Parting the veil, p.1
Parting the Veil, page 1
PARTING
THE
VEIL
BEYOND THE VEIL: BOOK ONE
BY
B.K. BASS
Published in the U.S. by B.K. Bass, 2022
Second Edition
COPYRIGHT © 2022, 2019 BY B.K. BASS
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Second Edition, 2022
Published by B.K. Bass in the United States of America
First edition published by Kyanite Publishing, 2019
Cover art licensed from Dreamstime.com
B.K. Bass can be reached at https://bkbass.com/contact/
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Visit the author’s website at https://bkbass.com
Books by B.K. Bass
The Ravencrest Chronicles
Seahaven
The Hunter’s Apprentice
The Giant and the Fishes
Tales from the Lusty Mermaid, a Ravencrest Chronicles Anthology
The Ravencrest Chronicles: Omnibus One
Curse of the Pirate King (The Pirate King Duology: Book One)
Shadow of the Pirate King (The Pirate King Duology: Book Two)
The Night Trilogy
Night Shift
Night Life
Night Shadow
The Tales of Durgan Stoutheart
Warriors of Understone
Companions of the Stone Road (forthcoming)
The Burning Sands
Blood of the Desert
Into the Red Wastes (forthcoming)
Beyond the Veil
Parting the Veil
Standalone Novels
What Once Was Home
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
THE IDOL
July 17th, 1939
Somewhere in the Amazon
Peru, South America
Richard held the smoldering torch before a wall covered in carvings of human figures twisting and contorting around a central image. Amid the press of bodies was a pedestal topped with an orb radiating faint lines, giving the impression it was emanating rays of light. Shadows surrounded the misshapen forms, and from those shadows peered countless inhuman eyes and writhed an assortment of serpentine tendrils.
“What are you looking for?” Wilkins asked. The slender Englishman stood well behind Richard as he raised an oil lantern and looked about the small chamber. They had been inside the ruins for almost an hour and discovered nothing of interest save for this dead end and its unsettling artwork.
The American looked back over his shoulder and smiled. “I don’t know yet, but I’ll tell you when I figure it out.”
Wilkins huffed, blowing out his long mustaches with the sudden puff of air. He had followed Richard on numerous treasure hunting adventures over the past few years. More often than not, they came away with a veritable bounty of artifacts and treasures. Curiosities found all over the globe filled his parlor. His partner had amassed an assortment of expensive automobiles and motorcycles, as suited his own interests. Richard was one of the world’s premier archaeological investigators, but to call him a student of history would be a fallacy. No, while Wilkins may have followed the hot-headed American around the world in search of uncovering historical truths, Richard himself was in search of his next big sale to some overzealous art collector.
“This particular voyage,” Wilkins said, “seems to have born a remarkable lack of fruits to reward our labors. I suggest we write your lead off as bad information and return to town.”
“And leave behind whatever is past this door?” Richard asked.
Wilkins blinked in surprise, the bushy whiskers under his nose twitching. He leaned in closer to the fresco, raising the lantern to add to the illumination of the torch. Amid the writhing bodies, twisting tendrils, and uncountable eyes, there was no evidence to suggest it was anything other than a wall.
Richard caressed the surface, wiping centuries of dust from the grooves between the carvings. Suddenly, he stopped and held the torch closer. There, among the many strange eyes carved in the relief, was a small cavity where one of the oculars seemed to be missing.
“That’s it,” Richard exclaimed. He fished through the pockets of his dirty leather coat and withdrew a small sphere of polished marble.
He held it out for Wilkins to see. There was an iris carved on one side of the strange red orb, and on the other protruded a narrow iron rod in the shape of a hexagon. At the tip of the rod, three spikes extended perpendicular to the shaft. Richard held the sphere up to the hole, aligning the rod inside the void and matching the iris to faint lines on the carving. As he pressed the eye into the hole, a soft click emanated from the other side of the wall.
“By Jove,” Wilkins swore under his breath as the entire tunnel rumbled and the carved wall pivoted on a central axis. As the rumbling stopped, they stood before an open passage, where before had been only an impassable obstacle.
“Well,” Richard said with a wide grin, “let’s go claim our prize.” With that, he strode through the opening.
Wilkins followed more cautiously, creeping through the newly opened portal with his lantern held out before him. As he passed the carving, he felt certain he was being watched. From the corner of his vision, the eyes in the carving seemed to follow his movements. He stopped and stared at them. They were still, and he dismissed the thought as a bit of fear playing tricks on his mind. Surely a three-thousand-year-old carving could not move of its own accord. As he turned to continue, however, he was sure the eyes turned to watch him again.
