Thundercluck! Read online

  ZAP!

  He shot a bolt across the room. It hit the menu, frying it to ash in Gorman’s hands.

  “Seize him!” cried the Cook.

  The man-pigs jumped to their feet. Thundercluck held his stance and thought, I can beat them, but I don’t have much time, and this will take a while if I’m alone!

  Ba-BAM!

  A side door burst from its hinges, and Brunhilde stood in its wake. She held an iron bar over her head and called, “Someone check on that cage—I think it’s broken.”

  “What?” roared the Cook. “Who let that girl out of her room?”

  Next to the chef, War-Tog remembered giving her the nail file. His snout drooped, and his ears went low. Brunhilde’s bag was strapped on his shoulder, and he tried to hide it behind his back.

  The Valkyrie flew to Thundercluck. “Fancy meeting you here,” she said with a grin. “Ready for the dinner party?”

  “Ba-gurrrrk!” The chicken nodded.

  “I missed you, too,” she said. “And you brought my shield … and oh! Is that a Dwarven Blade?” She tucked the iron bar in her belt and lifted the sword from the chicken’s backpack. “Why, thank you, Thundercluck! What do you say, shall we give it a whirl?”

  The heroes hopped into battle stances, and the man-pigs all stepped back. Then Brunhilde looked at Thundercluck, and her visor flipped open.

  For just a moment, all the sass vanished from her face. Thundercluck saw softness in her eyes. A lifetime of memories rushed into his mind. “Glad you’re back, buddy,” she said.

  Then her visor flipped back into battle mode.

  From his balcony, the chef wailed, “What are you waiting for, pigs? Get them!”

  “For Asgard!” cried the warrior girl.

  “Ba-GWAAHHK!” cried the bird.

  The pigs attacked, and the heroes fought back with waves of magic. Brunhilde swung her Dwarven Blade, and Thundercluck surged with power. They were a team again, and their combined might was greater than ever.

  Kra-KOWWW!

  WHOOSH!

  OINK!

  Man-pigs went flying in all directions. One flipped through the air and slammed into the balcony, where Gorman Bones grimaced. He turned to War-Tog and yelled, “Don’t just stand there! Your troops are losing; go help them!”

  War-Tog scrambled and jumped to the floor. He drew his axe and yelled, “TO GLORYYYYY—OOF!” An arc of Brunhilde’s magic had hit his belly. He flew against a wall, then fell to the floor with a snort. He opened one eye at the heroes, decided not to get up, and quickly shut that eye again.

  Soon all the pigs had fallen. Brunhilde bumped her fist against Thundercluck’s wing, and the pair fluttered over to War-Tog.

  “My pigs,” he groaned. “We give up.”

  Brunhilde pulled the cage’s bar from her belt. She dropped it at War-Tog’s feet and said, “Thanks for holding my purse.”

  On the balcony, Gorman muttered, “Useless swine!” He called to the heroes, “You two make a powerful pair … Too bad you have to split!” He looked at Brunhilde. “Thor’s in this castle somewhere, and you’ll want to see who’s with him. As for you, bird”—he fixed his gaze on the chicken—“you’ll be joining me … in the Kitchen of Destiny!”

  He backed through a door, which slammed behind him with a bang.

  Thundercluck looked at Brunhilde and thought, I’ll take care of the chef.

  “If you can handle him,” she said, “I’ll find Thor. Deal?”

  The chicken nodded and flew to the balcony. The door had an iron knob shaped like a chicken’s drumstick. Once more, Thundercluck’s chest went cold, but he pressed on. His foot grasped the doorknob and turned.

  CHAPTER 19

  COOKING UP A STORM

  Brunhilde retrieved her Battle Bag from War-Tog. The man-pig groaned again, but she paid him no mind. She wondered, Where is Thor?

  A few other man-pigs wheezed, but mostly the room was quiet. Then Brunhilde heard it: a low, rumbling snore.

  I know that snore, she thought, and it’s Thor! And he’s through that door! The one on the floor! She remembered the tour War-Tog had given her when she first arrived. Thor’s prison was the Pantry of Peril.

  Brunhilde tiptoed into the pantry. She had expected something closet-sized, but the room was enormous and dark. A few scattered candles lit the shelves, which were lined with grim ingredients: lizard tails, fish eyes, spinach, and more. Brunhilde shivered. Then she saw Thor.

