Diary of a Conjurer Page 9

  “They’ve been in here. They’ve searched for me but I hid. They know I’m in here though, and they know I was in labor but they don’t know the baby is born. They’ll come again and look for us.”

  The baby whimpered.

  “Shh,” Lelanie whispered and cradled the child, patting it nervously. “I’m so afraid for him, for you.”

  “He’s a boy, then?” Reuben asked.

  “Yes.”

  Reuben sat next to them.

  “You came back so soon?”

  “Hacatine is at sea. It was a perfect time to return.”

  “She may be gone, but her scouts are everywhere looking for you. If it weren’t for Charlotte’s neighbors, we would have been burned in her cottage. We were warned that they were looking for me.”

  “How did they know about us?”

  “You forget; this island is ruled by sorcery. What happened to the others? Kaempie and the younger ones?”

  “I'm afraid we were all separated. Can you walk? We need to get to safety?”

  “Where's Charlotte?”

  Reuben took her hand and squeezed. “She's dead.”

  With a slight groan, Lelanie bowed her head and he hugged her. Holding the baby tight against her chest, she rose and he helped her to her feet.

  Once standing, Reuben could tell that Lelanie was weak from her labor. She held his arm, leaning into him as they walked. Strangely, there was no sign that anyone else was in the cave, but they moved quietly as if there were. He supported her as he guided her through the dark. Finally, the moonlight cast a glow on the cave entrance. Reuben moved Lelanie into the shadows, pulled his bow from off his back and an arrow from its quiver, and nodded for her to stay hidden as he scouted the exit.

  Crickets sang in the grass. A gentle breeze rustled the treetops. Reuben held his breath, waiting. No other sign of life. He watched the forest for the longest time wondering if they shouldn't just stay in the caves until morning. It was the crying of the child that changed his mind. If indeed Hacatine's warriors had targeted this cave, more would come. Surely someone had heard Ruy's gun.

  “Let's go.”

  She staggered slowly toward him, balancing her weight along the rock wall, holding a squirming baby with her other arm.

  “Give me the child.” He reached out his arms as she approached the ray of moonlight where he stood. Though weary, a sparkle still lit her auburn eyes, and she smiled. The night sky cast its cool glow onto her silken hair.

  “He has a name,” Lelanie said.

  “You named him?”

  “Abbott. He will be a father, and carry on your heritage. My child will never meet Hacatine's death sentence. I swear to the North Wind.”

  “It's a good name, Lelanie. A good name.”

  Reuben took the little boy in his arms and as he touched the child’s cheek, the baby grabbed onto his finger. “Your mother has declared a life of promise for you, son,” he whispered. “Let’s get you to safety.”

  In familiar territory now, Reuben knew the quickest way to the beach where the fishermen kept their boats. Obtaining a dinghy from a watchman, or even borrowing one would not be difficult.

  As soon as they left the cover of the forest, and approached the sand dunes on the southern shore of the island, arrows raced at them. With Lelanie and the baby in his arms, Reuben fell to the ground and rolled them both behind a lone stump. The baby immediately began to cry. Reuben handed Abbott to his mother and drew his bow. Before his arrow was strung, a spark of light flashed from the woods behind them and gunshots rang out, drawing the volley of arrows over Reuben and Lelanie’s head to the dark of the woods behind them. He held his breathe, and refrained from moving, knowing full well whom it was that was firing. Only a moment passed and then all was quiet, even the child. Ruy and Rosalind did not stir from their hiding place, nor did any warriors appear from theirs.

  Reuben couldn’t wait in the wet sand on the beach forever. They needed to move. He caught sight of a small rowboat tied to a piece of driftwood only a rock’s throw from the breakers. If they moved quickly he could have his family safely out to sea in a matter of minutes. Now was the test of Rosalind’s allegiance. He turned to Lelanie.

  “I’m going to run for that dinghy over there. Follow in my steps. If you hear shooting or see arrows flying, fall to the ground, keep the child close to you and crawl to me.”

  “Be careful,” she cautioned.

