Dimmadreki's Quest Chapter 35

They'd meant to just return to the frozen nest, collect Norðurljós, and go. Where they'd go, they had no idea; they figured they'd work it out in the air. But Valka and Stoick needed to know everything that had happened since the Night Furies left, and the only way Dimmadreki could explain it was by laboriously writing runes on the rocks with his claws. That was time-consuming. By the time he'd explained the most important events of their most recent voyage, the other dragons in the nest had begun to arrive. Among the first were Cloudjumper and Skullcrusher, who were overjoyed to see their human friends again. They wanted to talk to those humans, and only Dimmadreki could translate from dragon to Norse and back again. His wrist muscles were beginning to ache from all that writing. That was when the new Bewilderbeast arrived to take over.

"He's not quite as good-looking a dragon as the first one," Valka said.

"He looks like a fighter," Stoick noticed. "We already know he's a killer."

HE'S IN CHARGE NOW,
FOR BETTER OR WORSE.
HE EXPECTS YOU TO BOW

"I've gotten used to that," Stoick nodded. "If he's the dragon chief, then I'll treat him like one."

YES, HE'S THE CHIEF.
HE'S HARD-HEADED, BUT
HE'S LEARNING TO
LISTEN. I THINK HE'S
A LOT LIKE YOU, DAD

Stoick chuckled. He and his wife saw the Alpha glaring at them, so they stepped toward him and bowed, dragon-style. The Bewilderbeast nodded and focused his attention elsewhere.

"I guess things are under control here," Dimmadreki said to Myrkrid. "The great quest is over and all the dragons are free. I guess the next question is, 'What now?' "

Myrkrid looked around the nest, first casually, then nervously. "Have you seen Mánarskuggi lately?"

"Not since we got here," he replied. "I'm sure he's around here somewhere." He roared his son's name; there was no response.

"I'm not sure of that at all," his mate answered. "Remember when Næturvon took off on us? He asked us if that was one of those mistakes that his sister made all the time, that we didn't want him to make. So the idea would definitely be in his head. And she got away with it, so he'll probably think he can, too. I don't see him anywhere! Can you think of any place he might have wanted to go after a scary experience, like the one he just went through?"

"Yes... yes, I know exactly where he went," Dimmadreki said, with the beginnings of panic in his voice. "Round up the family and let's fly. Fast! If he's doing this in broad daylight, then that could turn very, very bad."

o

The entire tribe had turned out to see the anointing of their new chief. Gothi was waiting in the village common, with a burnt log at her feet; she would use the ashes from that log to make the chief's sign on Fishlegs' forehead and confirm him in his new role. His parents were bursting with pride that their son had overcome the stigma of disgrace at Stoick's hands to become the number-one man on the entire island. The teen-aged girls all flocked to see him, and hoped he'd pick one of them to be his wife someday (his engagement to Astrid hadn't been announced yet). Most of the other Vikings were unsure about this development; they weren't convinced that a baker's apprentice would make a proper chief. Fishlegs himself was so nervous, his hands were shaking. But Stoick had said he'd make a good chief, and Stoick ought to know. The tribe needed a leader, and he was on the verge of becoming that leader.

As he stepped toward Gothi, the whole town went quiet. The aging priestess reached down and rubbed her thumb on the ashes of the burnt log. Then she stood and reached up toward his forehead.

"Wait!" came a harsh shout. Everyone's head swiveled to see who was interrupting the ceremony.

Snotlout son of Spitelout strode into the common, armed and armored for battle. "I challenge, according to Viking law."

"Ye canna do that!" Gobber burst out. "Yer whole family line is disqualified to be th' chief."

"He can challenge the candidate, whether he can become the chief or not," Spitelout said confidently from the sidelines. "The challenge and the succession are two different things. That's the law. Isn't it, Gothi?" The old woman paused, then nodded reluctantly.

"Okay!" Snotlout grinned. "So get this guy a weapon and a shield, and let's have at it! I'll show you all who's the real Viking around here. And who isn't!" He folded his arms and smirked as Fishlegs' father ran home to get some weapons.

Astrid sidled up to Fishlegs. "Here's my best axe," she said quietly. "Now's the time to use those axe-fighting lessons I've been teaching you."

"Thanks," he replied hesitantly, "but this is going to be the fight of my life, and I think I should stick to the weapons I know best. Dad's getting my hammer."

