Blaze wiped away the moisture from his forehead, and looked ahead. Ignoring the sting of salt in his eyes, he struggled to focus through his sweat blurred vision. The Great Cliff towered before him. He was back home.

"Great Spirit!" Blaze cursed. His legs ached, his feet throbbed and his lungs could not take in air fast enough. He had run as hard as he could, and for longer than ever before. And yet the Great Spirit had failed to send him a vision of his animal spirit. Blaze collapsed on the hard rocky terrain, and let his eyelids drop shut.

Only two hurdles separated Blaze from manhood in his Sinagua tribe. His animal spirit had yet to show itself to him, and he still needed his first large game kill. After that, he would be taught the sacred chants and rituals, and he would no longer be a child.

In one moon, Blaze would be off on his first journey. He was going to a land rich in large game, where he would surely make his big kill. After years of hunting rabbits and squirrels, Blaze dreamed of downing his first deer or antelope. A whole moon seemed like a long way off, but Blaze was patient and could wait.

Patience was one of the most important virtues of a great hunter. Blaze had learned patience from his countless gathering expeditions for Desert Cloud, the village healer, who always sought the precise plant, root or seed. While preparing for a hunt, many of the other boys in his village grabbed the first tree shoots they found, and used them before they had adequately dried. Those boys just wanted to start hunting sooner. They did not take sufficient time to ready themselves properly and so they never had great success. Couldn’t they see that it was better to prepare slowly, even if it meant waiting longer to hunt? That way, when you finally did hunt, you nearly always came home with fresh game.

Blaze never rushed in his preparations. He not only crafted his arrowheads and shafts carefully, he even took great pains in choosing the feathers for his arrows. He preferred the black feathers of the crow. And Blaze was the only boy in his village who paid heed to which animal would provide the sinew for attaching his arrowheads and feathers to his bow shafts. He sought the muscle tissue of an animal great in spirit, an animal like the sleek, powerful mountain lion.

It was the spirit of the mountain lion that he had hoped would come to him on his run. Thoughts of his upcoming journey had momentarily erased the frustration of his empty vision. Thinking of the mountain lion, though, brought back his deep disappointment. The village elders had said that in order to see your animal spirit, you must run harder than you think possible, and at the point when your body can do no more, the vision of your animal spirit will come to you.

Blaze had run so hard that his legs and heart had nothing more to give. The harsh sun beat down on him, sapping him of the energy to get up and run another step. Why was Father Sun preventing him from going on? Why was Father Sun keeping his animal spirit away from him?

Blaze opened his eyes hoping that his animal spirit might have appeared. Instead, standing before him were the familiar gray ash and cottonwood trees of the plains, and beyond them, the Great Cliff. Built into the mountain of rock, his village home of nineteen rooms spread over five levels. The people on the cliff were mostly a blur to him. Even though he had stopped running, sweat continued to pour down his face and into his eyes. He wasn’t sure if it was just sweat, or if tears of disappointment were mixed in.

It could be worse, Blaze said to himself. What if his animal spirit had appeared to him, and it was that of a rabbit? What kind of spirit would that be for a great hunter? But Blaze knew that people did not choose their animal spirit. A person is born with it and must discover that spirit within. Blaze prayed once again to Father Sun that his spirit was that of a hunter.

Next time Blaze would run even faster. He would spend more time in the sweatlodge, a tiny cave near the base of the Great Cliff. Many of the grand elders of the tribe used the sweatlodge to ease the aches and pains of old age, while Sinagua men and women of all ages used the room to purify themselves before life’s important ceremonies. The older boys and younger men spent time there hoping to increase their running ability.

Mostly, plain hot water was poured over the stones, but sometime mesquite leaves or crushed beeweed was added. More than any boy in the village, Blaze understood the vast arrays of medicines from gathering the ingredients for Desert Cloud. He would be sure to speak to her and ask for a bath mix to enable him to run harder and faster.

Finally Blaze pushed himself up off the hard ground, and trudged along the rocky trail leading to the cliff. As he approached the lower ladder, the sounds of his people rained down on him like water from the clouds. The rhythmic, raspy chant of Golden Eagle echoed from the Great Room of the fifth floor. Golden Eagle was the oldest and most skilled weaver of the Great Cliff, and he always sang while making beautiful cloth for his people. The deep voice of his son Rattle Bone and the softer tone of Rattle Bone’s son Hard Shell mingled in perfect harmony with the Golden Eagle’s scratchy chant as the three men wove together. From lower in the cliff, White Snake’s words rang with concern as she warned her young daughter to stay away from the edge of the walkway. At the same time, Blaze heard the playful cries of Tiger Eyes, Black Horn and Spadefoot as they chased one another around near the base of the cliff. The young children reminded Blaze of himself and his friend Setting Sun in the days when they were younger and had been allowed to play such games.

"Blaze going up to the lower ledge!" he called out as he stepped onto the stiff, woven rung of the ladder. He wearily pulled himself up to that ledge, and then on to the upper ledge in the same way.

