Mintikwa and the Underwater Panther

by JR Green

  Everyone grew still. It was a divisive comment, one to draw a line in the sand. Mintikwa was surprised to hear it but then supposed that Uncle decided to be direct and bring out the question likely on everyone’s mind. More than ever before, it seemed apparent to Mintikwa that most of them wanted to go home. And they were willing to go back, even if it meant forcing war on the Soulless by invading their lands to the south, something the people had never done. Was his uncle the only one genuinely averse to fighting?

  A moment later, Uncle broke the silence. “No one has lived at Eddytown since we emerged,” he said, in a more hopeful tone. “There will be plenty to eat.”

  Some of the fishers nodded, choosing to agree with him, but was it more out of wishful thinking rather than any genuine faith that there would be food at the ancient site?

  They grew silent again.

  Mintikwa held his pear with his teeth and secured his catch.

  “Good net,” Uncle told Mintikwa, trying to lift the conversation further. Uncle was complimenting his own handiwork. He had fashioned the net with the fibers of pawpaw tree bark, just as nets were typically made. Still, he modified it to meet Mintikwa’s specifications, accounting for the peculiar way he used it to extract the mussels from the sandy river bottom. Mintikwa was very proud of his net and cherished his uncle’s creation.

  Mintikwa nodded. He carefully set the net down into the canoe and took a bite of his pear.

  “You have crafted an excellent net,” Mintikwa said proudly.

  Uncle smiled and nodded, thanking him for the compliment.

  “Good at shell harvesting,” Sandhill Crane said. “But the question is, will catfish find his way inside?”

  Mintikwa ate his pear and soon grew restless. His muscles recovered, and he felt like getting back into the water, so he stood and walked a few paces toward the river and then made his way to the other side of the sandbar.

  Mintikwa looked out across their beloved river. A week earlier, when his uncle mentioned the trip, Mintikwa jumped at the chance to explore the river to the north. If it went well, they might even make it to Eddytown, the old abandoned village, and the subject of Mintikwa’s imaginings for as long as he could remember.

  For two days now, they had been on the river, slowly making their way upstream, lingering at the best fishing spots. It was early afternoon when they reached the point that marked a boundary few had passed since the people emerged into the sixth world five generations ago. The people avoided the lands to the northeast of their village.

  Mintikwa looked upstream toward the unknown. Another couple of days, and they would reach Eddytown. The fifth-world people abandoned the ancient village long ago, and no one lived there in the sixth. The area was a place to avoid, where lingering ghosts and evil spirits were thought to dwell. No one within memory traveled to this point on the river. Instead, they hunted to the west along the river, but only to Sugar Maple Tree Creek. Their territory was small in the sixth world. The enemy of the people, the Soulless, fiercely blocked the south. But their home was overburdened at nearly a thousand people, so they must do something. As to what exactly to do, there was disagreement among the people. Some argued for braving the ghosts and going north; others were for fighting their way south. Uncle was among those who wanted to go north. He was done fighting the Soulless. He decided to try his luck with the fishers, and so he organized this scouting trip.

  As the morning passed, the fishers grew more restless, knowing that a decision was about to be made. Would they continue north toward the evermore ill-possessed ground? We’ve proven fishing is no better here, some said. But were they merely frightened? Fishers were superstitious, Mintikwa discovered. More than anyone, they held their fingers upon the pulse of the underworld, and it did seem to thrum particularly ominous as of late. Before they would even consider resettling the old town, shamans would come and cleanse the land of ghosts and spirits. No one among the fishers wished to go all the way to Eddytown this day, except for Uncle and Mintikwa.

  Mintikwa was still holding onto hope that he might see the ancient village, but then he spied the eddy swirling just a few paces into the water. It was on the other side of the sandbar, exactly where it got deep. He unconsciously took a step back.

  “Little Bird?” Uncle asked after him. His uncle must have sensed his alarm. A moment later, he was standing next to Mintikwa, following his gaze.

