CRACKED: An Anthology of Eggsellent Chicken Stories

by J. F. Posthumus

  They thought Tiger had a guardian, since he had a gift of great sight. He glanced out across the lake again and noted the apples were ripe on the opposite shore, over five kilometres distant. He grinned to himself. It was a very useful gift, but if he had a guardian spirit, it was staying stubbornly invisible as it always had.

  “Pass me those tiles, Graeme?”

  Tiger fitted the first concrete slab into place, hooking it over the interior strut where he’d removed the cracked tile. A second soon followed, but the third wouldn’t fit, and his fingers found a protruding bolt that would have to be cut off.

  He eased over to the ladder. “I’m going to need a bolt cutter. There’s one in the shed, I think. Help me look?”

  Graeme snorted. “Help you look? You with the best eyes anyone’s ever had?” But he followed along anyway, and Harley moseyed behind.

  Tiger searched the sky and the trees as he walked. It had become a habit; one day, he might see his guardian if he only kept his eyes open.

  “Looking for your taniwha again?” said Harley.

  “It’ll be there, even if it’s unseen.” Graeme punched Tiger in the shoulder. “Look at all the things you’ve accomplished.”

  It was true enough. He’d been a part of dealing with criminals, stopping volcanoes, calming earthquakes. A small part.

  They reached the shed, and Harley caught up, searching Tiger’s gaze. “What if it’s shy, like me? Staying out of sight like I used to before I was friends with you all.”

  Tiger shrugged. “I suppose. They certainly act human in other ways.” He reached for the toolbox.

  “TIGER!”

  His mother’s distant yell stayed his hand, and he sighed. “I’d better see what she wants.”

  He rounded the house, following her voice, and found her pacing by the vegetable garden, her face in her hands. “What is it, Mum?”

  “These ruddy birds,” she wailed. “Muck-dwelling bottom-feeding swamp hens! They don’t need to eat my spinach, do they?”

  Tiger approached and peered over the wire fence into the overgrown patch. Several pūkeko foraged there, blue feathers bold amongst the green. One looked up at Tiger and swallowed the leaf in its big red beak, as if to taunt him.

  “Here’s your problem,” said Harley, pointing at a section of fence. “They got in through this gap.”

  Tiger eyed the rogue birds. “We can fix that. But it won’t help much, since they can fly…”

  “I saw some extra netting in the shed. We could put that over the top.” Graeme spread his hands as if forming a roof.

  Jody beamed. “That would be a wonderful solution! Do you think you all can make it happen?”

  They assured her that of course they could, and she retreated to her lean-to office where she was soon heard yelling at the printer.

  “We have to get these little guys out of there first,” said Tiger, stepping over the fence. “C’mon, you lot. Scram!” He herded them away from the spinach and they made for the gap in the fence, preferring to walk rather than fly if they had the choice.

  Harley stood aside to let them pass. “I’ve heard the pūkeko enjoys garden vegetables. Never seen it happen before, though.”

  Graeme had fetched supplies from the shed in the meantime, and set to closing the hole in the fence with loops of wire while Harley held the edges together.

  Tiger unrolled the netting and considered how he might attach it to the tops of the fenceposts. He turned to ask the others, and came face to face with a row of blue hens watching him intently. Something golden streaked in the corner of his eye—it was Sunshine. “Hey, cat, why don’t you chase some of these fellas away?”

  She hid behind Harley, and a pūkeko made a rush at her. So much for that idea. She hissed and backed off towards the street. The two guardians appeared to laugh silently, the tui’s movement scattering reflected iridescence around the yard, the dragon’s flames swelling and fading.

  Harley glanced at them, then over at Tiger. “Are you sure you’ve never seen your taniwha?”

  “Of course I’m sure—” Tiger shook his head. “I know something’s missing, something that the rest of you all have. I just wish I knew where to look.”

  He turned and found the row of pūkeko birds staring at him. Or rather, behind him. He peeked over his shoulder.

  Nothing there. Of course.

