“There’s an accretion of ash on one side of some of the bricks we’ve collected at the top of the tower,” Scott Buchanan offered. “It’s possible the apex of the tower served as a sacrificial altar.”
“We suspect it might be the tomb of this fellow.” Burton patted Ets-eket on the headdress.
“Of course, we’ve not found any humanoid remains yet,” said Tzia, entering the conversation for the first time. “Just small animal bones.”
Burton cleared his throat. “The sheer volume of animal sacrifices we’ve found in the pits at the southern end of the complex is astounding. I’ve never seen anything to compare with it.”
“Of course,” said Tzia, “you have to sort the newer leavings—dead vermin and the like—out, or the data become skewed.”
“The data,” said Burton, voice sharp with irritation, “are as accurate as they can be.”
Rhys barely heard the exchange, so intent was he on the figurine. Drinking in every detail, he lifted tentative hands to it, then glanced at Burton. “May I, sir?”
“What? Oh, of course.” The older man made a sweeping gesture of welcome.
Rhys explored the figure with hands and eyes, memorizing every texture and nuance. “Marvelous! How old?”
“At least five thousand years, yet even the softer metal is intact.”
“Where did you find him?”
“In the Chapel. That’s what we call that small annex to Temple One. He was still in his little carved niche beside the door. Wish we knew the Etsatat name for him, but well, they haven’t got one.”
Rhys opened his mouth to ask more, but Burton forestalled him. “Keep your questions for the morrow. Time to turn in. The day starts very early around here, Professor Llewellyn.” He rose and extended his hand to the younger man. “Wayne will show you to your cabin.”
oOo
“I am completely and utterly happy.”
Alone with Rick and Yoshi in the cabin they’d been assigned, Rhys stretched full length on his sleep mat, luxuriating in the fine, rare sensations that rolled over and around him. The bleat of a night avian, the muted whistles and twitters of insects, the humid, warm air against his skin, the velvet quality of the darkness beyond the large windows. It was magic; it was medicine. He could feel the site out there waiting for him like a new friend, well met. The buzz of excitement he’d felt since setting foot on Etsat—no, since receiving Drew Burton’s invitation to do so—faded pleasantly to a balmy whisper of contentment.
Rick shot Yoshi a wry grin and saw an answering flash in her eyes, even in the unreliable light of the single large moon filtered through copious foliage. “It is nice and peaceful here,” he acknowledged.
Rhys snorted. “Peaceful? Is that all you can manage, Roddy? Peaceful? You’re in the presence of a legend, I’ll have you know. Professor Drew Burton has done more to advance xenoarchaeology than any other single researcher, just by moving into the arena. Since he’s been involved in extraterrestrial research, he’s brought more attention to it, more sponsors, than ever it had. I expect his published works in the field will soon define it.”
“I thought his paper on the aboriginal cultures of Mandrorin was good,” Yoshi said, paused, then added, “but I found some of his views a little biased.”
“Nonsense, Yoshi. Dr. Burton is a brilliant researcher. Look how much he’s done here already. Do you realize they’ve been at this dig for only four months?”
After a moment of silence, Yoshi murmured, “I didn’t like the way they called the Etsatat the ‘Linguine.’”
Rick sighed. “You take things too seriously, Yosh. It was a play on words. Human words. Burton’s just pinched because the Etsatat aren’t as agog at his discoveries as we are. I kind of think he imported us because he wanted to impress Rhys.”
Rhys frowned into the dark. “Why in heaven’s name should he care to impress me?”
“Because he respects you?” countered Rick.
Rhys felt the heat of embarrassment warm his cheeks. “Good Lord, Roddy! Why should he respect—?”
“Maybe because you’re the man who brought the White Temple of Tson to light after it’d been buried for two millennia. Oh, not to mention that you were the first human to establish meaningful communication with the Tsong Zee.”
“I didn’t do anything that important. The Tsong Zee found their Shrine, and they established contact with us.”
“He said ‘communication,’ not contact,’” argued Yoshi. “You were their Key Master. You were their eyes. They couldn’t have found the Temple without you.”
