Welcome to this week’s installment of many micro stories, ranging in length from 100 words to 500 words.
With each story we hope to deliver a little whimsy into the lives of our readers.
WINTER ROSE
Staraya Ladoga, Soviet Union – Winter 1981
Kseniya wasn’t her daughter by blood, too much time had passed for that, but she was still her child through the bloodline. And she, bound to watch over the family until they scattered to the wind or the last of them died out. The girl might never see her, but such was the fate the spinners had decreed for this world. Shade and shadow would remain unseen by the living. She’d come to be accustomed to it over the years, content to watch as the land and the village she had known in life grew and changed around her. Buildings of timber and wood turning to brick and stone, and later, concrete towers.
She shifted the spear from one hand to the other, heedless of the winter cold or the way the icy wind didn’t touch her hair or the heavy cloak over her shoulders.
Kseniya giggled, scooping up a handful of snow and throwing at her wolf shaped brother as he padded around the powder dusted granite markers. So old now that if there had been names written upon it, they would have faded into nothingness – a thousand years after her death. But nothing had been written so it was nameless, only a few bones and a shield rim to mark where she had been laid. “Her path lies in the Saxon lands.”
She didn’t need to clarify or look up to see her fair-haired companion at her side. Not her brother by adoption – he had long since found his peace in Valhalla – but another restless shadow from a different branch of the tree.
He gave her a wry look, glancing from her to the twelve year old girl playing in the snow. “They call it England these days, Alivia. The kingdoms you knew are united.”
She snorted, brushing his remark off. “A Saxon child would say that, would he not? Scotland would never submit to your English rule, neither would Wales.”
He chuckled slightly, not appearing offended by her answer. “I think they figured it out and managed to keep some of their independence but the worlds we knew are long gone. The girl?”
Kseniya shrieked something in Russian and seized a small rock rather than a snowball, striking it against her brother’s shoulder this time before she took off running for home. Alivia shrugged carefully. “Kin, my daughter’s distantly related child. I am no sorceress but I know she won’t be much longer in Russia.”
A few years at most before entering English lands. “Her loyalty is to be respected, James.”
His name always sounded strange to her, too Christian for her tastes but it was how he’d greeted her in the odd place between Valhalla and the living world.
He winced a little at her answer, glancing away. “So be it. What’s her name?”
Time may have forgotten Fenris’s children in all but Iceland’s convention but she could still name her own family. “It will be Rose, soon enough.”
Mark has had works previously accepted by Black Ink Fiction, Shacklebound Books, Paramour Ink and Iron Faerie Publishing. When not writing, he enjoys playing video games and attempting to take his dogs for walks.
If you enjoyed this story you can find it and more in the Hawthorn & Ash 2023 anthology.
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