Chapter V: Part 5

When all else was prepared, they made a shrine around their _múetone_ (or medicine seed of hail and soil) their _k‘yáetone_ (or medicine seed of the water and rain) and their _chúetone_ (or medicine seed of grains). And around these, and reaching out toward the Sun before them, they set their plumed wands of message. For the plain was dry and barren, and they wanted fresh soil by the hail torrents, moisture by the rain, and growth of seed-substance, that they might the better exhibit their powers to these strangers; if perchance, in response to their labors and beseechings, these things would be vouchsafed them. Therefore, that the meaning of their beseechings might be the more plain and sure of favor, certain ones of the sage priests, sought out and placed the largest and most beautifully colored grass seeds they could find among the stores of their way-farings, in the gourd with the _chúetone_, and then cut from branches of the easy growing cottonwood and willow, gleaned from the ways of water, goodly wands which they plumed and painted, like in color to each kind of seed they had selected; yellow, green, red, white, black, speckled, and mottled; one for each side of the sacred gourd, one to be laid upon it, one to be laid under it, and one to be placed within it; and as soon as finished, thus they disposed the wands.

Now when night came, these master-priests took the _chúetone_--all secretly, whilst the others were drowsy--and carried it, with the plumed wands they had made, out into the plain, in front of the bower. There they breathed into these things the prayers and over them softly intoned the incantations which had been taught them in the new time of the world. Then they placed the _chúetone_ on the ground of the plain and on each side of it, by the light of the seven great stars which were at that time rising bright above them, they planted one of the plumed wands with the seeds of its color; first, the brightest, yellow with the yellow grass seeds, on the north; then the blue with the green grass seeds, on the west; then the red with the red seeds, to the south, and the white with the white seeds to the east; but the other three plumed wands they could not plant, one above, the other below, and the last within the gourd; so looking at the stars they saw how that they were set, four of them as though around a gourd like their own, and three others as though along its handle! "_Há! Chukwé!_" said they. "'Tis a sign, mayhap, of the Sky-father!" whereupon they set each of the others in a line, the black one with its seeds of black, nearest to the sacred gourd below the handle; the speckled one with its spotted seeds next, on the other side of the handle, and the mottled one with its dappled seeds far out at the end of the handle, that it might (being of the colors of all the others) point out each of them, as it were, and lead them all!

And when, on the morrow, the watchers saw the plumes standing there all beautiful in the plain, and asked who planted them, and for what, the priests replied, "Verily they were planted in the night, while ye heedlessly drowsed, by the seven stars." Thereat the people, mistaking their meaning, exclaimed, "Behold! the seed wands of the stars themselves!" and they joyed in the omen that their prayers had been heard so far. And lo! during the eight days and nights there arose thick mists, hail and rain descended until torrents poured down from the mountains bringing new soil and spreading it evenly over the plain. And when on the morning of the ninth day the clouds rolled away, "_Eluu!_" shouted our fathers of the Seed kin to the stranger people; "Water and new soil bring we, where erst was barren hardness; yea, even grasses, tall and plumed as were our wands, and spiked with seed, for the grass seed had sprouted and the new wands taken root and grown, and now had long feathery blades and tall, tasseled stems, waving in the wind."

"Yea, verily!" cried the People of the First-growing-grass kin (Aik‘yaho-kwe), chief of the clans of Seed, "we _are_ the People of the Seed!"

But the strangers, heeding not their boastings, replied, "Yea, verily, enough! It is well! Truly water and new soil ye have brought, and grasses growing great therefrom, yet ye have not brought forth new life therefor of the flesh of men or the seed of seeds! Come now, let us labor together, in order that what ye have begun may be perfected. New soil and the seed of its production, the seed of water, yea even the substance of seed itself we had not, yet of the seed of seed we are verily the people, and our maidens are the mothers thereof, as ye shall see."

Then they, too, set apart eight days, during which to prepare for their custom, and they further said, "That we may be perfect in the plenishing and generation of the seed of seeds, send us forth, O, ye comers, a youth of the kin of Water and of those who hold possession of the precious _k‘yáetone_, which give unto us likewise, that we join it to the _chúetone_ ye have placed in the midst of the growing plants, according to our understanding of its meaning and relation. And let the youth be goodly and perfect and whole of seed."

Therefore the fathers of the people chose forth, it is said, Yápotuluha, of the clans of Water, foster child of the great Sun-priest Yanáuluha, and named of him. And into his hand they gave the _k‘yáetone_ and certain of their wands of worship, and sent him to the strangers glorious to look upon. Now there were in the village of the stranger Seed people seven maidens, sisters of one another, virgins of one house, and foster children of Paíyatuma (the God of Dew) himself. And they were surpassingly beautiful, insomuch so that they were likened to the seven bright stars and are sung of in the songs of the Seed people and told of in their stories. They, too, were chosen and breathed upon by all the fathers and matrons of the Seed, and with the youth Yápotuluha, instructed in the precious rites and incantations of their custom. And during all the time of preparation rain fell as before, only gently and warm, and on the eighth day the matrons and fathers led the maidens and youth, all beautifully arrayed, down into the plain before the bower where watched the people and grew the grasses. And there they danced and were breathed of the sacred medicine seeds. All through the night backward and forward danced they to the song line of the elders, and in accordance therewith by the side of the growing plants, motioning them upward with their magic wands and plumes, as we, with implements of husbandry, encourage the growth upward of the corn plants today. As time went on, the matron of the dance led the youth and the first maiden apart, and they grasped, one on either side, the first plants, dancing around them, gently drawing them upward as they went, even as the Two Beloved had caused to grow the canes of the under-world. So also did the youth and each maiden in turn grasp the other plants in their turn, until all had grown to the tallness of themselves and were jointed where they had grasped them; yea, and leaved as with waving plumes of the macaw himself. And now, in the night, the keepers of the great shells (of the Badger kin), brought forth fire with their hands from roots, and kindled it in front of the bower toward the east, that its heat might take the place of the Sun and its light shine brightly on the dancers, making their acts verily alive; and as the dawn approached, the youth and first maiden were led apart as before by the Mother-making matron, and together embraced the first of the full grown plants, and so, in turn, the youth and each of the other maidens embraced the other plants.

