The lake lay still and unrippled in the pink morning light. The other learners were still asleep, but Kannihut knew the Spirit Father was up, somewhere on the hill watching him. Kannihut approached the water with hesitant steps, wishing it were another day— any other day.
He gripped the spear. It was almost his height, smooth and perfectly straight. This spear was no lifeless tool, it was an extension of himself, an extension of his power—a power that let him become a predator in the water, a dangerous fish in a fish’s world.
He had spent days finding the perfect young birch to make it. He stripped the thin trunk clean and smoothed it with the shaft stone for three days, then heated and pressed it with rocks to cure a bend. Straightness was important, but more so was buoyancy; the spear needed to weigh the same as the water or any thrust would be misdirected. A smooth stone wound tightly to the back of the shaft kept it balanced, and when he put it in the water it hung in place without moving.
Making the spearhead took the most time. He found just the right piece of clear stone in a creek bed— a stone that held power and had just the right weight—and chipped it into the perfect shape with shallow knotches and long pointed wings. He couldn’t attach a barb on either side of the head, like a spear he would use from shore; he would have to put the spear through the fish and hope its wings held it there. He would never be able to follow the pike if he struck it wrong, and if he injured the fish and lost it, it’s spirit would be angry and it would become his enemy and not his guide. And if Kannihut only injured the fish, he could chase it all day, and maybe the next, eventually succumbing to the water’s cold. Once he stepped into the lake, he couldn’t return to the shore until the beast was taken. To leave meant to mock the spirits who brought him to the island. He would have to go back to the village, a failed learner. His path would not be fulfilled and his people’s fate would feel his failure.
Today, he would earn the respect of the lake and become its master, or be defeated by it. He had swum the lake many times that summer and his lungs were strong. He could fill his lungs with just the right amount of air and lie on the bottom until the water stilled and schools of fish passed right by, taking him for a log or a rock.
Kannihut stepped into the icy water, feeling it envelope his calves, then his knees. Going in up to his waist, he began to wash off the white paint on his chest. He had worn the paint for a year now, but he would not wear it again. When he came back out of the water, he would be painted with the red marks of a warrior, or go back to his village unpainted.
Why not a deer? he thought. I have killed many deer, even with my limp, and I have always honored their spirit. It was a deer that showed me the spirit power flowing through me. Why do I have to face such a dangerous fish to finish my training? Hunting a fish in the water is unlike hunting any animal on land. There are no tracks, no trails of blood, and the fish is faster and stronger than me, and must be less than a spear’s length away.
Enough doubt, he scolded himself. The pike will be feeding in the shallow water, but will head back to the deep water soon. Any waiting works against me. He took a deep breath and went under.
He made his way to the rock in the middle of the shallow area and put his knife on it. It would be useless in the water, and its dangling motion at his waist would only draw attention. He stood in the shallower water near the rock, lifted his spear out of the water and silently asked the spirits for their help, then slipped underwater.
The smaller fish would be feeding in the weed forest near the eastern shore, and the pike would be there, too. He glided underwater for long distances, making his way to the edge of the weeds, preparing his lungs to hold more and more air. A few sunfish poked at the plants and Kannihut watched them move in and out of the weeds with no sense of threat.
Moving along the deeper edge of the reed forest, he passed through its fringes, not moving any of the stalks. Inside the thick weeds, he found a clearing where a school of perch was feeding. This is where the pike will hunt, he thought. Then he corrected himself, this is where I will hunt. He waited there, watching the fish pass in and out of the clearing, taking breaths now and then, keeping his heart slow and his movements slower, though the sound of his heartbeat echoed inside him, and pulsed through the water.
At the end of his breath, Kannihut was about to surface when a perch came into the clearing, turned and quickly darted back into the weeds. Something spooked it, he thought. Then he saw the pike, halfway into the clearing, near the bottom, laying still in the water. The green sheen of sunlight through the water made it look like a peaceful log, except for the teeth. Kannihut’s heartbeat quickened. The fish was at least as long as him, and its thick body began with one long row of pointed grabbing teeth.
The beast’s mouth opened and closed almost imperceptibly. Its backfin, a long strip of hard sharp spikes, moved slowly up and down with the passing current. To grab the fish the wrong way could mean losing a hand to those spikes.
Kannihut surfaced. He couldn’t move on the pike, then go up for air and hope to find it again once the fight started. A wrong thrust and it would be over; the fish would go deeper than Kannihut could follow. One missed strike and the pike would be gone, taking with it Kannihut’s spear…and his future.
If he lost the fish, he would have to wait for evening when the pike came to the shallow areas again, and if he missed it then, he would have to wait until tomorrow, sleeping naked on the rock, its hard surface sucking the heat from his body. Not having eaten in two days, he would have no energy to hunt the next day, if he survived the night.
He took four long breaths, trying to stay focused on the place he had seen the fish. He descended again, as still as possible, and saw the pike, but in an instant, even while Kannihut watched, it disappeared. Even with his heightened nerves and intense focus, Kannihut could not follow the lightning movements of the pike with his eyes. He scoured the bottom of the weed forest but the pike was nowhere to be seen. Fish always move forward, he reminded himself, floating in the direction the pike had been facing, his spear extending in front of him, his arm locked in thrusting position.
He left the clearing and pushed into the thick weeds, most of them twice his height. They were spaced enough for him to move through without disturbing, but were too close for him to see much beyond a spear length in front of him. Just ahead, a small bass moved into his view, then quickly changed direction and darted back into the weeds, its scales flashing silver in the refracted sunlight. Something spooked it, Kannihut thought, and it wasn’t me.
He focused hard on the weeds in front of him. He willed his heart to calm, even as adrenaline started pumping through his body and his lungs began to crave air again.
