The Prince of Two Tribes by Sean Cullen Page B

staggered back and fell in his seat. She pointed and laughed, once again keeping pace with the train. Brendan rolled his eyes. She stuck out her tongue.
    The end of the platform loomed. The girl waved goodbye and dropped back out of sight. Brendan didn’t wave back.
    The homeless man had been watching the whole thing. “She can sure motor,” he said, eyes wide. “That’s some girl, there.”
    “Yeah,” Brendan had to admit.
    He took the subway north to Spadina. Rather than take the streetcar from the station, he decided to walk home through the softly falling snow. People were bundled up against the weather, but Brendan hardly noticed the cold. The sun was low in the grey sky.
    By the time he got to what he’d taken to calling the Snoring Rock, it was already dark. Brendan came level with the black stone and found himself compelled to stop. Lately he’d avoided this place. Something about the monolith sitting in the schoolyard made him uneasy. He read the little brass plaque that decorated the stone.
    T HIS B ASIC I GNEOUS R OCK WAS FOUND AT A DEPTH OF
    TWELVE FEET DURING THE COURSE OF EXCAVATION FOR THIS SCHOOL. T HE COMPOSITION IS OF A VERY RARE TYPE AND IS ASSUMED TO HAVE BEEN CARRIED HERE FROM C ARIBOU L AKE NORTH OF P ARRY S OUND BY A GLACIER DURING THE G REAT I CE A GE 12,000 YEARS AGO .
    Brendan could barely imagine the force required to transport a stone over such a distance and bury it so deep in the ground. Thinking about it made him uncomfortable, perhaps because the rock reminded him of the first terrifying and confusing day when he’d stumbled into his new life. He and Dmitri had been walking past this very spot when he’d heard the stone “snoring.” He remembered the harsh warning the stone had barked in his mind, telling him to stay away.
    So why was he here? He could have easily taken another route. He stood in the yellow light of the street lamp with the snow gently falling around him, staring at the mottled black surface of the stone.
    The world faded from his awareness. The surface of the stone swam before him. What at first seemed to be a chaos of bumps, gouges, and cracks began to shift and resolve into patterns. Brendan struggled to make sense of the markings, but their meaning was just beyond his perception. He felt that if he could just concentrate a little more, he’d be able to puzzle them out.
    He heard a voice whispering his name. The voice was soft, insistent, and hypnotic.
    Breandan.
    Breandan.
    I am waiting.
    Breandan.
    “Brendan!”
    The voice was suddenly loud. Brendan came to his senses to find that he had climbed over the little fence surrounding the black rock and had laid his bare hands on its rough surface.
    “Hey, Brendan!” His father stood on the sidewalk looking at him, concern plain on his face. “Are you okay?”
    Brendan dropped his hands to his sides, embarrassed and confused. He didn’t remember climbing the fence and approaching the stone.
    “Hi, Dad,” he said lamely, stepping back onto the sidewalk. “Where are you coming from?”
    “Work. They called me in to cover a shift at the café. And I had to pick up some stuff your mother ordered.” He held up a couple of shopping bags. He cocked his head to the side and looked at Brendan again. “Are you okay?”
    “Yeah! Yeah!” Brendan said. “I was, uh … I just thought I saw some graffiti tags on that rock. But it wasn’t anything. Just a shadow.” He smiled lamely.
    “Oh, okay,” his father said slowly. “That’s good. All right, then, shall we go home and see what’s for dinner?”
    “Sure!”
    Dinner was sloppy joes and homemade french fries, Brendan’s favourite. There was also a big salad, since his mother always forced him to eat at least one plate of greens as well. He demolished two joes in short order, suddenly famished. He still felt weird after his latest encounter with the Snoring Rock. He guessed he had to call it the Talking Rock now. He pondered the experience while he ate, his