by JR Green
“No!” she said. “It’s because it is too dangerous.”
“I didn’t figure you were one to be so timid,” Mintikwa said.
“Timid? Me?” she said. “This isn’t about me, anyway.”
“Exactly,” he said. “This is my vision quest.”
He thought of his hesitancy at the Rite, of his fear of what Willow would think of him, of all the people in attendance, and how he worried what they would think of him. Would they see him as a coward, he remembered thinking. And that priest handing him Beaver as a totem. What an insult that had been.
“If you’re scared, I’ll steer to the riverbank, and you can go home,” he offered.
“That’s ridiculous, Mintikwa,” she said, and then she settled into the boat again. Mintikwa dug his paddle into the water with long, smooth, and gentle strokes. A cicada called from the tree line, its voice surging with each passing moment like a crescendo. Another joined the first, and their singing rose and fell in the hot afternoon air.
Willow huffed and said, “You are so stubborn. Sometimes you make me so mad.”
CHAPTER FOUR
ANOTHER DAY PASSED, and they reached the boundary where the fishers abandoned their scouting. Mintikwa searched for the whirlpool, but curiously it was gone.
They continued upriver as it meandered through the forests, into depths neither one of them had seen, and likely none had for more than four generations. Both Mintikwa and Willow were comfortable in the woods. They had journeyed all their lives in groups, looking for game, fish, berries, and roots, but they had kept to familiar territory. They were definitely outside of their comfort zone beyond the boundary. With every stroke, Mintikwa felt like he was moving back into the fifth world.
“Mintikwa?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you frightened?”
“No,” he said.
“Are you sure?”
“Well, maybe a little,” he said. “But I’m mostly just excited to finally be here.”
“Do you really think there are ghosts here?”
“I can’t say for sure,” Mintikwa said.
“What does your uncle believe?”
“He supposes they are misguided spirits, made that way by the trauma of the end of the fifth world.”
“Do you believe him?”
“I’ve come across a lot of mysterious things, though I am now able to explain most of them. But we don’t know much of anything about the last age, so I suppose what he says could be possible.”
“I don’t want to run into any evil spirits,” Willow said.
As the river widened and the water grew still, they grew quiet. The only sounds were those made by his oar as it tugged at the water and a plopping of droplets each time he lifted it free. But as the sun climbed toward the center of the sky, the cicadas came out in full force.
“Why do you suppose the Soulless have ceased their raids?” Mintikwa asked, thinking she might have some insight, considering her father’s position.
Willow shook her head. “No one knows,” she said. “That’s why they are going south. To find out.”
“But there must be some speculation,” Mintikwa offered.
“It may be disease,” she offered.
Mintikwa nodded. “Perhaps,” he said. “Though no one has seen any of them sick.”
“What do you think?” Willow asked, turning the question around on him.
“I wonder if they are tired of fighting us,” he said.
“I really don’t think so,” she said.
“Where do you suppose they are?” he asked her.
Willow shook her head. “No one knows.”
“I mean, where do you think they are,” Mintikwa pressed. “You must have an opinion.” He leaned in. “You look like you have an opinion.”
She smiled and then nodded. “I do?”
Mintikwa nodded.
“I suppose I do,” she said.
“Let’s hear your idea.”
“The Dark Ones may have a new enemy,” Willow said.
Mintikwa frowned. “You favor that over my theory?”
She shrugged.
“That’s impossible. I mean, who could it be? There are no other people in the sixth world.”
“We don’t know that for sure,” Willow said.
“We do,” he implored.
“How do we know?” Willow pressed. “You mean the stories?”
“That’s not all. We’ve been here five generations. In all that time, we haven’t seen anybody else.”
Willow laughed. “Have you ever thought about how small our territory really is?” she asked. “This world is much bigger than any of us care to admit.”
Mintikwa shrugged. “Perhaps.”
“In more ways than one,” she added.
“Why do you say that?” he asked.
“Just a feeling.”
“What does that mean exactly?” Mintikwa asked
“Sometimes I overhear things that my father never intends for me to hear.”
“Like what?” Mintikwa asked.
Now Willow whispered. “You know about Meteor Man-being warrior society, right?”
“Not too much,” Mintikwa said. “I know they exist. And that they do a pretty good job of keeping quiet about what they do, outside of warring against the Soulless.”
Willow nodded. “One of their leaders came to Father a few days ago. His name is Waking Turtle. He’s an old warrior. Do you know him?”
Mintikwa shook his head.
“He is a bit of a hermit, but many consider him a powerful sage. He came to warn Father,” Willow said.
“What was the warning?” Mintikwa asked, now very curious.
“My father dismissed him, so I’m not surprised that you haven’t heard.”
“Dismissed him?” Mintikwa asked. “Why?”
“It has to do with the nature of what Waking Turtle said. And my father’s attitude toward such things.” Willow said. “He is a very pragmatic man, my father.”
“I don’t understand,” Mintikwa said. “What did the old sage say?”
“He spoke about an ancient spirit, one that was with us in the fifth world, but went to sleep after a great battle,” she said. “And the spirit has slept ever since.”
A tingling crept up Mintikwa’s spine.
