Leroy used his laser microphone and listened in to the conversation that followed. It amounted to nothing more than “How was school?” Unless that was some kind of secret code for “the doodads are stashed in the basement” there was nothing fishy going on in that house.
The cowboy sat back to mull over what all of these facts meant. For starters, Hannah wasn’t being held hostage as he’d originally thought. It seemed like she wanted to be right where she was—even had her own key to the place. It didn’t sound like she had any notion that she was being sheltered by a band of thieves and their boss. And who was the old lady? She was probably another patsy who was even more in the dark about the real nature of Mr. Big’s operation than little Hannah was.
Hunt sat there for another half hour waiting to spot any other activity around the farmhouse. At the end of that time, he concluded that unless there was a giant secret vault underneath the building, nobody else was using the place for any shady business. It clearly wasn’t a base of operations for Mr. Big or his trio of artifact thieves. More likely it was a safe house for the little gal. That made good sense. A willing hostage was a lot easier to handle than an unwilling one. Hannah could still be used as a bargaining chip if need be, but for now she was just a normal kid going to high school.
The sound of a bad muffler cut into Hunt’s thoughts. He craned his neck to see where the noise was coming from. An old junker had just turned the corner and was making straight for the farmhouse. Its driver pulled up into the driveway with no hesitation. Apparently, he was already familiar with the place. The engine died, and a runty kid with spikey hair climbed out of the driver’s seat. Hunt put his spy glass to his eye, so he could get the kid’s license plate number. He also cracked his van window open to catch any stray outdoor conversation.
Hannah poked her head out the front door. She called to the boy loud enough for Leroy to hear without his fancy spy equipment. “Zach, Granny Faye needs something from the grocery store. Would you mind driving me?”
“Sure thing,” he called back. “And don’t forget to remind Gamma that she needs to call my dad about the car for prom night.”
“OK, I’ll tell her right now.” Hannah ducked back inside to transmit the message.
The boy leaned against the door of his car and waited for her.
A few minutes later, she ran out to meet him, giving him a quick kiss before climbing into the car.
Hunt raised his eyebrows in surprise. So that’s how it was. Hannah had surely taken to the Fallen World in a big way. A boyfriend. Prom night. The preacher would fairly blow a gasket if he could see her now. The cowboy ducked down as the two of them tore off down the street. Then he sat up straight behind the steering wheel to assess everything that he’d learned. He knew all the players now. Little Hannah had a boyfriend named Zach. The old lady’s name was Faye. She was probably the boyfriend’s grandma since he’d called her Gamma. Hunt knew for a fact she wasn’t related to Hannah even though the gal had called her Granny Faye.
It was pretty clear that nobody in that house knew squat about the doodads or the trio or Mr. Big. A kindly old lady looking after a teenager. A teenager with a boyfriend. It was about as vanilla as could be. He’d continue to scope out the place for a week or so just to be sure, but Hunt had seen enough for one day. He grinned at the thought that his long-standing loose end was about to be snipped off for good. He started his engine and drove off.
Chapter 18—The Pits
One hundred and fifty miles to the east of the ruins at Erlitou, the Arkana group continued their search for a trace of the Minoans. After checking into a chain hotel in the contemporary city of Anyang, they took a short drive to the outskirts of town and stepped back three thousand years in history.
Jun steered their car into a gravel lot outside what appeared to be a public park. They walked through the gates and headed toward a long pagoda-roofed building surrounded by trees, grass and an enclosure wall. The layout was much like what Cassie had seen in her vision of Erlitou.
“The ruins of Yin,” Jun announced. “This was once the palace grounds of the Shang Dynasty. They ruled this part of China from 1600 to 1300 BCE after taking control from the Xia.”
“Another legend,” his granddaughter mused softly. She glided toward the exhibit hall, leaving Griffin and Cassie to exchange puzzled looks.
