“Perhaps an association with the river of the same name?” Griffin suggested.
“Or quite literally a description of the coloring of the man,” Jun countered. “Cassie said the man in her vision was blond. Myths tell us that the Yellow Emperor had four eyes. Two appeared shut at all times but he could always see what people were doing.”
“Now that has to be fiction,” Cassie objected.
“No,” Rou asserted quietly.
The two visitors glanced at her in puzzlement.
Jun smiled. “You need to consider how Caucasian eyes might appear to an Asian who had never seen such eyes before. The Caucasian eye is more deeply recessed in the skull than an Asian eye. It is the reason your eyelids have a fold and ours do not.”
Griffin peered at Cassie’s face and then at Jun’s, apparently noting the difference for the first time. “You’re quite right, of course.” His voice held a note of amazement.
“In Asia, there are women who have plastic surgery to create a double eyelid because this is considered more beautiful.”
“Get out!” Cassie exclaimed. “It’s the skin-bleaching issue from Africa and India all over again—everybody trying so hard not to look like themselves.”
“I imagine because the Western standard of beauty dominated so many colonized countries,” Griffin speculated. “A sad legacy of overlord values.”
“Perhaps now you can understand why an ancient historian might have interpreted double eyelids as another pair of eyes,” Jun continued. “A figurative way of saying that the Yellow Emperor had Caucasian eyes.”
His listeners offered no contradiction.
“But there is more evidence,” the trove-keeper went on. “Much more. The Yellow Emperor is frequently credited with inventing the spoke-wheeled war chariot. As we have just discussed, this is an invention brought to China by overlords. Any sort of wheeled conveyance would have been far more useful on the open plains of the steppes than in the mountains of China.
“Aside from the war chariot itself, Huang Di supposedly invented the south-pointing chariot. He is said to have won a decisive victory over an enemy on a foggy battlefield using this device to find his way. The most interesting fact about a south-pointing chariot is that it only works over flat terrain. If the wheels are forced to travel over mountains, the gears will not function properly. To those who insist this was a Chinese invention, I must ask what possible use it could be in our rugged landscape. A south-pointing chariot is very helpful in steppe terrain because it lacks any sort of natural landmarks to guide travelers. Frequent dust storms in the region could cause disorientation which would also make such a device useful. There is no doubt the south-pointing chariot must have come from the steppes as did the man who first brought it here.”
“Grandfather, tell them about his head,” Rou hinted in a voice barely above a whisper. She had seemingly relaxed enough to form full sentences so long as no one was paying her any attention.
Both Griffin and Cassie had learned by now not to react every time she spoke. They kept their eyes firmly focused on the trove-keeper.
“Ah, yes,” Jun said. “In some accounts, the Yellow Emperor is said to have had a deformed cranium.”
Cassie shrugged. “I couldn’t tell from my vision since he was wearing a battle helmet.”
“Deliberate cranial deformation was practiced by many overlord tribes,” Jun said.
The Pythia gasped in disbelief. “You mean they did that to themselves intentionally?”
“At first the result may have been accidental,” the trove-keeper explained. “Nomads swaddled their infants against a cradle board to keep them still during long migrations. The head, bound tightly to a board for hours on end, if not days, would eventually be remolded with a sloping forehead. Because the nomads became the ruling elite in whatever territories they conquered, a deformed cranium was viewed as a sign of high status.”
“Yeesh!” Cassie exclaimed. “Any kid who spent the first year of its life in a straight-jacket would be likely to develop some serious psychological issues later on. Actually, swaddling might go a long way toward explaining why overlords were generally so bad-tempered.”
“Have I convinced you yet that your blond man is the Yellow Emperor?” Jun teased.
“I’m coming around,” Cassie joked back. “What else you got?”
Jun obliged by offering more evidence. “The Yellow Emperor engaged in warfare with other nomadic tribes like his own. There is a mention of a battle against ‘the forces of the Nine Li under their bronze-headed leader Chi Yu and his eighty-one horned and four-eyed brothers’.”