The pike has to be just ahead, but which way is he facing? I need to come at him from the side for any chance. If he is facing away, there’s no way for me to spear him true, and if he is facing me… Kannihut felt a chill at the thought. All animals fled from predators, but the pike had none. It was a hunter and a dangerous one. What if it turned in anger and came back at him with its long pointed mouth full of sharp teeth?
Kannihut’s lungs began to get heavy; he had to surface soon. He rose slowly and filled his lungs twice—blacking out while chasing the fish would doom his hunt. Descending again, he made out the muted colors of the pike’s thick body in the weeds—it was still there, waiting for prey. Kannihut glided toward it, straining to see any part of the fish’s body that told him which way it faced.
Then, between the leafy weed stalks, he saw the tail. The beast was angled away from him, but showed enough of its side for Kannihut to make a stab at its gills.
He gave a short prayer to the pike’s spirit and readied his body for the push. One swift motion, he told himself, one swift motion. He kicked hard and his body propelled forward, his arm stiff with tension, ready for the thrust. All at once, a school of perch swam in front of him and his motion exploded the orderly school into a frenzy, many of them flitting into his body. The perch blocked his view, but Kannihut was too committed, his body surging forward. He stretched toward the monster. Nerves fired in his arm and the spear shot forward. The pike blasted ahead, an instant too late, and the spear plunged into its body.
The fish lurched right, convulsing, ripping the spear out of Kannihut’s hand, nearly breaking his wrist. The pike’s spasm turned the spearhead in its body, tearing the flesh behind the gills and catching the point’s wings in the beast’s ribs.
Kannihut grabbed for the spear, but the fish surged into the weeds, bending stalks with the long shaft, ripping its body further. Kannihut went after it, following the trail of swaying weeds. He had sunk the spear well, but he had to catch the fish before it disappeared into the deep water.
The pike lurched and angled on its way out of the weeds, trying to remove the spear. Kannihut kicked hard and pulled his arms furiously in pursuit, using his air. The weeds were getting thicker. He is meaning to hide, Kannihut thought, fighting the heaviness in his lungs and the panic of losing the fish.
With a strong kick, he broke through a thick stand of weeds and into a small clearing over a large log, suddenly realizing he was over the pike, rushing past it. Without thinking, Kannihut dove, grabbing the spear with one hand and the great fish’s body with the other.
The beast heaved and its long backfin gouged into Kannihut’s chest. He screamed and air rushed out of his lungs. Sucking in water, he shoved the spear through the fish then shot to the surface. Kannihut broke through the surface, coughing. Grunting at the searing pain as his chest expanded to fill with air. He took two painful breaths and dove and diving after the fish.
The pike had stopped to keep the spear from pulling against the weeds, and Kannihut found it again quickly. When he got close, it lurched forward again, heading toward deep water, but each time the spear touched a thick stalk, the fish spasmed.
Kannihut dove on the fish and grabbed the spear from the side, kicking to avoid its body. If the beast lurched toward him, its huge fins could scratch through his face or even pierce his heart. But the fish jumped away from him and the spear jarred its body, the spearhead tearing at its ribs. Kannihut held onto the spear this time, and the fish pulled him forward out of the weeds and into the open water, moving fast despite its terrible wounds.
Grasping the spear, Kannihut was pulled though the water, the fish moving faster than he could swim, lurching every few lengths, but slowing. Kannihut’s lungs grew heavy again. Now in open water, he would lose the pike for sure if he let go of the spear. His vision dimmed and the strength in his hand dwindled. The bright green of the water started turning darker.
Hold on, he commanded himself. Just hold on. He could feel the pike slowing, but his lungs began to burn with pressure, yearning for air. He had enough consciousness for one last effort. Splaying himself against the water, he tightened his grip on the spear and wrenched it. His pull had little strength, but it was enough. The fish stopped swimming and spasmed again. Thrown off its momentum, Kannihut kicked hard for the surface, yanking the fish with him.
His face broke the waterline, just as his throat gaped open to suck in air—or water—anything to fill the emptiness in his lungs. Air rushed into him, but the fish lurched again, pulling him under. It was swimming but its strength was fading. Kannihut let it swim, pulling him through the lake, draining its power. He needed air and kicked to the surface. When the fish lurched again, Kannihut could hold his head above the water.
He let it swim twice more. Feel your lake one last time, he thought to it. You have a powerful spirit. He pulled at the spear and found he could maneuver the pike now. He started swimming for the rock, blood trailing from both of them. Every few strokes, the fish convulsed, but each time the struggle had less strength and was easier for Kannihut to control. The rock was more than a hundred body lengths away, and the fish still struggled against him, but oxygen was returning to Kannihut’s muscles, just as the lack of swimming was stealing it from the pike’s.
He pulled with one hand, slowly making his way to the rock. His arm was frozen, his right hand numb, but his fingers stayed locked around the spear.
When he reached the rock, the fish was spent. “You will die in the water,” Kannihut told it, reaching up for his knife. Such a spirit should die in its element.
He carefully maneuvered the fish closer to him with the spear, then took the knife with stiff deadened fingers, and sawed through the tough scaled, throat of the beast in three quick motions. The pike stopped struggling. Blood filled the water around them.
Kannihut stayed in the water, holding unto the pike’s huge body. His hunt was over. His training was over. He would be a warrior now, and wear red when he went back to the village. But the pike would never leap from the lake again. Waves of hot and cold surged through Kannihut, and he felt the sting in his nose as warm tears began to fill his eyes. The pike had made him a warrior, but in the thin space between exhilaration and exhaustion, he felt an emptiness he had never known before. Whatever had filled that space would stay in the lake, was even now diffusing through the blood and water and falling to the bottom. Gone and disappearing.
Originally published in Sentinel Literary Quarterly.
