by JR Green
But if she had walked him to the river, she likely was okay.
The events of last evening flashed before his mind. Mintikwa cursed himself for letting that blow through his defenses. Now his confidence was as much battered as his body. Willow had proven herself an exceptional fighter.
Perhaps he had chosen wrong. Maybe Beaver was not his totem spirit, just as Willow had said. He dreaded the thought of resuming his vision quest without her. And where was she? Mintikwa looked about, hoping that she might appear. Perhaps she had made it to the canoe.
Mintikwa walked out of the deeper water toward the shore. Before leaving the river, he dipped his hands and splashed the water over his head, and then rubbed his face vigorously. He shook the water out of his hair. Then he left the river and made his way to his canoe. He peered inside.
Willow was not there. Her stuff was gone too, so she probably had left willingly.
Mintikwa decided he had to check the area around where the attack occurred. He dreaded going back, but he went anyway.
When he reached the clearing, he found that the Dark One was gone.
Mintikwa spent the rest of the morning scouting around the river. There was no sign of her.
What should he do? Should he go home or go on to Eddytown? He had no totem. To break the vision quest now would be to admit defeat and also a sign that the manitou disapproved of him. The people might make him a domestic.
A berry picker!
As a little boy, he had gathered berries, roots, nuts, and firewood along with his mother and aunts. In those days, he had loved gathering. He enjoyed the chance to get away from the safety of the village and into the excitement that the surrounding forests offered. At times they would get caught far away from home at dusk and be forced to make camp. Mostly women and children gathered and farmed. It was a sacred task. He thought of his uncle. He had been a domestic for a time after the war that killed Mintikwa’s father, grandfather, and uncle. That had been expected, but for Mintikwa at his age, it would be humiliating.
Though he found it hard to imagine going on without Willow, he decided he must.
Maybe she was on her way home. But why would she have gone? Then it dawned on Mintikwa. Perhaps she had come to realize that accompanying him on his vision quest was a mistake. She might have seen the attack by Soulless as a sign.
Mintikwa trudged back to the river.
Still no Willow. Perhaps it was as he suspected. She knew he must go on to Eddytown. Willow had come fearing Soulless might reach him, which had come to pass. She defended him in his weakened state and fulfilled that purpose. Whatever Mintikwa had to do at Eddytown, he must do alone, whether to seek a vision or merely to satisfy his curiosity. They would see each other back home.
Or perhaps she left him because she was furious? He shook his head. Mintikwa really had no idea.
He stood by his canoe and looked out to the river. He thought of his insistence that Beaver was his totem and realized suddenly that he had utterly lost his mind the night before. A wave of regret washed over him. He wished Willow were here, for many reasons, but mainly so that he could say he was sorry. And to thank her for seeing him through.
Mintikwa crawled into his canoe. Something caught his eye. He hadn’t noticed it before. In the floor of the boat lay an arrow. Puzzled, Mintikwa reached for it and held it in his hands. It was a very special arrow. Its shaft was made from the branch of a red willow tree. At its tip, the arrowhead, made from crystal quartz, glittered in the morning sunlight. All her things were gone, except the arrow.
Tears streamed down his cheeks. Love for his old friend filled his heart. He felt renewed and suddenly full of resolve for completing his journey to Eddytown.
CHAPTER SIX
ALL MORNING, WITH renewed resolve, Mintikwa cut against the river’s current, but soon the absence of Willow began to shadow everything. His uncle had warned him that a girl could do this to a boy.
He remembered his uncle had said, “She will come quietly, settle into your heart, and then steal it away!” Saul chuckled, and then his eyes grew distant, and smiling, he seemed to reflect on days gone by.
“What can I do?” Mintikwa asked.
Uncle Saul stirred from the past. “Oh, no, my boy! You misunderstand me,” he said. “There’s nothing to do.”
“I don’t understand,” Mintikwa said.
