Individuality -- Fiction; Love stories; Men -- Psychology -- Fiction; Psychological fiction; Science fiction; Time travel -- Fiction
We do not wish to look upon the Uncharted Forest. We do not wish
to think of it. But ever do our eyes return to that black patch
upon the sky. Men never enter the Uncharted Forest, for there is
no power to explore it and no path to lead among its ancient
trees which stand as guards of fearful secrets. It is whispered
that once or twice in a hundred years, one among the men of the
City escape alone and run to the Uncharted Forest, without call
or reason. These men do not return. They perish from hunger and
from the claws of the wild beasts which roam the Forest. But our
Councils say that this is only a legend. We have heard that there
are many Uncharted Forests over the land, among the Cities. And
it is whispered that they have grown over the ruins of many
cities of the Unmentionable Times. The trees have swallowed the
ruins, and the bones under the ruins, and all the things which
perished. And as we look upon the Uncharted Forest far in the
night, we think of the secrets of the Unmentionable Times. And we
wonder how it came to pass that these secrets were lost to the
world. We have heard the legends of the great fighting, in which
many men fought on one side and only a few on the other. These
few were the Evil Ones and they were conquered. Then great fires
raged over the land. And in these fires the Evil Ones and all the
things made by the Evil Ones were burned. And the fire which is
called the Dawn of the Great Rebirth, was the Script Fire where
all the scripts of the Evil Ones were burned, and with them all
the words of the Evil Ones. Great mountains of flame stood in the
squares of the Cities for three months. Then came the Great
Rebirth.
The words of the Evil Ones... The words of the Unmentionable
Times... What are the words which we have lost?
May the Council have mercy upon us! We had no wish to write such
a question, and we knew not what we were doing till we had
written it. We shall not ask this question and we shall not think
it. We shall not call death upon our head.
And yet... And yet... There is some word, one single word which
is not in the language of men, but which had been. And this is
the Unspeakable Word, which no men may speak nor hear. But
sometimes, and it is rare, sometimes, somewhere, one among men
find that word. They find it upon scraps of old manuscripts or
cut into the fragments of ancient stones. But when they speak it
they are put to death. There is no crime punished by death in
this world, save this one crime of speaking the Unspeakable Word.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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