Thundercluck! Page 6

  “Maybe you’re on to something,” Brunhilde said. “Let’s see!”

  They flew to the hedge, which sat on the bank of a stream. A small group of fairies hovered there.

  “Greetings,” Brunhilde said. “We seek—”

  “I’m cold!” one of the fairies said. “It’s cold that way!” He pointed upstream.

  “All right, thanks.” Brunhilde turned to Thundercluck. “I think that actually does help. Let’s check it out!”

  The heroes flew upstream. Behind them the realm was warm, but the air became colder as they went. They stopped where the water was frozen along the bank. “Look,” Brunhilde said.

  Beside the stream and beneath a tree was a patch of snow. Within it, one blue rose grew, and behind it stood a rune-stone.

  “There’s the rose,” said Brunhilde. Her teeth chattered. “That stone must go to the ice mountains of Niflheim, but we have to turn it on. You want to give it a shot, Thundercluck?”

  The chicken pointed his wings and closed his eyes. In his mind he heard the Cook’s laughter, and no thunder would come.

  “It’s okay,” Brunhilde said.

  Thundercluck gave a weak nod.

  The girl held his gaze and said, “I’m glad you’re with me. I wouldn’t want to do this alone.”

  He felt warmth in his chest and thought, I don’t know what’s wrong with my powers … but I can help my friend.

  Brunhilde slashed with her glowing sword.

  CLANG!

  The runes glowed blue, and the heroes stepped on the platform. In a flash of cool light, they vanished.

  * * *

  While Alfheim had been warm and pleasant, Niflheim was the polar opposite. The heroes braced themselves against heavy snow. Jagged mountains surrounded them. Brunhilde had packed a pair of scarves, but when she put one on Thundercluck, he still felt cold.

  At least I look fancy, he thought.

  Brunhilde shivered and said, “Niflheim … More like Sniffle-heim, am I right?”

  Silence followed, save for the whistling wind. In the distance they heard a sound: “Baa-a-a.”

  Brunhilde opened the book again and said, “Niflheim.” The pages fluttered to a poem and stayed there, even though the wind was fierce. The poem read:

  THROUGH NIFLHEIM (A LIMERICK)

  There once were some kids on a cliff.

  They climbed a rock over a rift.

  It wasn’t humongous,

  But there they found fungus,

  And shelter from flurries adrift.

  “Okay,” Brunhilde said, “so we’re looking for … kids? Other than ourselves?” They looked around. Aside from the snow in the wind, nothing moved.

  In the distance they heard another “Baa-a-a.” Thundercluck tilted his head and cocked an eyebrow at Brunhilde.

  They flew toward the sound and discovered two young mountain goats on a cliff.

  “Oh,” Brunhilde said. “They’re kids … as in goats.”

  They stood above a deep crevice. A mountain towered over them, rising into clouds so thick they blocked the summit from sight.

  “I think we’re supposed to go up there,” Brunhilde said, “but I don’t know if we can climb the rock, and I don’t think we should fly in those clouds. How do we get up?”

  “Baa-a-a,” said one of the goats, and it started climbing the cliff. Where the heroes would be sure to slip, the mountain goat seemed perfectly secure.

  “Hey, wait,” Brunhilde said. “Can we catch a ride?”

  The goat stared at her blankly.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” She and Thundercluck each jumped on a goat, and they climbed into the mist.

  * * *

  On goat-back they rode to the top of the clouds, and still the mountain rose higher. The air became clear, and the heroes could fly. They tried to thank the goats with snacks, but the goats seemed more interested in trying to eat their backpacks.

  Brunhilde gave her goat a half pat, half push away, and the heroes took flight. They landed on top of the mountain.

  “Well, I’m exhausted,” Brunhilde said. “Who knew staying on a goat would take so much effort?”

  Thundercluck nodded with sleepy eyes.

  They made camp and slept, then woke at dawn. A star twinkled out, leaving seven in the sky.

  These are dark times, Thundercluck thought. He solemnly whispered, “Bagaw.”

  Then a spot in the snow caught his eye. He pecked at it and pulled up a mushroom.

  “The poem said, ‘There they found fungus,’” Brunhilde said. “We must be close to our next goal!”

