A Nadder's Mystery Chapter 1
A/N In chapter 8 of "How to Be a Pirate" (book 2 in the HTTYD series by Cressida Cowell), a baby Deadly Nadder gets separated from its mother in a cave and dies a horrible death. I really hate that part, so I'm rewriting the baby Nadder's story and giving it a better destiny. OC's. Rated K-plus for mild violence; the language is all K.
This story is set in my own "Lightning and Death Itself" timeline, shortly after ending #1, but it isn't technically a sequel. It's not mandatory to read that story in order to enjoy this one, but a lot of the details won't make sense if you don't read the other story first.
o
"Didn't I tell you guys this would be awesome?"
"Yeah," Varinn answered, not even trying to hide his lack of enthusiasm. "Really awesome."
The four pre-teens were making their way through a dark, damp, cobweb-infested cave in search of something interesting. They had no idea what that "something" might be, or if they would be able to find it, or if it even existed. But Spamlout had dared them to go on this expedition with her, and none of them was willing to back down in front of the others.
Spamlout led the way, as she usually did. She lived in her big brother Snotlout's shadow, and never missed a chance to try to prove herself worthy of her family name. She carried a torch in one hand and her single-bladed axe in the other. Unlike many other Vikings, she never threw her axe, but kept it close for hand-to-hand mayhem. Nothing less would ever impress her father, which was something she desperately wanted to do, but never succeeded at. She looked a lot like her brother, including the muscles, but she was a girl, and her father had no regard for girls at all. He wouldn't even provide her with a proper warrior's garb; her hard-leather armor outfit was cobbled together from whatever bits and pieces she could find.
Varinn walked just behind her, carrying his usual spear set. His big sister Astrid had impressed him with the value of being able to use the same weapon for both long-range and close-up combat, but he hadn't wanted to be exactly like her, so he learned to use the spear instead of the axe. He carried one with a thick handle for melees, and a thinner one for throwing. He'd figured out how to groove the thick one's handle so the thin one would partially nestle into it, so he could carry both with one hand. He kept his other hand free, just in case. As the group's unofficial leader, he liked to stay close to the front so he could see what was happening, but not in the very front, so he could have a few seconds to think when a new situation arose. His unusual mix of caution and Viking aggression had kept them out of serious trouble more than once.
Just behind him came Hensteeth, or Henny as his friends called him. He was the total opposite of his older brother. Where Fishlegs was big and brainy and didn't flaunt his strength, Henny was short and wiry and tended to conceal the workings of his clever mind. He wasn't as good with his weapons as the others, but he had few equals in running, jumping, or climbing cliffs. His chosen weapon was an adult-sized seax, a single-edged knife that he wielded like a short sword. He kept it in its sheath today, and used one hand to keep his backpack from sliding off his shoulder. He was the only one who had thought to bring rope, extra torches, or anything else that might be useful to explore a cave. He hoped this expedition would last a while. His mother was into the mead again, and that meant nothing good for anyone else in his house; he planned to stay away from home for as long as he could.
Bringing up the rear, as usual, was Fluffernut. She was far from the most adventurous member of the group, and she wasn't keen on their surroundings. A quiet child, she would have preferred to stay home and practice sewing or cooking, but the other members of her household never let that happen. She had been quite young when both her parents were killed by raiders on another island, and she was sent to live with distant relatives, including Ruffnut and Tuffnut. She was almost as smart as both of the twins put together, and quite a bit prettier than Ruff, so they tormented her without mercy. She much preferred the company of her friends; they might not have much in common with her, but at least they let her be herself. She carried another torch, and kept her bow and arrows slung on her back.
The four of them did nearly everything together. If one of them got in trouble, the other three would certainly be involved somehow; if one got in a fight, the other three would find a way to join in; and if one received something special, the other three would invent a way to share it with him or her. Varinn's mother had dubbed them the Terrible Terrors a few years ago, because they were small and fancied themselves to be dangerous, and they had proudly adopted the name for their group. They were bonded together by their common age and their willingness to abide by four basic rules: you don't tease Spamlout about her father, you don't tease Henny about his mother, you don't tease Fluffernut about either of her parents, and you definitely don't tease Varinn about Astrid.
