Abbottt

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 is 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, frosty 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, bounced to his feet, and ran back down the trail. “I’ll gather a net.”

Ruy lifted himself off 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!” Ruy called in panic.

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.

This story is continued in Lost on Taikus.

Thank you for reading the Ian’s Realm Saga, Tales of the Four Wizards

To spend more time in this world, enjoy Ian’s Realm in all five book and short stories.

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