The old one was gone, and Uhtatse was the One Who Smelled the Wind for the Ahye-tum-datsehe.
He blinked hard and straightened the frail body. He looked about for dead wood to fashion into a carrier, his gaze lingering longingly on the straight trunks of some of the young oaks. Yet that easy way was no longer for him. He had tried too hard, suffered too much to risk what he had gained, simply to make his task easier.
He found enough at last to shape a rough travois, such as the Anensi used to carry heavy burdens behind their bodies and those of their dogs. He tied it together with a part of the juniper bark cord he carried wrapped around his waist. When it was done, he rolled the old man’s body onto the triangular vehicle and tugged at the pulling cords.
It was hard to move. He was still light from his long fast, and his predecessor was a big man, heavy in the bone, though his own flesh was worn away to nothing by his injuries and his long fast.
Uhtatse put his back into the task, leaning into the work of pulling his burden over the rough ground. Once he had it in motion, it moved more easily, bumping into holes and over tussocks.
It was a long way to the path that led to the top of the mesa. When he reached the place where he had to pause at the rock-face, below the position of the watcher at that point, he stopped and set down the end of the travois.
A long call brought the watcher down to his level. Together, they pulled the long shape into the secret way that led around the obstacle to the cliff top. When they reached their goal, there was a man waiting for them. Ki-shi-o-te.
“I knew you would come,” he said, just as the Old One had done. “Welcome home, Smeller of the Wind. We shall attend to our brother’s body, now. You may go to your rest, for you have proven yourself equal to the task with which we must burden you.”
Uhtatse looked down at the limp form on the travois. He stared up into Ki-shi-o-te’s eyes. Then he turned his steps toward his mother’s house.
Tomorrow he would become, in every way, a man.
Chapter Nine
He did not seek out Ihyannah. He turned his steps away from the house where Ki-shi-o-te lived and veered away from the path to his mother’s doorway. This was a time when not even those who were nearest to him could be of help. He knew he must accept his new responsibilities, now, making them a part of himself.
That could only be done alone, and the time was short. Morning would find him standing on the point of rock where all his predecessors had stood to assume their terrible duties.
Still weak from his long fast, he sought out a spot among the junipers that was sheltered from the sharp breeze that had risen just after he found his mentor. Lying amid the prickly vegetation, he stared up into the cloud-streaked sky.
A magpie alighted on a brittle branch and cocked its head to look down at him. Its immaculate white and black feathers gleamed in the fitful sunlight, and it seemed to be studying him.
Rough juniper bark was grasped in the tough claws—he could feel it plainly. Wind riffled feathers along the back and the edges of the wings. The bird was curious, alert yet intrigued.
Uhtatse felt deeply into the creature, to find that it was trusting him, knowing him to be unlike those of his kind who flung stones or cast short spears from the atlatl to kill any creature that could be boiled for broth. It knew!
Filled with emotion, he opened his eyes and looked up into those berry-bright orbs so near his own. It, too, trusted him to keep the mesa safe. The birds, the deer, the chipmunks and hares, the turkeys and dogs and all the varied creatures knew him. Not only the People depended upon his skills, it seemed.
It was a sobering thought, and he took it with him through that dream-filled day and the overcast night that followed. When he rose with first light and went to his mother’s house, he knew things that he had not learned in any way he knew. He understood matters that no other of his kind, excepting only Ki-shi-o-te and the Healer and the Seer, comprehended.
The mesa was not a thing for mankind alone. It was a circle, and his own kind had a place inside it. But all the creatures, the plants, the stones, even, had their own places there, too. If one disrupted that circle, all would suffer. It was his task to see that the circle was never broken at any of its links, to sense if any danger threatened its integrity.
One who had not purified himself, learning to hear the voices that were too small for normal ears, could not be a powerful One Who Smelled the Wind. He had known that before, but now he understood it completely.
He rose and turned toward his mother’s part of the pueblo. It was time to prepare for his acceptance into his new position.
As his mother combed prickles from his hair with her brush made of fine rootlets, he stood very still. Even when she pulled, he didn’t protest. His sisters were brushing the deer hide robe they had decorated with beads and quills when he was first chosen to be trained for his position. He didn’t object, now, when they turned him around to try it about his shoulders.
He understood them, as well as the magpie and the beasts and rocks and plants. They were glad for him, and he felt their affection like the warmth of small flames licking about his spirit.
When the sun was above the rim on the east, he was ready. His sandals were on his feet, the stiff texture of the decorated yucca fiber tickling his soles. His robe was arranged carefully, his headband tied with great care by his mother’s hands.
He thought, just for an instant, of his uncle, who would have been very pleased, if he had lived until this day. Then the thought slid away as they went out and down the path toward the promontory where he would accept his life’s work from the hands of Ki-shi-o-te.
Chapter Ten
When he moved out onto the narrow tooth of rock, extending over the depth of the canyon, he felt it quiver slightly beneath his sandals. With sudden clarity, it came to him that he would be the last One Who Smelled the Wind to take his place here, receiving his charge from the Shaman of the Ahye-tum-datsehe.
This stone would fall, in time, into the valley below, leaving a gash where it had been. The Old One had met his death in that way, and the rock would follow him, in time. The thought did not make Uhtatse’s feet unsteady as they paced the length of the projecting boulder.
At the very end, he stood looking into the eye of the sun, which now sat a hand’s breadth above the eastern rim of the canyon. It filled his eyes with pink dawn light, and he turned to face those waiting on the mesa behind him. Step by step, with great dignity, he returned along the span, the stone vibrating subtly at every step.
Ki-shi-o-te met him as he stepped onto the flat stone forming the base of the platform. His wrinkled face expressionless, he laid a long, polished staff on Uhtatse’s outstretched hand. It was of oak, straight and strong, well cured. It had been peeled when fresh, and long years of wear had rubbed it to a rich luster. It was the staff borne by every One Who Smelled the Wind for many generations.
Ihyannah came forward with a necklace in her slender hands. It was made of feathers and carved bone, claws of hawks and eagles, teeth of big cats. Strung on juniper cord, it bound its wearer to every part of the mesa.
She handed the thing to her father, and Uhtatse bent his neck to allow the old man to slip it over his head and arrange it on his shoulders. He would, he knew, never wear it again, but this once was enough to infuse into him all the accumulated wisdom of those who had worn it over