“If we were to interpret that passage figuratively instead of mythologically,” Griffin interjected, “‘bronze-headed’ might refer to a bronze war helmet like those worn by overlords. Similarly, the horned and four-eyed brothers might mean eighty-one warriors with Caucasian eyes who were wearing horned battle helmets.”
“Very good.” Jun nodded approvingly. “Now you’re seeing the facts behind the flowery language. But the most telling evidence of all is a comment made by a much later historian. He said that the Lord Of The Yellow Earth governed and protected the black-haired people and that they were happy under his rule.” Jun raised his eyebrows quizzically, silently challenging Cassie to interpret.
“Black-haired,” she echoed. “As opposed to what? Everybody in China has black hair.” She paused to consider. “Unless, of course, the Yellow Emperor and his cronies weren’t brunettes.”
“Exactly,” Jun concurred.
“But there should be some yDNA indicating a Caucasian influence here,” the Pythia insisted. “When we were in India, we found an overlord DNA signature all over the place.”
“I don’t believe the number of overlords who migrated to China was nearly as high,” Jun said. “While we see the same general population flow coming from the northwest and traveling to the southeast, a much larger number of overlords targeted India instead of China.”
“It does make sense that there would be a very small genetic footprint this far east,” Griffin agreed. “If the local farmers were peaceful and willing to tolerate the newcomers, the overlords might have set themselves up as the ruling elite with very little trouble. Jun’s reference to the black-haired people being happy with the Yellow Emperor’s rule implies as much. Over the centuries, the overlords would have intermarried and become assimilated into the Chinese population without much fuss.”
Cassie threw her hands up in mock surrender. “OK, you win. I believe the Yellow Emperor was really a refugee from the steppes.”
“Jun has certainly made a compelling case,” Griffin agreed.
“Huang Di is credited with all sorts of inventions which set China on the path to advanced civilization. Of course, it’s far more likely that he and his tribe acquired those inventions from the agriculturalists they conquered along their migration route: astronomy, writing, weights and measures, silk weaving courtesy of Huang Di’s wife. All of these are inventions which would have been useful to a settled agricultural population, not to nomads.”
“Apparently the overlord rolling stone gathered quite a bit of moss and spread it to the ends of the earth,” the Scrivener remarked.
“The Yellow emperor is said to have ruled the Yellow River valley for a hundred years from 2698 to 2598 BCE. That statement, I grant you, is most probably an exaggeration. The rest of what I’ve told you is fact rather than fiction.” Jun carefully rewrapped the compass-head and slid it back into the desk drawer before locking it. Giving a little bow, he said, “Thank you, Right Honorable Pythia, for providing us with this valuable bit of information.”
Responding in kind, Cassie bobbed her head. “You’re most welcome, Hongshan Trove-Keeper Zhang Jun. It was my pleasure to be of assistance.”
The Scrivener seemed amused by her rare attempt at formality.
“But this is not the reason you came here,” Jun protested. “Considering the service you’ve just rendered to us, Rou and I must de
vote all our efforts to helping you find your missing Minoan relic.”
The Pythia glanced out the window worriedly. “Now that I’ve had a chance to absorb the vibe in Lanzhou, I’m fairly certain that the Minoans never stopped here at all.”
“Then we must accompany you farther east along the river,” Jun suggested. “There are other ancient sites you should examine.”
“Erlitou?” Rou suggested tentatively.
“Early who?” Cassie asked.
Jun laughed. “Erlitou was the capital of the Xia dynasty around 2000 BCE. My granddaughter has offered a very good suggestion.”
Rou silently beamed at his words of approval.
“How far is Erlitou from here?” Griffin asked.
“About six hundred miles. We can set out tomorrow morning.”
“Great,” Cassie said. “That will give me time to catch the evening show of the square-dancing grannies. I want to take some photos because nobody back home will believe me.”
