Raven Mocker (3 page)

S
he regretted the confrontation with the young squirrel hunter, and his odd reaction. She had not been aware of his presence and would have gladly given him the squirrel. His actions were strange, it seemed. It was doubtful whether he had been aware of
her
presence, until the squirrel tumbled out of the tree. She had spoiled his hunt, probably. He would have waited for other squirrels, and shot at
them.
He might have procured two or three by waiting. Now he had none. But she had apologized, as common courtesy would demand, and had offered the results of her own hunt. That should have been sufficient.

There was something else here, something vague and poorly defined. It was like something seen through an early-morning fog, identified but with little clear detail. What she had seen in the eyes of the young hunter was a mixture of several emotions: surprise, disappointment, maybe a little indignation, even an accusing tone. All of these emotions could be expected under the circumstances. But she had seen something else, something that not only puzzled, but alarmed her a little.
Fear.
It was there, in the youngster’s face. But what had he to fear from an old woman?

It was several days before she chanced to overhear another conversation through the wall. Actually, it was not by “chance,” though Snakewater may not have realized it. Her spot against the wall, with the curving post that
just happened to fit the curve of her head and neck, was a convenient place to rest, nothing more. If someone on the other side of the wall happened to have found a convenient place, too, so be it. That was no concern of hers. Sometimes she almost had herself convinced.

Those were her thoughts as she settled down in her resting place against the wall. There were two things that bothered her, both linked to the attitude of others toward her. One was the strange reaction of the hunter when she shot the squirrel; the other, the ridiculous game that the two girls were playing, scaring each other with stories of the Raven Mocker. Maybe it was just her imagination that the glances of people on the street were suspicious, angry, and threatening. No, not threatening as much as resentful. Maybe she had
three
concerns, somehow, or were they all
one?

She had never cared much what anyone thought of her. The old granny woman had taught her that. There would always be those to laugh and ridicule others who are different. Granny Snakewater had taught her to ignore them.
You know who you are. Nothing else matters. Their ignorance is their problem.

But now, in some mysterious way, things were changing. She still did not
care
, but was being forced to evaluate her situation. It occurred to her that it had been some time since anyone had requested her assistance with anything. Well, it had been rainy…. People were not out and around as much …. In her heart she knew that the rain would make very little difference. Could it be that another medicine-doctor had arrived from another town? No, it did not seem logical.

She was dozing in the warm afternoon shade when the girls’ voices roused her.

“My mother says there are others who wonder too,” Rain was saying.

“Wonder about the old witch woman?”

“Yes! Whether she is the Raven Mocker. She has always been strange, you know.”

“Since she was a child, you mean?”

“No one knows,” said Rain, a tone of conspiracy in her voice. “Do you think she was
ever
a child, a girl like us?”

The other girl giggled. “It doesn’t seem likely, does it?”

“There is nobody in the whole town who remembers her as a child.”

“Yes, but that is only because she is older than anyone.”

“Exactly! That is the point, Doe. How does it happen that
she
still lives?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. The Raven Mocker steals one lifetime after another. Old Snakewater could be a hundred years old …
five
hundred, maybe. And you agreed, before, she always hovers around the dying.”

T
his was becoming a bit frightening. Snakewater had not taken it very seriously at first—had almost found it amusing, in fact. But the tone of the conversation she had overheard today was different. It carried an urgency that she did not understand. If the whole town was talking like this, it could account for all of the puzzling questions she had been pondering. The sidelong glances, almost angry… the look of fear on the hunter’s face… the scarcity of requests for her help. People were
afraid
of her. It was a far different emotion from the awe of her powers that she had always felt—and which she had enjoyed, she was forced to admit. This was a completely different attitude on the part of her people, the Real People.

She lay on her pallet, unable to sleep.

“Lumpy, what am I gong to do?” she asked into the darkness. Then, after a short time, “Yes, I know it’s not your problem. It is mine, but not of my making. Or is it?”