“It’s not meant to be understood,” Uncle Saul said. “You have to feel it.” He patted Mintikwa’s shoulder. “One day, you will see.”
He had spent the past five days with her with no one else around. His thoughts of Willow alternated between pleasure and pain. In his hunger-induced delirium, he would think of something to tell her, excitedly turn to her in the boat only to find her gone. This went on all day, joy wrestling with pain. He grew weary of his mind’s questions for Willow, the back and forth of anticipating her answer and the ache when he found her missing. He tried telling himself to get hold of his scattered thoughts and roiling feelings, but it was no use.
He hadn’t felt this way about anyone, though the river perhaps came close. The water always pulled at him in much the same way as Willow did now, but her tugging on his heart filled him with desperation. Mintikwa missed her terribly.
His mind grew so exhausted at the struggle that it finally turned to thoughts of food. Suddenly a wave of hunger swept over him. At first, he fought back the cravings, but in a sense, the return of hunger was welcome. He worried that the pain in his ribs had damaged his belly, but with the cravings back, at least he knew that part of him was still working.
Some of his favorite meals flashed before his mind - fish fried with cornmeal, stew steaming beside the fire, and squash roasting on skewers. He imagined sliding the squash off the stick, squeezing it between fingers and thumb, letting it ooze onto his hand, and then popping it in his mouth. Usually, blackberries were plentiful this time of the summer. He imagined their juice bursting from his lips and dripping down his chin. Pieces of melon cooled the inside of his mouth. Among other delectable fare, these danced in his mind.
His arms labored steadily onward, paddling upstream, but in his daydreaming, he was back home by the fire. His mother stoked the flames. Embers glowed red. Sparks rose up around the sizzling fish. Nearby, above the dancing flames, venison roasted on skewers. Mintikwa held the tips of the skewers, slowly turning them. The fire hissed as fat dripped from the venison.
The truth was, harvests of maize and squash had dwindled, berries were scarce, and deer and fish had all but disappeared in recent years. The people were relying on stores to feed themselves, but they were nearly empty now. The trend couldn’t last much longer.
Mintikwa whispered prayers. Feebly, he sang his songs.
Somehow his mind wrapped around the hunger and quieted the cravings and the tremors of his body. He found strength where he never imagined it to be and won out against fasting. Once again, he reached a reprieve from hunger. His heart still ached for Willow, but he told himself that she was waiting for him back home.
Crow stirred awake. Aching pain throbbed at the bridge of his nose. He recalled the girl breaking his face the night before. He checked his cheek and felt dried blood caked over it and down his neck. He touched his nose lightly and winced in pain. It was likely broken.
The clearing lay empty before him. Around, the woods were black. Stars shimmered faintly through the trees. The moon was gone, and the air was quiet again. The storm had blown over.
Crow thought of his enemy. He listened and scanned the trees for any sign of firelight.
There was no sign of them.
He would have to pick up their trail again, he thought.
Crow tried to sit up. Pain shot from his side, so he eased back down.
He took a couple of deep breaths.
How exactly did he end up on the ground? The fight suddenly played through his mind. Come to think of it, why was he still alive? The girl had beat him unconscious. She was a fantastic fighter, definitely his superior in ever
y way. So why didn’t she kill him?
He had a faint recollection of the boy shouting at the girl to call off her attack.
Then a whisper came from the blackness. “It’s time for you to go south, Soulless,” a girl’s voice said.
Crow tried to discern her position but failed. She was well hidden.
“Don’t try to escape,” she said. “I’ll track you. And this time, I will kill you.”
“Why not kill me now?” Crow sneered.
Moments passed in silence. He expected she wouldn’t answer.
But she surprised him. “Because my friend wished to spare you,” she said, coming into view. The girl was still only a black figure against a black forest, but now he could see her faintly.
“So what,” Crow said. “You seemed more than eager to end me. And you nearly did. I know you’re a better fighter than me. So why am I still here?”
“He is seeking a vision,” she explained. “I won’t cross him while he has one foot in this world and another in the spirit realm.”
