Heartbeat, a myst/riven fanfic

Heartbeat – (A Narayan Vignette)

Author's forward: Long, long ago when the Myst III: Exile soundtrack first arrived into my possession and I sat down to listen to it, my muses, newly returned from a month long trip to China, decided then would be a good time to return to work. Unfortunately they were still plastered with rice wine, or hung over from it, and so their blinding flash of inspiration had a few hiccups, or migraines, attached. Their inspiring poem failed, and quite miserably so. It was only through the divine intervention of Aurélie and her muses that I can present this quasi-decent story to you today. May you enjoy, friends of Narayan.

For the Narayani Collective-- the best people and supporters anywhere

and to

Aurélie-- whose blood must be pink and green

A heartbeat away from hate
A heartbeat away from love

He could feel her against him. The soft brush of her skin, the steady up and down of her chest, the pulse of her blood...

One warm ray flashed around the sky then focused in on them, as if captivated by the scene below. A young woman, beautiful red-brown hair seeming to float down her back in ripples, her eyes closed in contented sleep, eyelashes barely brushing her creamy white cheeks. Her head, which stiffed for a second, and her lover, the adoring fortunate man that he was, drawing her nearer to him, pulling her head closer on his chest, and her sigh before returning to her elegant slumber. The fortunate sun took in each moment, lucky enough to illuminate every curve of her body and wave of her hair.

Closing his eyes himself, he turned his face to the sun, making certain to keep his breathing steady to prevent disturbing her.

Thank you, he prayed gratefully. Thank you.

For his gift, his blessing. This was more then he ever deserved or could possibly have dreamed about. The very sound of her heartbeat vibrating deep against his chest-- an unimaginably wonderful melody which his own heartbeat seemed to harmonize perfectly against-- that alone would have inspired tears of gratitude and fervent thanks for years to come, even if their duet lasted for but a moment. To him that would have been an eternity, one he would never have been able to express his gratitude for through mere words. Yet to have her now, asleep in his arms, her head resting against his shoulder, her breath being absorbed into his clothing, her love shown in the way her slender hand gripped his own, that no words or feelings could even come close to expressing.

Even in the stillness of the light and the breathing, high above the rest of the world at the top of the Tree, the sounds of the water down below permeated. It was the way of their life-- lifeblood-- without it all would cease to be. So, in a way, he decided, that water belonged with them up here, even just in sound. She would have wanted it that way anyhow. Her heart was as a part of the water as it was the Spirit Masks she carved into the Trees.

And she is as much a part of my heart as Narayan, he thought.

His heart: his beloved and his home. He would do anything for them, anything to keep them and anything to save them.

You are all I have, he told the distant pink trees and red hair he rested his face against.

A heartbeat away from emptiness

A heartbeat away from fulfillment

The wind had grown still. The usual rustling of the trees had ceased and the continuous background noise of the waterfall seemed to have disappeared. All that was left were the pinpricks of light far off on the horizon, homes of hundreds of other Narayani people, and the glow of the warm fire in his home behind him, spilling out onto the balcony where he stood.

One tiny finger futilely tried to maintain a fierce hold on his own, but was too little to grip it completely. Shifting ever so carefully, so that instead his hand cupped the smaller one, he brushed a finger against the pale, slightly pink skin. His own hands compared to this felt calloused and badly abused. Even his beloved wife's skin seemed to be harsh as wood not yet smoothed down, all the rough and harmful patches intact.

Such a little thing. How could this tiny thing grow up to be tall and strong, able to work on the Weaving? Able to bear tiny babies of its own? How, when it was so small he could hold its head in the palm of his hand?

The dark pink lips on the scrunched up face parted and a small, high-pitched cry escaped them. The fist moved agitatedly out of his and to the face, flailing weakly.

"Shhhhhh..." he murmured, rocking the fragile body back and forth. "Shhh now, don't cry."

The wind picked up just then, echoing his reassurances in a low pitched rustle as it stirred about the Tree.

The tiny face calmed and relaxed. Its eyes remained shut tight, but, somehow, it recognized him as a caretaker; one who would never let anything bad happen. And he wouldn't. He would provide and love her, showing her every aspect of this wonderful world she was born into. He would teach her all the marvels of Narayan from the Weaving down to the very songs he used to draw in the Puffer Spores which made their homes. All of it he would show her, his new child, his new little girl.

