The Adventures Of Indiana Jones (70 page)

Suddenly Donovan’s eyes opened wide. The hand that held the cup started to shake. He turned away and bent over the font. His face skewed in pain. His body shuddered. He dropped the gun.

With a great effort he pushed away from the font and stumbled toward the altar. He stopped several feet short of it, unable to take another step. “What . . . is . . . happening . . . to . . . me?” he gasped.

His features contorted into a grisly mask. His cheekbones projected. His skin shriveled and wrinkled. He looked frail and already ancient when he turned to Elsa, the cup still clutched in his hand. His eyes seemed to have sunk into his cheeks and lay there like old stones in dry sockets.

He then hurled himself toward her, hands digging into her shoulder. “What . . . is . . . happening?”

She screamed and tried to push him away from her as he kept repeating his question, his voice growing fainter by the second, his body aging rapidly now. His hair was growing long and gray and crisp. His face was sinking, his skin peeling away.

“No. No. No. No. No. No,” he whispered. He shook his head and bits of skin flew away.

Elsa shrieked in terror.

Donovan’s fingernails curled back on themselves. Milky cataracts coated his eyes. What remained of his skin turned brown and leathery and stretched across his face until it split and hung in flaps.

Then he crumpled to the ground, an ancient skeleton blackened with age.

Indy moved quickly to Elsa’s side and pushed her away from the still-writhing remains. He kicked the pile of bones and cloth, and Donovan’s skeletal arms fluttered, collapsed, and turned to dust.

Elsa clung to Indy, her face pressed against his shirt, sobbing as a cold wind swirled through the temple and gradually died away. Indy peered over Elsa’s shoulder, looking at the pile of dust that had been Donovan. As she began to calm down, Indy let go of her and turned to the knight, an unspoken question on his face.

“He chose poorly,” the old knight said, and shrugged as if Donovan’s death was of no consequence to him. He had given him fair warning.

Indy glanced at Elsa and picked up the gun Donovan had dropped and tucked it in his belt. Then he hurried over to the altar. He was thinking of his father, of his father dying back there, of his father bleeding and in pain.

He stood in front of the chalices, took several deep breaths and let his eyes unfocus. A feeling of acute awareness overtook him. He felt light-headed. He closed his eyes a moment, concentrating, telling himself that he could do it, he could select the correct Grail, the one that would save his father.

He opened his eyes and cast a quick glance over the rows of glittering, bejeweled chalices. Then his eyes came to rest on one that was different. It was a simple cup, dull compared to the others. He didn’t know why, but it seemed right. He picked it up and looked it over carefully. He didn’t know what he expected to find. He knew there wouldn’t be any stamp of authenticity.

“Is that it?” Elsa asked.

“I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

Indy moved quickly to the font, scooped up some of the water. He breathed deeply, took a quick drink from the cup, and waited an instant, wondering if something was going to happen, if he was looking at the last few seconds of his own life. He didn’t feel any different, for better or worse.

Then suddenly his vision blurred. He felt dizzy; he blinked and squeezed his eyes shut. God, had he chosen wrong?

Oddly, he realized he could still see. But it was a different way of seeing. The cup in his hands was growing and transforming. It grew wings, a head, a beak. It was an eagle, spreading its massive wings and taking flight. It was the eagle of his vision quest and the eagle that signaled the sixth and last level of awareness in the Grail search.

“Indy?”

At the sound of Elsa’s voice he blinked and shook his head. The cup was still in his hands. He glanced over at Elsa. From the questioning look on her face, he knew that she hadn’t shared his experience. He looked over at the knight, who smiled knowingly.

“You’ve chosen wisely.”

That was all the verification Indy needed. He didn’t wait a second longer. He headed directly for the tunnel and crawled through it. He moved as rapidly as he could, while still carefully balancing the water-filled Grail Cup. He worried about banging the cup into the ceiling or the walls, and he worried about going so slowly that his father might die before he reached him. But as the tunnel expanded in size, he stood up and ran, at first at a low crouch, gradually rising up to his full height.

He slowed as he came to the ledge above the abyss. It was now speckled with dirt and clearly visible. He realized that it wasn’t merely a protrusion, but actually was a bridge spanning the chasm between the two lion heads. Now it was easy. He walked quickly out onto the bridge, holding the Grail Cup in front of him.

