The Flute of the Gods

Somewhere, he would perhaps fall on the trail, and the men of Kah-po or of Povi-whah would find him, as fainting medicine men had been found ere this–but that must be after he had reached the shrine, and gave prayers at the place of the eagle dream.

Past Pu-yé he went–scarce seeing the ghost walls of the older day; in sight of Shufinne, the little island of forgotten dwellings on the north mesa–through the pines to the cañon of Po-et-se where rocks of weird shapes stood like gray and white giants to bar his way. He thought at times voices sounded from the stone pillars, but it might be the echo of his own.–He knew evil spirits did lurk along his trail–no mortal could escape their shadows. Even the god who had lived in the sun had been hurled to earth by them when the earth was new, and the first trees–the pines, had begun to grow at the edges of the ice. Since that time the Sun God only lived in the sky one half the time. In the night he went to the Underworld, and the strands of his dark hair covered his face. He must not let himself think that the adverse spirits were less than men in strength–for man needed all the medicine of the gods to war against evil!

Thus he thought–and muttered and stumbled blindly towards the north. Into the stream of Po-eh-hin-cha he crept and drank,–then up–up to Po-pe-kan-eh–the Place where the Water is Born, and from there to the shrine of the Sacred Mountain, though his hands reached for help from every tree and rock past which he staggered or crept.

Only water and the smoke of the medicine pipe had been his portion. One may not eat the food of man, yet commune with Those Above.

The first stars were above the hills as he fell, bleeding from many hurts–and breathless–at the shrine.

Far above one lone eagle soared, and the weariness was forgotten in the joy of Tahn-té. The sacred spark came quickly to the twigs crossed ceremonially for the fire on the shrine, and into the blue above, the slender trail of smoke led undeviatingly up where the great bird drifted as if awaiting to witness his offering of fire. Had any other found medicine like that? He knew now that his magic was to be strong magic, for his faith had been great–and he had followed the faith, and found the bird of the strong gods waiting his coming!

Time was lost to him in the trance of that which he had lived through. The day was gone, and he stood alone on the heights and reached his hands in ecstasy to his brothers the stars. He felt the exultant strength of the mortal with whom the gods have worked!

And when the last mountain prayer had been whispered, a reeling, staggering, nude figure walked, and sometimes ran and often fell down the steep sides of Tse-c[=o]me-u-piñ, and when the great dark pines and the slender aspens were reached, he used his hands as well as his feet in making his way, reeling from tree to tree, but holding with instinctive steadiness to the trail of the Navahu–the ancient way of the enemy, where ambush and slaughter was often known. Many captives had been driven between the high rock walls. Youths and maidens swept from Te-hua corn fields, and Navahu captives as well, caught by Te-hua hunters in the hunting grounds to the West,–all came through the one great pass–and the way of the trail was so narrow that to guard it was not a hard thing in time of battle.

The rush of the swift water was always near as he went on and on in the darkness. It had a lulling effect. The whispers of the pines also spoke of rest. This was the fourth day of the fasting. He, Tahn-té, had been strong as few men are strong, but suddenly in the night, earth and sky seemed to meet, and putting out his hands he groped through a thicket of the young pines, and fell there quite close to the dancing water–and all the life of earth drifted far. He, Tahn-té, the devotee of the Trues–the weaver of spells, and dancer of the Ancient Dance to the God of the Stone, lay at last in the stupor beyond dreams, helpless in the path of an enemy if any should trail him for battle.

His sleep was dreamless, and the length of it until the dawn seemed but a hand’s breadth on the path of the stars across the sky.

But with the dawn a vision came, and he knew it again as the actual form of that which had been so often the vague dream-maid of charméd moments.

There was the flash of water in the pool–a something distinct from the steady murmur of its ripples–that was the sign by which he was wakened quite suddenly, without movement or even a breath that was loud. Under the little pines at the very edge of the stream he was veiled in still green shadows, and there before him was The Maid of Dreams. Those Above had let her come to him that for once his eyes should see and his heart keep her in the medicine visions of this fasting time of prayer.

Not once did she turn her eyes towards him as she stood, dripping with the water of the bath. Her slender figure was in shadow, and her movements were shy and alert and quick.

