It truly was a land without equal.
He took a long breath, then let it out, giving a single nod, as if in that moment he had confirmed some fact that until then had not been certain.
“Atrus?”
He turned. Ro’Eh Ro’Dan was standing at the far end of the bridge, his head bare, his dark blue cloak wrapped tightly about him.
“Come…there’s breakfast if you want it.”
The very informality of the words and the casual gesture that accompanied them reassured Atrus. The friendly intimacy of the previous evening was still there between them, and as Atrus stepped up to Ro’Eh Ro’Dan, the other took his arm and, with a smile, led him inside.
Inside was a large circular chamber, at the center of which was a massive desk. Five elegantly robed ancients stood about, several of whom Atrus had met the night before. As Atrus and the king entered, they lowered their heads respectfully. It was a cozy room, its luxuries surprisingly simple ones. The stone walls to either side of the doorway were bare, while, on the far side, a twist of stairs followed the curve of the wall, leading up to a recessed wooden door.
After the magnificence of the audience chamber, this was unexpectedly low-key, yet Atrus, looking about him, found himself more impressed by this than the grandeur he had seen elsewhere, for this spoke of the more human side of Terahnee.
“Gentlemen…we can continue later.”
Smiling at Atrus, the ancients departed, leaving him alone with Ro’Eh Ro’Dan. The king turned, facing him.
“Did you sleep well, Atrus?”
“Wonderfully.”
“Good.” He smiled. “You know, I am glad to have the chance to speak with you alone. But come. We can talk while we eat.”
Atrus followed the king up the twist of stairs and out into daylight. Five narrow steps led up onto a platform. Stepping out onto it, Atrus stared in real delight, for it had been laid out as a tiny formal garden, at the center of which was a low table and two long chairs.
A breakfast meal had been laid out on the table, but it was not that which caught Atrus’s attention; it was the beauty of the delicate flowers that lay on every side, their tiny blooms cascading over the edges of the platform.
Atrus went over to the edge and stood there, looking out. There were no walls. If he stepped out now he would fall a mile or more, and it was that—that absence of any barrier between this and what lay beneath—that gave this place its unearthly beauty. All around him was the world, and here this tiny perfect garden.
“It’s beautiful,” he said, turning back.
“I am glad you think so.” Ro’Eh Ro’Dan gestured toward the seat. “Won’t you join me, Atrus?”
Atrus took a seat, conscious that beneath him was a mile of empty air. A cool breeze blew, ruffling his hair. He let his eyes wander over the perfection of the garden, then looked to Ro’Eh Ro’Dan once more.
Ro’Eh Ro’Dan was watching him attentively, his deep blue eyes trying to fathom something. And then he seemed to relax. Once more he smiled.
“You seem surprised,” he said brightly.
“Everything here surprises me.”
“Has D’ni not its wonders?”
“Compared to this?” Atrus shook his head. “No. Not even at its height.”
“I see.” Ro’Eh Ro’Dan looked down, frowning. “You speak almost as though your land were in decline.”
“Decline? No, that is no word for it. The truth is D’ni fell. It is no more. Unless you count its ruins.”
Ro’Eh Ro’Dan sat back, clearly shocked. “But I thought…”
“There are survivors,” Atrus went on, “and I have been trying to rebuild. Even so…” He met the young king’s eyes. “I wish to ask you something, Ro’Eh Ro’Dan.”
The king seemed stunned; even so he nodded. “Ask.”
“I would like to bring my people here from D’ni, to settle permanently in Terahnee.”
“Of course. There’s room for everyone.” Yet the king seemed distracted now. “D’ni fallen…” He shook his head once more, then stood. “You must tell me all that happened, Atrus. Everything…right from the beginning.”
§
Catherine was awake when he returned.
“It is done!” he said joyously. “Ro’Eh Ro’Dan has agreed to have us here. Space will be found for all our people.”
Catherine stood. “That’s wonderful!”
