Raven Mocker (12 page)

Y
ou 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.”

F
or 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.

S
nakewater 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.”

S
he 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.

S
he 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.

B
y 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.

I
n 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.

But by the time Snakewater left Old Town, there were none of those memories left. The unpleasant ones had come crowding in. Even her home, once a place of refuge, had become a threat. It had become a dangerous place, and it was good to be gone from there.

What a contrast now. She had been here only a season, but she had friends here. There had been no one in her life, since the death of Snakewater the elder, to whom she had been close. Now she realized with some surprise how difficult it would be to leave Kills Many and his family. They had joked about it, she and the young man. She had called him “almost-son.” He had become the son she had never had, and could never have now. That possibility was long behind her. Yet, for a season, she had been able
to experience the emotions, the feelings, and the joy of having a family. It had been good. But the ever-present danger of her past had become, in a way, a danger to them, her adopted family.

Pigeon… Ah, what a joy! Looking back, she saw that the child had done much for her. A season ago Snakewater would never have imagined that she could become a storyteller. Now she was actually in demand as one. Could Pigeon ever realize how much influence she had wielded in Snakewater’s transformation? The old woman smiled to herself. Quite possibly—she had always felt that Pigeon seemed to have all the wisdom of an older adult, packed into a small body. She must take some time with the little girl, to explain her impending departure.

“P
igeon,” she began haltingly, “I must tell you something.”

“What is it, Grandmother? A secret?” The child’s eyes danced with excitement. “No, no …”

This was more difficult than she could have imagined ….

“No, not a secret. Everyone will know. I wanted to tell you first, to explain.”

She took a deep breath.

“Are you troubled, Grandmother?” asked the girl sympathetically.

“No… well, yes, a little. I am troubled that I must leave here.”

“When will you come back?”

“I—I don’t know. Maybe never.”

A look of alarm swept across the small face.

“You are to cross over?”

“No, no, child, not that. But I will be far away. I am going with the trader and his wife.”

“But
they
will come back!”

“Yes, that is true ….” She had not even thought of that. “But I will probably not.”

The large dark eyes filled with tears.

“You are angry with me, Grandmother?” Snakewater put an arm around the girl and drew her close.

“Of course not, child. This has nothing to do with you. I have had a dream, a night vision, that calls me to go.”

Pigeon brushed away tears. “I don’t want you to go.” She cuddled more closely.

“Pigeon, I… Ah, we must do things sometimes that are hard, no?”

Now there were tears in
her
eyes too.

Pigeon sniffed and wiped the back of her hand across her nose.

“And your dream tells you to go?”

“Yes. Dreams are important.”

“I know ”

Of course you do, child
, thought Snakewater.
You understand all things.

“I will miss you, of course,” said Pigeon, more calmly now. “My heart is heavy. But
maybe
you will come back?”

“Maybe so.” Snakewater smiled.

“But”—Pigeon’s face fell again—“I will miss you both.”

“Both?”

“Yes, you and Lumpy. He will probably go with you.”

“Lumpy?”

As far as she could remember, Snakewater had never mentioned the name. This was very disconcerting, maybe even a bit dangerous.

“What do you know of someone called ‘Lumpy’?”

Mischief sparkled again in the dark eyes.

“Why, nothing, really, Grandmother,” she teased. “What could I mean?”

Now Snakewater was truly confused. Had Pigeon overheard her talking to the Little Person by name? Possibly… or …could it be that Pigeon, too, was in contact with the Little People? Not unheard of. She tried to remember a similar conversation with her own mentor, when she first thought she saw a lumpy-looking shadow
in the corner. At about Pigeon’s age? But it was a conversation that must not go on.

“You make no sense at all, child. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she scolded.

Pigeon giggled. “Of course not, Grandmother. But I will never tell.”

Tell what?
Snakewater longed to ask. But she could not do so. The answer to that question would itself break the taboo. Pigeon had led this conversation very skillfully, and in a way, Snakewater was pleased and even proud.

“I know you won’t, Pigeon.”

An understanding passed wordlessly between them, and it was good.
This child
, thought Snakewater,
has truly received the gift.

“When will you leave, Grandmother?”

“I don’t know, Pigeon. When it’s time, I guess.”

T
he departure was delayed as Snakewater made her hurried preparations to accompany the traders. Time, except for the changing of the seasons, was of little serious importance. A little more trading, a social smoke, the readying of Snakewater’s mare, the packing of Snakewater’s few possessions, all helped to consume most of the day. Tomorrow would be soon enough.

