Reference:Yeesha, personal journal (Myst V: End of Ages)

Yeesha, personal journal (Myst V: End of Ages)

Location	Descent (various)
Author	Yeesha

Prologue

These pages are my journey, my story, my path. They are not meant to cover up but to reveal. Sometimes in poem, sometimes in story, sometimes clear, sometimes vague, sometimes long sometimes brief. But the release of theses words is a soothing elixir to my burdened soul. The words must flow from me, or I will die.

And in the end, these words are crumbs that spill along my path. And whoever eats these crumbs will know more of me.

Journal 1

I am finding where I am, by understanding where I was.

And everything I was is linked to the island of Myst-the refuge.

And I must know where they were as well. My heritage, my people, my family.

My father, the prisoner of the hidden and the revealed. Raised by Ti'ana who hid the truth. Then raised by Gehn who revealed the truth. But Ti'ana hid for love, and Gehn revealed for power.

Mother too, nothing more than a slave to what she knew and what she felt. Taught by Gehn to write what she knew. Then taught by Ti'ana to write what she felt. But Gehn's teachings imprisoned her, and Ti'ana's teachings freed her.

And in the end, through the hidden and revealed, through the known and felt, through the good and evil, through the gods and devils-they came together.

Together they came: Father floating, and Mother caring. Father knowing and mother feeling.

And my great-grandmother Ti'ana watched, and my grandfather Gehn fell.

And so began out path of pain.

Ti'ana was called the destroyer, but she brought them together-and lived with them on Myst island.

Father could not keep Myst simple-new structures and new ages he brought. Mother could not keep Myst solitary-two new sons she brought-my brothers-Sirus and Achenar. And they grew strong, and hungry, and lustful, like their grandfather Gehn-unable to control the power of books-the power of writing Ages.

As a result they became prisoners. Prisoners in their refuge.

I will never return to that place.

Journal 2

Pride is a thief. Pride stole the soul of the D'ni people. Pride stole my own brothers. The temptation was too great. It is not the power, but the desire for power that destroys. That desire is in my blood. The blood of my ancestors-the blood of my flesh. I fight it, but I am pulled, even now.

My father tried to hide what he valued, his Books and Ages, while my brothers tried to hide what they valued, riches and power. Father was trusting on naïve and Ages and people were destroyed.

And so my family was imprisoned. My brothers in ages written by my Father; Father in a D'ni prison he had escaped in childhood; and Mother in the world she loved and feared the most-Riven-her home- her refuge.

Perhaps it is why I fear my home-my refuge.

And then by the Maker, or by the roll, a stranger found the Book. The book had been intended to be destroyed by fire, but by the Maker, or by the roll, it was taken far away. The Book was preserved until it was time. Surely it was the Maker that preserved the Book that would bring help.

Now it was time. A stranger found the Book, came to the island and freed Father. A lesson was learned, a friendship was forged.

Friendship. The Least are my friends. I must use the Least wisely. I must listen to them. And respect them. They are powerful, the are willing, they are afraid.

Journal 3

The strange, the friend returned again to help Father save Mother. Imagine-a stranger-traveling to Riven-risking all, asking for nothing. I think of humility, thinking more of others.

Humility: prisoners are freed by nothing more, and nothing less.

Gehn, my grandfather, my heritage, ugh, that monster who thought himself a god was once again imprisoned. Perhaps he still rules that desolate, empty, and dead place, Riven by the pride and bitterness of his own heart. But more than likely he is in a more desolate, empty, dead place, where there is weeping. I hope he is miserable. I cannot forgive him for what he did. It eats at my heart.

I hate him, because I have his same desire.

Mother and Father came again together to the refuge-to Myst island. But it was only a shell, a place to exist-a fallen place- torn apart by pride just as the great D'ni city was.

Just as I am. Torn.

What is a stranger? Someone who is not me? Yet sometimes I feel like a stranger to myself. I become two. One who I know, and one who I do not. Where does this other one come from? Which one is me?

Journal 4

I am sick of the Grower.

Oh yes, some believe in the prophecies that predict the restoration of D'ni-the fallen city of D'ni would grow. There were attempts before, and there will be attempts again. But they always fail.

Even those my Father tried. They learned great things of the Made and the Maker. They learned of the Bahro, the Least, and of deeper truths. They learned of Father, and his wisdom in rebuilding and rewriting.