And as they embraced the first plant, the fire flamed brightly, with the first catching and flush of the wood, and yellow was its light; and as they embraced the second plant, the flames were burning smokily with the fuller grasping of the wood, and blue was the light; and as they were embracing the third plant, the fire reached its fullness of mastery over the wood, and red was its light; and as they were embracing the fourth plant, the fire was fumeless and triumphant over the wood, and white was its light; and as they were embracing the fifth plant, the fire gave up its breath in clouds of sparks, and streaked, of many colors, was its light; and as they were embracing the sixth plant, the fire swooned and slept, giving more heat, as 'twere, than light, thus somber was the light, yet, as they were embracing the seventh plant, it wakened afresh, did the fire, in the wind of the morning, and glowed as does the late fire of the wanderer, with a light of _all_ the colors.

Now, when the day dawned, lo! where the mid-persons of the youth and the maidens had touched most unitedly and warmly the plants, new parts appeared to the beholders, showing, through their coverings, many colors, soft hair shrouding them, as if to make precious their beauty.

Whilst the people still gazed at these, wondering, out from the Eastland came Paíyatuma and Ténatsali of the All-colored flowers (God of the Seasons), followed by Kwélele with his flame-potent fire-wand. Paíyatuma touched the plants with the refreshing breath of his flute; Ténatsali with the flesh-renewing breath of his flowers; Kwélele, with the ripening breath of his torch, whereby the new parts were hardened, some to fruitfulness; others, being too closely touched, burned to the very heat of generative warmth, unfruitful in itself, but fruitful making! Then, as Paíyatuma waved his flute, lo! following Ténatsali, the maidens and the attendant Kwélele went forth and disappeared in the mist of the morning. As they vanished, Paíyatuma turned to where, full in the light of the rising sun, stood the seven plants. Lithe and tall stood he there beside them like a far journeyer, and said to the awed watchers:

Lo! ye children of men and the Mother,
Ye Brothers of Seed,
Elder, younger,
Behold the _seed plants of all seeds_!
The grass-seeds ye planted, in secret,
Were seen of the stars and the regions,
Are shown in the forms of these tassels!
The plumes that ye planted beside them
Were felt in the far away spaces,
Are shown in the forms of their leaf-blades!
But the seed that ye see growing from them,
Is the gift of my seven bright maidens,
The stars of the house of my children!
Look well, that ye cherish their persons,
Nor change ye the gift of their being,--
As fertile of flesh for all men
To the bearing of children for men,--
Lest ye lose them, to seek them in vain!
Be ye brothers ye people, and people;
Be ye happy ye Priests of the Corn!
Lo! the seed of all seed-plants is born!

As the people eagerly looked, the mists of the morning were seen to be clearing away, and gone within them, even as his voice, was Paíyatuma!

"Thanks this day," together said the fathers and their people, as they looked upon the plants before them, then at the stranger people. "Verily, ye are our elder brothers, and as children and sisters, yea as our very mothers, will we cherish thy maidens and the substance of their flesh!"

"Yea," replied these other Seed people, "eating thereof, ye shall become in very truth our younger brothers! For even as the father hath said, these be the product of our hands joined with thine in labor, and of our hearts joined with thine in sacred thought." Then the ancient of the People of Dew stood in place of Paíyatuma, and spake:

Behold the fulfilment of work ye began!
Ears fully gifted with fruitage of kernels
By the warmth of our maidens
In embrace with your Rain youth;
The seed of their persons
All wrapped in soft garments
And draped with the hair
Of their full generation;
All proportioned and formed
By the touch of the Dew God;
Made complete and mature
By the touch of the Time God;
Ripened fully, as food,
By the touch of the Fire God!
First, yet last of them all
Is the plant of the Middle--
With its seven-fold kernels
And hues of the embers--
Is the corn of all regions,
The Í-to-pa-nah-na-kwe!
Yet the earliest quickened
By the eldest Corn maiden,
Is the corn of the North land;
Made yellow by flame-light,--
The hue of the North sky
Seen in winter or gloaming,--
Is the strong ‘Hlúp-tsi-kwa-kwe!
Then the corn of the West land
By the next sister quickened,--
Made blue by the smoke-light,--
Is hued like the ocean
Or shadows of evening,--
The rich ‘Hlí-a-kwa-kwe!
Next, the corn of the South land,
By the third sister quickened,
Is red, like the flowers
And fruitage of summer--
Made so by the brand-light--
Is the sweet Shí-k‘ya-na-kwe!
Next the corn of the East land
The fourth sister quickened,
Is white, like the milk
Which we drink in the morning
Of life; like the light
Of the dawning each morning--
Made so by full fire-light--
Is the pure K’ó-ha-kwa-kwe!
Next, the corn of the Zenith,
The fifth sister quickened,
Is streaked like the sky
With the clouds and the rainbow--
Made so by the spark-light--
Is the hard K’ú-chu-a-kwe!
And next is the corn of
The dark Lower regions
The sixth sister quickened;
Is black like the depth of
The earth it emerged from--
Made so by the heat-light--
Is the soft Kwí-ni-kwa-kwe!
Last, as first, is the Mid-most,
Quickened first by the seventh
Of all the Corn maidens;
Bearing grains of each color--
Made so by the embers--
And seed of them all,
Hence, the Tém-‘hla-nah-na-k‘ya,
Í-to-pa-nah-na-kwe!

