Chapter 6: Next Stop: Freedom

It was getting late by the time Scott got back, his speed hampered by his load. The guy's helmet kept falling off, so Scott had eventually just shoved it into his backpack and kept going. Stiles and Lydia were going out of their minds with worry, hurling themselves out of the rental car and mobbing him as he approached. Pelles followed them at a more sedate pace, though relief was evident in his expression.

"Where have you been?" Stiles snapped. "You were gone two days dude! I had no idea where you were and the only reason I didn't follow you was because Fishlegs stopped me! What happened?"

"I knocked myself out," Scott said abashedly. Stiles groaned, throwing his hands up in the air like really, dude?

"I found him," Scott said weakly, pulling the guy off of his back with difficulty, his arms stiff in that position.

"Snotlout." Pelles said, relief in his voice.

"That's what I thought." Scott said.

"Did you have any trouble?" Stiles asked, eyeing the rips in Scott's backpack as he slung it off and shoved it on the passenger side floor.

"I'm pretty sure I got attacked by a shadow." Scott said. "It was annoying, and it threw me around, but it wasn't anything too bad."

"How'd you beat it?" Stiles asked eagerly.

"Fire." Scott said. "And I found another clue."

"Where is it? Did you write it down?" Lydia asked. Scott shook his head and withdrew his phone.

"I didn't have coverage here, but I could still take pictures." He said when Stiles furiously opened his mouth to probably chew Scott out for not calling. He showed Lydia, because Pelles was kneeling on the ground next to Snotlout.

"There they stand, trapped how they were found

Through chains of stone is how they were bound

Go where freedom stands on an island in the murky sea

And where a pathway stretches across water—where they'll be."

"'A plus' for rhyming." Stiles muttered when Lydia was done.

"That's nothing." Pelles grinned, looking up from Snotlout. "Hamish the second once had the lines 'Where the land meets the sea, in the crook of the master's knee/that's where your search will be...gin.'"

"That's a whole new level of special," Stiles said and continued patronizingly, "but then again, Vikings aren't known for their poetry."

"Nope," Pelles said proudly. "But then again, we reached the Americas long before other Europeans."

"Did you ever get to the Americas?" Lydia asked, looking interested.

"Yeah," Pelles grinned. "Went there a few years before I died the first time around. The six of us flew up and down the coast. I believe we got down to South Carolina before we decided it was too hot and retreated back north."

"That's awesome." Stiles said. "What was it like?"

"Hot," Pelles sighed wistfully. "Better than it is now," he admitted. "More open space, less need to worry about being seen—I mean, some of the Native Americans met up with us, but they didn't find out about our dragons."

"I imagine that's a good thing." Lydia said.

Pelles shrugged. "Hey, some other tribes were less than friendly. The Berserkers were at constant war with us."

"Weren't those the guys who got high and dressed up like animals and hacked and slashed at anything that moved?" Scott asked.

Pelles shook his head. "Different group," he said, "but just as crazy."

"Let's get him in the car," Scott said, "and figure out where we need to go next."

They did so, pushing and pulling Snotlout's unresponsive body into the far seat of the back. Pelles climbed in next to him, Lydia following. Scott and Stiles hopped into the front seats again and Stiles started the car, putting it in drive and heading back the way they had come.

"So, we need to go to a place where freedom stands in the murky sea and on a path that stretches really far." Stiles said.

"That could be hundreds of places," Lydia said. She pulled out her phone and began typing, her brow furrowed.

"Drive slower," she snapped at Stiles. "You're going too fast for my coverage."

"You have coverage out here?" Stiles demanded.

"I got it before I left." Lydia said. "I used my time wisely."

"Duly noted." Pelles said. "What are you looking up?"

"'Liberty in the sea' gets me a ship." Lydia said. "Not what we're looking for, I think."

"Could they be on the ship?" Scott asked.

Pelles shook his head. "I think they'd be somewhere a bit more stable." He said. "I mean, the ship could sink, and then they'd be at the bottom of the ocean."

"Try 'freedom on an island'." Stiles said. "That's what the clue said, right?"

"Yeah," Lydia said absentmindedly, already deleting her previous inquiry. "Damn!" She growled. "I'm out of range."

"We'll get it back," Scott promised. "Liberty or freedom—that'll come up with something."

"Uh, so what are we gonna do with him?" Fishlegs asked, looking at Snotlout.

"He's your friend, your problem." Stiles said.

"Yeah, but he's gotta wake up! I mean, he's breathing, so that's . . . that's good, right?" Fishlegs asked.

