Indiana Jones and the White Witch Read online

  "You throw a shadow from the sun, from moonlight, from firelight, electric lights, even a flash of lightning. Well, is your shadow real? Can you capture it? Make it do things you want it to do?"

  "Of course not."

  "Then it's of no use to you, is it?"

  "Not the way you're talking about it."

  "The little people, the faeries, elves, what we even call the gelflings, many other names, you know what they're like to me, Indy?"

  "No, but I'd like to."

  "The airplane we flew today."

  "Yes?"

  "It flies because it's missing something. You need to learn such things if you're going to fly well. There's a lowering of air pressure atop the wing. Maybe a half inch or less. But there's full pressure beneath that wing. The difference between normal pressure below, and a lack of full pressure above, well, Indy, that's the secret of flight. Something you can't see, that's less of what it should be, that's missing, and wonder of wonders—we fly!"

  "When it comes to cavorting in the sky, I'll yield. Strictly student time for me."

  "I've never seen the little people, Indy. But I've seen shadows flitting through the bushes, glows of sunlight, phantom fights in the dark. That's good enough for me. When you become fully sensitive and open to what our vision can't see, something happens. It's like all of nature joins with you."

  Her sudden laugh was again like music. "That's our magic. It's the sorcery of flight. We have less of what we have when the airplane rests quietly on the earth, so we soar high above it. Isn't it marvelous?"

  "You certainly are."

  "And you, Professor," she said with mock severity, "at times suffer from loss of memory and failure of recall."

  He blinked his eyes at her unexpected remarks. "Madame," he answered in the same tone, "you have me at a disadvantage."

  "I fail to understand, Professor, how you can see what isn't visible in your own world and use it to your advantage—and yet you find what we do as wizardry."

  She took a deep breath after her rush of words. "So what does that make you? A sorcerer who sees what isn't apparent to people around you?"

  He shook his head. "No. Just someone trained in knowing what to look for."

  "And assemble all the pieces into a coherent picture," she said firmly.

  "I yield," he said, throwing both arms into the air. "I'll accept the little people and the curving light, even if I can't see them."

  "That, Professor, is the first step to true learning."

  "Who's the teacher here? You or me?" he asked her.

  "What's that old saying, Indy? And a little child shall lead them?"

  He made a rude sound. "You hardly fit that picture. I—"

  Gale turned suddenly, interrupting him, pointing. "Oh, look! Indy, do you see them?" He followed where she pointed. Lights gleaming in the woods, apparently some distance away. Twinkling lights moving behind trees and foliage.

  "Are they—"

  She had anticipated his question. "No. Those lights are from the everyday world. It's the police, returning. They've been driving in circles, following the roads they can see." Gale smiled. "I imagine they're very frustrated by now."

  He shook her arm. "Let's get down there. This I want to hear myself."

  5

  "This place is ruddy well haunted!" The lead driver of the police convoy stood stiffly, his face beet red from frustration. His thick handlebar mustache bristled as his cheek muscles twitched. "We've been driving these roads for nigh onto two blinkin' hours, and every time we makes a turn, we're right back where we were before!" He pointed an accusing finger at Caitlin. She had changed her leather garment, and her face was scrubbed clean of dirt and blood. She could have stepped forward from someplace in time, a hunter from some ancient warrior clan.

  "Haunted?" she asked, her voice on the edge of coolness. Her sword hung from a thick belt by her side, and the constable's eyes kept roving between the weapon and Caitlin's face. "And I don't understand why you needs be carrying that oversized pigsticker, either, miss!"

  The tone of her voice went from controlled to icy. "The sword is none of your affair. You are on private land. We live and hunt here. Now back to your problem. Why have you returned?"

  "I told you!" the constable shouted. "This place, this bleedin' forest, it's haunted! There's no way out!"

  "Do not shout at me," Caitlin said quietly. "You abuse our hospitality."

  The constable turned redder, making an obvious effort to regain control of himself and avoid further outbursts. "You have my apology for that," he said, grinding every word through clenched teeth.

  "Accepted," Caitlin said.

