The Flute of the Gods

by Marah Ellis Ryan

Through the storms––and the dark nights––and the long days of loneliness had she lived since he had hidden her first from the scouts of Te-gat-ha––but they had passed over her as dreams of sweetness pass.––That the groves of pine, or the mesa of the river, hid him from her sight, did not mean to her that he had quite gone away, the wonderful magic wrought by him made it possible for her to feel his arms about her even when she lay alone in the darkness of the dwelling of the star. To be hidden like that, and to watch for his coming, was to be granted much joy by the gods. That the gods exact payment for all joys more than mortal, was one secret Tahn-té did not whisper to her, though the thought had clouded his own eyes more than once as he clasped her close to him.

What the gods would exact he did not know, but daily and nightly he made prayers to the mediators of the spirit land, and hoped in his heart that the god of his people prove not akin to the jealous god of the men of iron;––for a jealous god would, without 291 doubt, take her from him! Against men he could protect her––but if the gods awoke––and were jealous––

And he remembered the fastings, and the penance, and the prayers by which he had, unknown to all others, dedicated his life to the gods alone!

But of this he said no word––only held her more close in his thoughts––but ever a gray shadow moved beside him––the shadow of an unknown fear––and it was the same shadow by which he had been led to count over the seeds of the sacred growth––that he be sure it was in his power to make the death sleep beautiful to her, if the death sleep should shorten their trail together in the Earth Life.

She knew nothing of his fear, and watched each lengthening shadow with delight––since the growing shadows were heralds of his coming! Even the trembling of the earth was forgotten in that joy––and she scarcely noted that the air had grown strangely sultry––almost a thing of weight it seemed;––a brooding, waiting spirit, silencing even the whisper of the pines––and the whisper of the pine was sacred music to the Te-hua people;––through all the ages it had whispered, until in a good hour it had given voice to their earth-born god!

She knew not anything of the gods of her own people, and the ominous silence of the pines meant not to her what they would mean to a girl of the river villages. But the magic of the place did make itself felt to her when her robe, as she touched it, sent out little snappings as of fireflies’ wings, and far across the land tiny flashes flamed from earth to sky as the dusk grew. When she shook loose her hair that she might arrange it more pleasing for his sight, she was startled by the tiny crackling, like finest of twigs in a 292 blaze––and to smooth it into braids silenced none of the strange magic;––each time her hand touched it, the little sparks flashed––under the heavy brooding atmosphere, electric forces were at work in strange ways––and on the heights of Pu-yé they have for ages been proof of the magic in those mountains.

Therefore is it a place for prayer.

Startled by the strange earth breathings, the girl crept within the portal for her waiting––and the dusk was too deep for sight across the rolling land of ancient field, and piñon wood far below.

Had she kept the watch she might have seen more than one figure approach the heights from different ways––only a glimpse could be had, but through the dusk of piñon groves certainly two figures moved together, a man and a woman, and even before them one man stole alone from the south, and halted often as if to plan the better way of approach.

The man and woman skirted the foot of the mesa, and crept upward on the side to the north.