  Tiger took a step and scattered the birds so that they ran off on their long red legs, squawking. But they ran only just out of reach, and stopped to gaze into the air behind him again.

  “What is it? Dumb birds!”

  Then he caught sight of Graeme and Harley, who stared likewise, eyes wide, jaws agape.

  Tiger huffed. “Oh, not you as well…”

  Graeme raised a finger to point somewhere over Tiger’s head. “Think you’d better take a look, my friend.”

  Gulp. But I only just looked. I know there’s nothing there.

  Sweat broke out on his forehead.

  If there’s nothing there, why am I scared?

  He closed his eyes and turned once more, hardly daring to peek. An oddly warm blue light sent tendrils through his eyelids. He cracked them open, just a slit.

  Blue and purple and red swirled before him as he struggled to focus. The ethereal colours screamed taniwha, but what exactly was he looking at?

  “Tēnā koe, e hoa,” said a warm, sad voice from out of the light. Hello, friend.

  Tiger blinked. The colours took on a shape. He sucked in a breath. “No… way!”

  “Ko ahau te pūkeko.” I am the pūkeko.

  No kidding. Tiger took in the enormous size of the incorporeal swamp hen, every contour in place, the blue and black feathers, the red beak and legs.

  But even as his eyes sought more details, the apparition faded into the green-black of Mt. Ngongotaha’s shaded side. Leaves on dark and distant trees snapped into full clarity.

  “Kao, kao!” the creature said, the light leaving its sharp beady eyes.

  Tiger knew that word. No.

  “No what?” He screwed up his face, covered his eyes with his hand for a moment.

  “Oh, that’s better,” Graeme breathed from behind him. “It came back when you stopped looking at it.”

  For real? Tiger peeked again. The full brilliance washed over him, and he avoided looking at it directly in case that had something to do with it.

  The giant bird began to speak quickly in Maori, words Tiger didn’t know, couldn’t interpret. Tears pricked at his eyes. He should have worked harder, learned more by now—

  Graeme’s voice cut into his despair. “It’s saying… I’m always with you. You’ve seen me many times and not remembered. Even now you might forget…”

  “When you use your eyes beyond human ability, you use up my power.” Harley’s voice took up the translation. “My power to be visible.”

  Ohhhh. Tiger clenched his fists in his hair. “It makes perfect sense. I’m never not using my eyes. So your power is permanently drained and no one can see you. Does that mean you’re visible when I sleep?”

  “Ever dreamed of blue light?” Harley muttered.

  Well, actually…! “I—I thought that was some other taniwha. I’m sorry!”

  The bird warbled on. After a moment, Graeme spoke its message. “I am sorry also. There is more. You also use up my power to be remembered.”

  “To be… remembered?” Tiger risked a glance at the creature. It nodded and spoke again.

  Graeme went on. “I remain unknown. Unlike other taniwha, I do not stay in anyone’s mind unless I direct my power into the effort.”

  “Lemme guess. The same power I use up when I look at things.” Tiger swallowed. Part of him danced inwardly—he’d found his own taniwha, and it had been there all along—but this was bitter, to know that he couldn’t see it or even remember it while his eyes were open.

  Could he even put the brakes on his distance vision? He’d never tried. And if he didn’t remember why, would he even attempt it?

>   “Things are changing,” said Harley. “You see me now as never before, because you are learning to look less. In time, you can grow to remember.”

  “In time, huh?” At least that was more hopeful. Tiger loosened his grip on his head. “But maybe not today, if I’m understanding you right.”

  “Ae.”

  “I am sorry, my friend, if we all forget you again after this.” There were no words for how sorry Tiger was.

  “Kia mohio koe.” You will understand.

  That much Maori, Tiger did understand. It was a command. Even if he didn’t. Not really.

  Finally, he dared to raise his eyes and take in the full sight of the creature that was his partner in unseen powers. Powers of sight that caused it to vanish from his vision and his memory. It was all deliciously ironic.

  Trust me to have a complicated relationship with a hen.

  The moment stretched long as he locked gazes with the giant bird. Don’t look too hard. Don’t look too hard. If he stayed within the parameters of normal human vision, he wouldn’t drain its power.

