Raven Mocker (21 page)

S
nakewater felt a strange attraction, somehow, to the Sun Dance pavilion, the “medicine lodge.” She wandered over there to watch the Real-chief’s family putting the finishing touches on the huge effigy of the buffalo opposite the gateway opening. The massive head, propped in a lifelike position, overlooked the arena, dominating the scene.

She saw that the lifeless eyes had been replaced with some other objects—shells, perhaps, or shiny black stones, possibly even painted replicas. The effect was strange, lending a dreamy, surrealistic tone to the entire scene. The deep shade, broken by mottled sunlight filtering through the leafy roof of the arbor, lent a further mood that she could not understand. It was thrilling, exciting, yet calming as she stood there watching the young men prop the wooden legs of the huge effigy into position. Even though this occasion, this celebration, was completely foreign to her, she felt that it had meaning—not just to these people of the prairie, the hunters of buffalo, but to
her.
She, Snakewater, was somehow drawn to this place, this ceremonial effigy.

She would come back, she decided, when the young men were finished. She would say her own private prayers before the symbolic effigy, prayers of thanks for a season that had been good. She’d ask for a better one to come. It could do no harm. A vow, maybe… She was unsure what
she might vow. There was still indecision as to whether she would stay with Far Thunder’s band or rejoin the trader couple, at least for a season. It would be possible, she supposed, for her to return to Old Town or Keowee, now that her tormentor had moved west, but that was an uncomfortable thought. It would never be the same.

In any case, her plans would be complicated by the new foal. Not too much… She realized that there must be many new foals among the vast horse herds of Far Thunder’s people. But… well, of course! A foal would follow its mother, and the pace of travel with the poledrag or
travois
was necessarily slow. That should not be a problem, then.

When she returned to pray before the buffalo effigy she should bring some sort of an offering, she thought. That, she had been told, was customary when one offered prayers. But what had she to offer? She had virtually no possessions, beyond the necessities of daily life. It crossed her mind that she could sacrifice the colt, but the thought was repugnant to her. Swan had said that a season or two ago, someone
had
sacrificed a horse, a fine buffalo runner, leaving it tied in the medicine lodge. But that was an unusual gesture, even for these people.

No, she would burn a pinch of tobacco, a little sage, some of her other aromatic herbs. The smoke should be appealing to the spirits here, as well as anywhere else. She would come back …. She supposed that she could come to pray after the public ceremonies started tomorrow. That, after all, was the purpose of the entire Sun Dance. She was self-conscious about it, though. She would feel much better if she could come alone, in private, after the preparations were finished, but before the public ceremonies. Maybe tonight after dark ….

S
nakewater spent the day restlessly waiting. She sorted her herbs and set aside the small quantities she would need for her own private ceremony. A gourd—yes, a gourd with ashes …. She could carry a few coals with
which to ignite her sacrificial smoke offering. That was readied.

Again she visited the horse herd to watch her foal a little while, and walked along the stream. She wondered what would happen now to the crazy woman from Old Town. She was embarrassed that she could barely remember the woman’s name. Maybe she had forgotten it on purpose, as she had tried to put all the unpleasantness of that other life behind her.

She had been told that after the disruption of the Big Council, the traveling Cherokees had moved on. What would happen to the woman who had lost her child? Maybe in a new setting, with fewer familiar things to remind her, life would be better for her. Snakewater hoped so. Probably the woman had been pushed too far by the experience of seeing again the person whom she blamed for her troubles. Too bad… Her family had probably brought her here to avoid that very thing. Well, it was over now. They had taken her on, away from the contact that had wakened bad memories. They were bound for the mountains, someone had said, and a settlement of the Real People among the snowcapped peaks. That would be good, Snakewater thought, an entirely new setting, with no reminders. She wished the woman well.

S
he waited until nearly dark and then made her way toward the Sun Dance lodge. She carried her gourd with the coals, bedded in ashes, and her handful of herbal offerings.

There was no one near the pavilion, which was good. She needed for this to be a deeply personal, renewing ceremony. She was not certain that the Elk-dog People would understand.

Snakewater entered from the opening at the east and walked straight to the buffalo effigy at the other end. In the semidarkness it appeared almost alive. The great head drooped forward as if it were watching her.

