Desiderium

By W. B. Biggs

How much can a person lose before she is no longer herself?

 

Memories fade, but when they're ripped from your mind, they leave a gaping hole. That empty cavity tugs and threatens to swallow me up; its edges erode away as my mind picks at it like a week-old scab.

 

On a journey to find lost memories, travel to a reality where lost things go: a world of misplaced treasures and things best forgotten. Dangers lurk in the dark, and lost hopes light the way.

 

Welcome to Desiderium.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chaos Forge Press LLC
• Release date: Nov 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223187752

W. B. Biggs

Born on a lonely outpost nestled among the far reaches of the stars, W. B. Biggs grew up searching for cosmic space wizards. Looking for magic, he found it nestled safely between words. His wife and children remind him of the majestic magic that binds all reality together in a complex weave of beauty. He currently resides on an obscure branch of the great tree Yggdrasil which roots burrow deep into the Mississippi soil.

Book preview

Desiderium

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By W. B. Biggs

Copyright

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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Copyright © 2023 Chaos Forge Press LLC

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All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise – without prior written permission of the author, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

Dedication

To God, my family and to those who have experienced loss

Table of Contents

Copyright 

Dedication 

The Realm of Lost Things 

The Hounds 

The Terror in the Night 

Reflection of a Stranger 

Waking into Nightmare 

The Bypass 

The Library of Lost Knowledge 

Down into the Dark 

The Subterranean City of Light 

Passage 

Husks 

The Central Shaft 

Hephaestus’ Forge 

A Mind Reforged 

Scission 

Loss 

Acknowledgments 

Also by W. B. Biggs 

W. B. Biggs 

The Realm of Lost Things

I pressed my hand against my temple, feeling a sharp, throbbing pain emanate from the gaping hole in my mind. My memories, the essence of who I was, were crumbling away under the relentless pull of that expanding void. I allowed my hand to drop, my gaze scanning the vibrant carnival for any sign of a path. Spotting a narrow opening within the bustling crowd, I wasted no time and rushed toward it.

With each long stride, my legs pounded against the earthy path, an unyielding rhythm that echoed through the space between the erected tents. A gentle breeze, tender in its touch, traversed the maze of multicolored fabric, causing the vibrant hues to undulate like a psychedelic tapestry in motion. Driven by an unwavering determination, my stride carried me forward, propelled by the yearning to discover a glimmer of hope amidst the disarray of my crumbling mind.

The symphony of carnival sounds enveloped me, swirling around my senses with a mesmerizing intensity. And there, before me, stood a majestic tent, a towering masterpiece adorned in a riot of rainbow-colored cloth. Its sheer enormity commanded my attention, drawing me toward it as if guided by an unseen force. The sign that adorned the entrance was a true work of art, its words elegantly intertwined and looped in such a way that compelled the eye to trace their path from beginning to end: Zosmos, Fortune Teller and Diviner of Hidden Worlds.

As I approached, the fabric curtain was carefully pulled back, revealing a door into the enigmatic depths of the tent. A cascade of light spilled forth, bathing the ground in a luminous glow akin to spilled milk, both ethereal and captivating. The interior of the tent remained shrouded in a veil of mystery, obscured by the radiant brilliance emanating from within, leaving me tantalized by the secrets that lay hidden in its blinding illumination.

Standing at the threshold of the tent, anticipation coursed through my veins, quickening the rhythm of my heart until its wild palpitations left me feeling lightheaded and faint. My trembling hand reached for my forehead, only to encounter flushed, clammy skin. This tent held the promise of hope, perhaps even salvation, from the afflictions plaguing my mind.

Summoning courage from the depths of my being, I crossed the boundary between the tent and the outside world, leaving behind the fading echoes of the carnival sounds. As the thick fabric fell into place behind me, it created a barrier, shielding the interior from the boisterous excitement and chaotic fervor of the outside world. Within the tent, a gentle flicker of candlelight danced upon a table, casting shifting shadows that painted intricate patterns along the fabric-clad walls. Behind the table, a figure shrouded in a midnight blue robe, adorned with embroidered stars, awaited my arrival. The celestial symbols twinkled and gleamed, evoking a sense of boundless galaxies swirling and moving in bewildering ways. A thick, white beard cascaded from a weathered face, etched with smile lines radiating from the corners of wise, discerning eyes.

Zosmos, the mysterious figure, beckoned me forward, gesturing toward a solitary chair positioned across the table. A magnetic force seemed to emanate from him, drawing me irresistibly across the room, as if guided by an invisible tether. The seat, though rigid and uncomfortable, compelled me to maintain an upright posture, with my undivided attention fixated upon the table before me.

How much? I uttered, my voice barely more than a whisper, fragile and inconsequential, reminiscent of a young girl’s timid timbre. It had been years since I could rightfully claim that title, yet under the penetrating gaze of Zosmos, I found myself stripped of confidence, laid bare and vulnerable as if my very soul were exposed for all to scrutinize.

The price is steep, Zosmos intoned, his voice carrying the weight of wisdom and empathy. But I shall not demand payment from you. Your sorrows, your afflictions, they are genuine and warranted, unlike the sorry lot I am accustomed to encountering.

I’ve lost my name, I confessed, a tinge of desperation enveloped my words.

And much more shall be lost if nothing is done to remedy it, Zosmos acknowledged, his voice laced with solemnity.

In that moment, a flicker of hope ignited within the depths of my being, spreading like a comforting warmth throughout my limbs. Hope, a fragile ember to cling to, but what other choice did I possess? Finally, I had encountered someone who might fathom the depths of my affliction, someone who held the potential to comprehend the true extent of my anguish.

What must I do to rediscover my name? I implored.

Venture to the realm where all lost things gather, Zosmos responded with a tone of certainty. There, amidst that realm, you shall encounter not only your name but also revelations beyond measure.

But where must I go? How can I reach that place? I pressed, my yearning for answers palpable.

For a brief moment, Zosmos’ intense gaze wavered, as if his mind drifted into distant realms. It returned with a sudden snap, refocused upon my eyes.

The journey itself is the simpler part, he revealed, his voice resonating with a newfound urgency. Lose yourself. Step beyond the confines of this tent, into a world teeming with dazzling lights, beguiling distractions and orchestrated chaos. It is a world meticulously crafted for escapism. Surrender yourself to the vastness of the unknown, and in your surrender, you shall embark upon the path of rediscovery. Once you are truly lost, seek the bypass, a hidden passage that will guide you toward the right direction.

Thank you, I said.

Save your thanks for the moment of your return, for the true challenge lies in being found once lost, Zosmos replied, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness. May fortune favor your endeavors.

Standing, I sought for something to say to the grand Zosmos. I could feel the words rolling around on my tongue, but when I opened my mouth, nothing came out. Silence echoed in that dark cavity, so I clamped my mouth shut and looked at the old fortune teller. There was nothing grand about him now. The power and conviction I had felt from him was gone, deflated like a balloon. Now, all I saw was a tired, old man in a faded robe. Should my hopes ride on his words? Did I have any other choice?

I left the tent and stepped out into