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.

A RAVEN’S WHISPER

“The archivist, and I, along with a rather well-read knight; Ser Darrow, have been attempting to find the pages that Lady Ravenbray had told me were giving her unsettling and strange nightmares. Though no such page exists. Lord Ravenbray does not wish me to discuss this with his wife any further…But I believe her. I have known true fear, and her eyes reminded me of exactly what it looked like.”

The rest of the letter had burned away at the edges and furled to its center, that was the most that Lana had managed to scribe from the faded ink. What book could this person be referring to? Despite having strict orders to research and archive artifacts and relics obtained from the Farronian Crusade, the endless questions and mysteries this single letter brought about was much too important.

After what seemed like months of searching for any mention of the Archivist or Lady Ravenbray, Lana had found nothing. Not a single scrap of faded parchment, not one paper-mite infested tome detailing anything of value. She sighed, ripping a blank page from a dusty book containing recorded, detailed instances of bowel irregularities of the long-dead Vicar Lestin. Lana allowed her hand to fall clumsily from the shelves out of exhaustion—-and then she felt a sudden chill.

A voice, nary a whisper, seemed to slither through the dry air and burrow its way deep inside Lana’s mind. “Find…me…” The words were so real, so vivid it was as if she thought them herself. Without a moment of ponderance—she shattered through the library shelves. Breaking through wood paneling with strength not her own, eyes wide open and bloodshot with a singular, primal focus. “Ravenbray…” The whispers stirred in her mind once again, aggressive, and guttural like rusted metal scraping stone. Lana’s breathing had become ragged, and beads of sweat had begun to pour down her face, but she could only feel the call of the ethereal voice, alluring, and tantalizing. Like the promise of a loved one to return one day.

What remained of the ornate, oak bookshelf now lay in ruined pieces on the ground before her. Lana’s hands were covered in dust and fresh blood from the splintered pieces of wood lodged in her fingers—but she could not feel it. The throbbing pain and the warmth of blood dripping down to the stone floor was all drowned out by the whispers. A book lay in the center of the pile, unsullied and perfect. Lana stood in silence and apprehension as she wondered what secrets it held—the pages violently flipped open, taking her aback. “Thank you…Lana, for your sacrifice…”

 

Rowan Graves is a Pacific Northwest writer crafting dark fantasy laced with gothic horror. When not weaving stories of cursed bloodlines and shadowed realms, Rowan is lost in old books, wandering rainy forests looking for inspiration, or locked away in a dim room chasing the next sentence until the sky outside turns pale. This marks their publishing debut.

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.

A MOUTHFUL OF WATER

Their steel shone cream and lavender beneath the crescent moons. For a moment, the foes stood motionless: man and woman, veiled tribesman and outland adventurer. He raised his blade, hesitated. An amateur mistake.

One stroke of her saber daubed the white sand red. He wobbled, dead on his feet, and tumbled down the dune. While he rolled on and on, she shook her head. Drank the last little bit from her stolen waterskin. What a wretched land, this Sea of Sands.

Arlise had killed her fair share: for crowns and coin, life and love…

…but never a mouthful of water.

 

Austin Worley writes everything from heroic fantasy to romance and poetry. A native Oklahoman, he fills his downtime with books and nights under the stars. His short fiction has appeared in magazines and anthologies such as Fantastic Detectives, Sword & Scandal, and Broadswords and Blasters. Several of these stories have earned Honorable Mentions from the Writers of the Future Contest.

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 LAST JAR OF THE NAME KEEPER

Every time somebody died, I put their name in an empty jar. Keeping the names of all who pass has always been my burden, as endless as time.

For so long it was just I. My world knew only death and jars; then you arrived, and I learned life.

The names I’ve kept are more than paper and glass — they are identities, all grown from the dust of stars long ago exploded.

From dawn to dusk, we took each jar down, uncurled the paper like a spell and read the written names out loud so that everyone knew it was still loved, even if only by our tongues once a day. You and I were butterflies, dancing down the corridors of our mausoleum – once, only mine.

You are my favourite creature to have ever died.

I will put your whole body in a jar, along with everything you ever loved. Including me.

 

Lily Bastock daylights as an editor, twilights as a writer, and moonlights as a book goblin. Her writing often walks somewhere between eighteenth century piracy and an enchanted wood. Putting her bachelors and masters degrees to use, she’s grateful to have been a Finalist for the Fabuly Writing Challenge and the Runner-Up for The Plentitudes Prize, and to have been shortlisted for the Bridport Prize for Short Fiction and the Elegant Literature Award. Her unpublished novel Unnatural Tides is currently a Finalist for Ready Chapter One’s Survivor Stories Challenge. Publications include Elegant Literature, Vellichor, and the Fabuly App.

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.

BORN OF THE MOORS

Coarse fur bristled where there should’ve been bare skin. Bone cracked. Stretched. Twisted into hock, stifle, and snout. Arnulf screamed. He screamed even louder when his teeth crumbled to dust and new ones burst from the vacant sockets. Wolfish teeth, fit to rend flesh and crush bone.

Eat, the twin moons crooned, but he couldn’t rise with them, only howl in frustration and torment.

