CRACKED: An Anthology of Eggsellent Chicken Stories by J. Posthumus (read after txt) 📕

hens watching him intently. Something golden streaked in the corner of his eye—it was Sunshine. “Hey, cat, why don’t you chase some of these fellas away?”

She hid behind Harley, and a pūkeko made a rush at her. So much for that idea. She hissed and backed off towards the street. The two guardians appeared to laugh silently, the tui’s movement scattering reflected iridescence around the yard, the dragon’s flames swelling and fading.

Harley glanced at them, then over at Tiger. “Are you sure you’ve never seen your taniwha?”

“Of course I’m sure—” Tiger shook his head. “I know something’s missing, something that the rest of you all have. I just wish I knew where to look.”

He turned and found the row of pūkeko birds staring at him. Or rather, behind him. He peeked over his shoulder.

Nothing there. Of course.

Tiger took a step and scattered the birds so that they ran off on their long red legs, squawking. But they ran only just out of reach, and stopped to gaze into the air behind him again.

“What is it? Dumb birds!”

Then he caught sight of Graeme and Harley, who stared likewise, eyes wide, jaws agape.

Tiger huffed. “Oh, not you as well…”

Graeme raised a finger to point somewhere over Tiger’s head. “Think you’d better take a look, my friend.”

Gulp. But I only just looked. I know there’s nothing there.

Sweat broke out on his forehead.

If there’s nothing there, why am I scared?

He closed his eyes and turned once more, hardly daring to peek. An oddly warm blue light sent tendrils through his eyelids. He cracked them open, just a slit.

Blue and purple and red swirled before him as he struggled to focus. The ethereal colours screamed taniwha, but what exactly was he looking at?

“Tēnā koe, e hoa,” said a warm, sad voice from out of the light. Hello, friend.

Tiger blinked. The colours took on a shape. He sucked in a breath. “No… way!”

“Ko ahau te pūkeko.” I am the pūkeko.

No kidding. Tiger took in the enormous size of the incorporeal swamp hen, every contour in place, the blue and black feathers, the red beak and legs.

But even as his eyes sought more details, the apparition faded into the green-black of Mt. Ngongotaha’s shaded side. Leaves on dark and distant trees snapped into full clarity.

“Kao, kao!” the creature said, the light leaving its sharp beady eyes.

Tiger knew that word. No.

“No what?” He screwed up his face, covered his eyes with his hand for a moment.

“Oh, that’s better,” Graeme breathed from behind him. “It came back when you stopped looking at it.”

For real? Tiger peeked again. The full brilliance washed over him, and he avoided looking at it directly in case that had something to do with it.

The giant bird began to speak quickly in Maori, words Tiger didn’t know, couldn’t interpret. Tears pricked at his eyes. He should have worked harder, learned more by now—

Graeme’s voice cut into his despair. “It’s saying… I’m always with you. You’ve seen me many times and not remembered. Even now you might forget…”

“When you use your eyes beyond human ability, you use up my power.” Harley’s voice took up the translation. “My power to be visible.”

Ohhhh. Tiger clenched his fists in his hair. “It makes perfect sense. I’m never not using my eyes. So your power is permanently drained and no one can see you. Does that mean you’re visible when I sleep?”

“Ever dreamed of blue light?” Harley muttered.

Well, actually…! “I—I thought that was some other taniwha. I’m sorry!”

The bird warbled on. After a moment, Graeme spoke its message. “I am sorry also. There is more. You also use up my power to be remembered.”

“To be… remembered?” Tiger risked a glance at the creature. It nodded and spoke again.

Graeme went on. “I remain unknown. Unlike other taniwha, I do not stay in anyone’s mind unless I direct my power into the effort.”

“Lemme guess. The same power I use up when I look at things.” Tiger swallowed. Part of him danced inwardly—he’d found his own taniwha, and it had been there all along—but this was bitter, to know that he couldn’t see it or even remember it while his eyes were open.

Could he even put the brakes on his distance vision? He’d never tried. And if he didn’t remember why, would he even attempt it?

“Things are changing,” said Harley. “You see me now as never before, because you are learning to look less. In time, you can grow to remember.”

“In time, huh?” At least that was more hopeful. Tiger loosened his grip on his head. “But maybe not today, if I’m understanding you right.”

“Ae.”

“I am sorry, my friend, if we all forget you again after this.” There were no words for how sorry Tiger was.

“Kia mohio koe.” You will understand.

That much Maori, Tiger did understand. It was a command. Even if he didn’t. Not really.

Finally, he dared to raise his eyes and take in the full sight of the creature that was his partner in unseen powers. Powers of sight that caused it to vanish from his vision and his memory. It was all deliciously ironic.

Trust me to have a complicated relationship with a hen.

The moment stretched long as he locked gazes with the giant bird. Don’t look too hard. Don’t look too hard. If he stayed within the parameters of normal human vision, he wouldn’t drain its power.

In the end, he couldn’t not look. He found his attention drawn to the tiny iridescent sparkles from its feathers, observing them laid out hair by hair, drinking in the microscopic beauty within the whole.

Blue light flared and faded. Tiger blinked. The late afternoon burned golden, and he had a fence to sort out. He shook his head and glanced around for his friends.

Graeme and Harley stood there slack-faced, staring at a group of pūkeko. Their two taniwha loitered beyond, head to head, almost as if sharing a joke.

“C’mon, you silly eggs, what do I pay you for?” Tiger growled at the humans.

The spell was broken. “You don’t pay us enough,” said Graeme.

Harley snorted.