The D'ni city came alive again, for a time. The dead were properly buried and the living were properly cared for. D'ni took short, labored breaths. Sap flowed, though the tree did not grow, for there was no grower.

Even Father did not see then as I do now.

I had not come.

I am the Grower.

I failed.

And I think of myself as worthy? I am nothing-the failed child, of failed parents, of failed grandparents. How many generations must fail before we give up? Why do I try?

I have failed with the Tablet already. There are no second chances here.

And yet I long to hold it, and try once more.

Journal 5

Tomahna-my home-the place where I was: the place where I began. I was a spark of joy to Mother and Father, after their fire was almost quenched. And yet what joy could we have had if my brothers had been there as well?

Still torn.

Father and Mother loved and shared with me, their desert bird. Father shared wisdom and knowledge, and Mother shared visions and dreams.

When did they come to know my destiny? Surely not from birth. As I look back, they knew so much; they saw so clearly. They planted and watered, so that I would learn how to do the same. I would nor realize it until after I was to see them no longer.

Am I the Grower because they taught me, or did they teach me because I am the Grower?

Torn

But peace was not yet with us. From the past, an enemy came, seeking revenge. But there was help for a third time. Without help, where would we be? Would there be a Grower? Would there be a seed to grow?

It's all been so fragile.

But it must be by the Maker I am here-and there is meaning.

Or it may be by the roll I am here-and there is no meaning.

Journal 6

I was very young when I first felt strong. Indeed, I was young but I thought I understood. I had many abilities, even then, but little wisdom. Better to have fewer abilities and much wisdom.

I knew I was doing something great for us, but what I did was foolish for me. I thought I was reuniting our family, bringing back what joy we once had. I almost brought an end to life.

Yet again it was a friend who came to our aid.

Now I think that most things cannot be returned to how they were. My brothers were not to be released. But the Maker turned my poor choice to some small good, and Achenar was redeemed.

My tears flow as I write these memories. The suffering and pain I have caused-and endured. And yet I am thankful. I will be powerful like the Bahro.

I long to be strong.

They will sing a song of thankfulness. They will sing a song, without regard to their circumstance. They will stand and take time to sing to the maker with hearts of joy. If only I could have such a heart.

Journal 7

Alone.

There is a powerful conjunction between the in and the out, the beneath and the above. A wound, a mouth, a well, a pit. I wanted to make the journey for myself from where the D'ni dug upward, where they almost came to the surface. From the place where Ti'ana first climbed downward, and where Father followed evil into the ground.

I began my journey with a heavy burden. It was Ti'ana who came to D'ni, and caused its fall. I am from her. I feel I am destined to bring another destruction.

Father and Mother tried to prepare me-tried to tell me who they though I was. I still see the power of each. I have the best of each-and the burden of each. And they watched me leave, I saw the sadness and the fear. But more terrifying, I saw their hope.

And I left my comfort to find me. And even as I took mo first step away from Tomahna, my shoulder ached, for the burden I bore. Deep prophecies and weighty destinies.

So much to learn and understand about myself. My Father said we can never understand-we can only understand more.

The more I understood the more I powerful I became, and the more dangerous I became, and the less I understood.

Journal 8

Home was far behind-I was on longer a child. I journeyed deep-deep within myself, deep within the earth, down to the D'ni cavern. I was alone for a time as I consumed my heritage, breathing deep with the air of the cavern and the knowledge of my people.

But the desire for companionship drove me mad. I engaged a senomar as my confident, and a tredfish in the harbor became my brother. I spoke to them as family and they answered, I swear they answered.

Then my mind took a final step into madness when I walked into the library on Ae'gura and saw an old D'ni man on the floor below me. Now I was imagining people to ease my loneliness.

But he was no mirage-his name was Calam. And he was a D'ni writer of Ages.

Trust did not come easily. There was conflict between us-between his ancient rules of D'ni that I did not respect, and my creativity, which he feared. We fought and feared and battled and screamed, until exhausted, we began to learn from each other. We learned of the power of both, just as Father and Mother had done.

