“I suppose all the artifacts are stored somewhere else,” Cassie speculated, secretly hoping to get a glimpse of the actual hiding place.
“Oh yes,” Jun agreed. “Deep in the mountains and away from prying eyes.”
He opened the door and switched on the lights. The office windows looked out over the business district.
Cassie peeped through the blinds and caught a glimpse of green volley balls a few blocks away below her. “They’re still at it,” she murmured with amusement.
Jun made no comment. He was reading a note that had been left on the desk. Smiling briefly, he turned to Cassie. “It would seem you’ll get a glimpse of at least one artifact while you’re here. The Majiayao trove keeper left me a message. Her people turned up an object which they can’t identify. Since she knew the pythia would be coming to Lanzhou, she was hoping you might validate it for her.”
Jun unlocked one of the desk drawers and removed a bundle wrapped in white cloth.
The other three drew up chairs around the desk. Jun sat down in the trove keeper’s seat and placed the package before them. He carefully uncovered the object which was about a foot long.
“It’s a horse’s head,” Cassie said matter-of-factly. She peered at it closely but couldn’t see anything particularly unique—a rough wooden carving of the head and neck of a horse.
“I would guess that the mystery lies not in the shape of the object but in its function,” Jun explained. He picked up the artifact and turned it on end to examine the base of the carving. “It looks to me as if this object sat on top of a pole of some sort.”
“Perhaps it was the head of a scepter,” Griffin suggested. “Or a staff?”
“If so, its design is quite different than any we’ve seen before,” the trove keeper replied. “Such ornaments as you’ve mentioned are usually emblems of high rank and are made of more precious materials like gold or jade. They would be ornately carved and set with gems. This horse’s head is crude by comparison.”
“I see your point,” the scrivener conceded.
“Perhaps the pythia would be kind enough to give us her impressions?” Jun slid the carving across the desk toward Cassie.
She took the precaution of sitting back in her chair and planting both feet firmly on the floor in case the object had any disorienting surprises in store for her. Then she took the horse’s head and held it between her palms.
The sun was blindingly bright. She gazed off a hundred miles in every direction, but all she could see was a sea of dried yellow grass waving in a strong wind. She was seated on horseback. Or rather ‘he’ since she was inhabiting the consciousness of a man. Judging by his apparel, he was a warrior. He wore a helmet on his head, and a long knife was strapped to his leather belt. The wind blew his blond beard across his chest. He shielded his eyes and scanned the horizon for a few moments, considering whether it was time for a change of direction. He cast a glance behind him. There were several dozen people in his caravan. Some seated in horse-drawn carts. Some on horseback. All waiting for his decision.
“Bring me the south-pointing chariot,” he commanded.
One of his followers rode forward, leading another horse which had been harnessed to a small two-wheeled cart. Resting on its platform was a collection of interlocking gears connecting to a pole surmounted by a carved horse’s head.
The leader studied the motion of the cart as it drew up beside him. The horse’s nose persisted in pointing off to his right. That meant they were still riding east. He squinted ahead in the glare of the overhead sun. The sea of grass was so vast and flat that it might as well have been an ocean. There were no mountains in sight. Not yet anyway.
“This way,” he called to his followers. He flicked his horse’s reins and advanced in the same direction they had been heading for weeks. Sooner or later, the dying grasslands would give way to mountains that gushed rivers. Then they would follow where the horse’s head wanted to lead them.
Cassie blinked rapidly. The office seemed incredibly dim in comparison to her sunlit vision.
“What did you see?” Griffin’s tone was worried.
She gave him a reassuring smile. “Nothing terrible, if that’s what you’re asking.” Glancing down at the artifact, she laughed in wonder. “It’s a compass.”
“Aha, I knew it!” Jun clapped his hands in delight.
“I don’t see any needle.” Griffin picked up the carving and examined it closely.