  One after another, the men stood, and soon they were all watching the river, waiting to see if this was some aberration, a momentary disturbance, or if it was something more meaningful, a new but permanent contour in their river put there by nature spirits as a sign. The riverbank remained hushed as the situation teetered on the brink of either possibility.

  The eddy remained.

  “This is a bad omen,” one man whispered, articulating what everyone else was thinking.

  Mintikwa stepped away from his uncle, all the while watching the eddy.

  Whirlpools were associated with Underwater Panther, a fearsome creature of the underworld. Deepwater was thought to be a passage between the worlds. On any other day, a simple prayer, an offering of tobacco would have sufficed, and the fishers would have carried on with their chores, but today was different. They were on the border of unknown territory, and this whirlpool menacingly carved a dark hole in the water.

  Mintikwa glanced at the fishers and frowned. Since childhood, he had listened to the stories, whose conjured images were indeed flashing before their eyes at present. They all had a fear of whirlpools. He had to admit; he did as well. His dread was immediate and visceral, like surprising a snake on a footpath. However, he didn’t want to let superstition get in the way of seeing the ancient site. He was eager to get underway. There was nothing to this disturbance in the water, he told himself. Mintikwa stepped from the beach and waded into the river. Before anyone knew what he was doing, he was waist-deep.

  His uncle scolded, “Get back here!”

  Mintikwa pretended he didn’t hear, took a big breath, and dove into the water. He heard one fisher gasp, but he was cut off. The stillness of the large body of water shut out all surface noise.

  Mintikwa had seen whirlpools firsthand. He had a unique perspective from summers of swimming underwater. Before his eyes, mysterious currents transformed from fearsome creatures into pure flowing water. The reflective surface denied those viewers from above the clarity necessary to see what they really were. The occasional odd current in the river wasn’t mysterious. Beautiful, yes, but not sinister. It was exquisite and divine of origin, Manitou to be respected, but not to be feared.

  Water pressed at his ears and silenced the surface noise from above. He dove deep and swam along the riverbed, and as he did, his ears acclimated to the watery world. Rapids rushed over a bed of rubble, and the river rocks shuddered, clicked, and popped.

  He began to see the outline of a disturbance in the water column. Despite his experience with similar phenomena, the motion of this whirlpool was indeed peculiar. Mintikwa’s resolve faltered. Images welled up from stories he had heard since birth about Underwater Panther. As he approached, the details grew clearer. The water whirled, drawing air from above and swirling it into tiny water bubbles. Still, he moved in.

  Figures formed before him. Mintikwa had never seen a current so substantial and constant. Most whirlpools disappeared after a few seconds. The conjured images in his head fused with what was before him, and tiny panther effigies formed among the bubbles. He concentrated on one of them, hoping reality would prevail, but the little panther only grew more vivid. The wildcat turned its head to peer at him. Lips formed to silently mouth words. Mintikwa strained to read them but could not. Again, the panther mouthed the words. He concentrated. And he finally understood.

  I have returned. Come to me.

  Mintikwa felt water rushing around him, shaking away the vision, and his understanding quickly evaporated.

  He thought, what an odd place to daydream — at the bottom of a river? What had the
tiny panther said? Comprehension left him as quickly as it had come.

  The whirlpool rose before him. He thought of the ancient village and how much he wanted to see it. He knew the false notions of the fishers had to be dispelled. Only he could do it, so he mustered his courage and propelled himself through the whirlpool. He felt the pressure of the swirling water, but his momentum broke through. Despite its persistence, it wasn’t strong enough to take him. He spun around and entered the current again. Now it was even weaker. Again he rushed through, and then he stopped and rose to the surface.

  Saul looked on helplessly. Maybe a need to avoid war was as much on Mintikwa’s mind as his own, but he also knew how desperately his nephew wanted to see the town from the fifth world. In the last war with the Soulless, the boy lost his entire paternal line, father and grandfather, and uncle. The Great-horned Owl family line was severed that day. At the time, Mintikwa was too young for his father’s family to tell the stories of their hero, the secret stories that only his elders knew. So lacking this connection to his fathers, in many ways, Mintikwa felt alone. His eagerness in seeing the old town surely must come from what the boy sensed was missing, but Saul hadn’t expected the boy would risk drowning over it.

