.
Broken
Chapter 38: Gathering
The time was drawing close. Within a mouthful of days the oldest eggs would begin bursting. Weak, hungry cries would soon swirl through Fire Nest as hatchlings demanded their first meal. Breeders would head out, hunting for prey easy to chew; mostly smaller fish and birds. As the days passed more eggs would hatch until the entire nest rang with their needy calls.
That would be the start of the hungriest season for Smoketail. Of all the lessons taught by his dam, the need for self restraint during the hatching would test him the most. His belly was nearly full now. Offerings had been plentiful for many days and soon he would be ready to curl up and rest. His scent would diminish to prevent competing with the new life clamoring in the egg nests outside. To conserve his strength during this time of hunger, he would doze lightly for many and more days.
Yet despite this knowledge, Smoketail did not feel an urge to rest. His body was thrumming with nervous energy. He hadn't yet moved down to the warm, moist comfort of the lower portion of his nest to wait out the hatching. Neither had he left the immense upper cavern to await his last offerings and watch the first new Kin rupture their shells with explosive force. Instead he hunkered down at the top of the shaft that joined the two halves of his nest. He watched the skies outside grow bright and dark, opening his maw for those Kin clever enough to find him and feed him.
There were two things he expected to come to him. One was the ghostwing, that singular Kin responsible for the previous Gatherer's death. The other was Crush Claw, the stunted Kin he'd charged with questioning the ghostwing's hunt.
He tried not to think on the ghostwing or its intentions. The fire in his liver waned every time he considered the smoldering corpse on the beach or the last words spoken by Pebbletongue. It confounded him to imagine a watcher who would attack a nest's Gatherer. It also worried him to know this one watcher had succeeded in grounding his predecessor.
As his body hungered for food, his mind hungered for the answers Crush Claw would bring. He'd been wise to refrain from killing that one. Once his anger at the small firescale's deception had dwindled, he'd recalled his desire to use him to bring preytooths to his nest. Gathering those clever little beasts to help feed him would surely set him above any rival nest. The skies would clear for his Kin as far as they could fly, once his full strength was known.
So where was that undersized collection of scales?
Smoketail wanted to call for that Kin, as he had before. The possibility the ghostwing might answer stopped him.
He dug his talons into the floor of the cave and listened to the sound of shattering stone. His fear of the ghostwing was wrong. No Gatherer should ever fear a living thing, Kin or prey. It soured the accomplishment of claiming the perfect nest.
A stonebelly and two brightscales swooped into the cavern with him, one brightscale carrying a hairy four legged prey beast in its claws and the others disgorging fish from their innards. Once they had relieved themselves of their offerings and he had swallowed the prey, he called to them.
"Kin, stay and speak. Tell me of the firescale whose flight name is Crush Claw."
The only answer was the scent of confusion touched with fear.
"Have you seen or heard of this Kin? I need his words."
One of the brightscales gave a nervous squawk and rushed for the open skies. Neither of the remaining two landed.
"I want to know of the ghostwing from the preytooth nest. I question his hunt."
Without giving off any meaningful scent or making a sound, the two left him and headed in different directions once free of the confines of the cave. Smoketail growled his anger but did nothing more. It pained him to know his dominion over Fire Nest was challenged and that he needed the aid of lesser Kin to overcome that threat.
Once more his thoughts curled on themselves and bit their own tails. The ghostwing had killed the old Gatherer but it didn't claim the airs of Fire Nest. It bonded to a preytooth and stayed in its nest with other similarly bonded Kin. Yet it had come to Fire Nest, entered the upper cavern of his nesting place. What did it want? Would it try to ground him? Would it bring the preytooths? Was it mind sick, beyond the understanding of any healthy Kin?
And why hadn't Crush Claw returned? Had the ghostwing grounded him?
Or had that fearful firescale managed to deceive him? He'd caught that scent from Crush Claw more than once. Were he and the ghostwing riding the same foul winds?
