Disclaimer: I do not own Myst or any of its characters.

Spoiler warning: You should have played "Myst III - Exile" entirely before you read.

Thanks so much, one last time, to Aurélie from NC for her useful guidance and corrections!... You really saved my life on that chapter, Aurélie ; I owe you a lot:-)

And thanks to my reviewers...

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Whacked

Part 7: Of what's left to say (epilogue)

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I open my eyes and sit up, rudely ignoring the two people nursing me. Some people are starting an argument, here. It is more than just bickering.

What is it, they're holding?... Oh.

The contents of my bag are scattered on the floor. Pages of Saavedro's journal are lying discarded, as well as my broken inkwell and my quill.

But people are now passing Atrus's journal from hand to hand, and a tall man is holding up Releeshahn, talking loudly in a not-so-serene tone.

Some people now look slightly worried; some women are gathering their children anxiously.

And I suddenly find myself at the centre of a big void.

Uh-oh.

The faces looking at me are not hostile – well, some of them might be, but most are essentially nervous and intrigued, slightly worried.

The man with the book comes to me, and I stand up gingerly.

Brow furrowed, he speaks, holding Releeshahn in front of him. Asking me a question. I open my hands in puzzlement, then look expectantly over in Saavedro's direction. I can't see him what with the group of people surrounding me, and anyway he probably can't think of me right now. I don't blame him, really, yet I certainly could use some help at the moment...

The tall man sighs in annoyance, and an old lady leaning on a finely carved staff moves forwards. She smiles politely, and hesitantly addresses me in another language I do not know, but that definitely reminds me of something. She speaks again, and then I understand. This is a very mangled, very distorted version of Atrus's home language, the D'ni.

Oh, the irony.

I shake my head apologetically.

"No, I am sorry, I don't understand the D'ni either. I-"

But the tall man has turned away and started speaking again, brandishing the book and sometimes pointing at me. Bad sign.

Not all of the people gathered here seem to agree with him, some even seem to protest, but quite a few still visibly strongly share his point of view, and they are not the kindest-looking ones. Eventually, I am gently but firmly grabbed by the shoulders, and find myself carried away by a little group.

Now, this is going a bit far. Deciding that he has had plenty of time to rejoice, I call out Saavedro's name. Hopefully he will remember that I threw him the grappling. Hopefully he will forget that I have sided with Atrus, sabotaged the gondola, threatened him, and hurt some lattice...

Some people turn their heads, but I am still being dragged away.

"Saavedro!"

Through a gap among the crowd, I glimpse him. He is still with his wife, two young women have joined them and he is hugging them. He is transformed, at least ten years younger, beaming with his face still drenched with tears of joy, talking to them animatedly.

But he is not looking.

"Saavedro!..."

He turns his head abruptly, still beaming, glimpses me and gapes in surprise - then the gap closes in and I can no longer see him.

Shut. In. Again.

I can't believe it.

This has to be a curse.

Of course, they are being very decent, and the room is not small, and there is light, and there are sounds, and scents, and I have been given plenty of real, delicious food, and a bed, and blankets. Sure, it is a hundred times better than what I used to get over there on the shields' tree, a mere day ago.

But it still is a prison.

And right now, this is enough to drive me mad.

The burning anger inside of me is like a white-hot coal. I no longer talk - what good, anyway?- and I no longer make any effort to even look presentable. I spend my time prowling in circles like a caged wild beast, lurking sprawled in corners, glaring at anyone coming near.

Any time I am being fed, I wolf down all the delicate fruit, perfumed fresh bread and nicely cooked fish without taking time to appreciate how wonderful they taste, devouring it greedily and disgustingly.

I've been given a large tub filled with water, and I know I stink - but I do not care, or maybe I am happy this way. I only used it to splash some on my face, or to somewhat smooth back my now dishevelled hair, temporarily preventing it from falling into my eyes.

And him.

Saavedro.

Turns out he didn't forget what I wished he would, did he?

Or maybe he simply doesn't care. Now he is home, with his wife, his girls, his family, he is free and happy, why would he do anything about me? After all, I am one of these despicable book-writers.

Oh God, Saavedro, right now I wish I were one, you know... Right now, I wish I had the Narayan book between my hands, and the knowledge of how to make a few - changes to it...

The wooden twig I'm holding snaps between my hands. It was part of a wooden Narayani game someone thought good to put in my jail, probably hoping it would provide me some decent, pacifying occupation.

But I don't know the rules, and I do not care. I wish I had my flick-knife instead. Oh, they searched me all right. And they were right to. Because I would have used it.

I can hear some noise nearby, someone is coming. Voices are talking animatedly in Narayani language, and one of them is oddly familiar.

