by JR Green
He shook his head. “They are always a threat,” he said. “I have taught you the tricks to avoid them. Keep my lessons close to your heart.”
“I have something for you,” Uncle Saul said. He pulled a knife from his belt and presented it to Mintikwa.
For as long as he could remember, his uncle had worn it, using it as a weapon and a tool. It was made from the bone of a deer, taken by his grandfather, on his mother’s side, as the story went, long ago.
“Your knife?” Mintikwa asked, disbelieving.
Uncle Saul nodded. “It is yours,” he said.
Mintikwa accepted the knife, bowing slightly out of respect. He tried to keep a respectful attitude but failed, unable to resist the excitement welling up in his heart. He grinned profusely.
“Thank you, Uncle Saul,” he said.
“You’ve listened to my instruction for the past few days. Find a place that appeals to you,” his uncle said. “One that draws you in. Beach your canoe and enter the woods. The deeper you go, the greater your vision. How far you go is up to you and your power.”
Mintikwa could only nod. He did not mention his plan to break tradition by not going into the woods. He would go see Eddytown, but no one could know.
As he started out, he thought of the ancient village. He thought of the supposed ghosts, but two days of fasting, sweating, and praying gave Mintikwa a sense of spiritual strength and purity. He felt ready. Mintikwa felt confident he could risk it and head for Eddytown. However, his vision seeking ended; it would be somewhere away from his home. If he didn’t make it all the way, so be it. He would at least attempt the journey. Mintikwa smiled as he began to paddle. Perhaps, after all, he would get to see the old town from another age.
CHAPTER THREE
“MINTIKWA LEFT FOR vision seeking this morning.”
“Who?” Willow asked.
Mother shot her daughter a disapproving look. “Red Willow,” she said. “You remember Mintikwa.”
A flood of memories washed over her, which had been tucked away for too long, of splashing by the river and running through the fields. She felt a twinge of guilt and a little surprise. She had not heard his name for quite some time. His presence in her life had diminished, but the sound of his name sent a barrage of latent memories and feelings rushing to her.
“Willow? Did you forget your old friend?”
She stirred from her contemplations. “Of course not, mother,” she said. “It’s just that I haven’t spoken to Mintikwa for many seasons.”
“Yes, I know,” her mother said. “It saddens me. Once upon a time, you two were inseparable.”
As a little girl, she liked to play by the boats near the river, where she usually found Mintikwa. From day one, he had fascinated her. She knew of no one else who swam the way he did. Even when they were tiny, Mintikwa could disappear beneath the surface of the river. The water grew smooth until it perfectly reflected the sky. Long moments would pass before he would pop up again.
Her fondness for him grew as she entered her teenage years. She knew it was a crush. She had kept that to herself, but her father had sensed their affection. In any case, boys made him bristle, but a member of the Great-horned Owl family showing affection for his daughter sent him over the edge. And so he had snuffed it out.
“Father doesn’t like Mintikwa,” Willow said. “He’s the one who told me to stop going to the river.”
“It wasn’t Mintikwa. It was—,”
“I know what it was, Mother,” Willow said.
She knew but supposed none of that mattered anyway. Times change. She was grown up now. For the last few seasons, she had been busy preparing for her role as a warrior. And Mintikwa had gone his own way. It had been a long time since they played together down by the beached canoes.
“We went our separate ways,” Willow said. “Did you say vision seeking? In the wilds?”
Mother nodded.
“He’s not going through the Rite?” Willow asked.
“He did go through the Rite.”
“Then why is he vision seeking?”
“He rejected the totem,” she said.
“He did what?” Willow asked. Rejecting a totem revealed during the Rite was unheard of. “I didn’t know you could even do that.”
“His uncle originally requested that Mintikwa seek a vision in the wilds rather than participate in the Rite. Mintikwa was granted this, but then at the last minute, he chose to go through the Rite anyway.”
