Prologue 1 - The Ghost
Mousetail's POV (age 6)
I had been born small, which is a crime for Viking children. It didn't matter that half the children on Greater Skull Island were small. They had an excuse. They weren't Vikings. They were the 'spawn of slaves and foreigners'. They were supposed to be small.
My first memories were of pain. My father, Frangeir 'The Vicious' Heimgardt, would get drunk and beat the Hel out of me, even when I had done nothing wrong. My mother, Hildegard 'The Docile' Heimgardt, lived up to her title and never did anything to stop him or comfort me. I suspect that she was the target of Dad's abuse before me.
The slaves, they just had to do their chores, say "Yes sir" or "No sir" and they would be dismissed to their tiny huts, surrounded by loved ones. Sure, their days really sucked, but their evenings were still peaceful.
Sometimes, I envied them.
My days were no picnic either. I was small, so the other Viking children either ignored me or treated me like their personal training dummy. To the slaves and their children, I was still a Viking, and no slave could socialize with a Viking. I learned to stay hidden and observe, but never interact. Everyone started refering to me as the Village Ghost, whether or not they knew I was around. Mousetail 'The Ghost' Heimgardt.
I wanted to just disappear for real.
I still learned a lot though. You see, our tribe is the Cutthroats, and every full moon, our Cutthroat Carnival was the biggest show in the North Sea! Thanks to it, we didn't have to raid the mainland settlements like most other Viking villages. We had the usual stuff of course: jugglers, acrobats, musicians, storytellers. We also have swordsmen and archers from the far east, dancers and firewalkers from the South Sea, and our biggest draw, DRAGONS!
Dragons were more common farther north, where there were fewer humans to compete with. We still had defenses and traps, just in case, but they were more to reassure the visiting nobles and Vikings than actual defense. The dragons were the only show I could never sneak into, but not for lack of trying. Someone seemed to always catch me at the last moment, tell me it was too dangerous, and escort me home. If Dad was still concious, he'd use my attempt as an excuse to beat me.
I'd spend most of my days watching the entertainers practice and train their children to take over one day. They would chase me off sometimes, but I'd always come back with a new hiding place. Harsh words were nothing compared to home.
My favorite entertainer was easily a Greek storyteller named Aesop. His stories always made me stop and think about how the world was. He never chased me off either. Aesop seemed to welcome an extra ear as he practiced the timing and pronunciation in Norse (which was NOT his native language).
So, my home life was filled with abuse, my social circle was non-existant, and the only adult that chose to speak to me believed that animals could talk like people. It doesn't take an Elder to realize that I had a very messed up childhood.
Mousetail's POV (age 8)
After a couple years, I realized that my parents were never going to help me, now or in the future. If I was going to survive, I'd have to make my own path. The other Viking children were trained in their family's trade or combat, but I wasn't about to spar against them. I was still much smaller than them and couldn't properly wield the heavy iron weapons.
Since my parents' idea of a Snoggletog gift was a new shirt, I took up woodworking to make my own toys. Most of my pieces landed in a firepit or smashed into pieces, courtesy of the Viking children, so I was always working on my next project.
That was how I met Lars, the Master Craftsman of the Cutthroats. I was detailing the figurehead for a model of our flagship near one of his construction projects. He saw what I was working on and praised it.
It was the first time anyone had said something positive to me. He accepted me as an apprentice and taught me a lot about working with wood and leather. I was scrawny compared to his adult workers, but they couldn't match my skill at detailing or my ability to run across the island and fetch something/someone. Sometimes, I felt like the shop's mascot, but at least I belonged somewhere.
Working for Lars gave me a good excuse to avoid my Dad and the other kids. I had access to proper tools, flexible hours to keep people-watching, and a sense of belonging. Hauling wood and tools everywhere also helped me start building some muscle. My life finally didn't suck.
Mousetail's POV (age 9)
After a year of working for Lars and the other carpenters, I had been challenged to craft my Journeyman project, a dragon totem to help flank the entrance to our dragon show. Part of the challenge was that my statue was supposed to be a Hobblegrunt, a dragon I'd only seen in training manuals and on ship figureheads.