  They followed a trail of mushrooms down the far side of the rocky spire. It led to a cave, which held more mushrooms and a rune-stone.

  Thundercluck looked at the stone, then at his wings. He lowered his head. Brunhilde patted his neck feathers and cast her own light on the stone.

  CLANG!

  The runes glowed with copper light.

  “Because of the mushrooms,” Brunhilde said, “I’m guessing this goes to Vanaheim, the realm of woods and rivers. Shall we?”

  They stepped onto the platform, and copper light carried them to their next stop.

  * * *

  When the light faded, the heroes found themselves in a forest. After the darkness of Niflheim, Thundercluck had to shield his eyes from the morning sun.

  Trees towered overhead, and mushrooms covered the ground. A river flowed nearby, and a turtle bobbed on its surface.

  Brunhilde opened the book and said, “Vanaheim.” It flipped to a page that read:

  THROUGH VANAHEIM (AN ACROSTIC RHYME)

  To reach the sea,

  Unfurl the sail.

  Rely upon the ship.

  To pass the beast,

  Look out—the tail!

  Engage its fragile tip.

  Brunhilde looked around. “So … do you see a ship or a sail anywhere?”

  Thundercluck went to the river. He glanced upstream and down, but he saw no boat.

  They read the poem again. “If there’s a sea,” Brunhilde said, “we could probably find it by flying, but it sounds like we’re supposed to use a boat.” She sighed. “Good gods, author, just draw a map!”

  She started to close the book, but something caught Thundercluck’s eye. He stuck his wing on the page and traced the first letter of each line.

  His eyes widened.

  He turned to the river, where the turtle still bobbed. Flying closer, he saw that it was wooden, and he landed on its shell. It started to rise.

  A boat emerged from the river with a splash. The turtle was an ornament on its prow.

  “You found it!” Brunhilde said. She flew to the boat and unfurled its sail. By some magic, it was dry.

  “This is Asgardian,” she said. “I learned in history class that our people came here years ago.”

  The boat had a steering wheel, but it set itself into motion. It drifted on the river of Vanaheim, passing under branches and moss. Thundercluck leaned overboard and stared at his reflection.

  I’m helping with the riddles, he thought, but I wish I had my thunder. If we meet a monster, I’m useless.

  Brunhilde smiled his way, and then motion on the shore caught her attention. Slender robed figures were watching them from the trees.

  “Those are the Vanir,” Brunhilde said, waving, “the native people of this realm. Years ago there was a war between the Vanir and the Asgardians.”

  Thundercluck raised his brows and looked at their tranquil surroundings.

  “It’s settled now,” Brunhilde said. “Odin made a truce with Vanaheim before I was born, and now Asgardians and Vanir live together in peace.”

  A young Vanir waved at Thundercluck. Slowly, the chicken waved back.

  Brunhilde continued. “No one’s ever told me why the war started. They just say, ‘It’s complicated.’ But I think part of it was fear. Both sides were afraid of what they didn’t understand.”

  The boat passed through a delta and emerged at sea.
The mossy trees gave way to clear sky, and seagulls hovered above.

  Brunhilde stared at the ocean and said, “Sometimes fear makes us act weird, and we regret it later. But we can learn from it.” She put her hand on the chicken’s shoulder. “What I’m trying to say is … Wait. Something’s not right.”

  The seagulls had flown away, and the water had gone still. The sudden quiet made Thundercluck’s neck feathers stand on end.

  BLUB-BLUB-BLUB!

  A ring of sharp rocks bubbled up from the sea, encircling the boat and snaring the heroes in a watery trap. The roiling water calmed, but a shadow moved under its surface.

  SPLASH!

  A massive, scaly sea monster burst from the depths. It towered over the boat. Its eyes bulged, and rows of teeth glistened in its mouth.

  “It’s a Collosa-Carp!” Brunhilde shouted. “It wants to smash us! We can’t fly away—dry land is too far. We’ve got to get the boat free!” She grabbed the steering wheel and scanned the rocks. “There’s a gap I can fit us through. I can steer … but, Thundercluck, I need you to hold off the monster!”

  The chicken gulped.

