Intangible
Page 36
Kane was filled with a complex emotion that he did not immediately recognize. It was blind terror, yes, but it was tinged with... mortification.
The Shadow Lord had just witnessed his most grandiose dreams, yet here was the reality: he was petrified. Completely helpless.
You don’t have to be, you know, said the Shadow Lord.
Kane tried to squeeze his eyes shut, just to have some sort of barrier between him and his present environment. But he discovered that closed or open, the scenery was the same. Either the colors followed him inside his very brain, or else his eyes would not shut any more than his lungs would breathe. I don’t have to be what?
Helpless. There is a way out. Would you like me to show it to you?
Then he waited. Kane knew he was being baited. He tried to resist the bubble of hope that responded to the Shadow Lord’s words, but resistance seemed so pointless, since the Shadow Lord knew his every thought the moment it occurred to him.
Ask me to show it to you.
You’re in my head! Kane shouted back. Why do you need my permission?
I need it, for this. Of course, if you would rather try and find the way out on your own, that’s perfectly up to you. No doubt you will stumble upon it eventually. You have all eternity to look, after all.
Kane suddenly understood how it might feel to be dying of thirst in the desert, taunted by the vision of an oasis promising springs of fresh water, always just out of reach. He knew the promise was an illusion, leading him ever closer to his death, and yet the need inside of him was so desperate and primal that it overrode all sense of reason. And besides, he had no options. Like the man in the desert, there was nothing but sand all around for as far as the eye could see. At least if he pressed on towards the mirage, he would die with hope rather than despair.
Ask me, said the Shadow Lord patiently. Kane could feel the Shadow Lord sucking on his fear, draining him dry.
Fine! Show it to me!
The moment he thought the words, the scenery changed. Kane’s chest nearly split apart with agonizing pain.
He was on a battlefield, and he blinked up into a pair of sea green eyes flecked with gold, the eyes of the man who had just slain him. Kane knew those eyes as Peter’s, but the skin on either side was creased with years and streaked with mingled sweat and blood. Inexplicable hatred coursed through the veins he shared with the Shadow Lord.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Kane thought in amazement, I know this story… Inside his own head he had flashes of memory, watching the story through the books in the Secret Library, but from the perspective of Arthur, rather than Mordred…
Arthur fell to his knees, Kane’s blade protruding from his abdomen. “You did not defeat me,” Kane heard Arthur croak, “because the sword I hold is Excalibur.”
Kane wheezed with Mordred’s breath, feeling his lungs fill with blood. In his mind he screamed with fury. But he opened his mouth and spit blood upon the ground before he managed to choke out his final threat. “One day, I will find and destroy that sword. Then I will return, and there will be no one left to stop me!”
With those words, even the hatred began to lose its grip on his body. He felt himself begin to slip away. Dimly, he heard Arthur laughing, and he heard him utter the words, “You are too late!” Kane’s head fell back upon the ground, and vaguely, he felt himself wonder, what does that mean?
Kane knew the moment when Sargon’s spirit let go completely. It felt sort of like snapping off a particularly tenacious rubber glove.
Then, he was not on the battlefield anymore. He was locked inside a rigid structure that felt very much the way the kaleidoscopic lake had done, except this one was all one color. Gold.
He tried to move his limbs but this time they would not respond. He knew why – he had no limbs. His limbs were now a rigid gold blade, without joints or neural connections able to respond to his commands. He was trapped.
Kane had no idea how much time passed. It could have been seconds or eons – odd how time seemed to have no meaning when one had no contact whatsoever with the outside world.
He forgot what it was to have senses. After awhile his thoughts became torpid, and he thought nothing at all. He simply was, or was not. He had no idea.
Then suddenly there was a flurry of color, cutting into his consciousness like stepping into the sunlight after endless ages inside a darkened cave. He had been ejected from one prison into another, but now he was able to behold his captor. It was a sword.
Excalibur.
There it was, the object of endless hours of obsessive study and fantasy, beckoning him forward with its seductive beauty.