  Reuben took a breath, looking first to the woods, and then to the brush where the warriors had been shooting. “Go!” He crouched low, his eyes set on the skiff. He heard Lelanie breathing as she ran behind him. Just when his hands touched the coarse hemp of the bowline a shot rang out. Lelanie screamed. Reuben shot an arrow toward the woods and fell behind a piling of driftwood. Lelanie was already low to the ground next to him.

  “I’m hit,” she whispered.

  He scrambled closer to her. Anger ravaged through his veins when he saw the blood that seeped from her arm. The baby whimpered and squirmed.

  “Take a piece of my gown to wrap it with,” she said.

  Reuben tore a piece of cloth from her hem as another round of shot came from the woods.

  “Those are Alisubbo weapons? Who is shooting at us?” Lelanie asked.

  “Robbers,” Reuben answered, his jaw clenched as he tied the wrap. “They followed me here. I think their intent is to steal our child.” Their eyes locked.

  “Why?”

  “Something about needing more magic for their people? I don’t know.”

  Lelanie winced. When she laid her head back on the ground the moonlight illuminated her tears. A deep remorse swept through Reuben.

  Reuben crawled to the edge of their cover, looking into the deep of the woods. He could see nothing. “Ruy!” he called. “Stop it!”

  A shot ricocheted off a stone near his head.

  “Reuben, get down,” Lelanie said, but he ignored her.

  “Stop shooting. You’ll kill us all. I’ll make a deal with you.”

  “Reuben!” Lelanie repeated.

  He turned to her. Seeing her in pain prodded him on. “Ruy. You can have us all. Get us to safety and help us raise our boy.”

  His offer was met with the quiet of gentle surf beating on the beach

  “Stay there,” Ruy finally called. “Throw down your bow.”

  Reuben tossed his weapon into the sand beyond the driftwood, looking once more at Lelanie. She didn’t protest.

  Ruy and Rosalind helped Reuben and Lelanie escape to the Isle of Refuge with their child. The Taikan family adopted the nomadic life of a gypsy and Abbott was raised by the entire clan. Being the offspring of a wizard and a sorceress, the boy wielded much magic. But with the careful instruction from both his father and mother, and the soothsaying Rosalind, Abbott learned to temper his powers for the purpose of wisdom and good. He became the delight of the entire tribe, winning special favor with Paulino and the elders. Indeed, this 'magic baby' was the tribe’s treasure.

  ***

  It was late fall. The wild salmon from the ocean were making their journey up the creek to spawn when eight-year-old Abbott shook his uncle Ruy's tent flap.

  “It's time,” he said. “You remember the creek in the birch grove? The big fish are swimming today. I know. I've seen it in my mind's eye.”

  “It's a long walk.” Ruy peeked out from his tent and stretched, welcoming the brisk cold morning.

  “But the leaves are golden and I hear the creek calling my name!”

  “And your Papa said you can go?”

  “He did. But he wants you to go with me. He's making hide for the winter yurt.”

  Ruy yawned and ruffled the boy's thick auburn hair. Very few people in camp said no to Abbott.

  “Bundle up then.” Ruy pulled the woolen cloak tight around Abbott's cheeks and tucked the hood against his ears. “Wait a moment while I dress.”

  The air was clean and smelled sweet. If the morning hadn't been so bright, the air so invigorating, and
the two so

  intent on what stirred beneath the surface of the deep green waters, they may have seen the skiff that was beached at the trailhead.

  Shortly up the creek they caught sight of the struggling fish fighting their way upstream. They sat on the ground to watch. Abbott laughed at the red fins bobbing above the surface. Ruy held him back as the boy tried to grab the fish swimming next to the shore. “Steady there, boy. We can come back later with our nets to catch one.”

  “Let's catch them now!” Abbott said, as bounced to his feet and ran back down the trail. “I’ll gather a net.”

  Ruy lifted himself off of the ground, and headed after the child, his steps much slower than the eight-year-old’s. When he came to the trailhead, he expected to see the boy running along the beach.

  “Abbott, where did you go? Hiding are you?

