Author's Note: Well, it's been... a while. Sorry, guys, I'm going to Phillips Exeter right now, and I have classes 'till six, then homework 'till eleven. I have Christmas break right now, so I'm trying to get back into this. Umm, anyway, kind of a short chapter, and it has a lot of description, so let me know if it's excessive (constructive critisism I like). Next chapter will be up in a few days, I think, since I know what I'm going to write. Sorry to keep you waiting. But whatever, here it is.

Disclaimer: No more disclaimers- you know I don't own Indiana Jones.

Indiana Jones and the Spirits of Avalon

By Clansman Sam

Chapter 5: At the Feet of Christ

The darkness was all around him; the air was dank and hot, and the key was slippery in his sweaty hands; he was back in the tomb. The skylight seemed miles above him now, the spikes closing in, but as he backed himself against a wall all he cared about was the scene before him. There was the snake, its head the smiling face of Panama Hat, wrapping itself around Vivian. She stood still, merely waving as his grasp became tighter and tighter. Then the snake reached out, his serpentine tongue lashing out and grabbing the key. "Thank you, Jones," he said, and whipped his body around. Indy lunged towards Vivian but missed by inches… The spikes were grinding into him… She just waved one last time, and disappeared…

The shrill ringing of a telephone shocked him awake. Indy groaned and rolled over in his king-sized bed, picking up the receiver. "Hullo?" he muttered.

"Your wakeup call, Doctor Jones," said a rather chipper voice from the other end.

"Right. Thanks…" He hung up, stretched, and threw off the sheets. Canning had said he would pick them up at eight thirty the next morning. Right now it was eight, so he had time to take a shower. A rush of cold water might do him some good.

But feet away from the bathroom, there was a knock at his door. Indy didn't know who it was, but he could venture a guess. Walking over, he pulled it open. "Vivian?"

"Indiana," she said, with at least a little warmth. He opened the door farther, and she walked in, her eyes narrowing as she took in his somewhat underdressed and bleary-eyed appearance. "Why aren't you ready? Charles… er, Dr. Canning called earlier this morning to say that he'd be coming at 7:30, rather than eight. He didn't…?"

"No," Indy muttered, glancing woefully at the bathroom door and the shower that would've awaited him there. "It must have skipped his mind." He pulled a pair of work pants out of his duffel and put them on, then took out a shirt. Vivian watched him as he dressed, a sad look in her eye. "Something wrong?" he asked.

She shook her head fervently. "No, no, of course not…" She looked at him, smiling unconvincingly, "I'm sorry I was so dismissive of you last night, Indy. It's just…" She pursed her lips. "Anyway, you should get ready." She reached out and touched his arm, then walked back out of the door.

Indy slung his work bag over his shoulder, then fixed the fedora to his head. Talk about mixed messages, he thought, and began to follow Vivian downstairs. Just as he came to the door, the phone rang. He paused, then dismissed it. Probably just the front desk again, he thought groggily, and closed his door.

As he reached the lobby, Charles Canning came into view. "Dr. Jones!" he exclaimed happily, clapping Indy on the back. "Terribly sorry about the early wakeup, chap, I forgot to tell you…"

Indy smirked. "Ha ha ha…" He yanked Canning closer by the front of his shirt and muttered, "When I finish this assignment, I'm going to knock your face in." Then he let go and grinned unconvincingly around at the confused guests, as if nothing had happened.

Canning smoothed himself out, looking nervous. But just as quickly as he had exposed his anxiety, he exchanged it for a sneer. "If you finish this assignment, Dr. Jones. Only if." He gestured to the revolving doors. "Professor Monroe is waiting in the car."

"Swell." Indy walked outside behind the excavator, thoughts shooting through his head like bullets. If he survived? If? Did that mean he was somehow connected to…

He banished it from his mind and got into the passenger's seat. Vivian sat behind him, dressed sensibly for the long workday ahead of them. She smiled quickly at Indy, who tried to return it. But something told him that this was no regular job. He just couldn't put his finger on what it actually was.

