I let the story sit with me for a few days; not wanting to jump to any conclusions or assumptions. What’s that expression I’ve heard Jake use a few times? It’s best not to assume, because that makes an arse . . . sorry, rather that makes an “ass” out of you and me. First time he told me that it went right over my head like a concord going from London to New York in record time. Then he explained it a few times and it still meant gobbledygook to me. And then he wrote it down and finally the penny dropped.

There’s a lot going on in this Ostium Saga; a bloody lot; on many different levels. What with the person being sent from here through an Ostium door back to the eleventh century. And how it was the time and place they’d dreamed of most of their life and they were finally there. And then to get screwed over by the Ostium Network, which should come as a surprise to no one as they tend to specialize in that; and getting stuck there in that time and place very permanently. And what they did to try and get themselves out. I asked Zhang if they had ever heard or come across any data where a person had tried to contact the Ostium Network from the eleventh century, but they said they had no record of anything like that. 

And then there was the discovery of that slim volume, which is the next Ostium Saga that I’m just aching to read, but I’m making myself not do. Not until we put this first Ostium Saga completely to bed. And then if we take a step back and have a look at the bigger picture which is the Conclave, a secret group that has apparently existed for millennia, and one of their duties, so they decided, is to collect stories of people lost in time who all talk about a place called Ostium. It would all seem barmy if I weren’t currently living in the very place all these people used to call home. The Conclave has no idea what Ostium or the Ostium Network is, other than what they have been able to divine through the Ostium Sagas.

And then lets take one last step back and acknowledge the elephant who seems very partial to all things Ostium in the room with the Ostium door, and talk about why all these unique and incredible documents and chronicles and books keep being discovered in old abandoned, ruined churches? What’s going on there exactly? The mind boggles. Makes me want to start checking every old church I come across and with my trusty spade, start digging lots of holes everywhere, just in case, you know?

Did the Conclave know something about this? Some intrinsic link that we haven’t been made privy to yet, and that’s why the Ostium Sagas book was found buried in a church? Maybe it’s just one of those mysteries we’ll never find an answer to. At least that’s not likely in this book. Which is why these Recorder’s Endnotes are not just going to be me rehashing the amazing things I just read and you just listened to, dear listener. No. I’m going to see what I can find out about everything involved in the first Ostium Saga by doing some deep and heavy research.  

[PAUSE]

Okay, update, it’s been a week of me metaphorically ransacking the internet once more for any snippets or clues or shreds of evidence related to this saga and I’ll be perfectly honest: so far I haven’t found much. I will say I’ve learned a ridiculous amount of history about the Battle of Hastings and just general medieval life in the eleventh century, and I’ve to hand it to this bloke, the fact that he was able to ha an enjoyable and fruitful life; to raise a family with grandchildren, and to seemingly pass away from old age with an apparent smile on this face. Even if he did get the Ostium Network branded vaccine cocktail to protect him from all the illnesses and viruses of the time. I mean, I’m almost jealous of the guy. Considering there was only a very poor excuse for medicine available, and the concept of hygiene and cleanliness hadn’t really been invented yet. Obviously a lot of that is blown out of proportion, especially for the big budget Hollywood films, and there were lots and lots of people who lived to ripe old ages, and they were all called witches and bruins at the stake or tossed into the river . . . nah, only kidding. Nevertheless, as bad as things had gone for him, in the end it all turned out pretty good, as he firmly attests to in his chronicle.

After too many days of mind numbing research, or I suppose “attempted” mind numbing research, as I hadn’t really found anything of substance or what I would deem useful and worthy of being mentioned in this Recorder’s Endnote, and just as I was about to say sod it and call it a day, and move on to the next Ostium Saga, I found something. A little something . . . a digital thread if you will that I could have easily said would turn out to be a big bloody waste of time and not bothered, but I chose to keep going, perhaps because I’d discovered so little, or perhaps because this was something waiting to be found by the likes of me, or perhaps even this was Ostium and the Ostium Network working its influence on me and the reality around me, as it has done to all of us on numerous occasions before. 