The first thing I had to do was harvest the wood. The other carpenters were forbidden from helping me any step of the way. I was a little worried about moving a large log by myself, so I decided to camp on Little Skull Island and only transport the rough statue back. The final details could wait until I got it up to the dragon ring, so I could deal with any transport damage.
After I packed everything I might need (and a few things I didn't), I borrowed a rowboat and sailed over to Little Skull the next morning. The trip took about an hour and I was soon securing my boat on the sandy beach.
"First thing I need is a campsite with fresh water," I reminded myself. Leaving my less-edible supplies and tools in the boat, I started inland.
I'd been to Little Skull before to help the senior carpenters gather wood. I knew there was a lake somewhere near the center, but I'd never seen it. The other carpenters always knew where to find the perfect tree for their assignment, so we never stayed long. I, however, would be stuck searching for a day or two, then there was the actual carving itself.
I followed the lusher vegetation to find their water source, like I was taught. I just spotted the lake between some trees when I heard a low growl. A chill went down my spine and I grabbed the handle of my short sword.
I stared in the direction of the sound, trying to recognize the predator. 'Aesop often talks about lions in his stories. Could that growl have been a large cat?'
I took a deep breath and waited for a sudden flash of movement. None came and the growling eventually stopped. I could almost hear Aesop chiding, "Curiosity killed the cat!" as I moved to investigate the noise.
When I rounded a large tree and saw the noisemaker, my breath caught and I hid behind the same tree. In a small clearing ahead of me, caught in a net of rusty metal chains, was a dark orange dragon. I knew very little about dragons, but I'd still heard the horror stories from survivors of dragon raids.
My brain went into overdrive while I tried to figure out what to do. 'A wild dragon! HERE!? I've never heard of our traps actually catching one! What am I supposed to do with it?'
I peeked around the tree, ready to hide again from a stream of fire. The dragon was facing the nearby lake, watching me with a single yellow eye. It was clear that he couldn't aim a flame attack at me, even if he wanted to.
I stepped into the clearing, keeping a cautious distance. I moved my hand away from my blade and the dragon's eye softened slightly.
"I guess I surprised you," I whispered to the dragon, "You surprised me too, you know."
The dragon kept watching me closely while I talked. 'This thing's not going to attack me, which is good. It looks like he's been stuck for a few days, and this trap is so old that it probably hasn't been checked in years. Otherwise, it should have been replaced or repaired.'
"This is a first for me," I explained, rubbing the back of my neck, "I didn't even know we still had dragon traps on this island. Someone probably forgot about this one."
The dragon looked towards the lake and gave a pitiful whine. The meaning was clear, but I wasn't eager to literally get in the line of fire. After a few moments, I set my pack down.
"I hope you realize that I'm the only way for you to get water right now," I reminded the dragon, starting towards the lake. I filled my helmet with water and held it up to the dragon, who lapped it up gratefully.
"I still don't know what to do about you," I confessed, "I'd never get you back on my own. None of the adults will come out here either. Probably just think I'm trying to con some help for my Journeyman project."
The dragon looked at me curiously, eyes slightly softer. There was simply no plausible option to get it back to the village. If I ignored the situation, the dragon would succumb to the elements in a couple days. A slow, painful death. No creature deserved such a fate. 'Abused, forgotten, ignored, and trapped. I can sympathize.'
"If I let you out of that trap, do you promise not to kill me?" I asked the dragon.
The dragon looked pointedly at the sword on my left hip. It was like the great beast was asking, 'Will you?'
I removed my sword and tossed it towards my pack. The dragon visibly relaxed.
"I'm going to need to climb up to the release mechanism," I explained in advance, "So don't attack me."
The dragon stayed very still as I clambered up his chain cocoon. The mechanism was a little rusty, just like the chain net. After a few kicks, it came loose and I fell on top of the dragon in a heap. The dragon rushed for the lake and I tumbled off it's back.
Smiling, I watched as the dragon drank his fill. Once satisfied, he gave a mighty roar, spreading his wings and briefly lighting himself on fire. 'I think I'll keep this my little big secret.'