o0o
In the morning, there was still no access to the tower. Scott Buchanan suggested they break out the laser cutter and go in through the side, but Burton and Nyami argued him down. It was as good a day as any, Burton said, to visit the village.
The word “village” seemed too primitive to describe the ruin that lay at the verge of the forest, its toppled buildings blending with toppled trees. It was at least a town, Rhys decided. The site was in nowhere near as good condition as Sper-ets; its walls looked as if they’d been chewed on by some massive grazer, its once-cobbled streets could almost have been mistaken for the random strew of an incontinent glacier. But among the trees were moldering buildings, which, if built to a less grand scale than Ets-eket’s temples, were yet impressive and willing to yield fruit.
Of particular interest were the stelae that appeared to have dotted the single main avenue and its various cross streets. Many of the ruins had one or two nearby, seeming to establish a relationship between building and statuary. Even here, the image of Ets-eket appeared, apparently in connection with a building on one of the side streets.
Burton’s smile increased with every utterance of amazement and delight his ex-student made. “A year from now, these stelae will be touring the museums and universities of Earth and the colonies,” he enthused, lovingly caressing the shoulder of a female Etsatat frozen eternally in the act of pouring water from a ewer into a pool. “No doubt the Leguini will thank me for removing them. Come, look at this one.”
He led them to a stele half fallen against a low wall. It showed another Etsatat woman sitting or squatting (it was hard to know what to call it with the odd jointing of the Etsatat legs) before some sort of rack.
“A merchant’s pack, wouldn’t you say?” asked Burton.
A loom, thought Rhys, but was reluctant to commit himself to an interpretation in front of the older archaeologist. Still, in the cause of acknowledging Burton as a man rather than an icon...
“It could be a loom. See, the shuttle in her hand, this line of scoring from her hand to the structure, a bit of thread or yarn. Notice, too, the pattern between these uprights could represent the pattern being woven into the fabric.” Rhys only just kept his voice from rising questioningly.
Burton shot him a sideways glance, then bent to peer at the stele’s chipped and worn surface. “Well, hard to tell with this much erosion, of course, but I suppose you might be correct. She might be representative of the domestic arts—a goddess of hearth and home. Personally, I think she’s a merchant deity. You know it’s a very odd thing, Llewellyn, but nowhere in any of this wealth have we found anything resembling a fertility goddess. I can only suppose the Etsatat were more clever than most primitives and understood the role of the male in reproduction. In fact, I believe that the Ets-eket cult may be, at its root, a fecundity cult.”
Rhys frowned. “What makes you say that, in particular? The connection with the moon?”
“That, and the rather obvious phallic appearance of the tower. I’ve studied the modern Leguini enough to know that’s relevant. There are other details too, of course. If you’d like, I’ll make my field notes available to you. I think you’ll find them of interest.”
“I’d like that.”
“Hey, look at this one!”
Rick beckoned from where he crouched next to a low vine-draped wall, holding a bundle of trailing greenery out away from the stones. What he had found was a carved panel, chipped and timeworn, that seemed to be part and parcel of the wall. It depicted four figures, seated in an uneven row, their legs bent double in that amazing and uniquely Etsatat way. They appeared to be eating and talking; hands gestured and ferried food to open mouths.
“Four guys selling pizza,” announced Rick irreverently.
“Looks like a tea party,” suggested Yoshi.
“Very good, Ms. Umeki,” Burton praised her. “Though I think ‘party’ isn’t quite the right word. Perhaps a tea ceremony? The ritual partaking of food is quite common in cultures dominated by theological concerns. Take the Christian communion, for example.”
“Do the modern Etsatat have any sort of rituals you could use for comparison?” Yoshi asked.
“Not that I know of. But I doubt that would tell us much about the culture we’re looking at here. The modern Leguini—which name suits them better, they bear so little resemblance to their ancestors—have no giant temple complexes, nor do they have a priesthood or icons.”