He was hurrying, thinking about his father, and not paying enough attention. He was halfway across when his right foot slipped on the pebbles and dirt. His leg swung out, and he tottered back and forth, the Grail Cup wavering precariously over the abyss. Just as he almost regained his balance, his other foot slipped, and he fell unceremoniously onto his butt. Miraculously only a few drops had wet the sides of the Grail Cup. He carefully stood up and cautiously walked to the other side.

Brody stood at the top of the steps looking anxiously at Sallah and Henry and the dark passageway. There was still no sign of Indy, and he knew Henry wouldn’t last much longer.

“Marcus!”

He looked up, peered down the passageway, and saw Indy moving quickly toward him, clutching the Grail Cup in his hands. His eyes widened, and his face lit up. He stepped back as Indy rushed past him and down the steps.

He moved forward and was about to follow Indy when he nearly collided with Elsa as she rushed out the passageway. By the time he reached the bottom of the steps, Indy was on his knees beside his father, and the sultan’s soldiers had closed around him. Brody pushed his way through the soldiers as if they were of no consequence. They were without a leader now and simply watched out of curiosity.

Brody crouched down and helped Sallah lift Henry’s head. Indy quickly put the cup to Henry’s lips. Henry was too weak even to open his eyes. Indy poured, but the water just ran down the side of Henry’s mouth.

“Come on, Dad. Drink. Please drink.”

Brody looked anxiously at Indy and saw the worried look on his face. He had to do something. He leaned forward and helped him to open Henry’s mouth. He felt Henry’s throat move. He was drinking. He had swallowed some of the water. He was sure of it.

Indy then carefully removed the emergency dressing from Henry’s wound and poured some of the water over it. Quickly he placed the cup to his father’s lips again and poured more water down his throat.

They waited.

Indy was certain his father’s breathing was growing stronger. He leaned over and listened to his heartbeat. It was steady and resolute. He could almost see and feel his father coming back to them.

Suddenly Henry’s eyes fluttered open. They focused first on Sallah, then Brody, then his son. Finally, they settled on the Grail Cup.

Indy smiled, feeling a certainty in his heart that his father was out of danger. He probably would never be able to convince his skeptical colleagues that water from an ancient cup had healed his father, and there would be plenty of doubts and controversy about whether this was the real Grail Cup.

But so what? He knew. That’s what mattered. He had seen and experienced the beauty and power of the Grail. In doing so, he had ascended in his own quest from cynicism to doubt to awakening. The quest was fulfilled, and with it the Last Crusade finally neared its end.

“Dad. You’re going to be all right. I believe it. I know it.”

H
ENRY
’
S HANDS SHOOK
as he reached out for the Grail Cup, but now it was from excitement, not weakness. The color had returned to his face, and his eyes were wide open, clear, cognizant. His wound had been covered again, but it was no longer bleeding and didn’t seem to be causing him any great discomfort. With Sallah’s help, he had been able to rise up on his elbow.

As Indy proudly passed his father the Grail Cup, he heard a clatter behind him. He jerked his head around and saw the sultan’s soldiers dropping their weapons and shrinking back. Their curiosity had turned to fear. They didn’t want anything to do with guarding the wizards who had performed the miraculous healing, and suddenly all of them fled the temple.

All but a couple of the Nazi soldiers immediately gave chase, shouting and threatening to shoot the sultan’s men. But they kept on running. Sallah swiftly made the most of it. As the two remaining Nazis called to their companions, he stealthily made his way toward the nearest rifle. He swept it up, spun around, and ordered the remaining Nazis to drop their weapons.
“Die Gewehr herunter
he repeated when they momentarily hesitated.

“Do as he says,” Elsa snapped at them.

They hesitated but not for long. They set down their weapons and raised their hands.

Sallah, however, didn’t realize that another Nazi had stayed behind and was standing a few feet behind Elsa. As the soldier reached for his pistol, Indy dove for his legs, tackling him. The Nazi twisted about and turned his gun on Indy. He was about to fire, when Elsa kicked the weapon from his hand.

