"I'm serious!" Joby said.

"So are we," said Sky gravely. "You healed my legs, Joby. On that camping trip."

"Now that's ridiculous!" Joby scoffed. "Don't you think I'd know?"

"Not necessarily," Tom Connolly said quietly. "Intent by itself can be potent for our kind. How badly did you want him healed?"

"Well . . . of course I wanted him to be okay," Joby protested. "Who wouldn't?"

"My legs were broken bad," Sky said quietly. "When I came to, it was all I could do not to scream. Then, all of a sudden, they got real hot and I felt too weak to do anything but lie there, and then there was no pain at all. My legs worked fine again."

"Then obviously they weren't broken," Joby insisted, feeling flushed. "You were in shock. You got mixed up."

"They were broken," Tholomey said. "I've got some gifts for healing, and I could tell they were way worse than anything I had a prayer of handling."

"I thought it was Tholomey that fixed me up," Sky said, "or maybe the bunch of them together, but later they said none of them knew how it happened." He smiled at Joby. "That's when we really started wondering about you."

"Like I said," Ben leaned forward with an admiring smile, "you d'man, Joby."

"But . . . how could I not know?" Joby insisted.

"How could you know what you couldn't even believe?" Ander asked. "The Cup draws people of the blood to itself in lots of strange ways. You wouldn't be the first who didn't understand or even know about their gifts when they got here."

"Ha!" Ben laughed. "You're a goddamn wizard! That's perfect. All that Roundtable stuff; I should've known. It's in your blood, bro!"

Even Ben believed this? Joby was beginning to feel sick. First they'd turned the world upside down, and now they were insisting that he didn't even know himself?

"You know yourself better than we," Solomon said, as if reading his mind, "and it is altogether possible that we are wrong." He looked around severely at those who'd been intent on convincing Joby of his kinship, then turned back to Joby with a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, Joby. You are too vividly yourself to be erased so easily, I think."

"Nobody's trying to erase you!" Ander said in dismay.

"We like you fine the way you are," Rose said.

Hawk and several others nodded in vigorous agreement.

But Joby saw how Solomon was looking at them-as good as shouting, "back off." They'd only shut their mouths, not changed their minds. He didn't know what to think. It would be great if they were right. Heck! It would be unbelievable! But that's precisely what it was: unbelievable! They were only thrusting one more impossible expectation on him. He was just about to tell them so when a slow flare of light, pink and gold and pure, washed over the palely illuminated clearing as if dawn were coming early.

"Jake!" Rose gasped as everyone turned to behold a radiant cloud that hovered toward them across the water.

In an instant, everyone was on their knees except for Joby and Ben, who stared around them not knowing what to do or think.

"God . . . Joby!" Ben gasped, suddenly going to his knees as well. "It's real!"

Only then did Joby discern the brilliant form at the cloud's center-a chalice that seemed carved of sunlight. Joby knelt at last, hardly aware of what he did, as, from out of nowhere all around them, came the sound of voices lifted in inexpressible harmony at some unimaginable distance. Joby's mind emptied of words, even thoughts, but not of feelings. Those washed over him as if an ocean of warmth and reassurance had suddenly risen up and dragged him from some cold, rocky shore into its gentle depths. Joby wanted to speak-to sing-but nothing emerged within him but an unbearable longing just to touch the radiant vessel's gleaming rim with his half-parted lips. As if in answer, the Cup within its blinding cloud began to move across the water toward himself and Ben.

"I . . . I can't," Joby heard Ben whisper.

But Joby knew to whom the Cup was coming, and distantly remembered that he had been frightened of it once, ought to be frightened of it still, perhaps. He hadn't been to church in years, but that didn't seem to matter now. Only the longing and the joy were real-possessing every inch of him. As it came to rest before his face, Joby's hands swam forward, as if through water, to grasp the Cup and pull it toward his lips. And then- He sat sheltered between his parents' backyard fence and the hedge that grew against it, a crimson cape draped across his child's shoulders. Between his small boy's hands, the book lay open, its delicious scent rising like the hot draft from a bakery, the cool, earthy damp of a primeval forest, the incense of a great cathedral.