“Arguable. And irrelevant. Drew hadn’t even heard of Tson.”
“Then I guess he doesn’t use his own camp library. It contains a number of major articles covering your discoveries there, and someone’s been accessing them.”
The silence hooted and whistled. Rhys yawned, rolled over and feigned sleep, but the burning of his ears kept him awake for hours.
oOo
Breakfast was a necessity Rhys would gladly have done without. But he ate, his ears barely catching the conversations at table, his eyes going again and again to the tower rising out of the mist-draped forest. The steamy veil had begun to break up a bit by the time they approached the temple complex. This time, Rhys vowed, he’d keep his wits about him enough to take professional, objective note of things.
“The village,” Burton explained as they drew up to the great stone gate, “isn’t nearly as well preserved as this site. We actually started our work there. There’s still a team at that site, but I moved the base camp here because this—” He made a sweeping gesture at the lichen covered walls. “—will likely yield much more fruit. Has already, in fact. Nyami’s more interested in the village than I am. It’s the cultural anthropologist in her.”
Rhys nodded, studying the scaffolded archway above them. Made of large blocks of ruddy-mellow stone, its sculpted haunch served as the centerpiece of the cool-toned front wall. Behind the scaffolding that partially covered it, Rhys could just make out a large, central figure.
“Ets-eket again?”
Burton smiled. “Indeed. Flanked by a fine bas relief. And it’s in as remarkable shape as everything else here. You’ll find Ets-eket is well-represented hereabouts.” He led the way beneath the arch into the central plaza, and Rhys was struck again by the sheer magnitude of the place.
Workers were already crawling over and around the buildings, carrying tools, instruments, finds trays. Rhys brought his eyes back to the tower where Scott Buchanan directed traffic for the group digging away the fall of soil and humus at its base.
“That’s brick isn’t it?”
Burton nodded. “Kiln-fired, too, not sun-dried. We’re hoping to find the entrance within the next week or so.”
They toured each of the buildings in turn. What Burton called the Chapel had apparently been divided into several small rooms; the niche in which he’d discovered the Ets-eket icon was halfway up a broken wall next to a ruined doorway. The larger buildings—Temples One and Two, for the sake of identification—had been partitioned sparingly. Several small rooms ringed the perimeter of the huge main chambers, which were buried in centuries of compost and littered with debris from the fallen roofs and overshadowing forest. Among the detritus of ages, diggers worked in their gridded areas, taking a decidedly horizontal approach to the site.
Rhys peered over shoulders, chatted with workers, and took notes on everything. In Temple One, he commented on the series of large rectangular depressions along the back wall. Burton immediately led him to one that was being excavated. The trough was lined with finely planed slabs of the native granite and looked as though it might have at one time had a highly polished facing. They’d already dug down about four feet and had discovered literally hundreds of potsherds.
“We suspect this was a storage area,” Burton told him. “Possibly for foodstuffs the priests ate or used ritually. Or perhaps a burial cache of goods for the next life.” He shot Rhys a sharp glance. “We will fi
nd a burial.”
“The burial of Ets-eket?”
“Or of his mortal stand-in.”
“You think he’s a local or regional deity, then, rather than a ruler of some sort.”
“He could be both. Think of Osiris and his relationship to the Pharaohs of Egypt. But Ets-eket’s influence is hardly regional, Doctor. There are ruins half a continent away with these same structures and images. Generally they’re in much worse shape—too bad, because it seems some of them were built on a grander scale even than this. But the cult of Ets-eket evidently extended to most of the inhabited regions of this planet.”
Rhys raised a flamboyantly red brow. “That’s amazing. In fact, it’s unprecedented.”
Burton grinned from ear to ear. “Now you understand my excitement over this find.”
“Well, if it’s that widespread, that rather removes it from cult status. It’s more likely you’re looking at the relics of a major world religion.”
“Dear boy, we’re talking about the icon-ridden worship of a nature deity. I’ve read your treatises on xeno-religion. I don’t mean to sound disapproving, but they reek of cultural relativism.”
