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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Design: Gabriel Daemon

A Glimpse Beyond The Veil © January 2011 Gabriel Daemon

eXcessica publishing

A Smashwords Edition

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A Glimpse Beyond The Veil

By Gabriel Daemon

Ten years ago . . . .

Flashlights danced along damp limestone walls, making droplets of moisture glisten like tears from the earth. The aromas of mildew, pollen and the faint stench of some rotting animal all mingled in Kyle's senses as he followed Dr. Keller through the narrow passageway. Their French guide, Yvonne, lingered behind, standing near the rickety old Mercedes which had borne them through the foothills of the Pyrennes. He regarded the two archaeologists wanly as he lit a cigarette. Kyle was not sure if that look was annoyance or boredom.

“Careful where you step, young man,” warned Keller in his gravelly voice. “Rocks everywhere.”

Kyle nodded, although he knew his forward-facing mentor could not see him. “Don't worry, professor.” He panned the flashlight back and forth, noting the numerous loose stones and pebbles that littered the skinny corridor. With each step, it seemed, the air grew at least five degrees cooler, and it had not been a warm day to begin with.

“Tight squeeze here,” Keller commented, and Kyle watched the older man's silhouette ahead of him. The professor chuckled as he slid his chubby stomach through a space obviously intended for much slimmer folk. “I shouldn't have had that second pastry at breakfast.”

“No problem for me,” Kyle announced with a grin, stepping through the same space and barely feeling the scrape of stone through his heavy denim shirt.

Keller glanced back. “Gods, boy, you really need to eat more. You look like one of those ridiculously skinny cologne models.”

Kyle shrugged. “Hey, I ate as much as you did,” he said pointedly. “Sorry I was blessed with such a high metabolism.”

“Well, wait until you're thirty, young man,” Keller grumbled with a knowing smirk.

“I'll let you know in five years, then.”

They continued on, following a steady downward slope. Both slipped now and then upon water-slicked rock, but neither fell; they had been delving into numerous such caves all summer.

“I think I see the chamber, boy!” Keller exclaimed excitedly after only a few more minutes. Kyle thought the way his mentor acted when possible discovery was imminent was amusing; it was as if forty or more years were instantly peeled off, leaving the young boy within the esteemed archaeologist exposed.

“Yay,” drawled Kyle with a roll of his eyes. “Yet more ancient cave paintings and chipped rocks once used as tools. Y--”

He cut himself short as he emerged into a dome-like chamber encased in polished limestone, the walls of which seemed almost professionally worked to a uniform smoothness. Every inch of available wall space was covered in fanciful depictions of various animals and men and other symbols beside. Kyle had never seen anything so intricate at a neolithic site in his life.

“--ay . . . .”

Keller stood with his balled fists at his hips, smiling smugly as he looked all around. His gaze fell upon Kyle. “You were saying?”

“Uh, n-nothing,” Kyle answered, chastened.

The older archaeologist laughed under his breath. “I won't hold it against you, Perrin,” he said in a condescending way, then returned to his appraisal of the painted walls. “There's a mystery here, son. Something to be found. A missing link, perhaps, to borrow from Darwin.” His face soured somewhat. “Even if that hoary old man was wrong.”

Kyle grumbled in mild exasperation. “Yeah, a million scientists can't be right,” he said off-handedly.

Keller turned to face his student, face grim and patronizing, like that of a disappointed father. “Science is--”

“'Science is a religion, not an absolute,'” Kyle interrupted. “'It requires faith, and like any religion, you must believe to seek the truth.'” He gave Keller a tired look. “So you've told me a hundred times.”

“Yet you still don't believe it,” he snipped.

Kyle looked apologetic. “Professor, you know I hold you in the highest regard. I've been blacklisted from half the research one institutes in the country because I follow you. It's just . . . .”

“It's hard to go against the establishment,” Keller finished, and smiled reassuringly. “Trust me, I know. And the difficult thing is that I can't promise you I'm right. We both have to be prepared for the possibility that I might be as delusional as all my critics claim.”

“But you don't think so.”

Keller winked. “Of course not,” he barked. “I'm as sure of myself as Jesus Christ.”

“Please, let's not get started on that again,” Kyle bemoaned.

The older professor laughed and shook his head. “No, we'll have that discussion over a bottle of cheap house wine at the hotel. For now . . . .” he returned his attention to the walls and unshouldered his leather pack. “For now, we look for that elusive missing piece of the puzzle . . . .”

* * * *

With brushes and tiny picks, under the radiance provided by a Coleman lantern, Kyle helped his mentor survey the cave paintings which dated back nearly a dozen millennia. They were far more intricate than those discovered in other French caves. But then, Kyle mused, they were about four thousand years younger than the art found near Lascaux.

“It's clearly a story,” Keller announced, standing within the middle of the cave and reading the paintings like a great panoramic picture. “See there, it begins with the gods, or perhaps god-like beings . . . maybe the leaders of the Great Civilization. Then a scene of destruction. Earth turned to water, sky to fire. Man and beast and bird perish, leaving only a few to survive. A realization of the loss of knowledge . . . a return to savagery. Man becomes beast. This is a story, Kyle. A litany of woe. These people understood that something great had been lost. I can only imagine the sense of collective sorrow.”