  Indy leaned closer to Gale. "She's playing him like a harp string," he whispered.

  "Shh. It gets better."

  "I would like very much, and I am asking, for your assistance," said the officer. "To find our way out of here. We have been driving through fog that settles about us from nowhere, and when the fog blows off, the road changes on us and we have no idea where we are. Except for now, and I don't know how we got here again."

  Caitlin seemed to ignore everything he said. "You wish to leave, then. You recall, Constable, I said that whatever you did would be of no avail."

  He took a step back, then nodded, his eyes lidded. "I recall, miss. This is all very strange."

  "Perhaps. You need do only what we asked of you before, and you are free to leave here without problem."

  "And what would that be?"

  "Leave the bodies of our people here," Caitlin said in a voice devoid of emotion.

  "I cannot do that, miss. I am required to—"

  "We are wasting time. If you cannot do what we ask, then drive off. I assure you that you will return again."

  "You mean," the man asked warily, "that unless we leave these bodies here, we can't get out of this accursed forest?"

  "Judge for yourself."

  "This is quite irregular." He was fuming.

  Caitlin did not respond.

  Another driver came up to the officer. "Constable Harrison, may I say something?"

  "Speak, man!"

  "The woman tells you honestly, Harrison. Unless we do as she bids, we shall be driving these roads until we are old and gray."

  "That is crazy!" Harrison shouted.

  "Crazy or not, that's the way it is."

  "He speaks well and true," Caitlin said.

  "And if we keep driving like this," the driver added, "we'll be out of petrol soon, and I don't see any pumps about here to fill our tanks."

  Constable Harrison's mustache bristled again. "Scotland Yard's going to be in on this," he said sternly.

  "I have no interest in Scotland Yard." Caitlin dismissed the matter.

  "Well, they're going to—"

  "Harrison!" The second driver was nearly frantic. "Do as the woman says!"

  Behind Harrison came the sound of angry men. The constable turned to look at the other drivers and helpers by the ambulances and lorries. Men shook their fists at him.

  "Get a move on, Constable!" a beefy man shouted. "So help me, we'll do as the woman says and leave you here to rot!"

  Harrison turned back to Caitlin. As he met her deep penetrating gaze he felt he was staring into the angry eyes of a wolf. Shuddering, he turned back again to his men. "All right! You heard what she wants! Bring out the bodies of her people, and be gentle about it."

  That last gaze into Caitlin's eyes seemed to have demoralized the man. "Where can we put the, uh..."

  Caitlin pointed to a grassy knoll nearby. "There."

  Indy nudged Gale. "That woman can say more with fewer words than anyone I've ever met," he said quietly.

  "When she looks at someone like she did that nit of a constable," Gale observed, "that's all she needs."

  Twenty minutes later the thirty bodies, wrapped in silk and linen, lay in a neat row on the grass. Constable Harrison turned to Caitlin. He removed his helmet, holding it before him in a submissive stance.

 
Before he could speak, Caitlin pointed to the lead police car. "You may leave now."

  "There'll be no problem, miss? Driving away from the forest, I mean? So we can return to our families?"

  Caitlin remained aloof. "Go, now."

  He started for his car, and the remaining drivers and assistants scrambled for their vehicles. Two minutes later all that could be seen of the impromptu convoy were tail-lights dwindling in the distance.

  People began to leave from their homes; those who'd been left with ashes, and would be forced to live in the caverns of the Glen, tending the injured, also began to assemble by the knoll where the bodies lay. Indy could feel an ache in his body. By now he knew he was "receiving" the pain and sorrow of these people. The more he felt a part of them, the more sensitive he became to their feelings.

  This was no place for him tonight.

  "Gail, it's time for me to leave," he told the woman by his side. "I know I've been made welcome here, but tonight isn't the time for me to stay."

  "I'm going with you."

  Indy showed his surprise. "Tonight? Now? I thought you'd stay... well, you know," he finished lamely, looking at the bodies.

  "Caitlin wishes me to be with you tonight. I agree with her. There's so much to go over, Indy. Besides, I..." She let her sentence hang.

  "What were you going to tell me?"