Jun elucidated. “At one time, the Shang were also considered mythical—just like the Yellow Emperor and the Xia Dynasty. That is until this site was discovered in the early twentieth century. Farmers digging in their fields discovered turtle shell fragments strewn about in great numbers. These came to be known as ‘oracle bones’ because the shells were inscribed with writing for divination purposes. A priest would carve a question onto a shell and then the object would be heated. When heat caused the surface to crack, the priest would interpret the cracks in the carved letters to find an answer to the question. After archaeologists began digging in the area where the shells were unearthed, they realized that the original town stretched for eighteen square miles. It’s the largest site found in China to-date. Aside from the palace and other aristocratic dwellings, other structures such as shrines, tombs and workshops were also revealed.”
They reached the exhibit hall and walked inside.
“This is way beyond what I saw in my vision at Erlitou,” Cassie remarked. “Within the space of a couple of hundred years, it looks like civilization took a huge leap forward.”
“Backward.” Rou’s face was somber.
“What do you mean?” the pythia urged.
“You’ll soon see,” the girl warned gloomily.
Jun turned to the pythia. “Cassie, do you recall your impression of the culture that lived at Erlitou?”
“Sure,” she replied. “Rigid, domineering. I didn’t much like the feel of it.”
“Then I imagine you’ll like this far less.” The trove keeper’s tone was even darker than his granddaughter’s.
The four clustered around an exhibit consisting of a deep pit in the floor which had been exposed so visitors could stand on an observation deck and view its contents from above.
“We’re seeing a royal grave which, remarkably enough, escaped looting over the centuries,” Jun explained.
Griffin pointed to an object standing in a corner of the grave. “A bronze battle-axe. The quintessential overlord weapon of choice.”
“Yes, but observe the ornate design,” the trove keeper noted. “You can see how far metal-working techniques progressed since the crude knives found in Gansu a thousand years earlier.”
The scrivener transferred his attention to the plaque describing the grave’s contents. “This pit originally contained the body of Lady Fu Hao. In addition to being the king’s principal wife, she was also a military general and a high priestess.”
“Who says you can’t do it all,” Cassie quipped. “That must mean the Shang were matristic.”
“Hardly,” Griffin countered. “From what little I know of the Shang Dynasty, they were decidedly overlord in their perspective. Fu Hao must have been an extraordinary woman to have achieved such distinction in her own right.” He paused to read further. “In addition to the grave goods, the pit also originally contained the skeletons of six dogs and sixteen humans.”
Cassie rolled her eyes. “Looks like blood sacrifice just reared its ugly head in China.”
“And on a very big scale,” Jun said. “Come this way.”
They followed him to an exhibit of excavated chariots and animal skeletons in harness. Each chariot was meant to be drawn by a pair of horses.
The pythia couldn’t believe her eyes. “You mean they dug a pit for the chariots and horses and then slaughtered and buried them?”
“It was a common practice among aristocrats of high prestige,” Jun informed her.
“This isn’t unlike what one might find in an Egyptian pharaoh’s grave, and I imagine for much the same reason,” the scrivener remarked. �
�The Shang must have also believed that the afterlife was a parallel to the physical world. An important person would want to be surrounded by the same possessions in the next world as in this.”
“It’s interesting that you would draw a comparison to the Egyptians,” Jun observed. “We know that such burial customs only became common in Egypt after the overlords conquered North Africa. The same is true here. We are seeing displays of wealth and blood sacrifice in Shang graves that bear a strong resemblance to the kurgan pit graves of the steppes.”
They proceeded in silence, walking past row after row of chariots and horses which had been interred with the dead.
The pythia felt appalled by the sheer volume of ritual slaughter on display. “I guess overlords didn’t get the news that hearses don’t come with luggage racks.”
Once they exited the exhibit hall, Cassie’s attention was drawn to plastic domes covering different plots of earth around the archaeological site. In an effort to distract herself from the unsettling displays she’d just witnessed, she darted forward. Stopping at the nearest dome, she leaned over to peer inside. “Oh!” She recoiled when she identified the contents.
