Trixter Read Online Free PDF

large sea serpent, and then down at his very small dagger. "This is not going to be pleasant."
    “I imagine not," said Compassion.
    “But it needs to be done," said Truth.
    Somehow, Trix forced his sore body to stand. Broken shafts of hay stabbed into the pad of his shoeless foot. Each head of the lingworm towered above him, almost as tall as the trees in the Wood with those enormous plumes. Truth and Compassion looked back at him with eyes as big as his head, their matching irises as deep and green and cloudy as the deep and green and cloudy sea. Trix told himself to walk over to the fallen head, but himself would not obey.
    “I’m afraid," he explained to the heads. “You are a very large beast, and I’m a very small boy.”
    “We will promise not to bite you or swallow you whole, or swat you with our tail," said Truth.
    “Yes,” said Compassion. "We promise."
    The lingworm waved the end of the tail in question—the indigo spikes there were tipped with wicked barbs. Trix was not inspired by this. But the lingworm had carried him safely to the shore. To refuse performing a kindness in return would upset the balance of the universe, and the universe had enough of an upset goddess already.
    “I will do this," he told his body more than the lingworm.
    “Thank you," said Truth.
    “Thank you," said Compassion.
    Trix took a breath, held it, and then plunged his dagger deep into the giant neck of the lingworm. He was glad then that he'd held his breath, for the odor that released from the dead Wisdom was fetid and foul. When Trix finally was forced to take a breath, he choked and gagged.
    “See?” said Truth. "You are still alive."
    “You live up to your legend," Trix said to the lingworm. He scraped a few scales aside and plunged the dagger into the sea serpent's flesh again. It wasn't too different from cleaning a fish, he thought, if the fish were as big as a horse.
    “So do you," Compassion replied, just as Trix hit his first vein. Sluggish golden blood welled up out of the ragged tear he'd made in Wisdom's neck and spilled over his hands.
    “Wait,” “said Trix. “You’ve heard of me ?”
    “The Lingworth are old enough to know the prophecies of this world, clever enough to remember them, and wise enough to have created a few ourselves," said Truth.
    “There are few who do not know of The Boy Who Talks to Animals," said Compassion. "It is a tale that beasts have passed on to their children, and their children's children, throughout time. It was a story told before gods were gods."
    The gods had been something else before being gods? The thought baffled Trix, but not half as much as the thought that no one else in the world had the same ability he had possessed all his life. "No one else can talk to animals?"
    “Not to all the animals," said Truth.
    “Not like you," said Compassion.
    “What makes me so special?" asked Trix. It was a stupid question. There were a lot of things that made him special. But he suspected he wasn't aware of just how special.
    "Chaos is coming," said Truth.
    “There is an imbalance in the world," said Compassion.
    “I don't know that I'm special enough to set that to rights. You need someone more like my sister for that." Trix didn't specify which sister—for a boy with seven extraordinary sisters, it didn't really matter.
    “Oh, the world will need your sisters, too," said Truth.
    “There are prophecies enough for everyone!" cheered Compassion.
    “But you will need to be the voice of the animals," said Truth. "It's a very important job."
    “Be careful who you tell," said Compassion. “Men have been committed to slavery for far less."
    “And still are," added Truth.
    “And still are," said Compassion.
    Trix was sorry now that Wisdom had not survived, for he would have liked that head's advice on what to do in his current situation. But if Wisdom had survived, Trix would not be in this current situation, and he would not know that the animals had been talking about