Teleleli: Forewords by the Authors

The nostalgia of things unknown, of lands forgotten or unfound, is upon me at times. Often I long for the gleam of yellow suns upon terraces of translucent azure marble, mocking the windless waters of lakes unfathomably calm; for lost, legendary palaces of serpentine, silver and ebony, whose columns are green stalactites; for the pillars of fallen temples, standing in the vast purpureal sunset of a land of lost and marvellous romance. I sigh for the dark-green depths of cedar forests, through whose fantastically woven boughs, one sees at intervals an unknown tropic ocean, like gleams of blue diamond; for isles of palm and coral, that fret an amber morning, somewhere beyond Cathay or Taprobane; for the strange and hidden cities of the desert, with burning brazen domes and slender pinnacles of gold and copper, that pierce a heaven of heated lazuli.

Clark Ashton Smith.


Foreword by James Hutchings

It was a wise man who wrote that 'it is a joyful thing indeed to hold intimate converse with a man after one’s own heart, chatting without reserve about things of interest or the fleeting topics of the world; but such, alas, are few and far between.' How doubly fortunate it was then that, alone in the cold wilderness, the Probabilistic Bathysphere that carried me there little more than a twisted ruin of wood and brass, I met my wise and kind friend, Sobekhotep the Wanderer. How fortunate also that the trade-pidgin of Teleleli and the islands around is identical to English! Alas, soon after completing this manuscript I have learned that Sobekhotep has set out on another voyage, and may be gone for many years. The shadows of my life grow longer, I find myself yearning for hearth and home where once I yearned for horizons new, and I fear our paths may not cross again before we both set off into that most mysterious country, into which all must travel and from which none return. Truly

The Moving Finger writes: and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

Yet it is not in a spirit of melancholy, but in fond recollection of our friendship, that I offer these notes to the reader.

Foreword by Sobekhotep the Wanderer

When I was asked to share my knowledge of Teleleli and the lands around, I felt the pride of a great painter, asked to show his work to curious visitors. Or perhaps due modesty must lead me to compare myself only to a collector, discerning of eye to be sure, but in the end having only the humble task of presenting the masterpieces of others. After spending many weeks in the company of this James Hutchings, I felt like the same collector, if he found that the visitors were in fact an army of rats, who devoured paint, canvas, frame, then the house and, having reduced all to ruin, began to feast on his bones and flesh. Curse the very hour upon which I met this man. His incessant questioning is like a flock of ravens pecking upon my skull. May the Crone turn the water of his bowels to ice.