Pueblo Survivors: A Family's Journey

By Astrid Bender

Danger and adventure are at the heart of Pueblo Survivors: A Family Story, which is set in the prehistoric Southwest. The fight for survival leads White Feathers family far from their desert home. Life in the new village is rife with superstition and talk of witchcraft over the appearance of White Feathers grandson, Mixta. The search for his father takes the young man south amid slave takers and human sacrifice to face a final challenge.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 21, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465337603

Astrid Bender

Astrid Bender graduated with honors in 1977 in two foreign languages and anthropology from California State University, Los Angeles. After years of teaching, she became a docent at the Museum of Natural History in Los Angeles. She has traveled extensively through Pueblo country of the Southwest as well as Mexico and South America. She brings to her writing a vast knowledge of indigenous peoples, their customs and beliefs. She lives with her husband in California.

Book preview

Copyright © 2012 by Astrid Bender.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

102604

CONTENTS

DEDICATION

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

PROLOGUE

PART I

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

PART II

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

PART III

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

PART IV

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 42

CHAPTER 43

CHAPTER 44

May the great generous Earth Mother be with you.

In hunger and thirst may she replenish you.

May she keep you safe all the days of this journey.

And may she reward your quest with good fortune

Until our eyes behold each other again.

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to all PUEBLO PEOPLES—

ancient and modern and their cultural legacy throughout

the American Southwest.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I extend my greatest thanks to Mr. Paul Davis, an extraordinary editor and good friend.

I also wish to thank the following members of the Palm Springs Writers Guild for their excellent critiques:

Fred Ellsberg

Nancy Gilbreath

Ted Pannell

Julina Parker

Marci Stillerman

Jack Stillerman

Betty Jane Weigand

Many thanks also to my husband, Horst Bender—all your computer help kept me going.

. . . And to Maren Alexia Bender, my granddaughter, who rediscovered the manuscript.

PROLOGUE

Wind rustles through the crowns of cottonwood trees and the creek below rushes with white water from the nearby mountains of the Southwest.

For now the creek village bustles with activities of homemakers, builders and farmers.

It is a late summer day in the mid 1150’s A.D.

Corn plant leaves shimmer green in the sunlight. Harvest days, divined by priests, are almost here. In many kivas (ceremonial chambers) shamans, priests and elders pay homage to the deities of earth and sky.

The rains still fall, but after the harvest festivals the weather slowly changes. Northern strangers arrive whose languages and customs no one understands.

These nomads take away shelter and food from the sedentary Pueblo people, and tension mounts. White Feather and her family as well as other villagers suffer privations.

Soon after, in the near absence of snow and rain, a drought begins. Why are the deities punishing us? Is the canyon people’s outcry, which reverberates off the sandstone walls.

Strange new voices arise, leading many people away from tradition. Is this the path to a viable future?

PART I

part%201.jpg

CHAPTER 1

Outside an ancient pueblo village at the foot of tall red canyon walls two gravediggers carried the emaciated body of an old man. Their tattered tunics and dirty black hair were whipped by a strong wind. The men performed the lowliest task the tribe demanded of its members, a punishment for stealing large quantities of corn from the village granaries.

When they placed the deceased into the shallow grave, a horde of children ran by shouting, The witch is dead, the witch is dead! They’re bu-ry-ing the witch today!

One of the gravediggers tried to chase them away, to no avail. After more screaming Witch, witch, the evil one is gone, they ran off to play elsewhere.

No solemn words were spoken, for no relative or priest attended the burial of a witch, according to the tradition of this ancient society.

Whirlwinds blew sand up the ochre-colored canyon walls until the whole area, backlit by the early morning sun, appeared as if in a yellow cloud. On the narrow path White Feather and her mother, Corn Woman, slowly walked past the place of burial. They held a hand over their nose and mouth to avoid the flying dust.

Hanging over her shoulder Corn Woman carried two pitch-covered basket water bottles.

White Feather was burdened with heavy yucca fibre mats. Mother and daughter were on their way to clay deposits, used by potters of many pueblo villages.

Those children should not have been here, Corn Woman remarked. The burial of a witch could infect them with evil spirits.

She took White Feather’s elbow and hurried her past the scene. With a furtive glance over her shoulder, she added, All this talk of witchcraft excites the young ones too much!

