Thundercluck! Page 2

  “Allow me to explain,” Thor said, and he told them of Thundercluck’s peril.

  “Are you certain they’ll be safe here?” Olga asked. Beside her, Sven now held Hennda and Thundercluck. They warbled in his arms.

  “The Under-Cook only hungers for Asgardian birds,” Odin said, “as do monsters across the realms. As long as no magic draws an evil eye, these two shall live as birds of Earth. Danger shall not find them.”

  Thor patted Hennda’s cheek and said, “Farewell, my feathered friend.”

  Hennda gave a knowing wink.

  Thor turned to Thundercluck. “These Vikings,” he said, “their world is the earth and the sea. Yours is the sky. May some part of you always remember that.”

  Odin and Thor went back to the moonlit hills. A rainbow shone upon them, and in a flash the gods were gone.

  Thundercluck shuffled close to his mother, snuggled beneath her wing, and went to sleep.

  * * *

  Farm life was strange for Thundercluck. Olga and Sven treated him well, but the other birds thought he was weird.

  For one, they puzzled over his vest and hat. As far as they were concerned, no self-respecting bird would wear such things. And they found his wandering even more bizarre, especially when he ventured away from the feeding bucket. He was always exploring the woods, climbing trees, and seeing how high he could perch. He could flutter his wings to hop short distances, but he wished he could soar.

  More than anything else, though, he wished he had a friend.

  Sometimes at night, while all the chickens slept in their barn, Hennda would wake to see Thundercluck’s spot empty. She would go outside and find him on the roof, gazing at the stars.

  * * *

  Back in Asgard, Brunhilde began her training as a Battle Maiden. Her wings grew strong enough to fly, and Thor gave her a shield and a crystal sword. She still carried the purse from her mother, but now she called it her Battle Bag. She trained daily in Valhalla, the hall of Asgardian heroes.

  Soon she could harness magic in the shining crystal blade. She trained her wits as well, taking top honors in the Spelling Bee of Runes. In her spare time, she practiced knitting to relax.

  With every step, with every test, with every bruise and cut, young Brunhilde thought to herself:

  For glory!

  For Asgard!

  And most of all, for friendship—for Thundercluck!

  After years of study, it was time for a trial of skill. Brunhilde entered Valhalla’s training chamber.

  Inside stood Odin, Thor, and a stage made of sacred stone. The stage held three marble statues: a pair of armored warriors and a single towering lion. A scroll rested in the lion’s jaws.

  “Welcome, Brunhilde,” Odin said. “You have proved the might of your arms and wings. It is time we test your head as well.”

  Brunhilde nodded, and Odin went on, “The realms abound with monsters and giants, all of them bent on our destruction. Some want our riches. Some want our food. And some … are simply grumpy. Today you shall face such a beast.”

  Thor stepped forward. “A Valkyrie, Brunhilde, must have not only power, but also wit. She must find the warriors worthy of Valhalla, and she must lead them into battle.” He raised a helmet with a visor and a pair of wings. “This helmet is a Valkyrie’s sacred crest.”

  Brunhilde tried to look calm, but she found herself smiling.

  “To complete this phase of your training,” Odin declared, “one final step remains.” He pointed to the scroll in the marble lion’s mouth. “Pick up your diploma.”

  Brunhilde’s smile dropped. That’s it? she thought. I worked my wings off all these years just to pick up a sheet of paper?

  Odin cleared his throat, and the sound echoed through the chamber.

  Disgruntled, Brunhilde fluttered to the lion statue. With its head bowed and its eyes closed, it almost looked gentle. Well, this is … not exactly satisfying, she thought. She reached for the scroll, and the lion’s eyes sprang open.

  The marble creature leapt away, and the two statue warriors burst into motion. Both held battle-axes. Both swung at Brunhilde.

  BONNG! CLANNG! In a flash, Brunhilde had her weapons drawn, blocking one axe with her shield and the other with her sword. The warrior girl pushed with her arms and twirled, driving both axes away, and the statues stumbled backward.

  Brunhilde focused on her sword, and its crystal blade began to glow. She twirled again and swung an arc of light, hitting both of her foes. They shattered into pebbles and dust.

