Digging deep into a pack slung across his shoulder, he had pulled out four small purple candles to set in front of the figures. Arranging them in a star-like pattern, he touched match to wick and watched them blaze to life. Liu stepped back, took a long deep breath and held it. He gestured to the four directions that they should bring wholeness back to these terracotta people.
Then he waited.
The breath that had been held too long in his chest began to burn.
Had the figures been the victims of an opposing ceremony? Or, perhaps, they were never touched to begin with.
His lungs ached. Fighting hard against release, he found he could hold his breath no longer. His eyes went from figure to figure for a last-minute sign.
Sadly, it was not to be.
Breath escaped him in a long, singular and disappointed burst.
The first fully exposed soldier, then the second, fifth and tenth, stood tall and immovable. Their individual expressions stayed fixed and rigid as they had for thousands of years and would for thousands more.
The calculations had been wrong. His intuition had been reduced to nothing more than dreams of a common man, among far too many, hoping for something better.
Eyeing the dusty crossbows that had at one time been mechanically triggered to shoot intruders, he had walked from this chamber and would never return. There was no need. Bitterness burned his throat. Disappointment lodged in his stomach and gnawed his insides.
The medallion of the clockwise-etched dragon that clung to his chest swung back and forth with each heavy step as he left this place to the others. There was nothing more for him here. Good fortune would have to wait for another time.
Then, in March of 1990, workers building a highway noticed a strange condition in the soil. A new team of scientists arrived to dig in the fields.
Another special place had been discovered.
And another opportunity had arrived for the archaeologist to test his theory.
Liu removed the top to the porcelain mug Hsu had pressed into his hands, and sipped the warm green tea. Pushing his pack further up his shoulder, he stared at the late afternoon sun, then rubbed his face as if worry could be erased so easily. Turning, he scanned the horizon east of the city of Xi'an.
Over there was where the first emperor of China had chosen to place his terracotta army of 10,000 soldiers in preparation for death. Qin Shi Huang Di had built the Great Wall to protect the lives of his people, but had constructed the 20-square-mile compound for his own protection after his life ended. He needn't have bothered.
But here, at the starting point of the Silk Road, south-west of Xi'an, was the place of Jing Di. And perhaps this time good fortune would arise from the dark and seek the light.
The assistant, Hsu, ran up to him and spoke in rapid staccato tones. The small, old man in black pants, thin sweater and sandals gestured close and animated. 'Come quick and see. Quick. It is just finished.' He pointed, then stepped behind the archaeologist to watch for a response.
Liu offered a barely perceptible nod and walked to where the old man indicated. Ducking under a makeshift roof held up by wooden scraps used for studs, he gauged his steps in the loose earth. Careful not to disrupt the ledge, he approached the new finding excavated from the tunnel wall. A skeleton, pulled tight as if in a defensive posture, lay face to the wall. Liu knelt beside it with caution and restrained interest.
The skull was broken into jagged pieces. Nearby was a brick.
The old man resumed his quick gestures and rapid discourse with explanation of this event. 'An intruder, I think. Someone most unwelcome. Or an accident. Maybe an accident. Maybe it is not. He was not careful. He wished for more than he should have.'
'Quiet.' Liu spoke harshly. 'Your theories are of no interest to me.' He dismissed the assistant with a wave of his hand.
Hsu stepped quietly back into the shadow.
Perhaps it was, indeed, an accident. Liu looked about the room and the brush-stroked row of heads that bloomed there. Or perhaps this unwelcome intruder had found more than he had bargained for.
The calendar could not be pushed.
The cycle would soon begin.
This victim had not been the first done in by greed, curiosity, or even vengeance. Grave robbing, it was speculated, had started as far back as the first century, and still continued today. Few had been successful. Far more had lost their lives. Many had even lost their souls.
The philosophy of the elders, and one that had followed since, held that human contact was motivated by self- interest. Here now lay proof of that thinking. Liu stood slowly. He paused, then kicked dust over the intruder.
This week what lay below the land was of more importance than what grew from it. It was a necessary work for survival. An honourable work. But the day was drawing to a close and the farmers would be forced to return to their more meaningful labour.
Liu held back growing impatience that filled his chest and made his head ache. Impatience was unacceptable in this time, in this culture. Urge it away, he told himself, for it cannot win. There is no other way but to let things be as they must.
He could not push the calendar.
Could not could not.
