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was probably a good luck charm for the baby. A small one, it was, smaller than most women carry for their sons.
    Water Gourd’s stomach suddenly lurched, and he fumbled at the skins that swaddled the child, worked his way through them until he could feel the baby’s soft, damp rump. He thrust a finger between the baby’s legs, then withdrew his hand, moaning softly.
    What had he done to deserve all the curses that had befallen him? He thought back through his life, to the sons and wives he had outlived, to the lazy niece he depended on for food. And now this. The baby was a girl. A worthless girl.
    Surely there was no hope. What sea animal coming upon them would allow them to live—an old man who could no longer throw a harpoon, and a baby who would curse the very wood of their boat with her urine?
    Water Gourd set the child away from him, back into the nest her mother had made her in the bottom of the boat. He turned his back and did not allow himself to think about her as he watched over the bow, looking east, waiting for morning.

CHAPTER THREE
    N IGHT CLOUDS MOVED IN, darkened the moon, and though Water Gourd was determined to stay awake, he fell asleep, slept long and hard until the girl’s wailing broke into his dreams.
    He comforted her as best he could, and when the sun rose, he gave her some venison, and much of the water in one of his precious gourds, but she still whined and cried, asking for her mother, her father, her aunt. He considered dumping her into the sea, but he had placed her by then, knew she was Fire Mountain Man’s daughter. Fire Mountain Man had always been good to him, willing to share meat and fish, and for that reason, Water Gourd stayed his hand. He remembered the cries of the girl’s mother as she was being attacked, and though in his mind he defended his choices, he also had to push away thoughts that accused him of cowardice.
    Cowardice? No. Wisdom. If he had been killed, who would warn the next village about the Bear-god warriors? Surely the sea gods had saved him for that purpose. Of course it was possible that they had only meant to save the girl, though why she would be worth saving, he could not understand.
    He finally decided that her discomfort was due to the soiled rag she wore between her legs. He humbled himself to take on the duties of a nursemaid and cleaned her, dipping her to the waist in the sea until the filth was washed away, then wrapping a clean rag around her. He rinsed out the old and laid it across the boat to dry, apologizing to the wood for the indignity of such a thing. But the boat did not seem to mind, played no tricks on them, and so gave Water Gourd further proof that the girl, rather than he himself, was the reason he was now safe and beyond reach of the Bear-gods.
    After he ate, Water Gourd purposely paddled farther out, until only by squinting could he see the convoluted line of land, hovering like distant clouds at the edge of the horizon.
    Then he paddled south until he was sure he was parallel with the next Boat People’s village. That village was not as strong as his own had been, but with warning, they might prevail against the Bear-gods. Water Gourd knew many of the fishermen of that village, had celebrated with them during their summer festivals, and they traded back and forth—fish and deerskins, shell beads and harpoons for the big earthenware pots those fishermen’s wives made so well.
    When Water Gourd was satisfied he had taken the boat far enough, he stopped and, to pass the time until night, used the point of his wrist knife to pry out the slivers in his knees. Now and again he paddled to keep his boat where he wanted it, but he decided it was safe to sleep away the afternoon, and when night fell to turn the boat toward land and paddle in. If the Bear-god People had taken the neighboring village—and he would surely know by the smoke that would rise from the ruins—he would go back out to sea before they noticed him, then continue south