Mintikwa and the Underwater Panther

by JR Green

  “Why set the boy apart?” The councilman asked. “Why not let him join his friends in the Rite?”

  “My nephew is a gifted boy, but he is not meant for war,” he said, highlighting his suspicion that the Rite is focused on delivering recruits for an invasion into their ancient enemy’s territory. “Though he is strong and knows how to fight, his place is on the river. He is a fisher.”

  “What does the Rite of Passage have to do with war?” the councilman asked.

  Saul chuckled, his voice betraying a bit of apprehension. “Everyone that comes out of the Rite ends up with a totem of war,” he said.

  Fox, an active participant in the Rite and a war party leader, cleared his throat and shuffled from foot to foot. Saul supposed he might speak, but he chose instead to keep silent for the time being.

  “No one has sought a vision in the wilds for five generations,” the councilman said, sidestepping the accusation. “The last to try it came back without his mind. He remained a simpleton for the rest of his days.”

  The subtle laughter filled the house again. When the observers grew still, Saul said, “Not true. There were others. In fact, the boy’s grandfather sought the spirits in the wild. And he came back whole.”

  The head of the council considered Saul contemptuously.

  Fox interjected finally, “Except that he advocated peace with the Soulless,” he said with a tone full of disapproval.

  Some nodded and agreed with Fox’s sentiment. The consensus here was a view that opposed the idea of peace with their enemy.

  “With all due respect,” Saul said. “There is nothing unreasonable or weak-minded about wanting peace.”

  The war party leader’s eyes grew wide. “Do you think the Soulless would honor peace?” He challenged. “I have seen what they are capable of. And I can tell you, they would not.”

  Saul bowed respectfully and then nodded. With no hint of pretension but with reluctance and regret, he said softly, “I have seen it too.”

  The council-house fell silent. No one dared to challenge that assertion. They knew Saul had once been among the most skilled and courageous warriors. He had lived through dozens of battles.

  “But how can we say for sure?” Saul asked. “A peace accord was never even discussed, let alone attempted.”

  He turned back to the councilman. The councilman looked as if he wished Saul would just go away. He had quickly lost interest in arguing about vision seeking and didn’t want their impromptu debate to get out of hand. After all, the evening was nearly at an end.

  “The priests tell us the manitou still suffer from the trauma of the last age,” the councilman said. “It is risky to interact with them. Are you willing to send him off in the face of such danger?”

  “The risk is not as great as they would have us believe,” Saul said. “The time has come for our youth to get acquainted with the forest manitou again. If my nephew chooses vision seeking, will the council honor his chosen totem?”

  The councilman nodded somewhat reluctantly. “If the boy wishes to risk madness, he can go. Yes, we will honor it.”

  “Will the priests?” Saul pressed.

  The councilman frowned and waved his hands. He shook his head. “I cannot speak for the priests. Mintikwa will have to announce his intent to bow out of the Rite of Passage at the opening ceremony. Let the boy ask for their blessing.”

  Saul nodded and said, “Thank you, councilman. I will let the boy know.”

  He bowed and left the council-house without another word. He felt satisfied with the result, though he had hoped Mintikwa could avoid the opening ceremony. He wished his nephew wouldn’t have to go through a public pronouncement. There was the potential for ridicule. But arguing against it was likely of no use. Saul got what he came for. He supposed it was a small price to pay to avoid a pointless death at the hands of the Soulless.

  He stepped into the fresh night air. The stars were spread liberally across the sky. Saul had a full view of them from the hill at the town center. The celestial beacons hovered just above the trees, lining the great dome above their town, and fell down toward the depths of their hunting grounds in the forests to the west. The katydids lay hidden in the treetops and were in full chorus. The peoples’ fires smoldered, mere embers now. A few had already gone to bed.

  The people really had no business invading their enemy’s homeland, Saul thought. They ought to migrate north. It was, after all, where they had come from, where they had entered this world.

  “Vision seeking?” Mintikwa asked in disbelief. “Are you sure?”

  “I think it is your best choice,” his uncle said.

  Lately, he spoke a lot about how it was time for Mintikwa to turn to the manitou. It was time for him to fashion a little more respect for the spirits, his uncle would say. But talk of connecting with the manitou generally led to the Rite. Had his stunt at the whirlpool brought this on?

