“The door of the Sun-House is open!”
From mouth to mouth flew the word, brought at sunrise from the High
Tower far up the cliff where Bimba, the Watcher, kept anxious count of
the days till the planting season should begin.
As if by magic the court was filled with busy men, women and children.
Waka had come back once more to bring them plenty. It had not been in
vain that every morning and evening they had thrown sacred meal toward
the rising and the setting Sun, beseeching him to return quickly from
his long journey to the south. And now the glad news had come that he
had at last touched the peak far away to the east that marked his final
favor, and they might get the seeds ready.
Nor was that their only cause of rejoicing. For Kwasa and his
companions had returned the night before, worn and weary from their
long, swift race to the far-off neighbors at the southwest, but
triumphant and proud. They brought word that the Rainbow people and
their near kinsmen, the Bear Clan, were ready at a moment’s notice
to join them against the dreaded common foe, whether Ute or Apache.
Moreover, in the nine days since Sado had left them word had come that
in a terrible battle between the Utes and the Pueblo people of the
Seven Cities the foe had been repulsed with great slaughter, and had
fled, broken and disabled, to their northern mountain fastnesses to
nurse their wounds. For the time the danger of attack was over.
So, though the older men of the village still felt some anxiety,
the planting was at last to be begun under much more favorable
circumstances than they had feared. The women chatted gayly as they
brought out the precious seeds to be sorted, sharpened new planting
sticks, and baked great sheets of piki to pack in the big food-baskets
that were to go with the planters to the distant fields. The children
tumbled about on the terraces or played games in the angles of the gray
walls, even they noticing the relief in the air which had been so full
of dire rumors.
But Kwasa and Wiki, with their two companions, were more excited than
any of the rest. For their service as messengers they were to be
“adopted,” or consecrated, into the rank of men, and henceforth would
take a dignified place in the Clan, though they were some years younger
than usual for such an honor. For the first time they were to witness
the invocation of the mysterious deities of the cloud and the sun,
which took place in the kiva, the sacred underground chamber whose
hatchway opened into the court. Mosu, who as head priest was the person
of supreme authority on such occasions, had even promised them that
they might act as novices at the annual ceremony of the Blessing of the
Seeds.
When the boys were not following Mosu about they lingered in fascinated
anticipation about the sloping entrance to the kiva, through which
protruded the long ends of the ladder leading to the depths below.
They had many times descended through the trap-door on the surface to
the great, dusky chamber of the kiva, but never had they been allowed
to witness any of the sacred rites, except such as were held in the
court and were open to women and children. And now that they were to be
admitted as men to the significant symbolism of the ancient service,
they felt awed and excited by turns.
Kwasa’s grandmother, old Tcua, had long ago told him the mystic
tradition of the Creation, whose sacred story was perpetuated by the
solemn ceremonies in the dimly lighted chamber. And now, in awed tones,
Kwasa repeated it to Wiki and the others as they sat huddled in an
angle of the lower terrace near the opening to the kiva.
“There were no people then--there were only animals. They lived far
under the ground in dark caves. But the Old Ones heard them moaning and
crying in the dark. They heard the fox, and the bear, and the duck, and
the wolf, all crying, crying in the dark. And they were sorry.”
Old as the tale was, the boys listened with breathless interest.
“So the Old Ones dropped a seed through sipapuh[1] and immediately up
sprang a wonderful stalk of corn. It grew up, and up, and up, until at
last its head rose into the sunlight of the Upper World. Then, one at a
time, the fox, and the wolf, and the duck, and all the other animals
and birds, came up the great stalk and stood in the light of Waka, the
Sun. And they were no longer animals, but men and women. We must never
forget this, or the Old Ones will forget us, and we would once more be
animals, back in the middle of the earth, crying and moaning for the
light.”
“But what of the snakes?” whispered Wiki. “My father says there are
more than a hundred in the kisi.” He nodded toward a brush-covered
shelter near the kiva.
“Hush,” replied Kwasa, looking furtively about. “They are the
prayer-bearers, and carry to the Old Ones the prayers of the Snake Clan
for rain, that the crop may thrive. But we must not speak of that now;
it is not well to talk too much of the gods so near the place where
they dwell.”
FOOTNOTE:
[1] A cavity in the floor of the kiva represented the lower world.
Over this was placed a stone slab with a round hole in the middle,
which was called sipapuh, and represented the outlet through which the
ancestral beings emerged.