Resting one hand lightly against the little one's chest, he reveled in the way she breathed so deeply and the thump, thump of her heart. She was the next generation of Narayan, she was the one who might some day teach others and her own children of its beauty. Yet for now, she was the small infant in his arms as he stood upon the balcony where it overlooked Narayan.

She is my newest blessing, he thought dreamily. My newest gift.

A heartbeat away from desperation

A heartbeat away from trust

Water droplets were splashing up onto his face. Their tiny teardrops were covering him, spilling down around is forehead and over his nose where they dropped off. They kept him cool despite the warm steam rising up from the gaps in the earth. His eyes remained riveted to the view before him, though, as he watched.

One large spore drifted up, a golden shade of yellow accented by the light of the fading sun. It drifted slowly upwards, bumping into another spore before shifting its path to the left and floating away into the distance.

"They look like pearls against the sky," said a voice beside him.

He glanced over, catching the eyes behind the strange, yet slowly nearing familiarity, glasses. The pale eyes stared back at him, face curious and open as he nodded in response. No others had even made such a comparison before, although he had felt it all his life. And certainly never one from afar had told him such a thing. He never believed others thought of it in such a manner, yet here a perfect stranger spoke of Narayan as if it was his home as well. As if he had grown up here watching the Puffer Spores rise.

He looked back across the waterfall where the sunlight glinted across the surface and back into his face. The stranger beside him did the same, his glasses protecting his weak eyes from the glare.

Atrus. This man, this stranger said his name was Atrus. It was a new name to him, at first his mouth could not pronounce it correctly just as he could not say the words this Atrus did. But Atrus could not speak the Narayani tongue as he could. They were from two different worlds, two separate homes. It was a thing he could hardly understand yet the stranger had shown him. There were more worlds-- Ages as Atrus called them-- out there then he could ever dream of.

I do not want to dream of them, he thought.

Narayan was enough for him. Narayan was all the home, or Age, he could ever want. Here he had his family and here also his friends. He loved the Lattice Trees, to work on the Weaving, to sail in the small Narayani craft. This was everything that he could ever want. Other Ages weren't a thing for him, he wanted ever to stay at Narayan.

More Puffer Spores drifted upwards, some grouped closely together and others far apart. They were several different colors, but all of them a pale shade, some with touches of other light colors swirled in. They were indeed pearls against the sky.

He felt Atrus' hand tap against his arm.

"That one. That one would support your new daughter's room perfectly, I think."

Looking across Atrus' arm where it was outstretched, pointing, he caught sight of the Puffer Spore. It was perfect for the new room, one he and Atrus had just finished weaving together that morning. That which had been a demonstration to show the stranger how Narayan lived and, in turn, supported its people. And the stranger had picked it up quickly, able to Weave as efficiently as any other Narayani.

Raising the pipe to his lips, he began his song, gently calling the small Puffer Spore to himself where they could catch it with the ready net.

Naray alani, he sang along silently as he played. Narayan my home...

The spore drew closer. At times it would sink down then rise up again, floating above their heads. Finally, it hovered just within reach. He drew out the last note to his song, watching carefully as Atrus bent over with a skillfully woven net and captured the spore, pulling it to the ledge where they stood.

"Good," he said, nodding his head to Atrus. The other man only glanced at him then returned to the work at hand.

There was something different about Atrus. Something he could never put a name to. Possibly it was in the way the man seemed to pick up knowledge faster then any before-- able to speak the Narayani tongue long before he could speak the D'ni one. Or maybe it was how open and curious Atrus was; even his beloved wife Tamra seemed to enjoy teaching him about Spirit Masks, a usually secretive task. Yet, that didn't seem right.

It is how he seems a part of us, he thought suddenly.

That must be it. Atrus, despite his Ages, his strange glasses, and pale eyes, just seemed to fit with Narayan. The beautiful pink world had opened its heart to Atrus and he had become part of it-- fitting as snugly as any native. Atrus loved Narayan, he was certain of it. The man understood it. Narayan trusted Atrus and so would he.

"Come, friend," he said. "Let us go home."