  Ruy searched through the woods, and called out again. “Abbott, let's walk together, eh? No fair playing tracking games. You worry me.”

  But when he saw deep tracks in the sand, tracks much heavier than an eight-year-old would make, his worry turned to dread. It was then that he looked out at sea and froze. A skiff rode the current away from the coast toward the island of Taikus. In it were two warrior women rowing, a third faced him, holding the struggling boy in her lap.

  “Abbott!”

  The child cried out, but his calls for help were soon muffled by the sound of the breakers pounding the beach, and by the hand that was held over his mouth. There was nothing Ruy could do except run for help. Abbott was now a prisoner of the wicked queen Hacatine, bound for the island of Taikus.

  Diary of a Conjurer

  Book 4 of Ian’s Realm Saga

  The Crossing

  “You are mine!” Ivar didn’t speak the words, but his thoughts seemed to have stunned the hare. He licked his parched lips, and postured his body in a hunter’s pose. With bow arched, he nocked the arrow, brushed the fletching gently and pointed the head meticulously at his target.

  Sunlight sparkled on the meadow. Shadows cast by the setting sun stretched over the grass. A welcome breeze cooled his sweating torso as the earth inhaled the evening’s breath. Ivar held his.

  With his tongue resting comfortably in the space between his teeth, he stood perfectly still. He didn’t even a twitch an eyelid.

  He waited.

  The rabbit sprang out of the rushes. Ivar exhaled, the bowstring snapped, hurling the missile through the air. In a second the projectile pinned the hare to the ground, dead instantly, shot in the eye.

  Ivar the hunter skipped over the creek and hurdled into the grass where his prey had fallen. “May the Spirit of the wind take your soul,” he whispered as he quickly pried the arrow from the dead hare and returned it to his quiver. He tucked the animal’s hind legs through his belt where it dangled next to his other kill.

  The last of the sun sank below the horizon pulling the warm hues of daylight with it. Ivar gasped. “I’m late!” He broke into a run and headed for home.

  Seldom was Ivar concerned about time. He was carefree and wild-a boy turning into a man but not quite adult enough to be laden with burdens. He rose with the sun and stayed awake late enough to count the stars. Hunting, spearfishing, tanning hides and racing his friends were a day’s work for him.

  Tonight was different.

  Tonight he was expected home before dark. An easy feat if he hadn’t pursued that hare so far beyond the meadow. Still, what Ivar lacked in height, he made up for in speed. He was certain he’d make it back in time.

  Ivar leapt over sagebrush, and flew through the forest racing the shadows that would soon melt into dusk. As he climbed the white boulders that surrounded the Kaempern village the first stars appeared. He headed directly for home to deliver his bounty to Britta, with plans to rush to the Sage’s yurt.

  When he burst through the door, Britta jumped in surprise.

  “I’m sorry, Mother, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Ivar panted as he peeled the three conies from his belt and laid them on the table. He caught his breath and smiled at her, pride beaming across his face. “Look. Not one of them is ruined, each a headshot, clean through.”

  “That’s very good, Ivar,” Britta returned his smile. “Aren will be proud of you.”

  “I hope so,” Ivar adjusted his kill on the table. “One for each of us. You, me, and Aren!” He met her gaze. Unable to read whether she liked that idea, he shrugged. “Or for stew if you prefer.”

  “Ivar, it’s dusk already, and if you’re late for the initiation your father won’t be happy no matter how much meat you bring to the table.” She swept the rabbits into a basin, scrubbed the table clean of the fresh blood that had been spilled and washed her hands. “Being as you are the youngest in that group you should be on time. The elders are making an exception to include you. You probably shouldn’t even be part of the Crossing ceremony.”

  “I’m seventeen.”

  “Yes, and the other boys are eighteen, I’m just saying you need to be on time.”

  “I’m leaving right now.” Ivar pulled his bow and quiver from his shoulders, and the knife sheath from his belt, laying them against the wall. Before he could race out the door, his foster mother caught his arm and pulled him back.

  “Wash,” she nodded toward the wash table.

  With a sigh, he poured the water into the basin and quickly scrubbed his hands and splashed his face. After giving Britta a youthful grin, he dodged out the door.