So I learned to Write with all the skills that the D'ni had known- beyond what my parents had taught me. For their lessons were given by a flawed instructor and by their own trial and error. I learned to Write from a Master: an opportunity my Father was never given. Calam's abilities were breathtaking-he knew all the D'ni knew, when D'ni fell.

But I taught as well as learned. There were that the D'ni were forbidden to Write, words they feared, concepts they shunned. Rules and boxes. I had no cultural fear of such things, so I dug deep, asking questions that Calam could not answer. And together we sought answers.

That is how we learned of the Bahro and the Tablet. I learned of power. We grew in knowledge and strength, and Calam became one of my dear friends. I began to think that it was he who would be the grower.

But evil will find you, even in the depths of the earth, and Calam was murdered.

[in D'ni script] KEPIK

Journal 9

Power is a gift. Power is a curse.

I learned of the fearsome power I wield on that day-the day of Calam's death. In a fit of rage I destroyed the murder, and I destroyed my innocence.

And again I learned that most things cannot be returned to how they were.

And my power continued to grow even as I began to see that the prophecies of the Grower might speak of me. My destiny began to be fulfilled. But there was still more.

The least. Abused. Mistreated. Misunderstood. Ignored. They were mocked and scorned and their hearts still show their pain, but they continue to serve.

Such power they have, and yet they serve. They treated me with kindness, and I learned from them. They respected what I was becoming. With them I learned new laws, new rules, and new powers. I used the powers to care for a tree to come, and the Tablet allowed me to grow beyond Ti'ana, beyond Father and Mother, beyond D'ni, beyond Calam.

The Tablet held them. The Tablet chained them.

The tablet held me. The tablet empowered me.

I watched with them. I waited with them. I learned with them. I called them from captivity and grew while they gathered. Together we became both weak and strong.

And them my time came. My time to take the Tablet. My time to choose. I was ready. I felt the pull of holding it, of channeling and releasing the full power of the Bahro. I would right the wrongs. I would set things the way they should be. I would choose well-I could not fail. I am the Grower.

I was so sure, so strong, so wise, but I didn't open myself and listen to the Maker. The noise of me drowned his quiet voice.

And I failed. Failed to see anything beyond myself and what was obvious. And the pain came quickly, when I realized what I had done. The Tablet returned, and the Bahro continued to serve. The pain still burns me.

But the powerful Bahro simply wait and serve.

Pain is often how we learn. But it is not for us to give-we are not the teachers. We must not abuse them. We must not abuse the Bahro.

Journal 10

How could I have not seen the true path? I see it now so clearly. But can I get another chance to make things right?

They came. They came to D'ni-those who felt called. I knew they would. I was prepared for them, and I pointed the way. I spoke often of the pride of D'ni, of their belief in their own power and strength and the reason D'ni once fell. And a few understand. And they began to follow me. I am the Grower-I would lead them to rebuild.

Yet another burden.

But what is the task of the Grower? My father wrote another Age, but I see that the tree is not a place, but a people-the heart of a people, That is what I must grow.

If only I had another chance to make things right. The Tablet is the key-how could I have failed?

Journal 11

I know what to do. I see it so clearly. One more chance to determine the destiny of the Tablet. I can feel it.

To be so close and yet be sow powerless-it drives me mad. The Tablet sits there, holding the power of the Bahro captive, and I alone know what to do. I failed once, but what does that mean? Why am I punished when I could accomplish so much? The rules seem so arbitrary-some game of the Maker that only he understands.

This legacy of failure. And now I see this final chance to right generations of wrong. To unleash the power that has be held for thousands of years. It is at my fingertips. I know what must be done, but I cannot speak of it, for fear it would somehow break the rules-tarnish the heart, taint the act, soil the innocence.

I had a dream...

I am carrying the seed of D'ni, the seed of all things that are D'ni , through a small cave. And I come to a place where the path stops, and there are two holes-one above me, and one below me. And through the hole below I can see the sky and the sun.

A voice calls to me. "In which hole will you plant the seed?"

And I know it is easy to drop the seed in the hole below, and I know it is impossible to throw the seed through the hole above. I call out to the voice, asking for wisdom.

And the voice answers me "Do not drop the seed in the hole below, for that is easy, but that is the way of the past. Do not throw the seed in the hole above, for that is difficult, and that is the task for another. In which hole will you plant the seed?"

And I know what to do.

And I know I am the Grower.