Chapter Thirty Five
Stoick the Vast, May ye Hear his Name, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, stands, as ever, vigilant at the prow of his ship, the Horrible Helga, the midnight-black dragon Toothless at his side. They've been sailing for three or so days and nights and the sun has just risen, warm and glowing on the fourth day. Outcast Island is a dark, heavy blot on the landscape, getting steadily closer and closer with every long, deep oar stroke.
Not close enough for the Chieftains liking though. Stoick lets out an impatient growl from between his teeth, his green eyes narrowed at the ugly jagged shape of the island.
They've unanimously voted to be stealthy in their approach, which, of course, was Astrid's idea, rather than Stoick's, something he's still peeved about. His idea would be much faster, but she seems to think, for some reason, that if they all just storm the beach, shouting and screaming and waving weapons about, in the good old traditional Viking way, the Outcasts will spot them a mile off, and know exactly what they're here for, so they'll know to hide Hiccup well. The direct approach will give the Outcasts time to stash the boy, arm the catapults to try to sink their ships or bring down their dragons before they even get close.
But, Astrid says, they can be sneaky like Alvin if they want to; after all, the Outcast's will never expect that! After all, Vikings are somewhat... renowned for their approach to matters such as this, which usually involves head-bashing first and thinking later.
So if they don't know the Hooligan tribe are coming for their chief's son, then the Outcast's won't be prepared, and if the Outcast's aren't prepared, then they'll have a better chance of rescuing Hiccup.
And, Stoick does have to admit... The Outcast's will never know what hit them.
Unfortunately, to Stoick's teeth-gritted, pacing, fretting, worried annoyance, it does involving going the long way round, sneaking round the tall, volcanic black points of Outcast Island to a little, mostly hidden cove where the rocks stick out and create a shady outcrop that should serve to hide their boats.
It will take longer, and Stoick is impatient as ever, pacing and grumbling and generally being an ugly old grouch, because it's using time he's not sure they have.
Time he's not sure Hiccup has.
The dragon, Toothless, has been pacing the deck, up and down, up and down, for the last hour or so, and it's really starting to grate on Stoick's already frayed nerves. The urge to step out from the rail and join the Nightfury in pacing is pretty tempting, but Stoick just lifts the spyglass, one of Hiccup's inventions, to one eye to scan the island for signs of Outcasts or his son.
And that's when Toothless goes crazy.
The dragon roars, its eyes wide, terrified green-glass orbs as it leaps up from the deck, flapping its mighty, powerful black wings, muscle and sinew bulging in a desperate attempt to get into the air. But of course, without a rider, without Hiccup, the Nightfury tumbles back down onto the deck with a solid, booming crash that rocks the ship with its force, Vikings yelling and scrabbling for perchance on the sea-spray soaked deck. Toothless, pulling himself groggily to his feet, shakes his head to clear it and scrambles up onto his hind legs, launching himself into the air as he tries again, and again, and again. Over and over, roaring helplessly into the sky and thrashing his prosthetic tail about, glaring at it in distain, frustration, fury even. He's not sure why, but he needs to get to Hiccup. Now. With a harsh, harrowing cry the dragon sends strong, hefty shots of deep purple fire up into the sky above them, the bolts explode into showers of purple sparks and Toothless keens agonisingly, pressed right up the rail, forepaws scrabbling on the wood, leaning as close to the island as he can.
As if he can feel something horrible, terrible has happened to Hiccup.
Toothless is in a whole world of his own, keening and braying at the sky and snorting hefts of distraught purple flame into the air and Stoick, worried the Outcast's will spot the dragon or it's fire, is barking out sharp, harsh orders, to do something, anything to contain the Nightfury, sending little Vikings are running about this way and that to be batted about by the great black dragon's wings.
Then there's a soft cry from the sky, and Astrid's Nadder is landing on deck, her rider already unsaddled and running towards Hiccup's dragon.
"Toothless!" Astrid cries, leaping towards him and grabbing at the side of his saddle loops, trying to pull the thrashing, crazed dragon around to face her. "Toothless!"
Yanking on the leather straps, she finally manages to tug his head round to face her and, with a roar, wide green eyes meet startled, round blue ones. There's a long moment, a pause of silence between them in which they both just stare at each other, but then Toothless lets out a scared, small whimper and ducks his snout towards the black shape of the island and hums a long, pitiful whine. Astrid sighs, regarding the dragon sadly and running her totally-not-shaking hands over his rough, warm scales. She leans in close to him, offering as much comfort as she receives as she presses her forehead to the dragon's snout and whispers into his rough, scaly hide;
"I know, Toothless, I know." The dragon's breath snuffles against her skin, different to Stormfly's, it's more like sharp spices, like a blend of cinnamon and soot. "We'll get him back though. I promise."
The dragon pulls his head back and regards her, this small, blond, female human, and bucks his nose towards the island once more. Begging silently. Astrid can only shake her head, tears beginning to well her eyes.
"We can't fly just out there Toothless. I know you want to..." her voice chokes up a little. "We'll be spotted from miles away, and the Outcasts would shoot us from the sky. We need to stick to the plan... I..." She looks up again into his frustrated green eyes and bites back another apology. Toothless dips his snout and presses it to her palm.
He understands.
But they both know they need to hurry.
Together they turn and look out at the black shape of Outcast Island and Astrid's hand goes up to touch the small pouch at her throat, pouring all her hopes and prayers into it, into the Nightfury scales inside, and feeling that somehow, they might reach Hiccup.
Wherever he is.
Stoick, joining them at the bow, places a huge hand on the girls shaking shoulder, steadying them both, and watches the sea with the pair, spyglass grasped tightly in his other hand.
Just hold on son. He thinks. Hold on.
...