  In the end, he couldn’t not look. He found his attention drawn to the tiny iridescent sparkles from its feathers, observing them laid out hair by hair, drinking in the microscopic beauty within the whole.

  Blue light flared and faded. Tiger blinked. The late afternoon burned golden, and he had a fence to sort out. He shook his head and glanced around for his friends.

  Graeme and Harley stood there slack-faced, staring at a group of pūkeko. Their two taniwha loitered beyond, head to head, almost as if sharing a joke.

  “C’mon, you silly eggs, what do I pay you for?” Tiger growled at the humans.

  The spell was broken. “You don’t pay us enough,” said Graeme.

  Harley snorted. “He doesn’t pay us anything.”

  Together, they finished wiring the extra netting over the top of the protected garden. Tiger tied off the last loop and stood back, nodding. “Won’t be any pūkeko getting in there now.”

  Movement in the street. He looked up.

  A vaguely familiar blonde woman ran by the driveway, chasing a pūkeko. “How do you feel about that, now?” she shrieked, and continued on her way, laughing.

  Tiger frowned. He’d seen her before somewhere, hadn’t he?

  Naaah, probably imagining things.

  “Let’s get a bite to eat, then, eh?” He turned to find Graeme and Harley already gone. Their voices rumbled in the kitchen. Ah, well. They were ahead of him on that one.

  Harley returned to the door with a little dish and called for Sunshine.

  Tiger spied her at the end of the driveway, her tail curled firmly around her feet. “I don’t think she’s gonna come.”

  “I’ll take her the food in a minute, then. You coming in?” Harley gave him a sideways glance.

  “Yeah, I am.” His eye fell on the group of pūkeko he’d chased out of the garden earlier. They were oddly still and quiet, their beaks raised at an angle.

  “Crazy birds. What do you think you’re staring at?” Tiger stomped into the house, a familiar sense of loss tugging at his guts. Loss and lack that he couldn’t see his taniwha.

  A new warmth crept into his heart. He didn’t know why.

  He did know his taniwha was real. And they’d meet face to face someday.

  Outside, a pūkeko screeched, and the little group of blue hens flapped away over the lake.

  “Good riddance,” said Tiger under his breath.

  He found, to his surprise, that he didn’t mean it.

  The End

  About the Author

  Grace Bridges is a geyser hunter, backyard chicken keeper, editor and translator, and Kiwi. The current president of writers' organisation SpecFicNZ, she is often found poking around geothermal sites or under a pile of rescued kittens. She is a multiple nominee and three-time winner of the Sir Julius Vogel Award from the Science Fiction and Fantasy Association of New Zealand, an editor and mentor for Young NZ Writers, and has edited dozens of published books. Her own novels include Earthcore, Irish cyberpunk, and Classics in Space. Both her works in this collection are part of the Earthcore urban fantasy series based in New Zealand. More information and free stories at www.gracebridges.kiwi.

  A Few Good Hens

  J. D. Beckwith

  A Few Good Hens

  J. D. Beckwith

  “All right, ladies, listen up!”

  The Colonel strutted back and forth in front of the line of females, some of which actually looked up from their breakfast at him on occasion, especially when he got loud.

  “Our situation has become dire and urgent! As you know, our local allies have failed us! The very boundaries of our compound are no longer secure!” He squared his shoulders and continued. “Now, I know that many of you ladies don’t respect me as much as you did our departed General. He was a brave warrior, and he was taken before his time, but I can promise you that under my leadership, we will overcome this enemy that tries to steal away our very future!”

  A scramble broke out at the far end of the chow line, interrupting his speech. The Colonel rushed to address the squabble, but it had already subsided by the time he reached it. He cleared his throat pointedly and continued.

  “The General tried to fight the enemy alone and in doing so he paid the ultimate sacrifice for our safety. It was brave, yes! But I tell you it was also foolish! One alone cannot hope to defend this place, but together, we can win against these invaders!”

  A few of the females squawked as they realized his intent.