I am glad my children are not out here! White Feather reflected. Don’t they know about the danger surrounding this burial? Shifting the mats to the other shoulder and pushing her long black hair from her face, she said, Tell me, Mother, who was this witch?

Corn Woman, now in her fiftieth summer, brushed spilled water from her long leather tunic. This witch was a man. He committed the grave misdeed of taking pahos, the sacred prayer feathers, from the side of Eagle Eye, the Sun Chief’s, house. I am surprised you hadn’t heard about it.

Oh, you know, I don’t listen to the village gossips, White Feather said. But this time they must have spoken the truth.

The wind blew long strands of white hair across Corn Woman’s face. I know the Sun Chief prayed for the witch’s death. She shifted the water bottles from one shoulder to the other. That’s what they said. Imagine, taking someone’s prayer feathers… Her voice trailed off.

White Feather wiped the sweat from her sun-browned forehead, and shuddered at the thought. Now that I think of it, I did hear of an older man living alone whom everyone had ignored for many moons. Was he the witch?

Yes, he was. But let’s be gone from here. We have far to travel.

After they had walked for a long while, the old one sat down under a shady pinyon tree.

I have been thinking lately, Corn Woman said. Why has my granddaughter, Red Bird, not found a life mate yet? You, with your thirty-two summers ought to be a grandmother.

I know Red Bird should have a child by now. Recently I suggested she might consider Yellow Hawk as life mate, but she doesn’t even look at him. White Feather sighed. But her father and I have decided not to hurry her into an unwanted relationship. Huh, it’s getting hot on this dusty trail.

Here, have some water. Corn Woman handed her the basket bottle. Have you seen how low the creek is now?

Sure. We are not getting the spring and summer rains as we used to. White Feather slowly walked ahead.

Thinking Corn Woman would follow, she continued talking. I am just as worried about firewood! The Sun Chief and the elders have forbidden us to cut down trees in the canyon area, did you know that? But there was no answer. When she looked around, she saw that her mother was nowhere near her.

Shuffling up the path that now rose steeply into the mountains, Corn Woman called out, This is getting too much for me! Next time you must come with the children, all of them, so they can help with the clay digging! It’s time they learned to carry burdens for their elders!

When Corn Woman finally caught up with White Feather, they quenched their thirst again.

You are right, Mother! The children will help us next time. They need to understand that my clay pots help bring food to our hearth.

Catching their breath under another pinyon tree, the two women admired the glistening dark green needles of the pines and the lighter, feathery wands of juniper bushes.

As they enjoyed the resin smell of the trees, contentment wrapped itself around them. The only sound was the hush-hushing of the wind.

Father Sun shone high in the sky when they arrived at the deposits. A number of men and women already there, dug the moist clay, while others broke dry clods off a nearby embankment.

I’ll take the dry clay, it’s easier to carry, White Feather said. Corn Woman followed in her footsteps. After they had wrapped all they could in the yucca mats, they rested.

In the shade of the pinyons the air was brisk and cool. White Feather found a few cones that still contained nuts, the rest had been eaten by squirrels which scurried up and down the tree trunks. Extracting the delicious morsels, the two sat on the soft brown needles and relished the special treat.

What is going to happen to the canyon villages with all these new people coming? Corn Woman turned to White Feather.

I am not sure, Mother. Strangers come from the north in search of food and shelter. They settle down and eat anything in sight, just like locusts. White Feather had finished and threw the broken cones into the breeze.

I think there is a lot of trouble ahead. Not many of the newcomers are willing to help build living quarters or work in the fields. The council of elders has to change the rules, but let the men worry about it.

Reluctantly rising from the comfort of the pinyon needles that crunched under her feet, White Feather reached for her mother’s hands and helped her up.

Oh, my back hurts me again, go slowly, the older woman moaned. I am sure it is the rotting-bone disease.

The daughter would have none of her mother’s complaints. You will live another fifty summers! Think of how much you have yet to teach your granddaughters. She pointed to the shade of the nearby trees. Wait here. I’ll gather some kindling for our cooking fire tonight.

But that was hard to find, and Corn Woman was weary when White Feather finally returned with a small bundle. Eager to get home, they hurried down the mountain with their heavy burdens.

By the time they neared the creek, Father Sun had reached the horizon. The falling-leaf season had turned the cottonwoods a bright yellow, their heart-shaped leaves fluttering like tiny golden flags in the breeze.