A heartbeat away from despair

A heartbeat away from joy

He could hear the sound of the airship's approach long before he could even see it clearly. The soft whushhhhhhh as it sailed along Atrus' silver tracks, making it's way to the Tree. Every so often he could catch a glint of it, one bright light reflected from the sun which was just now making its way down to the horizon. But mostly he relied on the sound to tell him how close it was just then.

Tamra shifted beside him, gripping his arm closer so that he could feel her racing heart. He looked over at her, smiling into her round green eyes.

She was as excited as he was at the airship's approach. They both knew who it held and what would come of it, and the anticipation was acute. He could only hope though that Atrus would be just as pleased to see them. It had been months now since they had last seen him, and while he might have forgotten about them with all the Ages he had to visit, they certainly had not forgotten about their new friend from another world.

And what would Atrus think about his sons?

Turning to check on them, he could see the two boys waiting. Sirrus and Achenar, both of them standing stiffly awaiting their father's return. He had promised Atrus that the two boys could come to Narayan, that they could learn just as their father had. The day he had decided to trust Atrus he had promised it. And so the boys were here, their teachings finally complete and their father coming to return them to their home.

But maybe they would understand more about it and other homes and Ages now that they had seen how Narayan worked. That was why Atrus had sent them here and to him and Tamra-- so that they could learn and understand.

The airship was closer now, he could see the figure which stood in it and the hand raised up to wave at them. He waved back and felt Tamra let go of his arm for just a moment.

"Achenar, Sirrus? Don't you want to wave to your father?" she asked them, her voice as soft as ever.

From the corner of his eye, he could see the boys hesitate, and thought for a moment that Achenar grimaced. But that couldn't have been, for the boys then began to wave-- they were happy to see their father returning.

His smile broadened even more as the airship pulled up against the platform and Atrus stepped out of it. At first he waited for the boys to greet their father as he expected, but instead they hung back, faces expressionless as they shuffled their feet.

Perhaps they are sad to leave Narayan, he thought, pleased.

Stepping forward instead, he hugged his friend in the traditional manner saying,

"Welcome back, Atrus. Your return brings joy to Narayan and its people."

A heartbeat away from destruction

A heartbeat away from victory

The light outside was vanishing fast. The round orb of the sun was now only a sliver of its original size and it cast long shadows on the ocean and inside the large meeting room.

Sitting in the corner, one daughter on his lap, the other dozing in-between himself and Tamra, he watched as the other Narayanis moved about the room.

The room was so divided, he could hardly tell who was for which side, even among the older of the Narayani people. Each held a different view and loathed and feared their neighbor for what their view might be. There were only a few who remained neutral; they were the Elders in their long brown robes at the head of the room, faces calm as they stared out at the gathered people.

It was only because of their stability that he remained here with his wife and children. Inside he felt a turmoil growing and it was filling the room, stemming from the same turmoil in each Narayani person as they sat and waited. If it wasn't for the composure of the Elders, he would have left long ago, or never come, or at least have told Tamra she should leave. Instead they stayed along with everyone else.

Another long shadow fell across the room, tall and large, and covering most of the floor leaving only the tops of peoples' heads bathed in golden light.

At last, one Elder stood up, his robe swaying as he moved to the center of the floor.

"People of Narayan, the Elders have come to a decision," the Elder began, hands folded calmly in front of himself.

His daughter shifted slightly in his arms, head searching for a more comfortable position before dozing back off again.

One day little one, he thought, one day this will be important to you...Some day, when you understand Narayan.

"It has always been," the Elder was saying, "that we work on the Weaving. For thousands of years our people have encouraged the Lattice Roots to grow tall and strong. We have always gathered the Puffer Spores. It is our way of life. Without the Tree we will die and so, without our traditions, we will die also."

"No!" shouted a voice from the back, interrupting the Elder.

Heads swung around to look, the gold light now almost completely gone and only a grey lingering of what once was.

"No!" shouted the voice again. "You are a fool! You are all fools! Why can't you see, why can't you open your eyes!"

Another Elder rose up from his seat, coming to stand beside the other, a bare flickering of anger on his face as he addressed the shouter.

"You are out of line, young man. You should know better then to ever interrupt an Elder when he is speaking. It is a sign of disrespect, just as your words are."

