Two Rivers by Zoe Saadia Page A

stomach.”
    “No, and we can’t look at those with our bellies growling.”
Indicating the circle of the dancers, Two Rivers grinned, eyes lingering on the
prancing girls. “All those swirling skirts.”
    The warriors laughed.
    “You can look around all you like, still living in your clan’s
longhouse. When you move to this or that swirling skirt’s compartment, you’ll
be more careful with your eyes.”
    “And the other parts, too.”
    “Oh, yes.”
    Receiving bowls of hot stew, with pieces of meat floating near
the surface, they squatted upon the ground, inhaling the delicious aroma.
    “But you are not in a hurry to move to another longhouse,
brother, eh?” said the first warrior, gulping his meal.
    “No, I’m not.” Eating heartily, Two Rivers watched the tall
girl from the Porcupine Clan laughing, her hair long and luxurious, bouncing
prettily as she tossed her head, well aware of the gazes she drew.
    “He will be enjoying his freedom until he grows very old. Then
he will start looking in a hurry, if his most precious of weapons would be
still strong enough by then.”
    “I won’t live to be that old.”
    The girl’s eyes brushed past him, lingering for a heartbeat. It
made him wish to finish his meal.
    “Aren’t you afraid to talk like that, brother?” asked one of
the younger warriors. “It is not wise to tempt the bad spirits of the Evil
Twin.”
    “You are talking to Two Rivers,” said someone. “He is not
afraid of the spirits. He’ll argue with them until they’ll leave him alone,
defeated.” The man shrugged, his face sobering. “He has a prophecy to fulfill.”
    “Oh, please!” Suppressing a sudden wave of irritation, Two
Rivers took his eyes off the dancers, meeting the gazes of his peers. “There is
no prophecy, and there never was. Why would anyone pay attention to the
nonsense dreams of a troubled young woman that happened more than thirty
summers ago?”
    “Dreams are not to be taken lightly, brother.” One of the older
warriors gazed at him sternly, reprimanding. “The woman who gave you your life
was visited by strange dreams before she conceived. She knew no man, but she
grew you in her belly, nevertheless. Her mother had testified to that matter.”
    He remembered his grandmother, her large, brown hands, always
busy, pounding corn, or working the flour into beautifully smooth dough. She
had had a booming voice, and she would scold the children of her longhouse and
make them work, still, all the boys and the girls loved to play in her
vicinity. It was calming to know she was around.
    She never talked to him about the prophecy, but as he grew up
he had heard more than he wanted to, having noticed that there was no father in
his life, while in the lives of his playmates there usually had been such a
person. All he had was a silent, haunted woman for a mother, a woman who had
not really been there, sitting in her corner, sewing all day long. Other women
went into the fields, cooked and gossiped, laughing with each other,
complaining about their men, dancing through the ceremonies. But his mother had
hardly talked at all, seldom leaving their compartment, looking at him with
those clouded eyes, opening her mouth only occasionally, to tell him how he
would do great things – save his people – when he grew up.
    He pushed the memories away, desperate to suppress the familiar
frustration.
    “I won’t presume to judge people’s interpretation of their
visions,” he said, shrugging. “But I have my doubts as to this particular
dream. There might be a simpler explanation.”
    Like a girl lying with a man, then losing her sanity when he
would not take the responsibility, he thought, clenching his teeth. His father
must have been a terrible man.
    “You are not young anymore, Two Rivers,” said one of the
elders, shaking his head. “You were reluctant to take your destined path for
too long, going against our ways and traditions instead. The people were
patient with you, but