by JR Green
“It’s okay,” he said, putting a hand over hers. “You’re right. It is too much to think about.”
They grew quiet again.
Mintikwa imagined falling into her. He desperately wanted to kiss her again.
“I enjoyed our time together,” Mintikwa said, breaking the silence. “And the fighting lessons.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, with eyes wide and forcing down a smile. As soon as she met his eyes, it was apparent she knew what he meant, but then she withdrew just a little. She pulled her hand out from under his. “I should leave you be,” she said. “You need to rest.”
“No,” he said. “I’m fine, really.” Now he worried about how she saw their last couple of days alone. Perhaps she felt differently about it. Was she not as drawn to him as he was to her?
She glanced at the entrance. “I should go,” she said.
Oh no. She did feel different. Mintikwa suddenly thought of Sharp Knife. He imagined, painfully, that they had a reconciliation after he and Willow parted ways.
Willow stood. “I’m glad you’re better,” she said.
“Thanks,” he said, doing his best to hide the fact that she was breaking his heart. She turned and waved meekly as she neared the entrance, the sun accenting her silhouette once again.
“Bye, Willow,” he said, thinking that perhaps things were about to return to the way they were before she found him on the river. “Thanks for saving my life.”
She turned and smiled. But then her smile faded as quickly as it had come. Her brow furrowed.
“What’s wrong?” Mintikwa asked, but then he realized that she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking above his bed, at the wall, to the place where he had mounted the red willow arrow.
Willow swept across the room. She moved with ease and grace, like a hunter pursuing game through the forest. She leaped onto Mintikwa’s bed. He fell back. Willow hovered over him. Her eyes had the look of a cat who had just cornered her prey.
“Willow?” he said, wondering what this was all about.
“I see you found my arrow,” she said.
“Yours?” he said, laughing nervously. “I assumed it was a gift.”
“It is mine,” she said defiantly. Mintikwa took in her scent, which filled him with an insistent yearning. Willow’s body pressed against his, reminding him of the first time he felt her skin, all wet and warm, as they lay together in his boat with the undulating river at their backs. Gently, she eased onto him, being careful of all his wounds. Her eyes danced over his features. She leaned even closer, the tips of her hair curling over his chest as she kissed him.
After three days of medicine, Mintikwa was mending.
As soon as he was able, he entered the sweat lodge again with his uncle, Spinning Stick, and the others. They all came, as they were all present for the cleansing that sent Mintikwa off on his vision seeking.
This time, it was less formal. They were among friends and so sat, reflecting, meditating, praying, and finally merely speaking their minds, and just enjoyed the company.
Mintikwa related how Great-horned Serpent visited him. He told of how Deer, Beaver, and Underwater Serpent appeared exhibiting strange behavior. He described Eddytown and the strange figures in the forest. How the manitou asked him to take them away, and how he tried digging one out but could not move it. He described the alien structures he found there, the giant buildings which reached into the sky, of how he went inside one and it was all black and full of strange things. He told of his vision of Underwater Panther and the deity’s asking him to spy on the strange man, who was part of a people called the Maulsa, about how they had lived in the fifth world and somehow survived into the sixth. He told them about the strange markings he memorized and how he escaped and returned to Wildcat Cove to impart to Underwater Panther what he had observed the Maulsa doing. Then he described the vision of the fifth world. He told of just about everything, except the particulars of the covenant, as the Panther told him not to speak of it. Mintikwa explained what happened just after leaving the cove, of how Great-horned Serpent made one last effort to stop him by sending Underwater Serpent to kill him. The denizen of the underworld had nearly succeeded, but he managed to get away. He told them about his capture and the torture he endured.
“That is terrible,” Spinning Stick. “These people are truly evil.”
Everyone nodded in agreement. Heads were bowed out of respect and empathy for Mintikwa’s trials.
Suddenly, Cattail asked, “Who is your totem?”
They all turned to Cattail.
He cleared his throat. “What you have described is an extraordinary journey,” he explained. “The things you saw, they are beyond my abilities to comprehend. However, out of all of that, you didn’t tell of your totem.”
Mintikwa decided he would just tell the simple truth.
“I did receive it in a vision. I did decide on my totem. But the manitou told me not to speak of it. I would like to tell you, but I must follow the advice of the spirit for now.”
They all nodded their understanding. “Your totem spirit is your personal guide,” Uncle Saul said. “If you know in your heart that this is true, and this is what the manitou has said, then you are right to follow the advice of your spirit. I will ask of it no more. When you are ready, my heart and door are open to you and your questions.”
Mintikwa bowed and thanked his uncle.
CHAPTER TEN
THE PEOPLE EAGERLY left their longhouses and stretched out onto the land. Together in the warm light, they weaved quillwork and sculpted their earthenware. They fished and hunted, gathered roots and berries, kneaded the soil, and tended their fields of squash, beans, and maize. When the moon was Whippoorwill Moon, the sun lay gently over the land, coaxing the spirits free from the earth. By day’s end, they were exhausted but thankful. The forest grew dim in the failing light, and with an eye on the darkening woods, they finished their chores quickly.
