More writings have come into my possession. I can only describe them as astounding, enough so that my original incredulity has been reawakened.

In the first place, some of them explain — rather too conveniently, I feel — gaps in the story as I had originally reconstructed it, almost as if the characters, hearing that they were being unfairly or incompletely represented to (or by) me, had come forward to speak for themselves.

In particular, Egderus, in these additional writings, begins to impress me as somewhat too insistent on his own righteousness, at least in regard to his collusion in the escape of the Historian.

I've also noticed in the putative Dictations of Praetor Aric that the prose style becomes more and more elevated as the story he is telling progresses, then relapses into his more usual homely dialect as the tale draws to a close. This phenomenon could be attributed to any of several causes, one of which being that they aren't Aric's dictations at all, but rather the complete fabrication — or, to be generous, recollection — of Egderus himself.

But most troubling is the so-called Historian's Notebook. His portrait of the Remnant (if that's who they really are) is so completely at odds with the wisdom and even elegance of their utterances that one or the other (or both!) must be either falsely or wrongly attributed. I simply cannot believe that the savage creatures he describes — he even calls them that! not "people"! — could possibly have preserved the Writings of the Ancients that are supposed to have been passed on by Egderus. And the story of the Old One and her "box" — ostensibly the satchel full of treasure that the Historian nearly lost after stealing it from those who saved his life: it is ludicrous! Nearly laughable!

I have no choice but to rethink the whole project. I am altogether bewildered! And exasperated!

I can think of only three possible explanations, having examined the additional material now available to me:

1. The Remnant were the direct descendants of the Ancients.
2. The Remnant were an aboriginal people.
3. The Remnant are a figment of someone's imagination.

‡ Descendants of the Ancients

This is the interpretation that the Archives, taken as a whole, tend to support. If the Archives are genuine, it is a hard task to dismiss this reading of the evidence.

As I indicated, the conclusions proceeding from this interpretation are troubling. It means nothing less than that the Ancients, far from being divinities, as we have been assuming was the belief in Egderus' time — a widespread conviction even up to the present day — but rather creatures at the very best no different from ourselves in our bodily nature. According to this hypothesis, some monstrous catastrophe befell their civilization (or was brought on by themselves), and the Remnant — at least as adumbrated in the more or less reliable sources (that is, discounting the almost certainly spurious "Historian's Notebook") — perforce went "back to nature", under the harshest imaginable conditions, and for generations — i.e., a period of time sufficient to completely efface all but the vaguest memory of the glory of that civilization.

It also means that the Ancients actually did exist.

‡‡ An Aboriginal People

This interpretation is in some ways the most attractive because the least controversial. In recent explorations of the frontier, several groups of previously unknown peoples have been encountered, and often their cultures differed significantly from our own. True, their language and many of their customs have subsequently been found to relate to ours, suggesting that originally our two peoples were a single clan that somehow became separated over the generations. But it is not impossible to conceive of an unknown race or even species inhabiting the much more extensive wilderness of Egderus' time, whose only contacts with his world, prior to their extinction, had been infrequent and fleeting.

Should this be the case, we would need to recast Egderus' statements of fact as instead being suppositions, perhaps fanciful conjectures, that were based on the beliefs of his times, about which I must reassert we know very little.

‡‡‡ A Figment of Someone's Imagination

In another way, this is the most tempting interpretation, especially for anyone of a skeptical nature. In fact, I shouldn't be surprised if some of my more dubious auditors conclude that the entire Archive is of my own composition!

Of course that is not true, but it is possible that someone else has composed some, or most, or even all of these documents with the idea of perpetrating a hoax on our scholarly world, selecting me as chief dupe. Should that prove to be the case, I shall be utterly ruined, first of all for my own gullibility, and secondly for being the instrument — insofar as I persuade anyone to believe me — by which my entire community is exposed to ridicule.

Naturally I find this last interpretation the least congenial of the three. First, my vanity prohibits me from conceiving myself as being so credulous: despite my lack of significant acclaim, I have made a solid contribution to the increase of knowledge, and my apprenticeship was completed long ago. Although it is theoretically possible for me to be fooled, it cannot be done so easily.

Second, who would do such a thing? And why? And why choose me, of all people, for his (or her?) cat's paw?

And finally, I am *persuaded* by these voices (or some of them!) from long ago. (To be honest, I know of no way to actually prove the authenticity of all or any of these writings, and the only way to disprove their authenticity is to produce the hoaxer(s) who composed them, an unlikely prospect at best.)

No: I have spent the emotional and spiritual equivalent of years of my life with these people, and I believe in them — whether they existed or not, I am surprised to say. And I am also convinced that others will find themselves persuaded by these stories, if I can somehow present them fairly.