  The Thunder God, still fast asleep, was chained to the far wall. Candles flickered at his feet, lighting his form against the shadows. His snores echoed in the air.

  Brunhilde started toward him, but then she paused and sniffed. “Someone’s breath smells familiar,” she said to herself, “and it’s not just Thor’s.”

  A massive armored boar crept out from behind a shelf, moving between Brunhilde and Thor.

  “Big Borris,” Brunhilde muttered. “Long time, no see.”

  The boar snorted and stomped his hoof. The Cook had assigned him to guard Thor, and he took his job seriously. Brunhilde twirled her new blade, which glowed bright enough to light the whole pantry.

  “You got the best of me last time,” Brunhilde said, “but this time’s different! Let’s see how your fancy armor likes a Dwarven Blade!” She swung her sword and blasted an arc. The light flew at the boar, then bounced off his armor, leaving not a scratch.

  “Welp,” she said, “guess that answers that.”

  The boar charged. Brunhilde dodged sideways, sending Borris crashing by. His hooves clattered as he tried to slow down. Brunhilde sprinted over to Thor.

  She broke his chains with her sword, and the sleeping god tumbled forward. Brunhilde caught him with her shield arm and let her sword go dark.

  “If you were awake,” she whispered to him, “your thunder could scare off the boar. Or if Thundercluck were here, he could scare off the boar! But I’m the only one without thunder … so how do I beat Big Borris?”

  * * *

  Thundercluck entered the Kitchen of Destiny. From the balcony, a winding staircase led downward to the kitchen floor. The room teemed with cabinets and countertops, all covered in dirty dishes.

  At the kitchen’s center, Gorman Bones stood by his cauldron. His skull and cook’s hat were lit by the lava below. The chef saw the bird, and his mustache curled in a smile.

  “How nice of you to join me,” said the Cook. “Now, please, come closer to my cauldron.”

  Thundercluck wanted to keep his distance, but he remembered his goal. Scrub the dish, then put it in water with the soap, he thought. He narrowed his eyes at the cauldron’s bubbling water. Maybe I can get the soap in there.

  He fluttered down the staircase, and the chef said, “Good … Now, time to burn, chicken!”

  Gorman swung his pan, shooting fire at the bird. Thundercluck jumped to evade it. In midair, he struck back with a bolt. Gorman blocked it with his pan, which erupted again with lightning and flame. The chicken landed on a dish. The Cook remained by the cauldron. They stared each other down.

  Gorman grinned. “I can never seem to have a dinner party without a fight.”

  Thundercluck felt his pulse racing in his neck. I can’t panic, he told himself, and I’ve got to get to that cauldron!

  * * *

  CRASH!

  Back in the pantry, Brunhilde spun around to see what Borris had broken. In all his clambering, the beast had knocked over a jar labeled GRYPHON GREASE, and now the slimy liquid was all over his hooves.

  There’s an idea, Brunhilde thought. Let’s throw it against the wall and see what sticks.

  Still holding Thor with one arm, she blew out the candles on the floor. The room went mostly dark. Brunhilde lit her sword, waved it high, and called, “Over here, Borris!”

  The boar charged again, and Brunhilde quickly shut off her blade, sending the room into darkness. Borris tried to slow down, but his hooves were too greasy.

  He crashed against the wall, and the room shook from
the impact. Various jars fell from the shelves. Borris stood up, shaken, slippery, and looking for Brunhilde.

  She crouched by a shelf and grunted, propping Thor up with her shoulder. She scanned the room.

  By the light of a distant candle, she noticed that one pantry wall was different from the others. The other walls were natural volcanic rock, but this one was handmade. Hmm, Brunhilde thought, let’s see what happens if Borris hits that!

  Thor was too heavy to carry in flight, so Brunhilde stayed low, creeping in the pantry’s shadows and dragging Thor along. Borris looked around, his hooves sliding beneath him like roller skates.

  Once Brunhilde was near the wall, she lit her sword again. “Hey, Borris,” she called, “I’m over here!”

  Again the beast charged, this time even faster, and he crashed through shelves in his way. Brunhilde leapt into the air, grunting as she pulled Thor up with her, and landed on top of the beast. Grabbing onto the boar’s armor to steady herself, she ducked with Thor behind her shield.

