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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

And Sam knew. He knew so much as he spoke them. The Isksaksin had to be held between the teeth to pronounce these living words. They were not sounds the human mouth made in its normal function. Gritted teeth, aching jaw. It was all part of the knowledge that Pitah Annes had learned. He had spoken the words but knew that his descendants would lose the skill. It was he who decreed they should fashion the bone from his skull into this tool for talking when he breathed no more to make the sounds. It was he who carved these words onto the hearts of his descendants.

But he was not able to tell those descendants what these words would bring. Sam Hunt paused before the last word and hissed a breath through his gritted teeth. Then he spoke it.

It fell from his parted lips like a gravestone toppling.

The shaman opened his eyes and looked ahead. The Trickster was in his blond-trapper skin, smiling, ice-blue eyes full of that dark, swirling anticipation.

Waiting.

Waiting, to give solidity to its unclean, corrupt hate.

And Sam Hunting Wolf waited, his heart a machine that was going to burst its casing.

Then he felt it coming.

From the pit of his stomach he felt a growth. It was a rapid sensation of being coated from the inside with something so thick and dark and hot that by the time he opened his mouth to scream, letting the amulet drop to his chest, it was growing in his head and had silenced his mouth with its searing viscous presence.

Then the darkness came upon him and he felt that hiss of ecstasy from the Trickster when it knew its power was returning, its fuel from the spirit of this shaman: the power to grow into its hideous and unholy self. The power to slash and rip and kill.

But as the darkness took him and the power flowed from his mind towards the thing that was already changing before him, Sam realized that this time he was still conscious. Still able to see and hear. The thing that was him, Sam Hunting Wolf, his spirit, his spark of life, was aware and alive in a bubble of thought within his own soul.

He felt calm and at peace as the fuel that the monster needed seeped from him.

And then, in that peace, he saw what was coming. Felt what was happening to this body he had all but departed.