Going back to what I said before, namely that at my manuscript's
discovery my demise will itself be history: I am assured that such is
true, for even now as I write this my death is near at hand. How wide
the abyss of time that separates us is I cannot tell, but I do know that
it is beyond the reckoning of men, such an unknown barrage of hollow,
formless years. Yet as you read this it is as if I were speaking
directly to you, despite all of the desolation between our times. That
is what makes history an organic being, and by history I mean all of the
past, or all of the future, depending on your viewpoint.

A book is a connection between times and peoples, more so than any other
medium. As I put these words down in writing, it is as if I am imparting
my very self into the pages. And as you read them, the name Jehu slowly
forms into an image, into a personality, and from the empty word Jehu
comes the great well of affection springing from a personal intimacy. A
book is an enigma in which no time exists, and as it is read it brings
the reader into its eternal being, for while it sits closed on a shelf
it is no more than a forgotten memory, yet when it is opened its
contents come to life and its characters and locations are once more
existent in the same state as when they were written, the story becomes
once more reality.

While I have long been deceased, when you read this I am brought to life
once more, and with my rebirth I tell you my story, and make known to
you the truths contained therein. The words of this book are a rune
gate, a portal to the past, and as you read them, your present fades
away and you are drawn into my present, this very moment in which I now
write. Then you connect with me intimately, and for a brief time the
gulf of mortality is transcended and the depths of my being are laid
open to you. We commune together and you eat of my flesh and drink of my