Snow crunched as someone stalked out of the forest. A woman in black wool, white linen, and silvered steel.

Eat! Instead, he whined. “The curse…”

“There’s but one cure, Messere.”

Her sword hissed from its sheath.

 

Austin Worley writes everything from heroic fantasy to romance and poetry. A native Oklahoman, he fills his downtime with books and nights under the stars. His short fiction has appeared in magazines and anthologies such as Fantastic Detectives, Sword & Scandal, and Broadswords and Blasters. Several of these stories have earned Honorable Mentions from the Writers of the Future Contest.

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 SUNDERING OF THE LAKE

Ulfhild stepped back, touching the water of a lake. Her leaf-shaped shield and her spear glowed lime-green in the gathering gloom while all around her the garish bronze of Aesir warriors lighted up like fallen stars.

The lone Vanir readied herself as an Aesir attacked her with a mighty axe. She stepped sideways, feeling the icy chill of the weapon as it crashed down into the lake. The water started to rip apart and shape itself into new Vanir warriors.

Ulfhild smiled at her surprised foes. “Never underestimate nature, even when it looks weak.”

And the Vanir army surged forward.

 

Philipp Mattes lives in Southwestern Germany. He started writing while working as an intern in Kochi, India. Afterwards writing became an important part of his life. Most of his books and stories are in German, however, from time to time, he also also tries his hand at writing in English. After receiving an M.A. degree in English Literatures and Cultures, the COVID-pandemic caused him to change his plans and now he is working as a nurse in a hospital.

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.

ON THE ROADSIDE

Stefan found her beside the road. Blood stained her tattered surcoat dark as wine, and the shreds of mail underneath couldn’t hide four wicked claw marks. Her chest rose and fell, each breath a little shallower. If she didn’t see a healer soon, she never would.

What could’ve done this to a Watch-Sister? He scanned the trees. Primal instincts screamed for him to run. Run far, run fast, and never look back.

Instead, he knelt. This world brimmed with monsters, but folk needn’t turn monstrous themselves. Stefan lifted her from the bed of leaves and headed back to his ox-cart.

 

Austin Worley writes everything from heroic fantasy to romance and poetry. A native Oklahoman, he fills his downtime with books and nights under the stars. His short fiction has appeared in magazines and anthologies such as Fantastic Detectives, Sword & Scandal, and Broadswords and Blasters. Several of these stories have earned Honorable Mentions from the Writers of the Future Contest.

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.

WHAT HEART AND EYES SEE

The centurion stepped out of the warmth and cosiness of his tower and onto the parapet walk. Within seconds he noticed the enemy. He barked a command, and his twelve remaining legionaries lined up at the railing.

Shadowy figures gathered at the tower’s foundation, waiting for an opportunity to attack. Without help, these enemies would defeat them.

Hesitantly, the centurion turned to the woman they had bound in silver within the tower, her mighty weapons well out of her reach. “She is one of the foes,” his eyes told him, yet his heart knew that she was their only hope.

 

Philipp Mattes lives in Southwestern Germany. He started writing while working as an intern in Kochi, India. Afterwards writing became an important part of his life. Most of his books and stories are in German, however, from time to time, he also also tries his hand at writing in English. After receiving an M.A. degree in English Literatures and Cultures, the COVID-pandemic caused him to change his plans and now he is working as a nurse in a hospital.

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.

A THRONE UNGLUED

The Fairy Queen pursed her lips and from habit raised her hand to right her crown, only to remember it wasn’t there.

Her aide-de-caterpillar crawled toward her at speed, rose on his back seven pairs of legs and waved four pairs at her.

“Your Majesty, bad news, I’m afraid.”

Would the bad news ever end? Her hand lifted to her head and returned to her lap.

“Tell me, Cedric. I’m prepared for the worst.” Her temple throbbed.

“Your crown cannot be mended. The castle’s workshop is out of glue. We are unable to get a Unicorn horn to make more. Cattle horns, as you are aware, are not of sufficient quality to render down, and glue a royal crown.”

“Are no Unicorns willing to sacrifice their horns? Am I not their beloved Queen?”

“You are indeed, but with respect, your Majesty, have you seen any Unicorns lately?”

He had a point. Since her mother stole the last of the royal herd from the stables, and rode into the dusk, she hadn’t seen another one.

The pain in her chest indicated another bout of indigestion, or a heart attack. Cedric’s many feet shuffled, and her stomach churned. More bad news looming. She could tell from his waltzing feet. Her stomach twisted, and the knot in her throat threatened to choke her.

“I’m about to spin a chrysalis.” He bowed his head. “I’m sorry, I have no control…”

Good staff were so hard to keep. She raised her hand to stall his protestations. “Don’t Cedric. I envy you your chance to become something beautiful. Have you found a replacement?”

“No,” he muttered.

Her wings spasmed. Rage rose in her throat, and heat raced up her neck. Her scalp seemed to be on fire.

“I ABDICATE,” she screamed, standing to her feet. “Find someone else to wear the wonky crown. Search the Kingdom for a distant relation. I’m leaving.”

