Raven Mocker

by Don Coldsmith

  There was good news, of course. Crops were good and hunting productive. In several areas the Real People were raising pigs, which seemed to thrive on the abundant crop of acorns this season. The pigs met with mixed reactions, but there was much to be said for an animal that required little hunting. Cattle, too, were becoming more common, for meat and milk, and ox teams were replacing horses and mules for hauling wagons.

  There were also, said the Choctaw, more Cherokees heading west to join their relatives in Arkansas. Several towns had been established already. It was good country, he said, beyond the big river, the Mississippi. All new country, with few white men yet. The French had been there earlier, trapping furs, but had been replaced by a few of the English-speaking whites.

  “These are the ones we know,” he explained. “We called them Yen gleesh, before. They call themselves Americans now. You know them.”

  The crowd nodded, murmuring.

  “Not many of them west of the Big River yet,” the Choctaw went on. “But lots of room out there. I am thinking of going there to trade.”

  “You go there now?” someone asked.

  “No, no. Not this season. We are not prepared for it. Maybe next season. But some of your people are going.”

  “Ours? The Real People?” someone asked.

  “Yes, so they call themselves, as you do—Cherokees. They are only a day or two behind me, maybe.”

  “How many?”

  “I don’t know. Two wagons, maybe three. Two or three families.”

  “Will they come this way?”

  “I could not say. Maybe they follow the main road, through Keowee …. Yes, that’s most likely.”

  It was about this time that Three Fingers noticed Snakewater, out on the fringe of the crowd. He wasn’t sure for a moment whether his eyes were deceiving him. The old woman was at the farthest edge of the circle of light. She was not doing anything in particular, just quietly listening.

  Interesting, Three Fingers thought to himself. She seldom attends the story fires.

  It was three days until the Council would meet again. Snakewater was doing a lot of thinking. Her conversation with Spotted Frog had been useful in providing new ideas. Until then she had not even thought of leaving Old Town. Now it seemed like a worthwhile option to consider. She had never run away from trouble. It was against her nature.

  Yet this current problem was different in many ways. She had been accused of things over which she had had no influence. Even if she were a Raven Mocker, she told herself, she would have little control over whether someone lived or died. She used her potions and teas and ceremonies to try to help the sick or dying when requested. As her mentor had reminded her many times, to misuse such gifts would be quite dangerous to herself.

  Even so, the thought occurred to her that maybe, somehow, she had misused her gifts. No… On reflection she did not think that was possible. Besides, this was a unique situation. The attempt on her life was a very unsettling thing. Would it ever be that she could feel confident and at home in Old Town again? It seemed unlikely. Someone’s hate was deep and powerful, to make him (or her) take the personal risk required to handle that snake and put it in the bag. The idea of leaving began to look more and more attractive. After all, even if the decisions of the Council were favorable to her, some unknown person would be out there with a powerful hate… powerful enough, maybe, to try again to kill her.

  The arrival of the trader, and his news of other Cherokees moving west, stimulated thoughts of leaving. She might be able to join such a party and travel with them. Maybe she could inquire of the trader before he left. Yes, that could do no harm …. She’d talk to the trader or his wife …. Yes, the wife! That was it! They were expected to leave tomorrow, but she would rise early and talk to the wife, learn more if she could. More about the travelers who were coming along behind them. There might be a good chance that she could join the travelers.

  But what about the Council? It seemed that no one was certain as to what action would be appropriate if it was determined that she was a Raven Mocker. Maybe, she thought, that was the reason for Three Fingers’s delay. The Peace Chief himself was unsure. Now, what if she approached Three Fingers and offered to solve his problem by leaving? Yes, that might be the answer. She would talk to him tomorrow too.

  She fell asleep with a sense of satisfaction. She was ready, at least, to take some action toward solving her problem, and that of Old Town.

  Sometime later she awoke with a sense that something was wrong. It took her a moment to orient herself to reality and to realize that she was awake and not dreaming. Yes, she was in her own house, in her blankets. The familiar scents of her drying herbs were there. But something was different somehow. What had wakened her? Some primitive instinct, a warning of danger?

  Snakewater lay unmoving, waiting …. She could see the familiar outline of the doorway by the pale starlight that leaked in around the doorskin that served to close it. Then she sensed a presence somewhere near. Just outside the door curtain, maybe. Surely not inside the hut. No, outside. She could hear someone or something shuffling along the outside wall, coming toward the door. Quietly she reached out and picked up a knife that lay beside her pallet. She had placed it there with no real purpose in mind; just her general sense of uneasiness over the situation at Old Town.

  Now she shifted it to her right hand in a position of defense. An assailant attempting to surprise her would find what it meant to experience surprise.

  The approaching visitor paused, and Snakewater realized that whoever or whatever was there may have been listening to her breathing as she slept. A change in the rhythm might have signaled that she had wakened. Instantly she resumed the deep, slow breaths of a sleeper, even adding a light snore as she inhaled. The invader moved on toward the doorway and paused again. Surely a human, she thought. Then, to her amazement, a voice spoke softly.

