The Adventures Of Indiana Jones (69 page)

Sallah knew Henry was slipping fast. He was no longer talking to himself or moving. His breathing was so shallow, it was nearly inaudible.

He felt for a pulse at the side of Henry’s neck, then glanced up at Brody and shook his head. “I’m afraid that he’s . . .”

“No. He can’t die,” Brody said. He glanced toward the steps. “I’m going for Indy. He’s got to hurry. There’s no time to waste.”

Sallah watched him run up the steps, thinking that Brody was acting as delirious as Henry. “Father of Indy. Stay with us a little longer. Your son will come soon. Your son will come.”

He muttered a prayer to himself as his eyes turned upward to the heavens.

As he finished, he heard a voice. It was Henry. He leaned over, pleased that God had answered his prayer so fast. “Father of Indy. What are you saying?”

“You must believe, boy . . . You must believe. You have to believe . . . Believe . . . Have to believe.”

Indy stood at the edge of an abyss, holding on to the rock wall for support. The passage had abruptly ended. Across the gulf was a triangular-shaped opening, and on the rock facing above it was a carved lion’s head.

“The Path of God.”

He glanced up, saw a matching lion’s head above him, then looked back at the diary. “Only in the leap from the lion’s head will he prove his worth.”

He looked down into the abyss, then across to the rock face. No, it was too far to leap. Nobody could make that jump.

Then he remembered the page with the diagrams and found it in the diary. The pendulum. The cobbles. The invisible bridge.

The third diagram was wedge-shaped, with a series of dotted lines leading across the top of the wedge. He studied it a moment, then slapped the diary shut.

Useless. It didn’t make sense. He didn’t believe in invisible bridges.

“Indy!”

He turned at the sound of Brody’s voice coming from inside the passageway. “Marcus?” he yelled back.

“Indy, you’ve got to hurry.”

He leaned his head back against the rock wall and closed his eyes. He could turn around now and go back and watch his father die. Or he could jump, and hope . . . even though there was no hope. He suddenly remembered himself as a child of ten with his father and wondered how the hell his life could be flashing before his eyes when he hadn’t even jumped yet.

His father had given him a bow and arrow set for his tenth birthday and had put up a target in the backyard. “You stand behind this line, Junior, and practice, and when you get a bull’s-eye come and get me. But don’t cheat. Stay behind the line.”

“Yes, sir.” He was happy and excited and more than anything wanted to please his father. He practiced the rest of the afternoon, but didn’t hit a single bull’s-eye. Half of the time he missed the target completely and had to retrieve the arrows from the bushes at the far side of the yard.

The sun was low in the sky when his father came outside again. “Well, Junior?”

“I can’t do it, Dad.” His eyes were filled with tears. He was angry and frustrated. “I just can’t hit the bull’s-eye. I’m too far away.”

“No, you’re not, Junior. You’re not too far away. Your problem is, you don’t believe. When you believe you can do it, you will do it.
Believe, Junior. Believe.”

He had scoffed that believing wasn’t going to make him any better. His father had pointed at him. “Don’t grow up to be cynical, Junior. The cynic is a fearful person who accomplishes nothing.”

He had lowered his bow and stared at the bull’s-eye, saying over and over that he believed he could hit it. He raised the bow, but he felt his doubts returning. He lowered it again.

I believe. I believe. I believe I can hit it. I’ll do it. I can hit the bull’s-eye. I believe. I’ll do it.

And he did.

Indy opened his eyes. The memory had been as clear as if he were still ten. He stared across the abyss again. When he grew up, he had relegated the experience to a coincidence. But now there was no time to question the power of faith. I’ve got to believe. That’s the only way. I can make it. I believe it.

He stuffed the diary in his pouch and focused on the rock wall on the far side, saying over and over again that he believed. If I don’t believe, I won’t jump. I’ll jump when I believe.

He brushed aside his doubts, concentrating, and repeating his belief until he felt the grooves of that faith etched inside him. His breathing was deep. It came faster and faster. I can do it. Dad. I can do it. I’ll make it.

He crouched down on the edge of the abyss. With every bit of his strength, he pushed off and sprang like a lion.