At the sight of the village Corn Woman was exhausted, sweat running in rivulets down her back. But she couldn’t help pausing to admire the carefully constructed walls of the houses. Reaching two and three stories into the deep blue evening sky, they stood out brilliant against the background of the canyon walls.

The place appeared like a beehive bustling with people and their activities. In the open area some children watched a group of women shucking corn.

A girl chased a flock of turkeys away from the falling kernels with a willow switch.

Get yourselves gone, you thieves! she called after them. Fleeing, the birds voiced their displeasure each time she whacked them across the grey and brown feathers.

People ascended ladders to their living areas, balancing bundles of food and firewood as well as their small children. Already the aroma of roasting venison or other game wafted on the air. Small, shorthaired dogs scrounged around walls and doorways for discarded bones.

When White Feather and Corn Woman reached the family living quarter in the creek village, they carefully placed the mats with the clay in the storage room at the ground floor of the building.

Flying Arrow, White Feather’s oldest son, helped them with this chore.

Mother, he said, the girls can help you clean the clay tomorrow. You know, Thunderbolt expects me at the quarry for our stone-cutting lessons.

He was determined that all should hear that he had done enough work. With his fifteen summers, he was a tall, thin boy. From the slender face shone intensely black eyes.

Little had Flying Arrow counted on his grandmother’s exhaustion and ire.

You, young man, are the one with unused muscle power! She spoke angrily. Your mother and I appreciate that you want to climb into your father’s sandals, but first you will help your family! I have spoken.

Why can’t you train Willow and Jumping Frog to do it? Flying Arrow complained.

Taking her cue from Corn Woman, White Feather’s tone of voice brooked no further excuses or back talk. You can return to Thunderbolt’s group the next day! Her look told him he had better not annoy her further.

As they slowly climbed the ladder to their third-story living quarter, Corn Woman wheezed, I am so tired.

In their home the smooth hard packed floors were covered by yucca fiber mats. In the center rose a hearth, and a smoke hole had been cut into the mud plaster ceiling. The lime-washed walls displayed images of snakes, lizards, frogs and rabbits in ochre paint. These animals were sacred to the canyon people.

In the fading light, Dark Cloud stooped through the open doorway. White Feather smiled at her life mate, admiring his handsome brown face and sparkling black eyes.

With his thirty-five summers, a shiny head of hair showed ample amounts of silver. The long strands were swept to the nape with a leather thong. How much clay did you bring? he asked and sat near the fireplace to remove his twilled sandals. He poured himself two fingers of fermented cactus juice. Soon the men from the south will come to trade for your fine pots, he said.

Mother and grandmother brought a lot of clay, Willow, the younger daughter, answered him. At thirteen, her somewhat short, ungainly body moved quickly as she helped her mother with the cooking bowls.

Then you’ll be very busy. Dark Cloud smiled at Willow. You have your mother’s talent. Make sure your brother and sister help with cleaning the clay.

They’ll do that and they’ll also help with the clay gathering next time, White Feather said, determined. But this pottery-making takes a lot of water. We looked at the creek today. The water level is lower than before. Some women complain that the corn does not grow as well as it should, and the bean and squash plants look poor.

Dark Cloud nodded. I, too, wonder when the rains will come. Turning to Corn Woman, he handed her the furry carcass of a rabbit.

Will you show Red Bird how to prepare the meat for tonight?

She nodded and soon the old woman and her granddaughter were cooking a stew over the open fire, sending pungent aromas of meat and wild herbs into the room. Willow helped White Feather shape corncakes, and then the family sat together in a circle, enjoying their food.

Will you teach me how to make a lizard of clay, Mother? asked Jumping Frog, the family’s younger son. He leaned against White Feather’s shoulder and smiled up at her, wiping his chin. At seven summers he was well loved for his cheerful nature.

We will make as many lizards as you want, his mother assured him, so the traders can admire them all. Flames from the hearth reflected on the walls seemed to give life and motion to the animals painted there.

At sunrise Flying Arrow reluctantly helped his mother and sister, Red Bird, carry pots of water down the ladder.

Put the clay into this large bowl with the water so we can clean it, White Feather instructed.

Flying Arrow gave his mother a disgruntled look. How many times do I have to tell them I hate women’s work?