  “Snakewater!”

  It was the voice of a man, urgent yet secretive. She paused a moment, and he spoke again.

  “Snakewater! I mean you no harm. I would speak with you.”

  She was astonished. She did not recognize the voice, but there were many in Old Town with whom she had never had a conversation.

  “Who are you?” she demanded.

  “It does not matter. I come as a friend. May I come in?”

  “No! Have your say from where you are!” she demanded.

  She was still trying to identify the voice. It seemed to be that of an older man, and carried a tone of authority. It was definitely not Three Fingers. She knew him well. Not Log Roller, the War Chief, either. No, this must be a person whose authority derived from his wealth or prominence in the town. She had little contact with such persons.

  “Well … I would rather speak face to face!” the visitor said.

  “No! Talk, now!”

  “I—I want to help you, Snakewater. I can make you wealthy.”

  She snorted with laughter. Why would she want such a thing?

  “How?” she asked, trying to control her indignation. “What would I have to do?”

  “Very little,” the visitor said, more confident now. “Just teach me how to do it.”

  “Do what?”

  She was completely puzzled now.

  “To become a Raven Mocker, like yourself!”

  10

  Snakewater was tempted for a moment to leap from her bed and attack the intruder with her butcher knife. She took a deep breath to regain her composure, and to think. She was furious, but a wrong reaction to the situation might carry consequences.

  It was tempting to play along, to learn more about this person who skulked around in the dark with such a revolting proposal. Yet doing so would imply that the accusations against her were true. Wait …. This might even be a trap. She must not even suggest a willingness to negotiate such a bargain. To do so would virtually be an admission of guilt.

  Either way the person outside her door was dangerous. For a man actually to seek such a thing wa
s completely foreign to the customs and ways of the Real People. He might be dangerous to her or to others, with such a bizarre goal in life. If it was a trap, there was also great danger to her. Her answer would be critical.

  “Snakewater,” the voice said in a loud whisper, “are you still there?”

  “Where else would I be?” she snapped. Then she tried to take control of her temper. “I was only wondering,” she said more calmly, “how anyone could think such a thing possible. I know nothing of the Raven Mocker, beyond the old story.”

  “Huh!” came a sarcastic grunt from outside. “Of course you would have to say that. But think about it. I will be back.”

  “Who are you?” Snakewater demanded. “Why do you bother me with this?”

  She waited …. There was no sound outside. Quietly she rose and stepped to the doorway, knife still in hand, and flung the doorskin aside. There was no one. Not even a retreating figure in the dim starlight. Had she dreamed it? No, it had been too real. She glanced at the position of the stars as they rotated around the one fixed star in the north. Yes, a long time until morning. Well, when morning came, she would look for footprints in the dust outside the door. For now … She let the leather curtain fall back into place and sought her bed. There would probably be little sleep, but she would try.

  “Wado,” she said into the dark. “Thank you, Lumpy, for waking me!”

  Despite her doubts she quickly fell asleep.

  The next morning the whole episode seemed like a dream. She lay there a moment, then rose to look outside. It was barely growing light. Dew that had collected on the roof dripped from the edge and spattered in the dust below. And, yes! It spattered in the footprints that she saw along the front of the house. And, yes, there was the spot where he had stood, shuffling a little with nervousness as he had talked with her. Now she had a strange feeling that it had not been a trap. The misguided man in the dark had actually believed that she could teach him to be a Raven Mocker. She shook her head sadly at the thought of such a sick mind. However, a person with such a belief could be very dangerous, especially to her, with the Council ready to further discuss the problem that faced both Snakewater and Old Town.

  There was yet another question that now occurred to her. The visitor in the night, having been rebuffed, might easily turn against her completely. He would not be certain whether she could identify him. Possibly he might fear she would go to the Council, putting him in jeopardy. What recourse would he have? A cold chill crept up the back of her spine. In that case she could see no alternative for him except to kill her. It was not a pleasant thought. If he did kill her, of course, it would prove her innocence before the Council. A hollow victory, one she would not be alive to enjoy.

  After worrying for half the morning she came to a conclusion. She must talk with someone, a person who would be aware of what was going on, in case something happened to her. Better a person with authority…. Of course! Three Fingers… Why had she not thought of it before?

  It was not easy to find a way to talk privately with such a person as Three Fingers. But it was still early. People were just beginning to go to water, stumbling around sleepily. Men and women used different sections of the river, of course. If she hurried over to wait, partially concealed, along the path the men took to the river… No sooner had the idea formed than she was hurrying in that direction. She encountered a man or two and, when appropriate, nodded a greeting. Mostly she kept a little way off the path, making use of bushes and patches of fog to remain as inconspicuous as possible. It did not occur to her that this would lend an ethereal nature to any encounter with a sleepy citizen.