He'd told that young Kin he would know the taste of his preytooth bond partner if he failed to bring him the knowledge he needed. The idea that Crush Claw might have misled him stoked his liver with tremendous heat. He wanted to rush out into the daylight and find the cave in which Iceblood had been hidden.
For all the heat within him, it wasn't enough to move him beyond the shadowed edge of the cavern. The unknown threat of the ghostwing held him in place. It was like flying against winds that equaled his strength. No matter how much he struggled he could not move forward.
The scent of his agitation distracted him from what happened outside. It was only a few mild grumblings that caught his attention. The Kin just beyond the edge of the cave's entrance voiced their warnings to the intruder that wandered near their quickening eggs. Their scent had been overwhelmed by Smoketail's, masking their rising anxiety. He peered intently at the few nests he could see, wondering if Crush Claw had finally returned. He still hadn't enough heat in his liver to call out.
Smoketail was astonished to see Iceblood's lumpy body moving slowly between the nests. He sniffed deeply, catching the weakest trace of oil, salt and sharp metal. He was disappointed to smell no blood. Iceblood had healed well enough to avoid tempting Smoketail to an immediate meal.
A soft growl rattled his throat. This preytooth was bonded to the deceptive firescale on which Smoketail now waited. He'd warned that little Kin of the consequences of failing to bring him the knowledge he needed. His eyes narrowed and he huffed gently. The more he thought on Crush Claw's behavior the more he wondered what a preytooth really tasted like. Perhaps he should find out anyway. It had been several days now and his curiosity had grown.
The Gatherer moved forward slightly and rumbled to the preytooth. That bizarrely round head turned to him, the tiny eyes widening. Iceblood stopped moving, obviously alert to danger. It wouldn't serve him to drive the beast away so he crooned as he had before being fed by it. It came closer, one tentative step followed by another. He pressed his great head to the ground, letting it come close. It took a while but eventually the preytooth seemed to overcome its caution. He felt the tiny spot of warmth run across the thinner skin of his snout. The quiet gibbering it made barely reached his ear canals.
He opened his mouth.
An unaccustomed sense of prolonged urgency had maintained Hiccup's pace for most of the afternoon. It started just before they were going to break for lunch. His father had stopped by the forge to explain what he'd learned about several members of the village heading out to Red Death Island to look for Jaspin. Hiccup and Gobber had exchanged a knowing glance and promised to finish making their arrows as soon as possible. Quickly realizing Astrid needed to be informed of their drastically reduced timeline, Hiccup went to find her while Toothless headed off to inform the reptilian half of their team.
Astrid did not have good news for him when he found her. She'd been working hard to learn the iron wood bow's secrets. A brief frown creased her brow as he called out to her from the edge of the field. Freygerd watched the young woman's progress from the meager shade of a pine, a skin of water and a small bag with bandages and basic ointments in her hands.
The joints on some of their arrows hadn't held up to striking a hard target. The oak log that Folkvardr had dragged to the field had two heavy arrow heads protruding from it, the welds snapped off and the steel shafts lying nearby. The Nadder landed near the log and Freygerd started moving closer as Hiccup approached. Astrid dismounted and waved Ivarr at him, her hair plastered to her forehead and her tunic damp from her exertion.
"How many more are you making? One broke on impact and the other snapped when I tried to pull it out of the log." Astrid's voice was still strong, even if her body showed plain evidence of the cost of her efforts.
"As many as we can," he answered, figuring in his head it would be fewer than they'd intended to produce that morning. "We have another problem, though."
It took a little time to explain to them what he knew and how their plans had been changed. Astrid muttered a most unseemly curse.
"You need to make sure these welds hold up better, then," she warned him.
Hiccup nodded. "We will, but I also need to tell you we're having another conclave in the great hall tonight."
"Not much secrecy in a meeting held in a public place," Freygerd observed dryly.
"No time for traveling to the cove," Hiccup countered, as his father had earlier. "We're leaving tomorrow morning anyway. Preventing rumors will do little at this point."