She began to object, then stopped herself. He had listened to her advice, and now he was making the best decision he could. That's what chiefs were supposed to do, right? If he was doing the right thing, then she'd be out of line to make him do otherwise, even if they were married already, and they weren't. She held her peace and stepped back into the crowd. She'd noticed a potentially bad situation, and she casually wandered over in that direction, just in case.

Fishlegs' father returned a few minutes later with a shield and his son's favorite hammer. The chief-to-be already wore his usual helmet and a very nervous expression. Snotlout brandished a spiked mace, and had a shield and helmet as well. He radiated confidence, even cockiness. The crowd closed in and formed a ring about sixty feet across as the two combatants squared off.

"Feeling nervous, Fishlegs?" he taunted. "You know I've never lost a one-on-one fight, right?"

"Past performance is not an indicator of future gains," Fishlegs replied nervously.

"Huh?" Snotlout had trouble with big words sometimes.

"That means any Viking can beat any other Viking on any given day."

"Yup," Snotlout nodded. "And today, I am going to beat you!" He rushed at Fishlegs; there was a crash as their weapons hit shields; and they drew back.

"That didn't hurt," Fishlegs said, surprised.

"I just want you to think you're doing well," Snotlout retorted. "I hate for people to die embarrassed." He ran at Fishlegs again, and this time, the future chief was knocked down. The crowd gasped. But he scrambled to his feet.

"No blood," he called, after checking himself quickly. Fights like this usually ended at first blood, unless someone was knocked unconscious first (or was killed with a single blow).

"Oh, you want blood?" Snotlout smirked. "I can fix that for you!" He adjusted his shield as Fishlegs braced himself for another charge.

High overhead, Mánarskuggi looked down on the scene. He'd come to this island to see his human friend Fishlegs again (and get his ear flaps scratched). There had been no one in the cove; unsure where to find him, he'd taken a chance and flown over the village... and found his friend in the middle of town, fighting another human. He didn't know about Viking duels. He wasn't concerned with all the other humans who surrounded the scene. All he knew was that his friend was being attacked... by the same human who had hurt his grandfather! He remembered his father's words the last time he'd encountered this human. "If they so much as show their faces, I'll blow their feet out from under them." His eyes narrowed. He folded his wings, rolled over, and dove.

Snotlout was getting ready to rush at his adversary once more – he'd aim for Fishlegs' face this time – when he heard a sound that made his blood run cold. That rising whistle... everyone else heard it, too. They all looked up. "Night Fury!" "Get down!" Most of the Vikings threw themselves flat on the ground, with only the two combatants staying on their feet. The dragon fired; his firebolt was small, but even a small Night Fury firebolt is nothing to trifle with. It lanced down and burst at Snotlout's feet, knocking him back, blackening his clothes, and covering him with burnt dirt and grass. Snotlout didn't get down; he got out. He dropped his weapons, turned, and ran, rubbing dirt out of his eyes and leaping over the Vikings who were prone on the ground as he put as much distance as he could between himself and the scene of that sneak attack.

Some of the braver Vikings looked up and saw the Night Fury glide in for a landing. It wasn't a big dragon at all, but it certainly looked scary to those who weren't used to seeing dragons up close. It settled to the ground, folded its wings, and walked right up to Fishlegs.

"Mánarskuggi? I don't know if this is the best time for a visit, but –" The dragon gurgled and butted at his legs with its nose. "Okay, okay! You don't take 'no' for an answer, do you?" He put down his hammer and shield and scratched behind its ear flaps with both hands. He smiled as the dragon visibly relaxed.

Gobber looked to his right and could barely see Snotlout, off in the distance, still running. He looked to his left and saw Fishlegs, calmly petting the most destructive dragon in existence. "Now that's what I call a chief!" he shouted, and the other Vikings took up the shout. "Chief! Chief! Chief!" they chanted. No one doubted him now.

No one, except one. Spitelout had been powerless to intervene when the dragon broke up his son's moment of triumph. But he was still determined to see Snotlout take the highest place in the tribe, even if he had to pay a price for it personally. He'd brought a spear with him, just in case. He wouldn't have to give Fishlegs a fatal wound; that would get him executed. No, a belly wound, like the one he'd accidentally given Stoick, would take the baker's apprentice out of contention just as effectively. He'd probably get banished for this, but if his son became the chief someday, it would be worth it. He drew back his spear to throw it –

...and felt the razor-sharp edge of an axe against his throat. At the other end of that axe was the warrior girl, Astrid. "Bad idea," she warned him quietly, with a shake of her head. Slowly, sadly, he lowered the spear and admitted defeat. His dreams of rulership for himself and his son were over.