"My King, I would serve you with my life," he whispered with a reverent joy long forgotten. "Only name the quest."

And in that instant, every detail of his childhood mission, every joy and sorrow, victory and mistake he'd known in all the intervening years rushed up from those pages in a torrent of recall, not just known, but understood with impossible clarity. And amidst this nearly unendurable rush of more than memory, Gypsy's face appeared, looking up in surprise and unbridled delight.

"I'd have never even tried, except for you," Gypsy said.

"Gypsy!" Joby said, filled with joy at seeing him. "I thought they killed you!"

"You got somethin' real special, man," Gypsy said. "I mean it." Though his face still seemed as near, Gypsy's voice was growing pale and distant. "You got heart, man. Don't forget it, Joby. . . . Heart."

"Wait!" Joby called. "Don't go yet!" Then grief hit him like a slap of cold water.

Joby gasped and dropped the Cup. It didn't fall but hovered on the air before him as he struggled to understand all he'd just experienced. To his profound dismay, he was already losing nearly all of what he had momentarily grasped so clearly. He reached out for the Cup again, but though it still seemed close, he couldn't reach it. He stretched his arms out farther, but the Cup began to move toward Ben.

"I can't," Ben choked again. "Oh God, I . . . I didn't know . . ."

"Ben, take it," Joby said with sudden urgency, afraid that if Ben failed to share in this experience, it would separate them forever. "Don't be scared. It's wonderful!"

"I never believed!" Ben groaned, still shying from the Cup. "I never-"

"It doesn't matter!" Joby urged. "Just take it!"

"He's right," Jake said quietly, standing calmly at Ben's shoulder. "The Cup has made this choice, not you. Have courage. Trust."

Rocking on his knees like a frightened child, Ben reached up at last as if to grasp a red-hot brand, and seized the Cup in both his hands, but before he could bring it to his lips his eyes flew wide, and he seemed to freeze. Joby watched in anxious fascination, wondering if that were how he, himself, had looked when he had touched it. He waited, silently willing his friend to raise the Cup and drink, but Ben remained mesmerized by something only he could see, then cried out as if in grief, and, to Joby's great distress, began to sob without restraint.

Joby wanted to go and shake him, make him drink, but his knees had taken root and his voice had been removed. He could only kneel helplessly, and watch Ben suffer.

Finally, as if it took great strength, Ben turned his head to look at Joby.

"Oh . . . My Lord," he groaned. "What have we done . . . again?"

Still unable to rise or speak, Joby longed to help his friend, his brother, his . . . Some fleeting insight went through him like a bolt, then vanished. He pursued the feeling, certain that he ought to understand, but not a trace remained. When he looked again, Ben was no longer sobbing, but kneeling over the Cup, eyes closed, seeming as utterly at peace as he had seemed distraught before.

"With all my heart," Ben whispered gravely, eyes still closed. Then, with a radiant smile, he said again, "With all my heart . . . I will."

At last, he raised the Cup, and took a hearty swallow.

And it was gone.

The light, the music, the Cup itself-all vanished in an instant.

Joby found that he could move again, but before he could so much as speak, Ben opened his eyes and turned to stare at Joby with such unfathomable joy and sadness and affection that Joby could only stare back in wonder, unsure if this were even still the friend he'd always known.

27.

( Hellfire ) "I just feel like there must have been some reason," Joby pressed as they were finishing the light supper Father Crombie had prepared after returning, or, in Crombie's case, being returned, from the momentous gathering at Burl Creek. "I had it in my hands and didn't drink? It makes no sense. I thought I had."

"You mustn't keep trying to assign meaning to that fact, Joby," Father Crombie assured him. "It came all that way to find you of its own accord! Such a thing is unprecedented in all my years here. You held it in your hands. It spoke to you. Can you not see what that alone suggests about your worthiness?"

Ben listened with deeply mixed emotions. Crombie was right, of course, but, for once, Ben understood and shared Joby's disappointment. It had quickly become clear that Joby had been shown none of what the Cup had shown to Ben about who the two of them and Laura really were-or had been once, at least. Would Joby have known also, if he'd put the chalice to his lips and drunk as Ben had? There was no way to know, but though Ben now felt sadly isolated from his friend and more than friend of several lifetimes, he was reluctant to tell Joby something of such gravity when the Grail had chosen not to.