  Last year two of his closest friends Miles and Ryan, went through the same initiation ceremony with high expectations and Ivar had waited impatiently for them to return from their quest and tell him everything. However, when his friends came back from their adventure they were different people. They thought differently, they acted differently. They no longer took part in games, or races, or idle talk. They had grown up. They were men. Details of their transformation were never explained to Ivar despite his countless questions. All they said was, “You’ll find out.”

  The path to the Sage’s dwelling took him along the creek bed and through the Aspen glen. He arrived just as five of his friends stepped into the yurt. With a nod, he returned their smiles, brushed his silky hair out of his eyes, dusted his elk hide shirt, and took a deep breath before he followed them. The Sage, often addressed by his common name Alex, stood at the door to greet him as he entered.

  “Please be seated.” Amleth, the village chief, ushered them to their seats as the Sage took a place in the shadows behind him. The young men sat on benches that were arranged in a half circle around the clay fire pit. No flames heated the yurt, as they did that winter when the snow all but buried the village. Though still early in the spring, the nights were warm enough that the deer hide clothing and fur wraps kept the men comfortable without the aid of a fire.

  Ivar sat next to his best friend and hunting partner, Tage, a tall, lanky, red-haired teenager. They acknowledged one another as Amleth began his speech. Aren sat next to Ivar.

  “I’m sure you’re all aware that you’ve been selected to participate in several traditional ceremonies this year.”

  Ivar looked around at his friends, but the other youths sat solemnly, their attention fixed on Amleth. Ivar caught Tage’s eye but the boy only nodded toward the speaker, signaling him to pay attention.

  “Each of these rituals is designed to ready you for your tribal responsibilities. They also will prepare you to be strong, faithful, and loyal husbands and fathers.” Amleth paced the floor slowly as he spoke. His hands were clasped behind his back.

  Ivar grinned and held back a giggle. He was hardly ready to think about being a husband, much less a father. He sat forward on the bench; his hands clenched together, waiting for the interesting part of the chief’s speech, the part when Amleth appointed everyone a personal mission.

  “Each of you will have a different adventure ahead of you. You will leave the village for one cycle of the moon, alone, and return a different person. You will leave as a child, and you wil
l return a man. It won’t be easy for any of you, but believe me, you will earn a valuable reward.”

  Amleth paused for a moment, his brilliant blue eyes making contact with every boy in the room.

  “I know it’s been a mystery as to what happens between now and summer. Tonight you will get a glimpse at both the peril and the tribulations of a quest. But I first wanted to remind you of our legendary hero, our forefather and first Sage, Kaempie, the wizard from whom the Kaemperns got their name. In the ancient days, Kaempie found the banished Meneks in the forest, alone and confused. These were our grandfathers, and your great-grandfathers. Kaempie taught them to respect the power of the Winds. In his love and concern for our people, he sacrificed his wizardry and magic in order that we could settle here and gain the wisdom we need to live with nature. After that, the Songs of Wisdom were born to mortals. They have been our guide ever since. Whatever happens to you during this next month will depend on your ability to call on the Songs, and to follow their lead. I, as your mentor, and Alex, as your Sage, implore you to listen to the Songs of Wisdom.”

  Amleth’s tone changed. He spoke softly. “You are familiar with the Dragon Shield, and how in the days of war, it was required to sing the songs in order to protect the village? The songs had been used to keep shield over our village, safeguarding us from the flames of the dragon. In times of peace the shield was kept as a relic in the lodge. You remember, don’t you?”

  The young men mumbled their answer. “Of course.” Tage nudged Ivar in the ribs when Ivar didn’t answer.

  “I don’t remember any songs.” Ivar whispered.

  “It was only five years ago.” When Tage looked at Ivar he bit his lip and a frown came across his face. “Oh! I’m sorry. I forgot.”

  Ivar scowled. “Sorry? Forgot about what?”

  “That you weren’t . . . that you didn’t . . .” Tage’s voice trailed. He looked over Ivar’s shoulder at Aren.