Indy was dumbfounded by her attitude. She wasn't concerned about the organization, and thought it was amusing that they would consider her to be Pythia. She had known about the group for years, she said. It was just part of the village culture and folklore and the men were harmless. She also knew that Doumas had taken an inter est in the Order; in fact, she'd encouraged it, since it provided a link between the village and the scientists.
Indy had returned to the hotel feeling like a popped balloon. He was confused, but he realized Nikos was probably right, the Order was more concerned with him, the outsider, than Dorian, the supposed Pythia. As if to show his concern, Nikos had begged Indy to allow him to come along this morning. Reluctantly, he'd asked Dorian for permission, and she'd agreed, stipulating that he be responsible for the boy.
Doumas suddenly shouted and pointed toward the fis sure. Indy looked up, expecting to see the vapors.
For a moment, he couldn't tell why Doumas was so excited. Then he realized that the goat had pulled its stake loose and was pacing precariously along the edge of the chasm. "I'll get him," Nikos called out, and climbed over the rope blocking the entrance.
"No, just leave him," Indy shouted. "Stay away from there."
But Nikos had already darted toward the base of the rubble heap. "Goddamn it, Nikos." Indy chased after him, but stopped several paces short of the mound. Nikos was crouched within a couple of feet of the rope.
"Easy boy. Easy," Nikos said, edging closer as the goat stared down into the abyss. He was about to grab the rope when a low rumble erupted, followed by an ethereal, haunted hiss. Oh, God, another earthquake, Indy thought, then realized he'd heard something similar, but fainter, last night when the vapors had risen.
The goat lost its footing. It slid forward toward the crevice. Nikos lunged, grabbed the end of the rope, and pulled. The sudden tug knocked the animal off its feet, but an instant later it was up and scrambling to the top of the rubble again. Beyond the goat, the first tendrils of vapors rose skyward.
Indy rushed to Nikos' side and grabbed the rope from him. "Stay down," he ordered.
He was about to yank the animal down from the pile, when he remembered their intentions. He huddled low, covering his nose and mouth. He glanced up once and saw the goat standing motionless, enshrouded in a thick, white mist. Its head was bent down and moving slowly from side to side.
Then, without warning, the goat bucked, and the rope snapped out of Indy's hand. He watched it snake away, and looked up to see the goat performing a strange dance, spinning in circles, contorting its body in odd, unlikely positions. It kicked its hoofs, front, then back. It dropped to its knees, and pounded its horns into the ground.
Nikos suddenly bolted up the mound after the rope. "Get back here," Indy yelled, but it was too late. The vapors were thickening, and Nikos vanished into the mist with the goat.
The mist flowed over the rubble and wafted toward him. It was almost as if the vapors were sentient and aware of his position. Indy didn't know whether to go after Nikos, or back away. Then, as quickly as he'd disappeared, Nikos emerged out of the mist, and they both fled the temple.
"Are you all right?" Dorian asked, looking between Indy and Nikos.
"Where's the goat?" Doumas demanded.
"The goat was dancing," Nikos said. "I almost got its rope, but it jumped right into the hole."
"Are you sure? Maybe it's made it to the other side," Doumas said.
"Why did you let him go up there?" Dorian glared accusingly at Indy.
"I did it on my own," Nikos said. "It's my fault. I wanted to show you that I could save the goat."
The mist finally dissipated, but the goat was nowhere in sight. They climbed the mound and Indy followed Nikos
around to the far side, and peered into the narrow gully. It was empty. Then they were sure. The goat was lost.
Dorian laid a hand on Nikos's shoulder after they crossed back to the other side. "It's all right. Did you breathe the vapors?"
He shook his head. "I don't think so. I held my breath."
"Good." She stared into the abyss. "It's a shame, though, about the goat. Now we won't be able to tell whether its reaction was temporary fright or the actual effects of the vapors."
"I think it was just frightened," Indy said. "Just pulling on the rope the way Nikos did might have caused the goat to react that way."
"Maybe," Dorian said. "But you can't be sure." The doubt in her voice was clear. It seemed to him that Dorian was trying to convince herself that the vapors caused some effect.
"The only way we're going to find out for certain that the vapor is harmless is for one of us to inhale some of it," Indy said.
Dorian nodded. "I agree. Next time the vapors rise, I'll do it myself."
"You will?" Now Indy, who last night had been ready to inhale the vapors, wasn't so sure it was a good idea.
"It's time to end the speculation. Besides, I wouldn't do it if I really thought it was harmful."
She turned and strode down the mound and away from the temple.
Indy looked at Doumas, expecting him to protest. But he simply stared after her. In about four and a half hours, they would know.
Panos's expression was fixed with grim determination as he strode along the unpaved, tree-lined road with Grigoris at his side. The confrontation with the foreigner Jones had unnerved him, but it had also pushed him into making a
decision. He knew it was time. Dorian Belecamus must be confronted. She must be told. She must be made to understand.
He squinted against the sun, which at midmorning had risen above the mountain's peak. They passed the turnoff to the stable and workshop, and continued ahead a short distance until they reached a trail where an ancient wall had once surrounded Delphi. The trail would take them above the sacred precinct, and they would make their ap proach from the steps of the theater, which overlooked Apollo's Temple. It was a longer route, but no one would see their arrival.
"She won't listen, Father," Grigoris said as he hurried alongside Panos. "She is an intellectual. She will laugh at you. She will think you are a silly peasant with supersti tious ideas."
"Is that what you think, too?"
Panos was confident that his son was deeply committed to the Order, but nonetheless he tested him from time to time.
Grigoris hesitated before he spoke. "If I had grown up in Athens and attended one of the colleges, I am sure that is what I would think."
Panos gave him a sharp look of rebuke. He had taught his son to answer questions directly, not with obscure comments.
"But I know too much," he quickly continued. "I am not as shortsighted as the intellectuals. I am open to what they would find unacceptable."
Panos nodded in agreement. It was the answer he had hoped Grigoris would give; he beamed with pride.
Some day his son would lead the Order of Pythia. As the high priest of Delphi, and emissary of Apollo, he would grow into a determined, disciplined man. But first he must learn to understand and control his darker emotions. If he failed to do so, Panos knew that the years he had spent preparing his son for his role would be lost.
Whenever he became concerned about Grigoris's tem perament, he thought about the Olympian gods.
They behaved at times as poorly as his son. They were a tempestuous lot, who had come to power through a brutal struggle with their predecessors, the Titans. Apollo, in particular, showed the same sort of aggressiveness that Grigoris did. When Apollo was consulted at Delphi about the viability of undertaking a war, more often than not he had recommended invading the enemy.
The trail turned and they emerged just above the bowl of stone benches that formed the old amphitheater. Below, the temple was blanketed in mist, the way it was in early morning. He could barely see the columns. But this was no ordinary fog; it was too late in the morning. It was the mephitic gases—ichor, the vapors of the gods—welcoming him. Somehow, he had known that the vapors would be rising as he arrived. They were another sign the timing was right.