  The monster surged, causing a wave to rush at the boat. Brunhilde yelled, “There’s no way I can dodge that wave—it’ll push us into the rocks!”

  I don’t have my thunder, the chicken thought, but I still have my wings! He jumped and flapped hard, blowing a gust of wind at the sail. The boat lifted over the wave. Water crashed on the rocks around them, but the boat was safe.

  “Nice work!” Brunhilde called.

  The monster looked furious and raised its tail high to crush the boat. Most of the tail was covered in thick scales, but the scales at its tip were thinner. Engage its fragile tip, Thundercluck remembered from the poem.

  The tail rose higher. Thundercluck flew after it. He grabbed the tail with his feet, stretched his head back, and jabbed at the tip like a woodpecker.

  The creature jerked back and roared, and Thundercluck fluttered away. The Collosa-Carp put its tail in its mouth, groaned, and sank beneath the sea. The groan became bubbles. Then all was still.

  Brunhilde steered between the rocks, and Thundercluck landed beside her.

  “Thanks, buddy—you did it!” she said. “Let’s see where the ship takes us.”

  * * *

  After hours at sea, Thundercluck stared at the sunset. I did something good, he thought. I saved my friend. But still … He looked at his wings.

  “Hey,” Brunhilde said, stepping away from the steering wheel. “The boat’s steering itself, so let’s get some rest.”

  She gave him a squeeze and added, “Thanks again, warrior bird.”

  * * *

  BONK.

  The heroes awoke to a thump. The boat had come ashore on a beach where a rune-stone sat under a coconut tree. Brunhilde tied the boat to the tree, and the heroes studied the stone. Glowing coals surrounded it.

  Brunhilde sniffed the coals and said, “This must go to Muspellheim.” She turned to Thundercluck and asked, “Still no bolts?”

  Thundercluck shook his head.

  “Don’t worry,” Brunhilde said. “But listen. This next one’s the realm of fire, and I know that might be scary for you. I’m proud of you, and I know you can be brave.”

  Thundercluck nodded, and he tried not to dwell on the dangers ahead.

  The sun began to rise, and a third star twinkled out. Six more remained.

  Brunhilde cast light upon the stone, and it sounded with a familiar CLANG!

  The runes glowed red, lighting the heroes like a fire. “To Muspellheim!” Brunhilde said, and together they leapt into the light.

  CHAPTER 13

  INTO THE FIRE

  The heroes arrived on dark rocks beneath a fiery sky. The air smelled like smoke. There were craggy mountains in all directions, and a distant volcano smoldered.

  Brunhilde looked in the book and said, “Muspellheim.” It opened to a poem:

  THROUGH MUSPELLHEIM (A VALKAMOR VERSE)

  The one with the scales looks over the trail.

  A choice at the end you’ll discover.

  One stone for the tree … and danger, you see.

  To safety on Earth goes the other.

  Thundercluck’s eyes went wide. To safety on Earth? he thought. A way back to the farm?

  Brunhilde glanced around and said, “Hey, look, this one’s easy.” She pointed to a rock shaped like a lizard and a path right beside it. “Lizards have scales, and there’s a trail. We just follow that, and bam, we get to the tree.”

  Thundercluck had trouble moving. He knew going to the tree was right, but in his head he imagined the farm.

  “Remember that dragon, Blimpor?” Brunhilde said. “This is his home realm, and it’s the land of the man-pigs, too. We’ll have to go on foot. If we fly, they might see us.”

  Thundercluck nodded. At least the path went away from the volcano.

  “It might be a long hike,” Brunhilde said, “so let’s get started.”

  * * *

  After hiking all day, they made camp. Brunhilde went into her tent, but Thundercluck stayed out alone.

  A river of lava flowed alongside the trail. Thundercluck sat by it and felt its glow on his feathers. He daydreamed about having his power back, defeating the Cook with a bolt, and returning home a hero. If only it were that easy, he thought. What happened to my thunder?

  “You’re wondering if you’re cursed,” Brunhilde said, emerging from her tent. She sat down. “I don’t think that’s it, though.” She tapped him on the head and said, “I think your problem is here.”

  “Buk … buk-bwak?” Thundercluck said, his voice soft and shaky.