Astrid took a deep breath, trying to shake off the weariness that pulled at her. "Then I need to spend the rest of the day practicing. These arrows are..." She noticed Hiccup's worried expression. " effective but... temperamental. None of them fly the same way and they make Ivarr kick a lot harder on the release."
He agreed and looked to the pair of triple bladed points buried in the dense wood. He grabbed one of the broken shafts and pulled but couldn't move it at all. Freygerd called to her Gronckle and gestured pulling the blade free. The hefty dragon easily snagged the shaft between his teeth but when he lifted the log came up with it. Folkvardr stepped forward and placed his wide foot on one end. Turning to straddle the log, the Gronckle sat on the other end and went after the shaft again. This time it pulled free and he let Hiccup take it from him.
With both broken arrows recovered, Hiccup headed back to the smithy. The long walk out and back put a noticeable strain on his stump and he was frowning at the pain beginning to radiate from the shortened limb. He relayed Astrid's requirements to the blacksmith and they went about trying to find a solution.
The contentment he usually felt when working the forge was entirely absent as they struggled to heat and work the arrows without Toothless. It wasn't just the Night Fury's ability to heat the metal faster and cleaner than the forge. Hiccup found himself wrestling with thoughts that snuck in between hammer blows.
Was it right to assume killing the Red Death was the best solution? Could Hiccup make any difference by trying to speak to it? Would those who had gone to the island earlier change the outcome of their efforts?
Was there any reason to believe their chances of survival were better than last time?
It shocked both men when Gobber took a bad swing with his hammer attachment and bent the shaft of the arrow on the anvil. The master smith looked stunned for a moment and then scowled at the arrow. He backed up one step and recklessly swung his hammer in a wide arc as he turned away. A few swords leaning against a support post went spinning across the cramped space of the smithy. Luckily none headed Hiccup's way.
"Gobber?" Hiccup's concern for his mentor filled that single word.
The smith waved the arm bearing the hammer again, nearly smacking a shield. "I'm..." Anger in equal measure to Hiccup's worry rumbled briefly before the older man's shoulders slumped and his head bowed. "I'm..." It was softer, more annoyed than furious the second time. He turned partway back toward his apprentice. He gazed over his shoulder at Hiccup. "Suddenly I'm worried about George. I-" He paused before letting go of a quiet sigh. "I'm thinking there's a chance I won't see him again."
Hiccup thought a moment, unaccustomed to being the one to offer advice to his teacher. But in this case, he believed he could help. "I know exactly how you feel."
Gobber's sooty brow furrowed. "You do?"
With a nod and an unconscious grimace at the memory, he answered, "Toothless left. I didn't know why. I didn't know what to think at all." He shrugged helplessly. "He came back. He never meant to stay away for good. It was just my... my fear that made it seem possible."
The words drifted in the air between them for a long moment. Eventually the smith shook his head and muttered, "I suppose so." He looked out the wide doorway to the Gronckle to whom he'd been temporarily matched. For its alleged youth it was still of a size that could handle lifting the big man's bulk with ease. He waved his good hand at her listlessly. "She's nice and all, sweet tempered, really. But she's just not..."
"I know. She's not the friend you've become accustomed to, the one who seemed to understand you without being able to speak a word of Norse."
Gobber squinted at him briefly. "Ye know? Ye understand what I mean?"
Hiccup's voice was heavily laced with both humor and frustration. "Gobber, of course I understand! Why do you think I go nuts every time something happens with Toothless?"
That gave the smith something to consider. "I didn't mind him being gone so much. I figured he'd be back. But having to get on her back and train with her... it just feels..."
Hiccup tried to imagine having no choice but to fly with a dragon other than Toothless and failed completely. "Like you're being forced to give up on him."
Gobber nodded slowly. "Aye. She's nice, but she's not him."
"Hiccup! Gobber!"
Mord filled the large door to the workshop. Behind him stood the purple Nadder that had paired with him. And coming in for a landing well behind them was Toothless.
"The dragons are up to something. I think they want to meet with us."
Hiccup groaned. Now even their rushed schedule was being rushed.