“Richard,” he cried out, “wait!” A short sprint through the rough-cut stone corridor brought him to the side of his more adventurous companion.
Peering over the taller man’s shoulder, Wilkins found they stood at the entrance to a wide chamber, just large enough for the far end to be lost beyond the flickering lights they held. In the center of the room, upon a raised dais, stood a pedestal. All sorts of strange images were carved into its surface, and atop sat a single dusty statuette.
Richard surged forward, seemingly casting caution to the wind.
Wilkins followed with more care as the American circled around the central dais. Glyphs he had never seen in his research or travels lined the platform. Grooves caked with millennia of dust ran from the edges toward a central plinth which supported the prize Richard sought. Writhing shapes reminiscent of snakes covered the pedestal, coiled around more staring eyes. Those orbs seemed to hold less dust than the rest of the carvings. Remembering the strangely attentive doorway, Wilkins hesitated to approach the central edifice.
His companion seemed unshaken as he strode onto the dais. Reaching out with both hands, he grasped the object sitting atop the small plinth. As Richard touched it, Wilkins’s head exploded with the sound of screaming. He heard hundreds of voices crying out in fear and pain in as many different languages, their cries blending into an unearthly chorus of absolute terror. He could not tell from whence the cacophony came. It seemed as if it was within his own head.
Am I screaming, as well?
His mouth hung open and his throat was raw, but he could not hear his own voice. Looking at Richard, he saw his friend was also frozen with his maw agape in a silent shout. Either their own voices were being drowned out by the multitude of others, or they were both bound in silence by the explosion of chaos within their own minds.
As soon as the tumult began, it was over. When Wilkins regained his senses, he found himself sprawled on his back in the darkness. Various aches shooting throughout his body told him that he had fallen. The lantern was no longer lit, and neither was Richard’s torch. He heard a nearby groan. Richard was alive. Fumbling, numb from fear, Wilkins reached into his pocket and withdrew a box of matches. His shaking hands struggled with the slender shafts of wood.
The world burst into sudden, painful light as he struck a match, then the darkness encroached upon the small flame as it flickered in the moist air. Wilkins reached out, searching for his friend. There was a scrape of stone on stone followed by several footsteps, and Richard stumbled into view. He held the statuette from the plinth.
Wilkins’s jaw dropped as he laid eyes upon the piece. He sat up and adjusted his narrow wire-frame glasses. “I need light,” he gasped.
Richard set the idol down and shuffled into the dar
“Dammit, Wilkins,” Richard said. “Light another match, will you?”
Wilkins fumbled again with shaking hands and tried to light a match. After three failed attempts, he finally got one to take the flame. He looked about and saw the silhouette of Richard feeling around on the floor behind him.
He turned back to the idol and gasped. He was sure its back had been turned to him, but now it faced directly at him. Its posture was hunched over, as if it depicted a figure in extreme duress. More odd shapes covered the skin. Without proper illumination, Wilkins could not determine their nature. “Richard, please hurry with the lantern.”
“Keep your knickers on,” Richard said. “I found it.” The athletic figure strode into the dim light of the match, holding the shattered remains of the oil lantern. Fortunately, the reservoir was still intact. Wilkins carefully lit the oil-soaked wick, which blossomed into a bright flame.
He turned back to the statue, examining it more closely in the renewed illumination. A broad figure crouched with hands held over the sides of its head. Its mouth was open in a silent scream, eerily reminiscent to that which had frozen Wilkins and Richard in place not minutes before.
Wilkins reached out with trembling hands and picked up the object. It was mostly green with whorls of black. The pattern was reminiscent of marble, but he had never seen that stone in these colors. The black swirls seemed to shift as he stared into them. Wilkins blinked and shook his head as a sudden bout of nausea overtook him, then continued his examination. The strange shapes covering he surface stood out in the light. The figure’s flesh was broken and cracked open all over, and from these wounds emerged a mass of writhing tentacles and bulging eyes.
“Ghastly,” Wilkins murmured.
“Hopefully worth something?” Richard asked.
“Are you serious?” Wilkins asked. “After what we just experienced, I say we leave the cursed thing here and forget we ever came to this place.”
Richard grabbed the statue from Wilkins and slid it into a leather satchel. “Not a chance. It cost too much to get out here to leave empty-handed.”
“Please,” Wilkins implored. “There is something strange about this artifact.”
“Since when are you superstitious?” Richard asked as he picked up the broken lantern and turned toward the tunnel.
Wilkins stood and hurried to catch up. “Since several minutes ago when that statue almost killed us.”
