Since Mirdath, My Beautiful One, died and left me lonely in this world,
I have suffered an anguish, and an utter and dreadful pain of longing,
such as truly no words shall ever tell; for, in truth, I that had all
the world through her sweet love and companionship, and knew all the joy
and gladness of Life, have known such lonesome misery as doth stun me to
think upon.
Yet am I to my pen again; for of late a wondrous hope has grown in me,
in that I have, at night in my sleep, waked into the future of this
world, and seen strange things and utter marvels, and known once more
the gladness of life; for I have learned the promise of the future, and
have visited in my dreams those places where in the womb of Time, she
and I shall come together, and part, and again come together--breaking
asunder most drearly in pain, and again reuniting after strange ages, in
a glad and mighty wonder.
And this is the utter strange story of that which I have seen, and
which, truly, I must set out, if the task be not too great; so that, in
the setting out thereof, I may gain a little ease of the heart; and
likewise, mayhap, give ease of hope to some other poor human, that doth
suffer, even as I have suffered so dreadful with longing for Mine Own
that is dead. And some shall read and say that this thing was not, and some shall
dispute with them; but to them all I say naught, save "Read!" And having
read that which I set down, then shall one and all have looked towards
Eternity with me--unto its very portals. And so to my telling:
To me, in this last time of my visions, of which I would tell, it was
not as if I dreamed; but, as it were, that I waked there into the
dark, in the future of this world. And the sun had died; and for me
thus newly waked into that Future, to look back upon this, our Present
Age, was to look back into dreams that my soul knew to be of reality;
but which to those newly-seeing eyes of mine, appeared but as a far
vision, strangely hallowed with peacefulness and light.
Always, it seemed to me when I awaked into the Future, into the
Everlasting Night that lapped this world, that I saw near to me, and
girdling me all about, a blurred greyness. And presently this, the
greyness, would clear and fade from about me, even as a dusky cloud, and
I would look out upon a world of darkness, lit here and there with
strange sights. And with my waking into that Future, I waked not to
ignorance; but to a full knowledge of those things which lit the Night
Land; even as a man wakes from sleep each morning, and knows immediately
he wakes, the names and knowledge of the Time which has bred him, and in
which he lives. And the same while, a knowledge I had, as it were
sub-conscious, of this Present--this early life, which now I live so
utterly alone. In my earliest knowledge of that place, I was a youth, seventeen years
grown, and my memory tells me that when first I waked, or came, as it
might be said, to myself, in that Future, I stood in one of the
embrasures of the Last Redoubt--that great Pyramid of grey metal which
held the last millions of this world from the Powers of the Slayers. And so full am I of the knowledge of that Place, that scarce can I
believe that none here know; and because I have such difficulty, it may
be that I speak over familiarly of those things of which I know; and
heed not to explain much that it is needful that I should explain to
those who must read here, in this our present day. For there, as I stood
and looked out, I was less the man of years of this age, than the
youth of that, with the natural knowledge of that life which I had
gathered by living all my seventeen years of life there; though, until
that my first vision, I (of this Age) knew not of that other and Future
Existence; yet woke to it so naturally as may a man wake here in his bed
to the shining of the morning sun, and know it by name, and the meaning
of aught else. And yet, as I stood there in the vast embrasure, I had
also a knowledge, or memory, of this present life of ours, deep down
within me; but touched with a halo of dreams, and yet with a conscious
longing for One, known even there in a half memory as Mirdath. As I have said, in my earliest memory, I mind that I stood in an
embrasure, high up in the side of the Pyramid, and looked outwards
through a queer spy-glass to the North-West. Aye, full of youth and with
an adventurous and yet half-fearful heart.