“Since the fifth world. Such a long time,” he said. “But I don’t get it. Why is that worrisome?”
“That the spirit slept so long wasn’t what concerned him,” she said. “Turtle said the spirit is awake now. But the strangest thing for me is that my father seemed to know about this spirit. And even though he didn’t really believe the old warrior, he knew exactly what he was talking about. Have you ever heard of such a thing?” she asked. “I mean, have you heard any of our stories speak of such thing?”
He began to feel a bit queasy.
He breathed deeply, exhaling loudly, and then shook it off. “Why do you ask?” he said.
“It looks like the blood just left your face,” she said.
“I’m fine. Your story reminded me of a dream I had. It kinda spooked me.”
“You’re giving me goosebumps,” she said. “You dreamed of this spirit?”
“Maybe,” he said, and then something drew his attention. He pulled in his oar and stood carefully in the canoe.
“Mintikwa! What’s wrong? Please sit down.”
“There’s something odd there,” Mintikwa said, pointing the handle of his oar toward the trees on the east bank.
Willow squinted to see. She raised a hand to her brow.
“What?” she asked.
“That rock,” Mintikwa said.
“I see it,” Willow said.
“Let’s take a closer look.”
Mintikwa steered to the eastern shore. They beached the canoe and climbed the hill.
The rock was big—twice his height and just as wide. The edges of the stone were most peculiar. In fact, it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. And
the hair on his arms rose. It was apparent now to Willow too. Mintikwa saw the alarm in her eyes.
They walked around the other side. There were more of the big rocks.
A dozen of the strange stones lay on the hill above the river. At first, because of the trees growing up between them and the undergrowth nearly overtaking them, they looked to be randomly spaced, but then as they walked around, Mintikwa realized that they were lined up straight, in two rows. Mintikwa walked up to one in particular. It was perfectly flat, and the corners were all lined up. It looked like it had been carved by someone. He brushed at the surface. Soon he could see that something was embedded in the stone, a material the color of red ochre. It snaked in and out of the rock in several places. Mintikwa couldn’t imagine how anything could have ended up inside solid rock.
Do you have any idea what this is?” Mintikwa asked Willow.
She only shook her head. “It looks like rope, doesn’t it?” she said.
The gigantic rocks were lined up, pointing toward the river. Mintikwa gazed across the water to the other side. Something seemed odd there too.
“More rocks over there,” he said, pointing to the opposite side of the river.
Willow’s eyes widened.
“What do you think it is?” he asked.
“I think this was a bridge,” Willow said.
“A bridge?” Mintikwa walked to the edge of the cliff. “How could that be?” he said. “It’s too far.”
Mintikwa turned. He looked at the massive stone and then walked to it again.
He brushed two fingers over the strange ochre material. Pieces of it flaked off onto the ground.
He brushed again, wondering if it might disintegrate before him. Flakes continued to fall away until, finally, the material grew hard and impenetrable. It was only the outside that fell apart easily.
An idea occurred to him. He pulled out his knife. He ran the edge of his weapon over the strange stuff. It didn’t give. He tried again, this time pressing harder. The material was solid. He gouged it. Bone powder remnants streaked across the surface. Mintikwa brushed them away. He blew at it, then rubbed it vigorously. There was no sign of any damage, no scratches, dents, or chips of any kind.
Mintikwa picked up a rock the size of his head.
“What are you doing?” Willow asked.
He lifted the rock over his head and then let it fall. At the last moment, he shifted to the side and stepped out of the way.
“Mintikwa!” Willow shouted.
The rock slammed into the surface. It clanged loudly and then bounced off, nearly striking him in the leg.
“Are you okay?” Willow asked. “Why on earth did you do that?”
“I’m trying to break it,” he said.
Mintikwa came around to where the rock hit. White dust and fragments of rubble lay strewn all over the place. The stone sat on the ground in several pieces. Mintikwa stepped close to the area of impact and brushed away the rubble.
Again. Not a scratch, dent, or puncture.
“What could it be?” Mintikwa asked.
She shook her head. “Perhaps it’s not for our eyes. We should go.” She looked about nervously and then backed away.
“What’s wrong?” Mintikwa asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I have a bad feeling. I think we’ve made too much noise.”
Mintikwa looked about. Suddenly, the old sensation of eyes upon him returned.
Mintikwa nodded. “I think you’re right. Let’s get back to the river.”
Mintikwa and Willow left the hill and the giant stones behind. They climbed down the escarpment and entered the woods. When they reached the ravine floor, the sound of hooves came from the trees on the opposite hill.
A herd of deer ran toward them. The frightened animals stopped only a few paces away. One stood so close that Mintikwa could almost reach out and touch her nose. Their ears twitched nervously. Mintikwa or Willow might have taken one with an arrow or even a knife at such close range, but neither did, partly because Willow had plenty of rations and Mintikwa would not break his fast, but most of all, it was the demeanor of the deer that stayed their weapons. It was peculiar for the deer to come so near to the hunters.