Be sure and remove all rocks and twigs and work the clay well, so we won’t have air bubbles in it, his mother said.

As her hands dug deeply into the soft earth White Feather started to feel a silken texture develop. How exciting it is to the touch. It is like Dark Cloud’s gentle, strong hands when he begins to arouse my body. She shivered at the thought.

Mother, come and see! Is this about right? Red Bird asked.

Yes, this is excellent. We’ll make some fine pots and figures from this.

After they had finished, Red Bird covered the clay with wet cotton cloths.

The following morning, sitting near the storage area of their building, White Feather helped Red Bird, Willow and Jumping Frog with the molding of small pots and clay animals.

Soon a group of critics from the village surrounded them.

I like that one, or No, I can do better than that, were among their many comments.

Suddenly, White Feather heard two older women exchanging news that the southern traders, the pochtecas, were near, having stopped at other villages in the canyon.

An elder with long white braids joined the group. Are you sure? he asked. They usually come later in the season.

It’s true. They were seen by our village scouts yesterday.

The group was excited now, particularly when they heard that the traders were bringing copper bells, live parrots and a variety of shells.

I hope they brought some of that crimson cotton cloth. I want it for my daughter, an older woman said, slowly walking off, gesturing to her friend. Now I have to find something to trade for it.

The crowd dispersed, as this was news that had to be shared. White Feather shook her head and thought, people are all the same. They love to be entertained, to see something new, or hear stories from far-away places.

Mother, Red Bird exclaimed, I wonder what they have brought us this time. Let’s get a few of your pots from the storage area, so we have more things to exchange!

White Feather nodded and smiled at her daughter’s enthusiasm.

CHAPTER 2

Red Bird came out of the mud hut she regularly shared with four or five other girls each month. It was the time of their moon flow. As tradition demanded, they lived here, banished from their families for three days of their uncleanness. Tying her long black hair with a thong, she smoothed her fringed leather tunic.

She sighed softly, feeling that despite her seventeen summers she was still her parents’ baby. Red Bird knew that other girls her age had chosen life mates a year or two ago and already had children of their own.

What is wrong with me? Why don’t I feel love for a man as mother does for father?

She had received admiring glances from young men for several seasons, but those who had approached her soon were gone.

Am I too much the dutiful daughter, always known to do as my parents demand? She puzzled over it. My life has to begin sometime. I want to fly away, free as an eagle.

Her thoughts drifted to last night’s dream in which she seemed to float through forests and river valleys with a group of people. She saw a handsome dark-skinned man, who beckoned her to follow him.

She hurried to his side and saw passion in his eyes, but suddenly everyone vanished in a red haze.

On the way to the village a hummingbird hovered near her in mid-flight. He whisked away and hungrily fed at a nearby blossom. His green and purple feathers glittered in the sunlight for a breath of time.

I will follow you some day, little bird, I will, I swear it!

She soon arrived at her parents’ home and saw her mother sitting near the wall, forming pots from long clay coils. White Feather looked up and waved.

I’m happy to see you, child! Would you like to help me?

Red Bird nodded and made herself comfortable on the swept dirt floor. She began to knead and coil clay. Thinking about the dream, she hesitated speaking about it. It seemed unreal. I must not alarm mother with my strange thoughts. She continued winding clay ropes until she had created a large bowl. Pinching the coils, she smoothed the surface inside and out with a flat pebble, frequently dipping it in water.

What do you think of this, Mother?

White Feather looked at her bowl. You really have a talent for it, Red Bird, just like your sister! I can hardly wait to see the designs you’ll use for decoration! Her eyes shone with pride.

Late in the day Dark Cloud, White Feather’s life mate, approached. Good work, you two. I like the bowl with the stepped terrace design. He changed the subject to his own activities. "The masons are also doing excellent work.

Thunderbolt’s group at the quarry is delivering well-cut sandstones and chinking material, so mud plastering is not necessary on the outer walls of the new ceremonial storage buildings.

A highly respected village elder, Thunderbolt was known as a superior stone cutter and teacher of the young.

embellishment.jpg

Rising from their sleeping mat a few dawns later, Dark Cloud whispered to White Feather. The Sun Chief and I are going out to dig turquoise for trading. He gave her a fleeting kiss.

Be careful out there, she said, turning over, half asleep. Dark Cloud took along a large leather pouch and some pemmican, the prized venison jerky. He went through the doorway into the pale light of the early day. Sister Moon began to hide her face behind the mountains, giving way to the first blue shimmer of a morning sky.

