FOUR

LAND OF A THOUSAND SCARS

Rumors began to spread after the incident with the oil. Reverix the Viking once overheard some of the younger pirates believing that he led them to an island filled with either cannibals or bloodthirsty rats. He couldn't decipher how the gossip changed so much, but he already grew so aggravated by such false fabrications.

So far, however, everyone on the ship knew of their next destination. Some demonstrated their curiosity by betting on who would find hidden treasure first. Others tried to hide their skeptic nature by staying silent all the way through. Reverix could see it in their eyes. The mysterious power of the oil provided fuel for their imagination. Fear of the unknown would have been a brilliant way of disobeying the captain and jumping ship. Nevertheless, his crew had no choice but to set sail for the island known as the Land of a Thousand Scars.

The path to the island wasn't perfect, and the fact that a thick layer of fog stopped any chance of viewing such a large piece of land at a long distance. Reverix ordered everyone to stop rowing their oars. The ship didn't move further inland. Reverix moved to the bow of the ship to observe the minimal surroundings. All he could see in front of him was the thick fog. There would be no way to tell if their next destination would be right behind the thick sheet of moisture. With a long sigh, Reverix decided to take the chance.

He turned around to address his crew, which waited patiently for a potential announcement.

He cleared his throat while keeping a good look at the other swashbucklers and said, "Everyone keep your weapons by your side. There is an island on the other side of the fog. There, it is possible that we will be dealing with a Mongol horde."

The reaction from his crew was what he expected. Some whispered to each other with frightened looks on their faces. The older pirates either kept a solemn expression (just like Vidko the Russian) or appeared amused at such a straightforward adventure.

Reverix continued on, "Yes, it's true. There may be Mongols in the Land of a Thousand Scars, so we have to be incredibly cautious when we set foot on the shore. They won't be the only ones on the island, however. There may be Vikings who are in grave danger. We must make sure that they are kept unharmed."

Havoc the Roman kept his spear close by his side. "So now we're stuck with a rescue mission?"

Reverix nodded. "Stoick the Vast is my friend, and his family is important to him. They must return home safely."

One of the pirates shook his head in amusement. At the age of fifty-three, Striker the Icelander was tall and muscular, with a thick beard and long blond hair (which started to grow a little white recently). He had seen more combat and more death than most of the other crew members. At this point in his life, he no longer felt afraid of brand new enemies that he had to face.

Striker tapped his fingers on the railing as he let out his infamous amused chuckle. "I knew it. I knew it. You're about to send us to our deaths. I knew you'd be going off the deep end, but I didn't think it would happen today. Well, it's been nice knowing you all."

Reverix kept his composure. "Don't lose your mind, Striker. We don't know if it is a horde. There could be only a dozen Mongols, maybe two. But we have to see what's on this island first."

Striker's smile signified his careless perspective. "Yeah, before you know it, we'll be ambushed and sliced up. Genghis Khan will have our heads on pikes and use our intestines as dog food."

He shrugged his shoulders. "But whatever. I've had a good life so far. It would have been nice if I retired in France, though. I hear they like to serve frog legs there."

Reverix sighed. "Shut up, will you? We're just doing a little exploration."

Zeema the Egyptian raised her hand. "Are we truly in danger of confronting a Mongol horde?"

Reverix replied, "Yes, which is why we must be prepared for battle. Don't be afraid. Remember who we are. Remember what we are capable of. We can be just as ferocious as they are."

Havoc smiled. "Now that's what I'm talking about. I'm already ready to kick some ass."

And with that, Reverix ordered his crew to keep oaring and move forward into the fog. Everyone else readied themselves by making sure that their weapons had been sharpened.

In the meantime, Furlock the Gaul wielded his mace, complete with sharp spikes all over the iron sphere. He asked Reverix, "What about the oil? Do you think we will find more of it on the island?"

Reverix kept his eyes on the fog. "If we do…then we better bring a torch."

As soon as they entered the fog, they could no longer see the sun. Even at midday, the fog had grown much too thick. Striker the Icelander had been chosen as the lookout on the bow of the ship. He would signal the others if a rock or another ship would stand in their way.

Denin the Captain's Nephew took a seat at the stern with his friends. He could do nothing but wait until they set foot on the Land of a Thousand Scars. He placed his two daggers in their scabbards, and watched as Kinesh the Indian began to sharpen his throwing knives with his own piece of stone. The nineteen-year-old pirate did it slowly. He kept a close eye on both the blades and the sharpening stone. Denin could tell that Kinesh took slow deep breaths as he sharpened his knives. No one would dare distract the young Indian from his silently fierce concentration. They knew how maniacal he could be sometimes.