The encounter reminded Mintikwa of something, something someone had said recently, and then it occurred to him. It was the story that his lodge fellow had told. How predator and prey turn to each other in terror when they know a more significant threat looms. This realization shook Mintikwa. He feared for their lives but had no idea how to explain this to Willow now. They could do nothing but wait and see what happened next. Then all at once, the deer tore off in the exact same direction they had come, as if something from the other hill was threatening them. Soon the deer were gone as if they had never come. Mintikwa and Willow crouched in the undergrowth, expecting something to rush down the hill and keep the chase, but nothing ever came.
“Let’s get back to the river,” Willow said.
They stood and made their way back to the water.
Was deer his totem? He remembered his mother’s advice and tried to imagine deer as his guardian. But after considering it, deer just didn’t fit. He would have to keep looking.
It was noon, and the sun lingered mercilessly at the apex of the sky. Willow played with the feathers of her red willow arrow. The river eased by beneath them, lulling her into contemplations. Her mind darted about, trying to stay awake.
She thought of the strange rocks and her vision of the bridge.
Were the Soulless really out there?
Willow thought of her father and mother. Had they finally begun to see her as grown up and now capable of handling what may come her way? Or did they worry over her still? She thought of the few times that the topic of Mintikwa came up, mostly because of her mother. Her mother had really liked Mintikwa, but Father wouldn’t have it. In fact, the more their friendship was discussed, the more enraged he became. Mother finally dropped it, and Mintikwa hadn’t been mentioned for many seasons.
A splash interrupted her contemplations. She looked up.
It was Mintikwa. He must have fallen off the boat. She shouted for him, but her voice only skittered across the surface of the water and echoed from the cliffs above the riverbank.
The surface fizzed where he hit the water.
She shot up in the canoe and stood with her eyes on the spot where he disappeared.
What happened? He had been paddling quietly.
Willow looked about.
She could see that they had drifted a little toward the western edge of the river but were still in deep water.
A twinge of panic hit her. Had he fallen asleep and fell into the river?
He had been humming a tune, she remembered. And she had got lost in her contemplations.
Soon the water transformed into a smooth surface. It was as if he had never pierced its surface. The quiet overcame her. Suddenly she felt alone.
Willow wanted to call out, but she stopped herself. The truth was she could shout at the top of her lungs, and he would never hear her down there.
Moments passed, and still no Mintikwa.
She leaned in toward the water. The faint outline of flat rock materialized. Was that the bottom she saw? Yes, she thought it was. A fish passed along the riverbed. It was a giant, probably a catfish. Oh! A fish! Perhaps they were more plentiful upstream. She focused on its back. No, actually, it wasn’t right. It was too light to be a fish. She saw legs and a breechcloth. Willow sighed. It was Mintikwa on the bottom of the river. His arms shot forward and then swept to his hips. His legs kicked like a frog, and he sped through the water like an arrow, passing beneath the canoe. Willow shifted to the other side. Mintikwa seemed to fly along the bottom. He drifted for a long distance. Something was looped over his shoulder. He was fumbling with it and scooping up something from the riverbed. He drifted until he came to a stop, crouched on the riverbed, and then kicked hard off the bottom. He shot toward the surface. When he burst from the water, he
threw something into the boat. It was a net, and it was full of mussels. Willow recoiled. Like most, mussels made her cringe. She turned back to Mintikwa. He gripped the side of the boat with one hand.
“You could’ve warned me!” she scolded, as much about the mussels as jumping into the river.
Mintikwa smiled. “You seemed lost in your thoughts. I didn’t want to disturb you.”
He held out a hand to Willow.
“Help me in?” he asked.
Willow sighed but then grasped his hand and pulled. He bobbed up, and his chest came out of the water, but then she felt his weight tug at her.
Willow gasped. She suddenly realized she was about to tumble into the river. Mintikwa’s smile turned to one of teasing. His arm went rigid, and she went flying over the boat and into the water.
A curse flew out of her mouth, but it was cut off by the river. She fought to get back to the surface. A moment later, her head popped up. She gasped for breath. Willow wiped the water from her eyes and then opened them to find Mintikwa before her, treading water. He was laughing.
“Why did you do that?”
“The water felt so good,” he said. “I wanted you to feel it too.”
“You might have asked me!”
“And you might have said no,” Mintikwa said. “This way, your stubbornness doesn’t get in the way.”
“My stubbornness?” Taking in a deep breath and then kicking, she rose up with her hands on top of Mintikwa’s head and dunked him underwater. His head disappeared from her hands. The river grew still. Willow tread water.
Mintikwa finally surfaced again. He did so quietly, seemingly without taking a breath. He smiled.
“You have to see this,” he said.
“What?”
“Take a big breath, and you’ll see.”
“Down there?”
Mintikwa nodded.
Willow breathed deeply, held it, and dove. She kicked her legs up in the air to help push her under and made her way toward the bottom. The water rushed over her skin. She felt the layers shifting toward ever cooler depths. The silence was soothing. Mintikwa was near to the bottom. When he reached the floor of the river, he took her hand and spun her about. He pointed toward the river’s edge. Willow could see a rock shelf rise to the surface. All along the riverbank rested a multitude of different sizes and colors of mussels. They blanketed the river.
