Mintikwa and the Underwater Panther

by JR Green

  “Go on,” Waking Turtle said. “Tell us what is on your mind.”

  Mintikwa turned to the people gathered around the council house. It took a few moments before they all quieted, and he was able to swallow his fear of speaking.

  “I’ll get right to the point,” Mintikwa said finally.

  The crowd suddenly seemed very curious about who he was and why he was so bold as to speak at the council.

  “A few days ago, I returned from my vision seeking,” Mintikwa said.

  There were whispers. Some spoke his name.

  “The manitou told me the solution to our hunger,” he said.

  The people murmured, with looks of doubt and suspicion. Now Mintikwa could feel their surprise, anxiety, and displeasure, but he reached into his shirt and pulled out the mussels anyway.

  Immediate and various levels of shock and outrage came from the crowd at the sight of the shells.

  “The mussels are no longer poisonous,” Mintikwa declared. “They are clean once again. The bad spirits have left them.”

  Waking Turtle’s brow furrowed. “What manitou told you this?” he asked.

  The crowd swiftly rose to turmoil. Several among them began shouting before Mintikwa could address Waking Turtle’s question. The people surely had more of an issue with the oysters than Mintikwa imagined.

  “They are taboo!” a man shouted.

  Mintikwa suddenly feared for his life. He put a hand to his chest, above his sacred bundle tied to his necklace. Secretly, he felt Underwater Panther’s copper scale, and just as quickly, he felt calm again.

  “They are no longer taboo,” Mintikwa shouted, challenging the man.

  Mintikwa realized the people needed proof after all. He dropped the mussels back into his pocket, save one—this one he peeled apart and split open. The flesh lay in the shell. He took it between his fingers and pulled it free. Then he popped it into his mouth and chewed.

  Mintikwa chanced a look at Willow. She held a hand over her mouth, but he could see her smile. She looked amused.

  He lifted his lips to show his teeth clenched against the meat. He closed his mouth, and then he swallowed. Then he opened his mouth to prove it was gone.

  This caused the crowd to become more agitated. But Mintikwa ignored them. One after another, he pulled the remaining mussels from his shirt, split them open, and consumed them all.

  Mintikwa raised his arms. “Tomorrow, you will see,” he shouted. “I will be walking about the village, and you will see that I am perfectly healthy.” With that, he stepped away from the circle to return to Willow.

  The people continued shouting their displeasure and astonishment at Mintikwa’s disregard for their law.

  Waking Turtle held up his hands.

  “Please,” he shouted. “That’s enough.”

  Mintikwa risked a look at the chiefs, the priests, and the warriors. They glared at him in unison. He hadn’t felt such contempt since last seeing Great-horned Serpent and the Maulsa!

  Only Waking Turtle appeared to maintain his composure. Mintikwa thought he almost looked pleased, though the old sage kept his view on the matter to himself.

  Then Mintikwa heard one of the townspeople shout something that made his heart sink. It was a man’s voice coming from the back of the room. Mintikwa couldn’t make out who he was. He didn’t recognize the voice. But what he said involved Mintikwa’s worst fear.

  “We’ll turn him into a domestic!” the voice said.

  If it caught on, Mintikwa would be relegated by the people to the fields, to plant maize and beans, or to the forests to pick berries. Something that some old men did willingly, but not a vocation for a young man hoping to be among those leading the way to Eddytown.

  Mintikwa moved back to his place next to Willow.

  Waking Turtle lifted his hands and circled slowly, trying to calm the crowd. They did subside somewhat.

  He approached and for a time regarded the people only in silence. Though he smiled, his expression hinted at sadness.

  “It is time I tell you exactly how we came to be in the sixth world, to live again beside our beloved river.”

  Mintikwa was thunderstruck. He thought of his vision and suddenly was very curious about what Waking Turtle knew. The circumstances of their emergence into the sixth world had always been shrouded in mystery. Various storytellers had their versions, but the people mostly took them as entertainment and offered morals for the children. The council had always been silent on the matter. Everyone knew that warriors were privy to certain truths that the majority need not and indeed should not know. That Waking Turtle began his story this way was already unprecedented. Did he know about what happened? About the Maulsa?

  But Mintikwa never got the chance. Raging Buffalo stepped in front of Waking Turtle. This was very disrespectful. Several among the crowd murmured their disapproval.

  “Your stories are tales for children,” Buffalo scolded. “Meant to frighten them into staying close by their parents, not to be taken seriously by grown men and women.”

  The people turned to Waking Turtle, expecting him to defend himself.

  “My stories are meant as lessons and warnings to those who would listen.”

  “And what are we to do with these warnings?”

  “Simply take them seriously.”

  “Nonsense,” Raging Buffalo said.

  The audience grew restless. Waking Turtle grew apprehensive.

  “Please, I’ve only begun,” Waking Turtle said.

  “We’ve heard enough stories, old man,” Raging Buffalo said, taking the stage. “Nervous animals are of no concern to me. What we need to decide is what to do about our enemies. The Soulless are ominously absent. We have learned from our scouting trip to the south that lands normally steeped in the Soulless are now empty. Why? I ask you.”

  The Soulless! Mintikwa remembered his revelation that they had once been part of the people before succumbing to the Great-horned Serpent.

  The people within the longhouse grew tired of waiting to see which direction the meeting would go. They began shouting and jostling for positions that offered an advantage for their own voices to be heard.

  Mintikwa had enough. He would have to talk with Waking Turtle later about what he knew. And if the people disregarded his message about the mussels, there was nothing he could do about it. Like the Panther said, it was up to them. They would have to adapt. If they didn’t, what could he do? The plans whirling through his head at the moment were too much of a paradigm shift for the people. Somehow he might convince them, but it wouldn’t be tonight.