"Thus, of the substance of all flesh is the seed of seeds, Corn! And suited to all peoples and places; yet we, brothers younger are with ye, favored in the light, in that together we are its priests and keepers. Let us therefore love it and cherish it, as we cherish and love our women; and it shall be the giver of milk to the youthful and of flesh to the aged, as our women folk are the givers of life to our youth and the sustainers of life in our age; for of the mother-milk of the Beloved Maidens it is filled, and of their flesh the substance. Eating thereof, thy youth shall grow strong and handsome, thy maidens beautiful and fruitful, even as are themselves, the Beloved Maidens, our mothers and thine!"

"Be it well!" said the fathers. "Brothers younger to ye, let us indeed be, and let us, therefore, clasp the warm hands of brothers elder and brothers younger, making the words of the Father of Dawn true, in truth!"

Then the ancient of the People of the Dew replied:

It is well, brothers younger!
Dwell in peace by our firesides.
Guard the seed of our maidens,
Each kind as ye see it,
Apart from the others.
And by lovingly toiling,
As by toiling and loving,
Men win the full favor
And hearts of their maidens,
So, from year unto year
Shall ye win by your watching,
And power of beseeching,
And care for the corn-flesh,
The favor and plenish
Of our seven Corn maidens.
They shall dance for the increase
And strength of the corn-seed,
Of each grain, making many--
Each grain that ye nourish
With new soil and water!
For long, ere ye found us,
We afar sought for water,
Drinking dew from our father,
Like deer, on the mountains!
And for long ere ye found us
Ye wandered in hunger,
Seeking seed of the grasses,
Like birds on the mesas.
Thus, 'tis well, brothers younger,
That ye dwell by our firesides!

Thus, happily were our fathers joined to the People of the Dew, and the many houses on the hills were now builded together in the plain where first grew the corn plants abundantly; being prepared year after year by the beautiful custom of the ever young maidens, and attended faithfully by the labors of the people and the vigils of their fathers.

THE RENEWAL OF THE SEARCH FOR THE MIDDLE.

When men had almost forgotten the seeking of the Middle, the earth trembled anew, and the shells sounded warning. Murmuring sore when the Twain Beloved came and called them again, yet carrying whatsoever they could with them (more preciously than all things else save their little ones, the seed of corn!), they and the people they had dwelt with journeyed on, seeking safety. For now, their kin were mingled; thus, their children were one people. Wheresoever they rested, they builded them great houses of stone, all together, as may still be seen. And in the plains ever they built them bowers for the watching of the renewal and growth of the seeds of the corn. Therefore, they never hungered whether journeying anon or sitting still.

THE CHOOSING OF SEEKERS FOR SIGNS OF THE MIDDLE.

Now with much of journeying the people came to grow weary with ever seeking for the Middle all together, along a single way, insomuch that increasingly they murmured whenever they were summoned and must needs be leaving their homes and accustomed ranging-places. And so they fell to devising amongst themselves, until at last it seemed good to them to be sending messengers forth in one direction and another, the sooner to feel out the better way, and find signs of the Middle: as, by dividing, a company of hunters the sooner find trace of their quarry.

Now there was a priest of the people named Kâ´wimosa (of the Kâ´kâ master-maker or source), thus named because he it was who was to establish, all unwittingly, the most potent and good sacred dance (myth-drama or Kâ´kâ) as happened after this wise:

He had four sons (some say more) and a daughter. And his eldest son was named K‘yäk´lu, which signifies, it is said, "Whensoever;" for he was wiser of words and the understanding thereof than all others, having listened to the councils of men with all beings, since ever the inner beginning! So, when it was asked who of the precious ones (children of priest-fathers and priest-mothers) should journey northward, seeking to learn the distance thitherward to the great embracing waters, that the Middle might be the better surmised; nor said the Twain aught, as we say naught, to little children weary of a way that must, weary or nay, be accomplished! When this was asked, Kâ´wimosa, the priest, bethought himself of his wise eldest son and said, "Here is he!" Thus K‘yäk´lu was summoned, and made ready with sacrifice presentations from all the priests to all the surpassing-ones for the great journey; and he departed.

Long the people waited. But at last it was said, "Lost is our K‘yäk´lu! For wise of words was he, but not wise of ways!"