Chapter 15—What Dreams May Come
The Diviner settled into the easy chair in his sleeping quarters. He gave a mirthless chuckle at its inappropriate name. Considering his chronic insomnia, there was nothing particularly easy or restful about this piece of furniture. He glanced at a tumbler of water placed on the table next to his chair. Beside it sat a small bottle containing the medicine that Brother Andrew had prepared for him.
Abraham thought about the previous concoction which the herbalist assured him would assist in sleep. It had failed miserably, only augmenting the nightmares from which he already suffered. He wondered if this new medicine would be any better. Could it be any worse? He sighed and carefully measured out the dose. The herbalist had been most insistent that Abraham take only the specified number of drops and no more. Apparently, this remedy was far more potent than the last.
He swirled the contents of the glass and drank it over the course of several minutes. Well, it didn’t taste as bad as the other medicine had—perhaps because it was far more diluted. Abraham waited a few moments. Nothing happened. He fought the urge to double the dosage. Instead, he resigned himself to another failed experiment. Dimming the table lamp, he settled back and closed his eyes. Brother Andrew would certainly get an earful in the morning. He would...
***
Abraham was standing in a field of tall green grass that smelled of springtime. The sun was shining brightly overhead. He didn’t know why, but he felt utterly free from care. All his worries, the burden of his position, fell away from him like a heavy overcoat on a summer’s day. He felt a calm conviction that all was well. It was an utterly unknown sensation. Abraham couldn’t recall a time, even as a little boy, when all had been supremely well. There had always been something to fear, or someone. Above all else, he had lived his entire life in constant terror of displeasing the Lord. But at this moment, the Diviner felt blameless in God’s eyes. He knew he could do no wrong and that all his petty transgressions had been forgiven.
It was utterly baffling how he knew all these things but he was convinced that they were true just the same. He walked up to the crest of a hill. The sight before him took his breath away. A quarter mile below, where the hillside sloped downward, stood a shining city. The buildings were all made of white marble and the roofs of the buildings glinted of gold. A marble wall surrounded the city. The only opening was barred by a pair of tall golden gates. From inside the city walls, he could hear music—the sweetest sound he had ever heard or imagined. Voices endlessly raised in a chorus of praise. Abraham looked at the ground beneath his feet where a cobblestone path had sprung up out of the earth. It led from where he stood directly to the city’s entrance.
A voice spoke beside him. “You are surely blessed among men, Abraham Metcalf.”
He turned to see a being of surpassing beauty standing at his side. He was clothed in a shimmering white robe and a golden glow radiated all around his form. Although the creature had no wings, Abraham was convinced he stood in the presence of an archangel.
“How are you called?” he asked timidly, stunned by the splendor of this divine entity.
“My name is Phanuel. I have come to show you the way to your celestial home.”
“You mean there?” Abraham gestured to the gates which seemed to be slowly parting before him.
The archangel nodded.
“But it isn’t my time yet,” Abraham protested.” I have much to do yet on earth.”
“I understand,” Phanuel replied without surprise. “This is merely a vision of the reward that awaits you at the end of your days.”
The Diviner was knocked speechless by this revelation. For months, even years, he had been plagued with visions of the fiery pit. He dreaded failing to do God’s will. All of that seemed a foul illusion now, sent by the devil to frighten him. Only this moment was real. His heart felt so light that he imagined it was about to float free of his chest.
Phanuel continued. “The Lord knows of your plan to bring His kingdom to earth. He knows and is well-pleased. Remain faithful, stay the course and your reward shall be great in heaven. All the voices you now hear shall sing of your exploits. You shall be known as the Deliverer. You shall redeem the Blessed Nephilim and bring the Fallen World back to God.”
Abraham closed his eyes and felt himself weightlessly flying through the air, borne on the chorus of celestial voices to the very throne of the Most High.
He blinked and opened his eyes. They were still standing on the hillside.
