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Rain. Constant Rain. Drops of all sizes
danced down from constantly shifting skies....fallout
from the now constant turmoil in the heavens, from cloud
fronts jostling one another for their turn to drown this
small corner of the world.
There was rain everywhere and in everything.
Rain had filled the ship’s corridor again. It
wasn’t unusual that it should. In fact the corridor
of the antique looking vessel would have some water in it
most times. Only the pump could keep it out... when it
was on. It wasn’t on. The pump had reset when the
visitor left, chugging ever more slowly until at last it
gave up its fight with the constantly encroaching water.
Its last wheeze informing the relentless waves that it
was merely saving its strength for the next encounter.
Grey rain drizzling toward the diagonal woodwork is
suddenly dragged inwards
by some unseen force into a coruscating amorphous mass
born of water and fire. The sudden outrush of heated air
causes the falling droplets to redirect around the
shimmering cloud. Rapidly this disturbance darkens into
the tall form and surrounding fabrics of Dar'nay. He had
returned. His dark cloaked figure remained fixed and
still in the midst of the broken ship, seemingly as
attached to the ship as it was to the rocks below. He
stood lost in reflection, as if unable to quite take in
his surroundings.
As if insulted by his inattention, sibling clouds quarrel
violently amongst themselves. A great bolt shoots through
the atmosphere, palely lighting the sky’s thick grey
quilt. The storm petulantly thunders its intention to get
him where he stands. The gestures evoke a wry smile from
the traveler. It would be amazing indeed if such a threat
could move him now. As the wind and rain redoubled their
efforts, he is at last forced to move. He shifts position
to block his precious books and papers against the
vandalism of the many fingered rain. To his left a
particularly spectacular dagger of purple light lances
out of the air rending the turbulent skies with a
resounding boom. It takes a few moments to register but
the thought soon occurres to him "Purple
lightning?" He ponders. Withdrawing a battered book
from his sodden robes he makes a quick note to find out
why and then replaces it quickly lest it get wetter than
it already was.
Reaching an internal decision, he walks toward the pump
controls. The valiant mechanism sputters purposefully to
life, pleased to be of service once more. Its cheerful
chuck-a-chuck-chug brings a quick smile to Dar'nay’s
face as he turns back on the mill finished boards and
heads to the lighthouse. He slows as he goes, sparing a
glance for all he had missed in his rush
before. Where did Atrus get these boards? Their fine cut
and smooth finished ends marked them as professional
work. Where did it come from? How was this done? These
were oft repeated questions in these strange worlds.
Dar’nay slows again at the ship itself, seeking to
read the dark grey seals on its side. Did they bear same
emblem as Atrus’old seal in Myst? It was now
impossible to tell, but it didnt look like it. Odd that
he should remember it differently. A closer examination
reveals slight spaces at the edges, These are cannon
portals! Had they been used? His mild frown eases as he
ran his hands along the low, red, seamless rails, absorbs
the diagonal artistry of the boards. The wood was wearing
into an amazing variety of hues, the rich colours
enhanced by its sodden condition.
Dar'nay takes in everything; the gentle edged wave lines
that flow into the distant horizon, the constant water
now falling about him, the dark angularity of the rocks
upon which these few manmade structures depended. Again
his face creases briefly into a smile as the stark beauty
of Stoneship Age soaks into his seared senses.
The storm abates, apparently mollified by his response.
Perhaps it simply felt the need to impress him, to show
its force to the one and only visitor to this Age in a
long while. The rain falls now as a warm blanket, soft,
thick, and all-encompassing.
Dar'nay lifts his lenses and lets the rain drench him,
cleanse his heart from the horrors of his journey. He had
seen so much wrecked, so much ruined beyond any saving.
Its heaven’s grey-rose hues mirror his soul’s
own sorrow. As he had longed to assist his friend, now he
longed to gather his thoughts, to rest his weary
frame....to...... be.....alone.
He makes his way to the lighthouse and descends the
stairs, undoing the security he had restored before.
Again he raises the trunk and uses the chained key to get
the padlock’s key. All this was as before. The very
familiarity is a balm. He settles in the glass enclosure
and looks out at sea and sky from his protected space.
Now he has time to rest, to look.