It looked exactly how all the legends had said it would look. The blade was formed of purest gold and the hilt was of two entwined dragons, their eyes set with emeralds. Engraved in the blade were the characters of the Ancient Tongue. Kane knew well that one side said “Take Me Up,” and the other said “Cast Me Away.” Both had already been fulfilled in the history of the sword: Arthur had taken it up from the stone, and Lancelot had cast it into the Lake of Avalon from the banks of the Straits of Messina.
This was what the Shadow Lord had wanted him to see.
It’s the only way out, he heard Sargon whisper. The world has awaited this moment for thousands of years, when Excalibur would again fall into the hands of the Child of the Prophecy. They could both feel the deep longing swell in Kane’s chest at the words. The kaleidoscope still floated around him, but all he could see was that sword.
Kane’s thoughts protested, but sluggishly, as if through a kind of drugged stupor. Didn’t the prophecy say that the sword had to be destroyed before the Shadow Lord could be defeated? It also said that the Shadow Lord would be defeated with Excalibur, in the hands of the Child of the Prophecy. He did not see how those two things could both be true, but Sargon had said that time had only tangential relevance to this place. Perhaps the laws of cause and effect no longer applied here. Besides, if he, Kane, had Excalibur at his mercy, then he would have to be the Child of the Prophecy, wouldn’t he?
Oh yes, said Sargon, you must be the Child of the Prophecy. You know that now, don’t you? How else could you and I end up here, side by side, at the end of all things – just you, me, and Excalibur?
Through the haze of his thoughts, an idea suddenly occurred to Kane. What would happen if he were to take Excalibur, run the Shadow Lord through … and then destroy it? The prophecy did not say it would happen in that order, but perhaps that was merely a technicality?
Try it and see, said Sargon, amused.
Kane reached for the hilt and tried to grasp it, but his fingers passed cleanly through. It was there, he could see it, but his attempts were as useless as though he were a ghost. He tried again and again, but to no avail – it only glimmered like a delicious mirage.
Just as the penumbra pass right through your world unobstructed by physical objects, so are we to Excalibur. Or, if you like, so is it to us. It belongs to all dimensions, and to none of them.
Somewhere in the back of Kane’s mind, he saw the flash of a face. Isdemus. The image carried with it all the words of warning and prudence that Kane was sure he would say if he were there right then. It was the face of the one man who had cared enough to raise him as a son, when everybody else had rejected him. The one man Kane at once longed to please and yet despised for his blind conviction that Peter, and not he, was the One. If Kane obeyed the almost overwhelming desire within him at this moment, he would betray Isdemus beyond anything he could previously have imagined.
Kane rallied with one last surge of violent effort. If I destroy it then you would be free! Never!
You are the hope of mankind, Kane, Sargon insisted, his thoughts soft and lilting, like a lullaby. The whisper flowed into Kane’s mind like noxious gas penetrating through the cracks of a closed door, permeating his very existence. You know it, and I know it. Isn’t it time the rest of the world knows it too?
The voice in his mind that belonged to Isdemus
warned him that no matter how pretty his words, nothing the Shadow Lord said could be trusted. But that voice grew quieter as the eternal seconds ticked by.
You must destroy it, Sargon repeated.
How? Kane thought desperately. I can’t touch it! Even if I could, I have no tools here. It’s made of metal, I’d have to melt it down…
To his great surprise, Sargon began to laugh, and the laugh vibrated through Kane’s very being. You cannot melt Excalibur! No tool conceived by man could ever leave so much as a scratch. No, Kane. There is only one way to do it, and you know what that is.
Kane found that he did know. It was the only weapon he had left in this place. The Ancient Tongue.
Yes.
Then why don’t you say it? You know the Ancient Tongue as well as I do!
I know it far better, Sargon corrected, but I cannot touch the sword. I am bound by the curse of the prophecy. I cannot touch it, Kane, but you can. Of course you can. It is your destiny.