To the dry sand she stepped, and lifted thence a white deerskin robe. Two bluebird wings were in the white banda about her loosened hair, very blue was the color of the wings as the light touched them, and he thought of the wonderful Navahu Goddess Estsan-atlehi who was created from an earth jewel–the turquoise, and who is the belovéd of the Sun. If a maid could be moulded from any jewel of earth, Tahn-té thought she would look like this spirit of the forest stream. Even while held by the wonder and the beauty of the vision, he thought of this, and recalled the bluebird feathers in the prayer plumes of Tusayan:–next to the eagle they were sacred feathers:–the gods were sending him strong thoughts for magic!

Suddenly the maid stood tense and erect as though listening–or was it only the nearness of a mortal by which she was thrilled to movement?–for she clasped the trailing white skin to her breast, and stepped into the deeper shadow where grew the fragrant thickets of the young pine under the arms of the great pine mothers.

Without sound she moved. His eyes watched in strained eagerness for the one turn of the head, or one look of the eyes towards him, but that was not to be. To mortal all the joys cannot be given at one time–else all would be as gods!

He stared at the shadows into which she had blended herself, and he stared at the pool from which she had arisen. It was again a mirror reflecting only the coming day. Yet his heart leaped as he saw a sign left there for him!

Drifting idly there in a circle was a bit of blue too vivid for the echo of the sky of dawn–it was the wing of a bluebird, and even as he looked, it was caught in an eddy more swift, and moved on the surface of the water straight to the edge of the bank nearest his place of rest.

Staggering to his feet, he went to meet it. It was not an empty vision as the maid had been, and it did not fade as he grasped it. The visions of the night had been strong visions, but with the dawn had come to Tahn-té the added medicine of the second gift of the Spirits of the Air. Above the clouds must his thoughts be in their height. The medicine of the eagle had made that plain to him, and the feathers of prayer lay in his hand as a sign such as had come to no other man!

The Brothers of the Air were plainly to be his kindred!

This was the dawning of the fifth day on the prayer trail. A little way he walked, and the world reeled about him,–to escape from the cloud of weakness he ran the way of the brook towards the far river–and then as a brook falls into the shadows of a cavern place, Tahn-té fell and lay where he fell. In the darkness closing over him he heard the rustle of wings–though another might have heard only the whisper of the pines.

When the sun stood straight above, and the bush of the sage brooded over its own shadow, it was then Po-tzah and the brothers of Po-tzah found him. They wondered at the wing of the bluebird in his hand, but carried him on a robe of the buffalo until they brought him to his own home. Then the people of his order brought to him the foods and the drinks allowed after the fasting time to the men who make many prayers.

When the strength had come back he spoke in secret council of the vision of the eagle and the vision of the maid born from the waters of the sacred mountain of prayer.

The old men debated wisely as to the visions and the meaning of the visions. The dance was a great dance and plainly had the favor of Sinde-hési since Tahn-té had come out of it alive;–the Summer People would hold a long feast to mark the time, and the boys who were taught by the old men, would be told in the kivas of the ways in which a man might grow strong in body and strong in spirit to face the god who lives on high in the hills.

Of the visions of the eagles they were glad–for in his dream Tahn-té had been carried by the eagle to the shrine of power, and that was very great medicine. It was well he had kept strength to follow the trail and meet the eagle there.

Of the maid-vision there was long talk. To dream of a maid was the natural dream thought of a young man, and the wing of the bird could be only the symbol for thoughts that fly very high.

The clan of his mother–the Arrow Stone People, thought the vision by the pool meant that the time to choose a wife had come to Tahn-té. He had proven himself for magic. It was now time that he think of strong sons.

The elders agreed that it was so, and talked of likely maids, and that was when the name of Yahn the Beautiful was spoken. But Tahn-té heard part of the talk, and stopped it. He had read the books of the white god, and out of them all he had found one strong thought. The white god, and the prophets of that god, were strong for magic because they did not take wives of the tribes about them. Because of that they had been strong to conquer their world. He, Tahn-té, meant to work for the red gods as the priests of the dark robe worked for the white gods. He would work alone unless other men worked with him. It was not magic in which a woman could help. But alone he fastened four feathers of a bluebird to the Prayer Flute of the far desert, and in the dusks under Venus and the young moon he breathed through it softly to bring back the vision of the Maid of Dreams.

