Chapter 5

The next week was horrible. Kenna hardly said a word, but she didn't need to talk – her contempt was expressed in her eyes and her actions.

The first day, Hiccup told Kenna that he didn't want trouble.

"You don't want to be here, and I'm not too happy about it either. Your father sent you here, and my father's expecting me to teach you some stuff about dragons … what, I don't know. After two weeks, you can go back to Thornburg, and we never need to meet ever again."

She looked at him from under half-closed eyes. "I'll find use for being here, Hiccup. Don't you worry. Don't … you … worry."

There was something sinister in the way she said that, and my ears perked up to catch any other words, but she didn't say anything else.

Hiccup had noticed her tone, too.

Like so many times, I could read his mind by the look on his face.

Who are you, Kenna? What do you want with us?

At lunch on the third day of Kenna's stay at Berk, Hiccup, who had been mumbling to a Terrible Terror perched on his arm, finally gave in. He had been under immense pressure from Stoick to teach Kenna about dragons, and he couldn't hold out any longer against reasonable arguments from all sides.

Under normal circumstances, Hiccup would have been elated to have a chance to teach someone about dragons.

But Kenna was not a normal circumstance.

He couldn't explain it… the horrible sinister way Kenna's eyes glowed with loathing and longing when she saw a dragon… the way you could tell she abhorred you without ever a word being spoken.

Neither Hiccup nor I wanted to be around her … but we had no choice.

He cleared his throat, and Kenna looked up.

"I have to teach you about dragons today."

She didn't reply, but she emanated the silent question – "Why?"

"Because," said Hiccup. This would've sounded stupid in any other situation – it was an answer to a nonexistent question – but with Kenna the inquiry was unmistakable. "My dad wants me to," He finished, and turned back to the Terror, running a finger along its soft spines.

"When?" Asked Kenna, out loud this time.

"I guess this afternoon. I'll try to be quick."

Kenna turned back to her lunch with a mocking noise. "Try to be quick," She mimicked. "Any idiot with a dragon is going to ramble on for hours, and you are the worst Viking at being quick I've ever seen."

Hiccup didn't reply.

Hiccup and I led Kenna down to the shore of Berk, into the Dragon Training Arena. Once home to death and violence, the stadium was now a peaceful meeting place for dragons and humans.

He sat down on the floor there, and she remained standing, leaning against the wall.

"We'll start with the most common."

He gave a resounding whistle. The haunting note echoed off the walls for a moment, and then two Terrible Terrors flew lopsidedly into the arena.

Hiccup picked one up and it sat on his knee, looking up at him with bright orange eyes.

"The Terrible Terror," He began. "It's the smallest dragon we know of – almost completely harmless except for the fact that they travel in packs. There was once a horde of them numbering over 200 – try to fight off that and you're dead."

He stroked it under the chin, in just the right spot, and it fell to the ground, in transports of joy.

"That's the key." He picked the little dragon up again. "It's a tiny weak spot, found on all dragons. If you tickle them there, they'll be immobilized. It isn't like a sleep coma, though. In a sleep coma, a dragon may feel like it is dead. They'll have no obvious pulse or heartbeat, and their chest won't rise or fall with breath. They normally do that when they're severely injured and need time and energy to heal themselves."

Kenna's Terror had attacked her knee, and had been successfully repelled. Both now flew away, squawking.

"Next … the Hideous Zippleback.

It's big – one of the largest dragons we've seen. Zipplebacks can fly, but their wings are weak and they like to hunt on the ground, after dark."

A dragon crept out of the shadows, where even Kenna's sharp eyes hadn't seen it.

Bright, acid green from head to tail, the Zippleback reared its two heads and roared.

"Shhh," Hiccup said quietly. "Shhh." He got up and put his hand on one of its scaly shoulders.

"With its tactic of breathing gas and then igniting it, the Zippleback's attack is dangerous and unique – not to be taken lightly. Nor is the Monstrous Nightmare's."

He gave another whistle, a different note, even more haunting then the first.

"It won't come out until it's scouted out who's called it and what's waiting for it," said Hiccup.

We waited for a moment, then, through the doors crept a spiky, agile dragon, eyes yellow as two bright suns.

"The Monstrous Nightmare can swallow Vikings whole," said Hiccup, as the dragon bared its teeth. "It is highly aggressive, and will never run from a fight. Its fire is thick and sticky. It also has a nasty habit of lighting itself on fire.

Up there –" he pointed – "That's a Gronckle. They're lazy. They've been known to fall asleep when they're flying. But what they lack in speed, they make up with their manoeuvrability – they can hover, and fly backwards, forwards, and sideways."

"There are two other species of dragon living on Berk. The first is the Night Fury."

He put his hand on my neck. "The rarest and most intelligent species. I could go on for hours about their wing-body ratio and flight powers.

But what you need to know is just this: don't mess with a Night Fury. Its high-speed attack and its wary, analytical nature couple to make the Night Fury a lethal opponent. If you find yourself on the wrong side of a Night Fury, hide behind a rock and pray it doesn't find you. But knowing Night Furies – it will. And the last species of dragon…"

He whistled for the last time, the sound soft and lingering, and a bright blue and yellow dragon climbed down the walls and landed near Hiccup, who sat down again, and drew his knees up under his chin.

"The Nadder. It's active at any time of day or night, and, though it is nimble in the air, will pretty much always land before attacking. Like Terrible Terrors, they raid in groups. As for weaponry – the Nadder has the hottest fire known to man. The blast can reduce a Viking to ash in seconds. And the tail of the Nadder can discharge a volley of sharp spikes."

Kenna spat onto the ground. "In Thornburg, we eat Terrible Terrors for breakfast. There are a few Monstrous Nightmares, who get them killed because they won't back away, and a few more Hideous Zipplebacks, who are a bit smarter, and cower in their caves at the mere mention of us.

But there are mostly Nadders. Nadders in the trees, ready to jump down. Nadders who steal food, and Nadders that set fire to our crops. Nadders everywhere.

When I was four years old, my father, Peaeye, killed three of these cursed dragons with one blow from his axe. He became chief for this mighty act. He received the name of Nadderslayer.

When I was ten, I duplicated the feat, and earned the title.

I have to wait until my father dies to become chieftainess, but I will.

And when I do, I'll make sure that all the dragons are eradicated."

She looked up at me, and, with a flash of green, her eyes scrutinized me. The same way you would scrutinize a game animal. With murder in your eyes.

Hiccup stood in one fluid motion that betrayed anger and haste, and I knew he was regretting his lack of weapons.

"If you lay a finger on that dragon, I wouldn't bet on your chances of seeing another sunrise," he said.

Hiccup was a gentle boy, but his voice was hard, harder then stone, and dangerous.

"Do you think I'm afraid of you?" scoffed Kenna.

"I'm not the one you should be afraid of," said Hiccup, still in that soft and perilous voice. "If you even touch that knife…"

I looked at Hiccup. His face was angry – flushed and hot. I knew that Kenna's awful talk had driven home.

Kenna looked at me, and I looked at her, and hate flickered in the bright emerald eyes.

She turned and stalked out of the arena, leaving Hiccup staring after her with a look of anger and suspicion.