“The horse’s nose is the pointer, or needle, if you want to call it that,” Cassie explained. “But from what I could see, it didn’t work by magnets. It was driven by gears, and it always pointed south.” She told them the details of her vision.
Jun’s eyes were sparkling with excitement by the time she finished. “And you’re sure this leader in your vision was Caucasian?”
“Well, I didn’t have a mirror,” Cassie demurred. “But the guy had a blond beard, he was dressed like an overlord barbarian, and his followers were a bunch of white people riding through steppe country. If it swims like a duck and it quacks like a duck...” She shrugged.
“Yes, I’m sure you’re right.” Jun traded a knowing glance with Rou.
Cassie scowled. “Wait a minute. The guy who owned this horse’s head must have been somewhere a thousand miles away in the grasslands. Probably Kazakhstan. How did this artifact get to China?”
“It was found at a dig site only ten miles from here,” Jun said. “The Majiayao culture inhabited the area around Lanzhou between 3100 and 2700 BCE. They were the earliest culture in China to show evidence of bronze weaponry.”
“Weaponry?” Cassie asked. “I thought all the Neolithic tribes around here were peaceful agriculturalists.”
“Oh, yes. They were.”
“Then the weaponry must have been brought here by outsiders,” Griffin speculated.
“Most certainly. Cassie’s vision has offered us a missing link regarding the overlord migration to China.”
“Then you’re saying this warrior with the yellow beard and weird compass used it to find his way to Lanzhou?”
“That’s right,” Jun agreed, smiling broadly. “I believe this little carved horse’s head pointed you directly to the Yellow Emperor.”
“The Yellow Emperor!” Griffin exclaimed. “But that’s impossible. He was Asian.”
Cassie held up her hand. “It looks like I need some backstory here. I know you mentioned him as one of the three mythical sovereigns but who exactly is the Yellow Emperor?”
Rou leaned over and whispered in her grandfather’s ear.
Jun nodded in agreement. Addressing the others, he said, “Rou wishes me to advise you that the answer to your question is far from simple. The true identity of the Yellow Emperor is cloaked in myth and legend. To unmask his face, we first need to separate fact from fable.”
Chapter 13—Dancing Around the Problem
Dr. Rafi Aboud handed his ticket to the usher and accepted a program. He found his seat in the dress circle of the Auditorium Theater. After getting settled, he scanned his surroundings. The century-old theater had been a landmark of design in its day, credited with inspiring the Art Nouveau style in Europe. It boasted an elegance that the modern taste for curtain glass and bare metal had completely lost. Aboud decided he liked the excessive opulence of it all. Built in the 1890s, it still served as a major venue for the city’s performing arts. The doctor glanced at his program. The Joffrey Ballet was dancing Stravinsky’s The Firebird tonight. He, himself, wasn’t an aficionado of ballet but his business associate was. He expected that Vlad had a particular fondness for this piece as it was scored by a Russian composer and based on a Russian folktale.
Aboud sighed at the thought that he had never had the time to cultivate his finer sensibilities. He expected that with the profit from his current venture, he could soon afford to be a patron of the arts as well as a man of leisure. He cast a glance at the theater-goers taking seats around him. The
y exuded a consciousness of privilege. He could tell by their familiar greetings that many were season ticket-holders. Their topic of choice seemed to be details of the resort locations they’d visited during the winter months. All of them were dressed expensively, as he himself was. Soon, he’d also be in a position to cultivate the acquaintance of the smart set.
A tall blond man took the aisle seat in Aboud’s row. It was Vlad. The doctor and the weapons broker nodded at one another, but neither spoke. The doctor casually scanned the rows of seats behind him, now nearly filled with spectators. He didn’t spy a black suit among them. That was good. In the event his benefactor was having him watched, Aboud knew a Nephilim would never cross the threshold of a theater. It was tantamount to passing through the gates of hell. The cult held a particular horror of public entertainments. It was laughable really that the same men who were commissioning him to develop a deadly plague could be routed so easily by a bevy of ballerinas. Aboud chuckled to himself at the paradox. The lights dimmed. The performance was about to begin.