Not all this talk was spoken of outside the kiva:–only the name of Yahn had been said–and that Tahn-té would have no wife even when urged by the old men. But Koh-pé, the wife of Ka-yemo did hear of it–also some other wives, and Yahn Tsyn-deh heard their laughter, and carried a bitter heart in the days to follow. She had no love for Tahn-té, yet–to wed with the Highest–would be victory over a false lover!

For the feast made for Tahn-té the Po-Ahtun-ho, she would gather no flowers and bake no bread, and when the dance in honor of Tahn-té was danced, she put on her dress of a savage, brown deer skin fringed and trimmed with tails of the ermine of the north. About her brows she fastened a band on which were white shells and many beads in the pattern of the lightening path–and on it was also the white of the ermine–and the warrior feathers of the eagle which she wore not often–but this day she wore them!

Also she took from an earthen jar the strands of beads of the Navahu. With head held high she walked through the village and knew well that she looked finer than all the dancers. Thus proudly she walked to the sands by the river’s edge, and held the beads against her brow and bosom–and twisted them about her round arms as she gazed at her reflection in the water. But the pride and the defiance died out of her face when there were no jealous eyes to watch, and a tear fell on the still water, breaking the picture.

For a space she stood–a lonely figure despite her trophies–and the music of the dance came to her on the wind, and filled her with sullen rage. A canoe was on the shore above; she pushed it into the water and stepped in lifting the paddle of split ash wood and sending the craft darting downwards–anywhere to be away from the voices of people.

And Koh-pé, of the red beads, laughed at a safe distance, and told her comrades of the terraces that the Apache had gone fishing without a net–she would come home empty!

CHAPTER XII

COMING OF THE CASTILIANS

Because a runner from Kat-yi-ti had been killed on the trail by a mountain lion, and because the village of Povi-whah had forgotten the strangers from the south in the excitement of Tahn-té’s return (for many there were who thought never to see him again!)–because of these things it was that the men of iron rode unseen by the river, and the alarm was called from sentry to sentry on the mesa where the workers in flint shaped the arrow-points, and were guards as well for the village below.

There was no mistaking the glint of sunlight on steel and helmet, and the beasts with strange strappings. The men of the beards were indeed at the very edge of their planted fields!

And they saw more than that, for they saw a girl who ran from the shore to meet them. So fleet was her running that her hair swept like a dusk cloud behind her, and the soldier Gonzalvo stared at her with open mouth.

“By the true cross, that looks better to me than the thimble full of gold!” he announced, and Don Ruy laughed and put his horse on the other side of Don Diego as though to protect him from temptation.

“You, and his reverence the padre, have the records and the prayers to your share,” he suggested,–“but eyes bright as those–and lips as tempting–”

“The heathen wench does look like the seven deadly sins for enticement,” agreed Don Diego and made the sign of the cross.

“A shameless wench, indeed,” agreed Padre Vicente–“with her bosom bare, and little but her hair as a cloak!–What is it she calls?–Holy God!–did you hear?”

All had halted now. Pretty women and girls had been hidden in the villages of their trail. Even if they chanced to glimpse one it was by chance–and among the wall-housed barbarians no dames bold as this one had been seen:–neither had one been seen so alluring.

Again her voice reached them and this time the tones were clear and the words certain.

“Greetings to you–Lords–Castilians!”

A shout went up from the men. At last a land had been reached where an interpreter was not needed for the woman. It put a different complexion on the day. Tired men straightened in their saddles and Ruy Sandoval laughed at the amaze on the face of Gonzalvo–that hardy soldier of many lands stared as if by a witch enthralled.

“How call you yourself, mistress?” inquired the priest coldly, “and is it the custom of the men of the P[=o] – s[=o]n-gé to send their wives to greet men who travel?”

“Yahn Tsyn-deh I am,”–she said–“and not wife.”

“Humph!” the grunt of Maestro Diego was not polite. Even the desert might not be a safe place to bring youth if damsels of this like grew in the sage clumps. “It is said to be a good luck sign when a man comes first over the threshold on a New Year’s day and on a Monday,–it starts the year and the week aright–and how read you this of a female crossing first for us the line of welcome in the new land of treasure?–read you good fortune here in all that would be ill fortune at home?”

