Circling Raven’s Prophecy

Like a dank fog, the sickness crept from lodge to lodge through the whole village. Even in the other villages and other tribes on the Columbia Plateau, which was cupped between the Rocky Mountains and the Cascades, both women and children, old people and great warriors had died from the smallpox in 1782. Those who had recovered displayed rough scars on their faces as though they had done battle with the great porcupine.

But Circling Raven, the shaman or prophet among the Spokane people, had faith that Quilent-sat-men, the Creator of All, would hear his prayers and send healing. Maybe a few evil people would die, but the great God Most High certainly would save those who worshiped Him and lived a righteous life.

Quiet moaning like the winter wind threading its way through the pines seeped from young Chief Illim-Spokanee’s lodge as Circling Raven approached it. The lodge was fifty feet long and fifteen wide, made of limber poles bent in a series of arches and covered with buffalo hides and tightly woven mats of tule reeds.

He tossed back the door flap and stepped in, then stood still for a few moments to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim light coming through the smoke holes in the roof. In the far corner bending over a sleeping mat, he made out the forms of three women. Suddenly the moaning erupted into a wail of trilling agony that Circling Raven knew was the death cry. Had he come too late? No evil people lived in this lodge. The chief and all his relatives were good people, but as he drew nearer, he saw that the sickness had taken the chief’s mother.

She was an older woman, about the same age as Circling Raven. Maybe it was her time, but Circling Raven didn’t feel like his years were over. He tried to comfort the family by praying long and loudly that God would receive the woman’s spirit. But even as he prayed, doubts bubbled up inside him like the pungent sulfur water from the hot springs. If God did not hear his prayers and drive away the sickness, how could he believe that God would answer his prayers that the dead would find the path to heaven?

That evening at council, Two Claws, a brash young brave, said, “My woman thinks evil spirits have come to live along the Spokane River and Circling Raven’s medicine is not strong enough to drive them away. She says we should move the village.”

Circling Raven did not answer. He did not even look up from watching the trail of red ants that marched past his foot. The Spokane people were semi-nomadic, so the idea of moving was not unusual, but this spot along the river, just below the falls, had been a favorite campground year after year. The idea of giving it up because it was unfit would be like abandoning one’s mother.

“Where would we go?” asked Chief Illim-Spokanee. “All the tribes have the sickness.”

“We could go to the lands of the Blackfeet,” said Two Claws. He laughed. “Then we could hunt buffalo whenever we pleased.”

“And die at the hands of the Blackfeet,” said Chief Illim-Spokanee.

Two Claws snorted. “You sound like a white rabbit. We have at least a thousand people and many braves. We could defend ourselves.”

“You are too young to remember anything more than the raiding parties the Blackfeet send to harass us when we enter their lands to hunt the buffalo. But they are a powerful nation.”

“Perhaps they have only a few braves, just enough for some raiding parties.”

“You are too young,” agreed one of the older chiefs.

“And you are old—maybe too old,” snorted Two Claws. He kept trying to talk of leaving the camp beside the river, but no one paid attention.

No one, that is, except Circling Raven. The shaman began to wonder whether Two Claws might be right—though not about leaving the Spokane. He knew moving would not protect them, but maybe his medicine was weak. As the days went by, he prayed harder, but the villagers continued to die. Did God no longer care about them?

Then came the day when Circling Raven’s own son got sick. Circling Raven prayed all night. He helped his wife nurse the small eight-year-old, cooling the child’s fevered brow with a damp deerskin rag and singing softly to him when the boy cried out in his restless sleep. Two days went by, then three, but the fever did not leave the lad until early one morning when it stole the boy’s spirit right out of his body, and he was no more.

Circling Raven ripped the flap off the door to his lodge as he ran out. “Why? Why? Why?” He shook his fist at the sky. “If the righteous die while evil men live, why should we continue to follow our laws? Let us live like the animals! Why care about God?” He began tearing down the wooden racks that held the drying salmon over smoking beds of coals. “Here brother dogs, eat our fish,” he yelled, tossing a fish to the dogs that were barking at his wild antics. “And when the winter comes we will eat you. What difference does it make? Or maybe we will eat each other and simply die like dogs!”

Chief Illim-Spokanee came out of his lodge and watched Circling Raven vent his rage and grief until the shaman fell to the ground exhausted and began to weep, not caring whether the other men of the village thought him an old woman. Then the chief came and sat down beside the older prophet. He rocked back and forth like a sapling swaying in the breeze, humming a mournful chant in tune with the shaman’s broken heart. The chief stayed with him until the sun was high overhead, and then he said, “My brother, you must not give up your faith. You have just lost your way because of the sickness. It may not be killing your body, but your spirit has the fever.”

Circling Raven threw a handful of dust in the air. “I no longer believe in God.”

“Then why do you yell at Him? Do you yell at the wind? Do you yell at the trees? No. They cannot hear you. But you yell at God, so I do not think you have lost your faith altogether.” The chief put his hand gently on the shaman’s shoulder. “Take some time, my older brother; take some time. Climb Mount Spokane and pray and fast. See if you can’t revive your spirit before it becomes twisted like the lone pine tree on Pine Bluff.”

Circling Raven thought about the chief’s words. He could feel his spirit becoming gnarled and ugly like the lightning-blazed pine. He nodded his head. “I will go. I will go to the mountain and pray until God hears me or until I die crying out to Him. For what other reason is there to live if He does not hear our cry and uphold us?”