Rhys blushed to the roots of his hair. “I’m sorry you disagree so strongly with my theories—”
“Theories?” Burton laughed heartily and clapped Rhys’s shoulder. “My dear boy, theories can be supported by evidence. Your abstractions on the common roots of alien and human religion are dabblings in philosophy. Ah, but it’s engaging reading, Rhys! You’re a damn fine writer. Now, come, I want to show you the relief over the front gate.”
His arm around the younger man’s shoulders, Sir Burton drew him away into the full sunlight of the outer plaza.
oOo
Lagging behind, Yoshi cringed at the patronizing note of rebuke in the professor’s voice and bit the inside of her lip to keep from saying something she might later regret. Rhys’s work in xeno-religion, she knew, was the heart and soul of his anthropological world. It was clear Burton had no idea how close to his colleague’s heart of hearts he’d stuck his egoistic dagger.
Watching her, Rick leaned in close to her presently red ear. “I heard that stream of mental abuse. Come on, Yosh, don’t blow a sealant ring. I think our boss can probably defend himself if verbal fisticuffs break out. I thought he took all that wallah pretty well, don’t you?”
“He shouldn’t have to defend himself. Not to Dr. Burton. He has nothing but respect for that man. He doesn’t deserve to be patronized.”
“Respect?” Rick steered her out of the Temple One and into the plaza. “I’d say he idolizes him.”
“Yes, I can tell. I’m not blind.”
“Ouch! Yoshi Umeki, you, of all people, should understand that a little hero worship can be good for the soul. And for the career. You wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t made a hero of a certain Scotsman.”
“It’s not at all the same thing. First of all, I was fifteen when I met Rhys, and a sophomore in college. We have a student-mentor relationship because that’s what I am until I earn my doctorate—his student. Rhys is a grown man and has a double degree of his own. He’s at least Burton’s equal, but he doesn’t see that, and Burton’s not about to encourage him to.”
“So let me get this straight. You hate Burton because you think Rhys likes him too much.”
“I don’t hate him. I don’t even know him. I just don’t believe he’s bigger than life.”
“Uh-huh. Which is why you snarl secretly every time he opens his mouth. You know what I think? I think you’ve become overly protective of our dear professor of antiquities. And I’m beginning to think it goes a little deeper than that pseudo-sibling defense mechanism you’ve been packing for the last three years.”
“Where’d you get the degree in psychology, Doctor Halfax? More Fool U?” Her golden skin suffused with rose, Yoshi pulled out of his light grasp and strode ahead of him.
At the great stone gate, they joined the two archaeologists in conversation below the scaffolded facade.
“As you can see,” Burton was saying, gesturing to where several people worked next to the carving of Ets-eket, “flanking the icon are twin reliefs. We’ve got a four foot panel pretty well restored.” Waving, he caught Tzia’s eye. “Why don’t you all make room up there? I’d like to show off for our guests.”
Tzia gave a peculiarly reptilian version of a human nod—her head and neck rising and falling on her shoulders—and shooed her crew of three off the scaffold.
Burton had just set foot on the bottom of the access ladder when his comlink chirped. It was Wayne Bell, calling him to the Chapel. He bid the others continue and left, promising to return quickly.
Rhys climbed the ladder eagerly, with Yoshi close behind. When she glanced back at Rick, he shook his head and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his khakis.
“That scaffold looks like my worst nightmare. I’m going to go prowl around those big square pits in the back of the complex, see what’s being dug up there.”
Yoshi shrugged and scrambled up to the fiber board platform where Rhys and Tzia were already engaged in a close inspection of the wall to the right of Ets-eket. She hunkered down behind to peer between their heads. Rhys was running his fingers over the slightly elevated surface of the relief, which depicted rank upon rank of men dressed in garb similar to that worn by the Ets-eket effigy. The main departure from his styling was their head gear, which was drastically understated in comparison. They did look, Yoshi had to admit, like helms of war.