  Brunhilde gazed around the chamber, seeing candles, pillars, and tapestries, but no lion. On the far wall, a banner dangled almost to the floor. Just below its fringe, Brunhilde saw a tail.

  She smiled and charged at the banner, but the lion was quick! It pounced from behind the banner and climbed a wall, then hung by its claws from the rafters. The diploma dangled from its mouth. With a flap of her wings, Brunhilde flew to the scroll, but the lion darted away. It dropped to the floor and dashed beneath a table.

  No matter how she chased it, Brunhilde could not catch that cat. They clattered around the chamber, blowing out candles and knocking over furniture. Soon, the girl was pooped. She stood panting on the stage. Across the room, the lion sat. It scratched its ear with its foot.

  All right, Brunhilde thought, if I can’t come to you … I’ll let you come to me. She strapped her sword and shield to her back, and she opened her Battle Bag. The lion pretended not to care, but out of the corner of its eye, it watched.

  Among the bag’s contents was a ball of yarn for knitting. With a little hum, Brunhilde sat on the stage and tossed the ball from hand to hand. The lion was transfixed.

  Under the creature’s gaze, she let the yarn drop to the floor. She smiled at the cat and said, “Oops.”

  The lion charged her way, bounding at full speed. It leapt for the yarn with its mouth wide open. The scroll came loose, and Brunhilde darted aside, reaching for it.

  WHOOSH!

  The lion had the yarn … and Brunhilde had her diploma.

  “Good show!” Odin shouted. “Good show, indeed.” He clapped his hands, and the lion froze. It was once more just a statue, now with a ball of yarn gripped between its teeth.

  “Stand proud, Valkyrie,” Thor said, placing the helmet on Brunhilde’s head, “and open the scroll. It bears tidings from Saga.”

  Brunhilde raised her eyebrows. Saga was distant, reclusive, and not one for small talk. I wonder if it just says, “Sorry for hiding your chicken,” Brunhilde thought. She unrolled the parchment and read:

  You’ve earned the title, Battle Maiden, mighty as can be,

  So raise your wings, and let them sing: Brunhilde, Valkyrie!

  Your name will soar across the realms; we all agree it’s true.

  I’m proud of what you’ve grown to be, and I believe in you.

  A locket fell from the scroll and into Brunhilde’s hand. She opened it to find something Saga had plucked from the Bifrost years ago: a golden feather from Thundercluck.

  * * *

  On the farm, Thundercluck had grown bigger, but no less restless. He had no training, no studies, no knitting to keep him busy.

  One day he looked especially lonely, so Sven and Olga invited him into their house. They went to a room with a rug on the floor.

  “We have something to show you,” Olga said.

  Thundercluck looked around. He saw nothing unusual.

  Sven winked and said, “Just one second.”

  Olga moved the rug to reveal a flat door hidden below it. She opened the door, and a staircase descended into darkness.

  “Buk … ba bok?” Thundercluck said.

  Sven grabbed a lantern from a shelf, and Olga smiled at Thundercluck.

  “Come with us,” she said. “It’s a secret.”

  CHAPTER 4

  THE COSMIC TREE

  The staircase led to a shadowy basement. It smelled like woods and mystery. Thundercluck squinted, but he saw nothing.

&nbs
p; Olga dipped a stick into the lantern’s fire and used it to light several candles. As the candles burned brighter, Thundercluck noticed a tapestry on the wall.

  “This is the cosmic tree,” Olga said, pointing to the image on the tapestry. “It’s called Yggdrasil.”

  EGG-dra-sill, Thundercluck thought. I like that!

  “Yggdrasil contains all of existence,” Olga went on. “Let us tell you how it came to be.”

  In the beginning, there was nothing … nothing but the Ginnunga Gap, a wide expanse of emptiness. No people. No places. No worlds. At one end of the gap there was heat, and at the other there was cold.

  The heat and the cold were far apart, but after eons of drifting, they met. When hot met cold, they formed a cloud of mist. It twisted, and thundered, and swirled, and from this cloud came the first beings in existence.