And the fathers, mourning, again called a council. Again, when it was inquired, Kâ´wimosa the priest, bethought him, and cried, "Here!" and again were made ready duly and sent forth messengers, this time southward, the next younger brothers of K‘yäk´lu (Ánahohoátchi); for, said the father, they will guide one another if ye send twain. And of these, also, much is told in other talks of our ancient speech; but then, they too, lingered by the way.

Once more a council was called, and again, when it was inquired, Kâ´wimosa cried, "Here!" and this time the youngest son, who was named Síweluhsiwa, because he was a long-haired youth of great beauty; and the daughter, who was named Síwiluhsitsa, because she was a long-tressed maiden of beautiful person; they also were summoned and made ready duly and sent eastward.

THE CHANGE-MAKING SIN OF THE BROTHER AND SISTER.

Far they journeyed, and as the day quickened they saw before them a distant high mountain.

Let us hasten, O, sister, my sister!
Thou art weary with travel, my sister;
We will rest in the shade of yon mountain.
I will build you a bower of cedar,
And seek in the cliffs for game-creatures;
And you shall rest happily, sister.

Thus spake he, for he loved his sister and her beauty. (Nay, but she was soft and beautiful!)

And so, they hastened. When they reached the mountain, Síweluhsiwa built a bower of cedar branches under the shade of a tree. Then he went forth to seek game. When, having captured some, he returned, his sister was sleeping in the bower; so he stepped softly, that he might not disturb her--for he loved his sister, and gently he sat himself down before her and leaned his chin on his hand to watch her. The wind softly blew to and fro, and she slept on; her white cotton mantle and garments were made light for the journey, and thus the wind played with them as it listed over her prostrate form. As the brother gazed at her, he became crazed with love of her, greater than that of a brother's, greater than that of kin men for kin! * * *

Crazed was he, yea, and bideless of act; and the sister, thus awakened, fled from him in loud affright, and then, in shame and hot anger turning, upbraided him fiercely. Wondrous beings were they, more than it is the lot of mere men in these days to be, for they were the children of Kâ´wimosa the priest, and a priestess-mother in the times of creation and newness. And so, like to the surpassing ones, they were _‘hlímnawiho_, or changeable-by-will inclined; yea, and all things were _k‘yaíyuna_ or formative, when the world was new! Lo, now! Therefore, as she upbraided him, her eyes grew great and glaring and her face spotted and drawn. And he, as he heard and saw her, grew dazed, and stood senseless before her, his head bowed, his eyes red and swollen, his brow bent and burning.

"Thou shameless of men!" cried the maiden. "Know that thou shalt return to thy people never; nay, nor will I! Lo! I will make by mine the power a deep water dividing this mountain! Alone on one side shalt thou dwell, alone on the other dwell I! I will draw a line, and make a swift water between the day-land and the night-land, between all our people and us!" She stamped with her sandal as she spake, and deep was the mark thereof; for the mountain was hollow and resounding. Then she ran headlong down to the westward end of the mountain and drew her foot along the sands from the south to the northward, and deep was the gully she made. And the brother, seeing her flee, ran after her calling hoarsely. But now, as he neared her, he stopped and stared; and forthwith grew crazed more than ever; but with anguish and fright this time, at her rage and distortion. As she turned again back, he threw his arms aloft, and beat his head and temples and tore away his hair and garments and clutched his eyes and mouth wildly, until great welts and knobs stood out on his head; his eyes puffed and goggled, his lips blubbered and puckered; tears and sweat with wet blood bedrenched his whole person, and he cast himself headlong and rolled in the dust, until coated with the dun earth of that plain. And when he staggered to his feet, the red soil adhered to him as skin cleaves to flesh, and his ugliness hardened.

The maiden stared in wild terror at what she had wrought! And now she, too, was filled with anguish and shrieked aloud, tossing her arms and rushing hither and thither, and so great was her grief and despair that her hair all whitened. Lo! now she lamented plaintively and pitied her brother, for she thought--woman-like!--"But he loved me!" So, she tenderly yearned for him now, and ran toward him. Again he looked at her, for he was crazed, and when he saw her close at hand, so strange looking and ugly, he laughed aloud, and coarsely, but anon stood still, with his hands clasped in front of him and his head bowed before him, dazed! When he laughed, she too laughed; when he was silent and bowed, she cried and besought him. Thus it was with them ever after in those days. They talked loudly to each other; they laughed or they cried. Now they were like silly children, playing on the ground; anon they were wise as the priests and high beings, and harangued as parents to children and leaders to people.

The marks in the mountain and sands sank farther and farther; for much the earth shuddered as was wont in those days. And thus the mountain was sundered in twain and waters welled up in the midway. The furrow in the sands ran deeper and deeper and swifter and swifter with gathering water. Into the nether mountain the pair fled--not apart--but together, distraught. Ceaselessly echoed their gibberish and cries across the wide water and from one mountain side to the other. Thenceforth, together they dwelt in the caves of the place they had chosen, forgetful of the faces of men and recking naught of their own ugly condition!

THE BIRTH OF THE OLD-ONES OR ANCIENTS OF THE K´KÂ.

