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.

 

RETRIBUTION

Dragon fire rained down on Camelot. Arthur had lost. But his debt had not yet been paid in full. The price for his sister’s life was far greater than a single castle. Even if that castle was Camelot. Retribution was such that Arthur must pay with his life as the drakaina had done.

The Pendragon stood on shaky legs as Stryder held him in his claws and took off in the direction of the Crystal Cave.

Arthur’s screams were like music to the dragon’s ears. The fire empowered him. But Arthur wouldn’t die here. No, his fate was far worse.

 

Stacey Jaine McIntosh is a USA TODAY Bestselling Author who hails from Perth, Western Australia where she resides with her husband and their four children.While her heart has always belonged to writing, she once toyed with being a Cartographer and subsequently holds a Diploma in Spatial Information Services. Since 2011 she has had over one hundred short stories and over fifty poems published.Stacey is also the author of Solstice, The Camelot Series as well as The Eldritch Series, Lost & Absinthe and she is currently working on several other projects simultaneously.When not with her family or writing she enjoys reading, photography, genealogy, history, Arthurian myths and witchcraft.www.staceyjainemcintosh.com

If you enjoyed this story you can find it and more in the Hawthorn & Ash anthology.

AVAILABLE HERE!

 

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.

 

THE LONGEST NIGHT

The doe emerged from the pine shadows as the sun bled its final light across the frozen meadow. Her breath crystallised in silver plumes, each exhale a prayer to the dying day. This was the solstice — the earth’s deepest sleep, when darkness claimed dominion over the world.

She had witnessed a lifetime of these longest nights, each one carving deeper wisdom into her amber eyes. The forest held its breath around her, snow-heavy branches bending like cathedral arches. In the distance, her daughters waited, their spotted coats now winter-brown, learning the ancient patience their kind had perfected.

The doe lifted her muzzle to taste the star-sharp air. Tomorrow, she knew, the light would return — tentative at first, then bold. But tonight belonged to the velvet darkness, to the whispered secrets of snow, to the sacred turning of the world’s great wheel. She stepped forward into the vast, waiting night.

 

Laura Shenton is probably best known for her music non-fiction, particularly Dance With The Devil – The Cozy Powell Story (Wymer Publishing) and Tommy Bolin – In and Out of Deep Purple (Sonicbond Publishing).

Her fiction books are character-driven with a short, punchy narrative that gets straight to the point – typically novellas and novelettes. Genres include gothic, fantasy, and adventure (mostly, with the occasional diversion).

Laura’s children’s books are simple, accessible, and fun – an excellent choice for youngsters with fertile imaginations who are just beginning their reading journey.

If you enjoyed this story you can find it and more in the Hawthorn & Ash anthology.

AVAILABLE HERE!

 

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.

MISTLETOE’S KISS

Frigg crumpled to a patch of moss and leaves beside her fallen son, a plant-made spear protruding from his chest. “The spell I cast protected him from all plants sprouting from the earth.” She placed her head in her hands. “How could this have happened?”

“You forgot one thing, majestic goddess,” an eerie voice drifted down from above her, a voice that sounded like many.

Bounding to her feet, Frigg spun in a circle, her long blonde hair spilling around her shoulders. “You know me?”

“We know many things, goddess of love and marriage. But we wouldn’t expect you to know us.”

Chills ran the length of Frigg’s spine, and she shivered. “Show yourself, coward!” She shouted, unsheathing her dagger.

Vines coiled down and around Frigg’s arms, binding her wrists together. “We are here. Pity you did not think of us when you cast your spell. You have scorned us, oh Norse goddess, and have lost your son for your treachery.”

Frigg tugged at her wrists, but the vines refused to loosen. Looking up, she spotted a menacing shrub clinging to the branches above her. “Are you the ruler of your kind?”

“We are mistletoe. Speak to one, you speak to all.”

Frigg ceased struggling against her restraints and hung her head. “Oh, formidable plant. Hear my plea.”

“We are listening.”

“You who grow in trees have defied all other plants on earth. I did not understand your greatness. I beg your forgiveness.” She raised her bound hands, lifting her eyes toward the mysterious plant. “You are too magnificent to have committed this malicious act.”

“Humble, and also wise. The god Loki assured us he sought to make a wreath of love and joy to bless all people with our beauty.”

“Loki cannot be trusted! His fabricated words tricked you into releasing your sprigs to make a spear of mistletoe that took the very life of Balder, god of love and joy.”

Immediately, her bindings loosened, and the vines retreated. Frigg sheathed her dagger and rushed to Balder, wrapping her hands around the hilt of the spear penetrating her son.

“Halt! Balder clings to death. Pulling out the spear will surely kill him.”

“What do you mean?”

“The power of the goddess cannot revive Balder unless we call our own from his body. By now, our tentacles will have spread throughout every inch of him.”

Frigg flinched, her hands releasing the spear.

“Loki came with flattering words, yet he betrayed us. How can we believe you?”

Frigg leaned over her son, her tears spilling onto the spear. Immediately, exquisite white berries sprouted from amongst the greenery. “I bless you, glorious mistletoe. Henceforth, you shall be known as the plant of love and vows. All who stand beneath your eminence will receive a kiss from the goddess.”

“Come back to us,” the mistletoe called ominously, its fingerlings receding from Balder’s body.

Goddess Frigg kissed her son on both cheeks, reviving him. “Thank you, great mistletoe. Together, our kiss with bless many.”

Deborah Bainbridge is a semi-retired Pharmacist who dreams of teleporting internationally and into fantastical realms. Her short fiction has appeared in Havok Publishing, Iron Faerie Publishing, Spark Flash Fiction and her poetry with Twenty Hills Publishing. She’s a Christian, Realm Awards Finalist, and the wife of a Great Eagle (LOTR) who desires to take people on adventures through story. She enjoys running and eating cookies, preferably not at the same time, and would leave her Christmas lights up all year if the neighbors wouldn’t stare. 

If you enjoyed this story you can find it and more in the Hawthorn & Ash anthology.

AVAILABLE HERE!