And now as I record these notes some weeks later, I am starting to wonder if this digital thread I plucked that led to a real person, who has revealed himself to be a curmudgeonly college professor may in fact be, secret, yes, oh so very secretly, an alive and well member of the Conclave.

This was the first of the Ostium Sagas I was granted access to read by the Conclave. It had already been translated some time before, that is except for the part in a language that no one was able to interpret. I had only been with the Conclave a few years at that point and while I had seen much and been exposed to plenty that tested the very limits of not just my reality but also my imagination, I still had issues with this chronicle. Too many questions, perhaps; nevertheless, after my initial reading it felt like a tale that had been confabulated; that could not possibly be true. That was the work of fiction; a very good work of fiction I might add. There have been plenty of works of the fantastic throughout our times: Beowulf, the Divine Comedy, and I need not get into the works of the Greek Homer with his marvelous Odyssey. There was simply too much going on; too many directions taken; too many different elements at play. I was told by some of my fellow Conclave members that did not all those points make the tale that more possibly real? Why would someone make up such a story? For what purpose? And then it was explained to me that the accompanying document referred to as the “slim volume” in the chronicle had been found with this Ostium Saga and what the person had written that was verifiable with sources and evidence had been done so. It did seem that a number of points and inferences made by the chronicler were in fact true. Therefore, was it not at least conceivable that the entire story, on some level, may also be true? It was then, with all this mounting evidence, that my mind began to be changed. It was then that I felt an excitement build, a frisson of possibilities. Here was something I could focus on; dedicate myself to. Immerse myself in and learn all I could, and record it for others to read and learn from. And, thus, in a way I began my own Ostium Saga, that concluded with the completion of this book you now hold in your hands, reader of the Conclave. But let us not get ahead of ourselves. 

This first chronicle of the Ostium Sagas was recorded by a member of the Conclave in the year 1122. Word of it was discovered at an inn one night when a man, after some mugs of ale, was recounting some stories of his grandfather. And one of those stories involved the grandfather’s wife, who had died some time ago at that point, saying that once, long, long ago she had been tasked with the burial of a special book wrapped in numerous animal skins upon a certain person’s death. She knew nothing of what the book consisted of, and neither did the grandfather. All that was really known was that the item was buried underground within the ruins of an old church located somewhere within the realms of the town of Hesta.

The member of the Conclave who overheard this conversation from a nearby table – as this is how some of the Conclave are trained: to mind their own business while having a drink, but always keeping their ears and eyes as open as possible. In that way many secrets can become known without anyone being the wiser that they have been discretely overheard.

The Conclave member wasted no time, as that is his prerogative. Tempus fugit and all that. But also he was unsure who else may have heard the stories being shared that night in the inn over too much ale and mead. A few days later he reached Hesta and began asking a few people, quietly and clandestinely, whether they knew of the ruins of an old church in the surrounding countryside? The third person provided him with an approximate location, which was good because he could not talk to more than three people without arousing suspicion in the town, being a newcomer and all. He promptly left in search of the church which he found that day as the sun was setting. With shovel in hand, he entered the church, choosing to go deep within in search of a likely place to dig, and as we know, this was to his favor. On the third digging attempt he found the animal skins which contained the chronicle and the slim volume. Not wanting to dally for he suspected there might be others coming to search, he filled in the hole to cover the evidence of his digging and quickly slipped away into the night. Very briefly he returned to Hesta to rest and heard of those who were to go in search of the old church the following morning. The next day, as those men went in search of riches in a fruitless journey, our men left to rejoin the Conclave at a hidden location. And then began the studying of the chronicle and the enigmatic slim volume. And it served as the genesis to the Ostium Sagas, which would not be collected together until a half millennium late as is my task now.

I have been informed now by the Conclave that this volume is to also serve as a history and informational treatise on the Conclave, and to provide details where possible, which I shall endeavor to do so in future endnotes. 

For now, dear reader, let this serve as the first of many endnotes, as we dive deep into these Ostium Sagas, and into the beautiful mystery that is the Conclave. 

The next Ostium Saga, as I have already indicated, will consist in its entirety the slim volume diligently copied in its unknown and curious language.