I greet you, Eagle Eye. Dark Cloud hailed his older friend.

And I you. The Sun Chief looked out at the dawn. This promises to be a fine day. His long white hair hung in braids over a heavy leather tunic. His feet were clad in sturdy sedge grass sandals.

After journeying through a maze of hidden canyons, the two men climbed over the crest of a hill. The rubble of loose stones crunched under their sandals as they approached a ridge-like outcropping. Here the rocks had different colors than near the canyon villages, appearing at the surface in many hues of greens and blues.

Known only to a few people, this turquoise area was a closely guarded secret—a fountain of wealth for some canyon dwellers.

Daylight lit up the sky as they knelt down at the ridge of stones. They deftly chipped away at it with their flint scrapers and stone hammers and broke loose both large and small chunks.

We must not speak about this place to any other people, said Eagle Eye in a hushed voice, as if strangers could hear him. More and more of these precious stones are gone each time we come here, and soon there will be none left. I wonder who else has discovered this ridge.

Who knows? Dark Cloud said. Let’s take as many as possible.

His friend rubbed a deep-green stone with his thumb. This will polish up very nicely.

Both men packed their leather pouches as full as possible and began the long walk back to the village.

The next morning Dark Cloud slipped sky blue turquoise into White Feather’s hand. A token of my love for you. He winked. What will you give me in trade?

She gasped at its beauty. Soon you will know. She gave him a mysterious smile.

Later White Feather brought out a number of her fine pots to exchange for treasures from the southern traders.

Are you certain you want to part with these beauties? Dark Cloud asked. The buff color reminds me of your soft skin, he teased.

She blushed, but caught herself. I intend to trade for many things with these, and remember, I can create new ones, like telling old stories with new characters.

Some days later the traders arrived. Loaded down with pottery, the family walked the short distance to the open area. Dark Cloud, White Feather, Red Bird and Flying Arrow carried some of the larger pots. Willow, Jumping Frog, and their grandmother, Corn Woman, each had a yucca mat filled with clay animals and pipes. In a small pouch Dark Cloud had brought along some of the turquoise stones he intended to trade for shells and chili pepper seeds.

The odor of strange, sweet-smelling herbs and the smoke of copalli permeated the air. A large crowd had gathered around a group of pochtecas. The traders had tied their long hair with leather thongs on top of their heads, and from their earlobes protruded jade disks. They wore short, off-white cotton tunics, decorated at the waist with colorful sashes. Different in appearance from the canyon villagers, they had darker skin, high foreheads and large, prominent noses.

Children stood around staring at them, pointing fingers and giggling. Smiling and waving red and blue feather wands, the traders invited people to come closer to see what they had brought.

One of them opened a wooden birdcage and took out a scarlet macaw. Its feathers shimmered in the sunlight. In long strides Eagle Eye, the Sun Chief, pushed his way through the crowd.

This bird is mine. I alone will own it! Our ceremonies demand feathers such as these.

It shall be yours! the pochteca said delightedly, but the only thing I’ll accept in trade will be two handfuls of sky blue turquoise. He turned the macaw artfully to all sides so that the creature came to look at the Chief with its jet-black, luminous eyes.

You are asking too much. One handful is more than enough, Eagle Eye countered, but his fascination with the beauty of the bird was obvious. He stretched out his hand, and the bird climbed up on it, holding fast with its powerful talons. It began to pull strands of his long, white hair with its beak.

I’ll give you one large and one small handful of turquoise. That is my offer.

I accept, but only because you are the Chief of this important village. The trader bowed deferentially. Will you give me one extra stone for this well-made cage? He held it up for the Chief’s inspection.

Very well, but I gave too much already for this bird. Eagle Eye was becoming annoyed.

Smiling, the pochteca accepted the fine turquoise pieces in exchange and handed over the cage.

The feathers of this bird will be the grandest messengers to the gods. The trader pointed at its long tail. A ceremony held with these magnificent plumes will let your village live in peace and harmony for all time.

Placing the exotic creature on his shoulder, Eagle Eye held the macaw by a leather thong tied to its leg, the cage in his left hand. The crowd whispered excitedly and parted to let their leader pass.