  One being was Ymir, the first of the giants. Ymir was powerful, and he held the potential to make new realms and new life. But more life would mean more sharing, and Ymir wanted to keep his power to himself.

  Another being was Odin, the first of the gods. Odin was wise, and he wished for the universe to grow.

  Odin asked Ymir to help him create new worlds, but the giant said no. A battle broke out between them.

  They clashed, and sparks flew high into the air. These became the stars in the sky. The struggle was legendary, and in the end, Odin defeated Ymir. The giant became crystal and moss, and a tree sprouted from his body.

  This was Yggdrasil, the cosmic tree of life.

  * * *

  Thundercluck stared at the tapestry, barely aware his beak was open.

  Sven saw the chicken’s wonder. He grinned.

  “Yggdrasil contains our world and more,” Olga went on. “Every living thing has a place in the realms, which are held by the tree’s branches.”

  Thundercluck blinked in confusion.

  Olga pointed to the tree’s branches on the tapestry. They held circles bearing views of other worlds.

  “These orbs are the nine realms,” she said. With a twinkle in her eye, she added, “There’s more to the creation story—and there’s more to existence than we can see.”

  The cosmic tree rose, and Odin found himself whisked to a new realm, a world upheld by the tree. Odin was joined by fellow gods, and together they discovered separate worlds: nine realms that could only be reached by magic.

  Some are realms of fire, ice, and death. But others are realms of beauty and grace.

  In the middle of the tree, we humans live in Midgard, the realm we call Earth. Above us, at the highest level of the tree, the gods live in the realm of Asgard. They rule a kingdom of magic and glory.

  From Asgard they watch us, vigilant against danger. Odin the All-father reigns as king. His wife, Queen Frigg, holds the keys to all the kingdom, and she spins the clouds we see in the sky. Together, they have a son: Thor, God of Thunder.

  * * *

  Thor, Thundercluck thought, and he felt a tingle in his feathers. His eyes locked on the top realm’s circle.

  Sven grinned wider.

  “Thor is the mightiest god!” he said. “Every time you hear a thunderbolt, that’s Thor banging his hammer!”

  The chicken found it hard to stand still. For so long he had felt something was missing, and these stories almost made him feel whole.

  “And guess what!” Sven added. “When warriors here on Earth are deemed worthy, they rise to Valhalla, the hall of Asgardian heroes. They’re chosen by Battle Maidens, the Valkyries!”

  The chicken felt a flutter in his chest. Olga put a hand on Sven’s shoulder, and she gave him a look that said, That’s enough, dear. Sven ignored her, and he leaned close to the bird.

  “And you know what, Thundercluck?” he whispered, “Asgard has chickens, too!”

  Thundercluck’s eyes and beak opened wider.

  Olga cleared her throat pointedly, but Sven went on. “Oh, yes! And Asgardian chickens are smarter than the average bird. They understand when people talk, and legend has it … they can even read!”

  Thundercluck looked at the tapestry and saw the word “Yggdrasil.”

  I … I can read.

  Then he thought of the farm’s other chickens, who had spent the afternoon chasing a worm by the feeding bucket.

  Olga cleared her throat again and said, “Yes. Those are nice stories, dear. Odin, Thor, and the Valkyries fend off evil so the rest of us can live quiet lives down here. Now, Thundercluck, why don’t you go outside and play?”

  Thundercluck took one last look at the tapestry, then dashed up the stairs and outside, flapping his wings and running in circles all the way.

  Olga turned to Sven with worried eyes. “I only wanted to show him the tree,” she said. “We mustn’t tell him too much!”

  “Oh, relax,” Sven answered. “He needed some company, and look how happy he is! We can’t tell him everything … but we can let him dream.”

  * * *

  In another realm, a bone-white hand reached for a shadowy bookshelf. The knuckles traced over ancient tomes, then clutched the one titled The Recipe Book of the Dead.

  Skeletal fingers cracked open the book and flipped through its tattered pages. “Ahh yes, here we are,” whispered a smoky voice. The book sat open to its darkest chapter: “How to Feed Your Demons.”

  Then the voice chuckled, and it rose to a cackle that echoed through the shadows.

