BooksBarbecue
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

It was him. Sixteen years old with a bloody and badly swollen face from the beating Moses had given him and he was standing staring at the figure in the centre of the darkened room. Points of sunlight intruded into the darkness where the blanket over the window had been inexpertly nailed, and the spirit Sam thought how beautiful they were, these pin-heads of brilliance, like diamonds.

Moses swayed unsteadily in the middle of the floor, Eden’s amulet between his rotten teeth, glaring at the young Sam with wide eyes. He barked at his son, and because of the obstacle in his mouth his words sounded comical rather than threatening.

‘What now? Come on, you little fuck. What now?’

Sam’s spirit watched his younger self wrestle with something and he knew what that had been. It was blasphemy even to have proceeded this far with the mock ceremony. But there was hate in that young boy’s eyes. A hate so deep it chilled Sam to see it from outside.

Calvin was approaching. The younger Calvin. Sam’s spirit could feel it. He extended a tendril of his floating mind and saw the shaman running up the hill towards the cabin, the sunlight catching his hair as it swung wildly behind him, free of its braids. Calvin’s spirit whispered to him.

‘Yes, Sam. I was there. As you said.’

The Sam in the room was stiffening now, and Sam’s spirit wanted to shout no! to stop the boy performing this last act of sacrilege. But he was soundless here. This was nothing more than a reflection of the past, not an event that he could alter or direct. His spirit was here to observe.

And as it observed the boy, slowly reciting the words that his father must speak to complete the ritual, his spirit ached with the wrongness of it. This was as far he remembered. This hideous end to the ritual. What would he see now? What he had always feared? That this boy, previously guilty of nothing more than innocent faith, would become a gory murderer, a psychotic mutilator before the silent witness of his spirit?

Moses shut his eyes, and with the Isksaksin gripped firmly between his teeth, began to chant the words after his son. Sam’s spirit could not feel temperature, but his young self displayed the effect that Moses’s words had created, clutching his arms to his body as the room became icy cold.