Shame, none of the fun stuff, Rhys thought ironically, then cringed at his own cynicism. Aloud, he commented, “But then the religion of the Etsatat has become so ingrained in their daily existence, it hardly seems to matter. They may not feel the need to build and maintain centers of worship over many centuries. Perhaps they’ve evolved beyond the symbols and can face the reality head on.”
“Well, whatever the reasons,” Burton said, “we’ll get no help from that quarter. As regards this particular piece, my reasoning is laid out in full in my field notes.”
He rose then, and led them off to look at what he referred to as the village amphitheater where, he postulated, ritual sacrifices took place.
o0o
Rhys slipped the disc containing Professor Burton’s field notes into his own journal and settled back to digest them. Yoshi joined him, her own notes close at hand, while Rick wandered off to see how far the tower dig had progressed. There were extensive entries on the town, as Burton had promised, and that was where Rhys started.
“Shta-ets—the City of the Moon—is in reality a large village whose artistry fills a narrow forested valley 130 kilometers northeast of the present day metropolis of Shta-vater. Stepping from my shuttle into the moist air of the forest fringe, I was amazed at the state of preservation of these very ancient ruins . . .”
Rhys skipped the preliminary comments about measurements and soil acidity and paged to the first descriptions of local landmarks.
“The village amphitheater sits at its extreme eastern end—the direction in which both Leguin and the planet’s largest moon rise. It was here that the ancient Etsatat may have sacrificed victims on the huge central altar before the eyes of rows of onlookers.”
Rhys ran an hand through his thick, red mane and sighed, unconscious of the gesture.
“Me neither,” murmured Yoshi. When Rhys glanced at her she shrugged. “I think it’s more likely they mimed sacrifices there than actually performed them. I’d guess it was a theater and his big altar was a stage. Look at the dimensions.”
Rhys nodded. “Normally I’d agree with that, but surely Dr. Burton has seen something —”
“Something you missed? You noticed that there are patterns of very shallow ruts in that slab. You noticed that they were too regular to be weathering. He didn’t notice that regularity.”
Rhys’s eyes went unfocused momentarily as he called the feature to mind. “Very odd that. Almost as if the same rites were performed over and over again.”
“Or the same dances. Or perhaps a highly ritualized form of theater.”
“Like Noh?”
Yoshi nodded. “I don’t believe it’s an altar. I could be wrong, but I don’t think it is.”
Without further comment, Rhys paged to the next image with its attendant description. What he saw was a selection of village stelae and a paragraph about the main street.
“Leading west from the place of sacrifice, the main avenue of Shta-ets is lined with buildings whose purposes may always be mysteries. Except for a granary, a metal-smith’s and a kiln, we know little about what went on within these walls. What we do know is that many of them were dedicated to the gods of the Etsatat. The images below, clockwise from left: (1) Four warrior gods or chieftains share a ritual meal; (2) The Goddess of the Waters fills the world ocean; (3) A merchant goddess with her splendid pack; (4) Statue of Ets-eket sits outside a small temple within the village.”
“What does he say about Sper-ets?” Yoshi asked, eager to move on.
“Ah, yes, here...
” Rhys read aloud. “‘From its composition, to the dimensions of its structures, the Sper-ets complex is reminiscent of Caracol, still one of the most beautifully preserved sites in all of Mesoamerica. From the broad, once-cobbled Avenue of Tribute, to the towering central ziggurat, to the massive temples flanking it, it reminds one insistently of the majestic cities of the ancient Maya.” He skipped a couple of passages, then picked up the narrative again. “That Ets-eket is aptly named is apparent from the crescent shape repeated over and over on helmets, staffs and scepters. That he is an important deity is obvious from the sheer ubiquity of his image. Even beyond the confines of the many places of worship dedicated to him—sites which are spread over Leguin Four’s several continents—Ets-eket’s image appears on buildings and stelae in every locale where we have conducted even the most cursory research.’”
“In which.”
“What?”
“‘In which’ we have conducted even the most cursory research.”
