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“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.

Rhys slipped the card 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 a 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…” He 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 4’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 further 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.

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 bam 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 modem 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 of 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?”