“Eh.” Richard waved a dismissive gesture. “Exhaustion, heat, dehydration. We’ve been trekking through the jungle for two days trying to find this place. I’m sure we were simply relieved to finally find what we were looking for.”
“And that screams?” Wilkins asked.
Richard continued through the open portal covered in carven eyes and kneeling figures without a word.
Wilkins kept a close watch on the carvings as he passed. “Richard?”
“Euphoria,” the American said.
“It didn’t feel euphoric,” Wilkins said as he picked his way over the crumbling flagstones.
Richard threw a grin over his shoulder. “It will when we sell this.”
CHAPTER TWO
A DARK SUNRISE
July 18, 1939
Puerto Ocapa
Peru, South America
The first glow of dawn colored the sky over the Amazon jungle by the time Wilkins and Richard approached the outskirts of town. They entered the old ruin before noon, and Wilkins thought they had only spent a few hours inside. However, when they emerged, it was already well into the night. They hiked through the darkness, both eager to put distance between themselves and the strange edifice; even if Richard was not openly willing to admit as much. They passed the satchel with the heavy parcel back and forth several times to share the burden of the unusually heavy stone. As they left the thick jungle behind, Wilkins had it slung over his shoulder.
They were finally on a dusty road, which wound through several small farms alongside the river. Some locals were already in the fields, tending to their crops or feeding small herds of swine. Wilkins waved to one such man as they passed near him, but was met only with a suspicious glare. As they entered the town proper and passed more residents setting about on their daily routine, the chilly reception to their presence persisted with an uneasy regularity.
“Strange,” Richard said. “They were a friendly lot before now. I wonder what’s gotten into them.”
Wilkins shook his head. “I don’t think they’re happy about our trip to the ruins. Remember the old man in the pub trying to warn us off?”
“That old kook? I remember him spouting something about the Virgin Mary visiting his grandmother, too.”
“These people are very devout in their faith, something we shouldn’t dismiss casually. We are guests in their home.”
Richard reached into his pocket and flashed a wad of American currency. “This says I can dismiss whatever I want. We’re only guests because we’re paying for it. Or would you rather sleep in a pig pen instead of the hotel?”
Wilkins was about to continue the argument when something soft struck him in the temple. “What in the name of—” Another object struck him in the face. Local townswomen gathered around them, holding bundles of dried flowers in their arms. One woman broke off a brittle bulb and chucked it at Richard. Men stood behind them, most likely watching over their wives and sisters, but not taking part in the assault. Children ran between their mother’s legs. Soon, several dozen local townsfolk surrounded Wilkins and Richard.
The American ducked away from several more thrown botanicals. “Is this their way of welcoming us back?”
Wilkins batted away dried petals from his shoulders. “Not likely. If I remember correctly from the cultural studies courses at the university—”
“The point?” Richard urged.
“They think we’re possessed, and they’re trying to drive off the evil spirits.”
Richard rolled his eyes and said, “I’ll show them evil spirits.”
As his friend shouted and attempted to wave off the growing crowd, Wilkins suddenly felt an overwhelming pain behind his eyes. He pulled off his wire-frame eyeglasses and squeezed the bridge of his nose. The dawn sunlight was suddenly unbearable, and he closed his eyes tight to keep the blinding rays out.
“Richard, something is wrong.”
The American’s boisterous yelling seemed muffled, as if they were under water. A wave of nausea overtook Wilkins. There was a sudden rush of blood to his head, and if his feet were not planted firmly upon the Earth, he would have sworn he had been turned upside-down. He fell to his knees, eyes still clutched tight, and retched.
When he opened his eyes, it was dark. Flickering firelight barely lit his surroundings, emanating from torches ensconced on the side of squat buildings of rough-hewn stone standing where the wood-plank shacks of the Peruvian town had been only seconds before. Twisted oaks devoid of any foliage stood in the place of the jungle. Richard was gone, as were the townsfolk. Several squat figures emerged from the stone huts as Wilkins regained his feet. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and replaced his glasses.
There were a dozen figures, all chubby and barely three feet tall. They wobbled on crooked legs, and had bulbous eyes crowned by bulging foreheads. They were adorned in an assortment of rough linen shifts and tanned animal hides. One figure—slightly taller than the others and holding a great stone mallet—stepped ahead of the rest. His milky-green eyes locked with Wilkins’s for a moment, then the creature raised the hammer and charged.
Wilkins yelled out in panic and turned to run, only to find himself caught by Richard’s muscular arms. The sun beat down and his eyes burned from the sudden brightness flooding back into the world. He looked over his shoulder in a panic, expecting the stone mallet to fall upon them both in only a moment.