***
When the house lights came up for intermission, Aboud followed Vlad out to the bar.
As they waited for their drink orders, Vlad asked, “How are you enjoying it so far?”
Aboud could offer no critique on the finer points of the performance. “This is the first ballet I’ve attended.”
“Ah, this is nothing,” Vlad waved his arm dismissively. “You haven’t seen The Firebird until you’ve seen it performed by the Bolshoi. There are no words to describe it in any language. Pure poetry in motion.”
“Perhaps one day I shall see a performance in Moscow,” the doctor agreed noncommittally.
They took their glasses of champagne and wandered off to a quiet alcove on the mezzanine where they could speak more freely.
Vlad glanced at their champagne flutes ruefully. “Perhaps we ordered the wrong drinks. We have nothing to toast yet, do we?”
Aboud took a seat on an ornately carved sofa. “It would seem I was too thorough in my work,” he remarked cryptically.
Vlad took a seat next to him. “Meaning?”
“My benefactor wanted the most virulent strain of pneumonic plague possible. One that could kill in a matter of hours.” The doctor shrugged philosophically. “And that’s what I created. I succeeded in developing a strain so lethal that even I can’t stop it.”
“So that means you haven’t developed a vaccine yet?” Vlad sounded mildly annoyed.
“Oh, I have tried to develop a vaccine,” the doctor countered. “A great number of them, in fact. I tested every conceivable type of vaccine on my last twenty subjects, and still they perished.”
The Russian leaned in closer, his demeanor slightly menacing. “You need to appreciate my position. I have lined up half a dozen buyers, all eager to start bidding on your weaponized plague. I can only string them along for so long before they become impatient. Money is burning holes in their pockets, but that money will go elsewhere if you don’t hurry up. And that is a best-case scenario. These men do not like to be disappointed. They have a very low tolerance for frustration and for those who are the cause of it.”
“I am well aware of the need for haste,” Aboud concurred dryly. “My benefactor reminds me of that fact every week.”
Vlad took a sip of champagne, his attention temporarily diverted to another topic. “You still don’t know who his target is?”
The doctor shook his head. “He’s been very tight-lipped on that subject. He says he’ll let me know when it’s time to design a delivery device. Of course, I won’t be ready to do that until the vaccine has been perfected.”
The lights flashed, signaling that intermission was nearly over.
Vlad finished the rest of his champagne in a single gulp. “So what am I to tell our prospective buyers in order to hold their interest?”
Aboud pondered the question for a moment. “You may tell them that I’m very close to a breakthrough. I should have an effective vaccine within a month. Two months at the very most.”
Vlad stood, towering over the little doctor. “For your sake, I hope you are right. When they run out of patience, we both will have run out of time.”
Chapter 14— A Journey of a Thousand Miles Begins with a Single Steppe
Cassie and Griffin sat motionless in the trove keeper’s office in Lanzhou eyeing the crude carving of the horse’s head compass which lay in the middle of the desk. They were waiting for an explanation.
Zhang Jun leaned back in his chair. “It’s a strange thing about archaeology,” he mused. “Often a small, insignificant find can lead to something much bigger. In this case, a discarded piece of a mechanical compass brought us to our first physical trace of the Yellow Emperor. But let me begin at the beginning. Do you remember when we were in Shenyang I mentioned the original rulers of ancient China?”
“You told us about the three sovereigns and five emperors,” Cassie replied readily.
“Quite so. As you’ll recall, the serpent goddess Nu Kwa was the first sovereign. She created the universe. The second sovereign was Shen-Nung. He is called the Divine Farmer because he taught the people agriculture and the medicinal uses of plants. The third sovereign is known as the Yellow Emperor. He is credited with devising numerous inventions and has the dubious distinction of being named the inventor of warfare. All of the subsequent five emperors traced their lineage back to him. Of course, modern scholars dismiss all eight figures as mythical, but evidence has been coming to light about other legendary figures who have been proven to actually exist.”