The Ford coughed to life and began to speed through the streets. Indy turned his eyes to the window, desperate to turn his mind away from whatever awaited him at the dig site. Soon they were out of the city. A thick morning mist coated the lush countryside, so much so that Canning had to turn on his headlights. But Indy could still see the beauty of the scenery: rolling hills of verdant green, hay swaying in the fields, cut down with scythes by aging farmers whose small huts were nearby. It was a landscape that, in another situation, he might have given pause to enjoy. But right now, he only fealt an odd sense of dread as the Ford sputtered into Lymington. It was a quaint English village, wonderful in its homely, unhurried way. Most of its inhabitants were just waking up. The sign on the local coffeehouse flipped from Closed to Open, and a few drunks rubbed their eyes and leaned back against the brick wall of the local pub.

As they bounced around a corner in the cobblestone street, the shadow of a massive abbey loomed up through the haze. It still showed traces of its former magnificence, though it had been abandoned long ago by the Catholic monks that had once lived within its walls, left to crumble into ruins that told broken tales of ancient majesty. It had been named after the town it presided over, if he remembered correctly; Lymington Abbey.

The Ford rattled onto the dirt road that led to the monastery's entrance, stopping directly in front of the wrought iron gateway. Canning stepped out, immediately trotting over to a man in olive green fatigues who was positioned at the gate, a 9mm on his hip and an SMG in his hands. They began to speak quickly and quietly, and after around a minute of talking Canning jogged back over. Indy was out now, as was Vivian. "Let's go," he said, motioning to the gate.

Indy nodded placidly. They stepped through the rusted gate, and he glanced warily at the man who Canning had been speaking to. The British archaeologist sidled up to him, immediately noting his confusion. "Oh, no need to fear, Jones, he's supposed to be here. The Royal Army is providing the funding for this project. They have a few men here to make sure it's all going smoothly."

Yeah, but with machine guns? Indy didn't ask, instead turning his eyes back to the path ahead of him. The fog was clearing now, the sun finally appearing, and as they stepped into the courtyard it was immediately evident that this was no small excavation. A large segment of the grounds were being dug in grids, and there was a veritable army of diggers working the different sites. Little tan jeeps zoomed around the courtyard, transporting equipment and workers. Indy took a deep breath in, unable to contain a smile. It had been several months since he'd been at a real dig like this, and even under the circumstances it felt damned good.

But as he continued on he noticed that there was a lot of army presence as well. It seemed like the space not taken up by the massive archaeological project was filled with soldiers, strolling around the sites with weapons in hand, barking orders wherever they saw fit, or just milling around, content to let other do the dirty work while they reported back to Her Majesty.

Indy looked at the towering cathedral before him. Twin towers rose menacingly up on either side of the main church, whose long body stretched out behind them in its granite grandeur. But as he looked closer the age and lack of attention showed; it was a shell, thick vines growing up all around it and stained glass windows pockmarked with jagged holes. Somehow it was all the more ominous because of it. He pulled his jacket tighter and followed Canning through the weed-covered oaken doors.

They clanked shut behind him, and the light was immediately dimmed considerably, the sun only able to find a way in through the holes in the windows. A crucifix hung on the back wall, below which was the tapestry he had seen the copy of, but it was the only thing they had kept that would distinguish it as a church. The pews had been removed, leaving a great open space leading up to the high altar, on which rested what looked like a casket. Five men stood there. One of them stepped down and made his way over to them. As he got closer Indy noticed that he wore an eyepatch on his right eye.

"Jones," he said in a kind of perpetually angry voice, sticking his nose up and not offering a hand.

Indy raised an eyebrow. "And you are…"

"Sergeant Thorpe, Royal Army. You answer to me."

"I see," Indy said, deadpan. Thorpe scowled at the subtle jibe, touched his eyepatch, and turned his back to them. They followed him up to the altar, and as soon as he reached the stone casket, he peered inside.

"Try not to faint," Canning was saying. Indy ignored him; the contents of the casket were far more interesting than the witless Brit behind him. Inside was, unsurprisingly, a skeleton, monk's robes hanging in tatters around the bones. His arms were outstretched, and the fingers of his right hand appeared to have been gripping something. Indy turned to look at Canning. "Was he holding the key?"

