Now, as Swami led them back into the normal world, Joby followed him up the last switchback in a daze, wondering how he was ever going to bear keeping such a secret. He was so lost in thought that he almost ran into Swami, who had stopped suddenly to stare up the trail ahead of them. Following his gaze up to the trail’s next bend, Joby froze in fear. Gazing down at them in perfect stillness, with black, unblinking eyes, stood a mountain lion so dark in color that it might have been a panther.
“Sit down,” Swami whispered in hushed shock. “Whatever happens, don’t make a sound. Don’t even move.” He unbuckled his pack and let it slide from his shoulders to drop softly on the ground. Then he began to walk slowly toward the lion, looking back at Joby only once, very quickly, to say, “Whatever happens.”
Through the sudden haze of fear, Joby vaguely recalled advice from somewhere that they ought to be making noise and throwing rocks. But Swami knew the ways of this place better than he could ever hope to, and the boy was already so far up the trail that Joby supposed there was nothing to do but obey his instructions. He sat down as slowly as he could, fearfully wondering how he would run if the lion charged, not that he was likely to outrun a lion either way.
Only feet from the animal, Swami sat down as well. Hardly daring to breath, Joby swept the trailside with his eyes, looking for a stick or a large stone to hurl if the beast leapt on his friend. That’s when he realized that Swami was humming softly, just as Hawk had done one afternoon, years before, in the orchard below Solomon’s house. Charming deer was one thing, Joby thought, but mountain lions? Absurdly, he found himself wondering if this were how they got lions to piss into those little bottles Mrs. Lindsay had sent him to the hardware store for.
As Swami’s tune grew slowly louder, the lion took a tentative step toward him. Joby tensed in fear, sweat trickling from his temples and down the insides of his arms as the lion advanced again. Mere inches in front of Swami, the lion stopped, rumbling softly. It stared at Swami. Swami stared back, humming all the while. Joby waited, rigid as a stone Buddha, if nowhere near as calm. Then, to his astonishment, the lion bent its hind legs, and sat. Swami’s humming ceased, but the staring match continued until time itself seemed to stretch and stop.
Suddenly, Swami gasped, and the lion raised its head and howled as if in pain. Joby tried to stand, but his legs were rubber, and his pack pulled him over so that he achieved nothing but a small lurch sideways. The lion surged to its feet, keening. Joby stared in terrified incomprehension as Swami wailed along in some shared agony, until, finally, the lion’s cries abated, and Swami’s wailing turned to quiet sobs.
Then, to Joby’s horror, the lion thrust its head at Swami’s face, opened its jaws, and . . . licked Swami’s forehead! With a shuddering sob, Swami leaned forward and threw his arms around the lion’s neck, as if it were the family dog, burying his face in its furry shoulder, while the beast continued licking him. Joby simply gaped, knowing that his deepest certainties about the world were lost forever now.
Just when Joby thought that things could get no stranger, both boy and lion turned in spooky unison to gaze at him. “What?” he wanted to say, but still could find no voice. For the first time in the entire encounter, Swami looked frightened, but not of the lion. Joby was gathering the nerve to ask what the hell was going on when the lion looked back at Swami and pawed gently at his chest, as if shoving him away, then turned and trotted off as tamely as an oversize house cat.
Swami watched it go, then looked down, letting more tears fall onto the dusty earth between his legs.
Joby’s head swam with unanswered questions as he found his voice again. “What . . . was that?” he murmured at last. “What did you just do?”
Swami turned to regard him with a long, unblinking stare, but didn’t answer, only got shakily to his feet and came back for his pack.
“Swami, I need to understand what I just saw,” Joby insisted.
“There are things I can’t explain,” Swami said quietly, seeming somehow gun-shy of Joby now.
When he’d shrugged the pack back onto his shoulders, readjusted its straps, and refastened its buckles, Swami turned and continued up the trail. Joby followed mutely. Neither of them spoke again all afternoon as they made their slow way over and down the long ridge toward the world they’d come from three days and another lifetime ago. Only as they approached the car did Swami finally break their silence.