“We spent a long time talking, discussing D’ni, our people, and the tragedy that befell us. And it was strange, Catherine, for I sensed that whilst he was shocked and sad for us, another part of him reacted differently. I don’t know what it was, for by no sign or word was he unkind, yet…”
He stopped, conscious suddenly that Eedrah was in the doorway.
“Forgive me my intrusion,” Eedrah began, “but I think I can explain. Not many know of these things, but the king most certainly would.”
“Know?” Atrus asked. “Know of what?”
“Of the ancient prophecy. That Terahnee would fall. That a great cloud of darkness would descend and destroy it with its poisoned breath.”
Both Atrus and Catherine now stared at Eedrah.
“So you see,” Eedrah went on, “your tragedy might prove our joy. At least, that is one interpretation. Since our earliest times we have dreaded this calamity and now you come and tell us it has already happened, and that we, here in Terahnee, have come through it totally unscathed. You can be sure right now that Ro’Eh Ro’Dan is meeting with his close advisers and telling them this news.”
Eedrah smiled. “It will do your people no harm, Atrus. No harm at all.”
“Maybe not, yet if I had known this beforehand I might have broached the matter differently.”
“My husband does not believe in prophecies,” Catherine explained. “He thinks them unscientific.”
“As they are. But Eedrah is right. And what’s done is done. Our task now is to unify our peoples and to bring them here to their new home in Terahnee. Nothing else must distract us. The king has given his permission. Space will be made.”
“He knows how many are to come?”
“I said five thousand.”
Eedrah looked surprised. “Is that all of you that remain?”
“On D’ni and on Averone, yes. And fortunately so, perhaps, for how would even a great land like this take on any bigger number?”
“With ease,” Eedrah said, a strangeness in his voice. He looked away a moment, then looked back. “Did the king say he wished to meet with you again?”
“He did. But not today. He has given his permission for us to return at once to Ro’Jethhe, there to organize the linking through of all the D’ni.”
“Then I shall see to things,” Eedrah said, and, turning, hastened from the room.
Atrus looked to Catherine. “All will be for the best.”
“Yes.” But she seemed distracted, too. “Forgive me, Atrus, but I wish to speak with Eedrah a moment. Something he said…”
“Of course. I shall pack, then see the others. There is not a moment to be wasted.”
“No.” She smiled. “I shall not be long.” Then, turning from him, she hurried after Eedrah, anxious to catch up with him.
§
Eedrah was silent on the journey home, withdrawn, and when Catherine asked him what it was he would not say, preferring to look away from her rather than answer her question.
Atrus, however, was full of plans, and spent much of the journey back discussing with Catherine and the rest how best to transfer all their people through.
Marrim, when she first heard of Atrus’s plan, had fallen silent, and for almost half a day had said nothing. It was only when she understood that Atrus meant to include those from Averone that she perked up again. But even then she had reservations. These she resolved to keep to herself until she had a chance to speak privately with Atrus.
That chance occurred the first night of their journey back.
“Atrus?” she asked, closing the door quietl
y behind her.
Atrus looked up from where he was writing in his notebook, then gestured for her to come across. She was silent while he finished.
“Well?” he asked, closing the book.
“What if they will not come?”
“Your people, you mean?”
She nodded. “It is their home, after all.” She hesitated, then, “Could you not write a Book, from here to there?”
“No, Marrim.”
She looked down.
“It will be all right,” Atrus said. “They will be happy here. There must be seas on this world. We’ll ask Ro’Eh Ro’Dan to find a place for them beside one. So do not let it trouble you anymore. There’s a great deal of work to be done, arranging the move. Let that fill your mind over the coming days.”
She looked up and smiled.
Atrus returned her smile. “Eedrah tells me we are to start early and travel direct to Ro’Jethhe tomorrow. It will be a long journey, so get what rest you can.”
Marrim laughed. “You speak almost as if we shall be walking back, not sailing in a boat!”
In answer Atrus handed her the notebook. “Take this. I want you to read the last ten pages. And then, tomorrow, I want you to consider the best way of persuading your people that this move is in their best interests.”
Marrim bowed her head, giving a single nod.