  Once more, Borris tried to stop, but once more, his feet were too greasy. With incredible speed, the girl, the god, and the boar all thundered toward the wall.

  * * *

  Thundercluck darted toward the cauldron. Gorman’s eyes widened. He swung his pan in an uppercut, and a pillar of flame shot out of it. Thundercluck flapped his wings at the blaze, but the wind had no effect. The chicken twisted sideways, and his tail feathers caught fire.

  Thwap thwap thwap!

  Thundercluck beat his tail on the floor until the flames went out. He wanted to strike back at the chef, but thought, No, my thunder’s not helping … and my goal is that cauldron!

  The chef rained fire, and the chicken kept dodging. He made his way closer to the cauldron, but with all the sidestepping, his progress was slow.

  Gorman lifted his pan high, and it began to glow red. “Behold my power,” he bellowed, “when I turn up the heat!”

  Thundercluck thought, I can’t let him touch me. But he’s looking at the pan, not at me … so this is my chance!

  WHOOSH!

  He flew past the Cook and landed on the cauldron’s rim. Gorman spun around. He gave a toothy grin, and said, “You’re making this too easy!”

  The pan swung down, and this time the bird had no chance to dodge. His only defense was to push it back with a bolt.

  Ba-ZAAooOOWWWW!

  Streams of lightning flowed from Thundercluck’s wings, and the Cook pressed into the bolt with his pan. For a moment they were locked in a stalemate. The room shook, but the Under-Cook smiled.

  He pushed harder, and the pan came closer to Thundercluck. The chicken leaned away, letting his backpack dangle over the cauldron.

  Through gritted teeth, the Cook snarled, “As soon as my pan touches you, bird, you’re well-done … and sweet vengeance will be mine!”

  Thundercluck leaned back farther, and his lightning kept flowing … but the pan was close! The chicken looked over his shoulder. The boiling-hot water bubbled beneath him. With his beak, he nudged his backpack open.

  He felt the fiery heat coming closer. He turned back to the chef. The pan was only inches away!

  Gorman Bones cackled and roared, “This is what happens when the gods play chicken … AND THE CHICKEN PLAYS GOD!”

  Thundercluck felt a shift in his bag, and he heard a splash. I hope that was the soap, he thought, ’cause it’s time to go!

  Just before the pan could touch him, the chicken leapt into a barrel roll and dashed to a cabinet. His breath came in heaving gulps. After that, he thought, I might only have one bolt left!

  Gorman whirled and brandished his pan. He stared at the bird and screamed, “I’m not done with you yet!”

  Thundercluck stepped back and felt something against his foot. He looked down and saw a scrub brush. It looked like it had never been used.

  Urd’s words came back to him. Gorman Bones will not want his kitchen trifled with, she had said. And he’ll not easily part with his pan.

  All right, thought Thundercluck, I’ve got to keep my cool, and I’ve got to make him lose his. The chicken grabbed the brush with his foot. Let’s get cleaning!

  “What are you doing?” snapped the chef.

  Nearby, the chicken saw a dirty teacup. He hopped to it on one leg, still holding the brush with his other foot. He scrubbed some grime off the cup, and he poked the brush through its handle.

  He gave the chef a calm look … then tossed the cup in the cauldron.

  Splash!

  “Stop that!” ordered the chef. “You leave my stuff alone!”

  Thundercluck hopped to a metal pot, then a spatula, then a platter, scrubbing each one and adding it to the cauldron. Gorman Bones was so incredulous that for a moment he forgot to fight.

  “Stop cleaning!” he shouted. “I like things how they are! I have a system! I WAS JUST LETTING THAT SOAK!”

  Fury burned in Gorman’s eyes, and he started thrashing with his pan. Flames roared at Thundercluck. One came so close it hit his backpack. Thundercluck caught one last glimpse of the tag—TRAGIC JACK’S MAGIC PACKS: I’VE GOT BAGGAGE!—before the whole bag was burned to ash.

  He kept on dodging and scrubbing, and throwing dishes into the cauldron. Soon the big pot was overflowing, and water droplets hissed as they fell around it.

  Then Thundercluck found a coffee mug with words written in its grime: WORLD’S BEST COOK.

  “Don’t you touch that!” Gorman snapped, pausing in his tracks across the room. “That’s my lucky mug!”

