Thundercluck! Read online

  The maiden has the will to fight … The bird is standing tall …

  It’s up to them to reunite … and then to save us all!

  PART IV

  THUNDERCLUCK RETURNS

  CHAPTER 16

  THE ROOTS

  Thundercluck arrived on an island of moss and crystals. Beyond the shoreline, perfectly still water spread in all directions. The island held a massive tree, wider than the Castle of Asgard and taller than the eye could see. Even the tree’s roots were taller than Thundercluck’s head.

  Countless stars shone above. The brightest were the two that remained for Asgard’s magic.

  So this is Yggdrasil, the chicken thought. It truly is majestic.

  “Bagurrrrrrk,” he said out loud.

  A stone well sat among the roots. Thundercluck started toward it, then paused. At first the silence had felt calm. Now it felt eerie.

  I can’t give up, he thought. I’ve got my powers back, and my friends are counting on me!

  He thought he saw movement from the corner of his eye. He jerked his head to look, but all was still. He saw his reflection in a crystal, and then noticed something moving behind him. He whipped around, but again there was nothing to see.

  He was a few paces from the well when he heard the slithering.

  A tree root, thicker than the others, was moving. It curled in front of Thundercluck, and its end arched over the well like a giant finger pointing at the bird.

  Thundercluck stared at the root’s tip in confusion. Suddenly, two eyes flashed open, and the tip stared back. This was no tree root—it was a massive snake!

  The serpent shed its magic disguise, and its scales turned violet. It reared over the well and flicked its tongue. The snake was big enough to swallow the chicken whole.

  Thundercluck gulped. Is this the elder that the book said to find?

  “Greetingssss, chicken,” the snake hissed. “I am Nidhogg, ssserpent of the tree. If it’s knowledge you ssseek, you must prove yourself worthy, for these roots are my home … and you look like my dinner!”

  The serpent lunged at Thundercluck. Its mouth opened wide, showing fangs and a cavernous throat. The chicken dodged and thought, Good thing I’ve got my thunder back. Time to put it to use!

  KRA-KOWWW!

  He launched a crackling bolt, striking the snake on its neck.

  The serpent flinched as arcs of lightning sizzled up and down its body. “Sssso,” it said, “you’re a magic chicken! That meanss you’ll be all the more scrumptioussss!”

  Those scales are magic-proof, thought Thundercluck. I’ve counted on Brunhilde to help me find weak points … but I have to do this alone.

  The serpent closed its eyes, and its skin looked like a root again. Thundercluck’s heart beat faster. Suddenly roots were moving all around him! He had no idea where the head was, or when the next bite was coming.

  Don’t panic, he thought. If I can’t see the head, I’ll use my other senses. He closed his eyes and heard a hiss. That’s it!

  The serpent lashed toward him, and Thundercluck spun out of the way just in time. With his eyes shut tight, the chicken blasted another bolt, aiming at where he had heard the sound.

  The snake hissed again, this time in fury. Thundercluck opened an eye to peek. The lightning had struck its face. The serpent shuddered, and its scales flashed in waves of color. Then they settled, and once more the snake looked like a root. Thundercluck closed his eyes and listened again.

  “Very clever,” the serpent said. “You have good ears … but they won’t hear thiss coming!”

  THWACK!

  Something hit Thundercluck, sending him flying into the air. The snake had smacked him with its tail.

  CHOMP!

  Thundercluck opened his eyes, but everything was dark. He felt slimy pressure pushing at him from every direction. Horrified, he realized where he was.

  He was in the serpent’s mouth. Nidhogg had caught him.

  Thundercluck tried to squirm, but he could hardly move. The mouth seemed to slide around him. He was being swallowed.

  This is it. This is how it ends. Fear coursed through him, but part of his mind thought, It’s almost funny—I was so afraid of the Under-Cook, but then some other monster got me.

  Then he thought, No … This is NOT how it ends. I’m not done with that Cook!

  Defiance swirled in his chest, and he felt a surge of thunder unlike any before. It flowed to the tips of all the feathers on his body.

  I am Thundercluck of Asgard, he thought, and I shall prevail!