"Blaze ascending to first floor!" he called after walking the ten paces along the upper ledge of the cliff.

"Come on up," Setting Sun called down.

Blaze pulled himself towards the first floor ledge. Beyond tired, his legs were almost numb. He let his arms do most of the work, practically pulling himself up each ladder rung. As he approached the ledge, Blaze heard the rattle of bone dice being shaken and falling on the smooth rocky floor.

"Want a game?" Setting Sun asked as Blaze’s head appeared above the floor of the ledge.

Blaze shook his head as he pulled himself up onto the shelf of rock.

"I can lend you some beads," Setting Sun said. "Or I’ll trade you thirty beads for one of your arrows."

"No way!" Blaze said. Give up an arrow for beads? That would be foolish!

"Okay, we can play for fun," Setting Sun almost whispered.

He must be pretty bored, Blaze thought. No one plays dice without something at stake. It was embarrassing. Blaze did notice that Setting Sun had lowered his voice intentionally when he had asked.

"No," Blaze said.

"I thought you were my closest friend, Blaze. Just one game."

"Setting Sun, you know that I don’t like these dumb games. Why can’t you just let me be? I thought that you were my best friend?"

Setting Sun let his eyes drop, looking both sad and ashamed.

"It’s all right," Blaze said to his friend. "I do like to play dice sometimes. Just not now."

"Right. You like to play when you’re on guard duty, and you have nothing else to do."

Blaze said nothing. That actually wasn’t true. Blaze always brought plenty to do when he was on guard duty. He usually sharpened arrow heads.

"Where were you?" Setting Sun asked.

"I went running, remember?" Blaze answered, a little hurt that his friend could forget something so important. Then again, Setting Sun showed no interest at all in earning his own manhood. True, Setting Sun was one harvest younger than Blaze, but Blaze had been determined to achieve his Sinagua manhood for as long as he could remember.

"Oh, yes," Setting Sun said. "Did your spirit show itself?"

Blaze shook his head.

"Don’t worry. Maybe your spirit will come to you on our journey. I think it will." Setting Sun spoke with a certainty that was almost eerie.

"How do you know?"

"I just have a feeling. That’s all."

Blaze nodded.

"Much like the feeling that I had when I emptied your pouch of beads the last time we played dice," Setting Sun said in a teasing way, and laughed.

Blaze had tried to forget that game. It wasn’t that the beads had meant that much to him. Many people in his village treasured their beads and shells, but not Blaze. It was that he hated to lose at anything. He believed that a great Sinagua had to constantly prove himself the best at everything he did, even at foolish dice games. And Blaze prided himself on doing nearly everything better than his friend Setting Sun, everything except gamble. Setting Sun always talked about these ‘feelings’ he got when he was betting. Maybe it was the God of the Wind whispering to him, as he claimed. And so, Blaze thought, maybe my spirit really will come to me on the journey, as Setting Sun believes. Blaze tried to be hopeful, but he couldn’t completely erase the disappointment that still lingered from the empty vision following his run.

"Setting Sun, I pushed myself more than I ever have! I ran so hard blackness almost came, but no spirit. I cannot run any harder."

"Trust my feelings, Blaze. And think about the hunt."

Yes, the hunt, Blaze thought excitedly. It would be his first major hunt, his first journey to the outside world. He smiled as he nodded to his friend, and called out his ascent to the second floor of the Great Cliff.

"Blaze, it is possible that your animal spirit was not ready," the hunched-over white haired man gently suggested.

"But Grandfather, maybe I could have run a little bit harder!"

"If what you tell me is true," Lion Heart said, "then you did run your hardest. You can do no more."

"Listen to your grandfather," Blaze’s mother said as she seasoned the slate griddle with corn oil and roasted squash seeds. As the oil danced on the hot stone, she routinely said, "Great Spirit, bless this bread and the corn from which it is made."

As soon as Lightfoot finished her prayer, Bay Leaf spread a thin layer of piki bread batter on the hot griddle. Bay Leaf was Blaze’s sister, and was one harvest older than Blaze. The smell of fresh bread jumped from the hot flat stone amid the spattering oil, overpowering the normally smoky smell of the cavelike room. Blaze loved fried bread, and for a moment, he forgot his disappointing run.

"Don’t say anything to your father," Lightfoot said to Blaze.

"Why?"

"He already thinks that you’re in too much of a hurry to become a man," Bay Leaf said bossily to her brother.

"That’s not true," Lightfoot said to her daughter, and then turned to her son. "Blaze, it is only your wish to become a warrior which he discourages, and wisely so."

"But Grandfather tells so many stories about the glory of our great Sinagua warriors! Golden Eagle also talks of the same things."

"Blaze, those were in the early days, the days before all our people lived in the Great Cliff," Lightfoot said as she flipped the bread on the griddle, causing the dough to pop and sizzle. "The people of the earth are now at peace. And living in the Great Cliff, we are safe from invaders even if there is a war. Listen to me, Blaze. To survive these days, our people need to just grow food. Your father was blessed by the Spirit of the Corn, and he knows better than anyone in the village how to make it grow here. He simply wants to pass that knowledge on to you, his only living son."