Shadow sits in the very far corner of the cell, lip bruised and split, blood drying a brownish crimson atop the forming purple bruising where he hasn't bothered to wipe it away. He's not sure when it had happened in the rush of things; it was either when he'd, pigheadedly, stupidly, gone and attacked a actual fully-grown bloody dragon of all things head on, or when the Outcasts had dragged him away, kicking and screaming.
He curls into himself; knees tucked up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them, hugging himself tight with his face buried in his knees, fingers white with the strength of his grip, crushing himself into himself, his eyes pressed to his kneecaps so hard to stop the tears that threaten to spill over that the black of his vision blooms with fuzzy colourful patterns that fizzle in and out like fireworks before his eyes. He feels smaller than he ever has in his life. Tiny. In the way Hiccup had looked tiny before that dragon.
Speaking of the dragon, the Nightmare in question roars mutedlyfrom the other side of the cage bars, trying it's best to breathe out what should have been a torrenting furnace of flames designed to melt the humans skin off its bones, but only coming up with short, angry sparks. Shadow keeps himself buried into himself and pressed as far away from it as possible in the small confines of the cage so he doesn't have to face the beast that spits fire and snarls viciously at him. The Nightmare has pressed itself against the bars, fighting tooth and claw to scratch its way through to get at the small, huddled figure steeped in shadows on the other side. She'd know that figure, that smell, that affinity for the darkness anywhere. This was the filthy Outcast scum who'd captured her.
With a wild, angry scream she launches herself at the bars again and again and again, over and over, blowing sparks and hissing until her whole frame trembles with exertion and fierce needles of pain shoot themselves all through her battered limbs.
She slumps, exhausted and in pain, into the dirt, her sickly yellow eyes fixed firmly on the grey, shadowy figure being swallowed into the darkness on the other side of the irritatingly undamaged bars. She huffs a glowing breath into the cold, inner eyelids heavy as she curls her battered tail around herself protectively, and hunkers down, completely exhausted.
Through lidded eyes, she watches the little human for quite some time as she drifts tiredly off. The figure just sits there, shivering with cold and makes no move against her as she had expected it to. She thinks it's probably just waiting until she falls asleep to slither in the shadows through the bars to kill her.
She snorts at this, realising that really, she's not sure she cares. Death might finally provide some relief from all the pain.
She does briefly wonder though, in her last thought before sleep claims her, if the little human might be just as much of a prisoner as she is.
Shadow's skinny frame is all bones and thin skin, long fingers grabbing at skeletal limbs and clasped into himself, holding himself, so tightly wrapped up in his loneliness, fear and pain that he forgets all about the Nightmare, and he doesn't notice the dark figure that looms just outside the cell bars until his head jerks up at the scrape of a lock to see Alvin, a hulking great figure, extending an arm to toss a small, limp body into the cell.
It lands in the dirt with a muffled thump, rolls over with the momentum,and lies perfectly still, bloodied and battered.
And Shadow would know that mop of reddish-brown hair and that thin, skinny body anywhere.
"Hiccup! Hic!"
Shadow scrapes his knees on the harsh gritty dirt as he scrambles over to the boy's limp body. The child's skin is a horrible mishmash of dark, heavy bruising and bloody welts from the cruel bite of the whip. Hiccup lies, limp and still, lips parted unconsciously, his skinny frame sucking in only the slightest of breaths; the ribs were countable on the rasping rise and fall of his chest. Alvin had ruined the boy's borrowed tunic completely, reduced it to rags and the boy trembles lightly, even in the depths of his unconsciousness. Whether from cold or pain, Shadow doesn't know, but he fervently hopes the boy is far too deeply unconscious to really feel a thing, and the shaking is just an automatic, thoughtless reaction to the icy chill in the cell. Hiccup's hair is matted and tangled with blood and his head rests back at an obscure angle from how he landed and rolled when he was thrown. Gentle, shaking hands make sure the boy's neck isn't broken, and press themselves hopelessly to the deep, weeping bloody gash across the child's face.
The dark, horrible chucking is what lets Shadow know Alvin is still there.
Watching.
"'E better not die." Hisses the Outcast leader through his teeth, his eyes narrowed to horrible thin, beetle-like slits and his teeth glinting in the weak light through the brush of his horrible black beard. "If 'e does, well, let's not think about what'll 'appen to you, 'eyh?"
Shadow glares up at his captor, eyes full of an icy fire, the look promising the Outcast unimaginable pain and torment.
"You bastard." He hisses lowly, eyes narrowed and voice spitting venom. "You complete and utter bastard."
Alvin snorts at him and rolls his eyes, a smirk curving up the corners of his lips before he turns away and lets out a cruel, curdling chuckle. Over his shoulder he throws a small pack, which rolls along the dirt floor and comes to rest by the side of Hiccup's hip. Shadow stares at the boy for a long second; taking is his lax expression and grey-white pallor and the stark contrast of the red bloody gouges in his fragile skin.
The angry, bloodthirsty roar that tears itself out of Shadow's mouth comes burbling up his throat from deep in his chest, and in a moment of unintelligible madness, Shadow rips himself viciously from Hiccup's side and flings himself against the cell bars, gripping them with a white-knuckled grip and thrusting one hand through to claw at the empty air behind Alvin's retreating back and screaming every profanity knows at the man. He shakes the bars and screams and screams and screams until his palms are raw and red and his throat is wrenched sore and Alvin's dark, retreating figure is long, long gone.
Alvin's laugh haunts his restless dreams that night.
...
A.N: Bam! Chapter 35 has appeared! And yeah, it's pretty much as evil as ever. :)
If you liked it, drop me a review to let me know! Your thoughts are always greatly appreciated! :D
Thanks for reading, I'll do my best to update again asap,
- Lenle