It was, of course, impossible not to be noticed. Several important people in the village were seen heading to the great hall. What really set Berk buzzing was the sight of a number of dragons calmly walking in the same direction. Those that stopped their work to watch saw those large creatures disappear into the hall. The expected cry of outrage at such an invasion never came. The only outbursts were from those within the hall who were ejected before the doors were closed and barred from inside. Many were left scratching their heads and talking among themselves, trying to make sense of what they'd seen.
Stoick the Vast was not a man used to being summoned. He was obviously displeased when the word reached him that the meeting he'd planned on having that evening was called for by someone else without consulting him. Once their small gathering was set in motion, he knew things would have to move even faster. They might have managed to avoid the notice of most villagers by congregating after dark but there was no hiding their activity in full daylight. He could only imagine the sort of rumors that would be racing through the populace by the time the meeting was over.
At least there hadn't been much argument from the few who were resting, eating or otherwise relaxing among the benches when he'd asked them to leave. Their deference was automatic and reassuring but the sight of several dragons walking in as they left had their jaws hanging slack.
The twelve people in the group took up little space within the hall but a dozen dragons, including a large Nightmare and two Zipplebacks, made for close quarters. The instructions Stoick quickly gave to push the extra benches to the far walls were apparently repeated by Toothless. The Night Fury's loud growl prompted careful nudges from wings and snouts to shove the furniture out of the way.
Despite the fact that he hadn't called for the meeting, Stoick immediately took charge. Raising his voice wasn't necessary so once the participants had settled he spoke as he would to a boat load of rowers.
"Our time to prepare has been cut short. Hogknee has convinced some folks to go to Red Death Island to look for his son."
When Toothless started growling and snarling he almost asked the black dragon to be quiet. Seeing the eyes of all the dragons trained on the Fury made it obvious their leader was translating his words to his... followers. He waited a moment for the dragon to finish before continuing.
"Einarr has apparently gone with them. That worries me. I don't know what his intentions are but after our conclave I can't imagine he will leave that place peacefully." He waited once more. "I know we're not ready but waiting any longer will do us little good."
The looks and quiet mutters that answered him perfectly reflected his own feelings. Though he spoke out of turn, Spitelout's soft words were edged with a restrained nervousness he completely understood.
"Not ready? We've no battle plan, nowhere near enough training, we've done no scouting..." He trailed off, looking apologetic. Stoick held up a hand.
"Aye, you're right. The little training we've had will have to do. Our meager knowledge of the island will have to suffice as well. As for a plan-"
Toothless broke off from his translating to give a rumbling bark to him. Old instincts brought a flash of displeasure to his face an instant before he remembered the word 'allies' and his recent sojourn among the clouds with Thorithr. He gestured to the Fury to acknowledge him. The dragon turned his eyes to the central fire pit. The remains of cook fires were lightly smoking on each end with stewpots dangling over them. He bound over the retaining wall that kept the fires contained and landed amid the large pool of ash in the center. His legs and tail were immediately coated in the powdery dust but he gave no hint of caring. With a sweep of his tail and a swift grab at his metal pencil, he quickly spelled out what was on his mind. Hiccup stepped close to perform the other half of their needed translation.
"They want... sorry, know a way to... help... protect us. From the other dragons. On that island," he said. He squinted at the hastily scribbled lines in the ash. With only the light of a few nearby torches to illuminate the area, he was forced to lean forward and point. "Toothless, is that 'hurt?'" The dragon nodded. Hiccup looked dumbstruck.
"What," Stoick demanded. "Who's been hurt?"
"Dragons," Hiccup mumbled. He leaned back, staring at his friend. "He says the dragons will hurt themselves to keep the older dragons out of the nest."
"What's that supposed to mean," Mord asked. "Why would they-"
"The smell. It's the smell." Hiccup turned to his father. "It'll act as a diversion, a way to keep the other dragons in the nest from interfering."
Toothless interjected and went back to drawing. Stoick saw the confused looks that surrounded him. "Toothless has told us that young dragons and injured dragons both give off a scent that forces other dragons to feed and protect them."
