Lost and Found -- The Forbidden World Chronicles ~ Puzzle Pieces

 

To onlookers and acquaintances she was merely moving from the large house, deeded over to her as a result of the divorce, into a smaller rental where she would now pay a much higher rent.  Leaving only a few knowing her ex-'s name had never been removed from the deed; that she had been handed a fake, and he had just forced her off a less-than-prime piece of real estate.

 

To Perrie Stevens, she was being forcibly relocated, for all intents and purposes, from a large and desolate prison cell into a much smaller one. And one that she found as equally-uninviting.  It was also too close, by her newly-guarded measure of comfort, to those who live quite well due to the substantial compensation amassed; for the services they’d rendered over the years.  For their orchestrated manipulation of her every single naïve move. 

 

From the moment of her delivery into their parentage, Perrie’s every action was intensely scrutinized; with end-results carefully considered to insure their continued control.  This, of a child they would forever have to pretend was their own.  Throughout her childhood, her every thought and belief was tempered to the will of those paying for and profiting by the overall deception.  That all changed once she was handed off into the arranged marriage that ended, only of recent, after years of a long and dramatically drawn-out divorce.

 

Once Perrie opened herself to the harsh realization of her Awakening, she recognized those around her for what they were.  As she fleshed out the many lies that surrounded her, she quietly watched with her own great interest as they lost their respective control.  The one thing none could ever really do--- was break her will.  Perrie’s spirit had remained always her own.  Always the ancient truth they contrived to keep hidden; even from her. Especially from her.

 

The eviction notice to move came as a complete surprise and was meant to catch Perrie off her guard.  She’d been given only a matter of days to get everything packed and to vacate the premises.  It appeared her ex- had won again.

 

In haste she managed to pack those things that meant the most to her and got it all moved to the all-too-conveniently empty house; right next door to those whom had seemingly loved and raised her.

It was mid-Summer, and the day of the move sweltered in heat.  Once all the furniture and boxes where in their respective new rooms, and her family and hired movers gone, Perrie locked the doors, wanting nothing more than to be alone.

 

She walked through the maze boxes, down the long hall and into the Master Bedroom.  She pulled at the twin mattress, leaning against the wall, and let if fall to the floor.  Completely exhausted, Perrie searched for the sheets and quilts.  All she wanted was to make up a temporary bed for the night. She would grapple with setting up a new household in the morning. 

 

The following afternoon Perrie sat, prioritizing and mapping out which of the rooms she would take on first.  As she rose from the couch to go brew a pot of tea, a sudden fear rippled up her spine and through her entirety.  Then came an overwhelming realization—with a rather shamed clarity—that she hadn’t given a very small and uniquely gifted item, even the first of her thoughts during the frantic pack to move. 

 

Perrie's heart beat fierce and rapid as she tried to think where it was the last time she had seen it.   Aside from actually having been years, the day she brought it  home, and the last of which was the night she wore it, both were as clear a memory as if it had been the weekend past. But then, there has been much to keep her well-distracted.

 

'Think, think, think--- ' Perrie stressed.  'The most logical place to look first … if I even packed it at all … would be …'

                          

With her heart still unsettled, she made her way to the back of the house; to the bedroom she had designated all her office and studio-related items.  The room was stacked three and four boxes high throughout and there was little room to maneuver. Perrie had absolutely no idea where to begin her search. She stood immobilized, Frozen in place.  Paralyzed by the thought of losing something so extraordinary, so other-worldly and out-of-time. 

 

Then, almost as sudden as the fear in her rose, Perrie was Touched and soothed by a lost mother's voice, 'Its purpose has been served, My Daughter.'

 

Perrie closed her eyes.  After drawing in a long deep, she exhaled and allowed herself to be Absorbed.

 

'The bead did what was intended of it to do.' Annessau declared.  'Calm yourself.'  Her ancient voice stressed.  'No-o-o-o p-a-a-a-i-n."

 

The words echoed through her.  As her shoulders fell hard and relaxed, Perrie let Annessau envelop and console her.

 

www.junipermountain.net

'Irryilay...' Perrie VoiceThought the name softly.

 

She had been gifted his memory during the early days of her Awakening; but-- was left to remember his name on her own.  She remembered only once she knew it would be of a musical quality. 

 

'Irryilay...' she called again.

 

Not that he would answer. He was gone to her now. Destroyed for the selfish purposes of capturing, that which Dellasseea N’Syis so loved, and reseeding in the Past of a world long-declared Forbidden.  Done with the intension of pacifying her; of pushing her toward accepting a  dark compromise lain before her.  

 

And now, she lives imprisoned and all that remains of Irryilay is…

 

It was only upon returning from a buying trip—meant to build on her artisan and beading inventory—that Perrie sat in her studio and opened one of the little plastic zip bags, and let fall in her hand a beautifully hand-carved horn bead.