The different textures and grains of the lighthouse
delight his sleepy gaze. He examines the trapdoor
carefully, feeling its odd pebbly surface. Strange stuff
this. It looks like pressed wood but feels more like
stone. Whatever it was, the stuff had been also used in
the ceiling, below the ornate dome that he knew capped
all. Giving up his explorations for the moment, he leans
into the wall, feels the rumbling sky growl into him. It
was a curiously comforting sensation, like the purring
caress of an impossibly huge cat.
As he relaxes into the corner’s embrace, Dar'nay
looks over the seas rolling by in its steady small waves.
Amazing that they are never any larger. Again his trusty
journal is extracted and he notes their motions,
speculates on the lack of spray. Surely the constant
storms should stir the depths more than this!
What beauty was in Stoneship Age! But it had changed so
much! According to the library journals, rain had been
rare here when Atrus first came. The native boys had
played in eternal sunshine. Now they were gone.....
The thunder drowns his thoughts, pours its tears with
fresh strength. He looks into the entertwined and
shifting clouds above pondering its sorrow. Did it cry
for those lost souls? For the horrors perpetrated in this
innocent place?
Slowly he shakes off his solemn reveries. With a soft
sigh, he clambers to his aching feet and freshly winds
the generator, leaning on the metal rod behind it. His
strong hands tremble against thick, unyielding ladder as
he climbs down. He should rest...no ..he must rest now.
His strength was fading with the last feeble rays of the
remaining day. The hours passed so quickly here!
Dar'nay stumbles a little as he goes toward the doughty
little pump. As he rights himself on the boards, he looks
down into the ocean. Amazing, he can see layer upon layer
of movement, and yet nothing can be viewed below its
shifting veil.... fascinating. He presses the middle
button, turns back. The wind and rain push him powerfully
to the rock’s dark passageway, yet shroud the sound
of his motion with their constant tumult.
He enters the nearest tunnel and begins his long and
silent descent to the rock rooms. As he descends the five
flights, he looks at the arches that are embossed into
the walls in every flat area. Surely some of these should
open? He presses into the mold and rust stained
entrances. But no, only the squared panel, third arch on
the fifth level, can be accessed, the one that leads to
the compass.
Dar'nay clambers through the small opening. It is lit
within like a service corridor in the bowels of some
futuristic voyager to the stars. This accessway leads not
to outer but inner space...at its heart is a lower
observation deck, glassed on both sides. In the middle of
this is a compass rose that is a work of art. Graceful
arms in red, yellow, and blues mark rounded degree
buttons. Pressing the correct button brings up the lamps,
calls the white fish schools forever playing tag in the
murky water. The weary traveler settles in again, watches
their motion with a small smile on his face, at peace
until the light under the sea fails.
BBBAAAAA.....BBBAAAAA.......BBBAAAAA......
An alarm echoes down from the entrance, rattling his
ears. Bright blue
lightbulbs flash at either end in sequence to the
sound... He could almost
stand the light, it is a peaceful color, but that
sound....
BBBAAAAA....BBBAAAAA....BBBAAAAA...
No, he will have to move.
Dar'nay lurches toward a randomly chosen exit. He climbs
back out, straightening his length gratefully into the
generous proportioned tunnel. He finishes the stroll to
the end room and presses the green button in the middle,
the siren still nagging behind him....
bbbbwwwaaa..... bbbbwwwaaa....bbwwwaaaa....
Dar'nay steps quickly past the threshold as the door
slides up. Ahhhh the noise has stopped! Perhaps he will
rest here? No, this is Achenar’s room. Even if he
could live with the rib cage centerpiece, it would beyond
his ability to rest in a bed stained old blood green. It
may simply be mold, but even so.... The effect is hardly
reassurring. Even the endposts of the bed make him wince.
They are solid metal, horribly reminiscent of the chains
and posts in the Mechanical Age.
There are nice touches in the room, but none will bear
close inspection, not without causing nausea. The rose
hologram morphs into a skull, the pretty little rugs
beneath the lamps just accent the swaying of the lamps
above them. He makes a note of their motion. Why are
these moving when all else is so still? Circulating air
currents? He remains lost for a moment in this
contemplation. He gives a quick shake to his sodden locks
to rid himself of the notion. How could such things to
exist in a sealed room? Puzzles within puzzles.