“Thank you, Joby,” said the boy, uneasily, not quite meeting Joby’s eyes.
“For what?” Joby asked.
“For accepting what you saw. . . . For trusting me. I . . . I need you to trust me.”
“What happened back there?” Joby asked. “Why won’t you tell me?”
Swami looked forlorn and helpless.
“Swami, did you talk with that lion?”
“If I said no, would you believe me?”
Joby thought for a moment, then slowly shook his head.
“And if I said yes?” Swami sighed.
Joby only stared, realizing that he could believe that even less.
“You see?” Swami smiled sadly. “There are times when answers just don’t work.” He turned to continue toward the car. “We should get moving. I need to get back, and . . . I have things to do. You will be welcome here now,” he said quietly without turning. “But remember your promise.”
When he finally managed to find Jake, stacking firewood behind the Heron’s Bowl, Swami almost fled without speaking. Before he could, however, the man he’d always thought he knew turned to gaze at him curiously, and asked, “What is it, son?”
Swami was still afraid to speak. For all his reputation as a seer, he had no idea what would happen when he did. With a glance around to make sure they were alone, he finally blurted out, “You’re an angel?”
Swami saw it; Jake’s surprise. It was very slight, but it was there. Could angels be surprised, or was he wrong? He hoped with all his might that he was wrong.
“Come with me,” Jake said levelly, already heading around the corner of the restaurant toward the gardener’s potting shed. When Swami hesitated, Jake looked back and said, “There’s no need to fear me, Swami.”
Finding no anger in Jake’s voice or face, Swami released a pent-up breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, and followed him.
As soon as they were in the shed, and Jake had closed the door, he turned, still not seeming angry, and said, “How do you know this, Swami?”
“You’re an angel,” Swami breathed, feeling weak. “Don’t you already know?”
“Angels don’t just violate the minds of mortals, child,” Jake said gently. “We hear what is addressed to us. We see and understand much more than you can possibly imagine, but there are boundaries we respect, because our Lord has told us to.”
“I’ve done something,” Swami said, fearful despite Jake’s assurances. “Maybe something bad.”
“You took Joby to the Garden.” Jake nodded. “I saw you.” His voice held only reassurance. “Is that why you’re afraid?”
Swami shook his head, faint with fear. If Jake were an angel, then the rest might be true as well. “Joby is the bad thing, isn’t he,” Swami said, feeling close to tears.
“No,” Jake said, looking concerned for the first time. “The bad thing you’ve dreamed of follows him. But there is no more bad in Joby, himself, than there is in you.”
This relieved the most painful of Swami’s fears, but there were so many others.
“Swami, I need to know how you’ve learned all this. Was it one of your visions?”
“I . . . Your brother told me,” Swami whispered, still dazed by the memory.
There was nothing slight about the surprise on Jake’s face this time.
“He found us in the Garden,” Swami said, the story tumbling from him in a sudden rush. “He was guarding it, I think, or guarding Joby, or the Garden from Joby. It was hard to tell. I’m not sure even he knew; his mind was such a jumble of pain and confusion. He was a lion
. I thought it might be a demon until he touched my mind, but—”
“No!” Jake gasped, his gaze thrown at the ceiling in apparent grief. “Oh, Master, No!” he cried, covering his eyes with callused hands. “Gabe, what have you done?”
Swami stared in shock. In all his life, he’d never seen Jake even slightly ruffled, and feared to know what it could mean, wondering, still, if he might be at fault.
Merlin was at home, happily immersed in a gardening magazine when the room around him suddenly filled with radiance unlike any kind of sunlight. He whirled around, but couldn’t find the source of it.
“Merlin! I have need of you!” Michael’s voice boomed from all directions.
It had been centuries since Merlin had been summoned in this way by anyone at all, much less by an angel, and the distress in Michael’s voice filled him instantly with apprehension.
“What has happened?” Merlin asked fearfully. “Where am I to find you?”