Denin just waited for the ship to exit the fog and make it to the island that he had never seen nor heard of before.

The nineteen-year-old Viking noticed one of his older companions gazing at the fog with watchful eyes. Vidko the Russian kept his crossbow close as he remained vigilant.

He whispered to Denin, "Do you hear that?"

Denin expected to hear a distant scream or maybe a seagull. "…I can't hear anything."

Vidko didn't smile, nor did he raise the volume of his voice. "Strange, isn't it? It sounds like there's nothing out here but the oars that make splashes in the water."

Denin felt a little puzzled. "So is that a good or bad thing?"

Someone beside the two of them gave an answer. "Don't mind Vidko, my dear boy. He's just trying to find a reason to turn around and run away."

Denin could see that Anton the Bulgarian sat with his legs crossed. He held a smoking pipe in one hand, and a book in the other. This would become a classic trait for this charismatic forty-three-year-old bookworm. Anton had long black hair and maintained a steady diet, which would be how he was able to stay slim just like Vidko, Denin, and others. His debonair appearance was certainly different from the other pirates on the ship. He always wore a stylish coat colored black and red. He looked and acted as if he belonged in a university rather than a pirate ship.

Anton took a slow puff from his pipe in a calm and composed manner. "It's not his fault, however. His parents shouldn't have told him that bedtime story a long time ago."

Vidko no longer kept his voice to a whisper, though his husky voice didn't provide any big changes. "I'm no longer a little boy. I already fought against my superstitions. I'm ready and willing to enter this island without any childhood distress."

Denin asked, "What are you guys talking about? Do you know something about this Thousand Scars place?"

Anton let out a soft chuckle and said with his smooth baritone voice, "If you lived in the exact same place as we did as a child, you would have known the exact same descriptions for this place."

"So you two have heard about this island?"

It was now Vidko's turn to reply, "It's an old folk tale. Every child in Novgorod would have heard about it."

Anton added, "The Mongolians would have heard of it, too."

Denin's curiosity experienced a significant increase. "So the Land of a Thousand Scars is something that both the Slavs and the Mongols have in common."

"Not exactly." Anton brushed away a few strands of hair from his face. "You see, the Land of a Thousand Scars is an old Mongolian myth. It is believed to have been a very sacred place, where the most proficient warriors of the land are given a magical elixir. This, in turn, gives them extraordinary powers. It makes them stronger, smarter, and grants them everlasting life. But it all comes at a price. Whoever drinks the elixir are destined to lose their freedom. They must become the warriors of their emperor. Their lives are in the emperor's hands. He controls their fate and no one else. And I think we can all agree. If this is true, then Genghis Khan has lost touch with reality. No one has ever discovered the Land of a Thousand Scars.

If he believes that he has truly found this mythological place, then let's hope they send him in an asylum."

Denin remarked, "The myth doesn't sound too harsh. I'm guessing the Slavic version tells the same thing."

Vidko narrowed his eyes. "That's where you're wrong."

Denin cleared his throat. "So…it's worse?"

Anton the Bulgarian took another slow whiff from his pipe. "The folk tale from my home country has nothing to do with warriors…but with prisoners."

"I already hate where this is going."

Again, Anton let out a soft chuckle. "The Slavs call this place the Land of a Thousand Scars because of its striking resemblance of scars on human skin, of course. Prisoners are sent to this island to be tortured. But the wardens don't use whips or nails. Instead, they use fire. Yes, there is a magic flame that can enter through your mouth and burn you on the inside. Once they are forced to swallow it, the fire invades the inside of their bodies. And very slowly, it feels like it is abolishing their organs one by one. The worst thing about that is the prisoners stay alive when it happens. The pain is unbearable, and they wish to end their own lives because of it. The pain lasts for about a month…or maybe ten years or so. Regardless, this folk tale was used to scare children from being mischievous little creatures. Thank goodness Vidko and I didn't take the bait."

"So on the one hand, you have an elixir. And on the other hand, you have fire."

"Yes…Same name, but different consequences. You decide which one is the real winner."

Denin scratched the back of his head. He whispered to himself, "…There is no winner…"

He was about to ask a question to Anton, until Vidko slowly turned his head, presumably to see something in the water. Denin perceived it as standard curiosity. But as soon as he caught Anton doing the same thing, Denin placed his hand on one of his daggers.

"What is it?"

Vidko slowly whispered, "I can hear it."

Anton closed his book and uncrossed his legs. "It's coming from the left side."

In a composed fashion, he grabbed his scythe that was leaning against the wall. His face had changed from proudly intellectual to downright suspicious.

Denin tried to detect the unusual sound that caught the two Slavs' attention. He still couldn't see anything in the fog.

