AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The bird let out a slow chicken cackle. It sounded like a chicken, but in her heart she knew it wasn’t.
In that instant, she completely understood the concept of a chicken that was not a chicken. This looked like a chicken, like most of the Mud People’s chickens. But this was no chicken.
This was evil manifest.
She could feel it with visceral certitude. This was something as obscene as death’s own grin.
With one hand, Kahlan wrung her shirt closed at her throat. She was jammed so hard back against the platform with the baby’s body she wondered if she might topple the solid mortared mass.
Her instinct was to lash out and touch the vile thing with her Confessor’s power. Her magic destroyed forever the essence of a person, creating in the void a total and unqualified devotion to the Confessor. In that way, those condemned to death truthfully confessed their heinous crimes—or their innocence. It was an ultimate means of witnessing the veracity of justice.
There was no immunity to the touch of a Confessor. It was as absolute as it was final. Even the most maniacal murderer had a soul and so was vulnerable.
Her power, her magic, was also a weapon of defense. But it would only work on people. It would not work on a chicken. And it would not work on wickedness incarnate.
Her gaze flicked toward the door, checking the distance. The chicken took a single hop toward her. Claws gripping Juni’s upper arm, it leaned her way. Her leg muscles tightened till they trembled.
The chicken backed a step, tensed, and spurted feces onto Juni’s face.
It let out the cackle that sounded like a laugh.
She dearly wished she could tell herself she was being silly. Imagining things.
But she knew better.
Much as her power would not work to destroy this thing, she sensed, too, that her ostensible size and strength were meaningless against this thing. Far better, she thought, just to get out.
More than anything, that was what she wanted: out.
A fat brown bug scurried up her arm. She let out a clipped cry as she smacked it off. She shuffled a step toward the door.
The chicken leaped off Juni, landing before the door.
Kahlan frantically tried to think as the chicken bawk-bawk-bawked. It pecked up the bug she had flicked off her arm. After downing the bug, it turned to look up at her, its head cocking this way, then that, its wattles swinging.
Kahlan eyed the door. She tried to reason how best to get out. Kick the chicken out of the way? Try to frighten it away from the door? Ignore it and try to walk past it?
She remembered what Richard said. “Juni spat at the honor of whatever killed that chicken. Not long after, Juni died. I threw a stick at the chicken in the window, and not long after, it attacked that little boy. It was my fault Ungi got clawed. I don’t want to make the same mistake again.”
She didn’t want to make that mistake. This thing could fly at her face. Scratch her eyes out. Use its spur to tear open the carotid artery at the side of her neck. Bleed her to death. Who knew how strong it really was, what it might be able to do.
Richard had been adamant about everyone being courteous to the chickens. Suddenly Kahlan’s life or death hung on Richard’s words. Only a short time before she had thought them foolish. Now, she was weighing her chances, marking her choices, by what Richard had said.
“Oh, Richard,” she implored in a whisper, “forgive me.”
She felt something on her toes. A quick glance was not enough in the dim light to see for sure, but she thought she saw bugs crawling over her feet. She felt one scurry up her ankle, up under her pant leg. She stamped her foot. The bug clung tight.
She bent to swat at the thing under her pant leg. She wanted it off. She smacked too hard, squashing it against her shin.
She straightened in a rush to swipe at things crawling in her hair. She yelped when a centipede bit the back of her hand. She shook it off. As it hit the floor, the chicken plucked it up and ate it.
With a flap of wings, the chicken suddenly sprang back up on top of Juni. Claws working with luxuriant excess, it turned slowly atop the body to peer at her. One black eye watched with icy interest. Kahlan slipped one foot toward the door.
“Mother,” the chicken croaked.
Kahlan flinched with a cry.
She tried to slow her breathing. Her heart hammered so hard it felt like her neck must be bulging. Flesh scraped from her fingers as they gripped at the rough platform behind.
It must have made a sound that sounded like the word “Mother.” She was the Mother Confessor, and was used to hearing the word “Mother.” She was simply frightened and had imagined it.
She yelped again when something bit her ankle. Flailing at a bug running under her shirtsleeve, she accidentally swatted the candle off the platform behind her. It hit the dirt floor with a clink.
