Raven Mocker

by Don Coldsmith

  Lumpy, can you help me?” she asked. “You are good at helping find things …. What? Just herbs and roots and medicines? Not answers? Huh! Big help you are! Well, you don’t have to laugh about it!”

  “What’s the matter, Grandmother? You look angry. Were you talking to someone? Ah, I know! The Little People!”

  Pigeon, just approaching the hut, clapped her hands in delight.

  “Silly child!” Snakewater scolded, still disgruntled. “Do you see any Little People around here?”

  “Why, of course not, Grandmother,” said the little girl, a twinkle in her eye. “But if I did, of course I could not tell, could I?”

  Both laughed at the repeated ritual.

  “That is true,” admitted Snakewater, her temper moderating. “What are you doing today? Surely there are better things than talking to an old woman.”

  “We wondered,” said Pigeon seriously, “about some more stories. We’ve had none while the travelers were here from Keowee.”

  “I know, child. I’ve been sick. But I’m better now. Yes, of course we can have stories. This evening? Some stories are better after dark, you know.”

  The corn was nearly as tall as young Pigeon when the trader and his wife happened by and crossed the river on the ferry.

  “Ah! Your town has grown since last season!” he joked with Little Horse. “Maybe I’ll stay an extra day before moving on west. Do some trading?”

  “Maybe so,” agreed Horse. “You’re heading west again?”

  “Yes… Interesting places out there. Trading is good. They have no source of metal things—knives, fire strikers, things like that. The women like mirrors, needles, beads… ”

  “Well, stay a little! Tell us more,” said Little Horse. “Any of the Real People out there?”

  “Cherokees? Some, of course. Not many in the plains. Just a few in the nearest mountains beyond. Why?”

  “Just curious. Some of our people wondered. Some have passed through here, going west. Not many, though. Just thought I’d ask.”

  Snakewater, who overheard, wondered… Maybe, if the trader would stay a day or two, she could manage to visit with his wife a little while.

  The trader’s wife was friendly and congenial, and it was no trouble to start a conversation with her. The woman was fluent in the use of the language of the Real People, and of several others, as it turned out. It was important to be able to communicate in their occupation as traders.

  “I am Snakewater, of the Cherokees. How are you called?”

  “Rain Cloud, Seminole,” answered the other woman. She was short and robust.

  Snakewater nodded. “You have traveled with your husband a long time? You speak my tongue well.”

  “Yes, a long time. Since we married, almost.”

  “You have children?”

  “Yes, two. Both grown, a boy and a girl. You?”

  “No. I have never married.”

  “Ah… you do not like men?”

  “Oh, yes. Just not enough to marry one.”

  Both women chuckled.

  “I am a conjuror,” explained Snakewater. “I was raised by an old conjure woman, who was unmarried. I think now that maybe the boys were afraid of me. Or more likely, afraid of her.”

  Both laughed again.

  “Of course,” Snakewater continued, “I was somewhat different. Tall, skinny, not very attractive.”

  “You thought that?” asked Rain Cloud in surprise. “Ah, we think strangely about ourselves. I had been wishing for height such as yours!”

  Snakewater was beginning to like this woman.

  “How far west have you been?” she asked. “I have heard of mountains there.”

  “That is true. We have traded among the people there. We have heard of another great salty sea beyond that, but haven’t been that far. I suppose Fox will want to try that next!”

  “That is your husband’s name?”

  “Yes… Most just call him Trader, though. It is easier and tells of what he does.”

  “I see.”

  They continued their woman talk, which was far more productive than Snakewater could have imagined. Each had certain characteristics as well as experience that the other admired or wished for.

  “Some of the people here are your relatives?” asked Rain Cloud.

  “No, no. I did not even know them until last season. They were traveling west and I wished to, also, so I joined them.”

  Cloud laughed. “It is good! And you settled here only last season, then?”

