Free Raven Mocker by Don Coldsmith

a long time until morning. Well, when morning came, she would look for footprints in the dust outside the door. For now … She let the leather curtain fall back into place and sought her bed. There would probably be little sleep, but she would try.
    “Wado,”
she said into the dark. “Thank you, Lumpy, for waking me!”
    Despite her doubts she quickly fell asleep.
    T he next morning the whole episode seemed like a dream. She lay there a moment, then rose to look outside. It was barely growing light. Dew that had collected on the roof dripped from the edge and spattered in the dust below. And,
yes!
It spattered in the footprints that she saw along the front of the house. And, yes,
there
was the spot where he had stood, shuffling a little with nervousness as he had talked with her. Now she had a strange feeling that it had
not
been a trap. The misguided man in the dark had actually believed that she could teach him to be a Raven Mocker. She shook her head sadly at the thought of such a sick mind. However, a person with such a belief could be very dangerous, especially to her, with the Council ready to further discuss the problem that faced both Snakewater and Old Town.
    There was yet another question that now occurred to her. The visitor in the night, having been rebuffed, might easily turn against her completely. He would not be certain whether she could identify him. Possibly he might fear she would go to the Council, putting him in jeopardy.What recourse would he have? A cold chill crept up the back of her spine. In that case she could see no alternative for him except to kill
her.
It was not a pleasant thought. If he did kill her, of course, it would prove her innocence before the Council. A hollow victory, one she would not be alive to enjoy.
    After worrying for half the morning she came to a conclusion. She must talk with someone, a person who would be aware of what was going on, in case something happened to her. Better a person with authority…. Of course! Three Fingers… Why had she not thought of it before?
    I t was not easy to find a way to talk privately with such a person as Three Fingers. But it was still early. People were just beginning to go to water, stumbling around sleepily. Men and women used different sections of the river, of course. If she hurried over to wait, partially concealed, along the path the men took to the river… No sooner had the idea formed than she was hurrying in that direction. She encountered a man or two and, when appropriate, nodded a greeting. Mostly she kept a little way off the path, making use of bushes and patches of fog to remain as inconspicuous as possible. It did not occur to her that this would lend an ethereal nature to any encounter with a sleepy citizen.
    She concealed herself behind a clump of shrubs and waited. Younger men, having completed the morning ritual, were drifting back toward the town by twos and threes, visiting about the weather. Older men, rising more slowly, were mostly headed toward the water. She had no idea where Three Fingers might be. It was possible that he had finished the morning ceremony and returned to his house, but she thought not. The sun was barely peeking under the sky dome, and Three Fingers was, above all, a deliberate and thoughtful person. No, he would be among the later persons to go to water
    Snakewater was almost convinced that her guess was wrong. The sun was fully up, starting to crawl up the dome, and the men were no longer heading toward theriver, but back. She had nearly decided that she must forget the secrecy and go to the house of Three Fingers, when he appeared from the direction of the town. He looked very sleepy and undignified, his hair awry, yawning and scratching his belly. She had guessed right after all. Three Fingers was a late riser.
    “Ssst! Three Fingers!” she called.
    The man nearly jumped off the path in his surprise.
    “It is Snakewater,” she said hurriedly. “I must talk with you.”
    “I—I