The old priest considered the cast-iron oil pot sitting in the corner of the immaculate kitchen. It was heavy, and his back hurt. The trees growing on the canyon walls whispered to him. "Prepare the test."  Closing his eyes and concentrating, he let his heart flow on the gentle breeze until it found the group tramping through the canyon, their voices high and their footsteps heavy. He counted the footsteps. They were still a ways off, but the canyon greenery passed on the patter of thirteen—no—fourteen pilgrims. A large group, unexpected for so late in the season. It was that fourteenth set of