Ivy & Sage: Hawthorn & Ash

By Stacey Jaine McIntosh

Ivy & Sage is a compilation of fantasy drabbles and flash fiction from authors worldwide.
Within its pages you will find enchanting stories of myth, legends and fairytales woven throughout.
Dive into the magic and wonder of these 50+ tales in Volume Four.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stacey Jaine McIntosh
• Release date: May 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215427125

Stacey Jaine McIntosh

Stacey Jaine McIntosh is the author of ten short stories. "Freya" and "Blood Sacrifice" were published late 2011 and "Fallen Angel" published in 2012. "Life or Death", "Exiles of Eden" and "Morrighan" published in 2013. "Red" and "The Summer Girl" were published in June 2015 and "The Hunter Million" and "Shadows of Annwn" are due to be published later in 2015. She lives in Perth, Western Australia with her husband and four young children.

Book preview

And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don't believe in magic will never find it.

Roald Dahl

The Hungry Child

GABRIELLA BALCOM

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"Food!" the small boy wailed, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. He gulped loudly and sniffled before crying out once more. "Food!"

Don’t cry, Charisse murmured, keeping her voice calm and soothing. We have plenty, don’t we, Ty?

Yeah, her boyfriend replied. He frowned as he looked around at the thick forest surrounding them. But where’d this little guy come from, Hon? He couldn’t be more than four years old. Five at the most.

His family must’ve brought him. He probably just wandered away from them.

They searched for several minutes, taking turns going in different directions. However, despite their calling out for other people repeatedly, no one answered. And the boy began to cry again, demanding food.

We can search more later, but in the meantime... Ty grabbed the hot dog he’d made for himself earlier, and held it out.

The child inhaled it, then wolfed down two more in quick succession.

Wow, Charisse exclaimed. He’s really packing the food away, isn’t he? Where do you think it’s going? His legs?

Could be. Ty grinned at her. My mother used to say mine were hollow. But that’s enough for him. We’ve gotta eat, too. 

Eyeing their unexpected visitor, who looked expectantly from one of them to the other, he said, That’s all for now. I wish I had some candy for you, but I didn’t think to bring any along. I’m got the fixings for s’mores, though, and we’ll make them later. If your parents have shown up and gotten you by then, they can bring you back for some.

The boy ignored him and snatched up the remaining hot dogs, cramming them into his mouth raw. He grabbed the bag of buns next. When Charisse tried to take them from him, he bared his teeth, and hissed at her.

Stop that! Ty snapped, voice stern. It’s not nice.

Snarling, the child glared at him, eyes changing into a dark red. His teeth changed, growing sharp and jagged, and his hands lengthened, morphing into paws tipped with long claws.

That’s no child, Charisse blurted out. "Run!"

Ty positioned himself between her and the nightmarish creature, but it leaped over him, and ripped out Charisse’s jugular. Ty scrambled backward, eyes wide and staring. Before he could run, though, the creature slashed his head from his shoulders.

Waiting In Line for Santa

ANDREW KURTZ

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We have been standing in this line for hours! Why can't we go home? It is Christmas Eve and I am missing all the Christmas cartoons, Ten-year old Billy complained to his mother as they waited in line in the mall.

Honey, don't you want to sit on Santa Claus's lap and tell him what you want for Christmas? Susan, his mother, responded.

He is not Santa Claus.  He is a fat old man who the mall pays to dress up like Santa Claus. I refuse! Billy screamed.

You will sit on Santa Claus's lap and like it! Do I make myself clear! Susan demanded, fiercely staring into Billy's eyes.

He isn't Santa Claus and I will prove it.  When I cut him open, you will see he bleeds like everybody else, Billy retaliated, brandishing a kitchen knife from his coat pocket and dashing toward the stage where Santa Claus sat.

Hey you! screamed Santa Claus as the knife was plunged into his obese belly, allowing the entrails to pour out.

I told you mommy that he is human, shouted Susan, bloody knife in hand, imitating the voice of her son Billy, who died two years ago when standing in line to visit Santa, of an asthma attack.

Clockwork Constantinople

JASIAH WITKOFSKY

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You are quite the beauty, you must also be a woman of great and refined tastes.  Said a wizened little man topped with a fez.  I must insist that the lady view my wares.

With a flourish, the tiny old man ushered Dolores Llorenc to focus her attention upon his streetside booth.  Indulging the haggler’s efforts, she led her black Arabian stallion to his vendor stall littered with delicate figurines of animals, geometric designs, and mysterious contraptions of exotic bewilderment – all cast or forged from a variety of metals. 

Now watch the true spectacle begin my dear...  The aged merchant began to wind the intricate wheels that were ubiquitous amongst the trinkets and baubles, bringing them to life.  A copper giraffe initiated a stiff gait, tin birds in a gilded cage fluttered their wings as they spun in place, multilayered stars spinning in opposing orbits.  The inside of the pavilion became a metallic circus of wonder and delight.

These are truly marvelous creations.  Are these of your craftsmanship?  Dolores asked, awe in her voice.

Yes, yes.  He chuckled, I have spent my entire life mastering the magic of gears.  Come, I will show you my workshop.

He waved her to the back of his stall entering the building behind.  The dimly lit room smelled of oil and looked like a factory explosion, strewn with iridescent metal shavings, half-finished artifacts, and a scattering of tools, most of which she had never seen before.  He proudly revealed several projects when a thought sprung into Dolores’s mind.

As a traveler, I cannot transport such objects, but I was curious if you could do something for me...  She produced her firearm from a satchel, The desert sands and harrowing circumstances have rendered my pistol inoperable.  Is it within your specialization to fix this?

I have long ago ended my career working on military ballista, I prefer to see the enjoyment in the eyes of those who purchase my art.  But I can understand the need for a lone woman to protect herself...I will see what I can do.  The inventor reluctantly acquiesced.

Dolores laid out a silver down payment and was told to return the following morn.  She reentered the streets of the great cosmopolis of Constantinople to stable her horse, it did no good to trot about as a woman mounted.  She stowed her cavalier’s hat in the saddlebags to don the customary robe and veil.  Where she dined and found bedding for the evening is another story altogether.

She returned to the tinkerer’s shop who was overjoyed to show her the fruits of his labors.  "I was not only able to unjam your weapon, but I added this little spinlock which will allow the user alone