The Myst Reader Read Free Page B

the brightly lit window of the kitchen, a small oil lamp casting its soft yellow glow over her face and upper arms as she worked, preparing a tray of cakes. They, like the kitten, were a treat, to celebrate his seventh birthday in two days’ time.
    The thought of it made him smile, yet into his joy seeped an element of restlessness. Happy as he was here with his grandmother, he had recently begun to feel that there was more than this. There had to be.
    He looked past the moon, following a line of stars until he found the belt of the hunter, tracing the shape of the hunter’s bow in the night sky as his grandmother had taught him. There were so many things to know, so many things yet to learn.
    And when I’ve learned them all, grandmother?
    He remembered how she had laughed at that, then leaned toward him. There’s never an end to learning, Atrus. There are more things in this universe, yes, and more universes, than we could ever hope to know.
    And though he did not quite understand what she had meant by that, simply staring at the vastness of the night sky gave him some tiny inkling of the problem. Yet he was curious to know all he could—as curious as the sleeping kitten beside him was indolent.
    He looked down from that vastness. All about him the cleft was dotted with tiny lights that glowed warmly in the darkness.
    “Atrus?”
    He turned, looking up as Anna came and crouched beside him on the narrow ledge. “Yes, grandmother?”
    “You have a lot to write in your journal today.”
    Atrus smiled, then stroked the kitten, petting it between the ears, and feeling it push back against his fingers.
    “I wrote it earlier, while you were in the storeroom.”
    “Ah…” She reached out, gently brushing the kitten’s flank with he backs of her fingers. “And how does your experiment?”
    “Which one?” he asked, suddenly eager.
    “Your measurements. I saw you out there earlier.”
    For nearly six months now Atrus had been studying the movement of the dunes on the far side of the volcano. He had placed a series of long stakes deep into the sand along the dune’s edge, then had watched, meticulously measuring the daily movement of the dune, using the stakes as his baseline, then marking those measurements down on a chart in the back of his journal.
    “I’ve almost finished,” he said, his eyes shining brightly in the moonlight. “Another few weeks and I’ll have my results.”
    Anna smiled at that, amused and yet proud of the care he took. There was no doubting it, Atrus had a fine mind—a true explorer’s mind—and a curiosity to match.
    “And have you a theory?” she asked, noting how he sat up straighter to answer her.
    “They move,” he answered.
    “A little or a lot?”
    He smiled. “It depends.”
    “Depends?”
    “On what you think is a little, or what you think is a lot.”
    She laughed, enjoying his answer. “A little would be, oh, several inches a year, a lot would be a mile.”
    “Then it’s neither,” he answered, looking down at Flame again. The kitten was dozing now, her head tucked down, her gentle snores a soft sound in the darkness.
    Anna reached out, her fingers brushing his hair back from his eyes. In some ways he was an ungainly child, yet there was something about him that was noble. The kindness, the sharp intelligence in his eyes—these things distinguished him, giving the lie to his physical awkwardness.
    “It changes,” he said, his eyes meeting hers again.
    “Changes?”
    “The rate at which the dune travels. Sometimes it barely moves, but when there’s a storm…”
    “Yes?” she asked quietly.
    “It’s the wind,” he said. “It pushes the smaller grains up the windward side of the dune. From there they tumble over the crest, onto the leeward side. That’s why the dune is shaped the way it is. The larger, coarser grains don’t move so much, that’s why the windward slope is gradually curved. It’s packed densely. You walk on it as on a rock. But the