“Save your croaking since she is beautiful to a marvel!” said Don Ruy lightly. “If they tell us truly that the world is round, who knows that we may not be nicely balanced on an opposite to Seville, and all things of life and portent to be reversed? There’s a thought for your ‘Relaciones!’–treasure it, señor!–treasure it!

“I am not yet of a mind that the unsanctified globe theory is to be accepted by true believers!” announced Don Diego with decision–“that you well know!–and also you know that my scriptural evidence–”

“Is as good as that of any man!” agreed his charge who was more his master and tormentor. “But if we halt here while you make the maps of Cosmo in the sand, we will miss the rest of the maids, for all my looking shows me no others on the run to us.”

Yahn was, meanwhile, with great unconcern, making braids of her hair, and breathing with more ease, and using her eyes well the while. The piercing look of the padre was the only one she faltered under, and that of Gonzalvo she met in elusive coquetry.

“I am alone,” she said to Don Ruy. “The others feast this day. I know your words. I come alone; maybe you want that I talk for you.”

“It is true that we all want much talk from you–and perhaps some smiles–eh? But give not another to Juan Gonzalvo–he looks like a mooing calf from the last one he got,–and I warn you that such special happiness–”

“Peace!” said the padre with impatient authority. “The girl has understanding, and it is best to move warily when the ground is new. Are you the only one who speaks Castilian?”

“No–two more. Ka-yemo the chief of war–He is of my clan. He learn it with Capitan Coronado.”

The men closed around listening–this was the man they had heard of at Ah-ko and at Kat-yi-ti.

“He is the shaman who learned with Fray Luis,” said the padre. “We have heard of him, and of his unsanctified devotion to the false gods. We have come to save such souls for the true faith. And he is now Capitan–eh?”

“Ka-yemo is Capitan–not shaman. He speaks your words–”

“And the other one?”

“Other one!”–The face of Yahn darkened, her lips grew straight in a hard line–her bosom heaved. Tahn-té had seen and known her abasement–also her name had been among those put aside–always she would hate Tahn-té,–“The other one is the man of the feast. He has danced where other men fall dead in the dance. He does not fall dead–not anything makes him dead! He holds snakes like other men hold rabbits.” (She was watching warily the faces of her listeners and saw them shrink in distaste)–her own face grew keen and bright with cunning. “It is true–like this he takes the snake”–she held a wand of willow about her neck, and then held it in both hands above her head–“like this–and calls it ‘brother of the sands.’ He calls eagles down from the clouds to him–other birds, too”–and her eyes took on a look of fear–“and in dark nights–no–I can not say more words! It is bad medicine to say words of witches while witches are yet alive.”

“He was taught by the padres to be Christian:–yet turns back to the false gods, and–is a sorcerer?” demanded Maestro Diego. “You have your work plainly cut out for you, Eminence!” and he turned to Padre Vicente–“A leader who has been granted the light, yet seeks darkness, is but a burning brand for the pit!”

“But”–suggested the lad Chico–who spoke but rarely in the face of the company, “is there not white magic as well as the magic of the darkness? Did not the saints of the church deal openly in the white magic of their god? This pretty woman plainly has only hate–or fear–of the sorcerer. Does the dame strike any of you as being so saintly as to be above guile?”

The men laughed at that, and Don Ruy clapped him on the shoulder.

“Well reasoned, Chico–and frankly said! We will see the sorcerer at his work before we pass judgement. But the lady will love you little!”

“The less ill luck to me for that!”–retorted the lad. “Her eyes are all for Juan Gonzalvo–and for your Excellency!”

“I am sworn for my soul’s sake to the troth of a silken scarf and a mad woman somewhere in Mexico,” decided Don Ruy whimsically. “If I am to live a celibate,–as our good padre imposes, it is well to cheat myself with a lady love across the border,–even though she gave me no favors beyond a poet’s verse and a battered head.”

“A lady–beat you?” queried Chico in amazement looking at the strong figure of Don Ruy–“and though mad, you give to her–faithfulness?”