"I don't know." Scott said. "Maybe we should get him to a hospital."

"We don't have time." Stiles argued. "We need to find out where—"

"Statue of Liberty." Lydia said.

"What?" Scott asked.

"The Statue of Liberty," Lydia repeated. "That's the freedom on the island in the murky water."

"Okay . . ." Pelles said slowly. "So where's the long pathway?"

"I don't know," Lydia said, frustrated. "We need to go and look. What does it mean 'chained in stone'?"

"Could be they're trapped in stone." Stiles suggested. "They could be statues."

"Okay," Scott said slowly, "so we're looking for statues in New York City—"

"Or New Jersey," Lydia said.

"Or New Jersey," Scott agreed. "This is going to be difficult, isn't it?"

"Very," Pelles said solemnly.


Scott wasn't sure how they got Snotlout onto the plane, only that Stiles managed to convince the ticket lady that he was his cousin who has taken some medication for plane sickness. The ticket person had waved them in after checking Snotlout's breath, clearing him of alcohol, and telling Stiles that his cousin needed to clean his mouth.

Before they had entered the airport, Scott had lent some of his clothes to Snotlout, though the other guy was broader in the shoulders and a few inches shorter. Pelles had washed his friend, the Beacon Hills teens waiting impatiently outside the bathroom. Pelles used cheap hotel shampoo and soap Stiles had brought along ("Every time my dad and I go fishing out of town I snag some, just in case" he'd said). Snotlout looked much more normal when he'd come out, though bits of toilet paper were still stuck in his hair from Pelles's attempts to dry it.

"Yeah, he's once removed." Stiles had told the ticket inspector before helping Pelles carry Snotlout inside the plane.

Their parents (mostly Lydia's) had scraped enough money for several round trips with multiple people, and so they had enough money for Snotlout's ride.

Pelles sat next to the window, staring wistful out while Stiles sat in the middle, angled towards Scott who sat on the aisle seat. Lydia and the still-unconscious Snotlout sat in another; their third seat remained unoccupied. Not many people were flying from the Nerlerit Inaat Airport in Ittoqqortoormiit to New York City.

"So," Pelles said, glancing nervously at Snotlout again. "What are we going to do once we get there?"

"New York City is one of the world's major global cities." Lydia said, leaning across the tiny isle, her voice low. "There are literally hundreds—thousands—of statues."

"We only need to look for the ones in view of the Statue of Liberty on a long walkway or bridge." Scott said, "That has to reduce the number, right?"

Lydia pulled out her phone and began tapping away again, nearly glaring down at the little screen. Pelles was back to gazing out the window, his beefy hands twisting in his lap. Stiles was twitching as well, and Scott figured that his ADHD must be acting up with how still he'd been these last few days, stuck on plane rides and car trips.

"There are several monuments and statues around the Statue of Liberty." Lydia said finally. "I can't find a cohesive list, but it shouldn't be too hard to find some on Google Maps and work our way from there."

Pelles shook his head. "These are twins." He said. "They aren't going to be monuments or anything like that. They're going to be too small to show up on Google Maps."

"Then look for twin statues." Stiles suggested.

"How do we even know that's what we're after?" Pelles said. "I mean, for all we know they could be decorating somebody's yard or something. They don't have to be people-sized."

Stiles groaned. "This is too complicated." He muttered, rubbing one hand in his hair. "Snotlout was easier to find, and he was in a cave in Greenland!"

"We haven't started yet," Scott said. "Maybe we're looking at this wrong. We're stuck on the statues. There has to be something else."

"Give me your phone," Lydia ordered. Scott handed it over, unlocking it quickly. Lydia brought up the photo of the riddle and looked at it.

"Could there be something in 'pathway over water'?" She asked, pointedly looking at Stiles.

"Bridge," he said immediately. "Has to be."

Lydia nodded. "Then they're on a bridge in sight of the Statue of Liberty. That narrows it down."

"How many bridges is that?" Scott asked.

"There's one of the New Jersey side," Lydia said, returning her focus to her phone and flicking her fingers over the surface to enlarge the map. "It's unnamed, I guess, but it goes from the Liberation Monument to Liberty State Park. There's the Ellis Island bridge that also goes to Liberty State Park. That's on the New Jersey side. On the New York, I think the only place you could really see it is from the Hugh L. Carey Tunnel."

"That's three places," Stiles said. "And someone needs to stay with Snotlout—we can't lug some unconscious dude around with us."

"I can stay with him," Pelles said. "And you guys can send me pictures from your phones."

