Thundercluck! Page 3

  PART II

  THUNDERCLUCK RISES

  CHAPTER 6

  RETURN OF THE THUNDER

  Thundercluck stood on a hilltop and beheld the rising dawn. The other chickens stared at him. They darted their eyes elsewhere whenever he looked their way.

  “Bwak, bwak,” Thundercluck sighed. Alas, just another day.

  Then the feathers on his neck stood up.

  He felt a change in the air, and the grass in front of him flattened.

  A rainbow beam shone down on the flat spot. Thundercluck jumped back, and with a flash of light the rainbow vanished. A girl with wings stood in its place, her eyes hidden beneath her helmet.

  All the other chickens scattered, squawking frantically as they ran. Thundercluck stayed on the hill, transfixed.

  “Thundercluck!” the girl sang, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. His brows went up, and he slowly raised a wing to return the hug. The girl lifted the helmet’s visor, and her eyes twinkled. “It’s been a long time,” she said.

  “Buk … bugak?” the chicken replied.

  “Sorry,” she said. “There’s a lot you need to know.” She held her sword to the sky and said, “I come from Asgard, realm of the gods!” Then she smiled and added, “And so do you, Thundercluck.”

  The chicken stared at her, then slowly began backing away.

  “Have you ever wondered,” she said, “where your helmet came from? Or why that vest always fits, no matter how big you’ve gotten?”

  The chicken paused. He tapped his vest with a wing and thought, It does fit nicely.

  “Your clothes have Asgardian magic, and so do you and I,” the girl said. “I’m Brunhilde, a Valkyrie of Valhalla. And you’re … well, the term Thor used was ‘demi-god chicken,’ I think.”

  Thundercluck blinked. He was skeptical, but excitement stirred within him.

  “Anyway,” Brunhilde said, “the important thing is, we need you. And you’ll need this.” She drew a glowing bottle from her bag, and the chicken felt a tingle in his wattles.

  “Ten years ago we hid you here, and we hid this from you. This is your thunder. This is part of who you are.” She looked upward. “Back in Asgard, monsters are coming to destroy our home … and if you take your thunder back, you can help us fight them.”

  A million thoughts bounced in the chicken’s head, but he knew two things: he liked this person, and he liked that bottle! There was something familiar about Brunhilde. He stepped forward, but she raised her hand.

  “I have to warn you,” she said. “If you take your powers back, you’ll face your first test as a warrior. Do you know the Woods of the West?”

  The bird paused. In all his wanderings, that was the one place Sven and Olga had forbidden him to go.

  “Asgard has a fortune-teller,” Brunhilde said, “a goddess named Saga. She says there’s a demon wolf in those woods—and it’s hungry.”

  The chicken gulped.

  “Oh, you’re safe right now,” Brunhilde said. “Chickens without powers are too bland for a demon wolf. But if you take your thunder back, well … let’s just say the wolf will come for breakfast.”

  Thundercluck shifted his weight.

  “The bottom line is, I know you’re a dreamer,” Brunhilde said. “I am, too. If you take this step, though, for better or worse … all those dreams are about to get real.”

  Brunhilde held the jar in one hand, and with the other she twirled her sword. “If you’re ready for adventure,” she said, “then I will aid you in battle. But the choice is yours.”

  Thundercluck stared at the glowing bottle. He had always yearned for excitement, but he had never thought about the fear that might come with it. His heart was thumping, and he wondered whether it was from joy or fright—or both.

  He turned toward the barn, and to his surprise he saw Olga, Sven, and his mother watching. The Viking farmers smiled, and Hennda’s eyes gleamed with pride.

  “We knew this day would come!” called Olga.

  “We believe in you!” called Sven.

  “Buk-bwaak!” called Hennda.

  Thundercluck turned to Brunhilde with resolve in his eyes. He took a step forward, lifted his chin, and said, “Bagock!”

  Brunhilde smiled and unplugged the cork.

  * * *

  The demon wolf awoke to the sound of thunder, and it rose to all fours with a yawn. Its nostrils sniffed the air … and it licked its lips.

  * * *

  Thundercluck felt like a million stars were shining inside him. Storm clouds rolled overhead, and he wanted to soar above them. After years of just fluttering, he felt like he could fly. He felt like if he stretched out his wings, he could touch the gods themselves.