“Or maybe relief,” Kyle offered, gaining the professor's instant attention. He read the older man's scornful look and continued, indicating a section of the painted wall beside him. “Well, look at this. Several figures standing around another, who looks like he's been stabbed to death with spears. Looks like he has the same basic headdress of the god-like figures. Then three faces with closed eyes and mouths. It's almost like, 'we killed him, and we're not going to say why.'”

Keller frowned, then approached the painted figures Kyle indicated. “Hmm. Perhaps. If there was some effort made to suppress what had once been known, there must have been a reason. Fear, perhaps?”

Kyle shrugged. “You've always been adamant about the cycle of civilization,” he said. “How it forms, advances, reaches a pinnacle of some sort, then is destroyed by some kind of cataclysm. Maybe the survivors of the last cataclysm wanted to make sure it never happened again. And to do that--”

“They would suppress all knowledge of what had existed before,” finished Keller thoughtfully. “You may have something there, Kyle.”

The recently-graduated doctor beamed. “Really?”

Keller nodded, eyes darting along the walls. “Indeed. In fact, looking upon all this with that idea in mind, this seems less like a hall of records and more like . . . a warning. 'Do not tread the path taken before, for it leads only to destruction.'”

“We should get the camera, take pictures of these paintings while we can. We only have--” Kyle checked his watch. “--another fifteen minutes.”

Keller nodded. “Yes, you're right.”

Eagerly, Kyle stepped to the two heavy leather satchels that lay beside the entrance to the domed room. As he knelt, opening one of the flaps, he heard scraping sounds from within the tunnel to the surface. Sounds very similar to that of booted feet upon slick rock. He stiffened immediately.

“Hello?”

His voice echoed both in the room and through the rough-hewn corridor. A single rock cracked and clattered down the slope toward him, finally coming to rest just within the radiance of the light.

“Someone there, Kyle?” Keller asked from behind him.

Hairs prickling the back of his neck, Kyle looked over his shoulder. “Could just have been a mountain goat or something.”

“But you don't think so.”

Kyle looked nervous. “Can't say I'm as sure of myself as Jesus Christ,” he said.

Abruptly, the ground shook, accompanying a distant sound like a brief grunt of muffled thunder, and dust rained from the ceiling. Kyle maintained his position on his knees, but Keller stumbled back, falling against the wall.

“What the hell was that!” cried Kyle, wincing as dust fell into his eyes.

The earth beneath Keller rolled and listed like a ship upon the English Channel in winter. “Must be an earthquake!” yelled Keller as he struggled to take to his feet.

“In France?”

“Get the bags, boy!” commanded the older scientist, managing to get onto his hands and knees. “I'm right behind you!”

“Right!” Gathering the straps of both satchels in his right hand, Kyle lurched through the narrow opening, slipping upon wet rock and clutching in the dark for any handhold he could find. All around him, the tunnel seemed to writhe back and forth, as if he was trying to climb up through the hungry gullet of a serpent. Pieces of stone pelted him, some large enough to make him grunt or gasp in pain. But still he continued, encouraged by the faint glow of daylight ahead and above.

Almost there, he thought desperately, clamoring over rocks which threatened to cut him down like bowling pins.

“Kyle!”

He stopped instantly, whirling around, trying to look back down the darkened tunnel. His senses caught a hint of something acrid, like sulfur, though his brain did not register it at the time. His attention was focused upon the fate of his mentor, the man who had all but been his father for the previous few years. “Professor!”

“Keep going, boy!” came Keller's pained voice. “If you come back, we'll both die!”

“I can't leave you, Max!” cried Kyle, hurling the two satchels toward the entrance of the cave. “I'm coming back!”

“Damn it, Kyle! Get your ass--”

But Professor Keller's statement would never be finished. Another, more loud and distinct raucous exploded around Kyle, making the world flip on its side. The narrow walls closed in on him amid a flurry of deadly debris. He was pummeled back against cold, clammy limestone, forced to close his eyes and mouth against a spray of rock and dirt. And then came the unbelievable pain, lancing through his right arm, as if someone had taken a mallet fresh from Vulcan's own forge and swung it against the limb.

His own scream of anguish was the last thing he heard.

Chapter One

Now

The insistent beeping of his cellphone finally compelled Kyle to rise from bed. He sat up with a sigh, swinging his legs to the floor. The apartment was cold, as was typical for an October morning in the city. It made for inspiring sleeping weather, but rising from bed was an almost traumatic event. Passing his hand over his face, Kyle glared at the offending device upon the belt of his jeans, which lay hanging over the back of the chair in his bedroom.

With an angry huff, he rose and stumbled toward the chair, snatching up the jeans and falling to his rump upon the unpadded wooden surface. He shook the phone free of its case and snapped it open. “Dr. Perrin,” he growled.