In the center of the crowd, Gothi was gesturing for Fishlegs to approach her. He bent down and said to the dragon, "This won't take long. I'll be right back." The dragon didn't understand the words, but it made no protest when he stopped scratching its ears, stepped up to Gothi, and went down on one knee before her. She made the triple mark on his forehead that showed everyone who Berk's new chief was. He stood and nodded humbly as the Vikings chanted, "Long live the chief! Long live the chief!"

When the cheering died down, Gunnarr Hofferson stepped into the circle. "I think this is a good time to announce that our new chief is officially engaged to be married to my daughter, Astrid!" More cheers arose from the villagers, along with some cries of despair from the teen-aged girls, and some groans of disappointment from those girls' parents. Astrid joined him in the circle, feeling humiliated from all the attention. But she managed to stand on tiptoe and whisper in his ear, "You owe me one already."

"I owe you, and I also owe Mánarskuggi," he whispered back. "And Stoick, too, which means I also owe Dimmadreki, and –"

That was when a string of black shadows swept across the crowd. They looked up and saw more Night Furies – five of them! They landed in the circle of Vikings, one after the other; the circle grew to accommodate them as the Vikings gave them plenty of room. Some of the girls ooh'ed and ahh'ed over the cute little baby dragon, who was about the same size as Mánarskuggi had been when he first met Fishlegs. None of them could understand what the dragons said to each other, but it sounded ferocious. No one moved. Berk had seen a scene like this only once, and that was early in the morning, not in broad daylight. Here they were – the unholy offspring of lightning and Death itself – and they'd brought their unholy offspring with them! And they weren't attacking anyone! They were just standing in front of Fishlegs, talking to each other. If this was a sign from the gods about the Vikings' new chief, then their new leader would be like no other chief who had ever lived!

Myrkrid was the first to speak. "Even Næturvon never did anything this stupid, Mánarskuggi! You've broken the record for Night Fury disasters! Landing in a human village, in broad daylight, with no other dragons to help you? Do you want them to kill you and cut your head off?"

"Fishlegs would never hurt me," Mánarskuggi protested.

"Maybe he wouldn't, but all these other humans will!" she shot back. "Look at all the weapons they're carrying on their belts! They're dragon slayers, every one of them! You're a dragon! They're just waiting for an excuse to kill you!"

"But they didn't kill me, Mother! They just watched us! See – they're still watching."

Myrkrid sputtered in frustration. "Why won't you believe me? Why won't you believe your own eyes? Help me out here, Dimmadreki."

Dimmadreki looked thoughtful. "You really like Fishlegs, don't you?"

"Yes, Father, I do."

"Do you think you could let him ride you when you reach your adult size?"

"I think so. I'll bet it would be fun."

Myrkrid interrupted. "Is this what you call 'help?' Whose side are you on, Dimmadreki?"

"We know we have to send him out someday, so our kind doesn't get too concentrated," Dimmadreki reminded her. "Are we going to just dump him in the wilderness and hope he can make it on his own? Wouldn't it be better to send him to a place where he has a friend, and where we know we can check up on him any time we want?"

"Dimmadreki, you're not serious! Are you? You'd seriously send your own son to live with the humans? When he's barely past one year old?"

"Are you serious?" Tannlaus added in disbelief.

"I think he is," Næturvon chimed in. "It's the kind of thing Dad comes up with all the time."

"Fishlegs is the Vikings' new Alpha now," Dimmadreki told them; he could see the fresh mark on the big young man's forehead. "He can protect a dragon from the slayers. It will be a huge boost to his own reputation if he has a Night Fury following him around – no other human could make a claim like that. He and our son like each other. They can take care of each other. As for Mánarskuggi's age, he can feed himself and look out for himself, and we aren't leaving him alone, like we'd do with an older child. We're leaving him with a friend."

"Besides," Næturvon added, "if you don't let him stay, he's probably going to keep coming back here on his own, over and over again! And you'll have to keep coming here to get him, over and over again. You might as well leave him here and get it over with."

"That part is probably true," Tannlaus nodded. She smiled at his praise.

"This is not the destiny I dreamed of for my son!" Myrkrid complained. "I'll have to think about this."