RECORDER’S NOTE:

I know I keep saying wow a lot, but seriously, wow. All these incredible texts keep being discovered in old ruined churches from all different time periods. The mind boggles. I know, especially during medieval times, churches were the last suppositories of information and books and texts, but still. With all of them being hidden and then found, it’s kind of uncanny. Or perhaps, and I might even say more likely, there’s something else going on here connecting all this together. Whether we get any of those answers from the author or the Conclave, or perhaps through my own research I’ll be conducting remains to be seen. 

I felt that the best three words that sum this all up are: the plot thickens!

SAGA CONTINUES:

I kept that slim volume secret from my family and my friends; my life. And each time the traveling market came around, would peruse the stalls in search of any parchments or books. I would look first for any stalls where there was a monk or any member of the clergy, but alas, this did not occur for some years, and then all the texts they had were of the mundane religious variety. I would search all the other market stalls for the written word and was usually disappointed. Some did have a parchment or two, and one or two even had a book, but nothing of interest to me. This went on for some fifteen years and I did my best not to let it affect me that much, even if deep down inside it did. I still kept my secret from everyone and was never questioned by my wife or children who had big families of their own now, which I was eternally grateful for. To even try to explain why I was so obsessive about this would not have been good for anyone.  

But as that fifteenth year of searching came to a close, I finally admitted to myself that I never would find anything like that slim volume again, and that was going to be alright. I had kept it in very good condition, and about once a year would read it cover to cover. And while I would still continue looking and searching, for I had come to quite enjoy the activity of perusing the market now, even if I had to walk slower and it took me a greater number of days to search every stall due to my age, I had come to realize it was time to do something else: it was time to create my own chronicle. With my advancing years, the chances of an accident befalling me increased almost daily. And while I still felt relatively healthy, I knew my body could suddenly decide to stop working without warning and that would be the end of it all.

So that is what I have been working on these last many months. My family has asked me what I am writing, and I say it is a private collection of my thoughts and philosophies on the life I have lived and what I believe happens to us when we die and pass on into the afterlife. They have of course asked to read it, but I have repeated, adamantly, no. It is a private journal for my eyes only. I have also said they would not enjoy anything I have to say within these pages, and should just put the whole idea out of their heads. Nevertheless, since I have told them, I keep my chronicle on my person at all times to be safe. 

As I look back on it now, I feel both incredibly fortunate and happy with the long life I have been able to enjoy. I have gotten to spend it with my lovely wife as we have grown old. I have been able to enjoy raising children and seeing them grow to adulthood and have children of their own. There is even a great grandchild on the way now. Although I am unsure if I shall live long enough to see the child born. 

So I supposed I should come up with some fitting way to end this chronicle?

It has been many decades now since my life completely changed and was put on a new trajectory that I never could have predicted, but as I have said within these pages before, it has taken me somewhere I’ve wanted to go since I was a child and I have gotten to enjoy an entire lifetime here. I will not say that I forgive the Ostium Network for what was done to me. One could even say it was some sort of tragic accident. But no. With the existence of that other tale from the future, I know what happened to me was an orchestrated event. But I have reached my peace with what befell me. In fact, I reached it long ago and in so doing have very much enjoyed my life because of it.

I have left instructions with a close friend and paid her handsomely for it to package this chronicle and the slim volume together in many layers of animal skin, tied very tight. And a week after my death to bury it in the ruins of the church where the door was supposed to take me back to Ostium.

And to whomever is reading these words right now, I thank you for making it all the way through my entire chronicle. And if by chance you are looking to help in some way, to stop the Ostium Network from treating us as necessary sacrifices, like so much unwanted garbage, then thank you all the more, and I hope that my chronicle was in some way helpful, and i pray you also have the slim volume of the other stranded time traveler.

And as I bring this chronicle to a close, I bid you godspeed, and urge you not to feel sad for my ending. I had a good life and while I had expected things to happen differently, looking back on it now, in full and complete honesty, I would not change any of it.

It has been a very good life, and I am ready for it to come to a close.

As I said, it was a slim volume and would be incomprehensible to most, unless they knew the code to read it. This was part of the training we had all experienced at the Ostium Network. 