Murmurs filled the room as darkness descended completely and the small torches along the wall took over the sun's duty. Only Tamra and himself remained quiet and without comment. And Atrus' two sons.

They stood at the edge of the room, eyes hooded in shadow as they glanced back and forth. There was something about their looks he didn't like, the way they kept studying each face of the angry men and women, the ones who wanted to throw off the traditions. There was a feeling of malice they cast off...

But that can't be, he told himself. Not Atrus' sons. Never the boys I taught about Narayan.

"You will follow the ruling of the Elders!" shouted a man from among the crowd.

"Why!" screamed a young woman, positioning herself beside the first young man to interrupt. "We have no reason to! You have all given your lives away to the Tree!"

He hated the way she spat out the word 'Tree', as if it was something to be despised. Why couldn't she understand it was the Tree which kept her alive and all her family alive? The Lattice Trees were the heart of Narayan; without them they would die just as the Elders said.

"If we--" began an Elder but he was cut short by another young person, shouting about how the Elders had no life left and were dead already. Soon other voices joined him.

"Saavedro," whispered Tamra beside him. "Make them stop. Tell them to stop shouting and listen. Do something. Tell them."

More voices had risen and joined the young peoples'. It filled the air, burning as it swarmed about with the shadows and darkness. At the far side, the two boys still watched.

"I can't," he whispered back.

A heartbeat away from madness

A heartbeat away from sanity

He could still feel her teardrop on his hand. She was crying when she kissed him, clinging to his shirt and begging him not to go. Tamra wanted him to remain there and hide with them. But he couldn't do that, not when Narayan was going to die.

He had to try and save it.

Yet he couldn't let the other piece of his heart die, either. That was why he had told them to run, to sail to the reef and hide there. On the reef he was certain they would be safe and that they could live there until his return. By then Narayan would be whole again.

Now, as he clutched her red stone necklace in the hand where her teardrop still lingered, he wondered once more if he should stay. The large book rested before him, page open to the swirling image as he knelt before it. Yet as he looked back at the world he loved so dearly, seeing the black roots covering the Trees-- far too overgrown-- the Puffer Spores rising up in the distance only to explode because no one was there to catch them, and the red, though he couldn't see from this distance, which splashed across the trees and down into the water below, he knew he had to leave.

Sirrus and Achenar, you have to fix my world, he thought silently. You have to.

He pressed his hand to the page, just as he had seen Atrus do in the past.

It felt like he was falling from the top of the Lattice Tree and being pulled down into the gaps in the earth where the Puffer Spores floated from. The swirling image drew him in, straining and tugging at his arm as he lurched forward, wanting to scream in horror at the sensation but finding no voice to do it with. The book pulled him inside it, twisting him with the picture until...

He was whole again.

Stumbling forward, uncertain of himself, he caught the image of a large white tusk and the blue of the water before the thud against his head and the blackness which ensued.

He could feel the blood pulsing in the back of his head. Thu-thu, thu-thu...It was so loud, filling his ears with their sound and pounding against his skull.

Then there were their voices.

"You can't," one voice was saying. "That's not the plan, brother."

"I don't like your plan," the second voice growled out, low and menacingly. It almost faded behind the thu-thu of the pounding.

"Just trust me," said the first voice again. It was Sirrus' voice, so smooth and calm.

Thu-thu, thu-thu, thu-thu...

He had found them. He could now ask them to fix Narayan. He would beg them to and tell them what had gone wrong. They could do it, he was certain.

Thu-thu, thu-thu...

"Si-iruss..." he forced out, finding words hard to say and his head heavy against his chest, almost impossible to raise.

Thu-thu.

"Ac-Achenar." Thu-thu, thu-thu.

There was the crunch of ground as they moved towards him. Then one of them bent down beside him and patted the side of his head roughly, causing the thu-thu to increase with intensity.

"What is it?" asked Sirrus, smoothly.

"Narayan," he gulped out.

"He's no use to us," hissed out Achenar, but Sirrus told him to be quiet.

"What about Narayan?" asked Sirrus.

"It's dying." The words were coming easier to him now and the pulse of his blood began to fade slightly, leaving pain behind instead.

Sirrus and Achenar laughed then. It grated against his ears, cold and unfeeling. But that wasn't right. The two boys wouldn't laugh at him. They wouldn't think the death of Narayan was funny. Atrus's sons would care; they would fix it; they loved Narayan!

