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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

‘I fear only that which has life and purpose. I fear the nettle more than you.’ Hunting Wolf paused, then spoke in a softer, more thoughtful voice. ‘Why, when you were once in the light, did you choose eternal death?’

There was sadness in the shaman’s voice, and in reply the darkness was hushed and still. It was a moment that the man had not planned or expected. The dark thing was thinking its putrid thoughts, but Hunting Wolf could feel something like pain from the dark tendrils of sensation his mind was constantly reading.

He waited for a reply, and as he stood silently from outside the tunnel mouth there came a clamour.

Men shouting.

It was time.

He closed his eyes and spoke a prayer inside his head.

Oh Great Spirit. You who make the dark and the light. I thank you for my flesh and bones. For my penis that gives life, and my heart that guides life. I thank you that my spirit that lives in the flower and the rock and the stream and the clouds that chase across the sky like horses, lives too in the body of this man. I pray for the spirit that is in everything and I carry the joy of my thanks with me in my heart that I may embrace you in the next world.

Hunting Wolf opened his eyes wide, lifted his amulet with a frozen bloody hand and put it between his teeth.

There was a sigh from the darkness, a deep unholy sigh like gas escaping from a corpse.

‘Ah! So we are to do battle! The dung-hole chief of shits will at last fight that which he calls nothing!’

It laughed a throaty, delighted rattle and continued laughing as the keeper started the final portion of his ceremony. Outside, in the light, men of flesh and bone and blood howled for Hunting Wolf, and a woman and boy prayed for him.

56

In the dark, the lampshade hanging from the ceiling looked like a face. Billy guessed it was the bulb that made the nose, and the eyes and mouth were just shadows caused by the fringe that hung round the edge. He’d stared at it for a long time now, fighting sleep, and he was still wide awake, listening to the low voices of his mother and the policeman talking downstairs.

The day had been more like a dream than the one he had last night. Except that wasn’t a dream. Not really.

They’d stayed in all day, hiding from the men outside with their cameras, Auntie Ann fussing around in a pretend-cheery way, and Billy had tried to make his mother stop crying.

Maybe she would soon. His father was on his way home. He could feel it. He knew it. He needed to be awake to help him if he asked. Because they had to fight the dark thing together. Eagle Robe had said so.