"Lost"

Prologue

There is a place in the darkest alleys
lost and abandoned centuries ago,
where it twists and turns and winds so deeply
there’s no hope of finding one’s way to go

Within this unfamiliar Babylon,
this gateway of passages intertwined
if escape should evade you ere the dawn
the urban scape you knew you’ll never find

For once here, when you should turn around
you’ll find your residence far from the city
in a terrene which has yet to be found
by cartographers or those who seek it

To find this place one must be so far lost
that every way to go’s an equal toss

Some have reached this place through labyrinth or forest
others through turbulent storm and rapacious sea
Those who seek this place will have no rest
if they hold knowledge of where they be

Yet search they still for the notorious bridge
which all those lost are said to’ve crossed before,
An arch across neither river nor gorge
whose vanity urges to be explored

On our side of this bridge shall we begin
with the aid of all but dear Urania,
for all leave her might find their way within
the starless land of Reven Erehwè

So Urania, fair muse, be on your way.
In you I invoke neglect for Lost’s prey.


Canto I

It was a day at the cusp of winter
sapped of life and grey with overcast skies.
Late in noon when the cool mist grew thicker,
and the clouds veiling the sun lost their light.

The streets of London had thinned of their crowds
and the alleys left all but abandoned,
Only pigeons still flooded the city in bounds
save a soul present as a wisp of air; disturbing no one

He wore clothes of the darkest shades; heavy
and loose, with a coat reaching past his knees
and fingerless gloves worn frayed and dirty
from countless days of rugged wandering.

His face and build betrayed a man yet young,
though his ageless eyes told a different tale;
so dark with witness to a world of wrongs,
the yellow-green within could not rebel.

This pair gazed far beyond reality,
on a place he’d vowed to never return.
A place where peace is short-lived fantasy
between long years of struggle undeserved.

Lost’s cherished land of broken wings
In his heart he felt her calling him through
dreams lost, and lives lost, of loss in all things
His home forever, an unwelcome truth

But why after years of untroubled thoughts
had his mind once again fallen to dreams?
After all this time condemned and forgot
so ill an omen was the worst of things

These thoughts churned through his mind uneasily
though his step felt nothing of this heaviness
His walk and smile still came naturally
like a commander used to such distress

and to liken him to such might not be
so far off as one might first imagine
for there isn’t much of peace in the stories
of Reven, one known to all in that land

Reven forced his harrowing thoughts from mind
and took a moment to breathe it all in.
Then released it, letting his tightened chest untwine
as he started home where Lost awaited him.

Yet even there was no sanctuary
for she was of the land of Erehwè
and though of her land she recalled nothing
His thoughts were uncured by her amnesia

Only a greater burden did it rest
on a mind already struggling with weight
for how could he tell her of their dark past
and keep her where he knew she would be safe?

Yet how could he lie to her loving face
when she asked him of how things once were?
Struggling to remember that special place
that had only been a shared dream in war?

And how many times could she be convinced
by explanations that could never be?
How should he explain that their home exists
yet hasn’t since the nineteenth century?

How should he explain why she gets no mail?
or phonecalls or visits from friends?
That her parents are in the depths of hell,
with tombstones of fine dust; so long since dead

Best to start before she was known as Lost
but even then she’d known only her name
Seraya Alexandris Aizenghast
the first of Erehwè, or so they say

He’d told her her name, but had said no more
to protect her life he would damn the rest
but as his hand reached for the door
He nailed the cause of his mind’s unrest.

Fury of the Spirits [Novel Excerpt]

Neirus stroked a finger across the strip of bare skin that ran down the center of his expertly trimmed goatee. He was a tall, lean, muscular man pampered and chiseled by luxurious severity. The obnoxiously perfect arrangement of every paper, pen, lamp and book in his ornately furnished office made these two traits abundantly clear to anyone he called in to see him. He also seemed to rather enjoy flaunting how much more cushioning, gilding and craftsmanship his armchair had undergone in comparison to the one on the other side of his desk where his visitor was seated. For that very reason, Rekia always chose to stand. Every word he spoke seemed to seethe with condescension. All she could think about as he drawled was lunging over the desk and hitting him as hard as she could. “Again. After you are finished with him, you must leave that weapon behind. And no matter what you do, you must not undo the wrapping on the hilt. Understood?”
Rekia’s lightning blue eyes glared at him through the stray locks of black hair that partially hid her face. Her lips were tightly crushed into a grimace that openly displayed her agitated boredom at the ignorant prattling she had been forced to endure for several minutes longer than she could stand. “You keep dwelling on the simplest point as if everything else will fall into place perfectly just because you wish it. If Akordin or you had the sense to stage this anywhere else, then that might be my only concern. But as it stands what you’re asking me to do is impossible.” Her hands had a white-knuckled grip on the back of the chair across from his desk as she tried desperately to channel her elevating aggravation and keep her voice calm. Her very presence threatened to light the whole office on fire. “I can’t get within arms reach of an ambassador at an invitations-only dinner catered by personal servants. There’s no way for me to be seen there without being immediately plucked out as an uninvited guest. And there’s no way not to be seen by that many people while still managing to get close enough to put this in his chest.” She motioned with the knife she had been given. “Let alone escape alive after killing him in plain sight of everyone there! Do you even know how many guards he has? Thirty-eight. I know. I counted them myself.” Rekia’s brow lowered. “Or is this merely the Circle’s way of retiring me without getting its own hands dirty? Because if I find out that’s the case, I’m coming after you first.”
Neirus’ eyes sparkled with menacing humor as he spoke. “Even if it were, it changes nothing. Your empty threats mean nothing.” He cradled his chin in one hand as if appraising her as the fingers of his other methodically drummed on his mahogany desk. “Or have you finally freed yourself of your stake in this, Circle’s Child?”
Rekia had been in a dark mood before, but mention of that coiled all her helpless fury deep in her breast until its poison nauseated her. The ire in her defiant glower could have set his hair to ashes, but she remained silent. She would have liked nothing more than to cut out his mouth and use it to spit in his face. She hated with a passion how he, or any other among the Circle’s officers could so easily bring her to rein with so simple a threat. If there was one thing she didn’t need to be reminded of, it was her stake in this. The cost of failure - to her - was far worse than death. And it was a threat that would have her serving the Circle’s every whim for the rest of her life.
Neirus, after a show of waiting for her reply, seized the last word like a trophy as he triumphantly rose and walked past her out of the office. As he passed, she caught the subtle scent of flowers effusing from the dark lengths of his well-kempt hair. Whatever flower it was, he had ruined it for her for life.
Rekia relished in a small fantasy of turning the tables on Neirus with her knife until he screamed for his mother before finally releasing her vice-like grip on the chair and exhaling deeply. She would have done nearly anything to escape the Circle’s grip on her. Nearly. Unfortunately, the Circle knew the one thing she would not do.
And here she was.
Rekia turned to leave when something caught her eye. Neirus had left his keys. She wasn’t sure why that had caused her to hesitate. She wasn’t a thief, and she had no particular interest in anything that belonged to that man. Even so, she felt compelled to take them, if for no other reason then to foil him for being such an ass. She couldn’t help but smirk at how reminiscently childish it was as she picked them up and twirled them around her finger.