On the other side of the market place, Red Bird admired two green parrots held by another trader. May I hold the birds? She had edged her way to the front of the crowd. Today she felt somehow adventuresome, ready to meet people.

What’s your name and where are you from? she asked.

I am Chatoum. We came here from the south after many moons traveling along the sea and then through mountains and desert. He carefully placed a bird on each of her wrists.

Here, he said, you may hold them, but be careful, they can bite! The handsome young man smiled engagingly.

Red Bird became aware of his strange way of talking. He used the canyon people’s language, but when he spoke, it came out as a lilting sing-song.

She admired the parrots’ shimmering green feathers and the inquisitive eyes directed at her.

How beautiful they are!

Chatoum and Red Bird looked at each other for what seemed like a very long time.

She blushed and turned her head. It was impolite to stare at someone. The pochteca slowly took the parrots from her and placed them on a perch.

Hoping to keep her attention he said, If the birds don’t please you, we also have many fine shells and ornaments, and look, here are copper bells and cotton cloth.

His black eyes sparkled. What do you think of this jade figure?

I must ask my mother, Red Bird said, I’ll be back. I am most eager to see the shells.

Her face felt flush when she returned with pipes and a lizard of clay. I like this shell. Will you take the lizard for the purple shell with the brown spots?

Yes I will. Now hold the shell to your ear, Chatoum encouraged. Listen to the murmurs of the village, they will sound like the sea or the rustling of leaves in a tree.

Red Bird followed his suggestion, and soon a smile broke out on her face. It is true, the shell is magic. I can hear the sound of running water. Perhaps it is a good omen.

Chatoum was enchanted, watching her. I like your lizard, he said, and the purple shell fits your hand perfectly.

She looked at him, curious. You spoke of the sea. What is that?

It’s a place of water that goes on forever with no shore in sight. Chatoum’s eyes brightened.

I have been out on the sea for days. It is deep, sun washed and beautiful! he exclaimed. Except for the violent storms.

Seeing Red Bird talking with a pochteca, her parents joined them. Flying Arrow, Jumping Frog, Willow and Corn Woman trailed behind.

What do you ask for this conch shell? Dark Cloud inquired.

I am not certain, it belongs to my friend Micah, said Chatoum. He’ll be glad to trade with you, I’m sure.

Micah joined them and took the conch shell.

It is one of the largest I have ever seen and particularly beautiful with the deep pink color inside.

I’ll give you two large turquoise stones for it, Dark Cloud said. He wanted to present the shell as a gift to his friend, the village town crier.

Micah wiped the sweat from his neck. The noonday sun was beating down on them.

Not good enough! I want another stone of the same size! Micah said.

Very well, but you’ll give me some of these chili pepper seeds in the bargain! Dark Cloud pointed at a small sack. Micah grumbled, but then he handed over the shell and the seeds.

The small group turned to other traders, leaving Red Bird behind.

White Feather had traded her pots for cotton cloth, copper bells and some delicate bird bones with which she hoped to make jewelry.

Dark Cloud handed her the pouch with the chili pepper seeds.

You remembered! Now I can grow some chili! I can hardly wait! She beamed at him.

Willow proudly displayed a shell bracelet, while Flying Arrow had traded for some parrot feathers.

Frog jumped around Corn Woman, clinking tiny copper bells on his wrists and ankles, dancing to everyone’s delight.

The family had given many of their clay pieces in trade and were happily comparing their newly acquired treasures, when White Feather asked, Where is Red Bird?

Willow searched for her older sister. Finally, at the edge of the open area, she saw Chatoum and Red Bird still talking, using hand signals and laughing like old friends.

When Willow approached Red Bird, she heard her say, The desert moon is beautiful when it rises over the mountain, and the light sparkles on the ripples of the creek.

I will be witness to it tonight, Chatoum said and bowed to her.

Mother and Father are waiting for your return, Red Bird, Willow said in a low voice. Somehow she sensed something very private had occurred between the two young people. Her sister’s hands trembled.

Red Bird appeared as if she walked on air. Her family looked at her questioningly, but only White Feather was able to voice the reason.

Our Bird has met someone very important today. There was reservation in her voice.

Rising from the hearth where she had been cutting up squash, Corn Woman came to listen.

Chatoum is absolutely wonderful. He told me about this wild and strange land to the south. Red Bird’s eyes shone. It’s all so fascinating!

