VIRB

There was once a golden, wheat covered land, far to the north, rolling with hills and coolies, and looked over by a great blue sky fit for the gods of old. A vast backbone* of the land stood in the distance always, and small rivers and streams all flowed down to the land, so the fishers could catch trout. The people all made their livings from trout and wheat harvesting. They had emaciated bakeries in the highland, made from earth-clay, in which bakers made sourdough loves from their ancient poolish. And in the lowland, there were long trout hatcheries, were the trout lived and studied English. It was a wonderful place were everyone was happy, free and just, and there was no tyranny.
But then on one day, large rusted machines on wheels appeared, carrying large steel parts across the horizon on top of Flathead Coolie.
Where were they going?
What were these things?
All the people of the land met in the center of town, in the Courtyard of Statues, to discuss this.
We will pretend we never saw it. These creatures want nothing to do with us, and we want nothing with them, called Ki-eld-sat.
Really? Said Epeau. You see what they carry. They are here to build. To smother our wheat and cover the trout streams. We must go to them, and tell them to leave.
And how do you expect them to respond to that?
Enough, called Emit.
Emit was an old, frail man. He was the last of the people in the land that spoke the ancient trout language, and he was very wise.
He spoke then to the trout, which were present at every meeting, asking their opinion. You see, the trout had been in the land longer than anyone, and they were the ones to ask about these things.
After a moment, Emit reiterated what the trout had said.
The trout believe that these ominous machines do indeed wish us harm. Therefore, I feel we must go and observe them. To perhaps discover there plans, or to come to some kind of agreement with them.
The trout, and Emit, had spoken.
The next day, a collective of six people from the village set out across the plains to explore the machines. When they reached the other side of Flathead Coolie, they looked out and saw a large establishment, black, and resembling a porcupine, with long stacks sticking in every direction.
They climbed down the side of the next coolie, and walked up to the building that was blowing smoke out of every pore.
Hello, new one, they spoke.
We are the people of this land, and we have lived here for many generations. Why do you come here?
I wish to take from the earth her resources, and use them to power my being. I create machines, to work for others like yourselves. Here in this land, no others have ventured yet to take these resources. It is a very rich land, that will be extremely beneficial.
Okay, we understand that. But we also already live here, this is our land. We harvest this wheat and the trout in these streams. We love the trout. If you steal our land's resources, the wheat and trout will surely die.
We cannot have this, interrupted Emit. We are here to ask you to please leave. We need this land and we love it. Please, will you go?
I am sorry, responded the machine. The land here is too valuable. However I promise that none of your wheat will die, and the trout will still flourish. I must stay though.
The party reluctantly accepted this. They had no choice it seemed but to believe the machine. So they parted ways, and the collective returned back to the other side of the coolie.
The people's horizon had now changed for the first time. There was still the backbone to the west, and the streams too, but before all that, there sat that ominous spiked urchin, polluting the great blue Sky with billowing smoke from burning the stolen resources deep in within its labyrinth.
It was not long before the wheat began to burn, and the trout began to die. The constant digging and burning of resources by the machine had stricken all the food the wheat ate, as a result of that, the trout no longer had food, and as a result of that, the people would have no food. So Emit went to see the Oracle Trout in the lowland hatchery.
Hello Emit, said the Oracle Trout when it saw Emit approaching.
Hello Oracle Trout, I am in need of advice.
I know darling, I know. I am the Oracle Trout. Now, the Oracle Trout explained in the ancient, slow, poetic, language of Trout, this machine urchin we have among us now is an evil invention. It represents all the corruption and greed that the current society of the world has become. You may not know what that is, but it is fine. We here are an ancient people, we live in a way that could not be understood by this society I just mentioned. A harmony with the trout, and harmony with the wind that blows through the reeds of our wheat, is no longer a way of life for the rest of the world. Times are changing. Everything evolves and devolves. Priorities have become selfish, and the harmony destroyed. This is the last land where earth still sings.
With that the Oracle Trout retreated back underwater.
Emit returned with this information, and it was decided that the collective must go back. To protect these lands. A valiant effort must be made; they must defend the land where earth still sings. And so they set out. Again they traveled the coolie below, and came upon the crest and crossed over and saw the machine, and climbed down to it's feet once more.
What trickery you have led us to believe! They cried. How can you expect us to be satisfied?
I am sorry folk, recited the machine. I must put my well being first, you see, and if I need more resources, then I will take them. Yes, it is quite unfortunate that your trout and wheat must die, but all things do. I am the future, and its no use to argue with efficiency. There's nothing more I can do for you.
And with that, they heard no more. The company waited and called to the machine, but it would not answer. Soon, it was close to nightfall, and the companionship had to return home.
A third meeting was called in the Courtyard of Statues. When it began, Emit stood up, and addressed the people of the land where earth still sings.
People, he began. We have lived in this land for many thousand moons. We survive on an ancient lifestyle, built in harmony with the spirit of this land, and respect for all life. These trout, that we live with, and this wheat that nourishes us both, is endangered. A creation of the modern world has come to this land to take from us our essential habitat, and not only that, but the very things we believe in. I will not have this, we cannot have this. The trout have lived in these streams since the backbone was created, they are in danger. This wheat has grown wildly across these plains since the sky was painted over it, and it is in danger. We have gone to this monster twice, to ask it to leave these lands. It has refused. Something must be done. Unfortunately, we here do not posses any resources of force. I can think of no way we could destroy this machine. The only course of action I can see, is to conduct a ceremony, to the ancient Trout Spirit, asking it to aid us.
The people agreed to this and they were to begin the ceremony the following night.

