Sowing(III) : The girl & the Chick

Once upon a time, among a clan of nomads, there was a Chicken Prince.

Not an actual chicken, but a kid proudly wearing this title as well as many others such as : Lord of poultries, Knight of the fowls, Earthbound feather and so on.

How did I get this nickname?

Part of it was because she was the next Patriarch’s direct and only remaining relative. Another part was because I was often seen racing madly like a headless chicken. Sometimes even challenging the ostriches pulling the carriages. I obviously never won, but this did not discourage her. I really loved running and wanted to be the fastest.

There was also the fact that I looked quite boyish. Whether it be because of her short raven black hair and tall stature or because of her habit of solving every matter with brute strength or again because I always ended her days with a body full of dirt and scratches; the clan’s people had a hard time believing that I was a girl.

Tomboys weren't rare among the Gallinas. The clan was famous for its fearsome female riders who mostly shared this trait. However, there was something about how rough the girl was that reminded more of the brash male warriors instead of the graceful and fearless elite riders.

Nonetheless, what really nailed the nickname on the girl was that almost every time that I was seen, there was always a chick crowning her head.

When I was running, sleeping, eating and even bathing the yellow baby chicken was always adorning her like some kind of crown. And it was always the same chick. The Gallinas were able to tell. After all, what made the clan famous even more than their female riders was the quality of their chickens and fowls!

They were so meticulous about them that even children weren’t able to confuse two newborn identical chicks.

This was how the little Chicken Prince was living daily among the people of her fowl rearing clan. Those days were full of excitement and laughter for the girl’s young mind. And I wasn’t the only one enjoying this. Her little antics greatly amused the other Gallinas. There were even daily betting matches about how much the little chick would fall off her head.

Unfortunately for them, the day when they had to stop taking advantage of the girl came. It would have been great if it was because they were caught red-handed by the Patriarch who, even though was aware of this, didn’t do anything to hinder them. Some even suspected that he was part of them.

Most dismissed the issue immediately. Thinking about their moody, grumpy and stone-hearted Patriarch betting with a snicker, creeped them out.

However, they could not ignore the strange guy who always managed to win against all odds, every single time. As if he knew personally about the girl’s and the chick’s condition. Nobody knew who exactly he was. But judging by how he was betting through a servant it seemed fair to assume that he was a high standing official.

Sadly, they will never know his identity after the betting matches had to stop. What was much more sad was the reason for the sudden stop: the Chicken Prince stopped running.

Was the kid finally aware that I was a graceful Gallina girl instead of a rash racing freak? Did I lose her chick? Had I hurt her leg?

No. It would have been better if any of those happened instead.

The Trials were what halted the kid’s frenzied races.

Trials are how the Patriarch’s heir is designed. They were held a few days after the rise of a new Patriarch and the retirement of the last one. To succeed, one had to enter the Sanctuary opened by the current Patriarch and be the first to clear it among the candidates.

And upon completion, the winner was granted the blessing of the Gallina’s guardian spirit. Which was essential if one wanted to be able to lead the clan upon lands where invaders were lurking.

However only the winner was expected to return from the Sanctuary. This was how hard the Trials were. But it didn’t make the candidates cower.

They were all personally picked among the eldest sons of those belonging to the current Patriarch generation. And with twenty to thirty years between each Trials they all had the time to mature and become veteran warriors.

Or, that was how it was supposed to be.

Once the middle-aged Patriarch activated the numerous runes and sigils adorning the huge slate of rock, a portal opened on the same rock. It was the Sanctuary’s gate. Voices began to come from there and resonated in the Gallina camp. They were names.

And among them was the Chicken Prince’s.

Everyone held their breath as the Patriarch dragged the girl toward the entrance where the other candidates were waiting. Her steps were unsteady, her legs shaking. I seemed afraid, but had to go there. Nobody could flee the Trials once they were called. Even if they tried, the Trials would find a way to reach them. This was how it had always been.

On the other hand, the Gallinas were taken aback. The guardian spirit always chose the best of the best among the clans, while the Chicken Prince still had trouble outrunning a chicken. Had the guardian spirit made a mistake? The Chicken Prince wasn’t even an eldest son. I was a little girl, and had never been trained to be a warrior.

However, no matter how much they speculated about the issue, the die was cast. The portal closed down as the little girl cast one last look from the other side, her precious chick cradled on her quivering arms.

Nobody knew how much time passed in the Sanctuary. Some candidates that returned looked like they had aged a decade more. Anyway, it was another dimension where time didn’t flow like everywhere else. By the following night, the gate would open, and the new heir would be known to all.

Yet, on the following night the gate did not open. The runes on the slate were no longer lit, so the Trials were over. What did this mean? Did Everyone fail?

As new concerns began to assault the Gallinas’ mind, loud chicken clucks came from the tents. Something had scared the fowls. The clan’s people didn’t take long to find out the source of the commotion.