“Ride my voice!” the angel commanded roughly. “There isn’t time!”
Clearly something dreadful was afoot. Without further questions, Merlin drew upon sufficient power to step into the ether where the angel’s summons streamed away toward Taubolt like a ribbon of light. Willing himself along that ribbon, Merlin found himself standing in a potting shed beside the Heron’s Bowl before a gaping, dark-eyed boy of East Indian complexion, and a frighteningly agitated archangel.
“What’s wrong?” Merlin asked.
“The presence we’ve pursued since midsummer,” Michael said, “is Gabriel.”
“What?” Merlin exclaimed. “That can’t be! Its mind is—”
“Demonic!” Michael groaned. “After bringing Joby here, my brother was exiled from the Creator’s presence for the duration of the wager. He fears damnation, and it seems he has surrendered to despair.”
Merlin was aghast. “And you never told me?” he asked, already guessing why.
“I thought to spare you the implications.” Michael frowned, confirming Merlin’s fears. “He allowed this boy to bond with him this morning in the Garden.”
Merlin turned to look at the boy with greater interest. “Are you still bonded?”
“It was only for a moment. Then he left me,” said the boy, still gaping at him. “You’re Merlin?” he asked, lost in astonishment. “The Merlin?”
“For better and for worse,” Merlin growled, “I am. And your name is?”
“Swami,” said the lad.
“You were able to endure this bond then, Swami?”
“His mind is like a fire,” Swami said. “But he meant me no harm. He broke the bond when he saw that it was hurting me.”
Merlin turned to Michael. “Then he may not be past reaching.”
“We must try to bring him back,” said Michael. “While there is any hope at all, we must! Swami has agreed to help us.”
“This mere lad?” Merlin exclaimed turning to the boy again. “How? Why?”
“For whatever reason, Gabe trusted him as he has trusted neither of us,” Michael said, clearly pained by the admission. “They have a bond, however small. And I cannot be both channel and physician, Merlin. We both know how adversarial this will be.”
“You intend to use this child as a channel?” Merlin said, appalled.
“His gifts and strength are greater than you credit, Merlin, or I would never have asked this of him. Particularly his capacity as an empath. Have you some secret store of that skill, which I am unaware of?”
It was a rhetorical question that Merlin didn’t bother answering, but turned back to the boy. “Swami, have you any notion what this means? What it could cost you?”
“Michael has explained it very clearly,” Swami said, demonstrating at least sufficient sense to look afraid. “I don’t know if I’ll have the strength to hold that much pain for very long, but I want to try. To save an angel,” he added, still looking too wonderstruck for Merlin’s comfort. Still, it had been bravely said, and it was doubtless true that Michael would not have asked the boy unless he really thought him able.
“We must go back there now,” the angel pleaded, “before whatever remains of their bond fades.” Michael turned to Swami. “Are you ready?” When Swami nodded, Michael smiled gratefully and took his hand. An instant later, the shed was empty.
Swami rose toward consciousness as if through sodden velvet curtains, letting the rustle of breeze-born foliage, the smell of dewy earth, and the play of cool air across his skin draw him back into the waking world. When he finally opened his eyes, he was relieved to find them all still there. Merlin, the enchanter of ancient tales, sat propped against a stone, contemplating the morning sky. On a fallen tree beside him sat the two others, one dark and beautiful despite the weary sadness in his face, the other, golden-blond and familiar to everyone in Taubolt, yet truly known by none, it seemed.
Two archangels! It still dizzied him. Who was he to keep such company? And yet, they had needed his aid, and he had not failed them. That fact alone seemed sufficient to justify everything he’d been through, and a great deal more.
Though it seemed unlikely that he’d ever fully understand the bulk of what he’d been through, the ordeal had left Swami in possession, by default, of much of what the wounded angel knew. He understood now that Taubolt and all it protected were in far greater danger than anyone but these few around him guessed; that the things he had always taken for wonder were just the thinnest skin upon a world of marvels unimagined by himself or anyone he knew; and that Joby was the poor, unwitting fulcrum on which all their fates were balanced. Swami could only grimace now at the woeful ignorance in which he had risked bringing Joby here.