  Then he heard the growl.

  “The wolf approaches,” Brunhilde said, and her helmet’s visor clinked down. “Sven! Olga! Take the other chickens into the barn. We’ll handle this.”

  Thundercluck watched them scurry inside.

  “The wolf only wants you, Thundercluck,” Brunhilde said, “but everyone else is safer out of the way. Here it comes!”

  Over the hills, the wolf came prowling. First they saw its ears, and then its hulking body came into sight. Thundercluck’s eyes widened. The beast was bigger than an average cow, and it looked meaner than a mad one. Its dark fur had highlights of blue, and its eyes glowed bright and menacing. It growled again, and the ground shook under Thundercluck’s feet.

  “Be careful, my friend,” Brunhilde said. “Your power is thunder. Mine is light. The wolf’s magic is sound, and it’s loud.”

  Thundercluck nodded, and in his mind echoed two words: my friend.

  “WOOF!”

  The air rippled as a sound wave shot forth and flew at Thundercluck.

  Brunhilde grabbed the chicken and pulled him sideways. The sound wave shot by and hit a rock, which burst into shards. The wolf growled, then …

  “WOOF!”

  It barked again at the bird.

  “Behind me!” Brunhilde shouted. She whipped up her shield, which began to glow. The sound hit the shield with a BONNG, and the magic dispersed. It rattled the grass at her feet.

  “My turn,” Brunhilde said, and she swung her glowing sword. An arc of light shot out. Thundercluck poked his head from behind the shield to watch.

  The beast growled again, this time in a lower pitch, and the air before it shimmered. Brunhilde’s light hit the sound wall and burst into a shower of sparks. The light scattered in all directions, and the wolf stood unharmed.

  “Hmm … all right, then,” said Brunhilde. “I’ll draw its attention, and Thundercluck, you zap it!”

  The bird turned his head completely sideways. Zap it?

  “You’ll remember how”—she patted his shoulder, and beneath her visor she smiled—“hopefully very soon.” With a WHOOSH, her wings spread wide as she darted to the left.

  Thundercluck gawked as she flew. The wolf barked another wave of magic, but she dodged it—barely. The sound wave grazed her wing and continued across the sky. It hit Sven’s weather vane, blasting it off the farm’s roof.

  Brunhilde landed on the ground with a roll. Her wing was sprained, but not broken.

  Thundercluck’s heart pounded. Brunhilde was the first person to ever call him “friend,” and that wolf wanted to hurt her. The clouds rumbled overhead, and the chicken felt something powerful building within him.

  He felt like a hammer was pounding in his chest. His feathers vibrated. Instinctively, he pointed his wings toward the wolf and gripped the ground with his chicken feet. The storm clouds went utterly silent.

  “Bagock!”

  KRA-KOOWWWWWW!

  A bolt of lightning seared the air and struck the wolf on its side. The beast stumbled and dug its claws into the dirt.

  Thundercluck’s beak fell open. Did I just do that? Then he looked at the wolf’s face. Uh-oh. Little strands of lightning still buzzed on its fur. It looked angry.

  “WOOF!”

  The beast gave its
loudest bark yet, aiming right at Thundercluck. The chicken froze. He had no idea how to block an attack. His feet refused to move. And that sound wave was zooming his way …

  BONNGG!

  Brunhilde was back in front of him, her shield raised and glowing. “This is getting noisy, huh, buddy?” she said. “That was a good shot you took. Its hide must be tough … We’ll have to find a soft spot!”

  The chicken looked at the wolf, which snarled with rage. The beast took a breath so deep it sucked all the grass between them toward itself.

  “WOOF-WOOF-WOOF-WOOF-WOOF!”

  Thundercluck crouched as the sound waves came flooding at them. Brunhilde kept blocking the noise, and her boots dug into the dirt. Her shield still glowed, but it began to flicker.

  “It’s too loud!” she shouted. “I can’t fly until my wing heals, and I can’t focus on my magic! I wish! This dog! Would STOP BARKING!”

  I panicked a moment ago, thought Thundercluck, but I can’t do that again … Have at ye, foul beast! He cried “Buk-buk!” and leapt high into the air.

