Raven Mocker by Don Coldsmith

where did the old granny, her namesake mentor, fit in? The two of them had always seemed so close, so similar … not in appearance, of course, but in spirit. To others, so similar that she now bore the same name: Snakewater. Had the witch woman, too, been a Raven Mocker?
Is that how it works?
she asked herself. Was the understudy already born a RavenMocker, or was such status bestowed by the teacher when
that
Raven Mocker became tired of the false immortality?
    No, she told herself, that was making it too complicated. Her mentor had been kind and generous and had helped many people, as she had herself. They had been gifted with certain powers, which required some knowledge of how to use them to the good of others. That the old granny had given to her.
It cannot be evil to help others
, she assured herself.
    She tried to shake off the fantasy that had begun to depress her. There were times when her heart was so heavy that she even considered suicide, though not for long. Such reflections might interfere with what she was intended to do. She wished that she could talk to her teacher. She shrugged off the angry thought that
Granny left me.
    Maybe she could talk to someone else …. No one in her own village, of course, but was there not a conjure woman in the next town, Keowee, a day’s travel to the north? Yes, she was sure of it. Possibly … What was her name… Frog! Yes, Spotted Frog. No sooner had she thought of this possibility, than she began to plan her journey. It did not take long. She gathered enough food for subsistence, blankets for the overnight stay, and chose a small but well-made basket as a gift. She would start at daylight.
    H er heart was light during the journey. The day was pleasant, the road easy. She nodded cheerfully to the few travelers she met, and they returned her greeting.
    She was surprised at the changes since she had last visited here. There were fields and farms and houses and herds of cattle grazing. She shook her head in disapproval. The Real People were living like whites.
    Reaching the outskirts of the town, she made her campfire and settled for the night. She would go in when morning came and ask for Frog, the medicine woman. She was tired and slept well.
    In the morning she rose, went to water at the stream, and redressed, combing her hair to appear presentable.Entering the town, there were more changes—a store, a blacksmith preparing his forge for the day’s work… Times were changing. She had no difficulty inquiring her way to the house of Spotted Frog, and knocked at the door.
    “Who is it?” a voice called.
    “I am called Snakewater,” she answered. “I come from the town to the south of here. Old Town. The one with the wall. I would talk ….”
    A woman appeared in the doorway. She was heavy, of medium height, and she might have been of almost any age. The lines in her face belied the jet black of her hair. All in all, though, the lines were those of a happy disposition.
    “I have heard of you,” she said. “Come in. Let us smoke.”
    Snakewater offered her gift.
    “It is beautifully made,” said Spotted Frog. “Your work?”
    “No, no. A woman in our town makes them.”
    “
Wado!
It is good! Come… let us sit outside. The day is pleasant.”
    They sat on a bench, and Spotted Frog brought a pipe and a burning stick with which to light it. They smoked in silence for a little while, and finally Frog spoke.
    “How may I help you?”
    “I—I don’t know,” said Snakewater truthfully. “There are things that I do not understand.”
    The other woman smiled. “There are many things like that, no? What is it, Snakewater?”
    “Well, I… What do you know of the Raven Mocker?” she blurted.
    Several emotions flitted across the face of Spotted Frog. Suspicion, fear, defensiveness, maybe even anger.
    “Why do you seek of this?” she asked carefully. “Has your town a problem?”
    “No …Well, maybe. There are suspicions, talk. There have been