  Mintikwa recalled the story of the last vision seeker, about how badly it had ended for him.

  “Didn’t the last person to go seek vision in the wilds lose his mind?” Mintikwa asked.

  Uncle Saul shook his head. “Your grandfather sought the manitou and survived.”

  Mintikwa reflected. That didn’t surprise him, though he hadn’t known. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

  “You were very young,” Uncle Saul said.

  Mintikwa nodded. “I’ve heard that before,” he said.

  “You lost so much that day.” He spoke of the battle in which Mintikwa’s entire paternal line had been killed. His eyes grew distant as he remembered. His uncle was there too. He was one of the few survivors.

  “It wasn’t only that you were too young. Your grandfather kept his visions to himself. That’s just the way he was.”

  “Did you do it?” Mintikwa asked his uncle. “Did you go into the wilds?”

  “No,” Uncle Saul said, shaking his head. “We spoke of it, your grandfather and I. And your uncle. There were a few of us who wished to bring back the old way. But after they were killed, the rest of us lost heart. I dreamed of going on a vision quest. Of finding a totem on my own terms.” He shook his head. “But it didn’t work out. I entered the Rite just like everybody else.”

  He seemed disappointed, but then his eyes lit up. “I was lucky,” he said. “I still made a real connection. Badger is a good totem for me. I think he would have found me in the wilds anyway.”

  “Badger is a warrior’s totem, right?”

  His uncle nodded. “Yes, he is. But he can also be a strong healer and a channeler of energies.”

  “Just like you,” Mintikwa said proudly. It’s what Uncle Saul did when he guided those participating in a sweatlodge ceremony.

  The manitou of the Rite were animal totems, the principal essence of the species which didn’t die. But more generally, they were the subtle presence living in the world and could be something besides an animal. They could be the essence of a place. A manitou could inhabit a field or a forest. They could whisper from the boughs or the brambles, abide in the rocks or in the roots of a giant tree. A spirit might lie quietly in the still waters of their ponds or chatter ceaselessly in the gurgling creeks and rushing rivers. They were above the earth. They were on the earth, and they were below it. In vision seeking, your totem could be any one of these. The intent of vision seeking was to connect with them.

  But there were supposed risks. Through stories told in the winter months, the elders warned young men and women to be wary of the manitou. They were cross, the old sages said. The stories described great upheaval at the end of the last age, which affected everyone, supposedly even the manitou. Mintikwa shuddered at the thought of something so catastrophic as to rattle the spirits. The truth was, Mintikwa sensed the spirits, but he was more curious than fearful. Their stories said to be wary and watch for omens. Mintikwa simply wanted to know more.

  Despite the trouble he caused upriver, his courage had only risen after swimming headlong into the whirlpool. Why did he feel
different than his elders? Was he wrong, in fact? Did he misperceive things? Or had the demeanor of the manitou really changed in the last generation or so? Perhaps they had finally regained peace. Mintikwa couldn’t say for sure, but maybe he was about to find out.

  Vision seeking belonged to the last age. Some called it Crying for a Dream, a state of mind born out of the peoples’ struggle as they fought against extinction in the former world and for survival as they emerged into this one. Seeking vision was for people needing direction. Did he need it? In one sense, no. He knew exactly how he wanted to spend his days - on the river.

  In the Rite, there were only a small number of animal spirits. You were placed under the guardianship of one, and you felt a kinship with those who shared your totem. Vision seeking was a different story. You sought out the animal totem in the wilds. And so it could be anything. Mintikwa was curious about this idea of seeking an animal spirit, but no one among the people did this anymore. What would his nature spirit be? Deer was a possible totem. Or it might be that his namesake, Owl, was his guardian animal spirit. Who am I? What do I love? These were questions of vision seekers.

  What’s more, visions were often powerful communions for the seeker. Would the manitou return to him what was torn away by the last war? Could it stand-in for his father or his grandfather and impart the secret knowledge of his Great-horned Owl ancestors?