RECORDER’S NOTE:

Erm, yeah. I didn’t get that bloody training. And I’m pretty sure mum didn’t either. Would’ve been pretty handy. At least I have Zhang to help. Okay. That’s all.

SAGA CONTINUED:

I devoured it in an hour or so. I was planning on recounting the story here, in my chronicle, but instead have decided to keep the volume together with this work of mine, as they both relate strongly to each other. All I will say for now is that I am not the only one who has been screwed over by the Ostium Network and left in whatever time and place they were visiting to fend for themselves and most likely die. Also the most startling thing about the story in this volume, other than the actual book binding being from the future, is the fact that the story of the person traveling through an Ostium door is not taken to a time before my own time here and now, in the eleventh century, but much farther in the future. Specifically the year 1666. A most auspicious year when there was something known as the Great Fire of London taking place.

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

As you will learn in my Author’s Endnote to this saga, the slim volume talked about was found along with this accompanying chronicle and served as the true genesis for the OStium Sagas: two disparate tales from different times that were inextricably linked together, even if the COnclave does not full know or understand how. Suffice to say the saga after this one will be that slim volume that is talked about. It is reproduced in this volume in its entirety, word for word, even if little to nothing is understood about it. As with this chronicler’s enigmatic note, it is added to the OStium Sagas with the hope that one day we will have one or more members of the Conclave who will be able to not only understand it, but more importantly, translate it so that all in the Conclave at that time will finally understand it, and to use it as a tool for future generations of the Conclave.

RECORDER’S NOTE:

Holy shit. That’s all I’m going to say for now: just holy shit.

SAGA CONTINUES:

Even though it had now been decades since I had been abandoned by the Ostium Network, as I’ve said, I created a life for myself. I became part of a family. But at the same time there was still a part of me that felt distant. Different. Like it did not belong. And that feeling has never left me, as much as I have wanted it to. 

But now, reading this other story, of another person, in a very different time from mine who went through the same thing. I won’t say it gives me hope, because that would not be true. But knowing there are others, maybe someone at some time tried to stop them. To change things. This is why I write this chronicle now as I reach my elder years and feel death starting to rear its ugly head and take notice of me. 

But my time is not quite over yet.

The next day I returned to the market looking for the monk and his rickety stall once again, and felt dread descend upon me when I could not find him. But then I did: he was simply in a different location to yesterday. I approached him and asked him about the book. He seemed amused that I should have an interest in words that were complete nonsense, unless I actually understood them? He asked. No, I said, as you say, it is complete gibberish, and yet it still holds a fascination for me, that someone wrote these words that seem to have no meaning. What was their intent? Why did they do it?

The monk had no idea and clearly wanted me gone. I asked where the volume had been found, and he said in a hidden space in the priory that one of the other monks had accidentally discovered it one day. He wasn’t even sure why the small book had been added with the rest of the items for sale. And that’s where he stopped, perhaps wondering if he had said too much; worrying that he may change my mind and I might want to return the book. To quickly put his mind at ease, I asked him if any other volumes of this kind had ever been found. He humored me with this last question and said no. And that was the end of it. I went on my way, never to see him again.

As the market ended and the sellers and barriers took down their stalls and went on towards the next town, I thought about what the monk had told me. About where the book had been found. This familiarity to my own situation was not lost on me. So much so that as soon as I had the time, I went back up to the ruined church to where a door was supposed to take me back to Ostium but did not. I studied the ground where I had buried the note all those years ago that had done nothing, to see if it had been tampered with. It looked just as I had left it many years before: undisturbed. But when I dug down in search of the parchment I had buried there, I was unable to find it. I dug and searched for hours, all to no avail. No one could have taken it. As I said, I made sure it looked just as before, with the specific arrangement of stones and rocks upon it. For all intents and purposes. It appeared the message I had left for those at the Ostium Network had simply disappeared. 

Unavoidably, I felt a chill run down my back at that moment in time, just as I feel another run down my gnarled spine at this moment, as I write these words.

I went back to my town and my wife and my family and never returned to the ruins of the church again.