“A faithfulness enforced, lad!” and his patron chuckled at the amaze in the eyes of the youth. “Since this crusade allows us no dames for company it is an ill one among us cannot cheat himself into the thought that a gracious doña awaits his return! It is the only protection against such sirens as this one of the loosened braids. To be sure, my goddess of Mexico–(so says the padre)–was only a mad woman–and her servants gave me a scratched skull. Yet, as I am weak and need protection, I carry the scarf of the wench, and call her a goddess and my ‘Doña Bradamante’–in my dreams–that does no harm to any one, and enables me to leave the ladies of the road to Gonzalvo–and the others! Oh–a dream woman is a great rest to the mind, lad,–especially is she so when she affects a wondrous perfume for her silks!”

He drew the scarf from his pocket and sniffed at it, content to make the lad laugh at the idle fancy, and while he jested thus, Padre Vicente and Gonzalvo gathered much information from Yahn Tsyn-deh. There was a feast, she told them, and all the village was merry, and the time of the visit was a good time.

From the terraces of Kah-po and Povi-whah many eyes watched the coming of the men of iron. But the women who watched were few,–all the maids and even the young wives, had started at once for the sanctuary of the ancient dwellings of the place of Old Fields. There the Woman of the Twilight was awaiting them–much corn and dried meat and beans had been stored there in the hills in waiting for this time. If fighting was to be done, it should not be a quarrel for wives–as had happened with Coronado’s soldiers in Tiguex.

But the white adventurers gave every evidence of the desire to be modest in their demands. They did not even enter the village–nor seek to do so until the place of the camp had been decided upon. Even José was not allowed to precede the others in search of kindred. He and his wife Ysobel watched the terraces, and the courage of the latter grew weak unto tears at the trials possibly behind the silent walls.

The boy Chico reassured her with jestings and occasional whisperings until the woman smiled, though her eyes were wet.

“I shall risk my own precious soul and body beside you,” he stated,–“since my master Don Diego makes me a proxy while we learn if it is safe enough inside those walls for his own sacred bones. He will say the prayers for us until our faces are shown to him again!”

Then he threw himself on the green sward and laughed, and told Ysobel what a fine thing it was to be carefree of a spouse and able to kick up one’s heels:–“If it had not been for love and a wedding day you would be happily planting beans in the garden of the nuns instead of following a foreign husband to his own people!”

Don Ruy sauntered near enough to hear the fillip and see the woman dry her eyes.

“Why is it, Dame Ysobel, that you allow this lad to make sport of serious things?” he asked austerely. “He is woefully light minded for so portentous an expedition.”

Ysobel stammered, and glanced at the lad, and dug her toe in the soil, and was dumb.

“You overwhelm her with your high and mighty notice, Excellency,” said the lad coming to her aid. “I will tell you truly–Ysobel has had patience with me since I had the height of your knee–and it is now a custom with her. She lived once in the house of my–relatives. We were both younger–and she had no dreams of wedding a wild Indian–nor I of seeking adventure among savages. She is afraid now that her husband may be blamed–or sacrificed for bringing strangers here–the story of the padre at the well of Ah-ko is not forgotten by her.”

Whereupon Don Ruy told her there should be no harm to José–if he was treated without welcome by the Te-huas he should go back in safety to Mexico to follow his own will in freedom.

The woman murmured thanks and was content, and his excellency surveyed the secretary in silence a bit, until warm color crept into the face of the boy to his own confusion.

“So!–Your independence was because you had a friend at court?”–he observed. “It is fool luck that you, with your girl’s mouth, and velvet cheeks, should get nearest the only woman in camp–and have a secret with her! It is high time you went to confession!”

Upon which he walked away, and left the two together, and Chico lay on the grass and laughed until called to make records of all that might occur between visiting Castilian and the Children of the Sun in their terraced village.

Then, while the men set about the preparations for a resting place, and supper Padre Vicente, with Don Ruy, Chico, Gonzalvo and the two Indians walked quietly to the gate in the great wall.

Many eyes were watching them as they were well aware, and ere they reached the gate, it opened, and the old governor Phen-tza, the war capitan and several of the older men stood there with courteous greeting of hand clasps and invitation.