Maya Bohnhoff: The Secret Life of Gods

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 fiberboard 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 headgear, 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. “And 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 other 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 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, armed 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 started 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.”

“But 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 gets me.”

Yoshi caught up with the others in the large rear chamber of the Chapel. Rick sidled up to her, a puzzled expression on his face. “You all right? You look like the bluebird of doom.”

“I’m fine.”

“What happened up on that scaffold? Rhys looks like he ripped his favorite kilt and Burton’s all red in the face.”

“I’ll tell you about it later,” Yoshi murmured. “What’d they find?”

“Looks like their first real treasure trove.”

It did indeed. The abundant coinage was rectangular and cut from some soft stone. The diggers had found it in a deposit in the far comer of the room, where Rhys and Burton were already hunkered down between photonic grid lines. Next to them, the three diggers assigned to the room stood and beamed. A fourth worker recorded everything with a holocam.

Burton’s pale eyes were exultant as he held two of the coins up for the camera. “As you can see each one is embossed with the image of Ets-eket on one side and a sacrificial altar on the other. Further evidence of his pervasive force in this society.”

“Looks almost like jade,” murmured Rhys, turning a piece over in his hands. He ran an exploratory finger over the sculpted surface, noting the neatly cut hole in the center of Ets-eket’s headdress.

There was more. Further digging unearthed what appeared to be a calendar. It had four rows of nine squares each; most squares embossed with one of three symbols—the tower with what appeared to be a flame dancing atop it, a rectangular object that looked like a wagon with spoked wheels, and a second rectangle which may have represented an altar, as Burton suggested, or anything else that was boxlike in shape. At the top of the stone slab was one of the ubiquitous carvings of Ets-eket. The symbols appeared in regular alternating order, except for the last three squares of each row, which contained circles.

Burton was thrilled with the discovery. “To find a religious calendar of this type is extraordinary luck. This will tell us much more about the nature of the religion practiced here.”

The day continued to go well for the archaeologists. By evening the team working in the quartet of pits along the southern wall reported that the detritus was exceptionally full of humus and animal bones abounded. Outside of these areas, bone finds were limited to partial skeletons or the carcasses of local vermin. The character of the bones was also of interest; most of them had been broken, many had even had the marrow removed and a great many more showed definite gnaw marks and cuts. Meanwhile, the team in Temple One turned up an incredible variety of ceramic—pieces of plates, bowls, ewers and cups from the plain to the ornate.