The ceremony was held in the Lodge of Time. It was made from rawhide stretched around a number of poles. There were many herbs and different artifacts hanging down from the ceiling poles above, and a stream ran through the lodge on the left side, where it eddied into a small pool, so the trout could be present. The spiritual leaders and the most significant people of the village were all sitting in the lodge, around a large clay pot in the center of the room. Moon Crow was playing a small rawhide drum and chanting an incantation while Emit walked around the room and hung braids of sweet grass that where in five places equally separated around the room. Emit began the ceremony then. He walked over to the trout pool, took up the Oracle Trout, and then placed him in the clay pot that was full of freshwater. A fire was then lit around the pot in the center of the room. The people were all silent, sitting in a circle, and the trout were floating steadily with their heads out of the water, watching. Then, the people and the trout began to chant, being led by Emit.

Trout Spirit runs with us,
Trout Spirit is our brother,
Trout Spirit you're within us,
Trout Spirit you aid us.

You are peaceful,
You are special,
You are rainbow,
Your trout run fat.

I take from you my spirit,
The strength to save my being,
In the land where we walk,
The wheat touches our faces,
The land where we walk is sacred.

Then Emit took up a torch from the fire and walked around the room and lit the braids of sweet grass. They continued to chant as the sweet grass burned, and when it was finished, they stopped. Emit picked up the clay pot and poured the Oracle Trout back into the pool.

It was many days and nights that the people waited for result. All the while the great machine was polluting their land more and more. However, the Oracle Trout had no doubt that the Trout Spirit within all of them would take care of things. The people tried to remain optimistic but after a long while, they began to doubt.
It was halfway through the that month's moon cycle when a great rain came. It began with a clouding of the great, blue Sky, and then droplets of rain began to fall. First, like showers from a low pressure faucet, and then, like great splashes falling from a giants goblet. Rain was not something the resource machine had counted on, having constructed itself with scrap metal, and soon it began break. Large pieces of it rusted in an un-earthly quick amount of time, and began falling off. The hundreds of stacks protruding from it began to snap and fall off like a child breaking twigs. The black smoke slowly subsided. Suddenly, under the wet, soaked lands, a great crack began to spread from under the pile of rust. It began to widen, and spread as far as the people could see to the west and east. And then, the once great industrial spike-field of the modern world, fell down and down into the gorge and was destroyed.
As the rain water continued falling, and the gorge continued expanding, it was not long before it was filled with rain water. These gifts from Trout Spirit, combined with each other, created the Great River. This river provided the land with all the nourishment it needed, and the people were happy once more. The wheat fields grew tall again, spreading out across the rolling hills. And it was in this Great River, stretching from end to end like a giant clear brushstroke, that the trout flourished forever, as rainbow messengers of the last land where earth still sings.

*reference to the name given to the Rocky Mountains by the Blackfeet Indian Tribe of Montana, and also used by James Welch in his novel, Fools Crow.