  “It was scary when Gorman attacked us,” Brunhilde went on. “You panicked, and you couldn’t help when Thor was taken. Since then, you haven’t had your thunder.”

  The chicken felt like hiding in his tent, but he knew he should stay and listen. It helped that Brunhilde’s smile was kind.

  “I know what it’s like,” she said. “And I know you can learn from it.”

  Thundercluck cocked his head. Brunhilde adjusted her helmet.

  “When I got this helmet, it meant I was ready for missions, and that’s when Odin put me on patrol. Usually it was busywork: take a little walk, write a little report. But one day was different.”

  A distant look came into her eyes. Thundercluck leaned toward her.

  “I found a group of man-pigs trying to break through one of our walls with a giant, armored boar. They called him Big Borris, the Wall Buster.”

  The chicken blinked.

  “I tried to hit him with my magic,” she said. “I’d trained so hard and passed all my tests. I thought I was unstoppable. But his armor was enchanted, and my attack bounced away like it was nothing.”

  Thundercluck remembered that uh-oh feeling from the wolf and the dragon.

  “I just froze,” Brunhilde said, “and Borris charged at me. Then I heard thunder, and Borris stopped. He was so close, I felt his stinky breath on my face. We both looked up, and Thor was on the wall. He’d summoned a storm.”

  She smiled at Thundercluck.

  “Big Borris turned and ran, and all the man-pigs followed. Apparently Borris was scared of thunder … I guess everyone’s scared of something.” She looked off at the volcano. “I was so ashamed,” she whispered. “The next day I kept thinking, Maybe yesterday … Maybe if I’d had different magic; maybe if I’d had a different sword…”

  She drew her weapon. “By the way,” she said, “the only sword finer than Asgardian crystal”—she turned her hilt in the lava light—“is a Dwarven Blade. Dwarves make the best swords. But they’re rare … and the sword wasn’t what really mattered.”

  She put her blade back in its sheath. “What really mattered,” she said, “was me. I had panicked, and I knew I could do better. So I stopped thinking, Maybe yesterday, and I started thinking, Maybe today. Maybe today, I can be brave.”

  Thundercluck leaned his head on Brunhi
lde’s shoulder. You’ve always been brave to me, he thought. I thought you weren’t scared of anything!

  She ruffled his feathers and said, “I still wish I hadn’t frozen that day, but I learned from it. Deep down, there’s a bit of fear in every adventure.” She smiled. “Sometimes a lot of fear. All we can do is accept that it’s scary and give it our best shot anyway.”

  Night was coming, and the red sky was getting dark.

  “Thor saved me that day,” she said, “and maybe I can return the favor … especially with you on my side.” She winked, then got up and went to her tent. She turned and said, “Good night, warrior bird. You know I believe in you.”

  Thundercluck stared at the volcano, and he tried to believe, too.

  * * *

  They spent four days hiking through Muspellheim. Each night, Thundercluck struggled to sleep. Each morning, another star faded.

  By the fifth sunrise in the realm, only two stars remained.

  “We’re running out of time,” Brunhilde said, “but I think we’re close.”

  That afternoon the heroes reached a corner on a narrow ledge. On one side was a rock wall, and on the other, a sheer drop to lava. The air was hot, and the heroes were tired. Brunhilde called for a pause.

  “Wait…” Brunhilde said. “Do you hear that?”

  They both listened. Around the corner came squeals and snorts.

  “Man-pigs!” Brunhilde whispered. “We can’t make a sound!”

  Alarmed, Thundercluck jumped back and hit a rock. It rolled toward the edge and fell into the lava with a splash. The chicken squawked and fluttered his wings in fright.

  “Whuzzat noise?”

  “I mighta heard wings!”

  “We gotta check. If it’s that chicken, we’re gonna make Boss Bones real happy!”

  Thundercluck buried his face in his wing as Brunhilde grabbed her sword. The man-pigs were coming.

  CHAPTER 14

  THE BREAKING POINT

  Silently, Brunhilde nudged Thundercluck and looked up the rock wall. The heroes nodded and flew upward together. The top of the cliff was flat, and upon it was a boulder with a crack at its base. The heroes pressed against it. They heard the man-pigs below.