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Back The Trickster Save as PDF
Chapters (74)
  1. The Trickster
  2. Copyright
  3. Dedication
  4. Contents
  5. Preface to the 20th anniversary edition
  6. Introduction
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. Keep Reading
  70. FURNACE
  71. Acknowledgements
  72. About the Author
  73. ALSO BY THE AUTHOR
  74. About the Publisher

The saplings would have to be woven together into a dome, then the canvas he’d cut from the tent, draped over it to make a loose roof. There was still a great deal to do, and between the delicate branches of the trees, the grey sky announced the day was waning.

He stood up, faced east and offered up a prayer for the Hunting Wolf boy. It was not the first time he’d done it, and with his eyes turned to the darkening sky, he knew in his heart it would not be the last.

27

The soft grey leather bound round the steering wheel in a spiral had absorbed enough saliva to make a dark, wet stain. But then Sam had been slumped forward drooling, with the wheel between his teeth like a horse’s bit, for an hour.

He was clear-headed this time when he’d woken. Although woken was not quite the right word for that mercurial return to consciousness that left him gasping as though winded by a punch. Sam groaned, almost whimpered, as he lifted his head from the wheel and rubbed at his aching jaw.

An hour. The lights were still on, illuminating the spartan instrument panel, though the engine had stalled, and the clock told him the unpalatable story of the time he’d lost. His mouth was dry and sore, his neck muscles throbbed, but those minor physical irritations were of little consequence compared to the nugget of alarm in his heart, that it had happened again.

For a moment he sat blinking in the darkness, allowing an overwhelming sense of hopelessness and resignation to wall him in. His hands fell to his lap and he stared at the snow wall through the windshield like a child at a dull adult TV show; mouth hanging open, eyes glazed and distant, yet too drained to look away.

Awake again. Alone, in the dark. Paralysed with terror by the potential an hour could hold.

So sad. Waking had been his pleasure for ten years. How many ways had he woken with Katie? There were big sunny awakenings with bird song, the sounds of neighbours’ cars leaving outside, kissing and sex and jokes. There were cold, cosy mornings when waking up meant he could enjoy falling asleep again, tucked up in the skin and hair and silk of her. Waking to children crying and comforting them back to sleep. Waking to children laughing, bouncing on the bed. Waking in the yard on a lounger with his soda gone warm in the sun beside him and Katie rubbing factor thirty-five on his unburnable chest for a gas. Opening his eyes in the sitting room to find the TV still blaring, the fire low, and Katie sleeping beside him with a book over her eyes.