Mintikwa and the Underwater Panther

by JR Green

  “But then Yawning Bear realized why Soulless didn’t kill him.”

  “How?”

  “Just a feeling. And he recalled the look in his eyes.”

  “Why didn’t the Dark One kill him?” Mintikwa asked.

  Cattail leaned in. “Because something bigger is on its way,” he said.

  Mintikwa shook his head. “I don’t understand,” he said.

  New Leaf snorted her contempt for Cattail telling the story to Mintikwa.

  “You’re doing this just to frighten him!” she scolded. And then she stood up and left.

  Cattail watched her stomp away. He chuckled. “I think she is the one who is frightened.” He considered her for a moment more, then turned back to Mintikwa.

  “I’ll explain about what I mean by something bigger on its way,” Cattail said. “Imagine you were being hunted by Cougar.”

  Mintikwa nodded.

  “That’s trouble enough,” Cattail said. “But then, let’s say a thunderstorm sweeps in.

  “Like the violent ones we get in the summer?” Mintikwa asked, helping out with the story.

  “Exactly,” Cattail said. “The biggest you’ve ever seen. When it sweeps in, suddenly Cougar is much less concerned with you than he is with the fire lighting the sky. The whole thing turns from hunter and prey to something more. That is, you both are running for your life.”

  It was a strange thought that a person and one of the Soulless would be running together. Cattail was an unusual man with atypical ideas. Mintikwa supposed that Uncle Saul was beginning to keep company with folks who held views like his own.

  They sat together under the tree as the burning orb touched the treetops, and the summer light dimmed. Nearer to the horizon, the sun fell faster toward the surface of the earth. Once there, it would begin its nightly journey to the core. Their world was mostly a mystery. Though dusk was closing in on them, they continued talking about what they did know.

  For reasons beyond the people, the last world came to an end, but the people were spared. The stories said they were chosen in some sense, but those particulars were vague. The Soulless were not of the prior world. They did not exist there with the people. When the people passed through the threshold into the sixth world, as the story went, the Soulless took advantage of the opening and forced their way through. No one knew exactly where they came from. They walked as the people did, on two legs. They made weapons, or at least used them, as the people did. They lived in groups and had babies, but that’s where the similarities ceased. They were deathly pale in appearance but dark in character. The Soulless had eyes that were the deepest black. Strangely, their features bordered on gaunt, though beneath their skin stretched powerful muscles. This pale appearance and their character were the inspiration for their name. They were rumored to live in caves, but no one knew for sure. One story held that they worshipped Great-horned Serpent, a denizen of the underworld.

  They were evil creatures, bent on the destruction of the people. The Soulless were fierce fighters. In one-on-one combat, only the most experienced and strongest warriors were a match for them. They lived to the south in such numbers that the people dared not hunt or gather there. In past generations, encounters occurred daily. War was ongoing. The burden of being prepared for battle at a moment’s notice was handed down from parent to child.

  One day the constant pressure from the south, which had gone on for generations, abruptly ceased. The people began to see fewer of the Soulless within the borders of their lands. For the past few seasons, the people rarely saw them. No one knew exactly why. Warring for so many years, the people had learned to always keep an eye out for the dark ones.

  They were the only people in the sixth world, but they did have knowledge of other tribes. Their stories told them that once there were many different peoples. But all that ended at the end of the fifth world. They were alone, except for the Soulless. Sometimes in contemplations and philosophical discussions within the council, this topic would rise. Were they human? Many considered the Soulless existing somehow at the same time between this world and the underworld, though none could prove it. There were accounts of incredible feats of the Soulless, witnessed by warriors in the heat of battle.

  There was a problem with Mintikwa’s plan. He had no idea where the old village was. Before, he was relying on the fishers to lead him there. Without them, he might just miss it and paddle right by the site.

  “How is it that we know about the fifth world?” he asked his uncle. “I mean, how do we know where the villages were since no one has been there since long ago?”

  “I learned from my father,” Uncle Saul said.