Indy rose up on one knee, gazing at Elsa, amazed and baffled at what she had done. The Nazi took advantage of the moment and punched him. Indy grabbed his jaw, frowned, then collared the Nazi and landed a punch that was hard and direct. The soldier flopped to the ground and rolled over. Indy stood up and smiled at Elsa. He didn’t know what to make of her. On one hand there was abundant evidence of her deceitfulness, yet she had just saved his life. Elsa’s complacent look abruptly turned to horror. Her mouth dropped open, quivered a moment. “Watch out! Behind you!”

Indy turned just in time to block the arm of the same Nazi as he stabbed at him with a long, vicious-looking knife. Sallah ordered the soldier to drop it. The man looked up at the rifle barrel, his eyes flicked to Sallah’s face, and he released the knife.

Indy grabbed it and spun the Nazi around. “Go join your buddies.” He pushed him roughly toward the other two Nazis.

Indy looked over at his father and realized that when Sallah left him, he had remained sitting up, holding the Grail Cup to his stomach. Indy started to ask him how he felt, but Henry was gazing past him, eyes glazed, a rapturous expression on his face.

Now what?

Slowly Indy turned and saw the Grail knight standing on the steps.

“I know you,” Henry called out to the knight. “Yes, I know you.”

“Were we comrades in arms?”

“No, from the books. You’re the third knight, the one who stayed behind. But I don’t understand. You had the Grail Cup. Why are you so old?”

The knight descended the rest of the stairs. “Many times my spirit faltered, and I could not bear to drink from the cup, so I aged, a year for every day I did not drink. But now at last, I am released to death with honor, for this brave knight-errant cometh to take my place.”

Indy looked from the knight to his father, uneasiness churning a path through his gut. “Dad, there’s a misunderstanding here. I didn’t really . . .”

“He is not a knight-errant,” Henry scoffed. “He’s just my errant son who has led an impure life. Unworthy of the honor you bestow.”

Indy nodded. “Yes, an impure life.”

“Totally unworthy. Son, do something worthy, and help your father stand up.”

Henry set the Grail Cup down and wrapped an arm over Indy’s shoulder.

“You sure you want to try this, Dad?”

“Of course. I’m feeling better by the moment.”

Brody took the other side, and they gently lifted Henry to his feet. Indy hoped his father’s recovery was not just a temporary one brought on by the sight of the Grail Cup and the belief that it could cure him. He wanted the cure to be real.

“There, see?” Henry cringed a moment, then courageously straightened up. “That wasn’t so bad.”

“Are you really cured, Dad?”

Henry frowned at his son as if he were still a child asking silly questions. He took his arms away from Indy and Brody. “How many times have I told you, Junior, that belief creates reality. I believe—I
knew
—the cup could heal me, and it has. It has.”

After everything that had happened to him today, Indy didn’t see any reason to doubt him. He thought back to what the old Indian had said to him after he had climbed down from the mesa and told him about the eagle.
Now you know that you have the power within you to attain all that you seek, no matter how difficult the challenge.

Eagles and the Grail Cup; the knight and the Indian. It was all a jumble. But his father was alive, and they knew each other now as never before. He watched as the knight stepped closer and peered into Henry’s face.

“Is it you then, brother? Are ye the knight who will relieve me?”

“Alas, no. I am but a scholar.”

The knight gestured toward Brody. “Is it you, brother?”

“Me? I’m English.”

The knight looked baffled and walked over to Sallah, who had herded the Nazi guards away from the others and was still keeping an eye on them. He placed a hand on Sallah’s shoulder, apparently confident that he’d found his replacement. “Ah, good Knight.”

Sallah didn’t understand. He looked at Indy.

“He said, ‘Good knight.’ ”

Sallah nodded to the old man. “Yes. Good night. Sleep tight.”

Indy bent down and picked up Henry’s hat, tie, and watch. He froze as he saw Elsa out of the corner of his eye, inching closer to the Grail Cup. Suddenly she took two quick steps, grabbed the cup in both hands, and held it up. She gazed at it as if in a trance. Her eyes were fixed on it with such an intensity that Indy finally understood that nothing else truly mattered to her. Not him. Not the Führer. Not anyone. She was obsessed by the Grail.

Indy was distracted by the old knight, who stepped in front of him. “Why have these strange knights come,” he muttered, “if not to challenge me?” He shook his head, bewildered, and walked away as Indy rose to his feet.