Some of the men in the relief carried staffs topped by the same fat crescent or fan Ets-eket’s sported. She supposed they could be weapons of some sort. She was honest enough with herself to recognize that she didn’t want to see war helms and weapons because that’s what Burton saw.
She sighed. Bias made objectivity tough.
“This is amazing,” Rhys murmured. “There’s actually still a tiny bit of pigment left in these. The state of preservation is … exquisite.”
“The elements on Etsatat are merciful,” said Tzia. “The forest root systems have done the most damage.” She shifted so Rhys could see the four foot section to the left of the central figure.
Rhys scooted closer. “Looks like a wagon train. Goods for the god?”
Tzia affected the Xthni equivalent of a smile. “We’re not exactly in agreement on this one. When Dr. Burton looks at it, he sees a train of tribute and an army of sacrificial victims or slaves.”
Rhys studied the two slabs for a moment. “What do you see?”
Tzia hesitated, her neck frill rippling with thought, then said, “I’m not certain. But I don’t see slaves or victims. Where are their manacles? And notice that they seem to be wearing the same basic clothing…uniforms, one might say—that their so-called guards are wearing.”
Rhys nodded. “Except for the crested helmets and staffs.”
Tzia’s head rose and fell. “Not only that, but those staffs look like dreadfully ineffective weapons. More like … ceremonial objects, symbols of power or rank.”
“How does Professor Burton explain the anomaly?”
“There’s no anomaly to explain,” said Burton’s voice from the scaffold ladder.
Tzia jumped guiltily, her sagittal frill flattening, and moved to put Rhys and Yoshi between herself and the older archaeologist. Burton pulled himself up onto the platform, his face a furious red.
“Tzia’s mistake is that she has read the symbolic as literal. She tends to view archaeological evidence in the same way many people read mythology or scripture. How many different literal interpretations of the Revelation of Saint John existed before hindsight rendered interpretation irrelevant? No, we must read this as we would read any religious script. To do otherwise would be to stumble into lazy and simplistic thinking. This is the symbolic record of a primitive people. If you want to see the meaning of the group, look to the representative figure.” He rapped Ets-eket’s stone kilt with the tips of his fingers. “Here is your warrior-king, arm
ed with spear and scepter. Here is your man-god, wearing the crown of lordship. I’d appreciate it, Tzia, if you would leave the search for archaeological truth to those uniquely qualified to perform it—those with the human quality of imagination.”
Neck frill rigid, sagittal frill completely collapsed, Tzia dipped her head in a gesture of defeat. Appalled, Yoshi glanced at Rhys. For the second time that morning, his face and hair matched.
“Professor Burton,” he began, but the older man cut him off with a gesture.
“Come, Rhys. They’ve made another find in the Chapel.” He had gone over the edge of the scaffolding before anyone could react to the news.
Rhys glanced apologetically at Tzia. “I’m very sorry. I … I thought your commentary was perfectly reasonable.”
Tzia offered a thin-lipped Xthni smile. “Thank you. But you should not let Professor Burton hear you say that. He … does not like my unlaundered ideas.”
Rhys frowned and opened his mouth—possibly to ask what she meant—but Burton interrupted from below. “I say, Llewellyn! Are you coming or not?”
He gave Tzia another apologetic look and hurried down the ladder.
“What did you mean,” asked Yoshi, as they watched the two men disappear beneath the arching gate, “unlaundered ideas?”
Tzia uttered a sigh that needed no translation. “When first we saw what this relief depicted, it was yet early in the dig. I did not then know it was wise to … advance my theories through Professor Deer-Walks-Here. Now, I am more careful.”
“Surely Professor Burton respects your skills, otherwise he wouldn’t have included you on his team.”
Tzia’s laugh was a thin trill of sound. “He respects Nyami. For his dig, Nyami he must have. I, Nyami must have. So, to get Nyami, he must take me.”
Yoshi caught up with the others in the large rear room of the Chapel. Rick sidled up to her, a puzzled expression on his face. “You all right? You look like the bluebird of doom.”
All the Colors of Time Page 20