Call Down the Stars Read Online Free PDF

tumbled backward. He heard a thin wail, and at first thought it came from his own mouth. Again the sea shook, waves came from both shores, picked the boat up, and thrust it from the estuary into the sea. Again he heard the wail, but this time he knew it was not from him, for he had clamped his teeth tightly together to keep from biting his tongue.
    It was the boat; it had to be. The tree part of it was not quite dead, and as they sped out toward the sea, it called to its brother trees in fear.
    “It will save you some burning and scraping,” Water Gourd shouted to the boat over the tumult of waves.
    If he could convince the tree that it was better off in the sea, it might not dump him in its effort to return to the sanctuary of river and forest. He reached for the paddle. Perhaps if the boat saw that he, too, wanted to remain in the river, it would help him. He thrust the paddle into the water, thrust again and again until he had managed to turn the boat toward the estuary. A wave caught him and pushed him forward, and he dipped his paddle, working as hard and fast as he could. A second wave took him and a third, until finally he felt the contrary current of the river. Though it was dark, with the eyes of his memory, he saw the green river water mingling with the blue sea, swirling into a dance that would complete itself out past the estuary in a place where fish fed from the river’s generosity.
    Water Gourd paddled, blessing arms kept strong by carrying water, cursing muscles pulled long and stringy by old age. Two strokes to counter the river’s flow, two to pull the boat forward, then the shift to the other side to wield his paddle between the outrigger shafts. Two strokes to straighten the bow and two to regain the ground he had lost in shifting his paddle. He counted his strokes, singing them under his breath like a chant, and he nearly wept with joy when he regained the entrance of the estuary.
    Then, above the sounds of river and sea, of his chanting and the splash of his paddle, he heard voices. His heart clenched like a fist, and for moment he did not have the strength to lift the paddle, but merely kept it in the water, the blade turned flat against the side of the boat.
    Bear-god warriors. He saw their torches lining the banks of the estuary, saw one then another lift his fire until they cast light in long sheaths across the water to his outrigger. They lifted their spears, threw. The spears were thrusting lances, not so good for distance. One fell into the estuary, but another thwacked hard inside the boat, cutting a gouge into Water Gourd’s thigh before the tip embedded itself in wood.
    He knew then there was no hope. He raised his paddle and brought it into the boat, laid the blade over his belly. Better to take a spear in chest or throat and have his life end suddenly than to suffer a gut wound. He felt the river current thrust him toward the sea, but then the boat turned sideways and a wave brought him back. The Bear-god men threw more spears as sea and river played with his boat, like children throwing a pig bladder. A spear clattered against the outrigger and one landed in the bow. Water Gourd pinched his fingers over the oozing wound in his thigh. It was not a terrible cut, shallow and less than a handbreadth in length, but it hurt.
    Suddenly the earth heaved again. Water Gourd saw it first in the flames from the Bear-god torches, the light moving in odd circles, one torch dipping down until it had extinguished itself in the water. As though the river were inhaling, the boat was suddenly sucked far into the estuary. He closed his eyes, tried to prepare for death, but then just as unexpectedly, the river exhaled and thrust the boat and Water Gourd out into the sea, past the waves that would return him, far beyond the reach of any spear.
    The torches were only tiny needle pricks in the night, and in his relief Water Gourd began to laugh. Better to drown than face the tortures the Bear-gods would