  “How did he learn?”

  “From our ancestors,” his uncle said.

  “And how did they know?”

  Uncle Saul chuckled, realizing that this could go on forever. “We have maps,” he said.

  “Maps,” Mintikwa repeated, not understanding.

  Uncle Saul nodded.

  “What are maps?” Mintikwa asked.

  “Remember how we draw in the earth sometimes when we talk about where we’re going in the river or across the land?”

  Mintikwa remembered many times crouching down to gather around someone and watching as they scratched at the ground and told of where a place was. It helped to see where they were going on the river or over land. Mintikwa nodded.

  “Maps are like those markings, but they are made on skins,” he said. “Jumping Frog is the keeper of the maps. He is very good at reading them.”

  Uncle Saul considered Mintikwa. He seemed to be contemplating something. Mintikwa hoped he hadn’t guessed his plans.

  His uncle continued staring at him.

  Mintikwa was sure he had guessed. “What’s wrong?” he asked finally.

  “It would be good for you to see them,” Uncle Saul said, patting him on the shoulder. “Since you will be so far into the woods alone for the first time.”

  Relief washed over Mintikwa. Apparently, his uncle hadn’t guessed his plans. Mintikwa nodded. “I’d like that,” he said.

  “I’ll speak to Jumping Frog. To arrange for you to see the maps,” his uncle said.

  Mintikwa arrived at the sweat lodge before anyone else. He sat in the dirt just on the other side of the fire pit and waited for the others. Finally, Cattail arrived.

  “Where is New Leaf?” Mintikwa asked.

  “On her way,” Cattail said. “Help me gather the firewood?”

  “Yes,” Mintikwa said.

  “We’ll set them next to the fire pit,” Cattail said.

  He pulled a couple of branches out of the bundle of firewood to use as kindling. He broke them into smaller pieces and was about to toss one on the fire when Cattail held up his hands.

  “No,” he said. “That is for the firekeeper.”

  “It’s a sacred task. We’ll wait for him. He will arrange the pieces.”

  Mintikwa apologized.

  “It’s okay. You didn’t know. Just set them next to the fire pit.”

  Later, Uncle Saul came up the hill with a stranger. Mintikwa hoped he was the map-keeper.

  “This is Jumping Frog,” Mintikwa’s uncle said.

  In his hands were two bundles wrapped in protective fur.

  “He is map-keeper,” Uncle Saul said. “Shall we take a look at your maps?”

  Frog nodded.

  They sat together on the ground. Sunlight streamed from the east into the clearing.

  The firekeeper arrived and greeted everyone. He thanks Cattail and Mintikwa for helping gather the wood.

  As Jumping Frog prepared to show the maps, the fire keeper began to sing. Mintikwa recognized it as a sacred song, one to clear a space of negative energies.

  Jumping Frog sat one bundle down. Carefully, he opened the other one. They leaned in. Inside was an old tanned deerskin.

  “These were brought from the fifth world,” he said.

  Mintikwa’s scalp tingled. He imagined the hands which touched these sk
ins, hands belonging to people born of another world; perhaps even Great-horned Owl himself had touched them.

  Delicate etchings marked the old skin; some stretched all the way across the hide, while others were short. Some came together, and others went apart in different directions.

  “This map,” he said, indicating the one he held in his hands, “shows the lands to the north. As you may know, this is territory that no one among us has seen for many generations.”

  His hand passed over the skin. He pointed at a spot toward the bottom. “Imagine we are here,” he said, “This is the river.” His hand swept over the etching of their beloved river toward the top of the skin. “This way is upstream,” he said. Mintikwa began to understand. Each of the lines was rivers or creeks, and where they came together were confluences, and where they stretched apart ended in headwaters.

  “Here is our town,” he said, pointing to the bottom again. “Away this way goes the Vermillion River.” His hand traced upstream to the northwest from the people’s river.

  His hand swept from side to side above their village. “As you know, our people never go north beyond this line.”