"Please do," Dimmadreki urged her. "If you can think of a really good reason not to let him stay with his friend, I want to know about it. But I think the positives totally outweigh the negatives here."

In the midst of this discussion, Astrid stood on tiptoes again. "Fishlegs, what's going on here?"

"I don't know," he whispered back. "I don't speak their language." They listened as the Night Furies grunted, growled, and burbled at each other. Then, as if on signal, four of them leaped into the air and flapped away. Two remained – Dimmadreki and Mánarskuggi. They walked back and stood in front of Fishlegs. Mánarskuggi was about half Dimmadreki's size, which meant he couldn't look Fishlegs in the eye, but he still looked dangerous. Dimmadreki was a full-sized Night Fury, and looked very dangerous. The crowd held its breath, unsure what might happen next.

MÁNARSKUGGI SAYS HE
WANTS TO STAY WITH YOU
IN BERK. IS THAT OKAY?

"He does?!" Fishlegs was visibly ecstatic at the thought.

YES

Mánarskuggi wrote that himself. His lessons in Norse runes were starting to pay off. He didn't understand Fishlegs' words, but the human's reaction to Dimmadreki's message was clear enough. He glanced at his father, who nodded in approval.

Astrid wasn't so enthusiastic. "We aren't going to share our house with a dragon, are we?"

"No. I mean, I don't think so." Fishlegs' mind was spinning. "I don't know if they're housebroken. But he'll probably stay close to us." He smiled at her. "Some people have dogs to scare away burglars and assassins. We're going to have a dragon guarding our house and watching out for us! No one is ever going to mess with us again! Not even Spitelout and Snotlout!"

"Okay, I can see that happening," she nodded. This was going to be weird. But then, the whole "marriage" thing was going to be weird anyway. This would just add another layer of weirdness to her life. She'd find a way to deal with it. "Are you going to ride on him, like you did with, uhh, Dimmadreki?"

"Maybe, when he gets bigger," Fishlegs thought out loud. "I know I'd like to. But he's still too small for that; he probably can't get me off the ground. I bet he could fly with you, though."

"Me? Ride on a dragon?" She paused. "Huh. Why not? You did it, so maybe I can do it too. If he'll let me."

"You have to try it, Astrid! It's awesome!"

Dimmadreki turned to Mánarskuggi and summed up what the humans had said to each other. "Be good, son. No disasters. I don't think the Vikings will be as tolerant as your mother and I have been."

Mánarskuggi rubbed noses with his father. "Dad, thanks for arranging this for me. It sounds like they've got something useful for me to do here. Besides, Fishlegs isn't just an ear-scratcher to me. I like him. He's a friend, even though he's a human."

"I understand. We'll be back now and then to check up on you," his father said, with a hint of warning in his voice. "But I think you'll be happier here than any other place I know of, and I've visited quite a few places. Take good care of your human, but don't take any nonsense from him! Remember who you are."

"I'm a Night Fury, Dad. I won't forget that. I'm not going to turn into a Viking."

"I hope not," Dimmadreki nodded as he prepared to fly away. "Turning from a Viking into a Night Fury was hard enough." He rubbed noses with his son again, then sprang into the air and rejoined the rest of his family.

Silence descended over the village. No one could make sense of all of this – the fight, the dragons, the anointing of the chief, the engagement. Everyone stared at everyone else, and they all wound up staring at Fishlegs. Astrid stood on tiptoes and whispered in his ear, "Do something chiefish! Make a decision or something!"

Fishlegs cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, "Everybody, listen!" The crowd focused on him. "This is my first order as the chief: leave the Night Furies alone! This one here is my friend. Anyone who messes with him, messes with me. He has the same rights as a Viking in this tribe. The others are his family, so we have to leave them alone, too." He took a breath. "My second order is, we'll have a feast tomorrow night for the whole village!"

The crowd let out a lusty cheer at that. The prolonged human roar seemed to make the young dragon nervous. He sidled up to his human friend – not for protection, Fishlegs sensed, but for reassurance. The big young man rested his hand on the Night Fury's head; Mánarskuggi burbled happily. Emboldened, Fishlegs hesitantly rested his other hand on Astrid's shoulder armor. She flinched, but made herself relax.

He stood there in the midst of his cheering people, with his beautiful, dangerous fiancée on his right hand and his amazing Night Fury friend on his left, and realized that this was probably the most awesome day of his life. So far, anyway.