"I don't have you number." Scott said. Stiles rolled his eyes and tugged Pelles's phone out of his pocket and opened it, quickly putting in Scott's number, Lydia's number and his own number. All three phones lit up with an incoming text and Stiles shoved Pelles's phone back in his hands.

"Now you do," he said. "So, do we take pictures of any statues that we come across and send them to Pelles."

"Sounds like a plan." Scott said. "Pelles, where do you want to meet?"

"Well, I've kinda always wanted to go to the Statue of Liberty," Pelles said, rubbing the back of his blonde head. "And since I've come over the pond, I wouldn't mind a bit of sightseeing."

Stiles and Lydia rolled their eyes while Scott grinned happily at Pelles.

"Okay," he agreed. "I wouldn't mind seeing it at all, either. Lydia, you take the New York bridge. Stiles, the unnamed bridge and I'll take Ellis."

They nodded. "We'll be there in a little over four hours." Lydia said, checking her phone's clock. "I'd recommend sleep or relaxation, since we're going to be very busy soon."

Scott hadn't gotten much sleep in the last two days, and now that they had a plan, he decided that it would be a good idea to close his eyes.


He woke up when they were disembarking. They had very little luggage between them; Scott and Stiles just packed enough for two or three days, and Pelles had, of course, been yanked over to America without warning and only had what the others scrounged up in the few hours they'd been given—with the mall destroyed and most of Main Street, clothing shops were getting rare in Beacon Hills.

Lydia had the most luggage out of all of them, but even she hadn't brought much. It all fit nicely into two suitcases, and Stiles went to get them in an attempt to get rid of some of his jitters.

Lydia, Scott, Pelles and Snotlout were left to wait awkwardly near a potted plant in the obscenely busy airport. Pelles was supporting Snotlout behind the plant in an attempt to keep unwanted eyes off of his friend.

A security guard spotted them, but merely rolled his eyes muttering 'teenagers', giving them the stink eye before getting caught up in a commotion between a business group who seemed to have run into an old lady coming off of the escalator.

"Well," Stiles said, hurrying up with his baggage. "We ready?"

"Yep," Scott said, grabbing Snotlout's other arm and slinging it over his neck. Though the boy had been washed, he still didn't smell good—Scott's werewolf nose didn't help him there—and he gagged slightly, repulsed.

"Sorry," Pelles said sincerely. "We didn't bathe regularly in the tenth century."

"'S that when you died?" Scott asked. Pelles flinched.

"No," Pelles said. "I died in . . . er, I estimated 1025 A.D., but Snotlout died a few years before me. 1017, maybe? Hiccup was the one who paid attention to that. By the time I died, I'd given up years and was focused on the dragons."

"What was it like?" Scott asked. "Living with dragons?"

Pelles's eyes softened and his bulky face sagged slightly. "Amazing," He said nostalgically. "We had fought the dragons for centuries, but when peace was brought around . . . we went farther than anyone else in the world. The dragons . . . they were our friends and our companions and just . . . I miss them. This world isn't the same without them. You could go high up into the clouds, go to places no humans could ever have hoped to reach. They inspired us, they taught us, they fought with us . . ."

"Why did they disappear?" Scott asked, staring at Pelles avidly. He was vaguely aware that Stiles and Lydia were in front, breaking a path for them though they were listening as well.

Pelles sighed. "Humans," he said simply. "They started killing them. Soon the brutality was too much, and something happened. I don't . . . by my investigations a few lives ago in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries I estimate the dragons were completely gone by 1070 A.D. There are no bones, the nests were cleaned out, and I couldn't find any bodies. Any books on the subject were gone. Anything that had to do with real dragons was completely gone. I think the dragons might be on Berk."

"If they're gone from this world, they wouldn't be on your old island." Stiles said, dubiously looking over his shoulder.

Pelles shook his head. "Not necessarily." He said. "Berk's gone."

"What?" Lydia asked.

"It's gone," Pelles repeated. "I went to look in the thirteenth century. I found all the old islands, but not mine."

"How can an entire island disappear?" Scott asked.

Pelles coughed a laugh. "Actually," he said, "a whole string of islets disappeared once. They all sank into the sea."

"How?" Stiles gaped, flipping around so that he was walking backwards, facing them. Lydia rolled her eyes and stepped in front of him, guiding them all down a less crowded hallway.

"A Screaming Death," Pelles said, "a nasty dragon that's only born once a century. It's a Boulder Class dragon, and it tunneled under the islands until they crumbled under their own weight."

"Think that could have happened to Berk?" Scott asked.

Pelles shrugged. "I don't know."