"Not really forces," Hiccup corrected as he leaned even farther over the wall to read the dragon's writing. "More like a... a compulsion."
Stoick set aside his irritation at being interrupted once again. "The Red Death gives off the same scent, causing all the other dragons to bring it food and protect it."
"Wait a moment." Alarm had clearly replaced Mord's confusion. "The dragons we're going to rely on to keep us safe and fight beside us are going to hurt themselves? That doesn't sound like a very good strategy to me!"
"Not all," Hiccup corrected, pointing to some of the glyphs in the dust. "Only some. They've-" He leaned back from the wall, looking as surprised as everyone else. He turned once more to his father. "They've already chosen who's going to get hurt."
The hair on the back of Stoick's neck rose and he clenched his fists hard enough to hurt. "Who," he breathed. "Which ones?"
Hiccup, equally as disturbed as his father, swung to Toothless. He tried to ignore the sick feeling in his gut. "Who's going to... to sacri-" He couldn't say the words.
Toothless grumbled a short phrase and four dragons moved closer to the fire pit. The Vikings in the room stared in amazement and dismay. Two Gronckles stared at them calmly. One was Spitelout's partner, the other was Gobber's. Had they volunteered, Stoick wondered. Or had they been picked by their leader? The question was quickly forgotten when two Nadders also came forward. The first was the purple male with Mord. The second-
"Thorithr," Stoick groaned.
Spitelout was staring at the Gronckle with whom he'd been paired and shaking his head. "I don't like this. Can we afford to lose a third of our dragons? If it turns into a life-or-death fight our chances won't be good."
The Night Fury answered without prompting. This time Hiccup climbed into the central hearth with his friend. Kneeling carefully by the dragon's reply, he said, "Eat... leg."
A double handful of Vikings who once would have cheered to see dragons severely wounding other dragons voiced their changed opinions with deep concern. They were silenced by a commanding roar from Toothless. That one huffed at his rider and smacked his pencil against the young man's iron leg. He then flattened one symbol and redrew it with more precision.
"Bite... bite leg!" The relief in Hiccup's voice was echoed in everyone else's. He leaned against the Fury's shoulder as the dragon continued drawing. "Two holes... with injured dragons. One up, one down."
"Holes?" Spitelout was sounding frustrated with so many confusing ideas being thrust upon him in such short order.
"Holes in the nest?" Stoick's guess earned a growl and a nod.
Hiccup was just as puzzled, but for a different reason. "What about that opening in the side? Where we went in that first time." The tail swiped and two more draconic runes were drawn. "Much small."
Stoick's mind was starting to see the formation of a plan, an old favorite of his. "So, it's two teams working together to catch the beast in the middle." He paused, the first of many problems coming to him. "What if it's not in the nest?"
"Only nest... good to- for... for Red Death," was Hiccup's translation of the response.
Stoick considered things a moment. With a nod and a sudden leap onto the wider portion of the hearth's retaining wall he captured the room's attention. "Alright." He studied those around him, Vikings and dragons alike. He remembered which ones were designated diversions, who were the most seasoned warriors and who was the key to their whole plan. "Astrid's the point of the spear. Hiccup and Snotlout will be her flankers. Wherever we find this thing, that's where they'll be. Mord, Spitelout, you and your dragons will cover the upper entrance. Your dragons will be down but you're the strongest warriors we can spare. Gobber and I will take the lower entrance. We'll protect our downed dragons and back up Ruffnut, Tuffnut and Fishlegs."
Freygerd spoke up. "What shall I do?"
Ideas came and went, one standing out as the most practical and helpful. "Hogknee and his bunch will have sailed there. If they've made land, you and Ingifast will find their ship and secure it. Your dragons will back you up and be our reserves. You will also be our fall back position for any wounded."
The instant the word 'wounded' reached Hiccup's ears, his mind flashed to the scene he'd come upon the second time he'd approached that island. Wounded and dead, entirely on the Viking's side, had been spread over the beach. Would there be dragons this time as well, littering the stony shore of the Red Death's lair?