"What you must understand, Joby," Father Crombie continued, "is that the Grail is not just a sacred object, bestowed as some kind of reward or badge of honor. It is imbued with life itself, mind, will, and even temperament. If anything, it seems to function as a teacher, or a catalyst, existing to provide extraordinary intervention at extraordinary moments, and seeming to understand what's needed far better than even those who have the need. If nothing else, you can be sure it came to give you some great gift tonight, not just to deprive you of a drink." The old priest smiled.

"I know," Joby said contritely, "and I don't mean to sound ungrateful. There's nothing in my life this hasn't changed, and I've been thinking about what I'm supposed to do now. I mean, there must be something, or why did this happen?"

"Love deeply," Father Crombie replied. "Live fully and well. If you have some destiny beyond that, you'll likely find it soonest by pursuing those two basic goals."

"I'm sure you're right," Joby said, "but I've also been thinking about what we came to ask you when we were kids." Ben was pleased to notice that the self-scorn that had once accompanied the topic was completely absent now. "I mean, if it's all real; God, the devil, the Grail even, then, do you think that dream I had was more than just . . . Was I really supposed to fight the devil somehow?"

"We are all fighting the devil somehow." Crombie smiled. "Even those who seem mean or sinful are often struggling desperately against Lucifer's influence in their lives. I have no reason to assume that you are an exception."

Joby ducked his head self-consciously. "I guess Swami had a . . . premonition or something that I was going to be . . . well, needed somehow, to help protect Taubolt. What you said, about how Taubolt's borders broke down when I showed up; I was thinking maybe that wasn't something I caused, but something I was sent to . . . to fix, you know?"

"I will trust you with the truth, my friend." Crombie smiled. "I am always very skeptical of assumptions about what God intends, even for myself, much less for others. I would suggest, therefore, that until you see some very clear task before you, and know with great conviction that it is truly and undeniably yours, you should be content with the two endeavors I just mentioned. Loving deeply and living well will prove challenging enough, I think, if those tasks are taken seriously."

Ben could not help smiling at how well the old man knew Joby, and how wisely he employed that knowledge. Joby had always been eager to rush off to battle before nailing down the fort at home. . . . Or had that been Arthur?

"I've a little something in the kitchen for dessert, I think," said Father Crombie, rising slowly from his chair.

"I can get it," Joby said, rising as Ben did the same. "Just tell me where to look."

"No, no. Sit down, both of you," Crombie said with gruff amusement. "If I wanted to be fussed over in my own home, I'd have left the priesthood years ago and gotten married." His grin widened as he turned to totter toward the kitchen. "I've been carried everywhere I went tonight. Makes me feel quite useless."

In fact, it seemed to Ben that Crombie was walking more easily than usual tonight. He wondered if the Grail's visit had benefited more than just himself and Joby.

When the priest had gone, Joby looked uncertainly at Ben, and said, "So . . . you seem to have come to better terms with all this."

Ben didn't have to ask what Joby meant."Guess I put on quite a show, huh?"

Joby shrugged. "You did kind of surprise me. I mean, I've never seen you so . . ."

"Panicked?" Ben suggested ruefully.

"Yeah." Joby grinned. "That would be the word, I guess."

Ben nodded pensively. "Tonight was . . . I've always wished the world were a little stranger, Joby-more magical-ever since we were kids. But . . . until tonight, I never really thought it could be. I've made it through some tight spots in my life by sticking to the facts. For a while, once, I worked with this outfit guiding backpack trips for guys with more money than sense sometimes. I was good at putting imagination aside when things got hairy, and sticking to what was real. I s'pose that's why I've been so impatient with you sometimes, Joby. I always thought if you'd just learn to deal with the real world, instead of all this . . . subjective stuff, things would be easier for everyone. Then, tonight, those facts I've always been so sure of just burned down and blew away." He looked Joby squarely in the eye. "I owe you some pretty big apologies, Joby. I've got no more idea what's real now than you do. Maybe I never did."