  “Starting today, each of you will learn to fight alongside your sisters. We have a lot of work to do to get you gaggle of biddies into fighting trim, and we have to do it quickly. It is time for you of the fairer sex to cast aside your matronly instincts and see to your own defense!”

  The cackling grew in intensity.

  “Now, don’t fret! I will help you! That is my job! But I need you to…”

  A rather burly female hurdled the chow line and nearly knocked the Colonel over as she ran forward shouting. “She’s got the Bucket! The Bucket!”

  He spun in a circle shouting inarticulately. “Now, see here, you! This is an outrage! Pure treason!”

  He shook with anger at the insubordinate act. He yelled at the top of his lungs as the remainder of the troop also took off in the direction of the compound’s front gate. “Get back here or I’ll have you all plucked, battered and deep fried!” Then it finally clicked into his brain what the old bird had said. “Bucket!? Mealworms! I love those things!” Then he too ran for the gate.

  “Mama, why does Colonel Sanders crow so much?” Sally waited patiently while her mother filled a small blue sand-box pail with a large scoop of meal worms from the compost bin.

  Diane handed the bucket to Sally, smiling. “Well, it’s springtime, and the boy animals like to make lots of noise and show off for the girls in springtime, so that they like them more.”

  Sally wrinkled her nose at the wriggling bugs in the bucket, then held them out in front of her as far as she could.

  “Colonel was walking back and forth while the hens were eating, but they didn’t care. I don’t think they like him as much as they did General Tso. He’s all white feathers, but General Tso was pretty with all the red and black. And his legs were fuzzy, too.”

  “Yeah, I liked General Tso’s feathers too.” Diane gave her daughter a rueful pat on the head. “He was a good rooster.”

  “Do you think Daddy will get the big rat tonight?”

  “Hmmm, I don’t know. We’ll see.”

  “You don’t think his idea will work, do you?”

  “Let’s just say I think his idea may not work how he wants. He’s trying to show off a bit, too.”

  “Oh. Does Daddy show off in springtime, too? So us girls like him more?”

  Diane smiled. “Yep, he sure does. Now, go give your chickens their treats.”

  Sally trotted to the coop and began dumping the bucket’s contents as the hens r
an excitedly toward her. Colonel Sanders brought up the rear, but soon inserted himself right in the middle of the pecking gaggle of birds.

  “No, no, no, Henrietta! Peck, peck, dodge!” The Colonel ruffled his black neck frill at the portly hen. “You don’t have time for a third peck! That’s when the rat gets you by the leg and you’re done for!” The Colonel pecked the ground at the hen’s feet, causing her to jump back. He pecked again, then bounce back himself. “Like that! Peck, peck, dodge! Try it again!”

  The Colonel shifted his focus. “Pig! Get over here!” A pearl-blue and white speckled guinea rushed to the Colonel’s side. “You’re the ugliest danged chicken I’ve ever seen, but you’ve got skills! I’m putting you on guard duty! I want you to make the rounds of all the holes that rat comes out of and scream your comb off if you see it poke its ugly head out! Got it!?”

  “Patrack!?” The guinea twisted its head to look at Colonel Sanders questioningly.

  “Darn it, Pig, you know I can’t understand you when you speak that foreign chirp at me! Get out of here and get busy!” He pecked the ground at the bird’s feet.

  The guinea fluttered her wings and took off to the far side of the chicken yard with a loud, “Nyet Nah!”

  The Colonel stood up straight and yelled at the top of his voice, “Speak Chicken, you foreign hussy!”

  “Momma! Colonel Sanders is being mean to Guinea Pig again!”

  “It’s OK, Sally. Pig can get away. She’s a lot faster than him.” Diane waved at her husband as he walked toward the chicken yard wheeling a large acetylene tank on a dolly behind him. “Hey there, Mr. Handy!”

  “Daddy, did you see how mean the Colonel was being?” Sally ran up and gave him a hug on his leg.

  Sam smoothed her hair. “Oh, they’re just trying to figure out a new pecking order since the General’s gone. They’ll settle down in a few days.”