Indiana Jones & the Peril at Delphi

He was about to signal Dorian that he was ready when he took another look at the rock he'd been grasping. It was black, shaped like a cone, and still partially buried in the wall. He held the torchlight over it.

Its surface was thatched as if it had once been encased in a rope sheath and the strands had petrified.

'What is this?' he whispered hoarsely.

He grabbed the pack and took out the hard-bristle brush. He scraped away some of the dirt encrusted on it and ran his fingertips over the rough surface. He lowered the torch until it was almost touching the cone.

It looked like obsidian, or iron, and the thatching, he was con vinced, was not natural, but man-made.

'Indy, are you all right?' Dorian called down to him.

He glanced up, then tugged once on the rope.

'Ready?' Dorian called.

This time he jerked twice. 'Not quite.' He'd lost the tablet, but maybe he could salvage the cone. He didn't know why, but he sensed it was something important, something he shouldn't leave behind.

He wrapped his arms around the cone to see if he could loosen it. He pulled, and he thought it moved. He took in a deep breath and pulled again. There. It moved. He was sure of it. He laid his chest against the cone to catch his breath. He was exhausted, dizzy.

Then he saw the eagle.

It was winging skyward. He watched it.

The eagle. His eagle.

Here to help.

The eagle. His guardian, his protector.

But where have you been? I needed you. Indy heard his thoughts as if he were talking, but he was sure his lips weren't moving. The eagle continued soaring higher and higher. His skin tingled. He was neither asleep nor awake.

His thoughts drifted back to when he was fourteen and had met an old Navajo named Changing Man while on a desert hike with his father. The Indian had taken a liking to young Indy, and said he would see him again. It hardly seemed likely, because a few months later Indy had moved to Chicago. The summer after he graduated from high school he returned to the Southwest to work on his uncle's ranch, but by then his encounter with the old Indian was only a distant memory.

However, one day he stopped at a trading post to buy supplies, and there was Changing Man. He not only remembered Indy, but acted as though he'd been expecting him. Was he ready for his vision quest? he asked. Indy didn't know what he meant, but he was curious about the old Indian and his ways and said yes, he was ready. The

following day, he met Changing Man at daybreak outside the trading post and they hiked up a mesa. By nightfall Indy found himself alone and without food on the windswept surface. Changing Man had told him he must wait there until an animal approached him, and from that time on it would be his protector and spiritual guide.

After two days he was delirious from hunger and his canteen was nearly empty. It was a mistake, a big mistake. Maybe vision quests worked for Indians, but no animals were interested in him, unless it was to pick at his bones after he was dead. He walked away from the stone shelter he'd built, hoping he had enough strength for the trek down. He would find water and food, go back to the ranch, and in another few weeks he would be home in Chicago again where he would start college. As he reached the edge of the mesa, he heard a voice behind him. The voice of Changing Man. Where are you going? Startled, he turned around. No one was there. He was hallucinat ing. But he hesitated. The trail was too steep. The sun was low.

Feeling defeated, he headed back to the shelter for the night. He would wait until morning.

Suddenly, an eagle swooped low over the mesa and landed on the top of the wall of his shelter. He stopped and stared, and again heard the voice of Changing Man. He will always guide you. In spite of everything, or maybe because of it, he had found his protector.

He recalled all of it as he watched the eagle soaring above him. He could see it turn its head as if it were looking for prey. Or maybe back at him. It made a noise. What was it saying? The eagle faded, but the sound continued.

'Indy, Indy.'

It was Dorian. She sounded frantic. 'Answer me.'

He tugged on the rope.

'There's not much time. The vapors.'

Vapors. Christ. He'd forgotten all about that. Had he been down here that long? He pulled his pocket watch

from inside his jacket. It had survived his fall and was still working. It was 2:44. He stood up and tightened the loop of rope. He wasn't convinced the vapors were dangerous, but there was no reason to take any chances.

No time now for the cone. He must have drifted off for a minute. But he'd come back for it, he told himself. He tugged once.

A moment later, he felt himself rising and swinging out from the debris-strewn overhang. His eyes focused on the black object frozen in the wall. Then it was blanketed in darkness, lost in a lightless abyss.

He held the torch out and watched for the spot where the tablet had been. Ten, fifteen, twenty feet. He contin ued rising. It was hazy from the torch smoke, but then he saw it. A dark hole, and above it a smaller indention where the torch holder had been yanked from the wall. God, he was lucky People fell three feet and broke bones. He'd tumbled two stories through pitch darkness and sur vived with cuts, bruises, probably a couple of cracked ribs.

He heard a deep rumble from somewhere below. It was followed by the same hissing that preceded the rising of the vapors, and he knew he would not escape them. The slow, easy swing of the ascent continued, and there was nothing he could do to speed it up. He swung the torch in front of him, noticing a haze. There was too much of it to be torch smoke.

He squeezed the rope tighter and sucked in a deep breath. It hurt his ribs, and he expelled some of it. He wondered how much longer it would take to reach the surface. A minute passed. Slowly, he released the rest of the air. Tainted air. No use holding his breath if he was already breathing the vapors.

He sniffed at the air. It didn't seem to have any effect, except he was feeling drowsy. He was exhausted from the fall and his injuries. He pressed his forehead against the rope and closed his eyes. Within seconds, he felt himself drifting, half asleep, half awake.

His head jerked up, and he grabbed the rope. He must have dozed. Then he saw the vapors rising around him. How long had he been breathing them? He forced himself to concentrate on the rope and keep his balance.

Just hold on. Stay awake. Try not to breathe. God, he ached.

Another minute passed, an elastic minute that felt like hours, but finally he popped through the lip of the hole, and drank in the cool air. The mound was covered in mist, and he couldn't see anyone. He climbed to his feet, wincing in pain, and felt himself being pulled down the mound.

'Indy, down here.'

He stumbled forward, picking up momentum. He raised his arms to block his fall. Then suddenly hands were grabbing him. The rope was pulled over his chest, shoul der, arms. He crumpled to his knees, fell onto his stom ach. Someone rolled him over.

'We've got to get him to the doctor.' Dorian's voice. 'Carry him to the wagon. Fast.'

He saw movement around him, shapes, blurs. He felt himself being lifted again. He closed his eyes.

'What happened down there, Indy?' Dorian asked. 'How did you survive?'

'I found a stone, a black stone,' he mumbled.

'What kind of stone?' It was Doumas's voice.

'Shaped like a cone, thatching on it.'

'Can you find it again?' Doumas asked.

But Indy never answered. His eyes closed and he was out.

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