The Courage of the Chickens
The storm alarms had fallen silent and the wind had begun to rise, gusting in little eddies that swirled the leaves around. Tari shivered, shaking all her feathers. Going through this the first time by accident had been bad enough, but sitting there knowing what was coming…
Her little brother, Laurin, fidgeted. “It’ll be all right Laurin,” she said as soothingly as she could.
Hara laughed briefly and then fell silent. They waited, while outside their small shelter the rain poured down, or sometimes sideways when the wind gusted. Their shelter shook, and the fabric front ripped away. The rain blew into their faces, drenching them. Laurin wailed, but Tari held on to him. None of them wanted to know what would happen if they lost him in this. Not that it could be much more dangerous than what we’re actually doing.
The wind died down and everything went still, steaming in the sudden sunlight.
Tari crawled out of the shelter and got to her feet, setting Laurin on his feet beside her. She walked out into the field and waited. Behind her, the others did the same.
Before them the air shivered, distorting their view of the trees at the far edge of the field. A voice spoke from the tormented air: “I have found you! You are mine.”
“We sought you, and you came,” Tari countered.
“You seek me? Why?” the voice demanded.
“We want you to change us back,” Tari said.
“I am the Storm-mind. My decisions are. I change no one back to what they were before.”
“We expected to be changed when you caught us before,” Hara replied, “but why chickens? Why humans with undersized wings and chicken feathers, unable to fly and good only for being laughed at?”
“You were there, the chickens were there. Why not?” the Storm-mind countered.
“Because we’re tired of being laughed at by our relatives, and we’ve had the courage to come to you to demand that you change us.” Tari said.
“Your demands are meaningless. I change no one back to the way they were.”
“Then change us forward. Turn us into anything else you like, just not human-chickens!” Tari said.
“You caught us, so you have to change us.”
“You know not what you ask.”
“Yet we ask,” said Tari.
“You amuse me, chicken-children. It shall be as you ask.” The Storm-mind sang a single note like the toll of a great bell, and the world shimmered through a tunnel of deep blue and the violet beyond violet. When Tari came back to normal consciousness, the Storm-mind was gone.
Tari turned round to look at Hara, and stopped. Her friend was still feathered, but there was no way those wings had ever belonged to a chicken. Tari looked down at herself, stretching her wings in front of her so that she could see them better. They were long and pointed, with barred markings like those on a falcon. The feathers on her arms were sleeker, and judging from Hara, she probably had a long narrow tail and a much deeper chest than any human ought to have. Perhaps…
Tari jumped into the air, and flew. Only about twenty feet, and with a rather awkward landing in a thorn bush, but still. I can fly! “Come on,” she called to the others as she disentangled herself. “Don’t you see? We can fly!”