  He needed to get out of here. Perhaps he could convince Willow to come too. But without her father and Sharp Knife noticing. But how? They could just leave through the front door, but Sharp Knife would likely rally his warriors to stop him.

  Mintikwa had an absurd thought. He remembered the hole dug by the chief’s dog. It was situated along the far side of the longhouse. Mintikwa thought they could fit through. His absurd notion was quickly turning into a plan. Hopefully, the hole was still there.

  Mintikwa grabbed Willow’s hand.

  “Follow me,” he whispered. She nodded. They crouched as they walked among the loud, angry people. They sprinted into the crowd, skirted along the edge, and found the hole.

  A moment later, they emerged from the council house into the cool night air. It felt good.

  Someone just inside called after Willow, likely Sharp Knife. Mintikwa didn’t wait to find out. He pulled Willow around the corner of the building.

  They crouched in the shadows along the base of the house. Mintikwa quickly looked about and saw their chance to escape, a cluster of bushes coming close to the house. It was only a short distance to the brush, and the deeper woods were just beyond. If they could make it to the forest, they had a chance to escape.

  Moments later, Mintikwa and Willow were sprinting through the forest under cover of darkness. The domed night sky flashed furiously, not unlike their first night, huddled tog
ether in their lean-to by the river.

  Mintikwa awoke to the sound of people gathering. They chattered outside his house. He heard laughter and children playing. He dropped down from his bunk and went to the entrance. He listened for just a moment before stepping into the light.

  Outside, groups of people had gathered around cooking fires. He recognized many of them as his close neighbors. He had talked with some of them about the mussels. They jostled around cooking pots. Steam rose from the ground and up around their heads. A scent now familiar to Mintikwa permeated the air. It was the smell of cooking mussels. The village as a whole rejected his vision, but those who knew him had tried them. The idea had taken on a life of its own.

  Mintikwa walked among the gathering as they worked preparing breakfast. They were already improvising. Some were using maize as a batter. The scent made Mintikwa’s mouth water. Shells littered the ground. Boys and girls collected them in their arms. They were making trinkets for bracelets and necklaces, just as he had done for so many years. One boy came running up to a little girl, and then he offered her one of the shells fashioned into a necklace. The inside was a lovely shade of purple. The girl accepted it with glee. The boy placed it over her head and around her neck. She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

  “Looks like they listened to you after all,” he heard Willow shout. Her voice came from the hill to the east. Mintikwa squinted as he looked up the hill. She was coming toward him.

  “Yes, it seems so. I was sure we were doomed,” he said, only half kidding. “Perhaps there is hope for us after all.”

  When she reached him, she hugged him and then kissed him.

  Willow said, “The council will have no choice but to acknowledge that you were right.”

  Mintikwa nodded. She was right. It was a simple matter now. The council would bend to the ready solution, especially now that the people saw the truth. The mussels were a great source of food. Turning to them, the fish and other food sources could recover. And just as important, there was no immediate need to go to war.

  They walked together among the people and their new discoveries.

  The boy stepped in front of Mintikwa and Willow. He toyed with the shell of a mussel.

  Mintikwa bent down. “What is your name?” he asked.

  “I am Whippoorwill,” the boy said.

  “I wanted to thank you,” Whippoorwill said.

  “What for?”

  “For the mussels.”

  Mintikwa smiled. “You’re welcome,” he said. “But really, it was no big deal.”

  “Also,” Whippoorwill said, stepping closer. “I was wondering if you could tell me what it is like at Eddytown?”

  Suddenly, Mintikwa had a vision of a new village in the lands to the north. He would take them there, those gathered here, and more. He would show them the way, and they would build a new life from a reclaimed Eddytown. The mussels would provide for them while the fish recovered. He saw fields of the Three Sisters along the people’s river. He saw clusters of longhouses on the ridge above the river. But then a thought clouded his vision. He remembered the Maulsa and what seemed like their reclaiming of the old town for themselves. Did they intend to restore their version of Eddytown? Would they try to resettle? Perhaps his daydream on the river of Eddytown was a future vision. Maybe he had seen himself by the river and not his great-grandfather emerging from the cove. Then there was Underwater Panther with his abode just to the northeast of Eddytown at Wildcat Cove, his totem, his power, always defending the land and the people with ferocity and cunning. Surely no people bent on the destruction of the earth could meet the challenge of his cat.

  Mintikwa smiled at Whippoorwill.

  “I’ll be happy to tell you all about Eddytown,” he told him.

  In the morning light, Mintikwa and Willow, and their new friend walked until they found a spot under the shade of a chestnut tree. Others joined them. A small crowd gathered together around Mintikwa and Willow.

  Mintikwa heard footsteps approach from behind. They were soft and subtle, but he picked them out.

  A gentle voice called out. “This looks like a fine group of friends. I should like to sit with you.”

  Mintikwa turned. The sun outlined the man in a white glow. Mintikwa had trouble seeing who it was. He put a hand to his forehead, shielding his eyes. Then he saw. It was Waking Turtle, and he was smiling at Mintikwa.

  “May I join you?” he asked.

  Mintikwa scooted to the side. “You certainly may,” he said. “Would you like something to eat?”

  Mintikwa handed a morsel of food to Waking Turtle. It was the half shell of a roasted mussel.

  The old sage eyed it carefully. “Looks good. Thank you,” he said and took the mussel. Without missing a beat, he lifted it to his lips, tilted his head back, and let the meat slide down his throat. “Delicious,” he said with a smile.

  They ate breakfast and laughed together. Soon their talking turned to planning.

  THE END

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