In time there were born to these twain, twelve children. Nay, neither man-children nor woman-children they! For look now! The first, was a woman in fulness of contour, but a man in stature and brawn. From the mingling of too much seed in one kind, comes the two-fold one kind, _‘hláhmon_, being man and woman combined--even as from a kernel of corn with two hearts, ripens an ear that is neither one kind nor the other, but both! Yet not all ill was this first child, because she was born of love--what though crazed!--ere her parents were changed; thus she partook not of their distortions. Not so with her brothers; in semblance of males, yet like boys, the fruit of sex was not in them! For the fruit of mere lust comes to naught, even as corn, self-sown out of season, ripens not. For their parents, being changed to hideousness, abode together witlessly and consorted idly or in passion not quickened of favor to the eye or the heart. And lo! like to their father were his later children, but varied as his moods; for then, as now, what the mother looked most on while withholding them, thus wise were they formed as clay by the thought of the potter; wherefore we cherish our matrons and reveal not to them the evil dramas neither the slaughtered nor hamstrung game lest their children be weakly or go maimed. Thus they were strapping louts, but dun-colored and marked with the welts of their father. Silly were they, yet wise as the gods and high priests; for as simpletons and the crazed speak from the things seen of the instant, uttering belike wise words and prophecy, so spake they, and became the attendants and fosterers, yet the sages and interpreters, of the ancient of dance-dramas or the Kâ´kâ.

Named are they, not with the names of men, but with names of mis-meaning, for there is Pékwina, Priest-speaker of the Sun. Meditative is he, even in the quick of day, after the fashion of his father when shamed, saying little save rarely, and then as irrelevantly as the veriest child or dotard.

Then there is Pí‘hlan Shíwani (Bow Priest-warrior). So cowardly he that he dodges behind ladders, thinking them trees no doubt, and lags after all the others, whenever frightened, even at a fluttering leaf or a crippled spider, and looks in every direction but the straight one, whenever danger threatens!

There is Éshotsi (the Bat) who can see better in the sunlight than any of them, but would maim himself in a shadow, and will avoid a hole in the ground as a woman would a dark place, even were it no bigger than a beetle burrow.

Also there is Muíyapona (Wearer of the Eyelets of Invisibility). He has horns like the catfish, and is knobbed like a bludgeon-squash. But he never by any chance disappears, even when he hides his head behind a ladder rung or turkey quill, yet thinks himself quite out of sight. And he sports with his countenance as though it were as smooth as a damsel's.

There is Pótsoki (the Pouter), who does little but laugh and look bland, for grin he can not; and his younger brother, Ná‘hläshi (Aged Buck), who is the biggest of them all, and what with having grieved and nearly rubbed his eyes out (when his younger brother was captured and carried off by the K‘yámak‘ya-kwe or Snail Kâ´kâ of the South), looks as ancient as a horned toad; yet he is as frisky as a fawn, and giggles like a girl; yea, and bawls as lustily as a small boy playing games.

The next brother, Ítseposa (the Glum or Aggrieved), mourned also for his nearest brother, who was stolen by the Kâ´kâ, too, until his eyes were dry utterly and his chin chapped to protrusion; but nathless he is lively and cheerful and ever as ready indeed as the most complaisant of beings.

K‘yä´lutsi (the Suckling) and Tsa‘hläshi (Old-youth), the youngest, are the most wilfully important of the nine, always advising others and strutting like a young priest in his first dance, or like unto the youthful warrior made too aged-thinking and self-notioned with early honoring.

And while the father stands dazed, with his head bowed and his hands clasped before him or like to broken bows hanging by his sides, these children romp and play (as he and his sister did when turned childish), and verily are like to idiots, or to dotards and crones turned young again, inconstant as laughter, startled to new thought by every flitting thing around them; but, in the presence of the Kâ´kâ of old, they are grave what though so uncouth. And they are the oracles of all olden sayings of deep meanings; wherefore they are called the Kâ´yemashi (Husbandmen of the Kâ´kâ or sacred drama-dance); and they are spoken of, even by the Fathers of the People, as the Á‘hläshi Tséwashi (Sages of the Ancients). And most precious in the sight of the beings and of men are they! But for their birth and the manner thereof, it is said that all had been different; for from it many things came to be as they are, alike for men and gods and even the souls of the dead!

THE RENEWAL OF THE GREAT JOURNEY, AND THE SUNDERING OF THE TRIBES OF MEN.

There came a time when the people for whom Síweluhsiwa and Síwiluhsitsa had gone to seek the way, could tarry no longer awaiting them; for, hearing the earth rumble, the Twain Beloved and their Warrior-leaders of the Knife summoned the tribes forth to journey again. Now in these days the people had grown so vast of number that no longer could they journey together; but in great companies they traveled, like herds of bison severed when too numerous for the grass of a single plain. The Bearers of the Ice-wands and the Ancient Brotherhood of the Knife led the clans of the Bear, the Crane, the Grouse and others of the People of Winter (yea and in small part others too), through the northernmost valleys, carrying ever in their midst the precious _múetone_. The Fathers of the People, Keepers of the seed, and the Ancient Brotherhood of Priests led the clans of the Macaw and other Summer people (and in part others still) through the middle valleys, carrying ever in their midst the precious _k‘yáetone_. They, being deliberate and wise, sought rather in the pathway between the northward and the southward for the place of the Middle.

The Seed-fathers of the Seed-kin, the Keepers of Fire, and the Ancient Brotherhood of Paíyatuma (Néwe-kwe) led the All-seed clans, the Sun, Badger and other Summer people (not of the Midmost), through the southern valleys, carrying ever in their midst the precious _chúetone_.

