Chapter 34: Cluck Off, Mortals!

“This is your village?” Aelith called, voice drifting down and bright as ever. “You are such a drama queen, Rissa. You told me it was tiny — I pictured four houses and a goat. This is bigger than I thought.” She’d perched herself like some ridiculous golden songbird in the branches of a high tree, peering down like the town below was an especially interesting embroidery.

“Really?” I drawled, folding my arms. “That’s because elves think anything under a hundred people counts as a festival. For humans, this is a hamlet stitched together with bad timber and worse gossip.” I shrugged. “It’s the Talvane fief. Nothing glamorous. A few cottages, a smith who believes himself a poet, and a tavern that sells only one kind of regret.”

“Let’s go in, then?” Aelith asked, shimmying down the branch like it was a ladder made of sunlight. “You said Princess Lyra mentioned your old friend Margo. We’re here to check if she’s actually been taken, right?”

I let out a little snort. “If Lyra said ‘Margo,’ consider it done. The princess doesn’t toss names around like confetti. If she mentioned someone, that someone’s either wearing chains or already memorizing palace etiquette.”

Aelith’s face fell a fraction, curiosity sharpening. “So… why are we here then? To visit your family? You said only your mother is left.”

I made a face, the kind that was defeated from a hundred farm lessons. “My sainted mother? Please. The woman raised me to love chickens, and if you’ve ever spent an afternoon on a chicken farm you know it’s a sentence worse than any dungeon.” I wrinkled my nose theatrically. “They’re loud, they judge you with beady little eyes, and they are, frankly, emotionally manipulative. One cluck and you owe them your afternoon. Did I ever tell you how much I hate chickens?”

Aelith rolled her eyes in that adorable way that made my chest do something inconvenient. “Yes, Rissa, you’ve told me about your chicken vendetta a thousand times. I know. But really—what are we doing here? Are you going to be mysterious forever, or tell me like a normal person?”

“And what exactly are we looking for?” Aelith asked, exasperated.

“Bones. Near a massive tree root sticking out of the ground.”

Didn’t take long. The forest wasn’t nearly as endless as it liked to pretend.

“Here’s your root,” Aelith said, patting the gnarled wood. “But I don’t see any bones.”

“Well, it’s been sixteen years. And let’s just say I didn’t leave it in the best condition.” I crouched and placed my hand on the soil. “But let’s give it a shot.”

Aelith crossed her arms, looking completely unimpressed. Poor girl had no idea.

My aura leaked out—dark, heavy, stinking of grave rot and frostbite—and seeped into the earth.

The ground shuddered. Leaves scattered. Soil split open as something massive forced its way up.

At first, it looked like a giant reptile skeleton—three, maybe four meters tall. Clawed, winged, monstrous. A lizard? A dinosaur?

No. Worse.

A giant skeletal chicken.

Aelith’s scream practically ruptured my eardrums. “A—A GIANT CHICKEN SKELETON!? WHAT KIND OF ABOMINATION IS THIS, RISSA!?”

“Cluck. Cluck. Cluckooooo!” the beast croaked, rattling its bone-wings as it lumbered closer. Not hostile—just… recognizing.

I started laughing. Proper, doubled-over, stomach-hurting laughter. “Oh, this is rich. This bastard nearly scared me to death when I was a kid. First time I ever used my powers—fried it to a crisp. It deserved it! Gods, it so deserved it!”

The undead chicken tilted its bony head. “Cluck, cluck, cluckoo?”

Did it understand me? Not a chance. But it did know I was its mistress now.

“Alright, feathered freak,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “You were hideous alive, and somehow you’re even worse now. You need a name… something worthy of this absolute travesty of nature.”

I snapped my fingers.

“Behold—Cluckles the Undying Pluckless!”

“CLUCKOOOOOOO!.”

The skeletal chicken threw what used to be its wings toward the sky like some featherless champion of doom.

“See?” I said, smug as hell. “Looks like she likes it. Right, Cluckles?”

“Cluck!”

Aelith’s face was… hard to describe. Equal parts horrified and convinced I’d finally lost every remaining marble in my skull. Then, out of nowhere, she burst into laughter.

“Hahaha—Rissa, I swear, maybe I’ve spent too much time with you, because I think I’m starting to lose my mind too! This is too much. Hahaha—you always said you hated chickens, remember?” She was doubled over, actually crying with laughter.

“Exactly,” I said flatly. “Which is why our friend Cluckles here has earned herself a fate worse than death. Sorry, Cluckles, them’s the breaks.” I patted her bony flank with mock sympathy. “But first—off to the Virelia–Dravencourt border. Splinterbutt and his maraca-choir have been waiting for us for days now.”

“It’ll take us a while on foot,” Aelith said, wiping the tears from her eyes.

“Tch, tch, tch,” I clicked my tongue, wagging my finger at her. “On foot? No, no, darling. We’ll be there fast.”

I hopped onto Cluckles’ spine like it was the most natural thing in the world and offered Aelith my hand.

She climbed on behind me, still chuckling.

“Cluckooooo!” Cluckles bellowed, before tearing through the forest at a speed that would’ve left the best-bred warhorse choking on skeletal dust.