They love Narayan, he thought, desperately trying to reassure himself of the fact. They understand it and they want to fix it.

Sirrus bent closer to his face. "We know," he whispered.

They knew. And suddenly he knew, too. He understood the looks they gave, the dark thoughts in their eyes, the words they had spoken to him and the others; he knew it all. They didn't care about Narayan, they didn't love his home or his people. They wanted it to die.

Thu-thu! Thu-thu! The pounding returned, furious and hurt at their words.

"Why!" he asked, voice choking.

But Achenar only laughed again, giggling in a high pitched whine and repeating the word 'why' again and again. He was enjoying the pain and idea of death.

No, his mind protested. This can't be.

"There was no reason not to," replied Sirrus. He said it calmly and quietly, as if to him the death of a world was nothing at all, just a thing he saw but didn't care about. He felt no guilt about Narayan.

Thu-thu! Thu-thu! Thu-thu!

There was no reason not to. The two boys, now evil men, had determined to kill Narayan, never to save it. And he had done nothing when he might have.

"No." Thu-thu...

A heartbeat away from missing

A heartbeat away from found

The air inside the tusk was thick and intrusive. It clung heavily to the enclosed area, shifting slowly and reluctantly like deep water as he moved about-- flailing his way through.

Everything was ready. He had finished his last mural yesterday and today he had perfected the recorders, ready to be played for Atrus, letting him see. So that he could at last understand why it was he had drug him out here to this world of a rocky island, blue ocean, and four, great tusks jutting into the sky. Maybe after he had seen it all, he would know and realize the pain that had been given. Maybe Atrus would even feel the same pain as he had all these long years.

Breaking through the air, he reached over to the hammock, carefully placing his journal in the center. The brown, worn down cover stared up at him, reminding him of the terrible days where it was his only companion and only way for him to express his thoughts into words. It was a silent companion, though, and its comfort was minimal.

How many times he would have given anything to be able to talk to someone. To have some interaction as he worked in the Ages; to have anyone speaking to him, telling him what to do.

There had been one time when he had almost linked to Tomahna just to be in an Age with people. He was so tired of the ghosts in Narayan, the ones that whispered about the edges of the Tree, moaning and crying out to him. He was weary of their accusations and grief. He wanted to hear the sound of footsteps other then his own echoing ones, he wanted to hear the mummer of voices in the distance, and to even hear laughter.

Most of all he wanted to hear the sounds of Catherine, Atrus' wife, who reminded him so poignantly of his own. In some corner of his mind he was convinced that if he could hear her again as she walked down the hallway, laughing and talking, that maybe he could see his own beloved wife again. That the image would finally clear, or he might even wake from his terrible dreams and find himself safe in Narayan.

But he knew this was no dream he might ever have the chance to wake from.

In the end, it had also been the very thought of Atrus' wife which had prevented him from going. How could he link to an Age and talk to the man who had destroyed his life? How could he listen to their laughter and see their joy while he was miserable and his wife was dead? He couldn't face him, because if he did, all he had worked for would vanish like smoke in the sunlight. And he would never see Tamra again.

Reluctantly, his eyes moved toward the far right wall and his footsteps brought him closer, pulling his body through the pressing air. Outside he could hear the howling of the wind as it rushed back and forth through the island, but in here the world was strangely calm, enchanting and trapping him. It left him helpless and lingering.

It was weeks ago when he lost all memory of her. Before that, he could only see the bits and pieces, the flash of her hair or the twitch of her mouth. Now, even that was gone. He could see the figure in his mind, but it was void-filled and generic, wandering about in the dark without sight. Everything about her was gone, even down to her sent. All he had was her necklace and her picture.

Weeks had passed as he worked on the poorly done painting on the far wall. It was also fashioned in bits and pieces-- her neck one day, one lock of hair the next. He had done all that he could remember, but she still wasn't right. And then he had lost the image. The final thing he had seen were the lines about her mouth, and then she was gone. Now the painting was just as hollow and empty as his memories.

The air drew closer, stifling the room. Wrapping about him tightly, it prevented any movement so that he was trapped, just staring at her picture.

He was a prisoner to these Ages, but also to his mind. They all refused to release him and let him move on-- binding him like the air did now.