It was a strong leap, the best he could have done. But, of course, it was far too short. The gap was too wide.

He was going to die. Yet, he knew he wouldn’t. At that moment he landed and fell forward on his hands and knees.

He looked down and saw he was on a rock ledge a few feet below the passageway. But why hadn’t he seen it? It was obviously there all the time.

He leaned back slightly, trying to look at the ledge from the perspective of the opposite wall. Then he saw there was something unusual about the rocks. It was ingenious. The ledge was colored to blend exactly with the rocks one hundred feet below. From the sight line on the opposite wall, it appeared there was no ledge. It was a perfect camouflage until he leaped.

He laughed aloud. He had believed, and he had found the impossible.
The Invisible Bridge.
If he hadn’t believed he could survive, he would have never leaped and never found the bridge.

He stood, wobbled a moment, and looked back across the abyss. He saw Elsa and Donovan staring at him in astonishment. He chuckled, knowing that from their perspective, he looked as if he was standing in midair.

Gingerly he followed the ledge as it gradually rose, a gentle slope that ended beneath the lion’s head. He was now just below the lip of the aperture in the rock wall.

Then he remembered something else. The lion was one of the symbols in the search for the Grail—the fifth level of awareness. It stood for leadership, conquest, and the attainment of high goals.

He had overcome the three challenges; a high goal had been achieved. Now he was ready to move on and find the Grail Cup. He had the feeling, though, that the toughest challenge of them all was still ahead.

I
NDY LOOKED BACK
once before pressing on and saw Elsa throwing pebbles and dirt out over the abyss and onto the invisible bridge.

Bright woman. Bright and dangerous.

The passageway narrowed and the ceiling lowered as he continued forward. He banged his head on the ceiling and scraped his shoulders on the walls. He was forced to crawl, but it didn’t do much good: he still banged his head.

If this gets any tighter, I’ll have to start believing I’m a rabbit, for Christ’s sake.

Darkness wrapped around him like a thick overcoat. His fingers led the way, penetrating the darkness ahead. He worried that when he reached the end, it would be a rock wall. Then what? He hadn’t overcome the challenges just to find out there was no Grail, only a dead end. This was no time for cosmic jokes. His father was dying.

He banged his forehead and, fearing the worst, extended his arm and patted the wall with his hand, defining the contours of the tunnel. He realized it was curving, not ending. He moved slowly ahead and noticed the tunnel was now dimly lit.

He crawled another ten feet. He could see a light ahead and moved faster. The light grew stronger, brighter. He squinted as brilliant sunshine beamed into the tunnel. Then, forcing his way through a narrow opening, he tumbled out of the tunnel. Sweet, fragrant air swirled around him. His eyes quickly adjusted to the daylight.

He stood, brushed the dirt off his shoulders, and stretched his arms and legs. He was inside another temple, smaller than the other. His attention immediately focused on an altar in the center. It was draped in violet linen, and on it were dozens of chalices of various sizes. Some were gold, others were silver; some were festooned with precious jewels, others were less ornate. But all of them shone and glistened, and Indy was mesmerized by the spectacle.

He knew he had reached his destination.

He moved forward for a closer look, then saw another smaller altar off to one side—and something else. A figure in a tunic and a knit headdress knelt in front of the other altar with his back to him.

Indy walked closer. The man’s thin, bony hands were folded, and his head bent in prayer. The skin on his fingers was paper-thin, translucent, and outlined the bones. He moved forward and saw a shaft of light striking the emblem of a cross that was stitched on the man’s tunic.

Indy realized he was looking at the third Grail knight, the brother who had stayed behind to guard the cup.

He bent over and looked into the knight’s face. His eyes were closed; his parched lips were slightly parted as if he were about to say something. The face had heavy, white eyebrows and a prominent nose. The body was dried and brittle by time and the desert, yet remarkably preserved, in far better condition than the gruesome remains of the knight’s brother from the catacombs in Venice.

He leaned forward and frowned. For a moment, he thought he saw the knight blink. Then he smiled and shook his head. A candle was burning on the altar in front of the knight, and the flickering light was playing tricks with his eyes.

Indy raised his head. A candle. Who lit that?

He lifted his gaze and looked around the temple, wondering if he was being watched. “So who lit the candle, old fellow?”