  “Ba-GURRRK!” he cried out. Lightning erupted from him in all directions.

  The serpent spasmed and shook, unprepared for a shock from the inside. It tried to keep its mouth shut, but the thunder was too much. The snake spat out the chicken.

  When he pried open his spit-soaked eyelids, Thundercluck saw the serpent slithering back toward the tree’s roots.

  “You have proved yourself worthy,” Nidhogg said, “and ssspicy, too.” As the snake vanished through a hole in the roots, its voice echoed. “I’ll eat something elssse.”

  All was calm.

  So … that probably wasn’t the elder, the chicken thought. Maybe the elder meets people by that stone well.

  He straightened his helmet and walked to the well, but he saw no one. The island, the tree, and the water: everything was perfectly still.

  He peered into the well and thought, What now? Thundercluck looked at himself in the water below. Then his eyebrows shot up. In the reflection, he saw a woman standing beside him.

  “Well met, Thundercluck,” said the woman. “I am Urd, the Keeper of Fates, and this is the Well of Eternity.”

  CHAPTER 17

  THE WELL OF ETERNITY

  Thundercluck jumped and spun around, but no one was there. He looked in the well, and in the water he saw Urd once more. In the pool’s reflection, it looked like she was standing right by his shoulder.

  “Few will ever see me,” she said, “for they know not where to look.” She gazed at the cosmic tree. “Outside this well, I am unseen … but from within, I have seen for ages.”

  Her face was ancient and beautiful. Deep wrinkles flowed from her eyes to her temples. They possessed an elegance, as if they held the stories of time itself.

  “You see my age, chicken,” Urd said, “and you see the tales I know. Do you see, though, how you yourself have grown?”

  Thundercluck looked at his own reflection. He thought about his journey, recalling his thunder’s fade and return. It’s not just that I have my power again, he thought. I feel different.

  Urd read his eyes and said, “Your journey, warrior bird, is not yet complete.” In the reflection, she put her hand on his shoulder. Thundercluck felt it.

  “Each time you saw the chef,” she went on, “you feared for your own safety. But when you almost gave up, you came to fear for others. You care about your friends as much as yourself. When you realized this … that was when your thunder returned.”

  The chicken thought about his mother, and about the Asgardians, all trapped by the cursed pie. He thought about Thor and Brunhilde, both taken by the Cook. His wattles shook.

  Urd held his gaze and said, “You chose not to run, and know this: you chose well. Had you given up, the Under-Cook would have scoured the realms to find you.”

  Thundercluck remembered Sven and Olga. They gave me shelter, he thought, and I almost brought them doom.

  He looked up at the tree. Its trunk seemed to climb to infinity. The bird imagined its branches, beyond what the eye could see. He knew they cradled the realms.

  “If you fail to stop Gorman Bones,” Urd said, “no world will escape his wrath.”

  Thundercluck blinked at the well. How do I find him?

  From the pool, Urd’s gaze returned to the chicken. “The Cook is waiting for you,” she said. “He has the power to travel between realms, but for now he has exhausted that magic. He waits in the fires of Muspellheim, where he expects you to meet hi
m.”

  The chicken gulped.

  “You must face him soon,” the teller continued, “but not yet.”

  She waved her hands, and Yggdrasil’s roots began to move.

  Unlike the serpent, whose writhing had seemed vile and sinister, the true roots flowed with grace. They spiraled together into a nest, and Thundercluck realized his eyelids were heavy.

  “Voyage and battle have left you weary,” Urd said. “Now, you must rest.”

  How long has it been, Thundercluck wondered, since I’ve slept without a nightmare? He looked into the well with gratitude in his eyes. Urd nodded.

  Thundercluck fell fast asleep, and Urd gazed at the two remaining Aurora stars. “Hold fast, Asgardians,” she said. “When he awakens … I will prepare the chicken.”

  * * *

  Back in Castle Igneous, Brunhilde huffed and puffed as she filed at the bar. The cage swung from side to side, and iron dust fell into the lava.

  Brunhilde paused and looked at the chamber’s door. As soon as I break through this bar, she thought, I’ll bust out and whup some pigs! Then worry crept into her mind. My sword is broken, my shield is gone, I don’t know where Thor is … and I don’t know if Thundercluck is okay!