  She concealed herself behind a clump of shrubs and waited. Younger men, having completed the morning ritual, were drifting back toward the town by twos and threes, visiting about the weather. Older men, rising more slowly, were mostly headed toward the water. She had no idea where Three Fingers might be. It was possible that he had finished the morning ceremony and returned to his house, but she thought not. The sun was barely peeking under the sky dome, and Three Fingers was, above all, a deliberate and thoughtful person. No, he would be among the later persons to go to water

  Snakewater was almost convinced that her guess was wrong. The sun was fully up, starting to crawl up the dome, and the men were no longer heading toward the river, but back. She had nearly decided that she must forget the secrecy and go to the house of Three Fingers, when he appeared from the direction of the town. He looked very sleepy and undignified, his hair awry, yawning and scratching his belly. She had guessed right after all. Three Fingers was a late riser.

  “Ssst! Three Fingers!” she called.

  The man nearly jumped off the path in his surprise.

  “It is Snakewater,” she said hurriedly. “I must talk with you.”

  “I—I …” he stammered, trying to regain his dignity. Irritation and embarrassment showed plainly in his face. But after all, talking to citizens was part of his responsibility as Peace Chief.

  “Wait here,” he said irritably. “I am going to the water.”

  When he returned a little later, his dignity was restored. He appeared alert and confident, well dressed, and his turban was carefully wrapped. The irritation was gone from his face, replaced by his usual look of friendly concern, which befitted his position and office.

  Snakewater rose from her concealment and motioned for him to follow her into the woods a little way. He did so, although she was certain that the situation was not to his liking.

  “What is it, woman?” he asked almost irritably as she stopped and turned. “This is most unusual!”

  “That is true,” she agreed. “But, Three Fingers, the whole thing is unusual. A man came to my house in the night.”

  His eyebrows rose in surprise, but she continued.

  “No, not in that way! Be sensible, Three Fingers! He came about the Raven Mocker.”

  “Ah! How so, Snakewater?”

  “He wanted me to teach him to become a Raven Mocker. He offered to make me rich if I would do that.”

  “I see …. This is a serious thing ….” he mused.

  “I thought you should know of this.”

  “Yes, yes… I had no idea that there were those who… ” His voice trailed off. Then he seemed to regain the authority of his office. The confusion was gone, shrugged aside, and he was again the dignified Peace Chief of Old Town.

  “Let us consider,” he began, firmly now. “The Council is to meet tomorrow. I have given this much thought. There are two or three families who will back your accuser. Mostly the people will support you. Some are unsure. But this… You have no idea who this was?”

  “None. I did not recognize the voice.”

  “Mmm… And he would make you rich?”

  “So he said. But I could not do so.”

  “Yes, yes, I know this.” Three Fingers waved her protest aside. “But he does not, it seems. There are few men in Old Town with the wealth to offer. I can think of none who would consider such a thing. But there may be those who could not have the wealth, but would try to cheat you. Yes, this would be one of those ….”

  “I had not thought of that,” she said. “I had wondered, since I refused, that he might fear I would tell of his offer.”

  “But you do not know who he is.”

  “True. But he does not know that. Oh, yes… He said to think about it, and that he would be back.”

  “Ah! Now we have him!” Three Fingers chortled.

  “How so?” Snakewater was puzzled.

  “The Council meets tomorrow. He would want to know before then, so he will come tonight!”

  “Three Fingers, I am sick of this whole thing! I have decided to leave, to go west. The trader said there are others of the Real People moving west, building towns.”

  The Peace Chief nodded. “I can understand, Snakewater. I would hate to see you go, but for you it may be best. It is yours to decide. Still, that is another matter. I am concerned about this attempt to buy your po
wers. That cannot be done, can it?”

  “I have no such—”

  “I know, Snakewater. But your medicine gift, the conjuring. That cannot be misused, can it? If you used such a gift to harm someone, what would happen?”

  “It would kill me, I suppose.”

  “Yes. Even more so, with the Raven Mocker secret? If you had it, of course?”

  “I would think so. I do not have it, though.”

  “Yes, yes. Mmm… When did you intend to leave?”

  “I don’t know, Uncle. If I left before the Council, there would be no need for a Council, no?”

  “I had thought of that. The trader said that the travelers west would be taking the other road, through Keowee, instead of Old Town. They should be there tomorrow.”

  “So I understood,” she said. “I had thought, maybe, to join them there.”

  “Snakewater,” he said seriously, “you don’t have to go, you know. The Council will clear you.”

  “I know. But still, I think it might be best. Besides, I am tired of thinking about it.”

  “I can understand that. If you try to join the travelers, though, you would leave today?”

  “Maybe. I had not thought through the whole thing. My visitor came just this past night. But I have decided to leave.”

  “You would walk?”

  “Of course.”

  “Could you ride a horse?”

  “I have no horse.”

  “That was not my question, Snakewater. It would make your travel much easier.”

  “But I—”

  “Let me see about a horse for you,” said the Peace Chief, waving aside her protest. “Now, here is what I’m thinking, about your visitor last night. I want to catch him. A warrior or two, hidden near your house when he comes …. We can do that, whether you are still here or not.”

  She thought for a few moments.

  “I am made to think,” she said finally, “that I would rather be gone.”

  Three Fingers nodded. “I can understand that,” he agreed. “But let us plan how to accomplish this.”