Maya Bohnhoff: The Secret Life of Gods

“Are still here for you to find,” Rhys finished, grinning.

Burton returned the grin. “You count my blessings for me. And tomorrow, you’ll get to join in the finding. Now, before we all turn in, I want to give you a preview of what’s in store for you.” He rose from the table and disappeared into the connecting tube that led to the Finds tent. When he reappeared two minutes later, he carried a wrapped object in his hands. Setting it on the table, he carefully peeled away the soft swaddling. Inside was a statuette approximately thirty centimeters in height.

That the person portrayed was Etsatat was obvious, though the statue was somewhat stylized. Vaguely humanoid, it had the characteristic wide face with the tiny, pointed chin, low set, over-sized eyes and wide thinlipped mouth. One long-fingered hand clutched a staff of some dull metal, the other was raised to a necklace of large rectangular bangles that hung around the effigy’s neck. Atop the staff was a vaguely crescent- or fan-shaped cap. Whether it was a scepter or weapon wasn’t readily apparent. The Etsatat’s oddly jointed legs seemed to be encased in boots of a different material than the body and, on second glance, Rhys realized the hands and forearms were also sheathed in the same stuff. A long, flat apron hung from beneath the necklace and seemed, on closer inspection, to be part of a stole that covered the figure’s shoulders completely. Taken all together it looked to be protective gear—armor perhaps, or protection from Etsat’s “nocturnal nasties,” or yet again, ceremonial garb or uniform.

By far the most outstanding bit of apparel was the figure’s elaborate headdress. Fitted to the wide, shallow skull, was a helmet of the same metal as the staff. Atop it was a flat, gleaming silver crest that was a larger twin of the one mounted atop the staff. It reminded Rhys much of a figure found on Earth at Teotihuacan in the late twentieth century.

“Meet the Moon God, whose temple this appears to be. We call him Etseket, which is Etsatat for Moon God, naturally. As you can see, he’s a warrior deity of some sort. Or the priest-surrogate for same. We haven’t found out quite as much about him as we’d like, but this entire complex, as I said, appears to be dedicated to him. We re not quite certain of the purpose of the buildings on site—although they seem to be depositories for treasure, tribute, perhaps burial goods. The tower… well, there’s a mystery. The hole in the roof is the only obvious access point—though that giant conifer’s clogged that up pretty effectively. We’re fairly certain there’s an entrance hidden in that mound of spoil around the base. Scott and I are all for cutting the tree out chunk by chunk, but Nyami here will have none of it.” He afforded her an indulgent glance to which she replied with a shrug. “So, it’s dig we do.”

“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 5,000 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 tomorrow. 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.”

“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 sensation 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 here 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 said.

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 it’s ever 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 and 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 Linguine.’ ”

Rich snorted. “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, and Yoshi could almost feel the heat of Rhys’s embarrassment beating against her 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 had 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 your help.”

“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.