The other three were enduring situations that weren't uncommon among the Vikings, or any other culture; they could relate to each other and comfort each other to some extent. They had all disappointed their parents in some way, they had all seen the effects of ale and mead on adults, and they had all lost relatives to violent causes. But how do you comfort someone whose sister has been turned into a Night Fury? It's kind of hard for most people to relate to a situation like that. His whole family was still struggling with it; his mother kept Astrid's room unused and untouched except for dusting, as though she might come back and live there again some day. No one was ever sure how Varinn would react to jokes about "the dragon lady" or similar comments. One day, the response might be sullen silence; the next day, he might storm away in a huff; the day after that, he might try to blacken your eye. It was best not to say anything.
"Spamlout, remind me again what we're looking for?" Henny called.
"This is a cave, you nimrod!" she called over her shoulder, as though that explained everything. "We might be the first people who ever found this place! Look for anything that's cool."
"All we've seen so far is owl pellets and bat droppings," Fluffernut complained.
"If you think a place where flying things go to the bathroom is cool, I'd say you hit the jackpot," Henny added.
"Shh!" Varinn hissed suddenly. "Everybody, be quiet!" They all froze in place. In the sudden silence, they could hear every rustle of their clothing, every creak of their boots; even their breathing sounded unnaturally loud.
Then he heard it again, very soft and distant.
"I heard it, too," Fluffernut whispered. "It sounded like a Terrible Terror, a long way off."
They were standing near a fork in the cave. The right branch seemed to stay level, while the left fork began to descend. "I think it came from the left," Henny said quietly.
"It came from the right," Spamlout hissed back.
"I can't tell," Fluffernut said softly. They all looked at Varinn.
"Left," he decided. They turned left. Among the Terrors, the majority ruled. It had always been that way; that was how they did things.
They went extra-quietly now, hoping to hear the sound again, preferably before its source jumped out at them and scared them half to death. Of course, they had no idea whether a Terrible Terror would do a thing like that, but in the dark stillness of the cave, their imaginations were beginning to run away with them. They closed ranks and pressed on.
The walls of this part of the cave glistened with moisture. They walked carefully, not wanting to slip if it meant landing in slime or something equally gross. Varinn was wondering if it might be a good idea to use Henny's rope to tie themselves together when they came to a five-way junction of cave passages. Aside from the path they were on, two caves led off to the left, one went right and slightly up before becoming a dead end, and the fifth went almost straight down.
Again the group stopped and listened in the dark. After a few seconds, they heard the distant call again. There was no question, it came from below them.
"Spamlout, you've got a torch. How deep is that hole?"
The girl leaned over the edge cautiously. "I'm not sure if I'm looking at the bottom, or just a ledge part-way down, but it looks like about forty feet."
"I've got a hundred feet of rope," Henny suggested. "Should we tie ourselves together and climb down?"
"No," Varinn decided. "The first thing we should do is decide if it's worth risking our lives just to see a Terrible Terror. There are dozens of them all over Berk, and we don't have to climb down into dark, slimy holes in the ground to see most of them."
"You do make it sound like a bad idea," Fluffernut nodded.
"Terrible Terrors always live in flocks," Spamlout argued. "They probably live down here! We might be just a few feet away from their nest! Wouldn't it be cool to see a whole nest of them?"
"We only heard one, not a nest full of them," Varinn observed.
"I'd like to try it, just for the fun of climbing," Henny chimed in. His real motive was to keep the expedition going, so he didn't have to go home.
"Two in favor, two against," Varinn noted. "Shall I flip the coin?" They all nodded. He pulled out the copper piece that was too worn out for the adults to use for currency any more. Henny had carved a "Yes" rune on one side and a "No" on the other with his seax. Flipping it was their usual way of breaking deadlocks and making decisions. They used it a lot.
"Do we go down?" he asked out loud, and flipped the coin. He caught it in the air, slapped it against his wrist, and looked at it in the flickering torchlight. "Yes," he said, somewhat reluctantly. "Fluff, you tie Henny's rope to something solid. Henny, you'll go down first." He knew Fluffernut could tie the best knots, and there was no question that Henny was their number-one explorer. In about five minutes, Hensteeth was making his way down into the darkness with Spamlout's torch in his teeth.