  As for the journey, it was a terrifying prospect. To seek a vision meant fasting for many days alone in the forest. It meant pitting yourself against predators and Soulless alike. Mintikwa knew he couldn’t go on delaying it. It was going to be one of two choices, either subject himself to the whims of those behind the Rite or face the latent dangers in the surrounding forests.

  He thought of the ancient village to the north. His imagination ran wild about the old town, one of his favorite things to do with so much talk among his mother’s clan about the potential split and resettlement.

  Suddenly, he had a thought. Why not let vision seeking take him there, to seek his totem among the forests surrounding the ancient town? It was a delightful idea that filled him with enthusiasm the moment it crossed his mind.

  Trouble was, it was a long way upstream. Not an easy task to be on the river for so long. And this time, he would be alone. Had his uncle thought of this? He did want to go north. But perhaps he hadn’t considered it for Mintikwa’s vision seeking. No, he couldn’t imagine Uncle Saul suggesting that he go all the way there alone.

  If he did go north toward the old town, at least the journey home would be downstream. He imagined napping all the way back.

  What about the ghosts? He thought to himself.

  Well, he was seeking spirits after all. That was the point. Perhaps this vision quest was just the thing.

  His elders discouraged going out into the woods alone. In the company of others, he would likely never get to explore just for the sake of exploring. While vision seeking, there would be no one to dissuade him. Mintikwa decided he would go, but he also decided he would need to keep the particulars of his plan to himself.

  “What do you say?” Uncle Saul asked.

  Mintikwa nodded.

  “Will you do it?”

  “Yes,” Mintikwa said. “I will.”

  His uncle clapped his hands. “Wonderful,” he said.

  “What do I have to do?” Mintikwa asked. “Must I go before the council?”

  His uncle shook his head. “I’ve already been to the council about this matter,” he said.

  Mintikwa felt relieved that his uncle did this for him. “What did they say?” he asked.

  “They won’t stop you.”

  “That’s great.” Mintikwa began to wonder when he would leave. He suspected that his uncle would first have him go through the sweat lodge for purification.

  Mintikwa asked, “What next?”

  “You will still have to go to the Rite,” Uncle Saul said.

  “What?” Mintikwa asked, surprised. “But why?”

  “Just for the opening ceremony,” his uncle said. “You’ll have to announce that you’re seeking your animal spirit in the wilds instead of through the Rite. Hopefully, the priests will accept this as the council did.”

  “In front of everyone?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so,” Uncle Saul said.

  A group of boys, some older and some younger than Mintikwa, turned to him as he entered the fields of the Rite. They were from other clans. He didn’t know them very well.

  “What are you doing here?” one boy asked.

  “Today is the Rite of Passage,” Mintikwa said, surprised at the question.

  They looked at one another and smiled.

  The boy said, “Yes, we know.”

  Another said, “We thought you weren’t going through the Rite.”

  Word traveled fast. Surely his uncle would not have spoken to anyone. Mintikwa thought of the council. Had they spread the word? They must have.

  Mintikwa turned to face the totem hopefuls. “I’m here, aren’t I?” he said.

  “He’s here to tell them he won’t accept the divination of his animal spirit,” the first boy said.

  “Why?”

  “Because he has to.”

  Mintikwa shook his head, then he turned aside and ignored them. He didn’t care what these boys thought, but then he wondered about Willow. What brought her to mind, he didn’t know. Perhaps because she recently went through this ritual. Mintikwa had been an onlooker that day. She was a warrior, so it meant a lot to her to go through the Rite. She had won several games for her team. And when it came time for the divination, the priest saw Badger as her totem, just like his uncle, the sign of a fierce warrior. She wasn’t here today, likely patrolling the forests, training, and preparing for war. But Mintikwa wondered what Willow would think of him when she found out that he shirked out of the Rite?

  Mintikwa looked around the field. He saw Uncle Saul among the onlookers. His mother was there too. Mintikwa believed his uncle about what was going on with the Rite, but most people thought he was crazy. And most would think Mintikwa was avoiding responsibility.

  The councilman raised his hands. He served as master of ceremonies for the Rite today. He circled slowly, gaining the attention of all those present.

  “It is time to begin,” he shouted. “Will the totem hopefuls come forward, please?”

