Eteima Mathu Naba Part 2 -

Now, standing at the river’s edge, she understood. The curse wasn’t on Mathu Naba’s wounds. The curse was on . The Bargain “Speak it,” the river demanded. “Or let him sink.”

Eteima closed her eyes. Twenty summers ago, their mother lay on a pyre of sal leaves. Before the flames took her, she whispered to young Eteima: “Mathu Naba is not your brother. He is the son of the river. I stole him from Hagra Douth’s grove. And the spirit never forgets.”

Then silence.

The river roared. The sky turned the color of old blood.

A boy’s voice — small, clear — rose from beneath the deep: The Crossing The water split. Not with fury. With grief. Eteima Mathu Naba Part 2

Eteima walked across the dry riverbed, Mathu Naba breathing again on her shoulder. Behind her, the veil sank slowly, turning into white water lilies.

“Eteima Mathu Naba,” she whispered. I have not let you fall. Now, standing at the river’s edge, she understood

“No trick,” she said. “Just a trade.”

A deep, guttural sound rose from the stones beneath the black water. the river spoke. “But this time… alone.” The Bargain “Speak it,” the river demanded

“I speak for Mathu Naba,” she said, her voice steady as stone.

On the far shore, she turned.