As she said the word living, she bowed her head to the rear wall of the room.

"But I don’t want to grow corn and squash and beans. I want to hunt, and I want to fight!" Blaze said.

"Great Spirit, forgive him," Lightfoot said quickly, and then her eyes moved to the ground. "Blaze, you must respect your elders. That is the first law of the Great Spirit."

"Grandfather is my elder, and Grandfather thinks that I will be a great warrior," Blaze stated.

"Is that correct, Elder Father?" Lightfoot asked Lion Heart.

"I simply suggest that we need to keep an open mind on the matter," the old man solemnly stated. "For many harvests now, our people have prospered thanks to the knowledge, skill and hard work of all of our people in the fields below. The Great Spirit has blessed us with good land and the knowledge to use it wisely. Perhaps that knowledge and skill will continue to keep our people safe and strong. Or perhaps less peaceful times will come, and the need for a warrior will be of greater importance. Also, should the fields become less plentiful, as they did at the well, then we shall rely more on the arrow than on the hoe."

"With all due respect, Elder Father, Great Bear has made clear that our young must first and foremost learn from the Spirit of the Land. And Great Bear is our Chief Elder. The Sinaguas of the Great Cliff must be farmers above all else."

"That is true, my daughter," Lion Heart said to Blaze’s mother. "Still, we are people of the corn, yet we grow squash and beans as well. There are many gods, and we must be ready to please them all. We are people of the land, but must be prepared with the arrow to hunt game. And we must always be prepared to defend ourselves against invaders."

Lightfoot bowed to her father, and responded in a respectful tone. "The Chief Elder believes that only by showing complete faith in the Spirit of the Corn will our prosperity continue. The travelers have spoken of the poor harvests in the villages of the southern tribes. In recent times the Rain Spirits have not brought us many storm clouds, and even with rain, the soil sometimes seems to lose its spirit. Even our people at the well had to abandon their fields. Yet we are still more blessed than others. Great Bear has said that it is because we have stopped training our young in the art of the arrow that we have remained blessed."

"Like the seasons, spirits change," the old man spoke solemnly.

"Spirit of the Corn, forgive him," Lightfoot said with concern as she removed the bread from the griddle and spread two more sheets of batter on the hot stone surface.

Blaze was confused. He desperately wanted to continue learning the ways of the arrow. His grandfather had been secretly teaching him the skills of the warrior as well as those of the hunter. He had said that it was important that Great Bear and Dark Wolf and all the other elders not find out. But, Blaze thought, what if the Chief Elder is right? What if the Spirit of the Corn is offended? The past two seasons had brought less water down the creek than ever before. Maybe it was because Blaze and his grandfather had not put their complete trust in the Spirit of the Corn.

On the other hand, what if the Spirit of the Corn was losing power in the Great Underground? The spirits fight, as people do. And if the Spirit of the Corn and the spirits of the land lose in the struggles below, then Blaze’s people will need to hunt more and maybe even fight in order to survive.

From outside, a deep voice rang out, "Swift Deer coming up to the fourth floor!"

There was silence in the room as each member of the family stiffened, afraid that Blaze’s father might know the forbidden words that had just been spoken. They heard each step as Swift Deer moved up the ladder to the fourth floor ledge. The scraping of his yucca-fiber sandals against the ledge told all that he was up. They heard him march through the center room, where Coyote Claw and his family lived, and in moments, Swift Deer’s head appeared through the tiny doorway. Blaze’s father was a very large man, and it was with great effort that he squeezed himself through the tiny stone entrance. He sighed as he pushed himself into the room and stood there hunched, his shiny black hair grazing the ceiling of their low, dark room.

"The smell of corn on the griddle!" he boomed with a grin. "Nothing like it!"

Blaze’s father said nearly the same thing each day as he returned from the fields. And it always brought a smile to his mother’s face.

"Anasazi travelers have just arrived. From Bandelier, I believe," Swift Deer said.

"With baskets, I presume?" Lightfoot asked her husband.

"Of course. The villagers were saying that they were more beautifully decorated than ever."

Travelers! Blaze loved it when outsiders came to his village. They always brought news from the outside world as well as a wealth of interesting and uncommon items to trade. Anasazi were from the north and were known for their beautiful baskets and elaborately woven sandals. The Anasazi had many villages, with one that was bigger than ten Great Cliffs put together!

"How did you all pass the day?" Swift Deer asked.

"Blaze tried to see his animal spirit, but couldn’t," Bay Leaf blurted to her father.

"Bay Leaf!" Blaze whined to his sister.

"Maybe if Blaze showed respect to the Spirits of the Land, then his animal spirit would show itself to him," Blaze’s father said. There was a trace of anger in his voice. "He spends too much time away from the fields for a boy of fourteen harvests. He is not a child anymore, but if he acts like one, his animal spirit may never come to him."

Blaze felt a tug at his heart. What if his father was right?

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