“Still,” Griffin objected. “Do you seriously believe the man in Cassie’s vision was your fabled Yellow Emperor?”
Rou nodded gravely.
Jun continued. “Asia is a huge land mass and not all its inhabitants are of Mongoloid ancestry. Some are Caucasian, but nobody seems to remember this. China has, for a long time, believed in its cultural isolation. Because the country is bounded on all sides by mountains and oceans, most current history books insist that no foreigners ever set foot here while the culture was in its infancy. As a result, China asserts that it developed its civilization without any stimulus from the rest of the world. We know this to be far from true. The influence of the west made itself felt from the very beginning.”
Griffin stared at Jun with open skepticism.
Apparently interpreting the scrivener’s reaction, Jun protested, “Please, allow me to elaborate. We have much more evidence than the pythia’s vision for making such claims. One has only to look at the Tarim Basin mummies or the Beauty of Loulan.”
“Oh yes,” Griffin said. “I recall reading about those finds. It seems a large number of perfectly preserved specimens were discovered in the Tarim Basin in the northwestern part of China. They were very tall Caucasians, some wearing woven plaid cloth resembling Scottish tartans. The most ancient of the mummies are four thousand years old.”
“The government resisted disclosing information about these mummies because they feared it would stir up controversy among the Uyghurs.”
“Uyghurs?” Cassie asked cautiously.
“From Xinjiang,” Rou mumbled under her breath.
Instantly everyone transferred their attention to her, and she blushed.
“You may as well continue,” her grandfather prompted gently.
The girl tried to form a few words, but no sound came out. It seemed that the direct scrutiny of the group was too much for her. With a stricken look, Rou mutely appealed to Jun for rescue.
“Very well,” the trove keeper conceded. “Xinjiang is in the northwest corner of China. The Uyghurs are a Turkic race who migrated there a long time ago. Many of them have light-colored eyes and hair. Some even have European features. The Uyghurs feel that their province shouldn’t be part of China at all because the inhabitants are not ethnically Chinese. They’ve been staging government protests for years. Needless to say, the discovery of the Tarim Basin mummies wasn’t widely
publicized for fear of stirring up a furor in that region all over again. But the Uyghurs offer strong genetic proof that Caucasian tribes have existed along China’s northern and western borders for the past four millennia or more.”
Rou managed to squeak out a few audible words at last. “The Mongols.”
“What have they got to do with this?” The pythia sat forward in her chair.
Jun replied. “As you know, the Great Wall was built to keep out barbarian raiders from the north. These raiders eventually coalesced into the Mongol Empire many centuries later. What most people don’t know is that the Mongols were genetically quite diverse. Chinese historians of the time referred to them as ‘the people with colorful eyes.’”
“That would mean they were Caucasian.” Griffin sounded baffled.
“At least in part,” Jun said. “In fact, Genghis Khan is described as having red hair and green eyes. His wife’s name was Bourtai which means ‘grey-eyed.’ There are many people living in Mongolia today who have Asian features with light hair and eyes. It would appear that when the Caucasian tribes migrated eastward, they didn’t stop in central Asia. They gradually extended their reach to encompass the northern and western borders of China. A smaller number continued southeastward into China itself. Gansu Province, where we are right now, is called the Gansu Corridor because it is the easiest way to reach the Yellow River Valley from central Asia.”
“That means this province acted like a funnel to draw traffic from the steppes,” the pythia concluded. “But I still don’t understand why overlords would have traveled this far east. What was the attraction?”
Jun gave a humorless laugh. “They needed a new group of agriculturalists to exploit.”
Cassie and Griffin exchanged troubled glances before turning their attention back to the trove keeper.
“Hold on,” the pythia objected. “I was told the overlords left the steppes because the grasslands dried out and their herds needed greener pastures.”
Arkana Archaeology Mystery Box Set 2 Page 37