"Dad? Uh, how are we going to... um…" He cast an uncertain glance at the nearest dragon. "-protect ourselves while we're there?"
Stoick's eyes followed Hiccup's, his mind quickly finding the trail of his son's thoughts. He turned to consider Thorithr, a worried frown pulling at his mouth. He thought about it but saw no safe solution. "The way we always have, I'm afraid. Don't have much choice."
"Yes," Hiccup insisted. "Yes we do. Practice swords. A blunt edge will hurt but it won't kill."
The shared memories of countless desperate battles among Berk's homes had nearly everyone matching Stoick's frown. Concerned mutters rose, a rapid tide that threatened to drown out Hiccup's idea. A surprising addition to the upwelling broke above the rest.
"What about war hammers?" Fishlegs hesitantly raised his hands as he spoke. "A good smack on the head or neck has usually sent a dragon reeling. We could just skip the part of the follow-up skull crushing."
Hiccup latched onto that idea with fervor. "Yes. Yes! That's a great- or... or..." His thoughts raced ahead, filling his eyes with possibilities. "What if we pad the war hammers with wool and wrap them with an outer layer of leather?" He turned to his father again, hoping the idea would be acceptable. "Then you wouldn't have to pull any punches and you'd have a better chance of knocking the dragon out without permanent harm!"
Stoick, as much as any Viking living or dead, knew how dangerous it would be to enter a fight with such a hindrance. His head was already shaking 'no' as he opened his mouth to speak.
Fishlegs shocked everyone by interrupting his chief before he could say a word. "He's right, sir. If we are forced to start killing dragons to defend ourselves, I'm fairly certain it would provoke a response that would have nothing to do with the Red Death. We'd only make them angry and they'd overwhelm us."
Stoick, seeing the truth in the large Ingerman's statement, couldn't answer immediately. Mord spoke up in the silence.
"We can't afford the luxury of hoping for a good outcome without planning for the worst."
"He's right," Stoick affirmed. "You never go into battle expecting your plan to work. You work out the best plan you can, then you prepare to use the broken pieces of it when it gets smashed to bits by the enemy."
Hiccup's alarm put an unaccustomed note of anger in his voice. "Dad, it was the 'us or them' mentality that kept us killing dragons for generations. This has to be a team effort. We absolutely cannot go there with the idea of killing dragons in our minds!"
It was Toothless that broke the stalemate. He gave a loud, angry sounding roar. His eyes and posture were still neutral, however. He strode through the ashes of the fire pit, stirring a small grey cloud among his feet. Near the end where Stoick stood, he stopped and reared onto his hind legs, his tail and partially spread wings balancing him. He stared at the chief a moment with no signs of aggression. A quiet warble came from the back of his throat. Then his pupils turned to slits, his eyes narrowed and he leaned forward slightly. Strangely, however, when he opened his mouth his teeth were retracted, his dark pink gums glistening slightly in the wavering torch light. His posture was matched with a sincere-sounding growl.
No one moved or spoke as the Fury once again assumed a passive stance. A moment later, he growled again, leaning forward and projecting a forbidding menace. This time his teeth came out, plainly obvious for anyone to see. When he lowered himself to all fours and ended his aggressive display, Stoick had the ghost of a smile on his face.
"Aye," he said quietly. "You're right." He nodded thoughtfully. He looked at his son. "You both are." His smile widened a bit at his boy's confusion. He raised his eyes and his voice. "Toothless has the right idea. So does Hiccup. We'll take blunted swords and padded hammers as our primary weapons." He held up a forestalling finger to hold off Mord's protest. "We will also carry edged weapons, sheathed on our backs, as our last means of defense." He turned once again to Thorithr. "We must remember that these are people, acting against their will yet in defense of their home and their kin."
The response from both Vikings and dragons made their acceptance of the compromise clearly known.