  Yes, now was the time. Uncle Saul and his mother trained their eyes on him. They were expecting him to announce his vision seeking, put the question before the council, and thus ask for the blessing of the people.

  The boys and girls converged on the master. Facing the councilman, each of them promised acceptance of whatever animal spirit revealed itself to them today.

  If the boys knew what Mintikwa and his uncle planned, then undoubtedly many of those present knew as well. The crowd seemed large today. The spectators were likely anxious to hear his words. Were they here just to ogle him? Would they sneer? Would they laugh? Would they think less of him? What would the onlookers decide?

  The boys who had questioned him were each making their promises now. One by one, they accepted, were momentarily dismissed, and ran onto the field to join their friends.

  The master, knowing each of them, called their names as they appeared before him.

  Mintikwa was next.

  The councilman looked curious. He probably wondered what he was waiting on; perhaps he was already expecting Mintikwa to announce that he was eluding the Rite.

  Mintikwa squared off in front of him.

  “Mintikwa,” he announced. “Will you accept your animal spirit today?”

  Here it was, the moment when he would show everyone what he thought of this Rite and how brave he was to seek vision in the wilds. Prove to those boys that he had more courage than they. And prove to Willow that he was special. He looked up at the master, who likely was expecting his defiant pronouncement.

  Instead, Mintikwa nodded his acceptance, bowed to the councilman, and then passed by. He e
ntered the field. All eyes were trained upon him, he knew. He could feel his face turning red.

  As he approached the other hopefuls, they turned and eyed him with smiles.

  “You decided to stay?” one asked.

  Mintikwa nodded timidly, not sure what to expect.

  “You play handball, right?”

  Handball was one of his favorite games and pastimes when he wasn’t on the river. “I do,” Mintikwa told the boy.

  “Well, come on then,” he said. “You can be on our team.”

  Mintikwa joined them, relieved that he was being included, despite his original intent to bow out. He glanced at his mother and uncle. They both waved at him. He waved back.

  “Do you have corn?” the boy asked Mintikwa.

  Mintikwa shook his head. He didn’t know what he meant.

  “Here,” the boy said, reaching into his pocket and producing a handful of corn kernels. “You’ll need this for later.” He gave Mintikwa about half of his kernels. Mintikwa took them and put them in his pocket, remembering now why they were needed, to help the priest divine what totem was his. He wondered if taking someone else’s corn affected the results.

  “But they’re yours,” he told his new friend.

  “Doesn’t matter,” the boy said.

  “It doesn’t?”

  “Not if they’re in your pocket all afternoon. Besides, they’re a gift. It’s a good omen.”

  “Right.” Mintikwa nodded. “Thank you,” he said.

  They played handball for the rest of the day. It was like most other days when his friends would meet in the fields to play games, except for the presence of the council and the priests and so many onlookers. Mintikwa felt like he was being judged. But once they got to playing and laughing, he nearly forgot about them.

  The day was nearly done. It wasn’t so bad, after all. Mintikwa had proved himself in the games on the field. He had scored points for his team.

  The master of the Rite and a priest stood at the place where the field met the hillside. They were all tucked just under the canopy. The master was there to oversee the divination ritual. The priest did the reading that would determine their animal spirits. Bedrock protruded from the hillside, and several mortars lay in the exposed stone. Used for grinding corn and nuts, they were ancient. The people of the last age ground their corn here. Now, these smooth depressions in the rock were considered sacred and were only used for the Rite. An apprentice to the priest knelt before one of the mortars. He held a pestle like a walking stick. Each of the youth brought a handful of corn from home, which had jostled around in their pockets all day. When it was their turn, they handed their corn to the apprentice. He took it, lay it in the mortar, and ground it with his pestle, humming and singing a sacred song as he did. When it was ground, he fished it out of the mortar, cupped the meal in his hand, and gave it to the priest. The priest eyed the dry meal. Then he knelt and spread it over the stone. Reaching for a waterskin, he poured it over the cornmeal on the stone. The water trickled out, caught in the miniature flow, and coagulated to form strange shapes that only the priest could read. Supposedly, the events of the day on the field influenced what the priest saw. The priest examined the dampened cornmeal and its shapes to divine their totem animal. This is what Uncle Saul claimed was a farce.