Rhys wagged his finger at her. “Now, Yoshi. Don’t be overly critical. I begin to think you’re just immensely prejudiced against the old professor. And I can’t imagine why. Even as many years of exposure to Uncle Kenji as you had —”
“I’m sorry. I’m trying to be objective, but he makes it so hard. He’s so sure of himself, so smug in his interpretations.”
“He’s one of the foremost experts on just about any phase of archaeology you’d care to name. I suppose one might get a little... sure of oneself under the circumstances.”
“It goes farther than that. Whatever he looks at, Dr. Burton sees exactly what he wants to see. He can’t stand it when you advance a reasonable theory before he does. He has to point out what you missed or—or debate it point by point. He treats you as if you were still his student.”
“In some ways, I suppose I am.”
“You shouldn’t be, Rhys. Not in this field.”
He chuckled. “Well, I may have lost points with Drew Burton, but at least I’ve got you calling me by my given name.”
“You’re evading the issue. The issue is Dr. Burton’s cultural bias.”
“Yosh, questioning every theory that’s put forth—that’s what scientists are supposed to do. But I will grant you this—he certainly doesn’t seem to question his own conclusions as thoroughly as he does everyone else’s.”
“Well, that’s something,” Yoshi muttered under her breath.
Rhys gave her a reproachful look and turned back to the field notes.
o0o
The week progressed predictably. To Rhys’s growing chagrin, Burton lauded all efforts except the hapless Tzia’s, debated—no, argued—every opinion Rhys advanced that either preceded or differed from his own, and continued to treat the alien dig as if it sat smack in the middle of the Yucatan peninsula. Questioning the great man brought anything from sweet condescension to gentle scorn. As when Rhys suggested the deposits of animal bones might be from something other than sacrifices.
“Really?” Burton responded, gold and silver brows ascending like the wings of angels. “I’d be interested in hearing your views, Dr. Llewellyn.”
“I have no strong alternate opinions about the deposits, although I suppose the site might have served as a barn or a corral.”
“No excrement.”
“Or a larder. The bones might still be there because the larder was well-stocked when the complex met whatever fate it met. The deposits are concentrated in the southern pits, and they’re largely the bones of animals present day Etsatat consider meat animals.”
Burton raised a calloused finger. “Exception proves the rule, Llewellyn. Exception proves the rule. There are also the bones of small creatures which are definitely not part of the modern food chain. Wild nocturnals —”
“Which could be vermin or scavengers that raided the building after it was abandoned.”
“Which could also be small animals especially dedicated to Ets-eket. They are almost exclusively night-stalkers of one sort or another.”
Rhys nodded. “All right. Nocturnal scavengers dedicated and sacrificed to a moon god—possibly. But why would they leave them around to clutter up the place?”
Burton’s finger pointed skyward again. “Charnel houses have existed in many other cultures.”
“For animals?”
“Why not? If the animals are considered sacred —”
“Sacred enough to eat?”
“Ritually, yes.”
“Pet cemeteries?” interjected Rick.
Both men ignored him.
“Taxidermist?” Rick persisted. This time Burton glowered and Rhys cracked a smile.
“You’re wrong, Llewellyn,” Burton said with finality. “These are temples. Places of worship, sacrifice, and tribute. Everything we’ve found suggests it. No, confirms it. The animal bones, the potsherds, the metal tools and coins. I realize, of course, that it’s only your relative inexperience speaking,” he added and shook his head, thereby missing Yoshi’s furious but silent retort. “If there were only some way I could prove it to you.”
“What are your opinions about all this?” Rhys asked Nyami and Tzia later, when the Professor had retreated to his cabin to work on his field notes.
The two women shared an enigmatic glance, then Nyami answered for both of them. “We’re not paid to have opinions. At least, not outside of our respective areas of expertise. That means I boss the crew and Tzia restores artwork. All of us,” she added, glancing at Tzia again, “are keeping our own journals. And some of us will be writing our own books.”
“You’ve seen his field notes, then?”