Phanuel placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “In the days to come, remember all I have shown you. Stay the course, Abraham, and your reward shall be great indeed.”
In a dazzling flash of light, the archangel disappeared. The Diviner stood blinking in the sun until an overpowering sense of drowsiness overcame him. He sank down to the sweet green grass and fell into a deep repose.
***
A knocking sound intruded on his rest. Abraham shifted to resettle himself in a more comfortable position but the knocking persisted. Then a door slammed and a voice followed.
“Father Abraham, wake up.”
Someone was tugging at his shirt sleeve.
“What?” He sat up groggily. It took several seconds for his eyes to focus. Much to his surprise, daylight was streaming through the drapes in his chamber. He rubbed his eyes with his fists. Sitting up straighter, he peered up at the owner of the voice. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.
Brother Andrew was at his elbow, helping him to rise. “I thought I should check on you after your first dose of medicine.”
Abraham yawned and rubbed the back of his neck. “What time is it?”
“Seven o’clock in the morning, father.”
The Diviner turned to stare at the herbalist in disbelief. “I took your medicine at eleven o’clock yesterday evening. Do you mean to tell me I slept through the night?”
Brother Andrew shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. If you don’t remember waking, then I suppose you did.”
“The Lord be praised,” Abraham murmured in wonderment. He felt better rested than he had ever done in his entire life.
“And did you dream?” Brother Andrew asked nervously.
Abraham treated him to a genuine smile of pleasure. “Oh, yes. Such dreams as I have never known. Visions of a city of God. Of a world reborn.”
“You must remember that this medicine is strong,” Brother Andrew cautioned. “It can spur the imagination to create all sorts of vivid fantasies.”
Abraham scowled down at the herbalist in surprise. He ushered him out of the room. “You’re wrong,” he contradicted. “These were not fantasies. They were prophecies—a confirmation from heaven itself that I have chosen the right course.”
He unceremoniously closed the door in Brother Andrew’s face. Then he turned on his heel to prepare for the day ahead. “I have much to do before my time of glory arrives,” he told himself. “Let the world tremble. I know beyond all doubt that the Lord is on my side. If God be for the Nephili
m, who can stand against us?”
Chapter 16—The Wheel Facts
Cassie stretched and gazed out the rear passenger window of the car.
“Before you even ask ‘are we there yet’,” Griffin cautioned, “I believe we are.”
This was the second day of a two-stage journey by car. There were no direct flights from Lanzhou to their next destination of Luoyang which made a six-hundred mile road trip the quickest way to get there. After spending the previous night in a hotel in Luoyang, they were now en route to the archaeological site of Erlitou which stood twenty-five miles outside the city.
During their trip, the landscape had changed from the mountains circling Lanzhou to green farmland. They were now traveling through the flat, fertile land along the lower reaches of the Yellow River which grew the crops that fed most of the nation.
Jun unexpectedly slowed the vehicle and pulled it over to the shoulder of the road next to what appeared to be farm acreage. Given the warmer climate of Henan, the cultivated furrows were already sending seedlings shooting toward the sun.
They all stepped out of the car and scanned the landscape. A series of plowed fields stretched in a level patchwork toward distant mountains.
“Where’s the dig site?” Cassie asked in a baffled tone.
“Here,” Jun replied matter-of-factly as he struck off across the field. “Follow me.”
The three silently complied, treading carefully in an effort not to disturb the young plants. After about five minutes, Jun stopped in front of a rammed earth retaining wall.
“Careful,” he cautioned, spreading his arms protectively to keep the rest from falling into a depression in the ground.
Cassie barely caught herself before taking a tumble. “You’d think somebody would put up a sign.”
They all paused to stare at the excavation. As archaeological sites went, it wasn’t particularly impressive. Piles of dirt were scattered around rectangular partition walls guarding a central depression which had been excavated a few feet below ground level.
Secrets Of The Serpent's Heart (The Arkana Archaeology Mystery Series Book 6) Page 9