A little tent near the Patriarch’s was in flames. It was the Chicken Prince’s. The clan was once again in stupor. This never happened before. It was too ominous.

The Patriarch sent a few people to investigate. And what they found inside was the girl lying atop a blackened floor partially covered by aIs. At her side was a burned and mutilated chick. The girl wasn’t faring better. There were burn marks and wounds on her body, especially on her hands and ears.

However, what caught their attention was her hair. They were no longer as black as a raven's feather.

Now they were as white as a dove’s.

This was the mark of the spirits, a proof that one came in contact with one of those beings. This could only mean one thing : the girl had become a chosen : those blessed by the spirits and the gods. I was the one who cleared the Trials.

How could this be?

The envoys halted their thought. They had more pressant things to do. The girl was immediately extracted and put on the best healers tent. Her injuries were severe. But I would live.

Sadly it didn’t come cheaply. The girl lost her hearing and her hands. No healer, even those from outside the clan, were able to heal those injuries.

Disabled, that was what the girl had become. At first, it didn’t bother the people from the clans. The girl was the youngest Chosen ever known in the clan's history. Nobody knew how I managed to do it, the girl didn’t want to tell them about it. Not like I could actually tell them.

Of course they were also sad for the lost warriors and their families. But those candidates were still warriors. Death was part of their daily lives. During an invader’s attack it wasn’t rare for them to lose twice this amount of people.

Moreover, it was believed that upon death the people joined the stars lighting the night sky. And those partaking in the trials had a special place near the brightest stars, near the gods. What an overwhelming honor!

The Gallinas’ sadness was instead drowned by their excitement. All were eager to know what was the youngest chosen blessing.

Everyone but her. Trials always left a mark on the mind of the Chosen. Some became even weirdos after coming home. And it seemed that the marks left on the girl’s mind were a little too deep. Her once dark eyes sparkling with energy and mischief were now as blank and listless as a shadow.

It was thus decided that I would be treated with great care until the day I recovered enough. The Gallinas didn’t mind the wait. Forcing the hand of a Chosen rarely ended in anything but a disaster.

Six years passed. The once boyish and restless kid had grown into a calm and graceful young lady. I was no longer a ‘prince’, but now assumed a queen’s elegance. I even joined the nuns managing the sanctuary and helping with the clan’s chores.

I didn’t want to become a burden for her people being the only one who didn’t work. And with everyone else but the nuns acting awkwardly around her, I had no choice but to join them.

Her outward appearance wasn't the only thing that evolved during those years.

Her listless mind seemed to have recovered a little too. I had Id a lot of tears upon learning that her beloved chick was still alive. However, the fowl had lost a third of its feathers, its two eyes and one of its legs. It was really painful to just look at the animal, but the girl didn’t mind.

I really loved the chicken. So much that I even forced her uncle and the nuns, to put her in charge of the poultry where rested the critter.

That was when her love for fowls blossomed. A little too much. I began interacting more with them than with the clan’s people. The rare times when I did interact with the Gallinas, I had that cheeky attitude that put many on edge.

Her mind seemed to recover but in the wrong direction. Yet nobody could talk back to her. I was a chosen, the Patriarch niece and the poultry’s owner with the biggest productivity. Her poultry alone produced one third of the clan’s meat and eggs. It was difficult to even openly glare at her when I was the biggest asset of the clan.

The Gallinas' only hope against the girl tyranny was the Patriarch. However, the latter did not appear interested in his niece's matter. In fact, he seldom talked with her or even visited her poultry. Which was strange, I was his heir.

Fortunately an opportunity arose a month before the Great Harvest Festival.

The Patriarch was noticeably getting old and like most men didn't want to end his legacy with just him. He thus began searching for a bride.

Not among the Gallinas. If there was a woman who could satisfy his picky tastes he would have already married her.

Instead he was gunning for daughters among the eight main noble families ruling over the Fylonia alliance.

It didn't take long before he found a suitable candidate. There were already dozens of letters of proposal storming his desk each year. That was one of the perks of being a nomad chief. He just had to pick the less bothersome among all of them.

And from thread to needle, his wedding was scheduled for next spring.

The clan people were earnestly preparing for it.Their middle-aged, moody and sullen Patriarch was finally getting a bride. And it was well known that most of the powerful warriors were a Patriarch’s direct son and daughters. With any luck, the wife could even be someone that will help clear his grumpiness.

Those were some of the many reasons to be overjoyed for this wedding. Everything had to be in order!

Among the preparations needed for the ceremony, was the most important one. The one most sacred one. The one that would bless the union of their leader and his bride : the choice of the wedding chicken.

Unlike other families or clans, for the Gallinas, what was cut by the groom and his bride was not a cake. But a roasted chicken.

And the one chosen by the Patriarch was none other than the young girl’s.

I obviously didn’t take the news well. A few seconds after learning the news, I stormed into her uncle’s tent and for the first time since I began managing a poultry they had a talk. A rough talk that ended with the girl spat out of the tent while whirlwind circled over.