  He knew what Mintikwa was up to. His nephew intended to use his affinity to dive into finding out what made the swirling current and convince the fishers that the whirlpool meant nothing. How far would he go to see the old town?

  The whirlpool churned steadily, but there was no sign of Mintikwa.

  He was a good swimmer, perhaps the best among the people, particularly below the water’s surface, mainly because he could hold his breath longer than anyone. He spent more time in the water than not, but this whirlpool made him nervous.

  “Mintikwa!” he shouted, his voice echoing along the banks of the river. Just a moment more, and he could no longer stand by. He waded into the water. But then, as if on cue, the boy surfaced at the center of the whirlpool. His presence disrupted the flowing water. The vortex disappeared and later reappeared again, but it was apparent that the churning was not strong enough to take him under. His nephew raised a hand toward the men gathered on the shore.

  “I’m alright,” the boy shouted. “You see? It’s nothing!”

  He waved to his nephew.

  Sandhill Crane walked over, shaking his head.

  “The boy has gone too far,” he whispered. “Tempting the Panther like this.”

  He nodded in agreement. “It is true,” he said.

  “When will the boy enter the Rite?”

  He shook his head. “Soon,” he said reluctantly.

  Crane nodded. “The sooner, the better,” he said.

  Sandhill Crane spoke of the Rite of Passage, which all boys and girls went through when they were of age. For many participants, the Rite was a proud moment of transition. It brought purpose into their lives. Saul disagreed, but he was in the minority among the people. Perhaps it wasn’t always so, but it seemed to be rigged more often than not these days. Most of the young people were coming out with war totems. Those with power argued that the predominance of war totems was just another sign that fighting the Soulless was the answer to their problems. Fate was just preparing them. The talk of fighting was a self-fulfilling prophecy. No longer was there any real connection with the manitou during the Rite. Saul preferred the sweatlodge for gleaning information from the spirits.

  Furthermore, he feared that for Mintikwa, the Rite would likely be staged, given the current political climate. The Great-horned Owl family had fallen out of favor, and Mintikwa was the last of the line. It would be easy to give the boy a war totem and send him directly south. Thus forever ending the influence of the descendants of the Great-horned Owl. He’d have to think of something to protect his nephew.

  Sandhill Crane tipped his head toward the whirlpool. “We will be going back now, you know,” Crane said. “The fishers won’t paddle even one more stroke north.”

  He sighed. “I know. So many generations have passed since the end of the last age. I had hoped the manitou and the northlands were cleansed of the trauma by now,” he said. “We are now a step closer to war.”

  “There’s a season for everything,” Crane said, and then he turned and addressed the whole group. “I think I speak for all of us. Fishing is no better here, and the whirlpool is a sign for us to turn back. We can just as easily fish on the way home as upriver.”

  Several of the fishers nodded agreement, and they all moved toward their boats.

  Despite Mintikwa’s attempts at dissuading them, the fishers held steadfast to their view that the whirlpool was a sign meant to send them home. None would pass, even with the threat of war. The group abandoned their scouting of Eddytown and began the journey back. The lack of fish did much to depress them. Everyone knew the village was too crowded, but they were wrong to take the northlands on themselves. This was work meant for a shaman if they were going to settle these lands again.

  As for Mintikwa, his disrespect of the omen soured the fishers more than his collecting of the mussels ever had. All the way home, if they weren’t pretending he didn’t exist, they were scowling at him. Swimming into the whirlpool was a bad idea, he decided. Even his uncle’s mood had darkened. His plan to scout for fish toward Eddytown had ended in disaster.

  When they arrived at their old town, they unloaded their tools and their meager catch and made their way up the muddy riverbank.

  The fishers said their goodbyes and left for their homes.

  Saul turned to Mintikwa. He smiled at his nephew.