Do you have plans to meet him again? Dark Cloud asked.

Yes, I do! Her voice shook with fervor. I like him very much. He is kind and knowledgeable, and I want to know more about his life. We have a special feeling for one another.

Her parents looked at each other, stunned.

Corn Woman laid a hand on Red Bird’s arm. My child, she said to her granddaughter, "we have raised you to think things through. Do not give your heart too quickly. I know your friends already have life mates and children, but that is no reason for you to rush into binding yourself to a man.

And have you thought about how far away you will be from your own family? Have you thought about that your new friend, what is his name? Chatoum? Is from a different land? Prays to different gods? The old lady’s voice had risen with her worries. You understand your role as a woman of our tribe. Beware and consider carefully each step you take.

They saw Red Bird crying, running from the living quarter, rushing down the ladder.

You spoke the words which were necessary, Mother. Those same thoughts were on my mind as well. White Feather turned toward her hearth. At least our girl knows how we feel, how concerned we are.

Red Bird’s feet carried her to her friend Tozi’s living quarter. I’ve met the most wonderful man, Tozi! I’m in love with him! But he’s not from here. Red Bird’s words came out, gushing like a waterfall. Now it seems, my family won’t accept him.

You need to calm yourself. All good things will come to you in time. You will win them over, if you are steady in your love. Tozi gently rocked the baby on her lap.

You sound like an elder, and I’ll heed your advice. Red Bird drank the herb tea, Tozi had offered her and smiled.

In the light of the rising moon Chatoum sat under one of the giant cottonwood trees and leaned back in the bed of its golden leaves. Oh, my dearest Red Bird, he thought. How you have inflamed my heart with your gentle beauty. I praise the gods for finding you. Hurry, my love, I am here.

At the sound of a barely perceptible footfall he turned and saw her. He rose, and she was in his arms. They kissed like hungry lovers who had been apart too long.

How clever of you to tell me of the moonrise by the creek. His lips brushed her ear."

She trembled.

My family is very worried about our coming so close to one another so soon, she said.

I want you, sweet Red Bird. He held her tight in their mutual ecstasy.

Much later she was grateful no one stirred when she slipped through the doorway of the family living quarter. Only Sister Moon witnessed her smile.

Chatoum saw Red Bird walking toward him in the bright sunlight the following morning in the company of Willow.

Micah and the other traders watched them. Red Bird moved into their midst with grace, a purple verbena in her hand as a greeting for Chatoum.

Red Bird, I have waited for you. He took the desert flower from her and smelled its intense fragrance. Their eyes met, the hunger for one another burning bright, but they kept their secret.

Come, he said, I want you to see this. Chatoum led the girls to a leather bag filled with the largest shells they had ever seen, spines protruding, with purple, white and orange undersides. They were as big as the back of his hand. Red Bird and Willow were amazed.

Incredible, look at the size of these shells! What are they called? the sisters asked.

These are spiny oysters. They come from the sea I told you about, Chatoum said proudly.

My younger brother, Xaca, forms them into ornaments. He held out a carved pair of orange ear plugs for Red Bird’s inspection. Please take them as a token of my esteem. He also handed a pair to Willow.

Let us walk awhile near the creek. He took Red Bird’s hand. As custom demanded, Willow followed at a distance.

Father Sun had warmed the large boulders on which Chatoum and Red Bird found a comfortable seat.

Is it too soon to speak of love, my dearest Red Bird? I have thought of you through the time of darkness and ever since Father Sun rose over the horizon. He took both her hands. "I hunger to feel your arms around me again.

As you know, my friends and I must leave this area to trade in many villages north of here. I do not know how long we’ll be gone. Already my heart aches when I am not by your side. He brushed his fingertips over her cheeks and lips.

I know you have to leave, Red Bird whispered, a quaver in her voice. I don’t want you to go. Must you really be gone by sunrise?

Yes. I must stay with the trading group, but we’ll return this way, I promise.

She trembled when he nuzzled her earlobe.

I will be by your side, because I have lost my heart to you! He took her in his arms and kissed her passionately.

Red Bird felt a fire igniting in her. You have awakened me from dreaming of love to love itself. I’ll pray each day for your safe return. Don’t make me wait for long.

I want you, my sweet Red Bird! Chatoum embraced her. My beautiful flower, he spoke in a soft voice, I never want to be without you again. I know this is all so sudden, but I want you to think about walking the trail of life with me.