In one day, though, he would be free. In one day he would bring Atrus to J'nanin and show him what the past twenty years had been like for him. And then...then he would be free.

Narayan will be saved, he thought, reveling in the pleasure, and I will be free. Or we will both die.

A heartbeat away from disaster

A heartbeat away from home

The cold was descending, fast and furious, overwhelming the senses even before it could touch him. It smelt of darkness and despair and of complete annihilation. In it, he could be lost forever, an early death while his body lingered on.

It was all lost to him now. His plan had failed and now Narayan was forever outside of his reach. Atrus had never come to J'nanin, never linked after him and followed the clues. Atrus knew nothing about what he had suffered-- all Atrus had seen was the flickering image as he linked with Releeshahn, and then it was the stranger who had followed him instead.

Gripping his hands tighter into his tangled hair, he rocked back and forth, the pain the only thing keeping him whole.

The stranger was Sirrus and Achenar all over again. They betrayed him just as the two boys had. First they dashed his hopes of Atrus coming and a revival of Narayan, yet they showed him how the Age he loved so much still lived. He knew Tamra and his girls must still be alive, they had to be if the rest of Narayan lived. He could see the Lattice Tree rising tall and strong above the waters and the Puffer Spores being harvested in the distance; Narayan lived and so must his family. But the stranger betrayed him once more through closing the shields, leaving him stranded on the ledge. Now he had no hope of ever returning home. Atrus' thick ice shield blocked even his precious view while the stranger stood above him, watching his misery.

One tendril of cold crept up his arm, sending shivers through him. It was moving slower now, but still progressing. Soon it would cover him completely and, for the first time in years, he had no reason not to welcome it. Before he would have refused its onslaught and fought to escape from its grasp, but no longer.

I've lost it all again, he thought in anguish. They have killed my family for a second time.

The cold drew him deeper, its black starting to obscure the light. Wafting upwards, it gradually began to eat away at his body leaving nothing but total darkness in its wake. Carefully it climbed, making its way up to his neck until at last all he could sense was his own heartbeat reverberating somewhere deep in his chest.

Thu-thu, thu-thu, thu-thu...

It was completely over now. He had nothing to live for. His plan had failed-- Sirrus, Achenar, and Atrus had won.

Thu-thu...

The cold closed in tighter, cutting off the air. He heard the icicles growing over his heart, freezing it and halting its movements.

Thu-thu...

Thu...thu...

Thu...

Thu.

The world splintered. Ice cracked and broke apart, wrenching him out of the dark into the light. The blue and black before him turned to pink as the tearing noise continued. The cold retreated, fleeing from the sounds and the light, and down in the recesses of his chest he felt his heartbeat begin again-- starting slowly after the abrupt thaw, but increasing in intensity and power.

Narayan rested before him, the sky open for his viewing. He could see the beautifully woven Lattice Trees and watched as the lights in them slowly began to flicker and grow as people lit their fires in preparation for the oncoming night. He could hear the rustling of the waters down below the platform and felt for the first time in years the warm breath of Narayani air.

The ice was gone, freeing the sky, and the gondola waited, ready to bring him back home. After all this time and anguish, he could finally go home.

It was all he could do to not rush onto the gondola he was so eager to arrive. First, though, he had one final thing to do. Something he would have done twenty years ago, before all the troubles.

Turning around, he stared up at the stranger where they watched from the next tier. Moving slowly, his limbs seeming reluctant to follow his command, he raised a single hand in farewell.

The stranger had followed him through all levels of grief and hatred and finally, through an act of betrayal, had set him back into the life he once thought gone forever. Despite their aid, though, he couldn't help hoping that it would be the last time they would ever meet, or that he would have any contact with people from another Age.

If the stranger made any movements in acknowledgment to his gesture, he didn't see them, instead he turned abruptly back again to the world before him and stepped into the airship.

The slight whushing noise he remembered from long ago started up the moment he was inside. The ship sped forward, sliding along the glinting tracks and racing toward the nearest Lattice Tree. As warm air surrounded him, blowing his hair back from his face, the golden sunlight embraced him, recognizing its long lost child.

Naray alani, he thought, catching the plaintive sounds of a pipe in the distance. Nosis amani azhwa na.

-finis