“So he didn’t like what totem he was given?” Willow said. “What totem?”
“Beaver,” her mother said.
“Beaver?” Willow said. “That is very unusual. Most totems these days are warrior totems. But a river creature suits him, don’t you think? I wonder why he rejected it?”
“I think he expected a warrior’s totem,” her mother said. “He and his uncle thought it was rigged. They took it as an insult.”
Willow shook her head, smiling. “This is what happens when I go away scouting,” she said jokingly. “Where did his vision seeking take him?”
“North,” her mother said. “On the river. In a canoe.”
Willow nodded. On the river, she thought. Of course. “That makes sense, but no one has sought a vision for so long. It’s so dangerous.”
“I know,” Mother said, shaking her head. “In my mind, I still see him as a little boy. Mintikwa had it rough. He and his mother were left alone since his father and grandfather—”
Mintikwa’s grandfather… likely the single reason that her father disliked Mintikwa. It wasn’t exactly their fondness for each other that angered him so much. It was Willow associating with someone of the Great-horned Owl family. Mintikwa’s grandfather had done the unthinkable, calling for peace between the People and the Soulless. This was an absurd, even blasphemous suggestion in her father’s eyes, given the generations of bloodshed that existed between them. Not to mention the fact that the Soulless were evil to their core.
The evening was closing in fast. Red Willow ate in the longhouse with the families of her mother’s clan, but she was restless. Her father had left abruptly to meet with the council. And her mother had a worried look about her.
“Why did father leave?”
“He has a proposal for the council. They want to go south,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m afraid we’re moving closer to war with the Soulless.”
Her mother reached for her daughter. She touched her cheek and then tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.
“Perhaps you should stay close by,” her mother suggested.
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mother. You know my place is out there.”
Willow hugged her and said goodnight and then walked from the house, though, unlike her father, it wasn’t the council she intended to visit tonight. Willow’s mentor was expecting her for night training in the forest. Sharp Knife was a few seasons older than Willow. In contrast to the younger warriors, who hadn’t seen a real fight, besides scuffles among themselves, Sharp Knife had much to offer her as a mentor. But Willow suspected there was more to their sanctioned time together. She had spent the last week with him, scouting for Soulless along their southern border. Her family was hinting at a potential bond between them. True, he would bring much to a union of their two families, but Willow did not feel the way she thought she should about him as a life partner. He was an excellent warrior and a good person in general, but at times he was also arrogant, forceful, and even self-absorbed. She knew she could handle him, but as a lifelong partner? She wasn’t so sure.
Willow arrived at the edge of the forest. No one appeared. She waited as the sun teased the earth, hanging just above the horizon. She sighed and turned toward the village to watch as her people settled in for the night.
Cooking fires lingered. A smoky haze hovered above the town, thick and fragrant, a comforting sight in itself, but Willow knew about the food stores and how quickly they were emptying because of poor harvests and disappearing game.
&
nbsp; Suddenly she felt arms wrap around her from behind and squeeze her. Their grip tightened. Abruptly she shifted her legs and let the earth take her, a motion which freed her. And her weapon. She whirled about, her outstretched arm in a wide arc with a blade of bone at its end. She sliced at her attacker, but her weapon met only air. Then she realized who it was.
Sharp Knife stood a few paces away, crouching and smiling. He had rolled away as soon as she drew her weapon. This was one of his lessons, though Willow suspected it may have just been an excuse to touch her.
“Why did you do that?” she said, her voice sharp with anger.
“Aren’t I to teach you how to fight this evening?” he asked.
“Tonight, you are to teach me the difference between the sounds of the forest and those of our enemy, not how you can sneak up on me.”
“True. Your point is well taken,” he said, nodding and smiling. “But you should always be ready for the unexpected. By the way, your counter was excellent. If I had been anybody else, Soulless or otherwise, I would have been cleaved in two.”
Willow shook her head.
Sharp Knife stood and walked to her.