  “Listen close, nephew,” Uncle Saul told Mintikwa as if reading his mind.

  He eyed Mintikwa and then his uncle, then he went back to the map.

  So far, there was no mention of the old village. How would he approach the question?

  “This one,” he said, tapping the skin. “Sugar Maple Tree Creek. You see where it joins the river?” He was asking Mintikwa.

  Mintikwa broke off his contemplations. He nodded. “I see,” he said.

  “To go farther south is to risk running into Soulless,” the map-keeper warned.

  Mintikwa reeled, waiting for some mention of Eddytown. He didn’t want to ask outright for fear that someone would catch on to his intention of visiting the ancient site alone. He scanned the map with zeal, looking for any mark that might show its location relative to the dozens of confluences and headwaters represented. Nothing stood out.

  Mintikwa thought sure that he would close the map at any moment.

  Now the fire keeper had ceased his singing and was peering over his shoulder.

  “Where is the village of the fifth world?” the fire keeper asked. Mintikwa almost jumped for joy.

  The map-keeper looked up from his map. He blinked markedly and then settled his eyes again on the skin.

  Everyone else sat quietly.

  Mintikwa dared not look up.

  The mapkeeper’s brow furrowed. He puzzled over the skin for so long that Mintikwa began to doubt whether he knew.

  “Ah,” he said finally, tapping the map. “Here is Eddytown.”

  Mintikwa leaned in, trying his best to be subtle about it. As quickly as he could, starting from his own village, he began to count all the confluences on his way north until he reached the spot where his finger rested.

  “There is a small creek just to the east, which empties into the people’s river,” he said. “That is where our Eddytown brothers lived.”

  Mintikwa stared at the map. He did not lift his eyes for anything. The impression of the lines representing the river and the creek just to the east bore into his mind. He counted seven confluences between his town and the ancient village, including the stream to the east of Eddytown. He did not want to forget.

  The map-keeper made to leave. Uncle Saul and Mintikwa thanked him for sharing the maps. He wished Mintikwa luck on his vision seeking. Leaves arrived, and they all crawled into the lodge to begin the ceremony.

  Toward the end of the day, the lodge fellows grew weary. They were content but sleepy. They sat together in silence, listening to the fire hiss, watching the steam rise. Mintikwa struggled to keep his eyes open, and his belly rumbled with hunger. His thoughts turned to the last day on the river. He thought of the whirlpool. For the first time since that day, he recalled imagining the bubble panthers swirling in the water column. He forgot that one had spoken to him. What had it said? Something about sleeping. In his dreariness, he dozed and day-dreamt. He was back underwater beside the whirlpool. The panthers appeared. Mintikwa remembered. One turned to him and mouthed the words - I have returned. Come to me.

  The group of lodge fellows sat together. They had finished another round and were outside cooling off in the open air under the shade of a hickory tree.

  “Look there,” Spinning Stick said, pointing down the hill.

  A priest appeared at the bottom of the hill. A warrior accompanied him.

  “What could they want?” Cattail asked.

  “I have no idea,” Uncle Saul said. “Putting his nose where it doesn’t belong, I imagine.”

  When the priest and his warrior reached the top of the hill and the shade tree, the lodge fellows stood and greeted them cordially.

  “What can we do for you?” Uncle Saul asked.

  “Word has spread that there is a purification ceremony today,” the priest said. “I’m only here in case you need my services.”

  The group was silent. Not one person spoke up. The moment was awkward. Mintikwa looked about at his elders. He got the sense that no one here liked this man. Just before the awkwardness threatened to turn into disrespect for the priest, Uncle Saul spoke.

  “We appreciate the offer, but we have everything covered,” he said.

  The priest frowned.

  “Are you sure?” he asked, meeting the eyes of everyone in turn. “Without proper guidance, some spirits can prove dangerous, especially if you find an ill-tempered manitou.”

  Mintikwa could sense his uncle bristling. He began to fear that there might be a confrontation.

