Tag: fiction

Hawthorn & Ash #84

~ ironfaerie ~ Leave a comment

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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.

PARITY OF REVENGE

The orange leaves crunched underfoot as the hunter returned to the woods where he lost his apprentice. It had been six months. A tragedy that had turned over in his mind so many times it had eventually snowballed into obsession.

He stalked beasts. There was no confusion about that. He came into their domain to slay them, not the other way around. Yet, vengeance was in his heart, simmering in the spring, boiling in summer, now steaming in the autumn.

The lad had been there to learn the trade of taking down creatures for food and fur. His inexperience made him vulnerable. Under the hunter’s tutelage, that shortfall was his to guard against. Ultimately, he knew it was himself with whom he was angry, having failed the young man. But he couldn’t hunt himself.

He set up camp and angrily banged rocks together, sparking the curls of wood shavings and strips of bark to burn under his bundle of sticks. The image of that mountain cat lunging at his apprentice, snagging its claw in his neck, and opening a wound that could not be treated before the poor lad bled to death, played over in his mind. It had all happened so fast, but the boy had split its ear with his knife as he tried to fend it off, and the hunter had put an arrow in its snout. He was certain, he would know it on sight.

He physically shook his head to dismiss the memory and his perpetual rage exhausted him into sleep.

 

When he woke, it was still dark, but he could wait no longer. He made a torch from his dying fire and went out looking for the beast. He stalked the woods for hours as the darkness peeled back in layers from the sky. The sun was not far from rising.

By the time he heard movement, it was coming from behind him. He turned and tossed his torch to buy himself time to arm and draw his bow. He launched an arrow and struck the figure moving towards him. He caught it mid-leap, striking with so clean a shot, the beast crashed dead upon the ground.

It was a mountain cat, but there was no cloven ear nor scarring upon its muzzle. It was not the creature he came for. He was a hunter, and he had made a kill. A glimmer of reason asserted itself and he considered just skinning it for its hide and leaving behind the madness that had brought him back to this place.

While he looked down, drawing his knife, he heard movement again, but this time he was knocked down from behind. His knife found the familiar-looking beast’s neck as its claws found his, leaving them to lie on the ground, growling and grunting, having claimed each other as a prize. Together they watched the orange glow of the morning sun for the last time as they each calmed their breaths in acceptance.

Barend Nieuwstraten III grew up and lives in Sydney, Australia, where he was born to Dutch and Indian immigrants. He has worked in film, short film, television, music, and online comics. He is now primarily working on a collection of stories set within a high fantasy world, a science fiction alternate future, often dipping his toes in horror in the process. With over eighty stories published in anthologies, he continues to work on short stories, stand-alone novels, and an epic series.

A discovery writer not knowing what will happen when he begins typing, he endeavours to drag his readers on the same unknown journey through the fog of his subconscious.

 

If you enjoyed this story you can find it and more in the Hawthorn & Ash 2023 anthology.

AVAILABLE HERE!

 

Hawthorn & Ash #80

~ ironfaerie ~ Leave a comment

img_2195

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 UPLIFTED BANNERMAN

“Ahh… that sweet summer breeze,” Waylan said with a contented smile.

He had been looking out to sea from the clifftop watchtower, watching the waves for marauding ships while the coastal winds violently accosted his hair and tabard. He took in the fresh smell of the salty air, the sound of gulls, and the ruffling of the great banner hanging beneath him on the remote structure’s wall, strapped down by rope to prevent the winds from taking it.

He never really understood the need for such a flag. The guards knew which land they were defending. So, he amused himself into assuming it was there to inform marauders and invaders of which land they were assaulting. A charitable courtesy to be sure.

A strange noise carried on the wind. He looked down and saw something moving across the water, too fast to be a ship. When he heard the noise again, it seemed beastly, making him realise he’d seen a shadow on the water. He looked up to see what had cast it.

“Dragon,” he yelled, before blasting panicked air into his horn.

Men soon charged out onto the grounds below while he quickly unlocked the mounted ballista. Someone would be up soon to help him use it while those who spilled out onto the clifftop grounds would make an attack by longbow.

Ignoring the arrows, deflecting off its natural armour, the red-scaled beast drew close, and with a flash of infernal heat, it unleashed flames upon the roof. Waylan managed to dive out of the way, behind the roof’s bulwark. The fire washed past as the beast circled around and went low.

Whatever was happening down there, the tower shook and unravelling ropes could be heard sliding fast through metal rings. As Waylan made to look over the edge, he was engulfed by the great banner that whipped up and wrapped over him.

Caught in the wind, it pushed him across the tower roof. As he made to reach low and fling it off, it inflated in the wind, puffing out, and lifted him off his feet before he could let go. Suddenly, there was no tower beneath his feet anymore. Gliding backwards and terrified, he saw the assailing beast blast its fiery breath through the tower’s entrance in a sustained burst that made the structure shake.

