A collection of historical short stories for the @HistoricalFiction SmackDown contest. All of these are based on a prompt, have a rather strict word limit and are written in a short span of time.
1. The Blacksmith's Apprentice - 500 words
Alis, a y...
The sailor squinted, shielding the sun from his eyes. He gasped and jumped up, the entire beam shaking like a seesaw, making Pedro shriek and wrap himself around the mast.
"Birds!" Miguel shouted, pointing north, climbing even higher.
The crew veered up and several scaled the foremast rigging faster than Pedro could ever hope to move on land. The door to the great cabin slammed open and Captain Pinzón strode onto the deck, head craned up towards the billowing sails and the men moving across the rigging like tightrope walkers. Signals went up towards the Santa María and the Niña, and with a great creak, the entire ship turned towards the speck on the horizon that was undoubtedly land.
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A painting inspired by the ships from Columbus's first voyage. The Pinta is on the far left.
***
October 6th (though my master is convinced it is the 7th -- it is not. I have counted), 1492, Tivan Islands.
I believed sea sickness would be the worst of it, but I was wrong. Since touching land, I have knocked into a dozen palm trees and have been violently ill several times -- so bad I cannot even bring myself to eat the fresh fruit that falls off the trees every time I knock into one. Miguel thinks it is hilarious.
It seems that Tivin is not simply one island either, but instead a cluster of smaller ones and remarkable circular reefs. The natives speak a language none of us have never heard before, but with some exuberant hand waving, pointing, and stick drawings, Admiral Cristóbal Colón has managed to deduce that what we seek is at the centre of the islands, the largest and the tallest one. They seem to have recognised the one piece of atál we brought
Unfortunately, the reefs mean that we can only continue to sail our own ships with great difficulty, as evidenced by the Admiral's attempt to sail the Santa María into the cluster. It ran aground yesterday. We managed to save it from sinking and patched it up as best we could, but we were forced to leave it behind, with a part of its (already reduced) crew.
I have been booted out of my bunk to make room for the Santa María's painter, who has been deemed to be of greater importance. I sleep on the deck now. At least there is Miguel.
The Admiral now sails the Niña, and each ship has acquired a native guide. Ours is a young woman, whose name I have trouble reproducing, but the crew has taken to calling her Ysabel, the same name as my sister's, who probably thinks I'm dead by now.
He snapped the journal shut and hid it under a stack of parchment as he heard footsteps coming his way. Master Luís de Alva halted as he noticed Pedro, bent over a crate by a tiny porthole to catch the only bit of light that reached the belowdecks makeshift laboratory, a quill in his hand and a pot of ink next to him.