Despite the welcoming earth and lengthening days, Waking Turtle was troubled. The meager harvests of the past few seasons, the empty hands of returning gatherers, fishers, and hunters, and their dwindling storehouses weighed heavily on his mind. But beyond all this, a threat loomed in the forests surrounding their town. Vague and ill-formed, it had yet to come fully into view, but for Waking Turtle, there were hints enough to know what it was about. He didn’t like worrying. He thought it useless, but he supposed there was a time and place for everything.
Most evenings during Whippoorwill Moon, the people retired to their own longhouses to rest as they could, but tonight they hurried to the council house near the town center. They scurried about with polite urgency, jostling for the best places to hear and to see Waking Turtle tell his tale. They considered him the best storyteller in town. He wasn’t exactly sure why. He supposed they liked his stories because he did his best to make them come alive; he had a way of becoming the people, animals, and spirits in his tales. It was as if the subjects of his telling walked directly into the house and spoke for themselves, so the people said. He had never been chief, and now he was an old warrior who spent most days close by his house on the hill. He liked being apart from the buzz of the village.
Stories were uncommon in the summer months. They usually were saved for the grey silence of winter, but a change was sweeping through the world. Almost every day, one person or another returned home distraught after witnessing some strange happening. Fish were scarce, and they nearly always came home empty-handed. Whitetail deer ran hill-to-hill and back again from hunters who never appeared. The trees tossed about ominously, and river pools bubbled where they should only mirror the moon’s perfection.
Waking Turtle listened as the people passed below his house. He sensed fear in their whispering. Indeed, there was a consensus - no one had known the world to be so queer. It was to the elders and their stories that the people looked for guidance, especially during troubling times. Waking Turtle gathered his things, came down from his hill, and walked toward
the center of town with the intent to tell a story that the people had never known. It lay secret for many generations, within the teachings of Meteor Man-being society, spoken in whispers only on occasion among the inner circle, just to keep it alive in the warriors’ minds. It had always been their burden to bear, theirs alone, but Waking Turtle now felt the time had come for the people to know the old story, for the waters tossed and turned again under the influence of an ancient spirit who slept no more, a spirit who had once delivered the people. Now thanks must be given and respects paid. Once the spirit was appeased, Waking Turtle hoped the people could go on about their lives, but he struggled against a worry which threatened to grow into dread. He feared that these signs meant that terrible change was upon them.
Now, as if things couldn’t get worse, there was talk of this boy’s extraordinary vision. Waking Turtle knew the boy’s grandfather and uncle since they were children and felt for him when most of his family died in battle with Soulless so many summers ago. He thought of the impact on the boy. To lose one’s father as well. Waking Turtle shook his head. Many years ago, soon after he entered Meteor Man-being society and learned of certain genealogical secrets, Waking Turtle had kept a close eye on their family. But in recent decades, he let his inclinations toward solitude take over. This was something he should never have allowed, he now realized.
Waking Turtle heard bits from the shaman about the boy’s vision quest. Rumor was he had gone all the way to Wildcat Cove! If that were indeed true, then it was a sign that Mintikwa’s lineage was more than mere legend.
Today he learned that since the boy’s recovery, he walked about town telling everyone how mussels were the answer to their food shortage. Mussels! To Waking Turtle and members of Meteor Man-being society who were privy to ancient secrets, this was not complete insanity, but he knew the people, in general, would never accept such a notion. What they didn’t know was that their ancestors had eaten them early in the fifth world. Perhaps there was something to Mintikwa’s idea, but it would take more than brash dialogue to persuade them to break taboo.
Somehow it had all passed without his knowledge. He blamed the priest, who as of late had been keeping secrets, even from members of his own society. Some of these secrets Waking Turtle had managed to pry free recently, but he didn’t yet know what else might be concealed. Indeed, there were many new troubling mysteries. Bah! He said to himself. I should not have grown to be such a hermit. Never again, he thought. Waking Turtle planned to keep Mintikwa close in the coming days. He needed to learn exactly what happened and what the boy had seen in his vision.
The night closed in on their village. Thunder Being threatened the people from the great dome with quiet flashes of lightning and rolling thunder from the horizon. The people converged at the town center and crowded into the council house, which quickly filled to capacity. As soon as it was filled, onlookers blocked the entrance, vying for the last available place to view Waking Turtle. Those left outside grew anxious. A tall warrior planted himself at the door and promised to relay the story as best he could. The latecomers settled in just outside the door, determined to persist against a sky that threatened rain.
Mintikwa had to get in. Tonight would be a perfect time to talk to the people about the mussels, with so many together in one place. Since his recovery, he spoke to his neighbors about how the mussels weren’t poisonous. To prove it, he started eating them at every meal. He convinced his mother, his uncle, and some of his neighbors to try them. Others balked at the suggestion. Some were downright hostile. Mintikwa expected as much, but still, he believed that the mussels were the answer. Common sense and reason would prevail. He was sure.
He wasn’t having much luck getting inside the council house. He came too late, and there were too many people, but he thought if he could get inside, he might be able to squeeze in somewhere, then wait for a chance to speak and perhaps to demonstrate what he knew. He had a pocket full of mussels. He was prepared to eat every one of them.