Someone had placed a blanket or mat directly in front
of the beast’s nose, and she dropped to her knees on this. With a small stick she stirred the ashes in her gourd to expose the hot coals. A pinch of tobacco… The fragrant blue smoke rose in the twilight, and she breathed a prayer of supplication. Then, sage, and further prayer, not in words as much as thoughts and feelings …. A pinch of powdered dry root of one of her healing plants, another prayer.

Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of motion, rushing at her from the left. There was a scream of rage and the glint of an upraised weapon.

“Die, witch! Baby killer!”

It took a moment for her to realize that the screaming was in her own tongue, that of the Real People.
The woman
…

Snakewater threw herself to the right and rolled, surprising even herself with her agility when she really needed it. The knife slashed at empty air. Above her loomed the figure of the bereaved woman, knife raised to strike again.

But now, another sound… There was a creaking, crackling sound from the buffalo bull effigy, and Snakewater could have sworn that it moved. No… it wasn’t stirring, but
falling.
Had the woman brushed against it? Surely it was sturdy enough to withstand that. Slowly and ponderously the figure toppled forward, the shiny black horns lowering. Snakewater tried to cry out, but no sound came from her throat.

At the last moment the woman looked up and screamed again—this time without words, merely a scream of terror as the massive forehead crushed her into the mat on the floor of the medicine lodge.

Snakewater rolled, crawled quickly under the brush screen that formed the backdrop for the Sun Dance effigy, and fled into the night.

She was just catching her breath when she heard a sound at her elbow. It sounded like a hollow chuckle.

“Lumpy?”
she asked in amazement.

T
he relatives of the dead woman turned up the following morning. She had left their camp unnoticed the previous night, a day’s travel west, and they had, too late, realized where she must be going. There were expressions of regret on both sides, and wonder and confusion as to what she might have been attempting to do in the medicine lodge.

Snakewater stayed out of sight in the lodge of Far Thunder.

Our hearts are heavy for her deeds
, said the leader of the Real People in hand signs.
Maybe now she can rest
.

It is to be hoped for
, answered the leader of the Northern Band, the Real-chief of the Elk-dog People.
May our next meeting be happier.

Among the paintings on the Story Skins of the Elk-dog People is a record of the year when the Sun Dance effigy collapsed in the medicine lodge. The event seemingly was related to the presence of a woman from another nation, who was said to have been mad, but the exact connection was unknown. No defect was found in the construction of the effigy, and the reason for its fall was never determined.

The omen was not a bad one, as they had suspected at first. A successful Sun Dance and a good season followed. Many attributed this to a skilled medicine woman, an outsider who became one of the members of the Southern Band. She was reputed to have had great powers, and lived for many years in the lodge of Far Thunder as a Grandmother.

Readers who have discovered other books of the Spanish Bit Saga will recognize the Elk-dog People as the major culture included in the series. This tribe is a composite, created because in the early books it was impossible to identify the tribes and nations with whom Coronado might have been in contact. In the interests of historical accuracy the People became a theoretical nation of buffalo hunters. They have cultural traits of Kiowa, Cheyenne, Arapaho, and a bit of Comanche.

In
Raven Mocker
the major figure is Cherokee, and I have attempted to depict Cherokee history, customs, and legends to the best of my ability. I have tried to keep my story line within the realm of possibility in depicting the “Real People,” the Cherokees, for whom I have great respect and admiration. I apologize in advance for any errors or offense committed by this humble
yoneg.

D
ON
C
OLDSMITH

D
ON
C
OLDSMITH
served as a World War II combat medic in the South Pacific, graduated from Baker University, and received his M.D. from the University of Kansas. He has been a rancher and a horse breeder, among other professions and avocations, and currently teaches at Emporia State University when he is not writing his award-winning novels. There are nearly six million copies of Don Coldsmith’s books in print.

A novel in the Spanish Bit Saga

Time Period: circa 1800

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or locales is entirely coincidental.

RAVEN MOCKER

A Bantam Book

PUBLISHING HISTORY
University of Oklahoma Press hardcover edition published 2001
Bantam mass market edition / July 2002

Published by arrangement with University of Oklahoma Press

All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2002 by Don Coldsmith.

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 00-061538
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
For information address: Bantam Books.

eISBN: 978-0-307-57384-1

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