 When her vision cleared, guilt swamped her. Poor Cedris clung to the wall, almost disappeared into a crack between the stone blocks.

“I’m sorry, Cedric. It’s not your fault. I apologise for frightening you.” She realised her pains had disappeared and a weird feeling of happiness infused her. She gently lifted her Aide-de-caterpillar and carried him out into the garden. “It’s a lovely day to spin a cocoon,” she murmured and left him on a low branch, dropping a royal kiss on his bobbing head. She slipped out through a side gate, knowing eventually the staff would miss her. Someone would come forward thinking they would have power and glory. They were welcome to the cold castle, the draughty halls and the poor lighting. The horizon beckoned. She always had magic to fall back on, and at last, she understood her mother’s departure. She might even bump into her somewhere in the future—or in the past.

 

Deryn Pittar is an award-winning author, who writes Sci.Fi., fantasy, Young Adult, futuristic and contemporary fiction, plus a dash of horror. She enjoys the challenge of short and flash fiction and dabbles in poetry.  She is published in the above genre, including poetry.

Her monthly newsletter: https://iwriteuread.substack.com- will drop short fiction in your inbox.

See her books at: https://www.amazon.com/author/deryn-pittar-books.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.

 

SACRIFICE

Dawn blotted out the stars over Quiet Cove. Already? Arlise huddled closer to Earc. Her beloved selkie deserved more. More time, more tenderness, more than an occasional tumble on the beach. In his warm embrace, she needn’t beat back the dark or atone for monumental sins.
All she needed to do was be.
Yet she threw the furs aside. Chill air caressed scars earned in battle with demons, werebeasts, and worse. For his sake, she would’ve suffered a thousand more. For his sake, she rose to face the horrors of this world anew. After all, what was love without sacrifice?

 

Austin Worley writes everything from heroic fantasy to romance and poetry. A native Oklahoman, he fills his downtime with books and nights under the stars. His short fiction has appeared in magazines and anthologies such as Fantastic Detectives, Sword & Scandal, and Broadswords and Blasters. Several of these stories have earned Honorable Mentions from the Writers of the Future Contest

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 DRUID’S HUNT

Armed with javelins and shivering in the early morning’s chill, Corius stalked the woods alongside his mentor, the old druid Garos. A sound made him turn, and he stared into the smouldering depths of the fell boar’s eyes, which rose behind a thicket. He screamed at the gruesome sight, while Garos cried for the goddess Abnoba to come to their help. The fiend roared before backing off into the darkness.

Corius couldn’t believe their luck, but despaired again as a new shadow emerged from behind a birch tree. A moment later, both druids bowed as Abnoba stepped towards them.

“Great goddess of these woods,” Garos whispered, his voice faint from the exertion of the night’s walk, “we thank you for coming to our aid.”

“A mighty lord you serve who sends out an old druid and his acolyte.” Abnoba shook her head. She was armed with spear and shield, both coloured in rippling hues of dark green.

“Even with all his warriors our lord could never hope to slay this fell boar, so it is up to us druids, the guardians of the old lore,” Garos explained.

The goddess frowned. “I thought you druids were wiser.” Then she looked towards the shadows of some ash trees. “And who are you?”

“Just a traveller far from home,” a newcomer on a horse murmured. “What are you doing here, great lady?”

“We’re about to hunt,” Abnoba said with a glance at Garos.

The stranger rode ever closer. “Oh, nice.”

Rider and horse surged forward, suddenly transforming into the boar. Corius stumbled back, while the creature aimed its tusks at the goddess’s throat. Just then, Garos stepped into the beast’s path. The boar slammed into the druid, trampling him into the ground with charred hooves. Abnoba used the respite to thrust her spear into the boar’s neck.

Corius spared only one glance at the death of the fiend then knelt beside Garos. “My teacher …” The words fled his mind as the eyes of the old druid broke.

“He knew I’d rather help two druids than your proud lord,” the goddess murmured quietly.

“I apologize for this ruse. But my mentor didn’t see any other way to defeat this creature,” Corius whispered, choking on his tears.

A smile crossed the goddess’s face. “For all his wisdom and bravery, there are still some things Garos has to learn,” she said before disappearing into the forest.

Corius whispered a farewell, then cowered close to his dead mentor, feeling immeasurably lonely. Crying silently, cheerful memories of his years studying with Garos rose before his mind’s eye, which deepened his sorrow.

When he walked home alone, he noticed a doe emerging from behind a hawthorn hedge, accompanied by a stumbling fawn, which glowed in an ethereal light. When Corius looked into the pup’s eyes, he recognised a kindness and wisdom he thought he would never see again, but now they were merged with the sparkling joy of youth and the anticipation of a life just begun.

 

Philipp Mattes lives in Southwestern Germany. He started writing while working as an intern in Kochi, India. Afterwards writing became an important part of his life. Most of his books and stories are in German, however, from time to time, he also also tries his hand at writing in English. After receiving an M.A. degree in English Literatures and Cultures, the COVID-pandemic caused him to change his plans and now he is working as a nurse in a hospital.

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

AVAILABLE HERE!