  "The sense, the presence, of danger, is still with us." Again she hesitated. "With you, Indy. It's almost a dark mist about you."

  He couldn't avoid the smile at the corner of his mouth. "And you're going to protect me?"

  She almost flared in anger. "A lot more than you'd ever imagine," she said heatedly. "I can sense things you can't. And as good as you are, you don't have eyes in the back of your head. Indy, you're close and dear to me, but there are times when even you can use some help."

  "Your choice," Indy said.

  He stood alone as Gale went to Caitlin. The two women hugged fiercely, then stepped back, each looking into the eyes of the other. Indy observed them closely. They hadn't spoken a word. Gale returned to him. "I need to get some things from the hall. I'll meet you by the car. Caitlin bids you good night and hopes to see you again soon. Very soon."

  He stopped himself from asking questions. Time enough for that later. He went to his car and waited. After several minutes Gale returned, a large leather knapsack slung over one shoulder. She averted her eyes. Indy saw tears on her cheek, and somehow knew to keep silent.

  The drive through the New Forest went smoothly. The only mists they encountered were the result of changing temperature and humidity. Gleaming lights appeared along the winding roadway, but they were reflections shining from the eyes of deer, rabbits, foxes, and other animals. Gale remained quiet during the drive; Indy did not intrude on her silence. Something was driving her deeper into depression.

  Indy's unexpected problem was that he was receiving almost a physical effect from Gale. Ever since he'd been exposed to the magic of the New Forest and the inhabitants of the Glen, he was experiencing a startling sensitivity to the moods and feelings of people close to him. Finally he found it almost impossible to remain silent, but before he could speak, they drove up an incline, and as if a switch had been thrown, the trees fell away and he was turning onto the main highway to London.

  Clear of New Forest, Gale began her own ascent from the depths of dark introspection. Indy glanced at her. "It might help if you talked about it."

  "I'm better now. That was a very bad period... I was, well, receiving is what I mean."

  "Gale, are you telling me you were receiving a message by mind? Telepathic?"

  "No." She shook her head. "Empathic. Very strong. No words, no messages, but a knowing."

  "Empathic," he repeated. "I don't want to push, but—"

  Her words hit him with physical force.

  "Athena... Caitlin's mother.... She is going to die tonight."

  Indy felt ice race through his body, and his muscles jerked suddenly. "How... how can you know that?" He spoke slowly, choosing his questions with great care.

  "It's all through the Glen, Indy," Gale told him with incredible calm. "It's like a sound wave that goes out. Athena has been the Old Mother for so many, many years. Everyone is, well, tuned into her."

  "But you said she was going to die! Not that she's dead."

  "Yes. Her wounds were much worse than anyone realized. When I was with her, I saw how pale she'd become. Not just from where they had cut her deliberately. But inside. She's been bleeding internally. I took some advanced first aid, enough to know that her stomach was perforated. There's no hope any—"

  Indy slammed on the brakes and the Bentley skidded wildly with screeching tires and the smell of bumed rubber. "The devil, there's no hope!" he shouted, anger exploding from him. "We can still get her to a hospital. We can be back there and get her to an emergency room. A blood transfusion! Surgery. Why is everyone giving up like this!"

  "It isn't a matter of giving up, Indy." Again that impossible calm from Gale. "It's her decision. Or, the decision's been made for her. She can see ahead."

  "You're telling me she has precognition? She can see into the future? See her own death?"

  "Yes."

  "But—"

  "Indy, your own tribal medicine men, the American Indians, they've done the same thing for hundreds of years."

  "I know all about seeing the blackness ahead," he said heatedly. "I've seen it in India, in Tibet, in Haiti... but it can be altered."

  Gale sighed, staring straight ahead. "I know this is difficult, and I'm trying, really, to help you understand. This is Athena's decision. Whatever she sees ahead of herself, her future, is not a better choice than d—than going, tonight."

  "I just don't get it," he said, hands gripping the steering wheel, eyes vacantly following the headlights stabbing the night.

  "She is not in pain. She is not frightened. And Athena is ninety-two years old. You would argue with her?"