Leading them all, whether through the northern ways, through the middle ways, or through the southern ways, now here, now there, were the Two Beloved ones, and with them their Warriors of the Knife.

Now although those who went by the northern way were called the Bear and Crane father-people, yet with them went some of all the clans, as the Parrot-macaws of the Middle, and the Yellow-corn ones of the Southern people.

And although the People of the Middle way were called the Macaw father-people, yet with them went Bear and Crane people of the north, nevertheless, (a few) and Seed people of the south, also (a few) those of the White Corn.

And although the people of the southern way were called the All-seed father-people, yet with them went a few of both the northern and the middle ways. And this was well! That even though any one of these bands might hap to be divided through wildness of the way or stress of war, they nathless might retain, each of them, the seed of all the kin-lines. Moreover, this of itself speedily came to be, through the mingling of the clans from one to another in the strands of marriage.

And although thus apart the peoples journeyed, descending from the westward the valleys toward north and toward south, like gathering streams from a wide rain-storm, yet also like rain-streams gathering in some great river or lagoon, so they came together and thus abode in seasons of rest. Strong and impetuous, the Bear kindred on the one hand were the first to move and farthest to journey; on the other hand the Seed kindred led the way; whereas, the heart of them all of the Macaw kindred, deliberately (as was their custom) pursued the middle course of the Sun-father.

In such order, then, they came, in time, within sight of the great divided mountain of the Kâ´yemäshi. Seeing smoke and mist rising therefrom, they all, one after another, hastened thither. The Bear peoples were first to approach, and great was their dismay when, on descending into the plain, they beheld a broad river, flowing, not as other waters were wont to flow in that land, from east to west, but straight across their pathway, from toward the south, northward. And lo! on the farther side were the mysterious mountains they sought, but between them rolled swiftly these wide turbid waters, red with the soil of those plains.

THE ORIGIN OF DEATH BY DYING, AND THE ABODE OF SOULS AND THE K´KÂ.

Not for long did the impetuous fathers of the Bear and Crane deliberate. Nay! Straightway they strode into the stream and feeling forth with their feet that it e'en might be forded--for so red were its waters that no footing could be seen through them,--they led the way across; yet great was their fearfulness withal; for, full soon, as they watched the water moving under their very eyes, strange chills did pervade them, as though they were themselves changing in being to creatures moving and having being in the waters; even as still may be felt in the giddiness which besets those who, in the midst of troubled or passing waters, gaze long into them. Nathless, they won their way steadfastly to the farther shore. But the poor women who, following closely with the little children on their backs, were more _áyaᵘwe_ (tender, susceptible), became witlessly crazed with these dread fear-feelings of the waters, wherefore, the little ones to whom they clung but the more closely, being _k‘yaíyuna_ and all unripe, were instantly changed by the terror. They turned cold, then colder; they grew scaly, fuller webbed and sharp clawed of hands and feet, longer of tail too, as if for swimming and guidance in unquiet waters. Lo! They felt of a sudden to the mothers that bore them, as the feel of dead things; and, wriggling, scratched their bare shoulders until, shrieking wildly, these mothers let go all hold on them and were even fain to shake them off--fleeing from them in terror. Thus, multitudes of them fell into the swift waters, wailing shrilly and plaintively, as even still it may be said they are heard to cry at night time in those lone waters. For, no sooner did they fall below the surges than they floated and swam away, still crying--changed verily, now, even in bodily form; for, according to their several totems, some became like to the lizard (_mík‘yaiya‘hli_), chameleon (_sémaiyak‘ya_), and newt (_téwashi_); others like to the frog (_ták‘aiyuna_), toad (_ták‘ya_), and turtle (_étâwa_). But their souls (_top‘hâ´ina_, 'other-being or in-being'), what with the sense of falling, still falling, sank down through the waters, as water itself, being started, sinks down through the sands into the depths below. There, under the lagoon of the hollow mountain where it was erstwhile cleft in twain by the angry maiden-sister Síwiluhsitsa as before told, dwelt, in their seasons, the soul-beings of ancient men of war and violent death. There were the towns for the 'finished' or dead, Hápanawan or the Abode of Ghosts; there also, the great pueblo (city) of the Kâ´kâ, Kâ´‘hluëlawan, the town of many towns wherein stood forever the great assembly house of ghosts, Áhapaáwa Kíwitsinan‘hlana, the kiva which contains the six great chambers in the midst of which sit, at times of gathering in council, the god-priests of all the Kâ´kâ exercising the newly dead in the Kâ´k’okshi or dance of good, and receiving from them the offerings and messages of mortal men to the immortal ones.

Now, when the little ones sank, still sank, seeing naught, the lights of the spirit dancers began to break upon them, and they became, as be the ancients, _‘hlímna_, and were numbered with them. And so, being received into the midst of the undying ancients, lo! these little ones thus made the way of dying and the path of the dead; for whither they led, in that olden time, others, fain to seek them (insomuch that they died), followed; and yet others followed these; and so it has continued to be even unto this day.

But the mothers, still crying, knew not this--knew not that their children had returned unharmed into the world whence even themselves had come and whither they too needs now must go, constrained thither by the yearnings of their own hearts in the time of mourning. Loudly, still, they wailed, on the farther shore of the river.

