laughter from the others, but Hadre merely returned the bow.

  “You are…”

  “…most welcome!” the five youngsters answered as one, then laughed; a laughter that Hadre joined in with after a moment. A laughter that filled the warm night air as the boat glided slowly, silently beneath the waning moon, toward the distant, shimmering whiteness of Ro’Jethhe.

  §

  They met again the next morning, in the great book-lined study belonging to Ro’Jethhe. The governor was to leave within the hour and had asked to see Atrus again before he departed.

  “Forgive me for summoning you so early,” Horen Ro’Jadre said, coming across to take Atrus’s hands as he entered the room, “but I wished to speak with you informally before this evening.”

  Atrus smiled. “Then speak. I am listening.”

  Ro’Jadre nodded, then, releasing Atrus’s hands, said, “I enjoyed your company greatly last night, Atrus, and I know you will make a great impression at court, but I felt I should warn you of one thing.”

  “Warn me? Of what?”

  “Of saying too much of who and what you are. Of D’ni and the like.”

  Atrus narrowed his eyes. “Why so?”

  “Because it is not our place to ask such things of you. You understand?”

  “I’m afraid I do not. You are governor here, are you not?”

  “Governor, yes, but not king.”

  “And it is for the king alone to ask such questions?”

  Horen Ro’Jadre beamed. “There. I told Ro’Jethhe you would understand.”

  “But…” Atrus fell silent, then. “It is your way, I take it?”

  “Exactly. The moment the king agreed to see you, it was decided. It would be wrong for any one of us to know more than he.”

  “I see.”

  “Then we shall meet again this evening. Until then…”

  He stepped forward, embracing Atrus briefly, then was gone.

  Atrus stared after him a moment, then turned back, looking to Ro’Jethhe, as if for explanation, but all the elder said was, “The king has agreed to see you, Atrus. It is an immense honor.”

  “Yes,” Atrus said. Then, understanding that Ro’Jethhe wished him nothing but good, he smiled. “I shall not forget your kindness, Jethhe Ro’Jethhe.”

  The old man beamed. “Look after my son, Atrus. And return here when you can. And remember, my door is always open to you, so long as you are in Terahnee.”

  §

  “Interesting,” Catherine said later, when he told her about the meeting with the governor.

  “All peoples have their customs,” Atrus said, buckling the strap on his knapsack. “Now…where has young Irras got to?”

  “I’m here, Master Atrus,” Irras said, coming into the room.

  “You know what you have to say to Master Tamon?”

  Irras nodded. “I have it by heart.”

  “Then go at once. And return here once the message has been delivered. Jethhe Ro’Jethhe will not mind if you stay until we return from the capital.”

  Irras bowed his head, then, with a curt, “Take care,” he turned on his heel and vanished.

&nbs
p; Atrus looked to Catherine, a query in his eyes.

  “I think, perhaps, he’s disappointed about not coming to the capital with us,” she said.

  “But that decision was not in my hands.”

  “It makes it no easier for him, Atrus. Irras was excited at the thought of seeing the great city, and now he must be content to be a runner between here and the plateau. It must have been a great blow to him.”

  “And yet he says nothing.”

  Catherine smiled. “So you have taught them Atrus.”

  Atrus frowned. “Yes, but we ought to make it up to him. I could ask the King if Irras could come on after us.”

  “You’ll ask the king?”

  “Of course,” Atrus said, unaware of the smile on Catherine’s lips. But she did not pursue the matter.

  “Are you ready?” Atrus asked, looking about him, checking for the last time that he had everything he wished to take with him.

  “Ready,” she said.

  “Good. Then let us go down and meet with Eedrah. It is time we got under way.”

  §

  The youngsters had packed already and, while Atrus and Catherine went to see Ro’Jethhe and the governor, they decided to explore the grounds.

  A narrow, elegant footbridge led over the stream by which they had entered the house, opening out onto a path of colored stone that meandered across a neatly swept lawn to disappear among the rocks of a grotto.

  They followed the path, through the rocks and up, emerging on the far side on a ledge overlooking a series of long, barnlike buildings with low, red-tiled roofs.

  Several of the cloaked servants were down there, talking among themselves, but noticing the young people up on the ledge, they fell silent and dispersed, one of them heading directly toward them.

  He stopped at the foot of the steps that led down from the ledge. “Can I help you, Masters?”

  “Thank you, but no,” Carrad said. “We shall be leaving soon, and we merely wished to look around before we left.”

  The man bowed. “Then let me be your guide. I am Tyluu.”

  “And what do you do, Tyluu?” Esel asked, beginning to descend the steps.

  The man kept his head bowed the slightest fraction as he answered. “I coordinate the harvest.” He paused. “Would you like to see the grain stores?”

  They went down and, with Tyluu as their guide, walked through the great storehouses, impressed by what they saw—especially the two young Averonese, who, coming from a farming world themselves, appreciated just how much work must have gone into this. The great barns themselves were deceptive, for they went down into the earth some way. They had glimpses of great stone stairways that snaked down into the depths, and Tyluu explained that much, apart from grain, was stored in the lower levels.

  They walked on, out into great pens where herds of strangely docile beasts milled quietly, their moist dark eyes following the four guess as they passed by.

  All was neat and orderly. Not a fence was broken, not a farming implement out of place. Oma commented on this, and Tyluu bowed, as if some great compliment had been made, and answered, “It is our way.”

  Here and there, Marrim noticed, there were what looked like wells. Deep, square holes in the ground with borders of finished stone. She glanced down one as she passed and thought she saw some small animal scuttle by beneath.

