So, Nokusi, or Bear, began. “It was an unusual day that Pasikola was going about his own business. He had played so much mischief on everybody that they all wanted to kill him. Rabbit and Wolf had once been friends, but tricks had ended that. Wolf had set about to snare Rabbit one final time. So it was that Rabbit was walking across a field of cornstalk stubble one day when he saw something shake a bush nearby. He stopped, then stepped a little closer to see what it was. Whatever was there was well covered, so he moved still closer. Then they jumped from behind the bush and rushed Rabbit. It was Wolf, his new nemesis, and Heron, whom he hadn’t liked from the start. Well, Pasikola was faster than those two and he bounded away through the trees with both in close pursuit. When he came out of the woods Rabbit found a hollow log. He hid inside and lay very still. Wolf came into the field but couldn’t see Rabbit. So he went over to the log and sat down.
“Now when Wolf sat down Rabbit thought he could distract him. He looked up to see there was a hole in the log and that Wolf’s testicles were right over it, so he reached up to tickle them a little. Wolf said, ‘It’s always the same. I miss catching that Pasikola again and now ants are crawling all over my balls. Everything torments me. Damn these ants!’” An outburst of laughter both shrill and hearty from the initiates sounded through the trees. Bear paused a moment to let them have their fill.
“When Wolf stood up to brush the ants off,” Nokusi continued, “he spied Rabbit through the hole. Wolf squirmed into the log and snatched Rabbit. ‘Aha! I’ve got you now! You’re not getting away this time!’
“As Wolf pulled Rabbit out of the log, Heron arrived. They found a tree branch on the ground and tied Rabbit to it, forelegs and hindlegs. ‘We’re going to carry you to the wide water in the east, where the men of the sea foam are! They’re a pretty hungry set of men, and they are hungry now, and we’re going to exchange you for gifts. Then we’ll be rid of you for good!’ Wolf said.
“Heron laughed in a cruel but happy way and said, ‘And you will be thrown in the pot to boil for their supper!’
“Rabbit sulked and said, ‘Oh, me! My days are done and I’m through with making it so miserable for everyone. I’ve been a rascal and now it’s caught up with me. I guess I’m ready to be thrown in the pot.’
“Now Rabbit knew of the white men but pretended that he didn’t. ‘But who are these people that you’re talking about?’ he asked.
“Wolf said, ‘They are the Nokfilalgi who’ve come over the big lake and washed up on the shore. They are of the sea foam, white and ever drifting. And they’ll skin you from head to toe in an instant!’
“So Wolf and Heron hauled Rabbit east, and when they got there they showed two Nokfilalgi what they had to trade. Rabbit said to them, ‘It’s true. I’ll be a delicious meal, all right. But before you cook me, I have one last request. Please give me some of your tobacco. I would like one final chew.’
“So the men untied Rabbit and gave him a small twist of tobacco. He chewed it like it was his very last meal. Then he looked up and spat tobacco juice right into the eyes of both men. Quick as a snake, he picked up a gun dropped on the ground, pointed it at Wolf and Heron and said, ‘Now Wolf and Heron, I’m going to shoot you!’ He fired it between them to send them bounding away in terror.
“Pasikola had gotten another laugh and he laughed as he ran away while the men cursed as they pawed at their eyes. The scamp always escapes. And that, they say, is why the Nokfilalgi are here in our country, looking for that Pasikola!”
The boys laughed again, slapping their knees. Otci caught his breath and looked at Nokusi, the Bear, who scanned the group and smiled. That was something he had never seen, and he was glad to see the lighter side of the man who was the most revered in Attaugee town. Humor is like love, he thought.
Otci knew Bear had that extra capacity. He had long wanted to become a man like Bear. He was loved by all and, indeed, feared by many. He had taken more hair of their enemies than any warrior, so they said when they gathered by the great fire. None of the beloved men, the elders in Attaugee, could remember anyone who had taken more. And here the initiates were, sitting in a semicircle around the man as so many of the warriors in the village had before. He was the master, they were his charges. When they had quieted, Bear spoke again. “So now Pasikola is on the loose again. And he will be back, I believe.” He paused briefly and looked at the small fire pit at his feet.
“In fact, he may be back in another form. The kithlas are among us. You know them. They are the prophets, the exalted ones among medicine makers and healers. They are the seers. They divine and conjure. But you have to watch them. Many years ago I was among the initiates. There were ten of us. We had gone through the rituals as you will, and all of us were brought in at the Poskita, on the Green Corn Day. I received my warrior’s name then. I remember it all very clearly.
“It was just five moons since the Poskita on a day when we were with some of the older men. We were playing chunkey. We heard some commotion and then we were called out by this visiting kithla. His name was Eno. We went down to the river and saw him there with a group of warriors.”
Bear’s demeanor changed from the open expression he wore during the Pasikola tale to one of a somber, deliberate nature. His eyes dropped to the ground, then rose back up to them, as if he was trying to gather a deeper thought. He spoke in a serious way.
“The prophet stood with arms folded. Black buzzard feathers hung from his shoulders in two heavy clumps. He was a slender man, but his thinness was hardened by fasting, and in his muscle and sinew as well as in his vision he was as hard as hickory. But the feathers made him look broad-shouldered and larger than he was. Aptly dressed these kithlas are, wearing the implements other medicine men use to clean the wounds of warriors hurt in battle. I believe they mean to clean our thoughts and beliefs, too. He stood there dark, menacing, and strong. He stood apart from the rest. I thought he was also a thief, like our friend Rabbit. When he spoke the black paint on his face broke against the shine of white teeth. His bloodshot eyes beamed with uncommon luster. A thin slit of red running down the ridge of his nose gave his face a wicked expression. He glowered at us. He was ignited by his own inner fire.
“We had all taken his talk. He had drawn the circle around himself. He sat us down. He had laid out four rods to the directions of the wind, had built his own fire within the circle and fed it alone, one stick at a time. It was grave, what he was doing. He was conjuring. He didn’t let the boys bring him wood, but gathered it himself. He was apart from us and as resolute as a panther is in rising silently to its feet when the unwary footfalls and brush-rattling of its prey alerts it.
“Long Person, the river behind him, seemed to speak for him. A swift current full of many days of rain boiled past under a gray, close-hanging sky. Whole trees, parts of trees, all that the earth surrendered to it, bounced and ran in the flow. The river’s broad face was set deep in trouble, possessed and transformed. The river was furious. Here we were in the dense thicket of this man’s appetite. He wanted to show he could bring the river under his own control. He told us he had brought the rain to the Abeika country, to the north, and now it was here.
“We knew the rains had fallen so heavily that the river would rise and cover everything, that the flood was going to be great, that probably the corn would be lost this time and that there would be much mud in the fields.”
The old warrior took a breath and looked off into the trees. After a moment he sharpened his eye and returned to the twelve young initiates. He knew he had their attention. He knew he could take them anywhere. But he was incorruptible. There was only his knowledge and the straightness of his true talk.
“The prophet’s fire jumped eagerly and mischievously as if it were laughing at us. The reflection of it sparked across his face, yellow flashing on black. But we began to smell the river and its own intent. There were two things there, the prophet and the river. And the river had run its current long before the medicine ever was. We could smell the water and it was like the smell of a corpse long dead. It was sweet yet foul. You know yourselves, my young warrior boys, how the senses speak to your other