THE LOSS OF THE GREAT SOUTHERN CLANS.

The Seed clans arrived, and strove to cross the waters, but as it had chanced to the others so befel it all dismally with them, until loud became the commotion and multitudes of those behind, nearing--even many of the Midmost clans--turned and fled afar southward along the bank, seeking a better crossing; fled so far that they were lost to sight speedily and strayed never to return!

Nay, they became the fathers and mothers of our Lost Others--lost ever since that time.

THE SAVING OF THE FATHER-CLANS.

Lo! as the people were crying aloud and tossing their hands aloft and the many--so many!--were fleeing away, came the Beloved Twain, and with voices strong-sounding and sure, bade them cease from their clamor and terror, saying--

Look now, ye faithless and witless!
The mothers who love not their offspring
And cherish them not through all danger,
Must lose them anon, as the woodbird,
Who sits not her nest, doth her broodlings!
Fear not, but cleave fast to your children
Though they strange-turn and frightful of seeming!
'Tis the magic of water, and wildness
Of heart, and will pass (as men's laughter
Doth pass when the joy-thought is sobered),
As ye win your way forth from the waters.

Thus spake they, and continued speaking; whereupon the people who were yet left, took heart, even the women, and stayed their thoughts, clinging stoutly to their little ones as they fared through the waters, what though the terror and hurt was sore. Thus passed they all safely over, and--even as had been said--as they won their way up from the waters and sat them down to rest on the farther shore below the mountains, lo! the little ones grew warm and right again. But never were the thoughts of womenkind beguiled wholly from that harrowing journey. Wherefore they be timid of deep places, startled (as is the voice of a vessel by any shrillness of sound) and witless-driven by the sight of reptile-creatures. Lo! and so their anxieties are like to press themselves on the unripe and forming children of their bowels. Wherefore, also, we guard their eyes from all weird-seeming things when they be with child.

THE AWAITING OF THE LOST CLANS.

Now, when the people were rested and the children righted, they arose and journeyed into the plain to the east of the two mountains and the great water between them. Thence they turned them northward to the sunrise slopes of the uppermost of the mountains. There they encamped, mourning for their lost children and awaiting the coming, perchance, of those who had fled away.

THE STRAYING OF K‘YÄK´LU, AND HIS PLAINT TO THE WATER-FOWL.

_Ataht!_ And all this time K‘yäk´lu, the all-hearing and wise of speech, all alone had been journeying afar in the north land of cold and white desolateness. Lost was he, for lo! all the world he wandered in now was disguised in the snow that lies spread forth there forever. Cold was he--so cold that his face became wan, and white from the frozen mists of his own breathing withal, white as become all creatures who bide there. So cold at night and dreary of heart was he, so lost by day and blinded by light was he, that he wept, continually wept and cried aloud until the tears coursing down his cheeks stained them with falling lines along the wrinkles thereof (as may be seen on his face to this day when in due season he reappears), and he died of heart and thence became transformed (_í‘hlimnakna_) lastingly as are the gods. Yea, and his lips became splayed with continual calling, and his voice grew shrill and dry-sounding, like to the voices of far-flying water-fowl. As he cried, wandering all blindly hither and thither, these, water-birds, hearing, flocked around him in numbers and curiously peered at him, turning their heads from side to side and ever approaching nearer, all the while calling one to another.

Behold! when he heard them calling, their meanings were plain to him, wise as he was of all speeches! Yet still he lamented aloud, for none told him the way to his country and people.

HOW THE DUCK, HEARING, WAS FAIN TO GUIDE K‘YÄK´LU.

Now, when the Duck heard his cry, lo! it was so like to her own that she came closer by than any, answering loudly. And when they were thus come near to each other, much related appeared they, strange as that may seem. Forasmuch as he was of all times the listener and speaker, and therein wisest of all men, so was she of all regions the traveler and searcher, knowing all ways, whether above or below the waters, whether in the north, the west, the south, or the east, and therein was the most knowing of all creatures. Thus the wisdom (_yúyananak‘ya_) of the one comprehended (_aíyuhetok‘ya_) the knowledge (_ánikwanak‘ya_) of the other, and K‘yäk´lu in the midst of his lamentations besought counsel and guidance, crying--

Ha-na-ha! ha-na-ha! a-hah-hua!
O, grandmother! Where am I straying
So far from my country and people?
All speeches I know, of my sitting
In councils of men and the beings,
Since first in the depths they had being!
But of far ways, alas! I am kenless!
Ha-na-ha! ha-na-ha! a-hah-hua!
The mountains are white, and the valleys;
All plains are like others in whiteness;
And even the light of our father
The Sun, as he rises and passes,
Makes all ways more hidden of whiteness!
For in brightness my eyes see but darkness--
And in darkness all ways are bewildered!
Ha-na-ha! ha-na-ha! a-hah-hua!
In the winds, lo! I hear the directions;
But the winds speak the ways of all regions,
Of the north and the west and the southward,
Of the east and of upward and downward,
They tell not the way to the Middle!
They tell not the way to my people!
Ha-na-ha! ha-na-ha! a-hah-hua!

