Walk By Faith
He doesn't think Donovan will shoot. Yes, the man is allied with the Nazis, and apparently, he's an amoral brute, but he is, at heart, a scholar, and a bit of a politician. At least, that's always been his impression of the man. He might not care what his allies do, what blood is spilled, but he's not the type to get his hands dirty, to engage in unnecessary risk or unnecessary violence.
The shot rings out, echoing through the stone chamber. Something like a punch strikes him, just under his ribs on the right side, and he can't breathe. Can't breathe, can't gasp, can't even really exhale. Numbness – shock – envelops him for a second. Then he hears Junior cry out "Dad!"
His knees buckle out from under him, and the floor seems to spin up to catch him. And then he's on his back, Junior and Marcus supporting him, with Sallah grasping his head and shoulders with gentle hands. His chest and stomach hurt, he can't breathe...the world is spinning and all he can think of is the blossoming, fiery agony that envelops his midriff.
He's aware of hands undoing his tie, his collar, his vest, and his shirt. Aware of the fabric being tugged away, distant wetness over his hands and his skin...when did he put his hands over his stomach?
Junior bends over him, tugs his hands away, oddly gentle, presses something – handkerchiefs? - over the wound. The last hurts, and he chokes and stiffens against the hands that hold him, grimaces and bites down on a cry of pain.
He's been shot. It finally registers what happened. Donovan shot him in the gut.
Above him, Junior's face goes hard and angry, then whirls away from him. He can't raise his head to follow the movement, because Sallah is holding him down. It doesn't matter, because Donovan's voice rings out.
"The healing power of the Grail is the only thing that can save your father now. It's time to ask yourself what you believe."
Fear fills him. Junior...Junior has never believed in the Grail quest. Not like he always has. The Grail has been his crusade, his obsession. Junior has the diary, has the riddles that contain the keys to the traps, but he hasn't had a real chance to study them. And even if he had...how could he understand them well enough to pass unharmed where so many have fallen? The words are riddles for a reason.
He does not think his son unworthy, but neither does he think him in any way prepared to test the might of such defenses. Junior doesn't have his faith, or his knowledge, or his long years of study behind him.
Junior steps away from him, and he knows that his son will go forward, will face the challenges that accompany this last part of the quest that has consumed so much of his life.
He thinks of all that has happened. The Nazis, the attacks, his kidnapping, the wild escapes, the search for the tomb of the second knight. He clings to the awareness of these things, to all the new things he has learned of his son in the past few days.
Junior is resourceful. And while he has never pursued the Grail, he has apparently had some experience in seeking artifacts. Perhaps none of this potency or legendary status, but perhaps whatever adventures he has previously faced, whatever quests he has completed before, will arm and armor him against the traps laid before him.
He must believe that. He has to. At this moment, he has no solace, no recourse, but faith.
Perhaps it is because he knows his son is facing the first test. Perhaps it is because he is dying, or perhaps it is because he was reviewing his notes recently, but he finds he remembers with perfect clarity the words of the first test.
The Breath of God. Only the penitent man shall pass.
Penitent. Penitent. How can such a thing be measured? How could a trap measure penitence? It cannot read minds and hearts, and how would it judge if it could?
He repeats the word in silent prayer, begging for God's intercession to spare and protect his son.
He hears a shout in a familiar voice. His heart sinks. Then Marcus, who apparently left his side at some point, crouches beside him, pale and sunburned face alight with relief. "He's through. He's done it, Henry. He's safe!"
No. Not safe. Only through one of three traps. And only one trap did he think he had unraveled, and even that not completely.
The Word of God. Only in the footsteps of God will he proceed.
He always thought that it meant the name of God. Jehovah. But...if it's Latin...all of the writings that presented the clues were Latin.
In Latin, the name Jehovah begins with an 'I'.
Will Junior remember? He taught his son Latin, and his son is an archaeologist, but will he remember in time?
He waits with dread for a scream. For some sound that will indicate his son's success or failure.
And what of the third trial?
The Path of God. Only in the leap from the lion's head will he prove his worth.
But how? He's never been certain. He knows only that in the images, some men walked while others fell. He never discovered what critical factor determined who lived, what opened the path to the Grail's final resting place. It has something to do with faith, and that fills him with fear. Is there any way Junior can believe in the Grail? How, when his son claims he never understood the drive to seek it?