“Good. Then go now. Tomorrow will be a long day.”
§
Jethhe Ro’Jethhe hugged Atrus to him, then stepped back, looking about him at the others. It was late evening now, and the lamps that hung from the flower-strewn balconies threw a pearled light over the pool and the silken awnings of the boat.
“I hear that everything went well!” Ro’Jethhe said. “Indeed, I hear that your people are to join us here in Terahnee.”
Atrus smiled broadly. “That is so, Ro’Jethhe. It is a good day for both our peoples.”
“An excellent day. And we must celebrate.” Ro’Jethhe clapped his hands. At once a door opened in the wall behind them and a ramp descended. As Atrus turned, he saw that two ledges of stone had extended from the sides of the pool to cover all except the boat, which lay completely enclosed at the center. “Come,” Ro’Jethhe said, leading them across, “I have invited a few friends.”
He turned to Atrus, smiling as he walked on. “Oh, you are quite famous now, Atrus. There are many who wish to see you. Why, there would not be room, even in the governor’s halls, for so many. But I have asked one or two whom you might find interesting.” He raised a hand quickly. “Oh, and I know you have traveled far today, but we shall not keep you up all evening. Besides, I did not wish the moment to pass when we might toast the joint future of our peoples.”
Atrus smiled. “Nor I.” And with that he let Ro’Jethhe lead his party up the ramp and into the great hall where a good number of Ro’Jethhe’s friends awaited them.
§
The evening had gone well, but now it was late. Irras had been dispatched to the plateau once again to warn master Tamon of their imminent return, and Atrus would have followed would it not have offended their host. And so he sat on, doing what he so rarely did—socializing late into the night.
Talking to the local landowners, it was clear that none of them felt threatened by the proposed influx from D’ni. It was just as the king had said—when everyone had so much why should they begrudge others sharing their good fortune?—and that, as much as anything, had convinced Atrus finally that everything would work out for the best.
Catherine, looking across at Atrus, smiled, for she had rarely seen him in such good humor. Now that the king had been informed, he was free to talk of D’ni and its ways, and was enjoying doing so. Just now the talk had turned to the art of writing and to the kind of Ages the D’ni wrote. Ro’Jethhe’s friends plied Atrus with question after question, fascinated by the whole notion of Guilds and particularly the Guild of Maintainers, though they clearly found it hard to comprehend just why such a Guild should exist in the first place.
“But why?” one of them insisted for perhaps the dozenth time. “Why do you need such a highly specialized Guild?”
“To restrain the weaker-minded,” Atrus answered patiently, “to protect against faulty Ages, and to ensure there is no abuse of the Ages.”
Another of the locals laughed. A drunken laughter. “But civilized people control themselves, so they can be seen!”
Atrus laughed awkwardly, not understanding the statement.
The local continued. “We write, we live, we control ourselves, we are seen.” Pounding his chest with each we.
“I beg pardon,” Atrus said, still smiling and looking for a clue to what was being said.
“Self-restraint and the ability to write. They distinguish us from the beasts, wouldn’t you say, Atrus? They make us what we are. Men, and not unseen beasts.”
“Of course we are not beasts,” Atrus replied awkwardly. “But what is seen? What beasts are unseen?”
“You have much to learn.” The local laughed. “Perhaps your lenses can help you see the beasts that we cannot.”
Laughter broke out among the guests.
Atrus enjoyed riddles, but now he was the focus of the entertainment, without having a clue of what was being discussed. It unsettled him. But he gathered his wits and began to consider the information he had been given. Seen, unseen, control, writing, beasts…the choice of that particular D’ni word, bahro, was an odd one. It was a derivative of the root word for beast, bah, easily recognized, but the suffix ro had been added. It had to be a key to the riddle. The Terahnee would often prefix a name with ro in order to represent a people group, household, or family. Now he wondered what those combined words could imply. Beast families or households, unseen, what was unseen? Perhaps it referred to farms where unseen beasts were raised for food. No, he’d heard them use the word for beast without ro when referring to livestock. Wild animals—families or packs of unseen wild animals, out of control, in the far reaches of this Age, perhaps dangerous. That had to be it.