"Hold, my child, my father," said the Duck. "Think no longer sad thoughts. Though thou be blind, yet thou _hearest_ all as I _see_ all. Give me, therefore, tinkling shells from thy girdle and place them on my neck and in my beak. Thus may I guide thee with my seeing if so be thou by thy hearing grasp and hold firmly my trail. For look, now! Thy country and the way thither well I know, for I go that way each year leading the wild goose and the crane, who flee thither as winter follows."

And so the K‘yäk´lu placed his talking shells on the neck of the Duck, and in her beak placed the singing shells, which ever in his speakings and listenings K‘yäk´lu had been wont to wear at his girdle; and albeit painfully and lamely, yet he did follow the sound she made with these shells, perching lightly on his searching outstretched hand, and did all too slowly follow her swift flight from place to place wherein she, anon, going forth would await him and urge him, ducking her head that the shells might call loudly, and dipping her beak that they might summon his ears as the hand summons the eyes. By and by they came to the country of thick rains and mists on the borders of the Snow World, and passed from water to water, until at last, lo! wider waters lay in their way. In vain the Duck called and jingled her shells from over the midst of them, K‘yäk´lu could not follow. All maimed was he; nor could he swim or fly as could the Duck.

HOW THE RAINBOW-WORM BORE K‘YÄK´LU TO THE PLAIN OF K´‘HLUËLANE.

Now the Rainbow-worm was near, in that land of mists and waters. And when he heard the sacred sounds of the shells he listened. "Ha! these be my grandchildren, and precious be they, for they call one to the other with shells of the great world-encircling waters," said he; and so, with one measure of his length, he placed himself nigh them, saying--

Why mourn ye grandchildren, why mourn ye?
Give me plumes of the spaces, grandchildren,
That related I be to the regions,
That uplifted I be to the cloud-heights,
That my footsteps be countries and countries;
So I bear ye full swift on my shoulders
To the place of thy people and country.

K‘yäk´lu took of his plume-wands the lightest and choicest; and the Duck gave to him her two strong pinion-feathers that he might pendant them therewith, making them far reaching and far-seeing. And the Rainbow arched himself and stooped nigh to them whilst K‘yäk´lu, breathing on the plumes, approached him and fastened them to his heart side. And while with bent head, all white and glistening wet, K‘yäk´lu said the sacred words, not turning to one side nor to the other, behold! the Rainbow shadow gleamed full brightly on his forehead like a little rainbow, (even as the great sky itself gleams little in a tiny dew-drop) and became painted thereon, and _í‘hlimna_.

"Thanks this day!" said the Rainbow. "Mount, now, on my shoulders, grandson!"

The Rainbow unbent himself lower that K‘yäk´lu might mount; then he arched himself high amidst the clouds, bearing K‘yäk´lu upward as in the breath a mote is borne, and the Duck spread her wings in flight toward the south. Thitherward, like an arrow, the Rainbow-worm straightened himself forward and followed until his face looked into the Lake of the Ancients, the mists whereof were to him breath and substance.

And there in the plain to the north of Kâ´‘hluëlane, K‘yäk´lu descended even ere the sun was fully entered, and while yet it was light, the Rainbow betook himself swiftly back.

But alas! K‘yäk´lu was weary and lame. He could not journey farther, but sat himself down to rest and ponder the way.

THE TARRYING OF K‘YÄK´LU IN THE PLAIN, AND HIS DISMAY.

Now, as he sat there, all silent, came across the plains the shouts and harangues of the Kâ´yemäshi as they called loudly to one another, telling, like children, of the people who had but then forded the wide river, and passed on to the eastward "with such great ado," said they.

For the children of the Twain knew not yet the people of their parents, nor did their parents tell them aught, save to bid them hide in the mountains; for they willed not that their shame be made known whilst the hearts of their erstwhile people were so sore with anguish.

And as K‘yäk´lu, the wonderful hearer, lifted his head and signed to the Duck, forthwith knowing from the talk of the Kâ´yemäshi who they were and what had chanced to their parents, his own brother and sister, and all the evils that had befallen his people by the sin and change-makings of these two. Lo! the strength of his heart wasted as he bowed him down again in the plain, alone, blinded of sight, wearied and lamed, and now from very sadness blinded even of thought withal, now that he learned of the woes which the two, his own brother and sister, had wrought upon all of the people. The Duck, long waiting, at last shook her shells and called to him. He heard not, or hearing gave no heed, but sat, like one bereft of all thinking, lamenting the deeds of his brother and sister and the woes of his people.

HOW THE DUCK FOUND THE LAKE OF THE DEAD AND THE GODS OF THE K´KÂ.

The Duck thereupon fled away toward the mountain whence issued the garrulous talking, and thence beyond, spying water, to the lake in its hollow. There she swam to and fro, this way and that, up and down, loudly quacking and calling. Lo! the lights of the Kíwitsin of the Kâ´kâ began to gleam in the waters, and as she gazed she beheld, rising from them, snout foremost, like one of her own kind, the Sálamopia of the north, whom the gods of the Kâ´kâ, the noble and surpassing Páutiwa and the ancient K‘yáu‘hliwa, had dispatched to bid the Duck dive down and lay before them whatsoever message she might bear. The Duck followed down, down, into the great assembly halls. There she told of the far journeys she had made, of her finding and leading the K‘yäk´lu, and how now K‘yäk´lu sat blind of eyes, maimed and hearing naught of her calling, in the plain beyond the mountains.

HOW THE GODS OF THE K´K COUNSELLED THE DUCK.