He tries to move, tries to rise, tries to go to his son's aid. But something shifts inside him, and agony pulses. He falls back with a strangled scream, and a vague feeling of blood gushing anew from his wound. He hears Marcus shout for his son.
Marcus believes Junior is safe. He has to believe that as well.
The world darkens and slides away, pain removing his ability to think, to see. He clings to a black wall and fights the dragging of oblivion, terrified that if he falls, he will never awaken again. Even the pulsing, white-hot pain radiating from his side is better than that.
Is Sallah still there? What of Marcus? What of Donovan and Elsa? What of Junior?
He doesn't know whether a second passes or a minute or an hour as he fights to hold on.
What he does know is that, quite suddenly, warm hands are tipping his head up. It hurts. He can't fight it, too weak from blood loss and pain. A hand slips behind his head, and something is pressed to his lips. Something cool and stone-like, smooth.
The rim of a cup, he realizes, as liquid tips against his lips, past them and down his throat. He swallows. Swallows again. The liquid feels cool and sweet, and though he thinks it's water, there's a taste to it...a taste he can't define, but better than the best wines could be.
Strength rises in him, renewed life driving back the darkness and oblivion. He drinks again, and almost protests when the cup is pulled away.
He feels the sodden bandage on his torso being removed, the wound exposed to open air. The cool liquid drenches his side.
Cool only for a moment. Then it burns. Like fire. Like acid. Like someone is pouring molten – something – or pure alcohol into the traumatized flesh. He cries out and clenches his teeth and bites back a scream, arching against the hands that hold him. He'd crack his head on the stones if Sallah weren't holding him, supporting him, he thinks. Knees on either side of him prevent him from trying to escape. He settles for clenching teeth and fists against the pain.
Another wash of liquid, and this time the pain stops, like it's been washed away somehow. He doesn't understand it, but he breathes a sigh of relief nonetheless. He sags to the stone and opens his eyes, weary and yet invigorated, and feeling strength return to him that he has not felt in years.
He blinks at Junior's damp face and wide smile, then frowns as his son sets a cup lightly on his chest.
A cup. He'll blame his exhaustion and still stunned mind for how long it takes him to realize what it is.
Not a cup. The Cup. The Grail. Small and unassuming and precious beyond measure, for all its humble appearance.
Of course. The cup of a carpenter, not a king. He should have known. A small flake of this cup would be worth more than any golden goblet.
Realization strikes again, near-stunning in its intensity. His son just…
His son just washed his wounds and slaked his thirst with the Cup of Life. He has not only seen and touched the Grail, but drunk from the chalice of Christ, the cup that caught the blood of the Son of God.
No wonder nothing hurts anymore. He has never felt so humbled, and so unworthy of anything, in his entire life. He would have been content beyond measure to simply glimpse the Grail and carry the image in his heart until his death. To touch it...to drink from it…
He wishes he had more time for the realization to sink in. But there are still enemy soldiers around them. Sallah has, at some point, stolen a rifle and is in the process of encouraging the remaining soldiers to drop their weapons. Not that it seems to be difficult, as many of them are staring at him. Junior helps him to his feet, and he rises with an ease he has not experienced in years.
Donovan is nowhere to be seen. He wonders what happened to the man, but can't bring himself to care. As far as he's concerned, the world has lost nothing if the man failed some trial of the Grail and got himself killed.
He's busy doing up his shirt when Elsa takes the cup from where Junior placed it, backing toward the entrance with triumph in her eyes. "It's ours Indy! Yours and mine!"
His son doesn't seem to agree, from the tension in his face. "Elsa...Elsa, stop moving..." His son is watching the floor. He can't see anything beyond an ornate seal set into the stone, but he doesn't have to ask because his son shouts another warning. "Elsa, don't cross the seal...the knight warned us not to take the Grail from here…!"
She doesn't listen. Of course she doesn't. She's never understood consequences, never really believed in the powers she was meddling with. One final step, and the earth rumbles and cracks around them. Chaos is instantaneous as men flee for the entrance to the temple, while the ground heaves and buckles around them, and deep chasms form in the ancient stone.