The people were huddling together outside, bracing against the cool, stormy air. One of Mintikwa’s aunts beckoned for him to come sit.
Mintikwa shook his head silently and then darted for the door. He struggled to see inside of the council house, where Waking Turtle was about to begin his story. There must be a spot for him somewhere inside. He was determined to find out, so he ducked between the legs of one warrior and nearly squeezed past another, but the latter caught him under the arm, spun him about, and sent him flailing into the open air.
“There’s no more room!” the warrior shouted. “Stay out here or go home.”
Suddenly recognition spread over the warrior’s face.
“Mintikwa?” the warrior said, startled. “I’m so sorry. I expected you would be inside already.”
“What do you mean? “ Mintikwa asked, startled that the warrior seemed to be on his side. “Do I know you?”
The warrior shook his head. “No,” he said. “But I know your uncle. And I know what you went through trying to help us.” Then he stepped away from the door.
“Stand aside!” he bellowed. Everyone at the door turned.
“Let Mintikwa through,” the warrior said.
The crowd at the doorway parted.
“Thank you,” Mintikwa said to the warrior as he passed. The warrior nodded but said nothing more.
A moment later, Mintikwa emerged into the warmth of the council house and discretely made his way to an open space on the floor directly in front of where Waking Turtle would stand. He sat down.
A girl called out excitedly.
It was Willow. She squeezed in next to him.
Mintikwa’s blood raced when he saw her. She had only seen her seventeenth Whippoorwill Moon, but she was already an adept hunter and fierce fighter, a fact which she had demonstrated that night in the forest with the Dark One. However, all Mintikwa could think of at the moment was the twinkling of her eyes. The scent of her made his heart stir.
“You’re in my spot,” she said.
Of course. Now it made sense why no one had taken this place. It was reserved for Willow.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know.” Mintikwa glanced at Willow’s father, Raging Buffalo. He was glaring at him from the council center. Mintikwa started to get up.
“No.” Willow smiled and gripped his arm. “Don’t mind my father. There’s room here for the two of us.”
Mintikwa eased back down but avoided Raging Buffalo’s eyes.
The source of the warmth was a big open fire set in the floor. The blaze illuminated the interior of the longhouse, popping and hissing. There were perhaps four dozen villagers inside. The Meteor Man-being warriors were present, seven in all, including Raging Buffalo and Waking Turtle. And there was Sharp Knife beside Raging Buffalo, scowling at Mintikwa, most likely because he was sitting with Willow.
The priest appeared with them, the one who tried to take Mintikwa’s sacred bundle. The priest was accompanied by River is Deep, chief of the town. Raging Buffalo stood next to the chief. He held no appreciation for the influence that Waking Turtle had on the people. They tended to stand at odds.
“What do you suppose Waking Turtle has to say?” Willow asked Mintikwa.
“I’m not sure,” he said.
Waking Turtle approached the center.
Light from the sky flashed between the elm bark panels and into the council house. Thunder clapped from above. Waking Turtle pulled a pouch from his shirt. He drew out a handful of cedar shavings and tossed them in the fire. It flared up, and smoke wafted above their heads on its way to the hole in the ceiling and on to the sky. The cedar smoke was meant to keep lightning from striking them while they spoke.
The crowd grew quiet. Waking Turtle waited. When it was silent, he cleared his throat.
“Good evening,” he said, greeting them with a warm smile. “Thank you for coming.”
He slid his arms behind him and clasped them at his back. His smile faded, and his brow furrowed.
“Who will go?” someone shouted.
Waking Turtle didn’t immediately answer. He turned to their chief.
The chief spoke up. “Whoever wishes to,” he said.
“Where will we go?” someone called from the crowd. “North or south?”
Waking Turtle said, “My view is that we should go north and resettle Eddytown, but there are those among us who believe otherwise.”
“And what will we do for food?”
Waking Turtle didn’t have an answer. “We’ll make our way,” he said.
Raging Buffalo stepped forward.
“This talk of resettling the old town is nonsense,” he said, taking advantage of the people’s fear of their spent food supply. “The lands to the north are just as empty of game and fish as here,” he said. “Our future lies south. We will find the Soulless and destroy them once and for all, and we will push south to new lands.”
The crowd surged in response. Another great war was just as fear-inducing a prospect as settling into the possessed lands to the north.
Mintikwa took his chance. He stood.
“Mintikwa?” Willow asked after him. He felt her hand take his. Mintikwa didn’t turn. He just squeezed her hand and then let it go. He moved toward Waking Turtle and the chiefs. He hoped to steer those who wished to leave to go north.
The council house was in an uproar. He could barely hear over the shouting and rabid conversation.
He mustered all the courage he had. “May I speak?” Mintikwa asked boldly. He couldn’t help but glance at Willow. She looked shocked, and her face was pale.
He looked around the room. No one heard him.
He shouted, “May I speak!”
The leaders at the center of the council seemed taken aback by Mintikwa’s intrusion, but Waking Turtle smiled openly. He seemed to recognize Mintikwa but was surprised that he spoke up. The old sage motioned for Mintikwa to come stand next to him.