  “Yes… Little Horse and his people were here already. Kills Many, leader of our band of travelers, liked the place and the people, and here we are.”

  “I see …. But do I suspect that you might have wanted to go farther west?”

  “No… not really. Not then, anyway. Maybe… ”

  She was confused by the rapidity with which Rain Cloud perceived her true feelings.

  “I understand,” said Cloud. “This is fine, but there may be somewhere else as good? Perhaps better?”

  “Well … yes. That is pretty close. I never used to wonder much about other places, but since I joined the party of Kills Many, I have seen many things. Now I begin to think: Will new wonders never cease?”

  Rain Cloud nodded solemnly. “Probably not. I have enjoyed our years on the trading roads.”

  “What of your children?” asked Snakewater. “You took them along?”

  “Oh, yes. Most of the time. The boy was born one summer when we were among the Cheyennes. When they were older, they sometimes stayed with my brother’s family. That was good. I missed them, but they came back better for it.”

  “How so?”

  Rain Cloud smiled wistfully.

  “Well, there comes a time when one’s parents seem very stupid, no?”

  Snakewater’s memory reached back to her own unhappy childhood.

  “I—I don’t know. My mother died and my father remarried …. New clan… ”

  “Ah! I did not know. My heart is heavy for you, Snakewater.”

  “It was long ago. But I understand what you mean about parents.”

  “Yes …Well, the Absarokas—‘Crows,’ the white man calls them—Crows have a custom that we thought good. They trade children.”

  “What?”

  “Just for a season.” Rain Cloud laughed. “When the two branches of the nation meet for their big council, relatives exchange children. A family of the Mountain Crows might take with them a youngster of a brother or sister among the River Crows, and the other way around. At the council the next year they take their own back. The young people have learned much during that year, have seen new country. Besides, they find that during that year both sets of parents have gained much wisdom.”

  Snakewater nodded. She had never managed to reestablish a good relationship with her father, but through the years she had at least come to respect him. She wished now … But that was all behind her, long ago.

  “I can see how that could help,” she agreed.

  22

  You seem to know many tongues,” Snakewater said to her new friend the next day, “but you could not know them all. You use the hand-sign talk I have heard of here in the west?”

  “Yes, we use that quite often,” answered Rain Cloud. “Do you know other languages, Snakewater?”

  “No. Only a little of the hand-sign talk. I have learned it as we traveled last season.”

  “It is good! You can use it if you go on west.”

  For the next day Rain Cloud was busy helping her husband with trading. Snakewater spoke in passing, but did not want to bother while the trading was in progress. That evening, however, Rain Cloud knocked at her door. The visitor came immediately to the point.

  “I am made to think,” she said, “that you should go with us.”

  “What? I could not do that!”

  “I dreamed of this last night,” said Cloud. “It is meant to be.”

  “But—but I did not dream of it!” protested Snakewater. “
This is too sudden.”

  “I know,” said Rain Cloud, chuckling, “and you should sleep on it. We will be here another night. Let us know before we leave tomorrow.”

  Cloud turned and walked quickly away toward where her husband was setting out his trading goods for the day’s business.

  Snakewater experienced a moment of panic. She must think about this. Already she had nearly convinced herself that West Landing was too vulnerable a place for her to stay. Nearly all the travelers crossing the big river here would have come through the area of Keowee and Old Town. Sooner or later there would be a confrontation, and the unpleasantness would begin all over again.

  Added to that was this strange, restless urge to travel that had come on so strong this season. It must be that she was meant to move on.

  But… now, with people she had hardly met? She was accustomed to a certain amount of deliberation—well, until the last year

  “Lumpy, what should I… ?Oh, I know you can’t… Damn it, stop laughing. It isn’t funny!”

  She needed to talk to someone. Maybe Kills Many. He was wise beyond his years ….

  “ … and I am made to think I should consider this. What do you think, my almost-son?”