Hogknee woke well ahead of the dawn on the final day before landfall. The closer Tonna got to Red Death Island, the more his apprehension grew. He'd had far too much time to think and far too little to do. Beyond taking his turn at the rudder during the night, he could only hope and plan. Neither had given him the confidence he needed to face that beach again. His anxiety over the whereabouts of his son was nearly overshadowed by his doubts concerning his fellow travelers.
Einarr, his friend and the best warrior against the dragons they could hope to have on their side, had yet to fully convince him that his ultimate purpose on this voyage was Jaspin's safe retrieval. Hogknee hadn't pressed the issue as he didn't want to drive the man's needed skills away. Knutr, Stonetoss and Kelda were, at best, extra eyes and legs for the search. Though he might have to exclude Stonetoss from that group. The man had wrapped himself around the mast and done little but whine and heave the last day or so.
He was uncertain about Eyvind and Osvald. They were there because Tonna was their ship. He had no idea whether or not they planned on setting foot on the island. He couldn't begrudge them their choice if they stayed aboard; as far as he knew they'd made no promises about doing more than getting them to the island. He couldn't bring himself to ask, either. For one thing he didn't want to call their honor into question if they planned to wait it out on their ship. For another he didn't want to burden himself with the thought that there'd only be five of them to search for Jaspin instead of seven before they arrived.
"There."
The word was softly spoken, barely making itself heard above the noise of the wind and waves. It was Einarr. One hand firmly grasped the gunwale while the other gestured a bit off their starboard bow. The faint grey smudge on the horizon dropped a stone in Hogknee's gut. It disturbed the memories of the last voyage Berk's warriors made to this place. They rose up into his throat and took his voice from him. He was grateful he had nothing necessary to say at that moment.
In six months he'd forgotten most of it: the length of the voyage, the terrible thickness of the smoke and fog that shrouded the island, the unbelievable concentration of dragons that resided there. And beyond all that, the forbidding power that claimed it as its home.
He curled his fists around his chest, imagining there was a trace of chill in the air. He knew it likely the sensation was only in his mind. They were going to bring Jaspin back from this place? This island had claimed far better Vikings than those nestled within Tonna's hull. They were fools, thinking a tiny handful of them could accomplish such a goal.
"Won't be long now." Einarr again. The self-assurance in those few words felt out of place. He turned to stare at his friend, still weighed down by misgivings. The master huntsman had also turned, fixing Eyvind with a cool gaze. "You remember the way, don't you?"
A knowing grim split the great bushy beard and mustache as he worked the tiller. "Aye, I'll not forget it so easily. Tonna was right behind Stoick's ship the whole way in."
With a satisfied nod, Einarr faced forward, catching Hogknee's stare. He wondered for a moment if his feelings were plain on his face. The huntsman paused, his expression becoming deadly serious. His voice matched his look, powerful and promising. "We'll have Jaspin with us by night fall."
Hogknee's heart clenched all the harder when Kelda and Knutr voiced their agreement. A stiff gust caught the sail and set Tonna to rocking a moment. His hands automatically swept out to grasp gunwale and bench, avoiding the battering the sea looked to give them. The cold he'd felt was gone. Down where the stone had landed in the middle of his gut came a familiar fire.
Everyone on that ship had survived constant dragon attacks since they were old enough to hold a sword. They'd raised children of their own, grown crops and herded sheep, fished the deep and rebuilt their homes, all while doing their best to keep the flying menace at bay. They had new knowledge and new skills to counter the threat the dragons posed. They would succeed. Hogknee's doubts faded, as if this were no more than another annoying yet dangerous raid. They were Vikings and they would fear nothing.
He smiled fiercely. Jaspin would be with them by night fall.
Eyvind was as good as his word. With the sun only a quarter of the way into the sky they slid into the blinding white depths that surrounded the nest. Softly at first, barely audible over the lapping of waves and the creaking of the hull, came the sound of contended dragons. Thrums and rumbles and purrs were muted to a deceptively gentle chorus that might almost remind one of strangely distorted night birds. Working the sails and rudder with all the skill they had, Eyvind and Osvald slowed the ship as they neared the first of the rocky obstacles that guarded the beach. No sooner had the first few been spotted, they moved quickly westward, looking for the entrance they'd used before.