The commotion attracted the Gallinas who quickly surrounded the place. Some tried to get close, but the gales were too strong. They could reach the girl, but not get within ten feets near the tent.

The Patriarch’s voice resonated from deep within his tent.

“No rule can be broken as long as I stand!”

This was one of the most important rules of the Gallinas. A Golden rule.

There had been times when a Patriarch’s orders became abusive and sometimes downright harmful to the clan. This rule was made to protect the clan against this.

Basically, if the clan’s people didn’t agree with one of the Patriarch’s orders they could challenge him in a Gallina wrestling match. Pushing with your chest, tripping, hugging were the basic moves here. No hit allowed and could be done with as many people as the opposing parties agreed.

Those who fall on the ground are declared losers and eliminated. At the end of the game, the losers had to abide by the winners opinion.

The rule was however rarely used. Only when almost all the clan was united could they hope to win against their blessed leader especially when he used whirlwinds like this one.

This meant that as long as the girl managed to gain the support of many Gallinas, I could save her chicken.

Sadly, as I struggled to stand up without her arms, I noticed that everyone was avoiding her gaze. And even though many could have come and helped her stand, no one had. They were not thinking of lending a helping hand.

I then realized how alone I was. How alone I had always been since her return from the trials.

It wasn’t because the Gallinas did not empathize with her circumstance or were too frightened by their Patriarch-... Well, the last part was a bit true, but it wasn’t the main reason.

Their reluctance was due to the girl herself. I had puId them away for years. They had a hard time believing that I would not do the same this time.

The girl would have to save her chicken alone. However, I wasn’t scared. I was resolute. I had to succeed no matter what.

The next day at dawn, I challenged her patriarch. And obviously lost.

I did the same thing the day after. And the following day. To no avail.

But I was stubborn.

I kept challenging the man until fall came.

The man strangely played along every day, and beat the crap out of his niece each time. Was it out of concern? Or because he enjoyed beating her?

Perhaps the latter? The man’s moves during the match were a little too flashy. Violent gales were what awakened the other Gallinas these days. The moves also looked painful. The girl often had to rearrange her dislocated joints after each match.

It seemed like, for a while, the Patriarch had found someone to vent his anger and frustrations on. But that was just for a little while.

“Aren’t you tired?” he asked the girl after an umpteenth match, “You should have realized by now. You have no chance against me. Not with your body in this state. Nor with a blessing as weak as yours.”

The girl's eyes went wide at this comment. I could not hear, but I had some tricks that allowed her to know what people were talking about. Like reading lips.

“What? You thought that I would not know? I’m the Patriarch, lass. I know everything there’s to know about the Gallinas. Even your useless blessing.”

He looked at the girl with a disdainful gaze before turning on his heels.

“Give up and stop bothering me.”

The girl's face became sour. He had a point. No matter how I came at him, a breeze was all it took to send her flying. I could not even come close.

As long as I could not defeat his blessing I had no hope of winning. But how could a disabled person like her do that? Even healthy men could not.

Those thoughts gnawed at the girl's mind for days. I stopped challenging him. Despair was slowly seizing her heart.

Until a night where I caught a glimpse of a secret gathering behind a tent lit by an oil lamp. The people attending the suspicious meeting were all covered in dark veils. Thankfully, their mouths were not. The girl was able to ‘eavesdrop’.

They were discussing dark rumors and scary stories. One of them in particular caught the young girl's interest.

“I swear there really was a witch here yesterday!”

“Stop Pedro. You are trying too hard. We all know that those kinds of things aren’t true.”

“Wh- who’s Pedro, I told you to call me DarkCrow during our gatherings!”

“Yeah… Dark-Worm. Why would a witch even come to us?”

“It’s Dark Crow chick-brain! Anyway, I heard that the granny was searching for an apprentice.”

“An apprentice? Among Nomads? Where did you hear that from? You sure you’re not making this up?”

“I was accompanying my big Sis! I was on duty when it happened. Stop doubting me!”

“Yeah, Yeah…And what does it have to do with us? ”

“She is Red Hood teacher!”

“Red Hood?... Like, the Red Hood?”

“Yes!”

“Like the one living in the creepy forest where trees have faces? The one that steals people's souls with just a stare? The one who feeds on corpses?”

They all shuddered for a moment before pursuing.

“...Yes, this one! To think that such a celebrity would come to our humble abode! What do you think was her true goal? The debate is on!”

“Wow… To think that Pe-, Dark Worm would come with an interesting subject for once…”

“What do you mean by that?! I always come with cool stuff to speak about. And it’s Dark-crow chick-brain!”

The girl had already stopped ‘listening’ for a while.

[An apprentice… A witch… Magic…]

I had found a lead. There might be a way to deal with my uncle’s blessing.

The girl’s goal was set. It was time to go visit a witch.