A few other crew members seemed to have heard the same noise. Zeema the Egyptian began to look in the same direction as the other two men. A concerned expression on her face had replaced her previous one.

And then, Denin may have finally caught it in his ear. He paid close attention to whatever lurked in the fog. He could hear a distant, yet heavy, sweeping noise. It followed a slow rhythm: the noise stopped and then came back again after just two seconds of silence.

And it grew louder. Denin placed both hands on his dagger handles.

Vidko whispered, "It sounds like wings flapping."

Denin took a slow deep breath. Now that the sweeping sound had grown to a more discernible volume, it did sound like a large bird flapping its wings.

Or rather, a dragon flapping its wings.

Striker the Icelander called out to Reverix. "Hey, do you hear that?"

Before the captain could even say anything, something happened so quickly that none of the pirates had enough time to react.

Something large and ominous swept past the ship from above. On its way back into the fog, it tore through the ship's mast and left it alone with its brand new impairment.

Everyone looked up to see the ship's mast slashed beyond repair.

Striker shouted, "We're under attack!"

Reverix yelled at his crew to keep rowing for the shore. Denin, Havoc, Anton, and Zeema were ready to use their bows and arrows against a fast-moving enemy. Vidko wielded his own crossbow and waited for another strike.

Reverix tried to ignore the torn mast and kept his eyes in front, despite the fog still not looking to dissolve itself anytime soon.

The large and ominous creature returned for another assault. Once more, it moved much too quickly for the pirates to aim and fire their weapons.

Denin received a good look at the color. The flying creature had red skin and had only wings instead of arms.

A dragon.

And it returned for its third attack. It slammed its tail against the bow of the ship. Pieces of wood flew all over the place. Two pirates had to jump away from the direct collision.

Reverix held his sword tight in his hand. "Shoot to kill!"

This time, the red-colored dragon flew low and hit the right side of the hull. Most of the pirates almost lost their footing. It forced the entire ship to change direction. It swerved heavily to the left. Right in the direction of a large rock standing alone on the water.

Reverix yelled, "Starboard! Starboard!"

Those who moved the oars knew what to do. They started to move the ship to the right to avoid colliding with the rock.

They barely made it. Reverix could hear the tip of the rock scratching against the hull.

Vidko immediately raised his crossbow. "It's here again!"

He remained collected as he opened fire on the dragon that let out a loud and screeching roar. Denin, Havoc, Anton, and Zeema released their arrows, hoping to at least hit the dragon in the legs or the tail. Only one pierced through its scales and it did little to distract it from its primary objective. It disappeared into the fog again.

Vidko reloaded his crossbow with unbelievable patience. "It's not going to stop harassing us."

Zeema called out to Reverix, "Do we turn back?!"

Reverix refused to give up. "Give the dragon all you've got! Shoot it down!"

The dragon emerged from the fog and sunk its claws into the mast. And now everyone had a good look at their enormous enemy.

Denin had a good clean shot. He raised his bow and arrow and aimed for the dragon's eye. But he stopped. A strange feeling developed from within when he received a closer look at the dragon that continued to tear the mast apart.

The Captain's Nephew almost gasped. He had seen this dragon before. It happened to have a home on the Isle of Berk.

"Wait a minute…Hookfang! It's Hookfang!"

The other pirates didn't pay any attention to his indirect response. They just wanted to save themselves by keeping the red-colored dragon from intending any harm. Vidko, Anton, Havoc, and Zeema released their arrows, but Hookfang crawled down and onto the deck. It swung its head against Havoc and Zeema, both of whom fell to the floor. Anton raised his scythe to strike, but Hookfang was too quick for him as it pushed him down with its wing.

It had its glowing yellow eyes on Denin, who tried to knock some sense into it.

"Hookfang, it's me! Denin, Hiccup's friend! Don't you remember me?!"

Apparently, it didn't. He flew right past him and almost hit him in the head. He had to swoop down on the floor to avoid unconsciousness.

Furlock swung his mace and hit the dragon on the tail. The damage was minimal, and Hookfang jumped up and flew away into the fog once again.

Striker shouted, "Another rock!"

The pirates had to turn left to avoid another collision with a boulder standing still on the water. This had become a little harder than the previous evasion from disaster. The hull scrapped against the boulder, and this time, it punctured through the wood and water started to spill on the deck.

Reverix demanded that the damage be repaired at once. Despite the chaos ensuing on deck, two pirates tried to cover up the hole with another piece of wood.

Reverix had enough. He set his sword aside and picked up an axe. It wasn't for battle, but rather for chopping up wood or butchering a dead animal for dinner. The captain waited for the dragon to strike again. Its loud and deafening roar came from behind. Reverix waited for the right moment to throw his axe. He took a deep breath.