"There are lots of handholds and little ledges," he called when he reached the bottom. "We can all get down and back up again easily. The bottom is about forty feet down, and it's damp but solid."
"Let me go next," Spamlout urged him, and he nodded. As she descended, he turned to Fluffernut. "I know you're not happy with all this exploring in the dark. Would you rather go down with us, or stay up here and keep an eye on this end of the rope?"
She twirled her blonde ponytail with a finger, which meant she was thinking hard. "I'll go with the rest of you," she decided. "I don't like the looks of that hole, but being up here all by myself would be even worse."
"Okay, then you go next. I'll make sure the rope is still tied tightly, and then I'll come down and join you." She descended with the ease that comes from long practice. Even though she wasn't an adventurer at heart, she'd tagged along on so many adventures with the others that she'd acquired many useful skills from them. Once she was at the bottom, he took the other torch in his teeth and climbed down to the floor of the cave below.
He'd just reached the bottom when Henny sneezed loudly. Spamlout gave him a dirty look, but it was way too late to tell him to keep it quiet. They listened as the echoes of the sneeze died away. Complete silence had not quite returned when they heard the little dragon call again, and again.
"I think it's getting closer," Fluffernut said, a bit nervously.
Spamlout brandished her axe. "If that thing makes one unfriendly move, POW!"
Varinn rested his hand on her shoulder. "Did you forget, we aren't at war with the dragons any more?"
"You always spoil my fun," Spamlout complained. "Didn't you ever want to be a real Viking when you grew up?"
His face darkened slightly. "Let's just say I've got a family member who wouldn't like it if we beat up a dragon." She bit down on her reply, and they waited in silence.
After a few seconds, Fluffernut and Spamlout both exclaimed, "I see something!" A moment later, the boys saw it too.
As it toddled toward them, they could plainly see that it was no Terrible Terror. The size was right, but it walked on two legs instead of four, and the head was the wrong shape. It seemed to be blue in color, with reddish markings on its wings, although it was hard to tell one color from another by torchlight. Not only that, but the dragon was covered in dirt. It stopped about ten feet away from them, squeaked, and waited.
"I think it's a Deadly Nadder," Henny decided. "Two legs, one horn, and it looks like it has spines on its tail. My brother would know for sure."
"The last time I looked, Deadly Nadders were a lot taller than the ceiling of this cave," Spamlout said dismissively.
"Then it must be a baby," said Henny.
"If it's a baby, then there must be a mother around somewhere," Varinn quavered. "One thing we do not want to do is come between a mother dragon and her baby! I say we leave it alone."
"Spamlout is right," Henny argued. "A grown Deadly Nadder wouldn't fit in this cave. If this baby has a mother, that mother is nowhere near here. Maybe it's lost."
"I never heard of a dragon getting lost before." That was Spamlout, looking for someone to argue with, as usual. Even though Hensteeth had taken her side a moment ago, she couldn't resist the temptation to disagree with him.
"Baby dragons probably don't have the same common sense that adults do," Henny argued. "They're babies! They could get separated from their parents, and hide in a cave because it makes them feel safe, and wander off and get lost, just like a child could. Right, Varinn?"
"I suppose," Varinn shrugged. "I'm not an expert on dragons. What do you think, Fluff?" She didn't answer. "Fluff?"
While the other three were arguing, Fluffernut had slowly edged out to the limit of their flickering circle of torchlight and sat down. The little dragon had cautiously wandered over to her, sniffing the air and cocking its head. She had reached out and scratched under its chin, at which point the dragonet had trilled in delight and climbed into her lap. She looked toward her friends with a huge smile on her face. "I think he's adorable, I think he's lost, and I think we need to get him out of this cave and back to the other dragons so he can find his mother. That's what I think."
"Adorable? That's pushing it, Fluff," Henny said. "As for getting him out of here, why can't he fly out himself?"