Joby shook his head. "That real world of yours has been just what I needed at the worst times in my life, Ben. You owe me nothing."

"Thanks," Ben said, "for understanding."

"You're still not gonna tell me what you saw, huh?" Joby asked.

"Persistent, aren't you," Ben said, suddenly unable to look Joby in the eyes. He knew he couldn't dodge the question forever, but still had no idea what to say. "I learned some things about who I really am," he tried. "And . . . that's all I'm ready to say yet. Okay?"

Joby searched his face as if trying to guess the rest. "Is there some reason why you think I shouldn't know?" Joby pressed. "Something you think might hurt me?"

Ben suppressed an urge to roll his eyes. Two days ago, he'd have been scornful of such a typical "Joby" take on things, but Ben couldn't kid himself about how he'd have felt if Joby had been the one to drink from that cup, and he had not. "I did learn something about you, actually," Ben said.

"I thought so," Joby said grimly, clearly braced to hear the worst.

"I learned that you're the best of us," Ben said. "Though I don't expect you to believe me. That what you been so afraid to hear all night?" He grinned.

When Joby looked doubtful, Ben just laughed and shook his head. "You are such a piece of work, bro. I don't know who did it to you, but they sure did it good." The laughter left him suddenly as he heard his own remark. There was one part of what he'd learned that night that did need discussing with Joby, and the sooner the better. They still had time, thank God, to avert what had happened to all three of them before, and Ben had no intention of letting that chance get away from him.

Leaning forward earnestly, Ben said, "Joby, I've been doing a lot of thinking about this thing with Laura. We need to talk again as soon as possible. I've decided-"

Before he could go further, Father Crombie reappeared carrying a plate mounded with shortbread cookies. "Gladys gave me these," said the old man, smiling. "They are food for younger stomachs than my own, however."

"You'll have one, at least, I hope." Ben grinned. "We can't just eat them all while you sit there watching."

"I will likely eat them all if someone doesn't stop me." Crombie grinned back. "That's why I am bringing them to you."

Ben saw Joby looking at him with understandable curiosity, and felt bad to leave him dangling, but the subject had been broached now. They'd get back to it soon enough.

"Actually," Father Crombie said, setting the cookies down between them as he lowered himself back into his chair and resumed the conversation they'd been having, "it was a bit unsettling to see the Cup arrive that way this evening; an uncomfortable reminder of what an independent treasure we've all grown so dependent on here. It's been behaving very strangely now for several months, and made quite a spectacle of itself yesterday in front of that storefront preacher, Mr. Cotter. We've had to put someone on guard around the clock in the chapel now. Alfred Cognolio is in there as we speak, making sure no one enters who should not. I spoke to him after returning tonight, of course-just before you boys arrived-and he claims to have seen or heard nothing at all during the Cup's excursion. Had no idea it had left. So much for security.

"It has been decided that the Cup must be moved to some location much farther from town," Crombie said somberly. "We are considering our choices, but whichever is chosen, it will mean the end of my role as primary guardian. I am too frail to go far from the church anymore."

"I'm so sorry," Joby said.

"I agree with the Council's decision, of course," Crombie nodded, "and feel more privileged than I can say to have spent so many years in its presence. Still, I will miss-"

His voice was suddenly drowned out by Taubolt's emergency siren.

With all the tourist traffic in Taubolt these days, the siren's deafening wail was far less uncommon than it once had been, and at first they just fell silent. But when the siren continued instead of going off as usual after just a cycle or two, Crombie turned toward the rectory doors and murmured, "My goodness. What can be happening?"

"Let's go out and see," Joby said, rising from his chair.

"Got a pretty good view of town up here," Ben agreed.

After helping Father Crombie to the door, they went out into the darkened yard and were shocked to see black smoke illuminated by the ruddy glow of flames billowing up just beyond the rectory garden fence.

"My God! It's the church!" Joby gasped.

"Alfred!" Crombie barked. "He must be hurt, or he'd have come to warn us!"

"I'll go check!" Ben called, running for the gate.

"Wait!" Crombie shouted. "If the Cup is still inside, I must get it!"

"If it's there, I'll get it!" Ben said, eager to be off. "Where is it kept?"