He could see a shadow in the midst of thick moisture before it culminated into its original menacing form. Reverix needed to concentrate. This would be the most rational way to deal with a flying enemy. Reverix raised the axe and just as the dragon was about to strike the ship for the umpteenth time, the Viking flung his weapon right at it. The axe spun in the air before it reached its target. The dragon stopped dead at its tracks. It let out a shriek. It realized that it had an axe stuck in its torso. In a frantic fashion, it flew away. Its shadowy figure vanished in the fog. Reverix could only hope that it would never come back.

Havoc lowered his bow and arrow. "We didn't do anything to it. What the hell does it have against us?"

Kinesh the Indian looked absolutely dumbfounded, until he replied, "Maybe we're messing with its serenity. Maybe we should learn a thing or two about meditation."

And that was when Kinesh let out his infamous cackle. There was a reason why people on this ship believed the young man to be a little crazy in the head.

Striker brought everyone back to reality by shouting, "We're going to crash!"

This would be the third time that the ship found itself sailing right into a boulder. But this time, the pirates would have no time to avoid the direct impact. The ship crashed right into the rock. A majority of the pirates lost their footing. Reverix ordered everyone to continue with their duties, despite the unfortunate events.

Furlock pointed at something in the distance. "Reverix, we found the shore!"

Reverix looked to see a rocky coastline emerging from the fog. It looked to have been at least fifty feet away.

"Everyone keep rowing until we reach the shore!"

Despite more and more water flooding the deck, the pirates managed to reach the rocky shoreline. The ship crashed right into the small rocks below. But nobody left the ship just yet. They had to make sure that they would be left alone. They looked everywhere to see if the red-colored dragon would make a hasty return. They couldn't hear anything. They could only hear the ocean waves for now.

Vidko whispered to Reverix, "It looks like the dragon will stay in pain."

Reverix felt proud of himself for fending off a beast of that size. "We can only hope it realizes who it's up against."

Then he called to his crew, "Everybody off the ship! Zeema, check for injuries. Vidko, stay on guard."

Reverix would be the last pirate to exit the deck to make sure every single one of his crew members would not be left behind. Everyone gathered around on the rocky shore.

Reverix tried to see the island up close, but the fog did an excellent job in obscuring the panoramic view. No mountains, no trees, no buildings, just a thick blanket of clouds standing in the way. He received only a partial view of the coastline. Nevertheless, they must have set foot on their primary destination. This could very well have been the Land of a Thousand Scars.

Barclay the Celt pointed at something on the ship. "Captain, look at the damage."

Reverix, including everyone else, had set their eyes on what looked to have been substantial damage. A large portion of the hull had been cracked open owing to the large rocks on the shore. That, along with the shredded mast, made the ship look like it was ready to be demolished after years and years in the ocean.

Striker the Icelander shrugged his shoulders in a very amusing way. "Well, this is it. We're gonna die. Thank you for sending us here for no good reason whatsoever. If you need me, I'll be in the forest, hopefully being eaten by ants."

Fortunately, Reverix had known Striker for very long to know what he meant. "We're not done yet. This ship can be easily fixed. We will do it later."

Anton the Bulgarian asked, "Will we be on our way forward?"

Reverix nodded. "Yes, but first, we must collect the most basic supplies for our journey. Everyone grab everything that you need."

Vidko and Striker had been chosen as lookouts while the rest of the crew went back on the ship and grabbed their supplies. Reverix stepped aside on the rocky shore and watched as his crew searched through their belongings on deck.

His nephew tapped him on the shoulder. "I've got some interesting news."

"What is it?"

Denin looked around, presumably to see if any other dragons would be nearby in the fog. "The dragon that attacked us…I think I recognize him."

"From where?"

"From the Isle of Berk. It was Hookfang."

That certainly caught Reverix's attention. "Hookfang…Snotlout's dragon?"

"Yeah…I don't get it. It's like he couldn't remember the two of us."

Reverix slowly rubbed his chin. "What worries me more is that there might be other dragons who won't remember us."

"If that's true, then how would they lose their memory? Witchcraft?"

Reverix still couldn't see anything else in the thick fog in front of him. He didn't answer Denin's question and instead waited for everyone else to finish their tasks.

Everyone made sure they kept their weapons close by their side.

Reverix pointed his sword at a random direction forward. "We leave our ship behind for now. Follow me."

He led his crew further inland. He didn't know what he would find once the fog could properly dissolve in the afternoon. But when it did, he hoped it wouldn't be as terrible as he currently imagined.

TO BE CONTINUED…