The pit was filled with piles of bones—skulls, torsos, decapitated skeletons, all heaped together like scraps from a slaughterhouse.
The others caught up with her.
“Sacrificial pits.” Rou sighed forlornly. “Murdered slaves.”
“For major religious rites,” Jun said, “the Shang would kill slaves or war captives. Some were decapitated. Some sliced in half. Then their remains were thrown into pits and buried. Perhaps the logic behind the mutilation had to do with the Shang’s literal interpretation of the afterlife. One’s enemies should never be sent to the next world intact where they might pose a future threat.”
“The lesson here is never lose a war to the Shang,” Cassie muttered.
“The dynasty was frequently in conflict with its neighbors who wanted to take over the territory,” the trove keeper said. “By 1300 BCE, many more steppe nomads were migrating into northern China through Mongolia. The arrival of the Yellow Emperor a thousand years earlier had been relatively peaceful by comparison. He managed to stave off the competition because the number of other overlord bands was small. That state of affairs had changed by the time of the Shang.”
“What we’re seeing at this site is full-on overlord,” the pythia observed. “There are chariots, horses, slaves, animal and human sacrifice, male dominance, and a rigid social order including a priest class to interpret omens.”
“You forgot widow slaughter,” Griffin added helpfully. “The Shang also practiced that delightful overlord custom.”
“But where did it all come from?” Cassie asked. “Nothing we’ve seen so far leads up to this. It’s like it happened overnight.”
“Anyang may represent a tipping point of sorts,” Jun speculated. “Over a span of two thousand years, a small influx of steppe nomads with superior weaponry and horses had set themselves up as the ruling elite, imposing their traditions on the native people wherever they settled in China. By the time of the Shang Dynasty, a fresh influx of nomads from Mongolia was eager to claim territory along the northern border. The rivalries and competition among them became more intense than ever before.”
“Now I know why you warned me when we walked into this place.” Cassie’s tone was rueful. “Anyang is supposed to showcase the advance of Chinese civilization, but I think it’s a huge step backward from the peaceful farm folk whose land this once was.”
“And the march of progress didn’t end here.” Griffin gave sarcastic emphasis to the word “progress.” “The overlord infection spread from agrarian China all the way to Korea and Japan. Japan, in particular, had enjoyed a gender-balanced society with many female leaders right up to the sixth century CE when patriarchal China first began meddling in the affairs of its neighbors. Little by little, Korea and Japan both became carbon copies of what we see here in Anyang.”
By this time, the group had wandered across the park to another plastic-covered pit. Without thinking, Cassie rested her hands on the rammed earth wall surrounding the exhibit and immediately wished she hadn’t.
She was an old man lying curled on his side. He rested on a pile of oracle bones. The pit was half filled with them. It was his duty to protect the prophecies. He was their keeper—a servant of the royal house. When his spirit traveled to the other world, he would resume his duty—faithful for all eternity to his master the king. Dirt began to tumble into the pit, across his body and across the prophecies he shielded. He could feel the weight of it gradually pressing down—surrounding and blanketing him. He watched patiently until the last shovelful fell across his face and eyes, blotting out the sky. After that, he saw no more. All he could feel was the earth mounding higher over his body, pressing down heavier and heavier until its weight crushed the life out of him.
The pythia was clutching at her throat, gasping for air. She had lost all sense of where she was, or even who she was. Time, space and identity had all condensed down to the single urgent need to breathe.
“Cassie!” Griffin gripped her by the shoulders and shook her, trying to break her trance.
It was as if she heard his voice calling her through dense fog. “Whe...” She tried to speak. “Where...?”
She could feel his hands gripping her arms now. The fog seemed less thick than it had a moment before. When she blinked, his face came into blurry focus. “Griffin?”
He threw his arms around her, hugging her fiercely. “Thank goddess, you’re alright!”
