People of the Silence by Kathleen O'Neal & Gear Gear Page A

dangling over the edge of the roof as they shared a pipe of sacred tobacco. Each puff of smoke that rose into the frosty air emulated the creation of clouds … of life itself.
    They smoked for him, for his life. Silently, desperately, he prayed to the Great Warriors, asking that they help him find the First Underworld.
    When he reached the middle of the snowy plaza, the Dancers split and veered around him. Linking arms, they formed two concentric circles with Buckthorn at the center. The circles of Dancers moved in opposite directions, kicking out their legs and trilling in voices as sweet as a mating piñon jay’s.
    Flute music rose from the kiva, akin to the fear and joy that filled Buckthorn. The melody twined across the village like a beautiful solitary vine, twisting through the air. The booms of a pot drum grew stronger, keeping time with the flute.
    The Dance circles broke apart and veered outward, then reformed into one large circle around Buckthorn. With a ululating cry that prickled his scalp, they took off running for the kiva, forcing Buckthorn to run with them.
    As they neared the kiva, the Bear Thlatsina climbed the ladder and stood beside Buckthorn’s mother. A helmet of bear fur covered his head and draped down over his back and shoulders. Three black dots, for eyes and mouth, painted his white buckskin mask. Naked to the waist, the thlatsina had two blue lines running down his right breast and two yellow lines down his left. His forearms were painted blue, his hands white. Around his waist, he wore a plain white cotton kirtle, secured with a red sash. The frayed ends of his sash whipped in the icy wind.
    The Bear Thlatsina lifted a white hand and dismissed Buckthorn’s mother. He watched her walk through the middle of the plaza, smiling at the people on the roofs. She entered their home and vanished.
    The protective circle of Dancers which had carried him this far split and retreated, leaving Buckthorn alone before the kiva. The sweet notes of the flute brought tears to Buckthorn’s eyes.
    Buckthorn’s gaze riveted on the Bear Thlatsina. He had to stand by himself now. Either worthy … or not.
    His knees shook.
    The Bear Thlatsina took four steps toward Buckthorn, extended his left fist, and opened it to reveal a small sack covered with glimmering turquoise beads. The thlatsina opened the sack and sprinkled corn pollen to the four directions. He lifted it to Brother Sky, where his gaze lingered a long moment on the building clouds, then reverently touched the bag to Our Mother Earth.
    Without a word, he lifted the empty bag over his head.
    Two women, attired in white doeskin dresses, climbed from the kiva and shuffled through the snow in white boots, their cheeks painted with black spots. They passed very close to Buckthorn—but sacrosanct, untouchable. Two long eagle feathers adorned their freshly washed hair. The Deer Mothers circled Buckthorn four times, Dancing, moving through the dazzling white sunlight, supernatural beings that had just stepped from the haze of myth and legend.
    The other masked Dancers drew back with strange haunting mutters, withdrawing from the divine Deer Mothers. Some hunched in terror. Others bleated like animals about to be slaughtered. The people on the roofs placed hands over their mouths, keeping silent.
    The Deer Mothers took up their places at Buckthorn’s sides.
    He clenched his fists and forced a swallow down his tight throat.
    The Bear Thlatsina held out a pollen-covered hand.
    Buckthorn walked forward and bravely put his fingers in the thlatsina’s palm. Gazing up into that bizarre half-human, half-animal face, he nearly buckled at the knees.
    The sky god led him to the ladder jutting from the kiva’s packed roof and went down first, descending into the belly of the underworlds to announce Buckthorn’s coming.
    Buckthorn stood at the yawning mouth and peered into the firelit darkness below. The blessing scent of cedar wafted up through the opening. Juniper