  “We have to talk,” he said.

  Uncle Saul put a hand on each of Mintikwa’s shoulders. “Your elders are pushing for you to enter the Rite of Passage.”

  “Is this about the whirlpool?” he asked, disgusted. “It’s not what they think.”

  Saul shook his head. “No,” he said. “It’s not only the fishers. Others have also suggested it is your time.”

  “Who?”

  “The council,” his uncle said.

  “What?” Mintikwa said. “Who in the council cares about what I do?”

  “Don’t worry so much about who,” he said. “Just listen. The Rite isn’t a good idea.”

  “What choice do I have?” Mintikwa asked. It wasn’t the fishers who benefited from the ritual. The warriors were the focus of the ceremony, and although Mintikwa knew how to fight, he wasn’t so sure it was his calling. No, he wasn’t eager for the Rite, but he knew everyone went through it. There were no exceptions. Everyone among his people had a guardian totem, and the Rite was the way to get one.

  “I may have an alternative,” Uncle Saul said.

  Mintikwa was perplexed. “How?”

  “I need to consider it more. In the meantime, try not to draw attention to yourself.” Uncle looked suspiciously about and then back to him. “And don’t commit to anything.”

  “Uncle Saul,” Mintikwa said, shaking his head. “What alternative? You’re not speaking of the sweatlodge, are you? That’s no substitute for the Rite. I can’t dodge it.”

  He shook his head. “No, my nephew,” he said. “I’m not asking you to dodge anything. In many ways, what I am proposing is more dangerous.”

  “More dangerous?” Mintikwa asked. “Why would I want to do this if it’s more dangerous?”

  “Because you don’t want to be deceived,” Saul said. “And you don’t want to go to war.”

  Mintikwa wasn’t sure what to say. It was true enough. He didn’t want to go to war, but he was surprised to hear Saul say it. Though his uncle was a fisher now, he had been a fierce warrior once. How was he so sure fighting wasn’t for him?

  “Do you trust me?” Uncle asked.

  Mintikwa nodded. “Of course,” he said. Truly he did. Besides his mother, his uncle was perhaps the only one he felt he could trust completely.

  Dusk was on the verge of giving way to the night. The cicadas hushed their chanting so that the katydids could begin their trill night song. Saul l
eft his house and made his way among the people who were settling in for the evening. Stoking fires and gathering children, they waved as he passed. He was on his way to the council-house. The town council was convening for the evening. By the time he crossed the threshold at the entrance, it was well underway. He found a spot to sit and listen.

  Saul remained silent for most of the night as hunters, farmers, and gatherers spoke of what was troubling them. They spoke of dwindling food stores and lack of game or fish. A farmer and her daughter talked about their fields and depleted soil. A scout told of the conspicuous absence of the Soulless. Others related the odd behavior of animals in the surrounding forests. One, in particular, had noticed a deer, spooked and trembling as if hunted to exhaustion, but no pursuer appeared.

  Many who had gathered remained silent. The people came just to hear about the latest problems which were troubling the people.

  As the evening wore on, the silence between them grew, and Saul decided it was time to speak for his nephew, to reveal what he had in mind. He stood, cleared his throat, and then requested to speak.

  “Vision seeking in the wilds? In place of the Rite of Passage?”

  Saul nodded.

  “Why?” The councilman asked, genuinely curious. Saul could tell from his tone that he couldn’t imagine a boy or girl wanting to do this.

  “Why not,” Saul said stubbornly.

  “Because it is our custom that youth go through the Rite of Passage,” the councilman said.

  “I ask only that we again honor vision seeking in the wilds as our ancestors once did.”

  “What is your particular interest in this, Saul?” The councilman asked.

  “My nephew, Mintikwa,” he said. “It is his time to choose a totem.”

  The councilman nodded. “Yes, the diver,” he said. “The boy who fishes for mussels.”

  A soft wave of laughter passed over the council house. Saul did not see the humor in the councilman’s words. He only frowned and looked about disapprovingly.