Cassie realized that she had slumped to the ground next to the oracle pit. She could see other faces now. Jun and Rou were crouched on the grass beside her. They both looked apprehensive. She coughed, trying to clear imaginary dirt from her lungs. After several more gasps, her breathing returned to normal. Then she became aware that Griffin was still hugging her so tight it hurt.
“Uh, Griffin?” she croaked.
“Yes?” He was stroking her hair now. She could feel his lips lightly brush her forehead.
“Griffin?” she repeated a little more insistently this time.
“Yes, Cassie. I’m here.” His fingers caressed her cheek.
“Watcha doin’?”
“Oh, dear!”
He recoiled so quickly that she fell backwards, hitting her head on the ground with a soft thump. “Oww!”
“Cassie!” He lunged back toward her. “How stupid of me!”
“I’m OK, really.” She waved him back as she sat up, rubbing her head. “Don’t help.”
He leaped to his feet, obviously embarrassed by his display of emotion.
The pythia smiled shakily at the others. “I sure didn’t see that flashback coming.”
“Can you stand up?” The scrivener’s voice was anxious. “It would be better if we could get you away from this spot.”
She nodded.
Griffin pulled her to her feet and placed his arm tentatively around her waist, guiding her to a bench.
The Zhangs followed and sat down on either side of her. At first, they seemed afraid to speak.
“Water?” Rou quavered nervously.
The pythia patted her hand. “No, I’m fine. I just need a minute.”
Griffin addressed the others. “I don’t suppose you’ve been treated to the sight of a pythia who has just channeled a tainted artifact.”
“I’ve heard stories...” Jun trailed off, his voice somber.
“Not a tainted artifact,” the pythia corrected him. “I jumped into the consciousness of an old man who was being buried alive.”
Rou clapped her hands over her mouth to muffle a gasp.
Cassie recounted her vision to the others. When she had finished the tale, she rubbed her temples distractedly. “What a useless waste of a life!”
“But you’ve seen many examples of blood sacrifice here.” Jun sounded baffled. “I don’t understand why this particula
r man’s death would affect you so.”
The pythia shook her head. “That isn’t what I meant. It wasn’t because the king used him as a sacrifice. It was because the old man just took it. He curled up on top of the oracle bones and let them pile dirt on him til he was dead.” She paused to gather her thoughts. “It was a useless waste because he didn’t believe his life was worth any more than that. To him, the king was a god, and he was nothing. It was his role in this life and for all eternity to serve the Shang, and he was OK with that.”
“There are those who might applaud his self-sacrifice as a noble deed,” Griffin remarked.
“Self-sacrifice is fine if there’s a good reason for it,” Cassie retorted angrily. “But this was all about serving the greed and ambition of a bunch of overlords who thought their lives mattered more than his.” She faltered as a new thought struck her. “Why is that?” She peered at the scrivener. “I mean all the overlords, everywhere. They had the same entitled attitude. The ones who invaded India called themselves ‘Arya’—the noble ones. Where does that come from? It can’t simply be because they were better fighters. One guy trouncing another will say ‘I’m a better fighter,’ not ‘I’m a god, and you’re a worm.’ Seriously, I want to know why they all believed that.”
Griffin took a few moments to consider the question. “There are a number of contributing factors, but if I had to pick the most important one, I’d choose the horse.”
“Really?” Cassie’s tone was dubious. “That’s the best you can come up with?”
“Hear me out,” the scrivener protested. “Try to imagine how it felt to be the first nomad to ride. Previously this man, whoever he was, had lived his life on foot. He’d been forced to migrate immense distances carrying all his possessions on his own back and would have been lucky to travel twenty miles in a day. Now, for the first time, he could control a beast many times his own size. He could make it stop. He could make it turn. He could make it run as fast as the wind. He could use its speed to plunder unprotected villages. What a fatuous sense of omnipotence the horse must have conveyed to its rider. If he could impose his will so easily on an animal, why not a captured woman? Why not a neighboring tribe? Why not the entire world?”
Arkana Archaeology Mystery Box Set 2 Page 40