“Did you hear?” he asked. “Soulless were spotted again.”
“Where?”
“Upstream,” he said.
“The people’s river?”
“Yes,” Sharp Knife said.
Willow immediately thought of Mintikwa and his vision seeking.
“How do you know this?” she asked.
“The scout passed right through here just before sunset,” he said. “In fact, he was on his way to your father’s council house to tell of it.”
Willow turned and started down the hill.
“Where are you going?” he asked in astonishment.
“To my father’s council house,” she shouted.
“Willow!”
She paused for a moment. “I am sorry. I have to go.” Then she continued back down the hill.
“The Dark One was sighted far upstream,” he pleaded. “Nowhere near us.”
“I’m not concerned about us,” Willow said, continuing downhill.
Willow’s father, Raging Buffalo, held council with his war party leaders. They were preparing for a scouting trip but needed the council's blessing since they would cross their border, Sugar Maple Tree Creek, and head deep into Soulless lands. They intended to discover why the Dark Ones had ceased their raids. Raging Buffalo expected the council would approve, not necessarily out of curiosity about the Soulless, but because they were running out of food.
Her father liked to keep an eye on the forests for anything unusual, though mainly for any movements of Soulless. Willow came in after the scout from the north. She intended to listen in on their discussions. She crept up to the lodge. Keeping to the shadows, she slipped in unnoticed.
“Soulless were spotted going north along the river,” the scout said.
“Did you find them?” Raging Buffalo asked. “How many?”
The scout shook his head. “When they caught up with him, they saw only one lone warrior. And I saw no signs of group movement.”
“Only one? Is he not dead?”
The scout shook his head. “The Dark One disappeared. We lost his trail.”
Willow’s father nodded, understanding. The Soulless were superb at vanishing without a trace.
“Probably a rogue,” he said. “Of no concern to us for now.”
“A vision seeker left the village today,” another warrior said.
Willow’s ears perked up.
“Mintikwa?” Raging Buffalo asked.
“Yes,” the scout said. “He was going north.”
“I heard of this at the council,” he said.
Willow’s heart raced. She thought of her friend as they played in the water so many years ago. Hearing his name spoken out loud conjured up that dimpled smile and those twinkling eyes. The thought of him alone in the woods with a Soulless nearby filled her heart with dread. She drew her cloak around her. She hoped that Father would send a warrior to protect Mintikwa on his vision quest.
“The boy is on his own,” Raging Buffalo told the warrior.
“Father!” Willow shouted impulsively from the shadows, revealing her presence.
Raging Buffalo was at first stunned, but then he frowned. His brow furrowed. “How many times have I told you not to spy?” he said.
“I am sorry for spying,” Willow said, avoiding her father’s gaze, but she held onto her courage. “You cannot let Mintikwa alone in the forest with the Dark Ones about.”
“Red Willow,” he said. “He chose vision seeking, fully aware of the dangers.”
Desperation for Mintikwa gripped her heart. “But father,” she implored.
Anger flashed across Raging Buffalo’s face. His voice was filled with scorn. “Your fondness for this boy still clouds your judgment.”
It had been so many seasons, and Mintikwa had hardly come up in conversation, even trivially. And so Willow was stunned by her father’s rage. It was difficult not to take it personally, though she knew what was really behind it. His contempt for Mintikwa’s family ran deep, but she couldn’t help feeling the injustice here. Mintikwa was innocent.
Willow erupted. “I haven’t spoken of him once in all these years!” she shouted, her voice cracking. “Why do you hate him?”
And then Willow grew silent in the face of her father’s aberrant behavior.
“I don’t hate the boy,” he said.
He shook his head. “I cannot spare even a single man,” he said, sidestepping the real issue. “You know what we’re preparing to do.”
Father was speaking of the scouting trip that every able-bodied warrior would join. They had grown restless in their idleness, she thought. Hearing her father talking casually about it among family gave her insights that no one else had. Willow knew the scouting was more like a guise for war.