  Kills Many pondered a moment. This was a reversal of roles. Among the Real People a young man would normally seek the counsel of an older woman. His mother, usually. Possibly his wife. He hardly knew how to answer.

  “You have had no dream?”

  “No. The trader’s wife invited me. She had the dream.”

  He nodded thoughtfully.

  “Well,” he said at last, “you and I have talked of this. West Landing will always bring people from your area. Some will remember you with kindness, but some hate you—unjustly, of course, but you can’t change them. Maybe this is meant to be. They leave tomorrow?”

  “Yes. Rain Cloud said that I should seek a vision before deciding.”

  “Is there a potion you could use?”

  “Maybe. A dream vision happens or it doesn’t, and it cannot be controlled. But there are things to help it happen, if it is meant to happen.”

  “And you have tonight ….”

  “Yes.” She smiled. “It seems simple, once it is spoken, no? I need to be ready for the dream, and I will know in the morning. Thank you, Kills Many.”

  The young man chuckled. “I did nothing!”

  “Oh, yes,” she said. “You told me what was in my head.”

  She retired early, after a cup of tea brewed from selected herbs. For a long time sleep would not come. She tossed and turned in her blankets, and then lay there trying to decide whether she should get up to empty her bladder. Finally she did that, and returned to her restless attempts at slumber. Maybe she should have another cup of the soothing tea …. But to do that she would have to build up the fire, and that would bring her farther from sleep. Finally she did fall asleep, those thoughts still undecided.

  She was running, over open country. It was a land of broad skies and far horizons, with rolling hills in low ridges covered with bright grasses. The color near her was the green of early spring, and the distance of hills a day’s travel away were of a bluish cast. Beyond that the blue of distance painted each ridge a few shades darker and more blue than the one before. In the far distance the last range of hills was so blue that she could not tell where the earth ended and the sky dome began.

  A few cottonwood trees were scattered over the rolling plain, and she approached one as she ran. She was amazed at its size and paused to look at it. The tree was a magnificent specimen, which surprised her some. It had not looked very impressive, but at close range it was possibly the biggest tree she had ever seen. It had been dwarfed by the wide horizon. She ran on, not tiring at all.

  This was the sort of dream in which one knows that it is a dream, seeing it both as observer and participant. Snakewater knew that she could waken if she wished. She might also waken spontaneously but she hoped not. This strange world was far too enjoyable.

  She ran up a steep slope, not even tiring, and found herself on the flat summit. She stopped to drink in the beauty of the scene. The prairie was dotted with small bands of buffalo and elk, and somewhere near her a meadowlark sang. A hawk soared overhead, and she waved to it, watching the perfect circles that it drew against the bright blue of the sky. Maybe… She took a short run and rose into the air, soaring on the warm rising currents with arms outstretched. Her heart leaped with the excitement of the experience.

  In the distance a flock of snowy geese traced their long lines northward in perfect formation. Their traveling song sounded like the barking of a great number of small dogs, and she smiled to herself.

  There was a motion to her left, caught in the corner of her eye, and she turned to look. A pair of geese from the distant flock drew in alongside her as she flew, their black wing tips a stark contrast to the snowy white of their plumage. One of them looked directly into her face, eye to eye, and spoke.

  “Come, fly with us!”

  “But …I …”

  “Come, it is meant to be!”

  “I …Where?”

  “Wherever your quest takes you… ”

  “But you go north …. I am drawn westward.”

  “Then, go!”

  The gander flew, in a long sweeping curve away from her line of flight, and his mate followed. Snakewater was alone again, looking downward. The rolling plain stretched below her, and she could see below her a village of conical tents. Hundreds of horses grazed in the prairie nearby. Beyond that the plain stretched on toward a brilliant sunset… west. She could see on the horizon a thin irregular strip of dark blue that might be… mountains?

  In her concentration and amazement at the majesty of what lay before her, she forgot, somehow, that she must keep flying. But how … Panic seized her. I can’t fly! I’m not supposed to fly!