I half stand up.

Two people reach the woven door, one of them seems to be trying to dissuade the other from doing something, but the familiar voice insists, and the first man eventually shrugs and opens the door.

I do not rush at it. What good? Where would I go?

And the second man comes in.

And I recognize him.

Sort of.

Oh my, never would I have believed such a change of appearance was possible.

Dressed in elegant pale-blue robes, his formerly matted hair now soft and lustrous, neatly combed and sprinkled with small beaded braids, he has barely anything left from the scruffy, untamed cave man I knew.

His face, above all, is unrecognizable. It is indescribably younger, but something else than years is missing on it. Something crucial, I can't tell what. It has been replaced by a radiant kindness that looks totally misplaced on those half-familiar features. Or rather, totally new. Because "misplaced" is certainly not the word. My resentment against him is momentarily stunned.

During the same time I am taking in those astounding changes, he seems to be doing the same in reverse. An expression of mingled horror and incredulity slowly floods his ever so vivid eyes, and I suddenly feel very self-conscious.

"...Spirits... what have they done to you?"

I try to hold myself straight, not hunched like some hulking ape, but that no longer feels natural. I shrug.

"Nothing."

He squints slightly.

"You can tell me, you know."

I feel very ashamed of myself, and I shuffle, incredibly embarrassed.

"No, no, I told you. They didn't do anything. They were very - very nice. I just..."

No longer able to find my words, I just shrug again and look away; then I look back and grin wryly.

"So... You're back, eh? You've changed, too."

He echoes my smile faintly, still looking slightly hesitant. I plough on, in the same awkward, half-provoking manner.

"Didn't recognize you, you know. Not without the hammer."

It feels good to make him uncomfortable like that. But I still can't bring myself to hate him the way I would like to. Not to mention he is the closest thing to a friendly face I have seen in three days. Actually, I realise now that I enjoy having him here.

I start sniggering stupidly.

Then it hits me.

It must be the look in his eyes that made me realise, or maybe the contrast between us.

I am not going mad. I am mad.

I have been for quite some time.

Where is the person I used to be and know well? Whose reactions I could foretell at least half of the time? Who used to make sense, and even solve puzzles, who could remain calm even on Myst and Riven, even in front of lord Gehn himself?

And I thought I could tell when I would get insane, if I ever got insane... like it was a fast job! Like there was a defined frontier...

What did I expect, to see a little flashing signpost at some point, reading "Beware, you've just crossed the 'lost-yer-marbles' deadline - Welcome in Psycholand"?...

I realise I didn't even truly believe that I could actually go mad.

Suddenly this scares me senseless.

I grab the front of Saavedro's robes, making him take a step back, and planting my eyes in his, I growl:

"Look, I need to get out of here. I am going insane shut in like that, I think I'm crazy. Get me out! I must get out. Do you understand?..."

"I do."

The man at the door makes to come in, looking alarmed, but Saavedro lifts a hand and he stops. They exchange a few words in that weird tongue, then he reluctantly leaves, throwing me a slightly disgusted look.

Saavedro then grabs my wrists and makes me release him, firmly pushing them back. Determinedly, I do not avert my eyes.

"...Get me out."

"I will." He's staring back at me. "Stay put, or I won't be able to help you."

I nod grudgingly.

"How? When?..."

He sighs.

"It is not that simple. I am sorry I couldn't come earlier; I tried, but you've been warded off like a pest-ridden. My people have grown afraid of books, and of those who carry some with them. They think you're dangerous and despicable." he glances at me sideways "And you're not helping matters, it seems..."

"I will! I promise. I'll do whatever is needed, from now on."

"I know you will. You already did, back on that tree, remember?" he smiles a wry smile, then shakes his head "I don't even know how you managed to untie, or to retrieve that Releeshahn book. This all feels so far, to me, now... like a different life..."

He seems lost in his thoughts for a moment, and I can see a shadow of his past self floating along his features for an instant. I say nothing. He shakes those reminiscences away.

"But this no longer matters. I'm glad you did, and I thank you for doing it. I can never thank you enough."

I'm not sure about what he means by "it", does he consider that I freed him? Did I, actually? I do not know myself, and I stay quiet once more, not wanting to distract him from the promising course of his thoughts.

"I tried to talk to the Elders, but they still won't let you walk around freely. There is something else, though."

His speech has accelerated, he casts a look over his shoulder as though the man at the door might understand what he's saying. Apparently, something slightly beyond the rules is going on.

"Listen. I can't stay for long, or it will look suspicious. I've been conducting my own little investigation, and it seems that I guessed right: someone might still be hiding a book or two, left from the war. I do not know if they can be of use, but... well, we shall see. I'll try to set my hands on them anyway. Maybe this way I can pay you my debt."

