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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

His feet were numbing now, but his strong toes retained their grip on the ledge and Sam pushed his fingers into a new crack and tightened his shoulder muscles for another pull.

He made it to a diagonal break across the slab, pushing his toes deep into the crack and crouching like a monkey on a palm trunk. The next hold would be on ice, and it would have to be no more than a fleeting lever to the six-inch overhang of rock he could see to the right, or he would fall.

For a moment he let himself think about falling, about how his messy death would bring a sweet release and an end to a life that was no more than a shallow lie. It was an ugly thought but he was weary of being strong, and he let it lap around the edge of his pained consciousness. Sam looked down at the jagged rocks at the base of the slab and knew what would happen to flesh and bone hitting them from this height. It wasn’t high, but it was high enough. What was he running and hiding from? What good did his staying alive do his family?

If he went back they would lock him away. He knew that. Like father like son. The murdering son of a murdering father.

He gazed down at the sharp rocks beneath protruding from the snow as if in a trance, his eyes resting on his own footprints that the falling snow was already trying to fill. In half an hour, if the snow kept up, it would be as if he had never stood there. If his broken body were to lie down there on the rocks, the snow would cover it as quickly. Then the animals would get to him. They would gnaw at his frozen flesh, carry bits back to their lairs and feast on it as a fresh succulent delicacy. In spring, maybe a railroad worker would find the bones, but Sam doubted it. This was a place to disappear back into the earth. There was a purity to that thought, a delicious relief that his body was no more nor less than the rock he clung to, no more than the trees and earth that were moulded and round beneath the snow.

Sam’s spirit knew in a giddy moment of joy that he was one with everything he saw and touched and breathed and stood upon, and for the first time he longed to be part of it in death, to give up his brief and tumultuous hold on being a man.