The Weaver and the Princess.
From ‘Rays of One Light‘
Part Two of Three

While the horses picked their way through the rocks that crowded the gulch, Destiny spun a tale with a non-floral thread. “You know, it’s interesting that most of the wandering Archaic bands didn’t appear to have any farming attachments before they ran into the Spaniards. For instance, the Cochimi claimed to have lived here for more than 10,000 years as hunters and gatherers.

They added horticulture after meeting Spanish explorers in 1342 when their ships came through San Diego Harbor. Unfortunately, the Cochimi language has not been spoken since the 1800s when the last of their people died out, perhaps from disease. Their kindred, the Kumeyaay, or Diegueno of San Diego County, are the only Yuman speakers of Hokan stock whose tribes still exist. Of course, they are more focused on horticulture and farming than their archaic ancestors.”  

Secora steered the bay mare around a boulder maze as she continued to listen. “It was during Spanish colonization that people like the Kumeyaay and the Hopi, called “Moki” in Mexico by the way, began raising sheep. They also grew maize, beans, squash, and melons, as well as various other vegetables and fruits.

They still hunted and even fished the rivers, or man-made canals like those produced by Hohokam speakers around the South Mountain near Phoenix. When they adapted to a sedentary life, the Hopi men tended the animals in addition to building houses. They also made the moccasins, wove garments and blankets from the wool, and performed most of the ceremonies.”

A Kumeyaay house photographed by Edward Curtis, ca. 1926.


Secora rolled her eyes and snickered. “Probably kept them out of trouble. Sounds good for the women.”
“You’d think that, but women made all the baskets and pottery, tended the gardens, raised the children, and cared for the elderly. Most importantly, they were responsible for the arduous task of acquiring safe water for their families. Outside of all of that, they ground the day’s corn into a meal. You’ve seen those old manos and metates, right?

The stones broke the corn or other seeds into a sticky flour that could then be pinched into balls and cooked like bread?”

Secora nodded. “I have a mano and metate of my own.” She cleared her throat. “So, in a way, the Spanish took the lives of some of the people through subordination and plagues but then brought them the threads of a more stable existence. Gave them a livelihood.”

Destiny’s gelding sidled up. “Funny how things work.” She pointed upward. “Now I think I’m seeing someone.”

“Where?”

 “There may be someone by the handholds close to that ruin.”

“Really? I’ll make a note of that for the class I hope to put together.”

“You’ve really gotten deep into this Baja thing, my friend.”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about adding a class on the subject next year. What do you think, Secora?”

“Sounds interesting. But weren’t you talking about cutting two classes from our curriculum because of budget shortfalls?” Secora shaded her eyes.

Destiny looked stricken and sighed. “Now, that’s a problem. I am hoping to keep all of your courses, but maybe we could offer the Pleistocene Herbivores, and the Predators classes every other year, rather than annually. Could you manage that?” Considering her boss’s suggestion, Secora acquiesced.  “I’ll see if that impacts any students, but I think we can do that.” She watched Destiny’s shoulders relax significantly. “Now, let’s explore those poles at the ruins.”

They made their approach from the end of the mesa, where eroded sand and rock splayed out like a skirt. Hidden gullies and ridges between its folds increased both the distance and travel time. They followed a deer trail to the base of the cliff and left the horses tied to a shriveled juniper tree.

The scorching heat was mitigated by a breeze across the ledge inside the overhang. They scanned a stacked stone wall, part of a building that had been cleverly erected in a narrow cleft. Then they approached the poles which were still partly lashed together, resting on the rubble of a crumbled wall. Secora thought they might have been used as roofing beams, or as a door for the ancient structure. Destiny suggested that they might have been a painting ladder.

Secora shouted, “What? Can’t hear you over this wind.”

“Maybe it’s a ladder for painting?” yelled her friend.

A moment later Secora acknowledged, “I suppose, but I don’t see any figures.”

Destiny shouted, “How about any sign of those ghosts?”

Secora shook her head then hollered, “Nope, I’d hoped we would find footsteps or some other clue that might tell us if they’re human.” A feisty wind gust blew dust from the ledge into their eyes. They twisted away from the stinging grit and returned to the horses, who were tossing their heads and swishing their tails in rebellion, hoping to be free of the storm.

Disappointed, the women departed for the canyon bottom, where they noticed there wasn’t even a puff of breeze. Secora said, “That’s weird,” as she dismounted to sit on a rock. As soon as she stopped speaking, she heard the very faint sounds of mystic chanting.

Destiny said, “Are you hearing this, or is it just me?”
“No, I hear it.” Spellbound, they closed their eyes, concentrating on the rhythm and tones of the song, afraid it might fade, or end, at any moment. When it did stop, they opened their eyes and found two individuals standing before them in the backdrop of bright sunlight, their faces barely distinguishable.