  

As she rolled it around between finger tips, letting the light catch at the natural textures Perrie marveled at the grey-brown and ivory swirls of satin-like sheen, unexpected emotions emerged and tears began to well.

 

Her eyes widened and remained fixed upon the bead.  Independent of the feelings overtaking her, her fingers stiffened and slowly began to fold over and sheath it.  No longer focused on the bead itself distorted shadows veiled her vision. Perrie pulled her now fisted hand to her heart as a long-forgotten meadow came into view; just behind her eyes.

 

She could see Irryilay's herd foraging for sustenance while he stood watch on the rise. She felt the approaching doom sweep down upon the unsuspecting.  Perrie heard bow strings release and the whirl of their arrows through the air. And she flinched when she heard the mortal cries of targets being met.

 

Perrie could hear the war-cries of the aggressors, Irryilay's frightful bugle and the nets thrown to ensnare him. She could see the steam of his labored breath billow in the air as he was felled and removed of his great horns. She watched the crimson blood pulse thru his wounds to flow and mingle with the trodden grasses and earth.  

 

Perrie felt the tears roll down her face as the vision began to fade and her fist tightened when she felt the last erratic beats of a now long-dead heart.

 

With the realization of her own shallow breath, Perrie knew that she possessed all that remained of a creature with whom she once walked.  Whose many offspring she had cradled in her arms.  The lord of the great Wapiti herds was laid to such waste so as to capture and steal away the few that would be seeded deep within a forbidden world’s past. All in order to appear as having been here all the while.  Done with the knowing the species had been one of her favorites of the Old One's creations.  An elaborate attempt meant to keep her true self happy.

But now, she had absolutely no idea of this wondrous miracle's whereabouts. Only but a handful of the most powerful, knew its true being and worth. What it meant in the grander scheme of things. Those few who know the future was predictable only because it already happened and is currently being relived. The same who fought to keep the one small bead from being strategically placed in a warehouse of countless others, to be found by the one woman who needed to find it, in the hope it would help her to remember her past. And the reason she is now imprisoned. 

The woman who now stands fearful of having lost such an unknown treasure and is once again guided to find it. How ironic. Something that couldn't possibly exist, a thing come from a world unknown to this one, is now lost.

 

'It is here, My Daughter.' Annessau VoiceThought. 'M-o-v-e y-o-u-r-s-e-l-f.'

 

Perrie wiped her cheeks dry and opened her eyes to slowly survey the room. It was merely a matter of deduction.  She simply had to find the box that contained her earlier designs.

 

After a number of boxes were lifted, shifted and opened, Perrie found the white flat oblong gift box.  As she pulled the textured jewelry box free of the moving crate, she heaved a great and heavy sigh of relief. A sense of euphoria coursed through as she removed the lid and folded back the layers of faded tissue paper.  Before her nestled the hand dyed handspun raw silk stranded necklace she'd designed around Irryilay's horn bead. As she pulled it free of its trapping, Perrie took another deep breath and pulled it close to her heart.

 

‘Served its purpose though it may ...’                           

 

It is not a thing she is willing to lose; this treasure from another time and place. A window to a fractured memory. She guards its existence well.  A possession that remains with her to this day; that awaits its return journey home.

 

NOTE: See the Companion Piece: Lord of the Herd Sires

Blessings, LL Abbott
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Excerpted storyline from The Bead [WIP]

Caged Heart--The Last Heartbound / The Forbidden World Chronicles ~L.L. Abbott
Copyright 2015 All Rights Reserved -- Current Draft

Current Draft -- In its Entirety

I forgot about this page.  Click the image above and you will find the prologue in its entirety.

Blessings, Laura

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I Write Like -- Analyzer

I write like
Arthur Clarke

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

Blessings, Laura

Part One ~ The Awakening -- Another Snippet

He waits
alone and encaged
in a flesh not his own

Waiting
to be Touched
and hear his name VoiceThought

from Within

~Journal Entry: Dellaseea N'Syis
~Date: Third Era -- The Awakening Years
~Displacement: Second

 

Comments and/or Questions are welcome.

______________________________________________

Blessings, LL Abbott

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Caged Heart--The Last Heartbound / The Forbidden World Chronicles ~L.L. Abbott
Copyright 2013 All Rights Reserved -- Current Draft

 

Contemplation and Old Wounds

Never mind the reason.  But a Dream died years ago.  I put it to rest.  I packed it up in boxes and placed them in darkened places.  A closet. Under the bed. In a hutch drawer [which hasn't been opened in years], and then I mourned.  I mourned its passing into obscurity because it had consumed so many years and waking hours of my life.