  Like a crippled bird, struck in midair by a well-aimed arrow, she began to tumble. Down, down… The prairie rushed up at her, and she screamed ….

  Then she was awake, sweating in her blankets. It was still night. She wondered if she had actually screamed aloud, and whether anyone had heard.

  She rose, pulled back the door curtain, and looked outside through the clear, cool night. The position of the stars told her that morning was near. In fact, she could at least imagine a graying in the eastern sky across the river that would soon mellow into dawn. The town was quiet …. Good! Apparently her scream had not wakened anyone. Maybe the scream had happened only in her dream, not in this world at all. No matter now.

  She filled her pipe and lit it with a glowing stick from the ashes of her fire. Then she took a deep breath and sat down on the log bench beside her door. The dream, or vision… much the same, she thought. What was its meaning? There was not much time to try to interpret it. Some things were clear. She had been shown some of the future, great vistas that she would probably see. The call was plain, the urge to follow the geese. But her intuition was probably right: not to the north, but to the west. That agreed with what she had felt for some time.

  The two geese, traveling like the flock, but not with them. They had asked her to follow them, but their destination was different too. Follow partway? Yes, that must be it. The gander had all but explained it. Follow us, but wherever your quest takes you. She nodded in satisfaction.

  There was one more thing, a very troublesome part of the dream: the impression of falling. She pondered that a little while. What was its meaning? Everyone has had that dream, of course. She had experienced it before. Clearly it had not been a warning of an actual fall. At least, not yet. It was more like a warning of danger. A vague warning… of course! There would always be dangers in new and unknown places, would there not?

  So, in essence, the meaning of the vision that had been given her was simple. She was called to travel westward on a quest of some sort. Her guides, the geese—travelers like the rest of the flock, but different. The trader and his wife? Possibly, but maybe they were just geese,
the guides in her dream. Or maybe both. No matter. Time would tell …. The fall, a warning to be careful.

  Yes, that must be it. There was a great sense of satisfaction. But also much to be done this morning. The sky was really turning yellow-gray in the east now. She rose and prepared to go to water.

  By the time the sun rose above the distant line of trees on the far bank of the big river, she had begun preparations to leave. She must talk with Kills Many.

  She found him as he returned from the ritual bath.

  “I would talk with you, almost-son.”

  “Yes, what is it, Mother?”

  “I—I am made to think that it is meant for me to go west.”

  He nodded. “This does not surprise me, Mother. I have seen it coming. It is good, though you will be missed. You go with the trader?”

  “Well …yes.”

  Kills Many already knew.

  “You must take your horse.”

  “Oh, no,” she protested.

  “Yes, Snakewater. I have no use for her. She is yours!”

  “But, I—”

  “Don’t worry about it. It was meant this way.”

  “I must go and tell the trader’s wife. She asked me yesterday, and I had a dream last night.”

  He nodded. “As I said, Mother. It is meant to be.”

  “Kills Many,” she said hesitantly, “there is something I must ask you.”

  “Yes—what is it?”

  “Well … your name, my almost-son. It seems not to fit you. How is it that… ?”

  He was laughing, now.

  “Grasshoppers!” he said.

  “Grasshoppers?”

  “Yes. It was a bad year for grasshoppers in the cornfield. I was of maybe ten summers. My feet were big. They still are. I could stomp on many grasshoppers.”

  Snakewater was laughing now. “It is good!” she said.

  23

  In many ways leaving West Landing was more difficult for Snakewater than leaving her lifelong home at Old Town. That had been easy. At Old Town she had few friends, and even those were not close. Everything connected with Old Town had become unpleasant, if not downright dangerous. It had been a relief to escape it, along with the dangers and the unpleasant memories. There was no sadness. Her only real, emotional tie with her youth had been her old mentor, and many winters had passed since the old conjure woman had crossed over. She had left her home, her skills, and even her name to the younger woman, and it had been hard.