  “Wait,” called Brunhilde, “I can’t keep you safe up there!”

  In midair, the chicken closed his eyes and counted to the barking rhythm. He spread his wings wide, and he felt magic coursing through them. Then, in sync with a bark, he flapped his wings hard. A shock wave blasted outward from the flap.

  The shock collided with the bark and repelled it back at the wolf, catching the beast in the chest. The wolf coughed and shook its head. It tried to bark again, but only a wheeze came out.

  “Nice work!” said Brunhilde, lowering her shield and letting it darken. “Maybe now we’ll have some peace and qui— Never mind.”

  The wolf charged at her, snarling and baring its fangs. Thundercluck landed between them, and he tried to summon another bolt, but the beast pounced too soon.

  Brunhilde pushed Thundercluck aside and somersaulted under the wolf. She lifted her shield, and a dome of light flashed upward. The wolf went flying into the air.

  This time, the chicken had his thunder ready.

  KRA-KOOWWWW!

  The wolf landed and rolled, then scrambled to its feet. It tried to look tough, but that second bolt had hit its soft underbelly. Its eyes peered in different directions, one of them half-shut, and its tongue dangled sideways from its mouth.

  It wobbled one way, stumbled the other, and finally sat down and howled.

  “How-OOOOooOOOoool…”

  With a puff of smoke, the wolf was gone.

  “Bad dog,” Brunhilde said. “No chicken for you.”

  Olga, Sven, and the rest of the chickens came out. The storm clouds parted, and the morning was bright again.

  “You were so brave,” Olga said, patting Thundercluck’s helmet.

  “The other chickens wouldn’t even watch out the window!” said Sven.

  Hennda fluttered to Thundercluck and put her wings around him.

  Sven crouched to pick up his weather vane, which had been warped by the wolf’s magic blast. Its eyes had once looked bored. Now they looked surprised.

  Sven glanced at the rest of the flock, then said to Brunhilde, “Thank you for keeping us safe.”

  “Thank you,” she replied, “for keeping him safe.” She gave Thundercluck a playful thump on the shoulder. “I’ll take it from here.”

  The chickens still stared at Thundercluck, but no longer with disdain. Now they looked at him with awe. One waddled up and dropped a worm at his feet.

  “Well, that’s awful nice,” Brunhilde said, “but, uh … we’ve got to go. Come, Thundercluck! Come, Hennda! Asgard awaits. Let’s get you home!”

  * * *

  In a faraway realm, a torch flickered in a shadowy room. The wolf crept into sight. It bowed before a hooded figure sitting on a kitchen stool.

  “Sit,” said the figure, and the wolf obeyed. “Roll over.” The wolf turned belly up, and with a skeletal hand, the figure plucked a feather from its fur.

  The figure’s mustache curled in a grin. From his frying pan he drew a bone, which he tossed into the shadows. The wolf scrambled after it.

  “Begone, you mongrel,” the figure said. “Your work for me is done. Now…”

  Gorman Bones rose to his feet and held up his frying pan.

  “… let’s get cooking.”

  CHAPTER 7

  GOLDEN BIRD

  With Brunhilde leading the way, Thundercluck and his mother rode the rainbow to Asgard. The light faded as they landed on the Bifrost.

  Hennda gazed at her old home. To her, this felt like the end of a long trip. To Thundercluck, it felt like the start of something wonderful.

  An ocean shimmered in the east. In the west was the kingdom, a glittering domain of golden towers. Mountains loomed beyond, and the Castle of Asgard rose above them, radiant in the afternoon sun. Thundercluck was mesmerized.

  “Greetings!” a voice boomed. A red-bearded fellow wearing a cape was running their way. Hennda squawked and fluttered to his shoulder. Thundercluck could do nothing but gape, especially at the hammer hooked on his belt.

  Brunhilde patted the chicken’s wing. “That’s Thor,” she whispered. “You’ll like him.”

  “Welcome back,” Thor said. He looked at Brunhilde’s injured wing and asked, “Eventful trip?”

  “Nothing we couldn’t handle,” Brunhilde said with a smile.

  The god smiled back and turned to the chickens. “Hennda,” he said, “your coop awaits, just as you left it. Your journey has been long, and your son is in good hands.”

