Raft of Stars by Andrew Graff (good books for high schoolers .txt) 📕

around windows. It made him feel like a person with a life to live. He lived in daylight here, more or less called his own hours when duty allowed. Pancakes became a breakfast food again, and people did breakfast well in the North, kept a person warm. Cal took a deep breath of the night air. The pines reminded him of the smell of lavender, and Cal allowed himself to smile even though he was dragging a horse through a forest at night. Tiffany, he thought. Here in these lonely woods, banished forever, he had a house and a dog, and maybe, just maybe. What were the words she’d written down on those bills in her kitchen? It was poetry. Cal liked the idea of loving a woman who wrote poetry on bills. He couldn’t remember the words, but he occupied himself with the thought of them, and of her.

The sound of water drew Cal’s attention to the river. He and the horse had crossed over the pine-covered rise and were descending again toward berry bushes and river grass. At the bottom of the hill, Cal stepped to the edge of the riverbank. The ground was firmer here. Downstream, the black mirror of the river’s surface parted around an island, broke into a million points of moonlight, and rushed over boulders and rocks. Cal stooped and dropped down the embankment to the water’s edge. Firm gravel crunched beneath his boot.

“We made it, girl,” he said, and the mare stood on the bank and tugged her reins, but Cal held her steady.

Across the river, Cal could make out the large rock outcropping they’d passed that morning, the one with the cedar tree growing out of it, where the trail had ended.

“I don’t suppose you’ll carry me across this?” Cal asked, turning to the horse.

The horse just stared at him with its big white eye.

“I didn’t think so.”

Cal removed his holster and belt and slung it over his shoulder. He thought of placing it in the saddlebag with the rest of his gear, but if the animal bolted for good, he’d be without a sidearm. Gotta divvy it up, Ted had told him. Cal was thankful for that lesson at least.

The water was terribly cold, waist-deep, and the current was strong enough that he had to lean into it, but Cal made it easily to where the river parted above the island. He remembered from the morning’s crossing that the first channel had been deeper than the second. He paused a moment and studied the current. He couldn’t remember the exact path they’d taken across. He’d just held on to the horse’s mane and cursed the cold water when the horse stumbled and swam. Over the entire width of the far channel, the water fell through a shallow and glass-smooth depression about ten yards in length before rising again and breaking apart in the rapids. The horse now waded in upstream of the depression, and Cal figured it best to follow the horse’s lead. The water seemed to come up only to the animal’s thighs, which meant Cal’s stomach or chest, but it would be manageable.

He waded into the channel and the current became immediately stronger. He leaned into its force when it got above his waist and chose his footing more carefully. He felt around with the toe of his boot for a stone or boulder, pressed his heel into the gravelly bottom, and then lunged forward to gain both feet again. He looked across the river. The shore was about twenty yards distant. The horse was nearly across. Cal placed his hands on the water’s black surface and reached his toe out for another foothold. He felt a smooth rock about the size of a grapefruit, placed his foot there, and lunged. As he put his weight on the rock, it broke free from its gravelly hold, and in the moment it took for Cal to realize what was happening, he was up to his neck in water and moving rapidly downstream.

He felt his feet rake the river bottom. Cal used his hands to dig against the current, hoping to find a hold, and then the gravel bottom simply dropped away.

Cal felt water go up his nose as the river took him under. He opened his eyes to a complete absence of light. He felt himself get tumbled, his torso pushed downstream faster than his feet. He reached upward until he felt air on his hands and face, saw stars overhead. The current was so fast, so black. Cal spun and caught sight of the horse lifting its glistening body to shore in the moonlight. Cal slipped down the face of a glassy wave, the shoreline slipped from sight, and Cal heard rapids downstream. Dread leapt like water.

“Horse!” he yelled. “Horse!”

He kicked his legs and paddled with his hands. The first wave of whitewater broke over his head. The wave engulfed him in a vacuum of silence and night, sucked him down, released him again, sucked him down. He tried to take breaths between the succession of waves, but only managed to exhale and choke. No matter how hard he kicked, he sank lower in the water. Another wave hit him in the face. The water went into his throat, and he tasted the river as he shot beneath its surface.

He felt his body tumble along a gravel bed at the river bottom and felt as if he were watching himself go through the ordeal, coaching himself, giving himself advice. Stay calm now. But I can’t be calm! You’ll get a breath soon. No I won’t! Keep your head now. And then he felt something hard hit his tailbone, and his world ignited in pain. It lifted him into the air again, and Cal tumbled over the hump of a giant boulder. Downstream of the boulder, a hole in the river glistened in the moonlight and opened its mouth. Cal, do you see that hole coming? I see the hole!