There were two pack animals, in addition to those ridden by the trader and his wife. Snakewater’s packs and bundles were easily added to the load of the pack horse.

The other pack animal was a strange looking creature, unfamiliar to Snakewater. It had the long ears of a donkey but the body and legs of a horse. It had startled everyone from time to time with its loud braying call. Snakewater was a little uneasy about it.

“This is a big donkey?” she asked.

“No,” laughed Rain Cloud. “It is called a mule. Its sire was a donkey, from which it gets its ears and its voice. Its body and legs, from its mother, a mare. It is very strong and, in some ways, wiser than a horse. It will not overeat like a horse and can go longer without water.”

“Where did it come from?”

“Fox traded for it. Before that, I don’t know.”

“It has worked well,” added Fox. “Its long ears and loud voice attract attention.”

“And this is good?” asked Snakewater, somewhat puzzled.

“Oh, yes, for a trader. Anything that will gather a crowd. I had thought,” he added as he and Cloud expertly looped the hitch on the pack mule’s load, “that maybe a wagon would be easier. Maybe we will try that next year.”

“Kills Many travels with a wagon,” offered Snakewater. “I came here with them last season.”

“Yes, I know,” said Fox. “I have talked with him. But some of the trails farther west may not be suited to wagons. We will see, this season. Then, maybe next year… For now, our pack horses can go anywhere a person can walk upright. Maybe they are better than a wagon, no? We will see.”

T
he mule did travel well, even with a bigger load than the horses. They camped that night without any settlement near. At least none that they knew of. Their start had been a little later than they’d expected. The time to leave had not arrived, so it had become a short day’s travel.

Their campsite had obviously been used before, as had most of the stopping places on the ancient trails. Any traveler, stopping for the night, needed the same amenities: water, a level place to sleep, and grass or browse for the animals. Some camping spots became famous in their own right, for an especially good spring, or a magnificent view, or for geographic features that provided safety. Many of these spots later became towns and cities, for the same reasons.

But, for this evening, it was a pleasant place to camp. The horses and the mule, freed of packs and saddles, rolled luxuriously on the ground, and rose to shake themselves free of any debris before beginning to browse.

They quickly established their camp and built a fire. It was not so much for warmth, or even for cooking, but to
establish a presence, a permission to camp here.
Here I propose to camp
is the statement that a fire makes. It is a ritual, a contact with any spirits who might dwell here.

Fox opened his pack and tossed a pinch of tobacco on the growing flames as a ritual to honor those same unknown spirits and to ask their help and protection. Snakewater was glad to see this. Those who spend much time in contact with other cultures sometimes forget their own. It was good to see that Fox had not departed from the simple amenities that any traveler should observe. She was sure that the spirits, too, must appreciate such recognition.

There was a twinge of loneliness for a moment as the shadows lengthened. This startled her when she actually thought about it. She had been a lone person by choice for most of her life. It had been only in the last year that she had actually enjoyed the company of other people. Back at Old Town her relationship with Log Roller and Three Fingers, the town chiefs, had been understanding, but mostly business. She had respected and admired both but had not considered either a close friend.

Her closest relationship was that with Kills Many, her almost-son, and that was good. And little Pigeon… ah, she had never missed the joy of motherhood until now.

Looking back over the year just past, she found to her surprise that she now almost enjoyed being with people. Except for her old mentor, these friends among whom she had been living were closer to her than any others she had ever known. And all in a single year? She must be changing herself, because surely there must have been
some
people in Old Town worth knowing.

These lonely thoughts whispered through her head as she watched the trader and his wife walk down along the stream, hand in hand. She had felt a shadow of doubt about going off to unknown places with unknown people. But had she not had a dream-vision? And the trader
was
known to Little Horse and his band. Even so, it was a great lift to her spirit to see the couple in this setting, relating to each other with such affection. A slightly bittersweet
lift, maybe, since she herself had no one. She sighed, then turned suddenly toward a patch of shadow across the fire.

“
What?
Oh, yes, Lumpy. Yes, I
do.
And I appreciate it. Don’t tease me about it.”

She was feeling much better, however, by the time twilight deepened and Fox and Rain Cloud returned. Both carried sticks for fuel, and they seemed content with the world.

In such a setting and in such company, who could feel otherwise?