  CHAPTER 5

  THE CHICKEN’S CALL

  In the realm of Asgard, Brunhilde was on patrol. After the helmet ceremony, her elders had started assigning her missions, but most of the “missions” were just delivering packages and walking laps around the kingdom. She called it the Busywork of the Gods.

  She came across a tower, an Asgardian outpost at the kingdom’s edge. She expected to see lanterns and sentries on its roof, but it was bare. One of its windows was lit, and two shadows moved within.

  Brunhilde flapped her wings and flew to the window. She heard voices inside and listened, hidden from view.

  “Worrisome … most worrisome indeed,” Odin grumbled. “Our foes grow ever stronger.”

  “Yes,” Thor replied, “but now we have Brunhilde, who may yet become the greatest Valkyrie of all.”

  “Perhaps,” Odin said, with a distant look in his eye. “Top three, at least.”

  Brunhilde smiled and thought, Well, that’s a nice backhanded compliment.

  “But I fear,” the elder god went on, “the monsters are rising in power too fast—”

  They heard jingling keys, and then the door to the stairs flew open. There stood Queen Frigg.

  “My queen,” Odin said. “How did—”

  “Saga said we would find you here,” Frigg answered as she entered the room.

  Odin raised his brows and asked, “We?”

  Saga walked silently through the doorway.

  “She came with me for a secret council,” Frigg went on, “for she has had another vision.”

  Brunhilde clutched the locket that hung around her neck.

  * * *

  “Buk-bwaack!” Hennda called proudly as Thundercluck ran by. He had grown into a fine chicken. His helmet shimmered in the afternoon sun.

  On a nearby hill, Sven and Olga tossed grain to the main flock. Thundercluck charged in their direction, and all the rest of the birds scattered in a frenzy.

  “Bok-bok-bok-bok!” Thundercluck whooshed by, his clucks fading into the distance.

  Sven and Olga stood amid a cloud of feathers. “There he goes again,” said Sven, smiling as he tied the grain bag. “Always running around.”

  “Indeed,” said Olga. “I wonder where he wants to go.”

  * * *

  At the Asgardian tower, Saga cleared her throat. The other gods sat silently. Saga took a long look at the window where Brunhilde was hiding, then turned to the gods and spoke:

  Despite the might of Valkyries, and Vikings under Thor,

  Our kingdom faces danger like we’ve never known before.
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br />   A thousand monsters gather now, their aim to doom us all;

  Without another hero’s help … Valhalla soon will fall.

  Thor stood. “We can fight them,” he said, but Odin glared at him. Thor sat back down. Frigg nodded at Saga, who went on:

  We sent a magic bird away, and now that bird has grown;

  The chick is now a rooster, and it’s time to bring him home.

  When monsters come! When danger knocks! When evil runs amok!

  We need ourselves a chicken, now—we need our Thundercluck!

  Brunhilde’s heart jumped.

  Thor gripped his hammer, and in a low voice he asked, “But what of the Cook? If we bring the bird, will Gorman Bones not follow?”

  The goddess answered,

  Oh yes, the Cook is dangerous; that much is true, my friend.

  No doubt he’s out there smoldering, and plotting grim revenge.

  But now our need is grave, indeed! Our kingdom is at stake,

  So bringing back the chicken is a risk we have to take.

  Outside, Brunhilde could no longer stay quiet. She leaned through the window and cried, “I will go!”

  “Brunhilde!” Odin barked.

  “You were spying?” Frigg demanded.

  “How long have you—” Thor started to ask, but as he spun around, his chair broke. He fell to the floor with a crash.

  Saga raised a finger to her lips, and all went silent. She gestured to Brunhilde as if to say, Go on.

  “I will go to Midgard. I will bring back Thundercluck!”

  Saga smiled, and from the sleeve of her robe she pulled a glowing jar. It was the vessel holding Thundercluck’s powers, hidden all those years ago. It was lightning in a bottle.

  Locking eyes with Brunhilde, the goddess commanded:

  Then hold this bottle up against his feathered chest and see:

  The bird will gain his thunder back, and learn his destiny.

  A storm is rising in the night, and it’s about to thicken;

  The time has come at last to tell the truth about the chicken.