“Are we in danger when traveling beyond the civilized lands? Are there beasts that might be hostile?” Atrus tossed out the question looking for some confirmation of his conclusion.
Laughter again filled the room.
Atrus once again had to smile. He was not on the right trail.
“The beasts are neither civilized, nor distant, nor hostile, nor seen.” The local was truly enjoying this impromptu contest of wits. In fact, everyone in the entire gathering was smiling, watching.
Except Eedrah. Atrus noted that he was hanging on every word of the exchange, but intensely—deeply staring at Atrus, without a hint of a smile on his face. It was enough of a contrast to the others as to cause Atrus to lose his train of thought. He stared back at Eedrah.
The riddler continued. “The civilized control the civilized and the uncivilized. The civilized see the civilized but the uncivilized see all.”
Cheers arose from around the room.
Atrus glanced back at the speaker, the last clue simply adding to his confusion. He smiled and raised his hands upward, signaling surrender. The guests erupted in applause as the riddler took a bow.
Ro’Jethhe stepped in. “Atrus, it is not so difficult. You will be surprised at the answer.” He was smiling broadly. “Writers and non-writers, it is merely a riddle of words. Bahro, or beast-people, and ahrotahntee, non-writers, otherworlders. Clever, yes?”
Atrus let the words sink in—still not grasping what the connection was. “Beast people?”
“Why, yes,” Ro’Jethhe replied, reaching across to take a fresh cup of wine. “It is, after all, only we of Terahnee and D’ni who can write. The ahrotahntee have no such talent. It is why things are as they are. Surely it is so in D’ni, Atrus?”
Ahrotahntee. Catherine, grasping the riddle, felt herself go cold. She had not heard the term since Atrus’s father, Gehn, had used it. Outsiders, it meant. Book-worlders. Those who were not of D’ni blood. Or Terahnee…
&nb
sp; Atrus sat up straight. “With great respect, you are mistaken, Ro’Jethhe. The ahrotahntee can write. You have only to teach them.”
There was a shocked silence. All eyes were on Atrus now, as if he had spoken something obscene.
Ro’Jethhe looked aside, clearly embarrassed. “You jest with us, Atrus, surely?”
Atrus looked about him, his eyes going from face to face, not understanding what was going on. “But Catherine writes, and she is ahrotahntee!”
There was a universal gasp. A look of utter shock had come to Jethhe Ro’Jethhe’s face, while all about the chamber men glared at Atrus and his party with open hostility, while their wives and daughters blushed and looked down. Even several of the stewards, who were not known to react, had glanced up at Atrus’s words and were looking to one another, as if asking what to do.
“Take care what you say,” Ro’Jethhe said, wiping his mouth.
“But it is true,” Atrus said, ignoring Catherine’s hand on his arm. “Indeed, my grandmother and my mother were both ahrotahntee!”
There was sudden uproar. Ro’Jethhe stood, looking to the stewards, who immediately went to the doors and, taking keys from the belts about their waists, proceeded to lock them. Ro’Jethhe watched them, then, his face hard and angry, turned back, facing Atrus.
“Even were such things true,” he said, “they should not be uttered. The unseen…”
“The unseen?” Atrus said, standing and taking a step toward his host. “What is this riddle?”
Atrus stopped, listening suddenly. There were noises in the walls surrounding them. A bumping and then a distinct thud, followed by a curse. Then, suddenly, a door opened in the wall where, but a split second before, there had been no door. Atrus knew that because he had been staring at the spot the very instant it had opened. And through that door, like ghosts, came six pale, silent figures, their shaven heads like ivory, their black, tight-fitting clothes making them seem more like ciphers than men. For they were men, despite their bowed, obedient heads, their averted eyes, their palpable fear of the steward who, with a snarling face, drove them silently across the floor between the Terahnee and out through a second door that opened as though by magic.
The Myst Reader Page 79
