In the pouch at his girdle was the fire flint, and a wisp of the silky wild flax of tinder. Two sticks of dead scrub piñon was there; he broke them in equal lengths and laid them in the cross which is the symbol of the four ways, and of the four winds from which the sacred breath is drawn for all that lives–the symbol also of union by which all human life is perpetuated. All fires of sacrifices,–or of magic power, must commemorate these things which are sacred things, and Tahn-té placed them and breathed upon them, and touched them with the spark from the white flint, and then arose in joy and faced the moon yet visible, knowing that the god had seen his answering flame on the shrine–and that it meant a dedication to the Things of the Spirit.
And as he stood there on the mesa’s edge, exalted at the wonder of the night, he did not speak, yet he heard the echo of words in his own voice:–“No one but Tahn-té shall gather the woods for the fire to light Po-se-yemo back;–and when he sees the blaze, and comes back, you will tell him it was his son who kept the fire!”
Like a flash came the memory of that other time at the edge of that other mesa in Hopi-land! He had said those words to his mother–and had forgotten them. He could never forget them again, for the god had sent them back to him to remember. And Tahn-té trembled at the wondrous signs given him this night, and sprinkled meal to the four ways, and held prayer thoughts of exaltation in his heart.
And this was the last day of the boy years of Tahn-té.
He began then the years of the work for which his Other Self told him he had been born on earth.
CHAPTER VI
TAHN-TÉ–THE RULER
Summers of the Sun, and winters when the stars danced for the snow, had passed over the valley of Povi-whah. New people had been born into the world, and old people had died, but the oldest man in the council, K[=a] – ye-fah–the Ruler of Things from the Beginning, had lived many years after the time when he thought the shadow life must come to him. And to the Woman of the Twilight he had said that it was her son who kept him living–her son to whom he taught the ancient things of his own youth. In the keen enthusiasms he had found such a son as he had longed for. The lost daughter, K[=a] – ye-povi, he had never found–and never forgotten. To Tahn-té he had talked of her until she almost lived in their lives. The face of the god-maid on the south mesa had for K[=a] – ye-fah the outline of chin and backward sweep of hair strangely akin to the face of the lost child. He liked to think the god-maid belonged more to his clan of Towa Toan–the High Mesa clan–than to another.
“If she had not gone into the shadow land, her face would have looked that way,” he said.
“And we could gather bright flowers for her hair,”–said the boy–“they would be sweeter than the cold, far brightness of the stars where the god-maid waits,” and he pointed to where Antares gleamed from the heart of the Scorpion above the dusk profile,–“I think of K[=a] – ye-povi as the dream maid. She will be my always young sweetheart–my only one.”
“That is good,” said K[=a] – ye-fah–“very good for the work of the unborn years.”
For the youth was to carry on the tribal prayers to the gods when K[=a] – ye-fah no longer walked on earth. And his teaching must be greater than all other teaching, for the Ruler was planning for the work of the days to come.
And in a day of the early spring the work was made ready, for to S[=aa] – hanh-que-ah he said:–“A week ago So-hoah-tza went under the waters of the river and never breathed again. To him was given the guard of the sacred place of the Sun Father. I have not yet made any other the guardian. You are the woman of the order of the Po-Ahtun–I give you the guard to keep. Call the governor–but call your son first. You shall be guard as So-hoah-tza was guard, but Tahn-té shall be guard as I have been! Lean lower, and let your ear listen and your heart keep sacred the word. I go to our Lost Others–but I leave you to guard.”
The governor came, and all were sad, but no one thought that the life was over. K[=a] – ye-fah talked and smiled as one who goes to a feast.
But Tahn-té, standing tall and still by the couch said:–“It will be over! This morning he wakened and said he would go with the sun to-day. He has no other thought, and he will go!”
And the women wept, and made ready the things of burial for the high priest of the highest order. If Tahn-té said he would go into the shadows at that time–the women knew that it would be so. Tahn-té, as they knew him, joyous in the dances of the seasons,–was never in their minds apart from Tahn-té the prophet whose dreams even as a boy, had been beyond the dreams of the others who sought visions.
And as the sun touched the black line of the pines on the western mountain, the aged Ruler asked for his wand of office, and the governor gave it to him, and with his own hand he gave it to Tahn-té, that even when his own form was covered with the soil, his vote would be on record in the minds of those who listened–and that vote gave to his pupil in magic, the wand of power–The youngest qualified member of the Order of Spiritual things was thus acclaimed as the Po-Ahtun-ho, a Ruler of Things from the Beginning.
Twenty-four years he had lived–but the time of life with the white men had counted more than double. In magic of many kinds he was more wise than the men of years, and the heart of his mother was glad with the almost perfect gladness when Tahn-té stood in the place of the Ancient Wisdom and listened as the ear of the god listens to the recitation of many tribal prayers.
The Po-Ahtun-ho also listens at times to the individual appeals of the things of every day life–as a father listens to a child who seeks advice. To the more ancient Rulers the younger people were often afraid to go–various “uncles” of the village were appealed to instead. But the youth of Tahn-té made all things different–even the love of a man for a maid, was not so small a thing that the new Ruler made the suppliant feel how little it was.
And one of the first who came to him thus–who knelt and offered a prayer to him, the prayer of a love, was the little Apache tigress who had been first of his own village to greet him in Ua-lano–Yahn Tsyn-deh, who had grown so pretty that the men of the other villages talked of her, and her mother had asked great gifts for her. But the mother had died with the winter, and Yahn refused to be subject to the Tain-tsain clan of her father, and there had been much trouble until she threatened to go back to her mother’s tribe, and many thought it might come to that after all–for she was very strong of will.
But before Tahn-té the Po-Ahtun-ho she crouched, and sobs shook her, and her hair covered her face as a veil.
“If it is of the clan, Yahn, it is to the governor you should speak:–” said Tahn-té–“from him it may come to me if he thinks best. There are rules we must not break. Because I carried you, when little, on my shoulder, is no reason to walk past the door of the governor and bring his duties to me.”
He spoke kindly, for his heart was kind towards the little fighter of boyhood’s days. Her alien blood was ever prompting her to reckless daring beyond the customs of Te-hua maidens. In a different way, he himself was an alien and it helped him to understand her. But this day he saw another Yahn–one he had not known could hide under the reckless exterior.
She tossed back her hair and faced him.
“How should I speak with Phen-tza the governor–he is the uncle of Ka-yemo! It is he who has helped do this thing–he would make me a slave or have me whipped! How should I speak with him? Ka-yemo knows that the governor his uncle, will–”
“Ka-yemo! What has Ka-yemo done? What trouble does he make?”
“Oh–no trouble!” her words were bitter words,–“Only the governor his uncle, has talked with the family of Tsa-fah and the marriage is made with his daughter Koh-pé of the beads, and you–know, Tahn-té–you know!”
Tahn-té did know, he regarded her in silence.
“Speak!”–she pleaded. “You are more than governor–you are the Highest! Magic is yours to make and to unmake. Unmake this thing! With your magic send