Storms of Destiny by A. C. Crispin Page B

the worst shape, but it had the latest date, so Khith examined it first. As darkness gathered over the jungle, Khith sat, totally absorbed, attempting to puzzle out the ancient words on the filthy, crumbled, and pest-nibbled pages. Fragments and snippets of meaning surfaced as it struggled to translate: (Name) was here tonight for scheduled inspection, told me of new (untranslatable) device. I was fascinated, asked many questions … (indecipherable smudge) … told me it can open (doorways? gates? or was it corridors? hallways?
    entrances?) … Khith puzzled over the word, then resolved to come back to it later. … to allow passage to another (place? plane? world?) … experiments commencing …
    That cannot be right, Khith thought, perplexed. I must have translated that wrong. I should cross-check that word with my notes. A passageway to another world?
    For a moment it considered digging out its notes, but decided to read on instead. Perhaps the term would become clear in context. Khith waved the flame of its little torch higher, shedding more light on the damaged pages. The next few were stuck together. With painstaking care it separated them, only to find that they were damaged beyond reading, only a few words visible per page. This section must have gotten wet at some point, and mildew set in. Finally it discovered another semireadable passage.
    Another message today from (name) in the east. Experiments have been shut down, but now there is trouble. We are not alone, it appears.
    The next page was vermin nibbled. Khith clicked its tongue in frustration and turned the page.
    … damage has been done … government crumbling …
    plague in (untranslatable) … war in (untranslatable).
    (Name) says there is a rumor that the (gateway? door? portal?) brought this upon us. Caused us to be noticed. Makes no sense to me, but every day the reports grow worse. I used to curse the day I was sent here to this remote outpost, but now I am glad to be far away from the chaos. What of (name) and (name) … fear for them fills me. Will I ever see them again? All is crumbling around us …
    Khith shivered, despite the warmth of the jungle night.
    Even in such a battered, mostly indecipherable text, the desperation of the writer came through in those scrawling, hastily written words. The Hthras realized that it might be the first person ever to read about the final days of the Ancient Ones, and shivered again. Turning the page, it saw that only a scant half page of text remained.
    More refugees today. I gave them what provisions I could, then sent them on their way north. Mothers holding children.
    I will never forget their eyes. The world is (coming loose? unraveling? fraying?) more with every hour that passes.
    (Name) says that they sent a mission through the (portal?
    gateway? door?) to try and stop it, but they have not been heard of since departing. He calls it the Player, or, sometimes, the Meddler. How could such a thing be? But (name) would not lie to me … Two days now since I last heard from (name). The refugees say there was a terrible blast far to the east. The ones who were the closest to it are sick. Several died on the way. What should I— The text stopped.
    Khith turned the page, then forcing its hand to near steadiness, slowly turned the remaining pages in the journal.
    Empty.
    What did it all mean?
    Khith shook its head, hugging itself against the trembling that assailed it in growing waves. It was frightened, frightened the way it had been when it ran from the searchers and the jagowas. Ridiculous! it thought. They are the words of a person who has been dead for thousands of years. How could they have the power to frighten you?
    Still shivering, Khith carefully placed the three journals into its pack. Then it drew out its physician’s robe, to use for a blanket. Despite the warmth of the night, it could not stop trembling, and it took a major effort of will to stare at the torchlight and quench the flame.
    The warm,