"For one thing, if he's really lost, he might not know which way he should go," Varinn cut in. "For another thing, the way out is almost straight up, and a baby dragon might not be a strong enough flier to do that, especially if he can't see where he's going."
"He could light the way with his own fire," Spamlout objected.
"Dragons have a shot limit," Varinn retorted. "If he's been down here in the dark for any length of time, he's probably all out of fire. I'm starting to agree with Fluffernut – we ought to take him out with us, and see if any of the dragons in town has lost a baby."
"If his mother gets mad at you, I'm not going to help you," Spamlout protested.
"If his mother gets mad at us, I'd be surprised," Henny said. "Usually, when a child gets lost, the parents get mad at the kid and thank the rescuer."
"That's how it works with people," Spamlout disagreed. "Dragons aren't people. Just in case you forgot."
"I think we all knew that," Varinn said tightly. "The real question is, how are we going to get him out? We'll need both hands to climb that rope, so how are we going to hang onto the dragon?"
"Hmmm," the other three all said at once.
"I've got it," said Varinn. "Fluff, do you think you can talk your little friend into riding on top of Henny's backpack?"
"I'll try," she said uncertainly. "I don't think he speaks our language." She tried to stand up; the little dragon squawked and flapped its wings in protest. "I don't think he wants to leave me."
"Okay, we'll try a Plan B," Varinn thought out loud. "Fluff, what if you wore Henny's pack, so the dragon could ride with you?"
"It's okay with me," said Hensteeth as he shrugged out of the backpack. Varinn took it and began to walk toward Fluffernut. The dragon in her lap bared its teeth and hissed at him; its tiny tail spines bristled.
"Maybe you should get down on your hands and knees, so you don't look so big and scary to him," Fluff suggested.
"Him? Big and scary? That's a first!" Spamlout snorted. Varinn ignored her and got down into a crouch.
"Hey, little guy," he said softly. "We want to help you get out of here, but you have to work with us. For starters, can you and I be friends?" He slowly extended one hand to the little dragon. It sniffed him and looked at him curiously. He scratched under its chin like Fluff had done. It half-closed its eyes and trilled at him. He couldn't help smiling.
"Hey, can I try that?" Henny asked eagerly.
"Sure, once we're out of this cave," Varinn said, keeping his voice down so he didn't spook the dragon. He slowly crept behind Fluff and helped her get her arms into the backpack's straps. She tried to explain, with words and hand gestures, what they wanted the baby dragon to do. After explaining it a few times, the Nadder climbed up her vest, across her shoulder, and onto the backpack. She stood slowly; the dragon flapped its wings for balance, but stayed where it was.
"Okay, that went a lot more smoothly than I expected," Varinn said. "Spamlout, you take a torch and go up first. Fluff, you go second; I'll be right behind you. Henny, you bring up the rear with the other torch. Okay, Terrors, let's move out!" The ascent to the cave's main level went uneventfully.
Once they were out of the pit, the dragon jumped off the backpack and glided to the ground. It looked up at them, blinking.
"He really doesn't know which way to go," Fluffernut observed, as Hensteeth reclaimed his rope and stowed it in his pack.
"Let's start walking and see if he follows us," Henny suggested. They got moving, and the baby Nadder toddled alongside them, staying near Varinn when it wasn't keeping close to Fluff.
"Hey, Fluff, what's your family going to say when you come home with a baby dragon in tow?" Spamlout wondered.
Fluff made an unhappy face. "I hadn't thought of that. Maybe I don't want that kind of attention at home. Could one of you take him instead?"
"Good luck with that," Spamlout replied. "You're the one he's following around, mostly. Congratulations! You just became a mommy dragon. I think he's got your eyes." She snickered at her own joke.
"Very funny," Varinn cut her off. "We'll think about that on the way home." He hadn't thought of anything by the time they reached the mouth of the cave.
No one ever knew it, but Hensteeth's sneeze was the luckiest thing that ever happened to that little Nadder. Had it not heard the noise and turned back to investigate, but kept following the cave passage it had wandered into, it would soon have encountered something very large and unpleasant, and that encounter would have marked the end of one very small dragon.