In an instant, the room fell pitch black.
She spun around, scraping madly at something wriggling up between her shoulder blades, under her hair. By the weight, and the squeak, it had to be a mouse. Mercifully, as she twisted and whirled about, it was flung off.
Kahlan froze. She tried to hear if the chicken had moved, if it had jumped to the floor. The room was dead silent except for the rapid whooshing of her heart in her ears.
She began shuffling toward the door. As she scuffed through the fetid straw, she dearly wished she had worn her boots. The stench was gagging. She didn’t think she would ever feel clean again. She didn’t care, though, if she could just get out alive.
In the dark, the chicken thing let out a low chicken cackle laugh.
It hadn’t come from where she expected the chicken to be. It was behind her.
“Please, I mean no harm,” she called into the darkness. “I mean no disrespect. I will leave you to your business now, if that’s all right with you.”
She took another shuffling step toward the door. She moved carefully, slowly, in case the chicken thing was in the way. She didn’t want to bump into it and make it angry. She mustn’t underestimate it.
Kahlan had on any number of occasions thrown herself with ferocity against seemingly invincible foes. She knew well the value of a resolute violent attack. But she also somehow knew beyond doubt that this adversary could, if it wanted, kill her as easily as she could wring a real chicken’s neck. If she forced a fight, this was one she would lose.
Her shoulder touched the wall. She slid a hand along the plastered mud brick, groping blindly for the door. It wasn’t there. She felt along the wall in each direction. There was no door.
That was crazy. She had come in through the door. There had to be a door. The chicken thing let out a whispering cackle.
Sniffling back tears of fright, Kahlan turned and pressed her back to the wall. She must have gotten confused when she turned around, getting the mouse off her back. She was turned around, that was all. The door hadn’t moved. She was just turned around.
Then, in which direction was the door?
Her eyes were open as wide as they would go, trying to see in the inky darkness. A new terror stabbed into her thoughts: What if the chicken thing pecked her eyes out? What if that was what it liked to do? Peck out eyes.
She heard herself sobbing in panic. Rain leaked through the grass roof. When it dripped on her head she flinched. Lightning struck again. Kahlan saw the light come through the wall to the left. No,
it was the door. Light was coming in around the edge of the door. Thunder boomed.
Frantic, she raced for the door. In the dark, she caught the edge of a platform with a hip. Her toes slammed into the brick corner. Reflexively, she grabbed at the stunning pain. Hopping on her other foot to keep her balance, she came down on something hard. Burning pain seared her foot. She grasped for a handhold, recoiling when she felt the hard little body under her hand. She went down with a crash.
Cursing under her breath, she realized she had stepped on the hot candle holder. She comforted her foot. It hadn’t really been burned her; her frantic fear made her envision hot metal burning her. Her other foot, though, bled from smacking the brick.
Kahlan took a deep breath. She must not panic, she admonished herself, or she would not be able to help herself. No one else was going to get her out of here. She had to gather her senses and stay calm enough to escape the house of the dead.
She took another breath. All she had to do was reach the door, and then she would be able to leave. She would be safe.
She felt the floor ahead as she inched forward on her belly. The straw was damp, whether from the rain or from the foul things draining from the platforms, she didn’t know. She told herself the Mud People respected the dead. They would not leave filthy straw in there. It must be clean. Then why did it stink so?
With great effort, Kahlan ignored the bugs skittering over her. When her concentration on remaining silent wandered, she could hear little pules escape her throat. With her face right at the floor, she saw the next lightning flash under the door. It wasn’t far.
She didn’t know where the chicken had gone. She prayed it would go back to pecking at Juni’s eyes.
With the next flash of lightning, she saw chicken feet standing between her and the crack under the door. The thing wasn’t more than a foot from her face.
Kahlan slowly moved a trembling hand to her brow to cup it over her eyes. She knew that any instant, the chicken monster thing was going to peck her eyes, just like it pecked Juni’s eyes. She panted in terror at the mental image of having her eyes pecked out. Of blood running from ragged, hollow sockets.
