Two Rivers by Zoe Saadia

taking their toll, making his head dizzy, his body stiff and crying for a well-deserved
rest.
    He watched the other warriors squatting all around, smoking the
pipe when it was their turn to take the revered, beautifully carved object. 
    “We will leave in two dawns,” the War Chief was saying. “A
party of twenty men. Good, seasoned warriors; no youths this time.”
    The men listened in silence, their faces sealed, impartial, as
though carved out of wood, glittering in the light of a small fire, elated by
the dance, yet as exhausted, their energies drained. The clatter of the rattles
and the drumming poured in, with the square still full of activity, the town’s
dwellers refusing to disperse, dancing on, social dances now.
    He took the offered pipe, pleased to see his hand firm, not
trembling. After the War Dance it was always difficult to control one’s limbs.
    “Only clubs and bows. Ten light canoes,” the deep voice went
on, ringing eerily in the surrounding darkness. “The Clans' Council will give
us food for ten days' journey, but we will be eating sparingly, to ensure our
well being should the journey take us longer to complete.”
    Inhaling, Two Rivers watched the old leader, marveling at the
composure and the calm dignity the noble face radiated. The man had been almost
a legend, having fought for more summers than anyone could remember, the war
trophies mounting in the compartment of his longhouse, the tales of his deeds
going ahead of him. Earlier, in the middle of the ceremony, it had taken the
old leader a long time to recount his battles. The custom dictated that the
most veteran warrior would tell about his wars and victories in between the
dances, and this particular tale was taking the longest.
    Not that anyone complained. The man’s ability to relate the old
stories was wonderful, inspiring, breathtakingly real, taking his listeners to
the places and times they had never seen.
    “Who will be chosen to join, Honorable Leader?” asked one of
the men quietly.
    “You will know with sunrise.” The War Chief took the offered
pipe, inhaling deeply, savoring its contents. “Now go back, or go to rest. I
will need most of you present here, full of power and in the highest of spirits
in two dawns from now.” The stern eyes softened, encircling his audience,
traveling from face to face. “I will be proud to lead the warriors of your
quality once again, before it will be my time to clear the path for the younger
leaders to take.”
    Unsettled, Two Rivers watched the meditative eyes clouding,
wandering unknown distances. He saw a quick spasm crossing the old face,
lingering for only a heartbeat.
    He held his breath. Had the old leader seen a glimpse of the
future? Had he seen something discouraging there?
    Forcing his eyes off the saddening face, wishing to allow the
man privacy one deserved at such a moment, he got to his feet along with the
rest of the warriors, eager to go back to the festivities all of a sudden. The
tiredness was still there, but his spirit now craved the merry clamor and the
loud commotion of the joyful townsfolk.
    He frowned. The ability to see the future was unsettling, every
time he had witnessed it. It happened to people on occasions, with no pattern
or logic, no special foods eaten and no special beverages consumed. And no
matter how reluctant one might feel, what conscious efforts one might have made
to avoid this happening, it would pounce on you without noticing, filling your
mind's eye with all sort of visions of undecipherable meaning. There were
nights he preferred not to sleep at all.
    The clamor of the square burst upon him, welcome in its
colorful confusion, in its jumble of smells and sounds. He drifted toward the
largest fire, hungry and not bothering to conceal it. There was not much
solemnity about the social part of the ceremonies.
    “Let us grab some food,” cried out one of the warriors. “One
can’t be expected to dive into this mess on an empty