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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

If Eden James Hunting Wolf had been such a powerful shaman how come he couldn’t even save himself? All bullshit. There was no face in the crowd except the demons of his own sick and fevered mind and from now on those memories were going to stay where they belonged. In the place in his heart where he’d buried Sam Hunting Wolf the Indian, and given birth to Sam Hunt the human. As if in reply, his father’s amulet pressed its small bone weight against his chest, and Sam made a fist and muttered out loud, although under his breath, ‘Fuck every last one of you. I’ll be who I want to be.’

The door of the hut burst open with such violence, the window rattled and the wild wind that burst into the room knocked a rack of skis backwards, sending them clattering to the floor.

Sam bellowed in fright and leapt to his feet. A figure was filling the doorway, the light from the snow making it a silhouette in a frame. Sam, his heart pounding, struggled to make out the features against the impossible glare of white.

‘Just two seconds to get a fucking Coke, huh?’

It was Dean. Sam nearly wept.

‘There’s half an hour of light left and an hour of fencing to do thanks to your Coke-break and ten minutes to track you down here, you lazy bastard.’

Sam found his voice. ‘I have to get home fast. I was getting skis together since you had the mobile.’

The figure in the doorway put out an arm and leaned on the post. ‘Jesus, Sam. I can’t finish it on my own, and Baz’ll bite our balls off if that fence is still down tomorrow. Can’t it wait?’

‘Please, Dean.’

The figure stood for a moment, having the advantage of seeing Sam’s face and seeing its pleading distress.

Dean made an upward sweep with his hand in exasperation. ‘Sure. Don’t mind me.’ He turned and walked away. ‘Have a nice ski, y’hear?’ he said sarcastically into the wind.

Sam watched him go, sat back down and pulled on his ski boots. He could get down to base with the snowmobile now that Dean was back, but he wanted to ski. He needed something to clear his head and help him flush out this garbage that was making him ill. Keep moving, Sam. Every time you stop those black clouds from the past get you. The door banged in the wind and Sam kicked it shut with a foot as he snapped the clips of his boots closed.

33

Alberta 1907 Siding Twenty-three

Even as the snow fell, the wind was blowing it from those two straight rail tracks, and in the thick pillow of white that covered every other trace of topography it was as though two infinite charcoal black lines had been drawn on a white sheet.