  Thundercluck scrubbed the grime away, and the mug’s words became faint. The Cook’s bony face contorted with rage.

  The chicken hooked the mug on the brush and fluttered over to perch on the cauldron’s rim. He cocked his head at the chef.

  “Don’t … you … DARE drop that in there!” Gorman yelled.

  Thundercluck held eye contact with the chef for a moment, then dropped the mug in the water.

  Gorman howled with rage, and his pan burst into flames. Blinded by fury, the Cook threw the pan. It soared at Thundercluck like a comet on fire.

  Here it comes, Thundercluck thought, and a familiar panic flashed inside him. Time seemed to slow as the frying pan came his way. Part of him had always been scared, and in his head that part was saying, Run away! You’re too weak for this!

  But the chicken answered, No. I have one last bit of thunder, and I’m going to use it! With his last ounce of magic, he zapped a bolt into the pan above the cauldron. The pan came to a stop, and for a moment it hung in the air. It sizzled with magic from the bolt.

  Thundercluck stretched out his foot with the brush, its bristles barely reaching its target.

  “Don’t scrub that!” yelled the chef. “You’ll ruin the nonstick coating!”

  Scrub, scrub, scrub!

  The pan fell into the cauldron with a splash. The water stopped bubbling, and all was quiet.

  The chef looked at the bird and whispered, “What have you done?”

  For a moment, nothing happened. Uh-oh, thought Thundercluck, and he remembered that his backpack was gone. I managed the scrubbing and the water … but what if the soap wasn’t in there?

  Then a single bubble rose from the cauldron and popped. Thundercluck cocked his head at the water.

  BOOOOOOOOM! Bubble-bubble-bubble!

  The cauldron erupted with a pillar of suds, and thunderbolts arced within it.

  “Noooooooooo!” Gorman wailed. “My frying paaaaaaaaan!”

  Then the floor shook, and one of the kitchen walls burst into rubble. Big Borris the Wall Buster crashed into the room with Brunhilde riding on his back. She held on to Thor, still snoring, and they tumbled to the floor.

  “Oops,” said the girl.

  “Bagock!” said the bird.

  “My kitchen!” wailed the Cook. “You don’t know what you’ve done! I spent ages hollowing this out … That wall was holding the volcano together!”

  Big Borris scrambled to his feet, his hooves still s
lick with grease. Thunder continued rumbling from the cauldron, and the boar panicked. He scuttled around on his hooves, then gained traction and crashed through another wall.

  “Well,” said Brunhilde. “I see why they call him the Wall Bus—”

  BOOOOOM!

  The broken walls caved in, and volcanic rocks fell from above. The castle began to collapse.

  “CURSE YOU, THUNDERCLUCK!” Gorman Bones screamed, and he vanished in a puff of smoke.

  Thundercluck ran to Brunhilde, who said, “Thor’s still asleep, and I need your help to carry him!”

  The entire volcano was shaking now, and the lava rift opened wide. The cauldron tumbled down and sank into the glow of the lava. More rocks fell, and light poured in from the volcano’s top.

  Brunhilde looked up and shouted, “That’s our way out, but I can’t carry Thor alone!”

  Thundercluck nodded and said, “Ba-burrk!”

  They both grabbed Thor and took flight together. They soared and spun around tumbling rocks.

  The heroes emerged from the volcano and flew to a nearby cliff, where they set Thor down and watched the man-pigs running away below. The volcano trembled one last time, then imploded. When the dust settled, all that remained was a pile of rocks.

  A cloud of smoke drifted upward, and the voice of Gorman Bones called out, “I’ll get you next time, Thundercluck!”

  Then it blew away in the wind.

  Thor’s eyes fluttered open. “What…” He yawned. “What happened?”

  “We stopped the Cook,” Brunhilde said. “Thundercluck was so brave—you should have seen him!”

  The chicken swelled with pride.

  Brunhilde pointed at the rocks and said, “Gorman’s gone. Thundercluck cleaned his kitchen.”

  CHAPTER 20

  OVER AND DONE

  Over the following week, Thundercluck, Brunhilde, and Thor made their way back to Asgard. The trip home was smoother than the journey out had been. This time the heroes knew the path, and they walked with newfound confidence. The bird had his power back, the girl had her new blade, and Thor was with them all the way.