  She took a deep breath and exhaled. “One thing at a time,” she said. “Focus on what can be done now.” She went back to filing the cage.

  It seemed like ages before, finally, the file passed through, and Brunhilde grabbed the bar. With its top detached, it wiggled, but its base was still fixed to the cage.

  She panted and wiped her brow. Her muscles ached. Blisters rose on her fingers. Well, she thought, that’s the halfway point. Top is done … Time to start the bottom.

  Elsewhere in the castle, man-pigs licked their lips. They were hungry for power. They were hungry for battle. They were hungry for chicken.

  The dinner party drew near.

  * * *

  Thundercluck slept on Yggdrasil’s roots, and the cosmic sky shimmered above. The chicken dreamed again of the Cook. Instead of a terrible chase, though, this time the dream was a battle. The bird and the chef collided, attacking each other with lightning and fire. Thundercluck had never felt stronger, but the villain seemed invincible. As the battle raged on, the chicken’s hope dwindled.

  Thundercluck opened his eyes. I have my thunder back, he thought, but what if it’s not enough? He closed his eyes, but sleep would not return.

  “Arise, chicken,” Urd’s voice called. Thundercluck stood and shook his feathers. He went to the well.

  Urd’s reflection looked up from the pool. “Soon, you must return to Muspellheim,” she said. “Tell me, bird, do you recall the volcano?”

  Thundercluck thought about the fire realm and the massive, smoking mountain in the distance. He nodded.

  “Within that volcano,” Urd said, “Gorman Bones has carved his lair. He calls it Castle Igneous. Inside there lies a kitchen … the Kitchen of Destiny. That is where you will find the chef.”

  Thundercluck strapped on his backpack and thought, Time to go.

  “Halt,” Urd said, and the chicken paused. “Into the realms, I cannot follow,” she said, “but I can give you relics for the battle ahead.”

  Thundercluck looked back at the well, where the hilt of a sword was rising to the surface.

  “For Brunhilde,” Urd said. The sword rose from the well and hovered in the air. It floated above the water, shimmering in the starlight from the sky. “This is a Dwarven Blade, perhaps the last in existence.”

  Thundercluck gazed as the blade rose higher. Then it drifted over to his backpack and snapped itself into place beside the shield. The chicken’s spirits lifted.

  “With that blade,” Urd said, “Brunhilde will be mightier than ever before. However, the sword cannot defeat the chef. No weapon can.”

  The chicken’s spirits dropped again.

  “No weapon, no thunder, no strength of arms can vanquish Gorman Bones,” Urd said. Then she whispered, “But perhaps this can.”

  Something else rose through the water in the well. In the rippling pool, Thundercluck saw a pale, blurry shape. What’s that, he wondered, a stone? A pearl? A crystal? It broke the surface and hovered before the chicken. It was a bar of soap.

  “This,” Urd said, “is the Soap of Hope. The chef has gained power with cooking spells. Every time he brews a curse”—she paused, and when she continued, her voice was grim—“he leaves a dirty dish.”

  Thundercluck’s eyes widened.

  Urd continued, “For any spell to be broken, its dish must be cleaned. Remember well the magic pie, the crusty bane of Asgard. Gorman Bones made that pie, and he cooked it in—”

  The frying pan! thought Thundercluck.

  “—the frying pan,” said Urd. “Yes, he found a diabolical recipe … for pan-fried pie. No one in Asgard could resist it.” Then she smiled at Thundercluck and added, “Well, almost no one.”

  Thundercluck thought of Brunhilde. He caught the soap with his foot.

  “For the dish to be cleansed,” Urd said, “it must be scrubbed, then submerged in water with the Soap of Hope. I warn you, though: Gorman Bones will not want his kitchen trifled with, and he’ll not easily part with his pan.”

  Thundercluck tossed the bar into his backpack.

  “One more admonition,” Urd said. “Once the chef has his pan at full heat, you must not let it touch you. If it does, the contact means instant death.”

  Thundercluck blinked. Even so, he thought, I won’t abandon my friend. He stood tall and said, “Ba-gaw.”

