"Miller, Rand and Robyn & Wingrove, David - Myst 01 - The Book of Atrus" - читать интересную книгу автора (Miller Rand)

To Mom and
Text and l&utrations й 1995, Cyan Int.
Illustrations by William Cone Covtr design й 1995, The Leonbardt Group
Designed and typeset in Centaur by Btth TonJreau Design, New York, New York Printed in the Uniltd States fry Hodden Craftsmen, Inc., Scranton, ftnnsyhania
All rybts reserved. No part of ibis boot may be used or reproduced
in any manner \vtatsoevtr without the written permission of the Publisher.
Printed in At United Stales of America. AT information address:
Hyperion, 114 Fijtt Avema, New York, New York 10011.
ISBN 0-7868-8188-7
First Mass Market Edition W 987654321
Acknowledgments
TH
.HOUGH ONLY OUR NAMES ARE ON THE cover, it would be untrue to say that we wrote this story by ourselves; there were too many other people involved.
Principally, we'd like to thank Richard Vander Wende. His contributions to story development and the creative process were at least equal to our own.
Thanks to Ryan Miller for writing the first bookЧhis contributions set a tone from which we could work.
Also, thanks to John Biggs, Chris Brandkamp, Mark DeForest, Bonnie McDowali, Beth Miller, Josh Staub, and Richard Watson for their input and output.
And finally, thanks to Brian DeFiore, our editor, and David Wingrove for accomplishing the impossible.
A special thanks to the fans of Myst, who've waited a long time for this history and helped it to happen. We hope it answers many questions, and raises a few more.
Prolog
ue
G
LEHN'S BOOTPRINTS LAY HEAVY AROUND the tiny pool, the lush, well-tended green churned to mud. At one end of the garden, beneath a narrow outcrop, he had dug a shallow grave. Now, as the dawn's light slowly crept over the sands to touch the cleftwall twenty feet above, he covered over the young girl's body, his pale cream desert clothes smeared with her blood and with the dark earth of the cleft.
From the steps above Anna watched, exhausted after the long night. She had done what she could, but the girl had clearly been ill lor some months and the exertions of childbirth had eaten up what little strength remained to her. She had died with a sigh of relief.
Even now, in the silence of the dawn, she could hear Gehris howls of anguish, his hurt and angry ranting; could hear the words of blame which, at the time, had washed over her. It was her fault. Everything was her fault.
So it was. So it had always been.
He turned, finished, and looked up at her, no love in that cold, penetrating gaze. Nineteen he was. Just nineteen.
"Will you stay?" she asked wearily.
His answer was a terse shake of the head. Almost
2 RAND AND ROBYN MILLER
belligerently, he stomped across the surface of the garden, churning up yet more of her precious growing space, oblivious, it seemed, to the significance of what he did. She watched him crouch beside the pool, unable in her heart to be angry with himЧfor all he'd done and said. No, for she knew what he must be feeling. She knew herself how that feltЧto lose the focus of one's life, the meaning . . .
She looked down at her unwashed hands and slowly shook her head. Why come when there was nothing she could do to help?
But she knew the answer. He had come only because there was no one else to turn to. He had not wanted to come, but desperation had shaped his course. Knowing his wife was ill, he had remembered his mothers healing powers. But he had come too late.
Too late for her, anyway.
Anna raised her head, hearing the baby's cries. Stretching, she stood, then went down the narrow steps, ducking beneath the stone lintel into the interior. The baby was in the small inner chamber. She crossed the room and ducked inside as its cries grew louder.
She stood over it a moment, staring down at its pale blue eyes, then picked it up, cradling it against her.
"You poor thing," she whispered, kissing its neck, feeling it relax against her. "You poor, poor thing."
She went out and stood against the rail, watching as Gehn crouched by the pool, washing. She saw how
MYST: THE BOOK OF ATRUS 3
the pool was muddied, its precious liquid sullied. Again there was a carelessness about his actions that angered her. He was thoughtless. Gehn had always been thoughtless. But she held her tongue, knowing that it was not the moment to mention such things.
"You want me to dress the child for the journey?"
Gehn did not answer, and for a moment she thought that maybe he had not heard, but when she went to speak again, he turned and glared at her.
"Keep it. Bury it with its mother, if you must. But don't bother me with it. You saved it, you look after it."
She bristled, then held the child out, over the gap.
"This is your son, Gehn. Your son1. You gave him life. You are responsible for him. That is the way of things in this world."
Gehn turned away.
She drew the child back. As she did, it began to cry again. Below her, Gehn stamped across the churned ground and quickly climbed the steps, pushing past her roughly to go inside. A moment later he was back, his glasses perched on his head. Anna stared at him, noting that he had discarded his cloak.
"Your cloak, Gehn . . . You'll need your cloak out there."
He turned from her, looking out toward the lip of the volcano, just visible from where they stood. "Keep it," he said, his eyes moving fleetingly across her face. I'll not need it anymore!"
His words frightened her, made her fear for his
4 RAND AND ROBYN MILLER