Willow suddenly realized that all eyes were upon her. She felt self-conscious. The courage she had mustered quickly vanished. She looked at her father. There was no convincing him. She saw it in his eyes.
“I understand,” Willow said, defeated.
“Besides,” Raging Buffalo said, empathy for his daughter quickly cracking up the anger in his voice. “The forest is vast. And it is only one Soulless. They are not likely to find each other.”
Willow nodded. What her father was saying made sense, but she could not shake away her worry for Mintikwa. True, the forest was a big place. One could easily get lost in its depths.
And yet, if they did meet, what chance did Mintikwa, a fisher, have against Soulless?
Mintikwa struggled against the river’s current. Hunger tore at his mind and lay waste to the muscles of his arms. After the first turn of the river, his light-headedness, his weak grip, and quaking legs had him convinced that his muscles simply lacked the energy necessary to go on. He might have gone home then had he not recollected the advice of his uncle.
“Don’t pay any attention to whining, no matter where it’s coming from,” Uncle Saul had said.
Mintikwa knew he meant the whining could come from his own mind. So instead, he pushed through the grief that his belly was giving him. His first struggle during vision seeking was against himself.
As the day wore on, he saw old fishing holes where he and his uncle had spent long hours. On fishing days, they would go only as far as would allow them to return by nightfall. Before he knew it, it was late afternoon, and already he was approaching the usual boundaries of their fishing trips.
One cove, in particular, enlivened an old memory. With hemlocks towering above and deep, placid water at its center, the inlet appeared enchanted. It was there under a rocky ledge submerged in waist-deep water where he caught the biggest catfish he had ever seen. His uncle taught him the trick. Use your fingers as bait, he said. Mintikwa did what he was told and stuck his arm deep under the ledge. A moment later, the fish grabbed hold of his hand. He jerked instinctively, but the monster was
already halfway to his shoulder. Terrified, he shot out of the water. Never had he seen his uncle so excited. Laughing, Uncle Saul dove in to rescue his nephew. It was a peculiar feeling, the fish gyrating and animating his own arm. It thrashed violently, and they barely managed to get the catfish in the boat. They did, though. And paddled hard all the way back home, each grinning ear to ear. When they arrived home, it seemed the whole village turned out to see their catch. Mintikwa’s monster catfish was one of the last big ones ever caught by the fishers.
The sun pressed low on the horizon. It hovered just above the treetops. As evening approached, Mintikwa began to feel very much alone.
The river grew narrow. The surrounding trees closed in. Mintikwa watched the shadows deepen and listened as the day bugs grew silent. It was that time between day and night when the woods seemed to hush of its own volition.
Mintikwa sensed that he was being watched, but he told himself that this was only his imagination getting away from him.
He thought of the coming night. He would have almost no light when it got dark. Fire-building was out of the question during vision seeking. He would be breaking one tradition by staying on the river the whole time, but he dared not break anymore. Mintikwa intended to stick to the rule of no fires. Manitou, it was said, tended to flee from fire. After dark, offerings of tobacco with their glowing embers were the only source of light for the seeker. Mintikwa knew not to expect much help from the heavens either, as it was waning. The moon is going along dying, the people said. So, knowing there would be no flames to comfort him, he planned to remain on the river for as long as he could.
Reasoning to himself did little to dispel his feeling of being watched. His neck prickled with the sensation of eyes upon him. After he passed through the narrows and the river opened up again, Mintikwa took advantage of the sluggish water to listen for signs that someone or something was really out there. He thought of Cougar and shuddered.
Mintikwa lifted his paddle from the reflective surface of the river and drifted in silence. He closed his eyes and listened attentively to the surrounding forest. The woods were still, save for an occasional bird call and the rising chorus of insects. He squeezed his eyelids tight, shutting out all distractions. He carefully tracked the position of each bird and the waves of thrumming insects.