For a few moments, he's too focused on keeping his footing and not falling into one of the cracks to keep track of anything else. Then he sees Elsa and Junior and the Grail on another slab, just as the Grail tumbles into a widening crack. Elsa follows it, and his son grabs her hand.
He's scrambling to get to Junior's side, listening as his son pleads for Elsa to take his hand. He can't hear what she says in reply, but moments later a scream echoes and his son stumbles, his hands empty.
The ground quakes and crumbles, and his son topples over the edge.
No.
He darts the last few feet and snatches at his son's hand, just before the boy falls away completely, hanging on with both hands and every bit of newly awakened strength the Grail gave him. He already knows it won't be enough, not for long.
"Junior, give me your other hand. I can't hold on."
Past his son's shoulder, he sees what really has Junior's attention. The Grail, lying on a small ledge just beyond his reach. He can guess from that what happened to Elsa. Junior stares at the cup, stretches out, straining against his hand.
"Junior..."
"I can get it, dad. I can almost reach it..."
"Indiana." The name his son chose, that he has never used. It's enough to make his son stop straining against his grip and turn wide eyes in his direction. "Indiana, let it go."
Shock in those eyes, and he understands. The Grail quest has consumed almost all of his life. Small wonder his son would think that he would wish to retrieve the cup at any cost. But nothing, not even the Grail, is worth the life of his boy. Besides, he understands more than he did. The safety of the Grail's resting place has been breached, profaned by forces that never should have glimpsed the chalice, let alone touched it. It is no longer safe, and it no longer belongs in the world.
Besides, he only ever wished to see the Grail, to glimpse it just once. He has not only seen it, but drunk from it, held it in his own two hands. The healing grace of the Cup of Christ will remain with him, flowing through his very veins, for the rest of his days. The memory of it will stay with him as well, cherished and second only to the realization of how much his son loves him, how much his boy has done for him, up to and including bringing him the Water of Life. He does not need the Cup.
For a moment, he fears Junior will follow Elsa's lead, regardless. Then his son turns back, flings his other hand upward, and grips his wrist. Chooses him, rather than the legend lying just beyond his reach. He arches his back, pulls hard as Junior shoves off the stone, and together they pull his son from the brink of falling and onto solid ground. Unstable ground, yes, but solid.
He's turning to run when he spots another figure. He turns back to shout a call, a warning, and meets eyes as old as the stone around them, surrounded by chain mail and white hair.
The last brother. He never thought the man would still be alive. But of course...with the Grail...a final guardian. He has so many questions, so much he wants to say…
"Dad, please..."
He has a son who is trying to save him again. Most likely, Junior knows the temptation the knight represents to him.
The knight raises a hand in salute, and he thinks he sees something warm – perhaps a smile – on that ancient face. He smiles in turn, offers his own salutation with a nod of the head, then turns away. Like his son turning from the Grail, he has what his heart truly holds dear, and he will not sacrifice it.
He senses, more than sees, the final farewell from the guardian, just as the roof comes down between them. A part of him wishes he could have saved the man, but he understands. Like the Grail, the knight has been in the world for long enough. It is time for him to seek his rest. Time to let him go.
Besides, he suspects that all the questions he has either need no answers, or have already given him the knowledge to understand them. The deepest questions, such as what effects the Water of Life will have on him, are questions that only time will answer for him.
He races outside with his son, leaving behind the remains and the end of the quest that has taken a lifetime to finish, but with a new dream already in mind.
He has a son, who is more amazing than he ever thought. A brilliant young man. A survivor. He wants to know more about his boy, about the son he has been so long estranged from, who still came to find him and help him complete the journey of a lifetime. He wants to know, now, everything his son has seen and experienced, every adventure. He wants to know this boy, this man.
Junior will always be Junior, and he thinks neither of them will mind that, but he wants to know the man called Indiana. Indy. The friend of Marcus and Sallah. The man who carries a whip and wields it expertly, who found a tomb and faced rats in the sewers of Venice and so much more.
His faith has taken him this far, on a journey he never dreamed would be completed, and it is time for faith to lead him home.
Author's Note: Yeah, so...this kind of started as a tribute to Sean Connery, because this is how I remember him best. This was the first role I saw him in. And then it sort of grew and took on a life of its own.