Kane had no arguments left. Sargon’s flattery was very nearly irresistible.
Only speak the words, Sargon whispered. It can all end right here, right now.
Also by C.A. Gray:
Invincible: Piercing the Veil, Book 2
Impossible: Piercing the Veil, Book 3
The Liberty Box: Book 1
Letter to Reader
Dear Reader,
Thank you so much for reading! I hope that you enjoyed “Intangible.” My favorite part of writing is the creation of my world, and the “ah-ha!” moments along the way. There were so many in this story, but my favorite “ah-ha!” moment was when Bruce figured out that photons could cause the annihilation of the Fata Morgana. It was such a great physics twist. I was in my backyard when I figured that out, and was literally cheering. “Yes, yes, that’s it!”
If there’s an underlying theme to the story, it is this hard-learned lesson from my own life: your thoughts and your beliefs influence your actions; your actions form your habits, and your habits shape your life. Even though we may not have penumbra telling us lies which we then believe, most of us in some area or another are telling them to ourselves. Pay attention, and ask those closest to you to point out what you might not be able to see yourself. What lies are currently shaping your reality for the worse? How might you be able to rewrite those lies with a beneficial truth instead?
I’d love any feedback you have about this story, the characters, and the themes—good or bad! Feedback is what helps me to improve. Please email me at authorcagray1@gmail.com or visit me at www.authorcagray.com.
Finally, if you enjoyed this story, I would love it if you would leave me a review on Amazon and Goodreads!
Thank you again for reading my work!
All the best,
C.A. Gray
About the Author
C.A. Gray is a Naturopathic Medical Doctor (NMD), with a primary care practice in Tucson, Arizona. She has always been captivated by the power of a good story, fictional or otherwise, which is probably why she loves holistic medicine: a patient’s physical health is invariably intertwined with his or her life story, and she believes that the one can only be understood in context with the other.
She still wants to be everything when she grows up. She moonlights as a college chemistry teacher (she has a degree in biochemistry, with minors in Spanish and Creative Writing), writes white papers for a supplement company, does theater when she gets the chance, and sings at her church. She is blessed with exceptionally supportive family and friends, and thanks God for them every single day!
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright and Disclaimers
FREE eBOOK
Dedication Page
Acknowledgements Thank you first and foremost to the Lord my God, who guides me every step of the way. A huge thank you to my mom, who let me use her maiden name as my pen name (Cynthia Ann Gray!), who served as my primary editor as I wrote this entire series, who let me bounce ideas off of her and helped me brainstorm, and even came up with a number of major plot points that I never would have thought of, but which turned out to be just perfect. I love you, Mom. Thank you to my brother and sister in law, Jeff and Keilee Deville, for all their love and support, as well as an early pair of eyes for reading and editing. (Keilee even managed to hook me up with a seasoned editor - for free!) And speaking of said editor, a huge thank you to Keith Clayton for his spot-on and very generous advice! Thank you to Jayme Kelter, for your fabulous photography skills! Thank you to Denise Ganley, who helped me through the early stages of researching the publishing business, when I hadn’t a clue what I was doing - and always had plenty of time to reply to my long-winded emails! Thank you also to the rest of my writer’s guild from Tempe, and especially Audrey Brockhaus for organizing it. Your encouragement, ideas and editing was invaluable. Thank you to Menna Bevan, my British counterpart! It’s been over a decade since I lived in England, and your eye for “British-isms” was even more necessary than I first realized! Thank you to Chanda Hahn, who was kind enough to write back to me when she was a bestselling author even though I was a nobody, and who offered me her invaluable advice on publishing and marketing. Thank you to Charlie Lehardy, who kindly helped me with my website and formatting issues, and last-minute edits. Thank you to Cara Williams, Ann Eberhardt, Keith Dixon, and Rudo Sibande for reading my manuscript when it was still rough, and offering your suggestions and ideas to improve it.
Prologue
Two days earlier
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Sneak Preview: Invincible (Book 2
Prologue
About the Author