“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 particular 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?”
“If you could bottle Eau de Narcissism, I’m pretty sure that’s what it would stink like,” the pythia remarked caustically.
“You’re quite right,” Griffin concurred. “It is a form of narcissism, isn’t it? But, of course, the horse tempted its rider to overreach himself. The first opportunistic young male who formed a raiding party wanted dominance. Astride a horse, he could have it. Seated high above his fellow creatures, he could look down on the earth he’d once crawled across.”
“Like a god,” Rou murmured despondently. “It went to their heads.”
“Exactly so!” Griffin exclaimed, regarding the girl with newfound respect. “In a very literal sense, it went to their heads because on horseback they were no longer grounded. Their mythology came to reflect that rootless perspective. Rather than worshipping earth goddesses who lived in nature, they adored sky gods ensconced above it all.”
“OK, you’ve convinced me.” Cassie sighed. “Wherever the horse goes, trouble follows.”
“You’re more right than you realize,” the scrivener said. “The corrupting influence of the horse wasn’t limited to the steppe nomads of Eurasia. The same phenomenon occurred in America. The Comanche were once a peaceful, gender-equal tribe of gatherer-hunters. A few generations after they acquired horses, they became a male-dominated, slave-owning, polygamous, warrior culture. Contrary to what you might expect, most of their aggression was directed toward other Native Americans. It is estimated that Comanche raiding parties abducted as many as twenty thousand women and children from neighboring tribes to be used as forced labor. Of course, the males on the losing side of the conflict were immediately massacred.”
“I’m sorry I
