Free The Myst Reader by Robyn Miller

of lilac lain on that bed of rich, dark earth.
    Goodbye
, he said silently.
    To be truthful, Atrus did not really know what to feel. Excitement? Certainly, the prospect of traveling—of seeing D’ni—thrilled him, yet the thought of leaving here, of leaving Anna, frightened him. Too much had happened far too quickly. He felt torn.
    “Atrus! Come now. We must go.”
    He turned, looking across at the figure silhouetted against the dawn light at the far end of the cleftwall, and nodded.
    Anna was waiting for him close by. Embracing her, he felt a kind of panic, a fear of not seeing her again, well up in him. She must have sensed it, for, squeezing him tightly, she then moved back, away from him, holding his upper arms and smiling at him.
    “Don’t worry now,” she said softly. “I’ll be all right. The store’s full and what with all those improvements you’ve made for me, I’ll not know what to do with myself half the time.”
    Her kind face lit with a smile. “Besides, your father has promised me he’ll bring you back three months from now to visit.”
    “Three months?” The news cheered him immensely.
    “Yes, so you must not worry.”
    She reached down, then handed him his pack. He had watched her earlier, selecting various items from their meager store and placing them into the pack for his journey, including all of the tiny cakes she had cooked only the previous day. Atrus stared at the pack, his fingers brushing lightly against its brightly embroidered cloth, moved by the simple care she took over everything, knowing he would miss that.
    “Now listen to me, Atrus.”
    Atrus looked up, surprised by how serious her voice suddenly was. “Yes, grandmother?”
    Her dark, intelligent eyes searched his. “You must remember what you have learned here, Atrus. I have tried to teach you the mechanics of the earth and stars; the ways of science and the workings of nature. I have tried to teach you what is good and what is to be valued, truths which cannot be shaken or changed. This knowledge is from the Maker. Take it with you and weigh everything your father teaches you against it.”
    Anna paused, then leaned in toward him slightly, lowering her voice. “I no longer know him, but I know you, Atrus. Measure your own deeds against the truths I have taught you. If you act for self-gain then no good can come of it. If you act selflessly, then you act well for all and you must not be afraid.”
    Anna moved back, smiling once more. “The journey down will be long and hard but I want you to be brave, Atrus. More than that, I want you to be truthful. To be a better son to your father than fate allowed him to be with his.”
    “I don’t understand …” he began, but she shook her head, as if it didn’t matter.
    “Do what your father asks. But most of all, Atrus, do not violate what is in your nature. You understand me?”
    “I think so, grandmother.”
    “Then I have no fears for you.”
    He embraced her again, gripping her tightly and kissing her neck. Then, turning from her, he climbed the steps and crossed the rope bridge.
    At the cleftwall he turned, looking back at her, his eyes briefly taking in the familiar sights of the cleft, its shape like a scar in his memory. Anna had climbed the steps and now stood on the narrow balcony outside her room. Lifting an arm, she waved.
    “Take care on your journey down. I’ll see you in three months.”
    Atrus waved back, then, heaving a deep sigh, turned and jumped down from the wall, following his father up the slope of the volcano.

     
    THEY WERE IN THE TUNNEL.
    “Father?”
    Gehn turned and, holding the lantern high, looked back down the tunnel at Atrus. “What is it, boy?”
    Atrus lifted his own lamp and pointed at the D’ni symbol carved into the wall; the symbol he had seen that morning after the experiment. “This sign, father. What does it mean?”
    Gehn motioned to him impatiently. “Come on now, Atrus. Catch up. We’ve wasted enough time as it is.