  The chicken and the teller looked to the sky. Two remaining stars of Asgard still shone, but one began to flicker.

  “Here the sun and moon do not shine,” Urd said, “but time passes just the same.”

  The twinkling star faded from the sky. Only one remained.

  Thundercluck looked back into the well.

  Urd closed her eyes. “You have the spirit of a hero,” she said. “But your enemy is treacherous indeed. You will need all your wits, all your courage, for even the slightest chance at victory. Are you ready to embark?”

  When she opened her eyes, the bird was already gone.

  CHAPTER 18

  CHARGING THE CASTLE

  The chicken returned to Muspellheim.

  On his back were a sword and a shield.

  In his bag was a bar of soap.

  In his heart … there was thunder.

  One last time, he looked at the stone that could send him back to the farm. Then he turned toward the volcano. With a mighty flap of his wings, the chicken took flight.

  * * *

  As Thundercluck soared, a squad of man-pigs saw him. He recalled Brunhilde’s warning not to fly. The pigs fired crossbows and catapults, but Thundercluck was ready.

  He blew away the arrows with a flap of his wings, then rained thunder upon the swine. The catapults crumbled, and the man-pigs fled.

  Thundercluck flew on.

  He soared over mountaintops until he reached the volcano. On any previous day, the flight would have exhausted him, but now he felt unstoppable.

  He landed beside the volcano’s lava moat, and two lava goblins rose to its surface. The creatures had rocky skin, fiery eyes, and big, floppy ears. They floated waist-deep in the lava.

  “There, see!” said the bigger goblin, his voice high-pitched and nasal. “It’s that chicken, see, the one Boss is lookin’ for! I bet there’s a prize if we bring him in, see—dead or alive!”

  “Yeah, yeah!” said the smaller one. They scooped lava from the moat and hurled it at the bird.

  You villains, thought Thundercluck, just picked a fight with the wrong chicken.

  With one wing, he blew a gust of wind that instantly hardened the tossed lava into rocks. One thudded to the ground by his feet, and the other bounced off his backpack. The chicken glared at the goblins, and then, with his other wing, he blasted a lightning bolt.

  The goblins screamed and dodged as the lightning crackled between them.


  “Boss didn’t say nothin’ about thunder!” the smaller goblin shouted.

  “Nah, see!” yelled the bigger one. “Let’s scram!”

  They vanished into the lava.

  I’m on a roll, Thundercluck thought. He looked over the moat and spotted a drawbridge. It was raised high, so the bird knew he would have to fly.

  He paused and remembered Urd’s warning: if he touched the pan at full heat, it meant instant death. He took a deep breath and thought, At least I’ll have the element of surprise …

  Suddenly the drawbridge lowered. The rattly gates opened wide, as if inviting him in.

  Thundercluck gulped. He stepped onto the bridge.

  “Buk-buk-bagock,” he whispered.

  Time to be brave.

  Buk-buk-bagock, he thought again. Buk-buk-bagock, indeed.

  The chicken walked into the castle, and the gates slammed shut behind him.

  * * *

  All was dark. Then torches burst into flame. Thundercluck gawked at the hallway’s chicken art.

  From up ahead, the chef’s voice called, “This way, little birrrrrrd…”

  Thundercluck followed the voice until he came to a grand room full of man-pigs. They stared at him from tables laden with grimy bowls. Their axes were sharp. Their faces were hungry.

  “Welcome, bird,” declared the chef, “to Castle Igneous!” He glared at Thundercluck from a balcony far across the room. War-Tog stood by his side. “And welcome,” the Cook went on, “to my Dining Hall of Doom.”

  Like before, Thundercluck felt ice in his chest, but he thought, This time I’m not going to freeze. He waddled into the room, spread his wings, and puffed his tail feathers. This time I’m going to fight.

  “Well, pigs,” cackled the Cook, “it must be dinnertime! Let’s see what’s on the menu.”

  He held up a menu that had only I’LL HAVE THE CHICKEN written on it multiple times.

  Thundercluck eyed the menu. He remembered practices with Thor and struggling to hit targets from afar. This menu was even farther away. The chicken narrowed his eyes.