“Of course.” Nyami chuckled, brushing graying hair back from her forehead. “Drew sees gods and goddesses everywhere. ‘Water goddess filling the world ocean.’ Heck, I think she’s probably running the local bath house.”
o0o
Burton’s team located the entrance to the tower at the beginning of the next week. That the building was hollow but for its organic centerpiece was no surprise—that feature had showed up clearly in the sonic profile. What came as a surprise was that the conical tower was lined with a tough amalgam of plant fiber and ceramic Rhys suspected would make a great material for orbital spacecraft and re-entry shuttles. This, in turn, was covered with a thick deposit of ash and soot. The floor was so deep in the stuff, a misstep could leave one covered to the neck with a fetching coat of powdery gray.
“Ashes to ashes and dust to dust,” murmured Rick when they had spent the better part of a day sifting and digging through thick layers of invasive soot and char that hung in the humid air and clung to clothing, hair and skin.
Burton, occupied with running a sample through the Field Remote Analysis Unit (known affectionately among diggers as the Frau), looked up sharply. “Are you suggesting this was a crematorium?”
Rick blew a lock of lank brown hair out of his eyes and gave the Professor a bland stare. “I’m in a deep hole, up to my elbows in fine gray soot. I just thought it was an appropriate comment.”
Burton looked thoughtful. “An interesting one, Roddy. You may have unwittingly stumbled onto something. Although, I think the crematorium was likely sacrificial in nature. You recall the biblical story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, of course.”
Rick opened his mouth to tell Dr. Burton that he had never heard of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, and that further, only Rhys Llewellyn called him “Roddy.” Then he thought better of it and asked, “Have you found evidence of any Etsatat bone fragments or DNA during your analysis?”
The question, neutrally posed, caused Dr. Burton to redden perceptibly and cast a sideways glance around the tree trunk at Rhys, who was digging with Tzia along one curved, fire-blasted wall.
“No, actually. What I have found are large amounts of coal and some cellulose, trace elements of other organic compounds, and carbonized bits of rock. Altogether, a disappointment, I admit. I had hoped we’d discovered a burial vault. The modern Etsatat inter their dead...” His voice trailed o
ff as he read the data spilling onto the Frau’s small display.
“Don’t give up yet, Professor.” Rhys straightened from his work, holding something out on the palm of his hand.
Burton pounced on it as an aging tabby might pounce on an unwary mouse. “Air! Air!” he cried, accepted an air bulb from Nyami, and feverishly cleaned the object. The entire work crew ceased digging and gathered around in the glare of palm lights and overheads.
“It’s some sort of jewelry. A brooch, by the look of it, or a medallion. And there’s a jewel in it, too. I’ve never seen the stone before.” He looked up at Rhys, fire in his pale eyes. “You’re in charge here, Llewellyn. Nyami, you and I are going to subject this to full analysis. Right now.”
Within seconds, the two archaeologists had disappeared into the entrance shaft and Rhys and the crew had returned to work. Three hours later, Rhys and Tzia had unearthed (or unashed) three more pieces of jewelry and a crude stone figurine. Scott Buchanan turned up a glob of interesting slag, and one of the other diggers found a second partial figure made up of heavily carbonized hardwood.
Eager for a report from Burton and Nyami, Rhys ordered the crew to “clear up their loose,” then, with their artifacts in a finds canister, he led the weary team of grimy, sweat-soaked archaeologists back to camp.
o0o
Burton was still hard at it and Nyami nursing a bottle of cold tea when the diggers filed up to the Finds tent. She moved to intercept them, cutting Rhys off before he or anyone else could enter.
“I wouldn’t interrupt him yet,” she told them.
Buchanan’s ashy blond brows furrowed. “How does it take three hours to analyze a piece of jewelry?”
Nyami studied her squeeze bottle. “He’s run the same battery of tests five times. I did the first set. He didn’t like the way I did them, so he did them again... .” She looked up at Rhys. “... and again and again.”
“Whatever’s the matter?”
“It’s not precious metal for one thing, just an odd rather impure alloy. And the stone? It...” She licked her lips and Rhys couldn’t tell if the gesture concealed a smile or a grimace. “It’s not stone. It’s man-made.”
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