The Book of Joby (80 page)

“No one like Ferristaff will ever find this place,” Swami said with conviction. “Not unless he was shown. Taubolt was never hidden so well as this place is.”

“Taubolt was
hidden
?” Joby asked. “Since when?”

Swami gave him an imploring look. “Please. For now, just
trust me.
”

“All right,” Joby said uncertainly. “I did promise. Consider me part of your conspiracy, I guess.”

Swami smiled, somewhat anxiously. “Actually, you and I are sort of a conspiracy inside the conspiracy now.”

“Uh-huh,” Joby nodded skeptically, “and what exactly are
we
conspiring to do?”

“Protect all this,” Swami said.

“From?”

“Something bad . . . that’s coming. I don’t know what yet. But when it comes, will you help us save this?” the boy asked urgently.

“If I can, of course,” said Joby, more skeptical than ever. “Who wouldn’t? But, what makes you think
I
can help? If you don’t even know what this bad thing is—” He stopped in mid-remark, staring as a tiny stag stepped shyly into the ferny glade behind Swami. It was no larger than a small dog, and its horns were
silver
!

“What is
that
?” Joby whispered.

Swami turned, just as the first stag was joined by a second. The deer stared back at them, ears up, posture wary, but they made no move to flee.

“Pigmy silvertip,” Swami said quietly. “They’re not afraid of men here. Few men come, and none of those have ever hurt them.”

“They have silver horns!” Joby whispered.

Swami shook his head. “It’s just a fine, shiny fur. Only looks like silver.” He turned back to grin at Joby. “They have a larger cousin who’s pure white, with horns that look like gold. But those are even rarer.”

Joby only shook his head and stared, quite certain that this animal had been in no nature book he’d ever read.

From grammar school on, Joby’s teachers had sternly assured him that “science” had mapped and paved every mystery of consequence on earth. There were no lost continents, no mythical creatures, nor had there ever been. The ocean floor harbored no sunken cities or sea monsters now, only tube worms.
The atom had been smashed into particles too tiny and technical to interest anyone but physicists. Even the vastness of space had been reduced, in the common mind at least, to little but a thin, lifeless gruel of gas, dust, and the occasional large rock. Since junior high, Joby’s whole world had practically been summed up in the phrase “there’s no such thing.” But three days on the Garden Coast had turned all that on its head. There
were
lost continents and mythical creatures, right here in Joby’s own backyard.

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.