The suspicion that she had been trying to avoid now reared its ugly head, intruding into her thoughts:
Maybe it is true!

She could not remember ever having heard how a Raven Mocker
becomes
one. She had always assumed that a Raven Mocker has existed since Creation or before. Or maybe there is a ritual of some sort that results in a
person’s conversion to whatever mysterious status is implied here.

Or possibly … She sat straight up in bed, alarming thoughts swarming into her mind. Could it be that a person could become a Raven Mocker
without even knowing it? Maybe they’re right!

“What?” she said aloud. “Yes, Lumpy, I know you can’t help me.”

Let me see
, she mused, running a couple of different possibilities through her mind.

She had inherited many powers from old Granny. Could one of them have been the Raven Mocker identity? Could the granny have become weary of immortality and transferred it to her pupil?
But wouldn’t I know?

That brought the other thought: Could it be that the acquisition of unused lifetime years happens without the knowledge of the recipient? Is the Raven Mocker
aware
of what is happening? She had been present at the death of many people, old and young. She had been affected deeply by all of them, but the worst had been those of children. What a pity, a young life spent before it begins …. Maybe her very sympathy had somehow given
her
those years without her knowing.

She took a deep breath. This was a very disturbing line of thought. She had always envisioned the Raven Mocker as evil, scheming, perhaps even causing death to steal the life-years yet unused. Now, this was an entirely different possibility.

Maybe I am a Raven Mocker!

It was not a comfortable conclusion.

T
hat had been a sleepless night, as she struggled with such a dreadful possibility. How could one escape this fate?

By light of day the idea seemed less logical, and she was tempted to scoff at it. She was unable to completely refute it, however, and it remained a gnawing worry as she went about her daily routine.

She could not avoid the fact that her services were
rarely requested now. She had always been able to eat well, supplied by the gifts of the grateful recipients of her skills. Now these were growing fewer and fewer.

Ultimately she decided that there was nothing much she could do about it. To try to protest against what seemed to be growing public opinion would only call more attention to herself—attention that was unlikely to be favorable. No, she must remain aloof, watch closely for further information, and try to provide more for her needs by her own efforts. That should not be too difficult. She could hunt and gather. The woods were full of nuts ….

That made her think of squirrels, and that, in turn, of the disappointed young hunter. The incident still bothered her, but she knew nothing that she could do to mend matters.

She had finished the last of the stew she had concocted of squirrel, corn, beans, and onion. With each time she reheated it, she had felt remorse over that scene. Now she must obtain provisions of some sort. Maybe just an afternoon gathering nuts. She could take the blowgun along in case opportunity offered.

A
s it happened, it was a thoroughly enjoyable day, warm and still, typical of “second summer.” There were nuts and acorns in great profusion, and the squirrels were busy. She saw no one all afternoon, filled her sack with the bounty on the ground, and in the process paused three times to harvest squirrels. There was one miss, and she couldn’t find her dart. Well, she’d have to make a few new ones, while the milkweed and thistledown was still available before the weather changed.

Shadows were lengthening as she headed home. Her sack grew heavier, and she stopped to rest. The evening was still quite pleasant, the western sky turning the unique fleeting reddish-gold hue of autumn. She drank it in with enjoyment, and listened to the distant call of a hunting owl, and its mate’s answer. Down toward the river a whippoorwill sounded its eerie cry. It was all good
and right with the world as she lifted her heavy sack and headed on toward the town.

Darkness had nearly fallen as she headed up the slope toward her hut. Suddenly a sense of foreboding swept over her. Danger of some sort. She paused, puzzled, and then stepped on through her doorway, still anxious.

“Yes, Lumpy… what is it? Someone here? I—”

Her thoughts and her question met with a quick answer. Not in words, but in a dry, buzzing sound that she recognized easily. It was the warning of a rattlesnake’s vibrating tail, and judging from the intensity of the tone, her visitor was a very large one.