Handwritten notes.  A manual typewriter. An electronic word processor; with Spellcheck.  And then came the advent of computers.  There are file folders and notebooks.  Index cards and floppy disks. CDs-- all brimming with visions of a grand story of Love and Contempt. Bargains and Death. Past, Present, and Future.

I was determined.  Stubborn. And relentless.  And then seemingly overnight-- it was all for naught. The wound of my decision ran deep.  Tears flowed. Wounds scabbed and time passed. And the fading glimmer of a once ever-present Dream soon gave way to other creative endeavors and concerns of Life.

It saw a brief revival.  But all too soon the shadow of its former self fell victim to nagging notions of relevancy and, "Why bother?"  And during the last two year's worth of concerted Spring Cleans, there were more boxes and even darker places of a more permanent storage.  Its final rest assured.

And then last week, I scrolled upon an innocent post on Facebook.  

To which I immediately replied, "I did once---- Now it all has taken a back seat." 

A subsequent PM conversation ensued, and ever since, my mind has been all a dither with the possibilities.  What I couldn't have fathomed though, that following afternoon, was the rush of pain [and tears] that followed as I gave credence to a Facebook Friend's words of encouragement.  The wound itself may well have healed.  But the emotions behind its cause was ever as strong.  

So here I am, once again, contemplating whether my storyline has relevance. Am I up to the challenge of seeing it to fruition?  Am I capable of readdressing its full intent. It's more than a handful, and means a huge refocus on my part.  And I've found a peaceable contentment in my current endeavors.  

And then I scrolled upon another picture quote this morning.  This Facebook Friend asked, "What dream(s) are  you working on?"  Mine? Has, for all intent and purpose, long been no more.  It's Awakening is fragile at best.  And it struggles to see the light of day.  Yet evidence of its existence grows. There is energy to its cause. But I struggle with my own resolve. Or would it be better stated as Fear? 

It was no easy decision to see such a dream to its rest.  Yet neither was it easy to pique a new-found interest.  I've shed new tears over the recent days, and wrung my hands with concern.  There is much to consider.

And then, as Fate might have it, my eyes rested upon one more quote; giving credence to my strife. The Forbidden World Chronicles was a Dream that consumed a huge portion of my life.  I can honestly say, it nourished my soul.  But is its time long passed?  Or still yet to come?

Much to think on. 

Blessings, Laura

Prologue One -- A Snippet

Prologue One [Current Draft]

The Traverse compound buzzed with activity. Members of the band’s road crew meandered in and out of the main house carrying equipment, instruments, and luggage to the caravan of trucks and buses parked out front. The clang of steel, squeaky wheels, jovial laughter and an expletive or three permeated the air. The band’s long-awaited Caged Heart compilation hit the stores only last week and they were readying to set out on their West Sector tour, ending a lengthy hiatus shrouded in mystery and debate.

Upstairs in her apartment, Perrie Stevens packed the last of her own travel needs. Two of the band's roadies entered the sitting room as she folded a couple of camisoles and placed them in a carryall. One slid a trolley under the steamer trunk while the other picked up the heavier luggage. “Anything else?” a disembodied voice, in EastSector brogue, called into the bedroom.

“One more trip.” Perrie answered.

“Bus or truck?”

“Bus.” she called back.

Perrie ignored the rant that ensued, but cringed when she heard the crack of wood against the doorframe as they made their way out into the corridor. The only equipment marked, ‘Handle With Care!’ the one she’d taken the most time and care to pack, already tested her fortitude. Despite the irritation, Perrie held her tongue. She wasn’t in the mood for their, ‘Suck it up and deal with it’ banter. Instead, she walked the carryall and a garment bag over and set them down just outside her bedroom door. On her way back to the dressing table, Perrie looked around to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything.

She stopped at the bed when the little brown tiger-striped cat, lying on the ivory brocade comforter folded-down at the footboard, called out for attention.

"I know, my dearest Queenie.  It is much too noisy around here today."

Perrie had leaned over to rub Queenie’s cheeks. But when stopped, seemingly all too soon, the petite feline trilled melodically. As Perrie bent to sit on her heels, Queenie stretched her lithe neck. Her long black whiskers lurched forward and each met the other nose to nose. Perrie couldn’t help but smile as Queenie’s equally long and swoopy eyelashes tickled her face. Queenie’s task as protector and constant companion during her sojourn here had now ended.

“I will miss you little one.” Perrie whispered.

The purring grew more audible as Perrie cupped her hand over Queenie’s delicate face, ran it down her back and along her silky plume of a tail. Reluctantly, Perrie then rose to resume her packing. With whiskers drawn back to the sides of her face, Queenie laid her head down between her forepaws in a solemn resolve.