I have prayed you would say this to me, though my family has warned me that our family could never be together. The distances seem so great, she said, gazing at his striking features. Convincing my parents to let me go will be difficult.

Again he swept her into his arms. Leave it to me. You hold my heart in your hands. Take tender care of it while I am gone.

They shared a last, long kiss.

Father Sun, near the horizon, illuminated a dark cloud with a golden lining.

In the first light of dawn, Red Bird stood beside the main path. She watched the men of the trading group, laden with goods, depart for the villages to the north.

The sky had turned cloudy and the wind swirled yellow leaves of the cottonwoods high into the air. The first heavy raindrops mingled with tears running down Red Bird’s cheeks.

CHAPTER 3

A long wailing sound from the town crier’s conch shell reverberated off the walls of the buildings near the open area. Howling Dog was proud of this gift from his friend, Dark Cloud. He had important news for the village people.

Red Bird, hungry for word from Chatoum’s trading group, ran to join many of her neighbors.

Raids, raids! shouted Howling Dog and again took up the conch shell, making a roaring sound that brought many people running.

The community corn fields have been raided! He threw out his chest, rising to his full height. Clad in a painted ceremonial tunic and a coyote paw necklace, he had everyone’s attention.

White Feather came to join her daughter as the town crier again blew into the conch shell. He spoke with urgency. These culprits have emptied our fields! But never fear, we will catch them! He jumped up on a large rock, pointing his finger at the group closest to him. Are the thieves among you? Everybody turned around, looking for the culprits.

As his right-hand man, Howling Dog delivered the Sun Chief’s angry and worried message. See to it that you guard your water and stored foods, he warned the crowd, his eyes flashing. He brushed spittle from his mouth and jumped off the rock.

What are the town crier and the Sun Chief doing to this village? White Feather complained. They are sowing seeds of mistrust among us! She looked at the people around her.

Oh, Howling Dog, Red Bird ran after him as he was leaving. Have the scouts from the north brought any news of the trading group?

What are you saying, girl? The traders left here less than a moon ago. What news could there be from them? He brushed her off, like shooing a fly from his sleeve, and rapidly walked toward the living quarter of his master.

Red Bird’s head hung in disappointment. Where is Chatoum? Is it possible that I have fallen in love with a man in this tiny breath of time? Is it all a dream? When Red Bird rejoined her mother, she was quickly brought back to reality.

In their home, White Feather lit the cooking fire and asked Red Bird to stir the beans. Slowly the mother descended the ladder to the storage area to gather up ground corn and pemmican. Then she noticed that the jars were half empty.

What is going on here? Is my family passing out our food to their friends? Or have the raiders come this close to our home already?

Her fear and agitation grew. Over the evening meal she questioned the children, but they vehemently denied having touched anything.

With whom are you sharing the storage room? Dark Cloud asked. He had just come from the new construction area. His tunic was covered with dust, and he looked tired.

As you well know, I share it with Sunflower and Spotted Owl, on the floor below, was White Feather’s terse reply. I am going down there right now to confront them!

Sunflower and Spotted Owl slowly came to their open doorway. Both of them appeared unkempt in their dirty cotton tunics. Foul odors spoke of garbage strewn around the room. They were a young childless couple seldom seen working in the fields.

I want to ask you, White Feather demanded, her face flushed with anger, did you help yourselves to my family’s food supplies?

The accused stood there, guilty looks on their faces.

We were so hungry, we didn’t know what to do. And you seem to have more than you need, they said.

How dare you take my family’s food without asking! White Feather’s voice rose. But I know why you did it. You are both too lazy to go out and work in the fields! She glared at them. We have enough to eat, because we work hard.

Sunflower and Spotted Owl did not dare meet her eyes. Disgusted, she left them standing in their doorway.

When White Feather returned, Corn Woman said, I wonder, daughter, how wise it was to lose your temper. What they did was wrong, but you embarrassed them, and other people heard it.

The old one shook her head and took up the bone awl with which she stitched a leather tunic.

Hard times seem to be upon us. Do you think this is the way to create kind feelings in your neighbors? Who knows if we might need their help some time?

White Feather was not about to accept this criticism from her mother.

Those two obviously need us more than we need them. If they worked, they would not have to steal.

The rain that fell on