Science Fiction Microstory Contest discussion
Congrats to Jeremy Lichtman, Three-Time Champion of the Science Fiction Microstory Contest
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Congratulations, Jeremy! Wonderful story!
Terrific, Jeremy--well deserved! A wonderful story.
Well told. Congratulations! Often wondered how the last Neanderthal must have felt and been regarded by others. That's a good storyline for a world of possibilities.
Mod
Thanks everyone. Didn't think my story stood a neanderthal's chance this month, with so many fantastic stories.Will post the new theme in a day or so.
October theme is up. Optimism. Figure we can use some!
Jeremy Lichtman
It was fall in Berestye, in the land of the Eastern Slavs. The leaves had begun to change, and there was a hint of coolness now in the gentle breeze.
A bulky figure pushed through the leather flaps that served as a door to the Great Tur in the warmer months.
Lybid glanced up from tending to the small kitchen fire.
The man at the doorway wore a cloak, with the hood covering his head, despite the relative warmth. He was above average height, although not as tall as her husband, or her towering father-in-law, however, he was far broader across the shoulders than either of them. He paused at the doorway, strangely tentative for somebody so large.
"Welcome!"
Lybid turned, astounded to see her father-in-law, Old Astold, unfold his lanky frame from his seat beside the fire. This was unusual in the extreme. Lybid's husband, Dir, and his brother, normally supported Old Astold on their shoulders when he needed to move. He had aged in recent years, and his once-muscular body was now gaunt.
"It has been long years since one of your kind last entered my tavern," said Old Astold. He added something else in a language that Lybid was not familiar with. "Come, please come," he said, gesturing with his hand to the stranger.
Old Astold turned now to Lybid. "He will need meat," he said, nodding his head towards the spit by the kitchen fire. "Also bring fresh water from the well. Our usual fare is poison for him."
It was some time later when Lybid returned.
The stranger sat at one of the two long, wooden trestle tables that occupied the room. Old Askold sat across from him, the two deep in conversation.
The stranger turned slightly towards Lybid as she placed a wooden platter piled with meat in front of him. Beneath the shadow of his hood, she glimpsed tanned, weather-beaten skin, a massive, shapeless nose, wide cheekbones, and a powerful jawline. There were smile lines around the edges of his mouth.
“This is Harald,” said Old Askold to Lybid.
Harald nodded slightly. "Thank you," he said, in her language. His voice was high pitched, and slightly nasal, but he spoke without an accent. He began to cut the meat with his belt knife. His huge hands were calloused.
"How do you earn your bread?" asked Lybid. She was puzzled both by the stranger and her father-in-law’s extraordinary attentiveness to him.
"I'm a worker," said Harald. He referred to those who, owning no land of their own, labored in the fields of others during the harvest season.
Old Askold nodded. The stranger's powerful build would make him popular for tasks like plowing.
"During the winter, I go north and east, to the mountains."
"Less people," said Old Askold. This was not phrased as a question.
"Yes," said the stranger. "Quiet, and good hunting."
Old Askold noticed Lybid had remained standing beside them. He glanced up at her with his pale eyes, noting the question that remained in hers.
"A long time ago," he said. "When the world was younger, there were many kinds of people."
Lybid said nothing, but her brow wrinkled.
"I used to see others of your kind," said Old Askold to Harald. "There was a small community that lived in caves in a great rock beside the ocean, far to the south of here. I used to trade with them sometimes. They were great fishermen. I brought them hides from up north in my boat. The big game had already migrated away from where they lived. This was many, many years ago."
"All gone now," said Harald. "My late wife was one of your kind, and my children all look like yours. There were never all that many of us to begin with. As far as I know I'm all that remains."
He looked up now, and his hood fell back, slightly. In the flickering light from the kitchen fire, Lybid saw the pain in his huge eyes, the furrows worn deep into the projecting brow above, a counter to the smile lines below.