Crow understood her thinking now. He nodded, though he doubted she could see anything of him beyond a silhouette.
“Why did your friend spare me?”
“I really have no idea,” Willow said. “I guess he saw something in you.”
Was she peering at him?
“Perhaps he was delirious,” she said finally.
“I did hit him pretty hard,” Crow said flippantly.
The girl fired back, “Maybe I’ll kill you anyway and risk the spirits’ scorn,” not moving in the slightest. She was dead serious.
Crow suddenly recalled her ferocity and how intent she was on slaying him the night before. He now felt the moment teeter toward a quick end for him. He cleared his throat uneasily.
“So what now?” he asked, struggling to get back to safer ground.
“Simple,” Willow said. “If you want to live, you’ll go south.”
“That easy?” he asked, wondering if she was fool enough to trust that he would leave.
“You won’t see me,” she said, reading his thoughts. “But I’ll be sure you leave my homeland.”
“You’ll abandon your friend?”
“So many questions,” Willow said, in a whisper that was like a whiplash.
“I am sorry,” Crow said. “Affairs tied up with my fate leave me curious.”
Willow eyed him, then she said, “I’ve served my purpose in his vision seeking.”
“And what was that purpose?”
“Keeping you from killing him.”
He felt beaten. His dream of finding the Lake Erie talisman was gone, likely out of reach forever.
Crow knew moving would be excruciating, but he also knew he had to. The bit of patience the girl had where he was concerned was gone. He had to move now.
He forced himself to sit up. Pain shot through his back, but he refused to protest in front of her. He did his best to not show the pain. He got on his feet and stood. And felt dizzy. Crow touched his temple, hoping to steady himself. Vertigo threatened to shut him down. He tried to ignore the nausea welling up, but his body could not. His legs buckled. He bent at his waist and vomited.
When he finished evacuating his stomach, he took a few deep breathes and stood again. This time he succeeded in holding himself up, wavering only very slightly.
“I’m ready,” Crow said.
The girl chuckled. “You look it,” she said mercilessly.
“Walk then,” she commanded, still not moving.
Crow took one step gingerly. He leaned forward and took another. Soon he was walking. With each step, his back and legs grew more numb to the pain. His body wanted to survive this. Thinking of his return home and the reception he would receive, he wasn’t so sure.
Mintikwa wasn’t sure how far he had come, but he already needed to rest. The pain of the hatchet wound made it tortuous to paddle for very long. He raised his arm and twisted around to examine it. The bruise had deepened, but luckily the skin wasn’t broken. He beached his canoe and lay down in the floor of his boat.
Mintikwa awoke suddenly. Sunlight beamed down upon the top of his head. Strange. He was sure he had only rested a short while, but looking to the sky, he could see that the sun was high, which meant the morning had passed. He coughed, and his chest rattled. It felt like water had collected in his lungs. He wanted to breathe deeply, but it was excruciating, so he took shallow breaths instead.
He watched the leaves dancing in the treetops.
Was that birch?
He thought so.
Wasn’t there something about birch that could be helpful? He remembered his uncle telling him about it once.
“The bark,” Mintikwa muttered.
But what was it? It seemed important, yet it dangled just at the edge of Mintikwa’s grasp. Then it hit him. In the next moment, he was up and racing toward the tree. When he reached its base, he took out his knife. He stopped to catch his breath. He thanked the tree for giving of itself, then he touched the point of his blade to the trunk. He dug in and peeled away a piece of its bark. He whittled away at it to get at the inner bark and the oil beneath that. Mintikwa had picked a good place on the tree because the oil oozed out freely. He collected as much as he could and cut away more of the inner bark. It gave off a scent that soothed him and immediately eased his mind. He made his way back to his canoe and climbed in. He dipped some of the oil onto a piece of the bark and popped it into his mouth. He chewed it and sucked at the oil. This is what his uncle had told him. The oil would ease his pain. Mintikwa leaned back in his canoe and gazed again at the dancing leaves. He closed his eyes and then fell asleep.