  “We trust our shaman completely,” Spinning Stick said, patting Uncle Saul’s shoulder.

  Everyone present nodded their agreement.

  “Very well,” the priest said. “Good luck then.” He moved to depart but then paused. The priest looked directly at Mintikwa. The gaze sent chills down his spine.

  “One more thing. A question, if you don’t mind. Why is the boy here? Isn’t he too young to need cleansing?”

  “He is my nephew. I’m teaching him about the ceremony.”

  The priest considered Mintikwa. His gaze did not waver. “Just be careful that you do not linger long in dangerous territory.”

  The priest turned and walked down the hill. His warrior escort followed.

  Did the priest somehow know of his plans to go to Eddytown? He wasn’t sure why a priest would even care, but with his words and the look he gave Mintikwa just before he left, it was too apparent not to ponder. Did the priest have spies in the woods?

  When Mintikwa and his uncle were alone, Mintikwa spoke up. He was curious about the visitors and Uncle Saul’s discomfort with their presence at the sweat lodge ceremony.

  “The priest made me uncomfortable,” Mintikwa admitted. “I sense he did you too.”

  “He’s a charlatan,” Uncle Saul said flatly.

  “A what?” Mintikwa asked.

  “He tells others that manitou can only communicate through him.”

  Such a strange notion, Mintikwa thought.

  “Do people actually believe him?”

  “Yes,” his uncle said. “Many do believe him.”

  “The manitou do not discriminate,” Mintikwa said.

  Uncle Saul smiled. He stood and squeezed his nephew’s shoulders. “That’s exactly right!” he said. “And never let anyone convince you otherwise.”

  But then it occurred to Mintikwa that his uncle was like the priest in that he directed them in the ceremony.

  “But you lead us through the sweat lodge ceremony,” Mintikwa said.

  “Yes. True.”

  “What is the difference?” Mintikwa asked.

  “I am only there to assist you through the process—nothing about what I do or say dictates to you what to see. Your vision is your own. I provide the space in which it occurs. Whether it is right for Fox, or Beaver, or Bear, Otter, Maple Tree, or Sandstone to speak to you, I cannot say.
That is your power.”

  “And how would the priest conduct the ceremony?”

  Uncle Saul held up his hand and then closed it so that a single finger pointed to the sky.

  “He would choose for you,” Uncle Saul said. “And it would be the same every time. That is the way of the Rite of Passage.”

  “It hasn’t always been so, but lately, the priests and the Meteor Man-being society steer toward troubling waters. They have origins in the fifth world. I’ve always steered clear of them myself, though I do believe their beginnings were of a pure heart. It’s just that recent happenings suggest that they are occupied with matters other than those which align with the heart.”

  “It is time to go home,” Uncle Saul said. “I’ll leave you with your thoughts now. Have a restful evening.”

  “Thank you,” Mintikwa said.

  Mintikwa considered his uncle’s words. It did seem odd that the priest would believe that there was only one way to the spirits, and stranger still, he would have him believe it too. The Meteor Man-being society was yet another nexus of power that was a mystery to him. They were part of the council, a black hole as far as Mintikwa was concerned, besides their organizing the Rite of Passage. Mintikwa had no idea of their history, but he knew for sure that he didn’t like the way the priest looked at him. Mintikwa agreed with Uncle Saul, and if he ever made it to the council, he would definitely be wary of them.

  The following day Uncle Saul declared that it was time for Mintikwa to leave for the woods. The group gathered by the river next to his canoe.

  “Travel a day or so upriver,” his uncle recommended. “No need to push beyond your limits.”

  Everyone knew Mintikwa would be paddling upstream. Most hunters and fishers did the same, though they could choose either the Vermillion or the people’s river. Traveling downstream was nothing short of suicidal as the Soulless grew more numerous the farther south one went.

  Mintikwa thought of the Dark One his lodge fellow had mentioned.

  “Uncle Saul,” Mintikwa said. “What about the Soulless?”