He staggers sideways examining the floor to ceiling
beauty of the woodwork, effectively ending his lingering
study of the room’s construction, at least for now
....
Back through the tunnels he goes as quickly as he may,
his head aching at every pulse of the alarm....
bbwwaaa....bbbwwwaaa....BBBAAAA.....BBBAAA.....bbbwwwaaaa........
AAHH...... At last he reaches the sanctuary of
Sirrus’ room... It is a bit overdone for his taste,
but not beyond bearing. The red carpet and bed covering
dominate the decor. Dar'nay spends a few minutes
examining his surroundings as he readies for bed.
A shield crest is embossed on the large gothic arches,
and gilded in the room corners, a few moments are spent
pondering upon the genesis of such emblems. Examining a
few assures him they are all one design; three lions or
dragons, the myst chandelier, and checkered design in
quarter. The checkering appears to be the same design as
that on the green-white vases standing in each corner.
This leads him to closer study of the vases and their
contents. He finds palm leaves’ condition curious,
for each vase holds (exactly) one very dead leaf, one
which is rather wilted, and one that still seems fresh.
Perhaps they are from different plants? The pastoral wall
murals within the arches offer no further insight.
Dar'nay takes out his now damp notebook sighing, and
makes yet another note
for yet another day. Then sets his writings to dry on the
desk.
The dresser holds no clothes. Jewels, china,
candlesticks, and fabrics fill several drawers, but no
actual clothing.. curiouser and curiouser. There is no
gold either, and that puzzles him. Hadn’t there been
some in the small drawer before?
Dizzily shaking off his mild alarm at its absence,
Dar'nay makes himself a toga of sorts from the colourful
cloths available in the ornate dresser. He tucks into the
enormous bed, gazing into the vaulted wood ceiling as he
drifts to sleep....
But not for long.....
As soon as the first tides of exhaustion swept over and
away, the aches,
concerns, and sorrows of the day made him restless once
more. Finally he
sits up, wanders about the room playing with Sirrus’
toys. At last Dar'nay
settles in the desk chair.
He sits back in his chair surveying the work of the past
few weeks now laid out before him. His efforts to catalog
the various flora and fauna of this Age are almost
complete. He has surpassed even his own goals for this
trip. And no wonder! This Age had captured his mind and
interest in a way that no place had done for so very,
very long.
The slim, graceful rays and great, gentle chelonians so
like those of his own world had drawn him into what was
almost a kinship with this Age. It felt so like home but
also so alien and intriguing.
He gazed at the page before him reading the mildly
controlled spillage of ink he called his hand writing and
read "purple lightning? It must be either an
abscence of green or an abundance of red and blue."
Thinking about this for a further moment he picked up his
pen and quickly wrote "Possibly it is the vortices
in the atmosphere? Using cetripetal forces to cast out
the heavier elements."....possibly. So many things
unknown, and not purely about this Age.
Dar'nay leans forward in his chair a moment resting his
furrowed brow upon his weary hands and massages his
temples gently. Looking down to the desk before him he
sees that the small inlaid piece has Atrus’ seal in
its corners! What does this mean?
Was this minature Versailles Atrus’ doing? Rummaging
throught the drawer
brings no further clues. All he finds are Sirrus’
pills and syringe. Dar'nay’s lip curls in distaste
as he closes the drawer.... Well at least that part was
over... Soon he could return, ask a few questions from
one who should have some answers. At this thought, his
spirits lifted. Yes, he was ready to return.
Since he can’t sleep he might as well dress. He
finds that his clothes are still very wet, they chafe him
as he puts them on. He chuckles softly, suddenly amused
at his own reluctance to face the weather, as he heads
back into the storm..
A thunderclap greets his entrance into the dark. Hunching
his shoulders
against the rain and drawing back into his dark cowl to
protect his face he
climbs the lighthouse ladder and stops to stare out
across the choppy surface of the waters before him.
Dar'nay winds the generator, reseals the structure
preparing to leave. But as he comes out his eyes are
drawn to the sky. After resetting the compass and pump,
he climbs the telescope stairs to get a better view. A
haunting tune seems to accompany his ascent into the
brisk wind. He smiled into the refreshing watery breeze,
and looks below him. An intermittent low pitch whine
emanates from the brass telescope at his back as it
swings back and forth in the gale.