Mintikwa rose above the river. He saw his canoe below on the beach where he had just collapsed. He viewed the course of the waterway from above like a bird. Mintikwa leaned forward and flew. Now he moved effortlessly upstream. The river passed beneath his dangling feet, leisurely at first but then more quickly. His heart raced. Alarmed by the speed, he willed himself to slow down, but to no avail. Instead, the river rushed by even faster. He looked ahead.
Mainly the landscape consisted of forests and meadows, but strange rivers of stone crisscrossed the land. One came careening from the horizon to the south and passed below him, crossing the river and stretching to the north. It disappeared over the horizon.
From there, great trees towered high above the earth. As he rushed toward them, he could see they had no branches. They were cut off and flat at the tips. The trees must be dead, he thought. Like standing deadwood, they were covered by fungus and algae. They harbored other plants, small animals, and insects. Black openings spread along the surface of the trees. They were hollow inside.
Mintikwa flew on and came close to one deadwood. It occurred to him that it wasn’t shaped like a tree after all. Up close, he could see that it wasn’t circular as it should be, but instead, it was cornered at four points around it, much like their longhouses, but narrow and tall. More like a longhouse tipped up and put on its edge. High though he was, the tree was higher. Hovering above the earth, he watched as it reached into the sky. Suddenly, Mintikwa lurched skyward. He rose higher and higher. The landscape expanded, and he could see all the land farther than any of his people had ever seen, even in the fifth age. Then he saw back into the fifth age. The branchless trees were everywhere, and they were not black but filled with white firelight. They covered all the world. He felt dizzy and closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, he was back above the river. He flew again upstream. Mintikwa came to a creek, which snaked below him from the east. It flowed into the river, and somehow he knew it was the end of his journey. He also knew of this place from stories he had heard since he was a little boy. He recognized the creek as Wildcat Creek and the cove of their emergence into the sixth world when they were led out of the water by Great-horned Owl. Mintikwa had never seen that creek in person. No one had. Not since their emergence, because the confluence was here in the northern lands.
Downrive
r, he saw their ancient abandoned town. It was a village much like his, with longhouses and beached canoes and cooking fires up on the hill. Fields of the Three Sisters grew just beyond their homes. Groves of chestnut, hickory, oak, and walnut lay scattered across the landscape maintained, as the stories told, by their ancestors. They set fire to the forest understory to keep out unwanted trees and undergrowth, leaving the way for fruit and nut-bearing trees. Though now his people were too few in number, once there were enough of his people to form whole legions of gardeners whose task it was to tend to forests which went on in every direction from horizon to horizon.
He saw his ancestors, among them his great-great-grandfather, thrust out of the underworld, into the cove, and into the sixth world. They came up out of the water like jumping fish. They landed on the sandy shore of their river. A huge beast followed them, landing near them on the sand. It was Underwater Panther. The deity turned toward Mintikwa, opened his mouth, and bellowed as only a god can. And then, to Mintikwa’s amazement, he saw recognition form on the Panther’s face. The god focused on Mintikwa. Then it spoke to him, but he had no idea what the words meant. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
Mintikwa was startled awake. He had a sense that something had crashed in the moments before, but looking around and listening, all was quiet. Mintikwa realized he was breathing easily with little pain. He had rested well, despite his strange dreams. The medicine in the birch bark allowed him to breathe and to sleep peacefully. He took a deep breath and exhaled. He began to cough fitfully, but there was no pain. Gobs of watery phlegm came up out of his chest with his coughing. He spit it out. He coughed again, and more came up. He spit again and continued to breathe deeply. Finally, his chest was clear of the stuff.
Mintikwa felt much better, enough so that he decided to get back on the river. He looked skyward, toward the tree. He realized it probably saved his life. Mintikwa pressed his hands together and pointed them toward the forest giant.