A
nyone is startled by a rattlesnake’s warning, and it was no different with the old woman. Her response was conditioned, however, by culture and tradition.

She froze in position, not taking the next step, and stood in her doorway, peering into the darkness. The buzzing rattle continued as she tried to understand this quite unusual situation. At this season a large snake might spend an afternoon sunning in some warm clearing or among the rocks. With the coming chill of night it would be seeking shelter in a crevice or cave, probably the place it had already selected to winter in. A den might contain dozens of the reptiles, their movements slowed during the moons of winter hibernation.

But by no stretch of imagination could she understand what a big snake could be seeking in her hut. Certainly not food, she thought wryly. And not a place to winter, it seemed. It was illogical, a poor place for the snake to consider. A specimen this large, judging from the sound of its warning, had seen many winters. It would know quite easily that this was not a likely place in which to winter.

Calmly she began to talk to the unseen visitor.

“My brother,” she began, “let us consider this meeting. I do not know how you happen to be here. You are welcome, of course, in my simple lodge. It has been so since Creation, among my people and yours. My people, the Real People, called Cherokee, promised at that time that
we will not kill your people, the Rattlesnakes. If it happens, we die, because of the broken vow. And in exchange you do not kill us. Is it not so? I hope you remember these things.”

There seemed to be a change in the tempo of the rattling. No longer an angry buzz, but a calmer rustle, rising and falling in tempo, much less threatening than before.

“Ah, I see that you understand,” she told the visitor. “Now, how do we solve this problem? As I said, you are welcome, but I think that you would be more comfortable in your own lodge, no? I cannot take you there, because I do not know where it is. And I cannot use my own lodge just now, because I might step on you in the darkness and cause you harm.”

She had not moved a muscle in all of this time, lest the motion provoke a strike by instinct.

“Now, here is may plan,” she continued. “I will back away and rekindle my cooking fire outside here. By its light I will be able to see you, to avoid injury to you under my foot. This avoids danger to us both, no?”

There was no answer, of course, but the sound of the rattles did seem to be slowing.

“It is good,” she crooned. “Now I am going to take a step backward.”

Her tone was calm and reassuring, but cold sweat moistened her palms. The middle of her back, between the shoulder blades, had developed an itch, and her leg muscles ached from being held in the clumsy position in which she was frozen. Very slowly she raised the foot nearest the visitor. The buzz intensified, but she continued her motion. It was not easy, standing on one leg while she moved the other, ever so slowly, so as not to alarm the snake. The warning rattle seemed to calm again. Finally she was able to place that foot behind her. As she stepped back, the rattling ceased.

“Ah, that is better,” she said calmly. “Now I light my fire.”

She placed a few small sticks and a handful of dry grass on the red coals that nestled in the ashes, and
leaned over to blow gently on the tinder. White smoke grew and thickened. In a few moments the grass and sticks burst into flame with a sudden puff, lighting the whole area. Quickly she added larger sticks, and her fire began to broaden the circle of light around her. She looked at the door of her dwelling, watching carefully.

It was still a little while before she saw movement there, the sinuous motion of the snake. It moved to the opening and peered out, one way and then the other, seemingly undecided. Its black, forked tongue flickered in and out and from side to side like the flicker of the tiny flames in the cooking fire as it grew. Then, apparently decided, the creature started out into the open space and turned to its right.
Good
, thought Snakewater.
That is the way … rocks, brush, and trees. May you find your way home!

The broad head of the snake, with its pointed and upturned nose, was followed by a slender neck, which led to a thicker and fatter body. Now the portion of the snake that was sliding through the doorway into the light was as thick as a man’s arm, and much longer. This snake must be as long as her own height, Snakewater thought. The colors of its patterned body were startling. The base color was black or dark gray, with symmetrical squares of white placed corner to corner, the length of the body. Along the sides the dark color gave way to brighter reddish and russet shades. Lastly, the tail, not vibrating now. She counted at least a dozen rattles ….