  "She's ninety-two? I didn't think she was sixty!"

  A wan smile crossed Gale's face. "Please drive on, Indy. The farther I am from the Glen, the less I will feel, now that her decision is made."

  He shifted gears and floored the accelerator, rushing into the night. He came to a decision. There wasn't any need to baby-sit or gently hold Gale's hands. She was stronger than he'd ever believed. It was already well past time for some hard questions and hard answers.

  "Gale, I get the feeling I'm in deep with what happened today. You think I didn't see those cops writing down my license-plate number? And solid descriptions of the both of us? There's forty people dead, more than that wounded, and this isn't going away by itself. There'll be an investigation, and we're both going to be smack dab in the middle of it."

  "I guess we will."

  "Don't guess. It's as serious as a heartbeat. Besides that slaughterhouse today, there's the map. There's anywhere from millions to hundreds of millions of dollars, or pounds sterling, whatever currency you want to use, involved in this."

  "More."

  He shot her a sharp glance. "Like what?"

  "Caitlin's mother. When Athena is gone, Caitlin is blood-sworn to avenge her death."

  "She's got to know who before she can avenge anyone or anything."

  "Caitlin will find out. And she'll go after him. She won't stop until he's dead. Those are the Old Ways."

  "Never mind the Old Ways right now. Let's stick to the main point."

  "All right."

  "Before I tell you what I've learned tonight—"

  Gale turned in her seat, staring at Indy. "You have a lead?"

  "Later, blast it!" He gritted his teeth to remain patient. The Old Ways and the little people were starting to grate on his nerves. Indy dealt in facts, and he'd been on a merry-go-round of illusion all day. "Will you please just answer my questions?"

  She slumped down. "Ask."

  "I talked to maybe a dozen people tonight," he said. "When we were outside and also in the caverns. Asked
them if they'd heard anyone among the attackers speaking or calling out to one another, and if they could recognize the language. One thing is definite. They were not English, they weren't American or Canadian. Most people believed they recognized Russian. Of course that could have been Polish or Hungarian. With all the shooting and screaming, and the fear level, it's easy to mistake one language for another. But it's definitely eastern Europe. They also heard French, and one person swears he heard orders being shouted in German."

  Gale sat up straighter. "Does that help?"

  "Does it ever," Indy emphasized. "It shows a pattern and it's darned clever. This group used different languages so to confuse everyone. I also spoke to several policemen who were picking up the bodies of those nine slain attackers. There wasn't any identification in their clothing. No tags, names; nothing. No one wore rings, bracelets, jewelry of any kind. But one body had strange tattoos, in the shape of a barracuda."

  "We'll ask the Romanies," Gale said quickly. "If anyone knows the symbolism, the Gypsies will."

  "Okay, I'll leave that up to you."

  "First thing tomorrow."

  "All right," Indy went on, more slowly now. "Look, Gale, there's a pattern developing from all this. That map they were after. How'd they find out it was with your people? How'd they even know about it? Or where to go once they got into the Glen? All those pieces have to come together."

  "As well as where they're going," Gale added.

  "I sure hope you can get Caitlin to share that other map with us. I know it exists. Then we'll know where those people will be moving."

  "That's where Caitlin will be moving. It's like I said before. Whoever caused the death of her mother must die by Caitlin's sword. By her hand."

  "That sword she carries..." He let his sentence hang.

  Gale studied him. "Yes?"

  "If the old legends are true, and I believe them more right now than I ever have, that could be the sword fired and annealed by none other than Merlin."

  "Do you think it's Excalibur?"

  "By now," Indy mused, "I'm ready to accept that St. Brendan's Glen is the original Avalon. Oh, I know, Avalon is regarded by most historians as part of Glastonbury, and it was considered an island because at times it was surrounded by water. But it's not and never was the wonderful, enchanted isle. The water surrounding Avalon at Glastonbury was more bog than lake. English historians have a great romantic streak in them and they'll attack you hysterically if you challenge their versions of the story of King Arthur and Merlin and those ill-tempered knights history regards as such dedicated gentlemen. Brigands on horseback and violators of lovely, helpless young women is more like it."