Canning nodded. "We slid the top off the casket and this bastard just kind of leaned forward with the thing in his hand."

"Where is it?" he asked. Canning produced it and handed it over. "Doesn't look like you've made much headway," Indy muttered.

The Brit didn't seem very inclined to respond, but finally he shook his head. "We've found other interesting items, but nothing that relates to the sword." Indy nodded, inwardly smug that this bigheaded idiot was in need of his help.

He weighed the key in his hand for a moment, thinking. The skeleton was faced to the right side of the church, the key pointing the same way… He looked to the right. Directly in front of him was a floor-to-ceiling stained glass window, portraying the birth of Christ. There was Joseph, standing behind Mary with the Three Wise Men, and there was Jesus, cradled in the arms of his virgin mother. But there was something about it… the way he was reaching out, almost in the exact same way that the skeletal monk had been… and his finger was pointed towards the far right corner of the church…

Indy spun around. Another stained glass window with a Biblical scene, this one of the boy Jesus at the temple. This time he had his hand raised upwards as if he was asking a question. It looked natural enough, but when he followed the direction of Christ's outstretched hand—

Indy gasped. The ceiling was adorned with a magnificent, Michelangelo-like fresco, one depicting in great detail the crucifixion of Jesus. How had he not noticed it? He turned to Canning, incensed.

The head archaeologist merely shrugged. "We didn't think it was all that important, Jones. And anyway, we thought it might be something a world-renowned antiquities finder like yourself could find it without assistance." Thorpe snickered openly.

"You could've at least told me to keep an eye out for it," Indy said, looking straight at the sergeant. He stiffened, and reflexively fingered his eyepatch.

Feeling a little better at his small triumph, Indy looked again at the fresco. At the end nearest him the crowd began, all clamoring to see the sinners on the cross. And at the far end were those being crucified. In the center, obviously, was Christ, nailed to the cross, emaciated, apostles gathered around him in prayer. This part of the fresco was where the child Christ had been pointing, but nevertheless it seemed like any normal, albeit dramatic, rendition of the crucifixion. There was no obvious direction to look towards, as in the others. Where…

Vivian came to his side. She had been silent this entire time, as had the others, watching him methodically make his mental way through the church. She looked at him, a twinkle in her eye. "I saw the same thing, Indy," she said. "Christ pointing in different directions, all leading up to this."

He felt a surge of pride that she had seen it too. "But I can't find…" he started.

"What's that below his feet?" Vivian suddenly asked, pointing to a spot at the base of the cross.

And all of a sudden he could see it as well. The paint was beginning to peel away, but there was something there, something meant to glow—"It's a key!" Indy shouted. "It's a key! That's where this goes, below the feet of Christ!" He whipped around, realization dawning. The feet of Christ…

"The crucifix," he and Vivian murmured in synchrony. He ran over to it, key in hand. It was an average-sized sculpture, polished stone with the paint all but worn to nothing. His eyes followed an invisible line, down from the base of the statue to the dirt-covered floor. His imaginary line came down right in the center of one of the granite tiles. Indy got his fingers around it and, hoping against hope, wrenched upwards.

The tile slid out easily. He placed it on the ground and turned back to see what was inside, Vivian beaming at him. It was a keyhole, right in the stone. Canning was in awe as well, but he was attempting to disguise it with a look of repugnance. Thorpe, however, was making no attempt to conceal his amazement. "Well then, Jones, let's see if it fits," he said, glassy eyed.

Indy nodded, adjusted his fedora, and in one quick motion put the key in its hole. He glanced back. "Here goes nothing," he said, and twisted it until it clicked.

With a giant rumble, the main section of the floor began to slide outwards, revealing what looked to be a bottomless hole. Two of Thorpe's men jumped out of the way as the opening widened, and then just as suddenly it stopped with a crack, dust swirling around it. A staircase came into view, descending inexorably into the pit of blackness.

Indy swiveled around, grinning at the stunned people before him. "Who wants to go first?"