“Good hunting, my brother,” she murmured. “Now, I hope you brought no friends.”

She lifted a torch from her now bright fire and stepped into the house to look around.

“It is good,” she said, when no other snakes made an appearance. “Don’t laugh, Lumpy!”

She set down her sack of nuts and prepared to skin and dress out her squirrels. Maybe she’d broil one for supper before she retired.

I
t was much later now. She had skinned and gutted her squirrels and was relaxing, sitting on her bench to watch the three-quarter moon rise beyond the trees. She smoked her pipe, enjoying her personal mix of
kinikinnick.
She liked the taste and aroma of a bit of sumac mixed with tobacco, just a hint of cedar, and a few leaves of catnip. Relaxing this way before retiring helped her think. It had been a big day. Very satisfying, in proving her ability to gather for the winter. She had cooked all the squirrels for better keeping qualities and would shell and leach the acorns later, when she had time. There had been more time, lately, with fewer people requesting her services. She was still puzzled over that.

Even more puzzling was the incident with the snake. She could easily have blundered into her house in the dark and been bitten before she realized it. She had been fortunate to avoid that, through no great credit to herself. The spirits must have been looking after her welfare.

Even so, the mystery remained. Why had the snake come there? It made very little sense. No reason for it to seek out her house …. And then, when the confrontation occurred, it had seemed happy for the opportunity to leave. There had been a considerable chance of an accident, a risk to either or both parties. Try as she would, Snakewater could think of no reason why the wise old snake would have come there.

Well, it was time to seek her rest. She knocked the dottle from her pipe and tossed it from her palm into the fire, now dying to a bed of coals. She started to turn away…. No, maybe a torch for a last look around the hut. If it was illogical for one snake to be there, how much more so for two. But it would do no harm to look.

She thrust a torch into the coals and, when it blazed to brightness, walked to the hut. A quick look around… Nothing unusual… Wait! What… ? A sack, similar to that containing the nuts… It was lying against the east wall, as if it had fallen there. But how could that be? She
looked to the peg from which it must have fallen, but the mystery deepened.
There was no peg above that spot.
Nothing could have fallen there from a hanging position above. She hated to accept the implied answer that she must now ponder: If the sack had not fallen from above where it was lying,
it must have been thrown or tossed.
She did not recall… No, she would not have done that. Someone else, daring her absence? But who? And why?

She carried the empty sack outside to examine more closely by the firelight, building it up with a few sticks. It was not a sack of her own, but one she did not think she had ever seen before. Its weave, its pattern and size… No… not familiar. She felt its texture, then lifted it to her nose to smell, for no reason she could have explained. There was a slight musky odor about it, familiar, yet not one she recognized. Then suddenly it came to her, and she knew. She had smelled it before, at the opening of a winter den of snakes. The
snake!
It had been in that sack …. Someone had passed the door of her house sometime during her absence and tossed the snake, still in the bag, into the room for her to encounter when she returned.

It was a frightening thought, as she reached the inescapable conclusion. Someone had tried to kill her, either by the snake’s bite or indirectly, if she injured or killed the snake, breaking the covenant of the Real People. But again,
who
and
why?

“Lumpy,” she said slowly, “I know you can’t help me with other humans, but I rather wish you could.”

I
t was a sleepless night, and much later, as she lay staring at the darkness, another thought struck her.

The person who had tossed the snake into her home had taken a considerable personal risk. Not only the risk of discovery, but the risks of finding, capturing, placing in the sack, and delivering the huge snake. It was one of the largest that Snakewater had ever seen. What motive would drive anyone to take such risks? She knew of no one she had ever harmed. Even the incident with the young squirrel hunter would not have seemed to call for
such vengeance. The person who had made this attempt on her life had risked the same fate. He could have been bitten, or could have harmed the snake in violation of the covenant.

She could not understand such a massive hate.