I, who record these future memories, have passed through the portals of a myriad incarnations and death. My lives are part of all earthly history: I have left my bones in Pleistocene valleys lying mile-deep beneath glaciers of Greenland; I have looked on a larger sun from the capsizing peaks of doomed Poseidonis; I have known rebirth birth in all regions that were, that are, or shall ever be. Four times, in remotely separate ages, I have lived in the land of Dooza Thom, which is destined to form the northernmost of the peopled realms of Zothique. It is of these latter lives that I write now, telling of things that have already occurred in eternity but are still to happen in time. For I was, and shall be, the prophet Ulon, and Voridees the captain of hosts, and King Agranodh, and the wizard Nolu; and through the eyes of these I beheld, and shall witness again, that monstrous doom which crawls perpetually upon Dooza Thom through the centuries and millenniums.
Swiftly and more swiftly, with a flowing as of great dark streams, the masses crawled across Nooth-Kemmor; and it seemed that I hovered above them as they went. The ridgy sands of the waste, the harsh hummocks, were leveled by their passing, and Nooth-Kemmor was twice desolate behind them. They passed the borders of Dooza Thom, where the outlying fertile lands were joined to the desert. And still the vague forms of the winding mountains crept southward, and I could not descry them wholly because of the ever-shaken light: but upon them was an alien mystery and a weird menace not of earth.
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Printed from: eldritchdark.com/writings/short-stories/193
Printed on: December 4, 2024