The House on Chicken Legs

The journey back from the Dragica Lakes was far swifter and more uneventful from his journey up, at least that’s how it seemed to Peter. No runs-ins with sea nymphs or eldritch abominations, just the forest trees and time with Lyana. He would’ve almost found it peaceful, comforting even, if not for the campaign to re-take Zemliharos not constantly weighing on his mind. By the time he would arrive back at Ragusiic, he estimated he’d be meeting with the Kraji the following day, presumably with his army in hand, and off to wage his campaign against Baba Roga and her striga once and for all. He didn’t know how effective he’d be as a commander of soldiers, given he hadn’t killed a soul in his life, and most of his knowledge of medieval warfare came from the history channel and video games, but given he knew the direction modern warfare would take in later centuries, perhaps he wouldn’t be so inept as he might’ve originally thought when he first arrived in this world. In fact, even knowing the basis for gunpowder could perhaps allow his people to make strides far beyond what this world was ready for. But he knew it would all be for naught if he couldn’t free his people first…

Lyana shook Peter and reached to grab the reins from him. “Sure you actually got enough sleep last night, you missed the path by the creek.”

Peter looked back and smiled, “With you around, never. It’s ok, crossroads are coming up, they’ll take us straight to the city gates this time.”

Lyana suddenly lost her teasing eyes, growing increasingly solemn. The sudden shift had Peter slowing Bura down, attempting to see what was bothering her. “What’s wrong, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Lyana stared on, with a blank expression. “Nothing, just realized this is coming to an end soon.”

“What, this trip? Once we take back Zemliharos, and reinstate your family’s vineyard, we can do this whenever we want. I’ll even make you Lady of the Land. How does that sound?”

Lyana gave Peter a sad smile back. While she seemed to perk up a little at the thought, Peter still couldn’t shake the feeling there was something he wasn’t telling him. He did his best to give her space and ride on.

The two reached the crossroads,where the duchy branched off into four separate routes. What was peculiar to Peter was the lone road that followed up to Ragusiic. While he hadn’t been this way before, he hadn’t seen much signs of civilization this far out from the city state and the home seemed far too small to be an inn for weary travelers in between trade routes. It was a simple, triangular home that looked like it could house at least one resident. What felt strangest to Peter were lanterns dotting around it, eerily inviting to any weary traveler looking to rest like a moth to a light. Outside the home sat a frail old woman, wearing tattered clothes with long white hair that covered most of her face. While Peter couldn't see her eyes, he could feel their attention laser in on him, almost beckoning him to come closer.

“Petals, you look so tired. I have some cobanac boiling on the stove. Don’t be a stranger, come, come.”

While Peter admitted that a warm meal sounded nice, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something about the old woman wasn’t quite right, though he couldn’t put his finger on it. He waved to the old woman. “We appreciate the offer, but are in a hurry.”

Lyana grabbed onto his arm. “Peter, it’s bad luck to refuse a meal from an old woman. You need to stop now.”

“Our people are dying, we need to be in Ragusiic as soon as possible-”

Before he could protest any longer, Lyana jumped down from the horse, approaching the old wooden hut. “Apologies, forgive my companion’s bad manners, we would be delighted to join you for supper.”

Peter jumped down from his horse, joining the two women. She leered at Peter, as he could start to make out her cataracted, pale blue eyes through her hair. “We can’t expect our men to be as pleasant as us ladies, now can we petal? Come, I can smell the paprika already.”

As Peter stepped into the doorway, he felt a strong, almost psychic presence overtake him, as if he were simply observing his body from outside himself. Inside the small hut, dried flowers and herbs were dotted across the walls and hung upside down, with a giant cauldron and a small table for four dominating the bottom floor. He swore he saw the chairs move themselves as he went to sit down, trapped in anticipation as the old woman stirred her cauldron. He felt every part of him should run, but he remained perfectly still all the same.

“You know what I don’t understand, petals? How quick people are to judge one another. Would you have stopped for me if I was a pretty young maiden for you to plough, like this one here? Sweet lass, so much potential, so much life ahead of her.”

She stopped stirring her cauldron and dumped some of the stew into a bowl, “And yet, she would’ve been nothing but a bear’s meal if I hadn't saved her. Saved her and the hundreds of other women you banished. Banished for not having a big enough dowry, burned at the pyre for spurning the wrong nobleman, reduced to ash over some squabbles of land. And yet you all live so justly, unlike us filth, who supposedly eat our young for tablescraps in the bog.”

“Baba, that’s enough. You know he didn’t do any of those things.”

Lyana grew deathly frozen as the old woman put down her stew. Peter could see the eyeball of a man floating within it. “As if he’d be any better than those pigs if he was raised by them. You’ve been a good lookout, precious, but it’s time you’ve seen the light, see what he’d be to you if you weren’t such a precious flower.”

Peter felt a cold sting brewing within him as the realization that Lyana had been nothing but a spy for Baba Roga, his own feelings used against him once again. Though what he saw next he had no hope of preparing for. Baba Roga took the knife set beside the bowl and lodged it directly into Lyana’s throat. She gasped for air, but soon the wound gushed and oozed from her puncture, all but dooming her to her fate. Baba Roga looked back at Peter with a cold, sterile grin as Lyana fell to the floor. “Don’t worry, petal, she’ll soon be far greater than you could ever imagine, and you’ll experience what you would’ve done to this poor flower if fate had other plans for you.”

Peter pushed with his brain, enough to finally break through the invisible chains that bound him to her bidding. He never felt such a visceral hatred before, the kind that felt as if it would consume him whole if he stared a moment too long. But he didn’t care anymore. All he wanted was the hag to feel exactly what Lyana was going through, to be gasping for air in her last dying moment, begging for mercy, but only getting the slow agony of a long and painful death in its place. He transformed into his bear form and hit the woman with breakneck pace. He made a clean gash through the old woman’s neck, exactly where she had stabbed Lyana. Only she did not collapse onto the ground, gasping and begging for solace. Instead, she cackled as no blood left her wound. Suddenly, she took her monstrous form, snapping her neck back into place as she turned to face the massive bear in her kitchen.

“Poor petal, you can’t kill what’s already dead.”

Suddenly, Lyana’s supposed corpse opened her eyes again, her body floating into the air as her bones snapped and twisted into its new form. Her face became that was between an owl’s and a boar’s, with those same bat-like wings that sprouted from her back. The intense yellow eyes that Peter had fallen in love with were now nothing more than primordial hate, looking to make a meal out of whatever crossed her way.

“You’ll get to live, just long enough for you to truly see what it’s like to lose everything. If you’re lucky, you just might return to see Ragusiic fall in time. Then we’ll be certain no lord can touch my flowers again.”

The newly formed striga attacked Peter, her claws fully exposed. She struck Peter without hesitation, catching him cleanly across his shoulder. Peter felt his control over his bear form diminish, until he was just a man taking the gash. The blow flung him from the hut, spooking Bura as she ran for cover.

Once outside the front door, he felt that ground shake around him, until the home elevated into the air, with two pairs of giant chicken’s feet. The exposed Baba Roga floated in the air in her giant cauldron, screeching in excitement as she took flight with Lyana, heading straight for Ragusiic. While the blow from Lyana’s talons still burned in his shoulder, he could barely feel them. He had to get back to Ragusiic. To try and save Jakov. To see what the mad imp could contact. To see if the Priest could do something, anything to save Lyana from her new fate.

Peter jumped onto the back of Bura, ready to meet his destiny, for better or worse.