  Hennda nuzzled Thundercluck. Then she flew off. Her flight was wobbly—her wings had been out of practice for years—but Thundercluck was shocked. He had never known his mother could fly. She turned to wink at him and flapped out of sight.

  “Now, young heroes,” Thor said. Thundercluck had never been called that, but he liked the feel of it. “We must consult with Odin, but the kingdom cannot know you’ve returned.” He unpinned his cape and threw it over Thundercluck’s head.

  Brunhilde fashioned the cape as a cloak around the bird. “It’s a chicken wrap,” she said.

  “Now, to Mount Fjell!” said the god.

  Brunhilde whispered to Thundercluck, “That means we’re going through the market.”

  * * *

  Thor led them through the Market of Asgard. Thundercluck trotted behind, and it was all he could do not to stop and gawk. Sellers beckoned from tables and tents, all lined with potions, trinkets, and jewels.

  The Castle of Asgard towered above them, closer now. Brunhilde pointed toward it with her sword. “That’s the home of the gods,” she said. “They live for thousands of years, and their magic is so strong, it flows into all the realms.”

  Thor looked over his shoulder with a smile and gave his hammer a twirl.

  Brunhilde gestured to the market and said, “The other Asgardians are villagers, all spell-casters and craftspeople. They make the realm shine, and they share their magic here.” Thundercluck read some of the market’s banners.

  Everyone’s so different here, thought Thundercluck, but somehow, I feel right at home. Frizzy Pat gave a friendly nod their way.

  The chicken also noticed that everywhere he looked, Asgardians were eating golden apples. Brunhilde nodded and said, “Yup, we sure do love apples. But look! We’re coming to the mountains.”

  They had reached the market’s edge, where a trail rose into the mountain range. Thor pointed with his hammer and said, “We must summit Mount Fjell, the tallest peak before us. How’s that wing, Battle Maiden?”

  Brunhilde gave a flap and said, “Better by the minute.”

  “Fly on, then,” Thor said, “and I’ll meet you there soon. Odin awaits!”

  * * *

  Thundercluck and Brunhilde flew up Mount Fjell. They went slowly, as Brunhilde was still recovering and Thundercluck was new to flight. They found King Odin at the summit. He stood quietly, gazing at the plains below.

  With his eye still on the fields, Odin called
, “All is peaceful now, but we stand on the brink of a great battle.” He turned to them. “Well met, Brunhilde … and greetings, golden bird!”

  Thundercluck was still wrapped in Thor’s cape, but Odin’s eye seemed to pierce through its folds.

  “Brunhilde brought you here through the Bifrost,” the elder god said, “but that is not the only way between realms. By some dark magic, monsters have come to this world, and soon they shall gather upon these plains.”

  Two ravens flew into view. Odin held up a hand and called, “Huginn! Muninn!” The ravens landed on his wrist.

  “Ca-caw! Ca-caw!” they cried.

  “Yes, yes, I see,” Odin said. He looked at the heroes. “My ravens bring news of the enemy, whose forces are peppered with orcs, goblins, gremlins … and man-pigs.”

  Brunhilde groaned. Thundercluck cocked his head.

  “Man-pigs are a new blight upon the realms,” Odin said. “They walk like men, but oink like pigs, and their souls are as twisted as their tails.”

  “Ca-caw!” the ravens repeated.

  “Mmm,” said Odin. “They tell of two monsters who tower above all others. We know not what they are, but their shadows are long, and their footsteps shake the ground. Tomorrow we shall learn what devils await.”

  Brunhilde asked, “You got all that from ‘Ca-caw’?”

  “My son approaches!” Odin said, and Thor climbed onto the summit.

  The Thunder God carried two bags. Wheezing, he handed them to Brunhilde and said, “These are your tents.” He wiped sweat from his brow and muttered, “I’m better at moving mountains than climbing them.”

  “Tents?” Brunhilde asked.

  “When the enemy invades,” Odin said, “this is where they’ll come: the Valley of Dal.” He pointed to the valley below, which passed through the mountains toward the castle. “Saga foretells our army will struggle, so we want the two of you to watch.”

  Thor took his cape back from Thundercluck. He wiped his brow and said, “We will hide a squadron of warriors behind this mountain. If you see our main forces are in danger, you must fly to the hidden squadron for help.”