"Well, continuing on." Stiles said. "I guess the mysterious disappearing Berk is going to have to be added to the list of questions we have for the Dragon Master."

"Yeah," Pelles said.

"What dragon did the Dragon Master ride?" Lydia asked. "What did you al ride? How many species of dragons were there? What could they all do?"

"Slow down," Pelles said, alarm flashing across his face. "Um, the Dragon Master rode a Night Fury—we called it the Unholy Offspring of Lightning and Death."

"Pleasant." Lydia commented, holding open a door so that they could slip out into an empty ally.

"No one saw it for years," Pelles said, seemingly unable to stop the words. His expression was clearly alarmed, his mouth moving as though he just couldn't stop talking. "It never took food and seemed to only want to destroy. It never missed—we knew how to kill every single dragon out there, but the only warning when it came to that dragon was to run, hide, and pray it did not find you."

He fell silent, snapping his mouth shut looking relieved and slightly green.

"Um, okay." Stiles said. "You okay, Pelles? That was weird. Did anyone else find that weird, or is that just me?"

"I couldn't stop talking." Pelles blurted out, saying the words as quickly as possible before closing his mouth firmly again.

"What?" Scott asked.

"I-I couldn't stop," Pelles said, hefting Snotlout higher onto his shoulder. "It's like something was making the words come out."

"Maybe it was part of the spell you Riders are under," Stiles suggested. "If so, what the hell? This is such a weird spell, dude."

"More like curse," Pelles muttered under his breath. Scott was fairly certain he was the only one who heard him, and he shot the bigger boy a reassuring smile. Pelles returned it.

"Okay," Lydia said. "Dragons later. Right now, let's catch a cab and get to the bridges."


The taxi took them from the John F. Kennedy airport to the entrance of the Hugh L. Carey Tunnel. It continued on their way until they reached Holland Tunnel. They had negotiated with the cab driver to take them to the entrance of the Liberty State Park. The guys had all winced at the cost, but Lydia had taken charge and paid the cabbie fairly, but not excessively.

The ride was silent, and as soon as they all piled out of the taxi, the cabbie split. Stiles and Scott looked at each other, nodded, and then headed to their bridges, checking the maps on their phones as they walked. Pelles had enough money to get him and Snotlout to the island, and Stiles had decided that Snotlout's cover story was that he was extremely narcoleptic. Scott had grinned while Lydia had rolled her eyes.

Now Stiles was walking down the pathways of Liberty State Park, trying to figure out where, exactly, he was.

"So, I'm in the green patch," he said to himself, "and I need to get to the greyish-white patch."

"Lost?" An amused voice asked. Stiles spun around and blinked at a female jogger who had stopped, removing an earbud from the ear closest to Stiles. Her brown hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail and rubbed against her shoulders as she smiled. She looked to be in her early twenties, with a narrow nose and clear brown eyes.

Stiles prefers green.

"Yeah . . ." Stiles said. "I'm trying to get to the Liberation Monument."

"Okay," the jogger laughed. "Not from New Jersey, are you?"

"California." Stiles said.

"Huh," the jogger said, her face scrunching up. "There's something weird going on over there. Apparently some town or something disappeared."

"Really?" Stiles asked, desperately trying not to sound too concerned. At least people knew Beacon Hills had disappeared. Everyone really started panicking when the National Guard hadn't shown up to help. Stiles panicked. A little bit.

(His dad panicked more.)

"Yeah," the jogger said. "Where're you from?"

Stiles shrugged. "A small place called Likely."

Stiles's mom had taken him and Scott there once for a little time out of Beacon Hills a few months after Scott's dad had taken off. Her older cousin lived there, and had taught Scott and Stiles how to carve figurines out of a bar of soap.

"Likely?" The jogger's eyes glittered in amusement. "I like that."

Stiles laughed nervously and shortly, looking down. "So, uh, where is the Monument?"

"Just walk that way," the jogger pointed to the east. "You'll hit a walkway, and you'll see the Statue of Liberty. Facing east, you'll go right and head that way until the bridge widens out to another section of the park. You'll see it, okay?"

"Yeah," Stiles said, smiling gratefully. "Thanks."

"Of course," the jogger said. "Want my number in case you get lost again?" She asked flirtatiously.

"No thanks," Stiles said, shaking his head. "My girlfriend's gonna meet me there."

He felt bad when he saw her wilt, but smiled again and turned to the east. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her replace the earbud, and caught a glimpse of a ring around her left finger. His guilt eased and he shuddered slightly as he kept walking.

Creepy lady.