  And then it was time to return. Oma thanked Tyluu, but Tyluu merely bowed and backed away, merging with the shadows.

  Carrad frowned.

  “It is their way,” Marrim said, grinning at him. Then, “Come on, let’s get back.”

  §

  As they journeyed north of Ro’Jethhe the ground began to rise, the canal winding its way through small, undulating foothills. Once more the countryside was beautiful and there were endless wonders to be seen to either side of the boat. Then, after an hour, they came to the first of a series of locks—huge, elaborately decorated marble halls into which the boat sailed, the end doors closing behind them.

  Lamps in the ceiling cast a dazzling light over them as, beneath the flattened hull of the boat, the water suddenly rose, lifting them up onto another level of the “hill,” into which they quietly sailed, the daylight up ahead of them once more.

  And then out, into a landscape transformed—the hills to all sides of them covered in a thousand different kinds of flowers, while directly ahead lay a strange, emerald-colored structure that seemed almost to explode from the earth.

  At first they thought this was the house to which they were heading, but Eedrah quickly set them right.

  “That is an antilogy.”

  “An antilogy?” Atrus queried. “A contradiction in terms?”

  “Precisely,” Eedrah said.

  Moment by moment the boat sailed closer to the strange building, their path leading them slowly around the structure, revealing more aspects of it at every moment.

  “Eedrah smiled. “What is more dynamic than the moment in which a raindrop hits the surface of a lake, and what more thrilling than to freeze that moment and capture it forever; to transform something that was brief and transient into an eternal statement?”

  “And is that what it is?” Esel asked. “A raindrop hitting the surface of a lake?”

  “Can you not see it?” Eedrah asked.

  And indeed, now that they knew what to look for, they could. They could see the rounded shape of it, the depression at the center the way the edges of the water drop exploded outward, almost like flames, obeying eternal laws of physics.

  Eedrah’s smile broadened. “Every district boasts three or four of them. And it is said the king owns a great park containing some of the finest in the land.”

  Esel, who had been staring at the structure, wide-eyed, now looked back at Eedrah. “Perhaps we shall be fortunate enough to see them.”

  “Perhaps…but look, through the gap in the hills there…that is where we are headed. That is Ro’Jadre.”

  §

  A great hill of marble faced them, tier upon tier climbing through the hills like the steps of giants. And set into the lowest of those steps, a great ring of blood-red stone that seemed to flicker, as if flames burned within its cool outer casing.

  That ring surrounded a tunnel. They headed directly toward it now, across a long, high viaduct that stretched out, its attenuated arches elegantly spanning a gaping chasm.

  Inside the tunnel, the door boomed shut behind them and once more the water rose with a great rush, lifting them up and up and up, through a series of locks until they emerged at the top of that great hill of marble, in a massive square pool, huge, tiered walls surrounding them on every side, one side of which glowed in the sun’s rays.

  And there, standing on a great balcony in the sunlight, was Horen Ro’Jadre himself, wearing a pale cream flowing gown. He stood out, a tall, proud figure, his dark hair combed back severely from his head. Raising his arm he smiled down at them.

  “Atrus! Catherine! Welcome to Ro’Jadre!”

  §

  The house of Ro’Jethhe had been impressive, but Ro’Jadre’s house was simply astonishing. The entrance hall alone, with its sweeping stairways and magnificent windows, was enough to take the breath, and the party from D’ni stood there, as Ro’Jadre came down to greet them, quite in awe of their surroundings.

  Marrim watched Horen Ro’Jadre embrace Atrus, conscious of a change in him since the previous evening. Then the governor had seemed stern and distant even when he smiled or laughed, but today he seemed more at ease, much more relaxed in his own home.

  If one could call something this palatial “home.”

  “I am so pleased to see you all once more,” Ro’Jadre said, looking about him, including them all in his smile of welcome. Nearby stood two servants, in attendance, their heads inclined, their distinctive look—wine-red cloaks and wire-fine silver hair—familiar now.

  “You must be hungry,” Ro’Jadre went on. “There are some light refreshments in the lower gallery. If you would come with
me.”

  They followed him through, into a long, low room, the light of which was completely different from outside, a faint, roseate glow that seemed to be frozen perpetually in that first, hopeful moment of the dawn. Marrim looked about her, trying to see how this was done—by lamps, or filters at the windows—but try as she might, she could not discern the source of it.

  Miracles, she thought, taking a couch. Terahnee was indeed a land of miracles.

  The journey had not been long, but the air here seemed to feed the appetite, such that Marrim ate voraciously, surprised to find herself so hungry. Ro’Jadre’s “light refreshment” would on any other world have seemed a feast, but Marrim, along with the others, was beginning to get used to this level of casual opulence.

  As for Horen Ro’Jadre, he watched them silently, picking at this and that, letting his guests eat and drink their fill. Only then, when he saw that most were satisfied, did he look to Atrus, and, smiling, say:

  “I understand you are fond of books, Atrus.”

  “Very fond. They are the lifeblood of a culture.”

  “Indeed,” Ro’Jadre said, nodding gravely. “I also understand that you wish to know more about this land of ours.”

  Atrus glanced at Eedrah, who was looking down. “That is so. I hoped to learn something of its history and development.”

  “Its history…” There was a strange movement in Ro’Jadre’s face. “You mean you wish to know the names of its kings?”

  “I…” Atrus paused, then. “Surely things have not always been like this?”

  Ro’Jadre smiled genially. “I am sure that is the case.”

  “Then there will be books, perhaps, that talk of how things once were.”

  “Maybe,” Ro’Jadre said, with an uncharacteristic vagueness. He turned and snapped his fingers. At once one of the servants turned and vanished through the doorway.