By the time his feet were close enough to the ground, the tower was beginning to crumble with flames licking out of its windows. Men were on fire, falling off the cliff, or fleeing towards the nearby woods. Realising he could either let go and run or let the wind-catching banner carry him down to the shore below, Waylan followed the gust.

The dragon looked curiously at the man floating down past the precipice, being carried along the coast by the wind. Assuming the creature beyond placation by flattery or begging, he awkwardly addressed the beast by clearing his throat.

“Ahh… that sweet summer breeze,” Waylan said, attempting a contented smile.

 

Barend Nieuwstraten III grew up and lives in Sydney, Australia, where he was born to Dutch and Indian immigrants. He has worked in film, short film, television, music, and online comics. He is now primarily working on a collection of stories set within a high fantasy world, a science fiction alternate future, often dipping his toes in horror in the process. With over eighty stories published in anthologies, he continues to work on short stories, stand-alone novels, and an epic series.

A discovery writer not knowing what will happen when he begins typing, he endeavours to drag his readers on the same unknown journey through the fog of his subconscious. 

 

If you enjoyed this story you can find it and more in the Hawthorn & Ash 2023 anthology.

AVAILABLE HERE!

 

Hawthorn & Ash #76

~ ironfaerie ~ Leave a comment

img_2195

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.

EVASION OF PRIVACY

The wind howled and whistled over the hammering rain as three surviving highwaymen of a gang of five, charged towards a small wooden structure in the middle of the woods with a soaked roof glistening in the moonlight. They barged in without knocking or calling to anyone who might be inside. They slammed the door shut and all three of them leaned against it, puffing with exhaustion.

“I thought they were a myth,” one of them desperately gasped, before pushing away from the door and grabbing a nearby lantern. He looked back to their leader who shook his head.

“No,” he said. “Don’t light that. She’ll see us.”

“You don’t think she’ll already suspect we’re hiding in the only cabin for miles?”

“More than suspect, if its lit.”

“Aye,” he conceded, putting the lantern back down.

“There’s hardly space in here to fight,” the leader said, gesturing the man next to him over to the window while he kept his own back against the door.

The other looked about in the dark and tripped on a raised mat, hitting the floor. Beyond the slop of his soaked cloak, his thud against the wooden boards yielded three sounds of interest; an echo beneath, the jostling of a trapdoor, and the rattling of iron. Pushing aside the frayed matt, he felt about until his fingers found a metal ring in a recess.

Before he could announce his discovery, the window smashed. A burst of wind and rain rushed in as the man by the window was snatched out into the night.

“She’s here,” the leader of the now two-man gang yelled.

“Quick,” his only remaining subordinate offered, lifting the trap door.

The leader pulled it shut behind them, muffling the sound of the elements breaching the cabin above. They descended the stairs into a crimson-lit cave of a basement. A selection of small chests surrounded the edges while an odd, glazed-looking candle of both red wax and frank red flame sat on a small table near the concerning centerpiece; an open coffin.

With nowhere else to venture, they made their way to it.

“Full of dirt,” the bandit leader said, scooping a handful of the dried earth bed within.

“Seems as though anywhere but here would have been the best place to run,” the other brigand said.

The floor above them creaked, turning their gazes upwards.

A cunning thought occurred.

“Let’s rush her,” the subordinate said. “It’s our only chance.”

“Together,” the leader agreed.

They stormed up the stairs, through the trap door, into the cabin where the creature of the night was poised, ready to address their doomed assault. Without hesitation, they let out a battle cry before charging ahead, storming past her and out the front door, into the woods instead.

As they ran through the rain, they looked at each other, surprised, confused, and betrayed. Each intending the other as bait. The leader squinted angrily.

“What?” the insubordinate subordinate puffed. “At least you don’t have to feel guilty now.”

Barend Nieuwstraten III grew up and lives in Sydney, Australia, where he was born to Dutch and Indian immigrants. He has worked in film, short film, television, music, and online comics. He is now primarily working on a collection of stories set within a high fantasy world, a science fiction alternate future, as well as a steampunk storyverse, often dipping his toes in horror in the process. With over twenty short stories published in anthologies, he continues to work on short stories, stand-alone novels, and an epic series.

A discovery writer not knowing what will happen when he begins typing, he endeavours to drag his readers on the same unknown journey through the fog of his subconscious.

https://www.facebook.com/Barend3Author 

https://twitter.com/Barend3Author 

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/20713313.Barend_Nieuwstraten_III

https://barend3.blogspot.com

If you enjoyed this story you can find it and more in the Hawthorn & Ash 2023 anthology.

AVAILABLE HERE!