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Back The Trickster
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

Sam was speaking English, his way of denying Calvin, of forcing him to speak in a language that rendered him inarticulate and simple, and the shaman knew it. Calvin kept his eyes on the growing flame that his branch had stirred, grateful for any words, even ones that might wound. He answered in the tongue that Sam had chosen. An attempt at a bond.

‘I be told to.’

He raised his eyes to Sam when there was no reply. It was an acid pause. Sam was staring at him with hate, then he too lowered his eyes as he replied, as though he could not bear to look for long into Calvin’s face.

‘By who? A lunatic? Why would I want to see you again?’

‘You know by who.’

Sam said nothing, and Calvin gulped at the viciousness of his tone. He poked the fire again and tried to keep his voice steady.

‘That’s the reason. I be here, telling you things you already knows.’

Sam put his forehead on his knees and remained silent for a long time. When he spoke again it was in a voice muffled by the thick material of his sleeve.

‘What do I know? I don’t even know if you’re real. I pray every day I’m making this up, that I’ve gone crazy.’

‘But you know you ain’t gone crazy. Don’t you, Sam?’

There was a slight nod from the buried head and Calvin lowered his own head in sympathy for the resigned agony that Sam’s tiny movement signified.

He looked into the fire and decided to revert to Cree. There was much talking to be done and Calvin needed to talk with authority in his own tongue. He could not be forgiven, he knew that now and cursed his foolish heart for even daring to hope it would happen. Calvin Bitterhand, the man, was beyond Sam’s redemption. It was time merely to become the tool that the spirits had wrought.

‘He has shown himself to you?’

Sam looked up, surprised by the sudden switch in language and the new authority in Calvin’s tone. He blinked at the old shaman through the flames and surprised himself further by answering him softly in Cree.

‘Yes.’

‘Then there is so little time.’

Calvin crossed his legs, put down the branch and placed his hands on his bony knees. Sam watched like a mesmerized animal waiting for the snake to strike, and Calvin closed his eyes.