Despite all these revelations, what most occupied Swami’s mind was the crucible he’d just been through. For two days and nights without ceasing, Swami had been the living link through which Merlin and Michael had waged war against the animal madness on which Gabriel had cast himself adrift. It had been inexpressibly painful, exhausting, fearful work, endured not in hours or even minutes, but instant by instant as the punishing current of their spiritual battle had passed through the fragile wire of his being. Much of what Swami could remember seemed just a fevered plunge through mental landscapes as incomprehensible to him now as they had been then, but, in the end, they had succeeded. Gabriel had returned fully to himself, relinquishing his lion’s form, and Swami had been allowed, at last, to drop into exhausted sleep virtually where he stood.
Now, probing his own mind, Swami found the person he’d always been still there, intact, but stretched across a great deal more that he had never been, or at least never been aware of. It seemed that he would, and would not, ever be “himself” again.
He was about to sit up when the darker angel said softly to no one in particular, “My soul’s become a foreign land. I feel such remorse. . . . What have I done to us all?”
“Gabriel,” Merlin said gently, “you are hardly the first of your kind to flee the anguish of despair in that fashion. But you are one of very few to willingly return. I stand in awe of such great heart. Temper your remorse with that.”
“I share the fault, brother,” said the lighter angel Swami still couldn’t help but think of as Jake, “I should have spoken less harshly when you brought Joby here. That you should think I would not let you stay . . .” He looked away. “You should never have been made to waste your strength in hiding from us all.”
“Peace, Michael,” Gabriel said. “I was hiding long before I came here.” Swami saw his gaze grow distant. “With Joby gone, I had no purpose left to fill the time. No hope at all. Everywhere I went, Lucifer’s minions taunted me with visions of my coming damnation. I was half-mad with their torment before I ever thought to seek the Cup’s protection.” He looked up at his brother, eyes glistening. “I remember, Michael . . . how you warned me.” His face fell in shame. “You were right. I am a fool.”
“I’ll hear no more of this!” Merlin snapped with surprising vehemence. “There is only One with authori
ty to assign your fate, and He has yet to speak. We have not all suffered these past two days just to have you sink back into despair and madness.” He fell abruptly silent, then shrugged apologetically. “I’m sorry. Truly. We all have remorse to deal with, it seems, and I deal with such things less gracefully than angels.” He offered Gabe a rueful smile. “No doubt my demon father’s influence.”
As Merlin spoke, Michael glanced at Swami and smiled to find him looking back. “Our hero is awake,” he said.
“Good morning, lad,” Merlin said gruffly. “Now I fear you’ve seen the mighty in yet another flattering light. Sorry for the rude awakening. I hope your sleep was good. God knows you earned it.”
“I feel much better now,” Swami said, sitting up stiffly, and rubbing at his eyes.
As Swami’s fists fell away, he found Gabriel kneeling beside him. “I owe you more than I can pay,” said the angel, leaning down to kiss his forehead. In awe, Swami watched him draw his perfect face away, as all the stiffness of his night on the ground suddenly departed. His body tingled with such energy that he couldn’t keep from standing; half-certain he’d be able to fly if he tried. “I am in your debt forever, little brother,” Gabriel said, smiling uncertainly at Swami before returning to his place beside Michael and Merlin.
Little brother. He’d been called little brother by an archangel!
“I have lived a very long time,” Merlin said, “and never seen a braver act than the service you performed here, young man.”
“Thank you,” Swami answered, not sure what to make of such praise from beings as far above himself as he was above an ant. “I’m not sure how I’ll keep the rest of my life from seeming dull now.”
Michael and Merlin laughed. Even Gabriel smiled.
“There will be some need of heroes around Taubolt for a while yet, I suspect,” Merlin chuckled. “I doubt you’ll lack employment.”
The Book of Joby Page 51