The knight suddenly raised his head.

Indy drew back, astonished. “What the hell.”

He watched in stunned disbelief as the knight rose slowly to his feet, then lifted an enormous sword with both hands. Before Indy even realized what had happened, the sword flashed in the air. The knight swung the weapon quickly, deftly, and the tip of it nicked the front of Indy’s shirt and sliced the strap of his pouch, which slipped to the ground.

Indy leaped back as the knight hefted the sword again and took another swipe at him. This time the weight of the sword was too much, and the knight lost his balance. He stumbled back against the altar; the sword clattered as it struck the rock floor.

Indy moved over to him and helped him up. He was old but possessed an unmistakable vitality that made his eyes gleam. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. It was as if he were uncertain how to speak. Finally, he uttered a low groan.

“I knew ye would come,” he said, looking Indy over, judging him against some image in his own mind. “But my strength has left me. I tire easily.”

“Who are you?” Indy answered slowly.

“Ye know who I be. The last of three brothers who swore an oath to find and protect the Grail.”

“That was more than eight hundred years ago.”

“A long time to wait.”

Indy smiled affably. The old guy was senile. “So when was the First Crusade?”

At first, Indy didn’t think the old man heard him. Then he answered: “In the year of Our Lord 1095 at the Council of Clermont. Proclaimed by Pope Urban II.”

“When did the Crusades end?”

The knight gave him a withering look that reminded Indy of his father. “They have not. The last crusader stands before ye eyes.”

Indy nodded. He didn’t have time to interrogate him, though. He needed to act. If this guy was the real thing, and still alive, then the Grail Cup could save his father.

He heard voices coming from the tunnel and started to turn, but the old knight tugged on the brim of his fedora. “Ye be strangely dressed . . . for a knight.” He ran his fingers over Indy’s bullwhip.

“Well, I’m not exactly . . . a knight.”

“I think ye be one.”

Indy shrugged.

“I was chosen as the bravest and the most worthy. The honor of guarding the Grail was made mine until another worthy knight arrived to challenge me in single combat.” He lifted the hilt of his sword. “I pass it to ye who vanquished me.”

“Look, let me explain. I need to borrow the Grail Cup from you. You see, my father . . .”

“Hold it, Jones.”

Indy whipped around to see Donovan squeezing through the tunnel, aiming his pistol at him.

“Stay right there.” Donovan glanced around, saw the altar of chalices, and moved over to it. Elsa emerged from the tunnel and quickly joined him.

Donovan glanced over at the knight, his gun still aimed at Indy. “Okay, which one is it?”

The knight took a step forward and rose to his full height as he stared at Donovan. “I no longer serve as guardian of the Grail.” He nodded toward Indy. “It is he who must answer the challenge. I will neither help nor hinder.”

Donovan grinned at Indy. “He’s not stopping me.”

“Then choose wisely,” the knight advised. “For just as the true Grail will bring ye life, the false Grail will take it away.”

Indy smiled wryly at Donovan. “Take your pick, Donovan. Good luck.”

Elsa moved closer to the altar. “Do you see it?” Donovan asked under his breath.

“Yes.”

“Which is it?”

Elsa removed her hat and carefully picked up a shiny cup encrusted with sparkling colored stones. Donovan instantly grabbed it from her and held it up to the light. “Oh, yes. It’s more beautiful than I had ever imagined. And it’s mine.”

Indy expected Elsa to protest, but she remained silent. The knight’s face was implacable, revealing nothing.

Donovan looked up toward a font and carried the cup over to it. Elsa followed him.

Indy knew that according to the legend, immortality was achieved by drinking water from the cup.

Donovan admired the cup again. “This certainly is the cup of a King of Kings. Now it’s mine.” He filled it with water and held it high in one hand. He gazed triumphantly at Indy and the knight. The gun was still in his other hand, but in his excitement, he no longer aimed it at Indy.

“Eternal life.” He drank long and deeply. Donovan lowered the cup to his chest. His eyes were closed, and a beatific smile spread across his face.

Indy could have tackled him at that moment and wrestled the cup from him. But something inside him told him to wait and watch. He didn’t have to wait long.