ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
February 15th, 1951
On this day, I dreamt, and from the dream I wrote
A winding story of such few words:
For many mysteries may be known,
Yet must cease to be once understood.
When the story has reached its end, I will return to it
And undo in myself what I undo upon the page.
. . .
Hoku closed the book and rested it across his lap.
'This is definitely the most disappointing ending so far. Jiang Hao was right about the second volume… though one of his historical monographs would have been harder to finish.'
Hoku took the volume from his lap, rose from the chair, and walked over to the shelves. Jiang Hao had arranged them by century and region. The novels filled only a few narrow sections between the histories.
During Hoku's first week in the house, Jiang Hao had shown him where the books belonged and which cupboard in the kitchen held the tea.
A couple of weeks before that, the same man had been sitting beside Hoku's hospital bed, introducing himself as his uncle.
Hoku had awakened there following the accident with no recollection of how it had occurred.
The accident was far from the only thing absent from his memory; when Jiang Hao came to see him, Hoku could recall neither him nor anything from the sixteen years preceding that morning.
The volume had come from one of the upper shelves. Hoku pulled the wooden chair beneath it, stepped onto the seat, and placed the book back.
Standing on the chair brought the highest shelf properly into view. Most of the volumes there were older, their leather bindings darkened with age or worn along the edges. Between two of them was a plain white spine without any lettering.
'Did Jiang Hao have this one rebound?'
Hoku reached for it and drew it from the shelf.
Its cover was blank as well. Hoku brushed his thumb along the edges of the pages and opened it. He turned through several in succession, but found nothing written on them. There was no title page, no preface, not even a line of print.
Hoku's brows knitted slightly. He slowed down and continued through the book more carefully. After a few more pages, a small cluster of black print near the centre of one leaf slipped past his attention at first. He immediately flipped back to it.
"The End of Time."
A small cluster of words was printed in the center of the page in plain black print. Beneath it, in smaller type, was a name.
"Dr. Francis Barret."
Hoku wasn't sure what to make of it. He turned the page, only to find another blank sheet. He paused, then flipped back and looked at the name again.
'Likely the "author,"' Hoku quickly guessed.
Seeing a doctor's title on what looked, at first glance, like a storybook seemed rather unusual. But not worth dwelling on.
'If someone put their signature in it, there has to be something to put a name to.'
As he handled the book, he noticed the stitching along the spine was unusually visible, even tugging whenever he opened it wider.
When he reached roughly the twenty-third page, his hand paused.
An illustration of a spacious room occupied most of the page. Bookcases lined the walls, and a desk stood in the centre, with papers spread over it and piles of books on the floor. Candleholders hung between the shelves.
The drawing on the next page showed the far end of the same room in greater detail. A large painting stood against one of the bookcases. Bringing the book nearer the light, Hoku made out a narrow boat moored beside stone steps descending to a river. An oar rested diagonally across the steps, its blade extending over the water.
He examined the margins for a title or any further reference to the room, but there was no writing beside either illustration.
Hoku rested the book on the shelf beside him. The shelf was shallower than he had expected, and the book tipped before he had fully withdrawn his hand.
He reached for it, but the cover slipped over the edge and the volume fell to the floor.
The book struck the floor with a hard thud.
Hoku let out a quiet sigh and crouched to retrieve it. Jiang Hao rarely minded him handling the books in the room, but those kept on the upper shelves were another matter.
He picked up the volume carefully, checking the corners first before examining the binding.
The fall had opened the book near the back. Hoku was about to close it when a faint discoloration along the gutter made him hesitate.
He angled the page towards the light. Several short lines showed through from the reverse, their dark strokes distinct against the otherwise blank paper.
Hoku carefully turned the leaf.
A title had been written at the top:
Hymn of the Navigator
. . .
O Navigator, far adrift,
Whose eyes have charted sundered rift,
Whose hands have grasped both beast and clock,
Yet found no gate, yet struck no lock.
Through stolen years and hollow lands,
You walk the maps none understand.
The Abundant bids you sail his wreck,
Yet knows: your course will cross his neck.
In rusted tides and broken time,
In realms that toll the ghostly chime,
The Sequel calls its heir to sea
Not to obey, but to decree.
O Navigator, doomed yet free,
May ruin be your canopy.'
On the facing page was a detached note:
"Do not amend their mistakes. You must remain with the present."
Hoku read it through twice before closing the cover between his thumb and staring absently at the narrow gap on the shelf.
"…Navigator…"
. . .
The First Quota
The creator's original narrative has found you. The initial readers have narrowly altered the narrative's 'existence' by imparting a separate title.
Thus, the original telling has been delegated as 'The Memoir.'
What you've just read is the only fragment I was able to decipher from within the contents of this artifact. The only other mystery that has been solved is that 'The Memoir' belonged to The Abundant Creator.
You may refer to me as the editor until we meet.
Lastly, I ask only this: Do not ignore the entries I've left in this book.
I can promise that they may prove useful.
Sincerely,
The editor.
Prelude to the Memoir
Rule 1
Mysteries lie beyond your reality, Navigator. Have vigilance in your choices to tailor the unraveling of your universe.
Rule 2
Only those who have vanished from his path in the Original universe can traverse beyond their dreams and across the Sequel that unifies the existence of infinite sequences and worlds.
Rule 3
There were once three great conditions of existence, arranged for the living, the dead, and the damned.
Yet here, where death has no conclusion and life possesses no true beginning,
what meaning can such distinctions still pretend to hold?