The lighthouse light winks merrily in what would
otherwise be a somber
and dark scene. Even the moon is obscured by the ever
present cloud cover that hide it away like a jewel too
precious to be seen. Lightning caresses the lower
surfaces and jumps from sky to raise steam from the
roiling waters.
He notices a definite lightening in the atmosphere, a
light peach shade invading the sky before him ruthlessly
driving back the many tones of the curtain of night. This
is what he had been waiting for.
Standing transfixed by the anticipation of the moment he
gazes at the scene before him as the increasing intensity
of the light reached out to illuminate details of the
construction of the lighthouse and the shattered rigging
of the boat blowing and oscillating in the wind. The
final dregs of the sapphire shades of night drains away
under the onslaught of the warm ochre waves that flowing
over them.
In scant minutes the scene was changed utterly.
He lets his tired legs buckle under him as he rests upon
the wooden apex of the upthrust rock still reliving in
his mind the first force of emotion that bares him yet on
a torrent of happiness as he watches his first dawn in
the Stoneship Age.
He knows it will definitely not be his last.
Joy has come with the morning.
His heart somewhat lighter, he resolves that it is time
once more to visit the island that had once been home to
his great friend. He must return to Myst. Slowly he
descends the ramp.
Stepping carefully down the slippery wooden stairs of the
great aft section of the ship imprisoned so cruelly in
the ungiving rock he reflects quietly upon all he had
seen in this Age, knowing without doubt that he will
return.
Gently pushing button slides the ever solid door at the
base of the stairs open. The tall figure steps into what
would have been the hold of the craft if it had ever been
used upon these tempestous waters. Yet it is not devoid
of purpose. Dar'nay allows himself a slight smile as he
contemplates that no pirateship had ever held such a
valuable as was given sanctuary here.
Stopping for a moment at the small landing, he marvels
once more at the great diversity of aquatic life that
surrounded this lonely outcropping. Thin fish insinuate
their quicksilver way through the gently, swirling
currents whilst their larger cousins stand watch near the
ship. Lion fish, their warm and bright tones shining
though the lightening waters defracted rays bath their
impressively displayed spines and fins in soft sapphire
shades.
Not for the first time, he looks out, catches sight of
the strange spiny eel. Its sinuous flexing body
displaying the ebony spines protruding from it's surface.
Yet another mystery, another unanswered question about
one of the multitude of wonderful aspects of this place.
Dar'nay turns and heads slowly and deliberately down the
last few steps into the very depths of the ship, enjoying
the uncertain pressure of aged wooden boards and the
gentle song of complain they weave into the air as he
journeys down them.
Before him stands a empty table, seeming somewhat out of
place here. The chestnut wood contrasts with the azure
depths and the shadowy earthen tones of the surrounding
woodwork. His gaze drinks in the carved and patterned
constructions, ornamented but not overly so. A sure sign
of a creation of his friend, it is an exercise in staid
elegance and beauty.
Dar'nay passes his hand over the apparantly featureless
surface calling for that which he knows is within. For a
moment there is nothing and then the filigree threads of
grain distort as an upwelling force flows from the
surface, rises up from the aged wood like a whale
reappearing after a soujourn in the deep needing to
replenish its vital stocks of air. The burnished sheen of
wood morphs imperceptibly into a somewhat tattered and
worn cover for a sizable volume. The familiar letters
inlaid in the surface brought back images of the light
and airy world he was about to visit once more. He gazes
up from the table and the volume upon it and spends a few
last moments in this Age gazing at the beauty of the
oceans outside the windows, the undulating seagrass, the
creatures sliding effortlessly upon each swell.....
As his finely structured hand contacts the page,
Dar’nay’s gaze is drawn towards the great sea
turtle, leathery fins rising and falling as it's rheumy
eyes search for both prey and predator with a permanent
expression of untroubled detachment.
Thus the last vision to fill his questing eyes before he
was consumed by the pages of the book was the enormous
ancient animal making it's tranquil ceaseless journey
though the unnaturally peaceful waters surrounding the
lonely stone pinacle.
The turtle blinked in mild surprise as the tall man
vanished once more. It considered for a second then
turned and swam toward the surface. He knew where the
robed ones appeared, hopefully this one would return
soon?
That one was fascinating to watch.
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