Perrie gathered and deposited the last of her hand baggage by the door. As she turned one last time, Perrie surveyed the room’s lush surroundings. After her release from the hospital, band members moved her into this suite to convalesce. Perrie would miss the comfort and security the compound had afforded her. And joining Traverse on tour meant a loss of the most precious to her of all gifts, privacy

Prior to her arrival, though they’d known each other only from Within, Traverse’s Frontman—a man who bore a striking resemblance to her former husband—kept the suite in a constant state of waiting and specific to Perrie’s known tastes and interests. In a premeditated anticipation of her needs, the entire apartment—which included a design studio and the mysterious White Room where she wrote the forthcoming novel, The Last Heartbound—had been decorated in period antiques.

Furnished with ornate walnut and burl wood furniture, the bedroom had been dressed in lavish  lace, crocheted, and heirloom bedclothes. Walls papered in a muted floral print added to the ambiance and warmth of the room, and the verdant boudoir garden brought the outdoors in-- especially   until she recovered enough to walk those of the courtyard below.

‘Dellasseea N’Syis,’ a tranquil voice beckoned from Within

Perrie closed her eyes and lowered her head.  And with her chin angled toward her left shoulder she endeavored to search out the source. But there were so many voices barking commands or raising further questions.  Not to mention the swell of emotions that ebbed and flowed. But no answer to her silent inquiry.

'Too much chaos.' Yet, she continued reason it could not have come from any one downstairs.

At a loss, Perrie went on with the matters at hand and gathered up the last of her more immediate work-related items: a tape recorder; her portable workstation; laptop; and date planner. She slipped each inside their respective pockets of the tapestry portfolio that sat on the bench in front of her dressing table. She hesitated and then reached for her most recent journal. The hand- pressed paper of her own design, bound in sueded leather, recounted the latest of her visions and moments Within.

Before securing it away, Perrie lifted the front cover and removed a neatly folded, yellowed news clipping. Distracted by the warm breeze wafting in through the French doors, Perrie laid the journal back upon the bench and made her way across the room. The tonal ivory and silk embroidered drapery billowed softly and brushed at Perrie’s leg as she walked out onto the balcony. She walked past the white wicker chaise and stopped to rest her hands upon the balustrade.

Swirls of fog lingered in the shadows of the grounds and a hint of salt rose up from the bay. The terra-cotta tile felt cool underfoot as Perrie stood and let the warmth of a new day caress her. Loose wisps of hair fluttered about her face as she stared across a cloudless autumn sky.

Perrie raised her right hand and drew it up her breastbone. Her fingertips traced languorously at a circular indentation; a scar left by a would-be assailant. Nearly a year to the day since the shooting, scars left by the entry wound and the surgical removal of the projectile and fragmented bone was all but hid by the couture, baroque-style bustier of linen and fine lace. Up until this morning, she’d kept them entirely hidden from public view. Today, Perrie chose to wear her scars.

Taken aback by a sudden pang to her chest, Perrie let out a soft grunt. As she closed her eyes and drew a clenched hand, fisted to her heart, Perrie inhaled deep and released a long, hard-drawn breath. In an attempt to refocus on the moment, Perrie exercised her breathing to a slower pace and concentrated on disconnecting from the others; but, given the gravity of their circumstance, her heart remained unsettled.

Truth be known, she didn’t really want to disconnect. It made everything all the more real— And besides, she couldn’t ignore or even be sure how much of her own all-consuming angst factored in to the emotions this particular day fostered. Somewhere throughout the compound, three other Heartbounds engaged in the day’s goings-on and all were feeling exceedingly anxious. The suffering of any one Heartbound increases ten-fold upon the others. On this day it grew in intensity the closer it gets to actually hitting the road.

Upon remembering the warmth that bathed her face, Perrie opened and fixed her eyes—long marked by its fire—to the mid-morning sun. Feeling the heat envelop them, she watched as the sky changed to its truer affect. Something that went unnoticed by the masses, unless they shunned their societal conditioning and looked, eyes wide, upon the sun. The yellow-orange orb radiated into a rosy-pink that spread vast into the outermost atmosphere of brilliant blue. A color combination utilized by the Allied Bands—primarily as cover art and a key piece of the ever-growing puzzle during her Awakening.

......... If you want to read the rest of the Prologue, go to Facebook and "Like" The Forbidden World Chronicles, and then PM me for an Encrypted Copy of the PDF.
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~Dellasseea N'Syis, First-born Daughter of the Primal Elements.
Prisoner of that which is most commonly referred to as The Forbidden World.
Third Era/Third Displacement of Time/The Alone Years.

 

 

Comments and/or Questions are welcome.

______________________________________________

Blessings, LL Abbott

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Caged Heart--The Last Heartbound / The Forbidden World Chronicles ~L.L. Abbott
Copyright 2013 All Rights Reserved -- Current Draft