Destiny shaded her eyes and asked, “Are they ghosts or humans?”

Secora reached out and poked a bare arm. “I don’t think they’re ghosts.” To the visitors. she said, “I certainly hope you come in friendship since we can’t read the intentions in your eyes. Maybe you could step into the shade.”

When the people remained as they were, Destiny offered, “Our names are Destiny and Secora. Who are you?” Secora wondered if they understood English, and was about to repeat Destiny’s words in Spanish when a man responded.

“People call me “weaver”. I grew up on various reservations around here and in the Grand Canyon.”

The woman responded, “I am the princess. I’m lost – not from around here. I left South Sudan, but I am at home with this man. She looked at the weaver.”

“Turns out that we’re not from here either,” Secora chuckled. She and Destiny were in awe as a tale unfolded. The princess was a refugee from a land of abuse and threats, where her only son had been murdered when he tried to attend a white college. She looked as if she was in her mid-fifties and stood at least six feet tall, an imposing presence with her back to the sun.

Destiny tried again. “Would it be possible for the two of you to move out of the sun so we could see you better?”

As they stepped to the side, Secora’s eyes followed them, noticing that the man’s waist-length black hair shimmered in the sun. He stated, “I am looking for my cousin. I haven’t seen him since we were children, but I feel like he may be in danger, and I want to help him.” He patted a pouch on his belt. “I brought the medicine.” He then took a seat on a boulder beside the princess, who towered over him then closed his eyes. “When we were children, he was known by the Hopi phrase, ‘Hopituh Shi-nu-mu’, the peaceful boy.”

Destiny reflected, “Sounds like your cousin is a wonderful person.”

Weaver nodded, then said, “We Puebloans are all wonderful people, descendants of the ‘Ancient Ones’, you know.  For a time, they lived within the cliffs and prospered by farming along the rivers. Before and after that time, we built pit houses and pueblos from logs, mud, and grass. Our history goes back many thousands of years. Our relatives lived in Asia, Africa, and the Middle East where they built multi-storied adobe apartment complexes, with beautiful roofs that provided safety, not to mention – wonderful views.”

Destiny’s face was creased in smiles. “I always believed that the Hopi’s had one of the oldest living cultures in the Americas.” Weaver again nodded. “True. But more importantly, we have been traveling these lands today, following paths that might lead us to someone who knows my cousin.”

“Interesting strategy,” Secora said under her breath. He continued, “As Marcus Aurelius tells us, ‘Entrust everything willingly to the gods, and then make your way through life—no one’s master and no one’s slave.’” 

The two women looked out of the sides of their eyes at each other, respectfully wondering if he had finished. Then Secora asked if she and Destiny could offer prayers for his cousin’s well-being?”

Princess said, “You may pray now. He particularly needs your prayers.”

Secora uttered a prayer for tests and difficulties. “Is there any Remover of difficulties save God? Say: Praised be God! He is God! All are His servants, and all abide by His bidding!”

“The princess said, “I know that prayer. Baha’i, right?”

Weaver added, “Ancient Hopituh Shi-nu-mu tradition teaches us to live according to the laws of the Creator, Maasaw, who sent to us morality and ethics. We must respect all living things, and know that all beings want to know they will be okay.”

Secora responded, “Claro que si. Of course, they do.”

Destiny looked puzzled. “I didn’t know about Maasaw. I was told the Hopi believed that the gods came up from the ground, where Ant People inhabited the heart of the Earth.”

Princess then prayed, “Say God sufficeth all things above all things, and nothing in the heavens or in the earth, but God sufficeth. Verily, He is in Himself, the Knower, the Sustainer, the Omnipotent. This is a prayer from the Bab, whose name means ‘Door’ or ‘Gate’.”

When their prayers were completed, they shared water from a bottle Secora grabbed out of her russet leather backpack. She poured while Destiny held out Dixie cups. Secora and Destiny explained they were in the area to search for remnants of ancient animals and plants and also to look for the bold red and black mural art above some rock shelters and ledges. It wasn’t long before they were all conversing as old friends. Secora split peanut butter and wild plum jelly sandwiches, offering portions to everyone.

A few passing clouds temporarily blocked the sun as they continued the visit. Without the glare, Secora took note of some wicked scars on the lady’s face. Her eyes must have reflected pity, and the princess said, “Please don’t.”

Secora wasn’t sure if an apology would be appropriate, or if she should find a clever way to change the subject when her Satfon rang. She took the call explaining, “It’s from my husband, Gideon.” The weaver said softly, “Prepare yourself!” Secora did a double-take as she excused herself to answer. The princess shrugged and said to Destiny, “He knows these things”. . .  

******** ********* ********

If you’re a reader or a movie enthusiast who loves the “Indiana Jones” saga and enjoys mystery, action, and adventure, you’ll love reading all seven books in the thrilling and gripping “Rising Wind” novel series.

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