The next morning, Circling Raven arose before dawn and prepared for his journey to Mount Spokane. His wife handed him a leather pouch of pemmican and smoked salmon, but Circling Raven waved it away and left the village without a word.

He had walked forty-five miles by the time he arrived at the peak of Mount Spokane the next afternoon. He was the only human on the mountain, and even though snow still lay on the ground and he had no buffalo robe, he did not feel the cold as he sat in the mouth of a shallow cave. Instead of seeking his own comfort, he cried out, “O Quilent-sat-men, Great God Most High, Creator of All, why have you forsaken your people, the Spokane? If we have displeased you, if we have sinned against you in any way, please forgive us. If I have offended you with my yelling, if I have broken any of your laws, please forgive me.”

For four days and four nights, Circling Raven fasted and prayed in this manner. And then . . . God gave him a vision, a vision as big as the sky.

A voice rolled back and forth between the clouds like thunder. “Why do you cry? Your son is happy here with me, so you should have faith.” In the vision, Circling Raven saw his own lodge with smoke coming out of all three roof holes. Healthy children ran around the village without scars on their faces, and in the meadow by the Spokane River, young boys raced their horses and made bets on who could ride faster. And then he saw two men get out of a canoe. They wore strange clothes and had white skin. In their hands they carried a pack of leaves bound together and wrapped in black leather. God’s voice crackled: “Pay attention to the marks on those leaves. They are the Leaves of Life.”

Circling Raven leaped to his feet and started to run down the mountain, so excited about the vision that he tripped over roots and rocks in his path so many times that his hands and knees were bloody when he arrived at the village. He did not wait to call a council meeting but blurted out his report, describing the vision even though only women and children gathered to hear him. Finally one of the old chiefs interrupted and urged him to come into the council lodge and allow time for the other chiefs and elders to gather.

When all had assembled, they listened to Circling Raven’s report and passed the pipe from one to another. But Circling Raven did not tell the last part of his vision, the part about the sad things that would happen later when more white men followed the first few who carried the Leaves of Life. He did not want to frighten his people.

When the prophet finished his report, everyone nodded and passed the pipe around the circle. It went around twice until the oldest chief said, “Could this prophecy be similar to the one given by Shining Shirt to our neighbors, the Salish? They call God, Amotkan, He Who Lives on Most High. But I think they worship Quilent-sat-men just as we do. They just know Him by a different name. Shining Shirt said to pray to God every day and do only what is right and honest, and some day men with pale skins and long black shirts would come from the East and teach the truth.”

There was silence as the pipe went around the circle again. “This is good,” some muttered. “We should pray every day, too. We should obey God’s instruction.” They continued to pass the pipe from one to the other and stared into the fire until only a few glowing coals remained. Then one by one they slipped out of the council lodge and walked to their own homes, careful not to awaken the children as they crawled into their buffalo robes.

The next day they assured their people that Circling Raven had received a true vision. God was good, and He had not forgotten them even though many still suffered from the sickness.

In time, the smallpox epidemic passed, and life in the Spokane nation returned to its normal routine of hunting, fishing, gathering, and horse racing. Even though Circling Raven still missed the son he lost to the sickness, he was able to grow old peacefully and take joy in the healthy children born to his relatives, and in this way his lodge became full again so that smoke rose from all three holes in the roof. Always at the tribal council he urged his people to live righteous lives of honesty and faith in the Creator and to pray daily for His blessing.

And then one day the earth shook and the sky became dark, and dry snow began to fall from the heavens. It covered the grass and the rocks. It caught in the people’s noses and made their eyes burn so that they had to sip water continually to keep from coughing, and they had to calm their horses so they would not stampede.

The year was 1800, and the dry snow was ash from the volcanic eruption of the Smoking Mountain (later called Mount Saint Helens), hundreds of miles to the west where fire dragons lived. The Spokane people began to cry and tremble. “The world is ending! The world is ending! Everything is lost!”

Circling Raven, however, remembered his vision. “People, people, do not fear. This is not the end,” he said as he gathered the people together in the choking cloud of dust. “This cannot be the end because the white men have not come yet.”

Slowly they calmed down. He was, after all, a good prophet who had always encouraged them to live a righteous life. Again, he reminded them of his vision and pointed out how some of it had already come true. Their tribe had recovered from the sickness and was prospering in every way. God was good!

But he felt badly that he had not had the courage to tell his whole vision. So he cleared his throat and said, “There was one more part to my vision. After the white men come with their Leaves of Life that show us the path to heaven, our lives will change in ways we cannot even imagine. They will show us new ways to make a living, and all wars between us will cease.”

A murmur of approval spread through the crowd as various people coughed to clear their throats. Circling Raven held up his hand, indicating he had more to say. “This has not yet happened, so the world cannot be ending. However, after the white men with the Leaves of Life come, other white men will come who will make slaves of us. Then our world will end, but not with ashes. We will simply be overrun by the white men as though by grasshoppers. When this happens, we should not fight as it would only create unnecessary bloodshed.”

The people were silent, except for occasional coughing. Slowly and by family groups, they went back to their lodges. Maybe, thought some, if they could just get the Leaves of Life, they could please God and He would spare them from being overrun by the white men. Maybe they could learn to live together in peace with the white men.