He smiles to me. Singing hope makes my heart swell despite all probabilities; and I smile too, not feeling like I am being repaid anything, but rather simply, sincerely and totally grateful. I slowly nod, wordlessly, at a loss of what to say.

"I am going to leave, for now. Is there anything you need? Anything you want me to ask for?..."

The gracious host again, the one who used to ask casually if I wanted my flask refilled. That must have been the real Saavedro, still surfacing, even back then.

I look around and shake my head sheepishly.

"...No. I've got all I need. I'm going to wash, I think."

"Good." He fumbles in a small purse that hangs from his belt, and takes something out of it, handing it to me. "Tamra made these for you. She says it is nothing compared to what you did for us, but she had little time, and she wanted to thank you too. The girls helped her."

Two minute, exquisitely carved wooden masks. The richness of their details and the skill with which they have been sculpted are simply unbelievable. They are beautiful, pieces of art the likes of which I have never seen.

"They are spirit masks. They were meant for you, so they will protect you if you carry them along. Do not lose them."

"I won't. ...Thank you."

He nods and goes.

As the woven door is being closed behind him, he throws me a last warning glance. I know he knows how it feels, and I know this look means "stay put".

I comply whole-heartedly, then head towards the tub.

When he comes back, it is night, but I am not asleep.

I jump when I hear voices nearby, but I do not dare going at the entrance. Instead, I stand, all but ready, at the centre of the room; my eyes glued to the door.

I have washed, I have changed my filthy, torn clothes for the fine robes that have been set there for me, I have eaten and it was the first meal I fully appreciated in a very long time.

Tending myself and acting normally somehow helped bringing me back to my senses, it seems. I do not feel like I am about to loose my mind any more, I am much better, probably much more "nice to know" too.

I have also realised, at last, how generous these people have been, considering how they must see me, and probably hate me.

But no matter how much I estimate them now, I am still aching to go.

Not to flee. To go back home.

Oh, I hope that these books lead somewhere I know of, or somewhere Atrus can find me...

The door does not open. The man who seems to be on the watch for me doesn't want to open it. He argues with Saavedro, looking annoyed, most likely explaining that I am not supposed to have visits at that time of the night, or something like that. But Saavedro probably has his reasons for coming now, or he obviously wouldn't have, it looks too suspicious.

Turning at me, he then does something totally unexpected. Sounding like someone exasperated, his tone completely detracting from what he says, he bluntly snaps at me:

"I have found two books. Come at the door, quick."

Then he turns back at the guard, and resumes his bickering, as though he hadn't just voiced his plan aloud but merely told me how annoyed he was at not being allowed in.

Which is probably what it is supposed to look like.

Recovering from my surprise, I do as he said and come to the door. He barks at me, once again:

"One is titled 'Pirth', the other one is 'Myst'. Would that work?" Then turning to the guard: "M'lanee akhva yanneni! Yesht nel vaa..."

Myst. I am saved! I know where to go from there... It takes all my willpower to keep my brow furrowed and my voice casually annoyed when I retort:

"Myst is perfect."

"Fine!... Layth'mee maano ni tagvah ya. Tossa ma narli ya! Move on your left, to block the lantern light and keep this dunderhead from seeing your hands." He gestures angrily at the man, who looks all the more incensed and thus all the more unlikely to see anything, and who starts speaking over him. "Good - put your hand in that bag behind my back... Ahey mani! Yosh alino man dah man... It's the grey book. I brought Releeshahn too, they haven't seen yet-"

The guard is hardly listening to him any more, gradually raising his voice as he speaks over him. Saavedro no longer bothers to yell his instructions at me, not at him:

"Quick! He's going to attract more people! Grab Releeshahn, you can't pass it through the gap, but it will follow you as you link..."

"But... he'll see... you'll be in trouble-"

He slams his fist on the door, snarling at the now incensed man:

"I'll-be-fine! They know me, I'll sort things - now go, quick!"

Indeed, I can hear footsteps in the distance. There's no time to argue, and no point in doing so, even the guard is getting very suspicious now - I grasp Releeshahn, introduce my other hand under the grey book's cover and only hiss: "...Thank you."

Then my skin touches the panel, and the world dissolves around me.

As the roaring sound of the link fills my ears, my last regret, curiously, isn't for the kind, calm and generous man I've really only just met, or for his slightly idyllic homeworld.

It is for that barmy chap, that sympathetic, paranoid, insufferable nutcase I met back on the lesson ages, and who just seemed to resurface a little, just for a minute, to plan my escape.

Yes, I'll probably miss that guy.

Looking back, and from a faraway perspective, obviously.

The end