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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

They lifted their glasses to join her in that happy toast, when the door kept its promise of being the evening’s theatrical entertainment by bursting wide open. Sam Hunt stood in the frame, his eyes wild with something that looked like terror, his face scratched and bloody where he’d run through the trees when he took a tumble and lost a ski.

Ann put a hand to her mouth, Katie scraped back her chair and Gerry leapt to his feet. And when his big, exhausted Indian friend staggered forward with a groan into the room, everyone realized there was to be no toast that night to positive thinking. Especially Billy, who stood in the doorway to the parlour, his hand buried in Bart’s fur in a tight fist.

36

Calvin Bitterhand’s eyes flickered open and he steadied himself to avoid falling forward onto the hot stones.

He struggled not to weep, finding himself once more earthbound after the flight that had seemed to last forever. But now he must have water. His gap-fingered hand reached out to the bark bowl and lifted it to his lips. The water was as warm as soup, but it ran down his throat and soothed his monstrous thirst. It must have been a long flight, since the stones were no longer hot as he imagined, but warm. He needed to heat them on the fire outside the lodge again, but right now he had little enough energy to keep him sitting upright.

To fly, unburdened by the body, with neither the snow blizzards above the mountains, or the blazing sun high in the azure blue sky causing you harm or discomfort, was a heaven that most men would never attain. But the price was this. An old shell of a body, quivering and aching with fatigue, stained with sweat, and near, Calvin knew it, to death. But he had not flown like that since his prime days as a shaman, and it told him he was nearly pure again. The Eagle would not fly to order in such a manner with one who was not pure, and he had soared effortlessly with it for what seemed like an age. But to see what? To see that ancient curse of a thing dig its claws more firmly into the fabric of a world it had no right to. This world. The one that was ruled by the human heart, and would be until such time as it was decreed that the domination must end.