Stonetoss, noticing the easing of the ship's motion, lifted himself off the deck to cast a bleary eye at their surroundings. He saw little beyond Tonna's hull. Then the first towering stone tooth slid by in silence. He grunted in surprise, pulling himself up further. Looking around he saw his mates were standing ready with oars to push away from any jagged rocks that got too close. A glance at Eyvind found the ship's master concentrating fully on managing the rudder. His stomach twisted and he lowered his head miserably. It would be some time after they made land before he could function normally.
No words were spoken as the chirring of a thousand dragons filled their ears. Hogknee remembered how it went last time. As they worked their way through the torturous maze by memory his hand tightened on the grip of his sword. He'd strapped it on some time ago, mostly for something to do. He fervently hoped he wouldn't have to bare steel while he walked the island's forbidding landscape. They were too close now; it was even possible they would find Jaspin taking shelter somewhere on the shore, trying to assemble a raft or some such. He held on tight to his hopes and let go of his sword.
Only once did anyone speak; a slight disagreement between Einarr and Eyvind over direction. Eyvind pointed out a mark left by the previous fleet's passage - bits of wood left from a ship that failed to make the turn successfully wedged into the rough and pitted stone. When the winds picked up a bit and started thinning the mist, Einarr stood straighter and pointed ahead. The surreal noise of roosting dragons was getting difficult to ignore.
The winds abruptly shifted and Hogknee thought all their planning and work had been undone. A horrific smell assaulted them, bringing tears to their eyes and a sharp burning to their throats. Stonetoss, already weak and overly sensitive, dropped to the deck and heaved a thin stream of bile. Had anyone been able to concentrate on him rather than their own suffering they'd have seen his face contort in anguish, his jaws open as far as they could go and all his muscles locked in tense support of his body's efforts to expel the poisonous atmosphere.
Moments later the gentle breeze that had brought such unexpected suffering changed direction and left them gasping and coughing. "Odin's eye," Kelda moaned softly. "What was that?"
Einarr grunted harshly and spat over the side. "Reminded me of why we don't let dragons rot on the ground at home. Only a hundred times worse." He eyed Einarr, who was tending his son and not the rudder. Tonna was within sight of the rocky shore but drifting sideways. He called the man's name and pointed toward the beach studded with the blackened skeletons of Berk's fleet. "Watch for masts on the way in. Don't want to get tangled and stuck here."
It took a bit of work to force Tonna away from the current and toward the beach once Eyvind and Osvald had her back in hand. She met the rocky shore with a gentle nudge, her keel barely grazing the wet stones. Shaking off the effects of the smell that had warned them, Einarr threw his legs over the side and landed with a splash. This time, he noticed, the constant humming chatter of the nesting dragons didn't cease. He wondered if that meant they didn't know of their arrival. With a twitch of his head he dismissed such wishful thinking. One of his primary rules for hunting was to never assume the quarry was unaware of him. He looked upward at the gunwale to see Knutr's scarred head appear. The stout man handed down one of the bundles of wrapped weapons.
As soon as they'd made it ashore, minus Stonetoss, they took a moment to gaze at the devastation they'd survived. All around them was the debris left from their disastrous campaign to destroy the nest. Most of the usable wood from catapults and burnt ship hulls was gone, taken to make repairs to the few salvageable ships in which they'd escaped. Broken weapons and shattered shields were scattered about, leaving them all mute in remembrance. Far to the east lay the decimated remains of their tormentor, partially shrouded in a cloak of mist.
Hogknee was casting about, looking for any signs of Jaspin having occupied the beach lately. Kelda watched him, sympathetic but waiting for someone else to take command. Einarr stepped into that role easily.
"Looks like Lunchtoss is going to stay with Tonna for now. We need someone to remain here anyway." He waited a moment as her anchor lines were firmly planted on the shore, the large metal spikes digging into the rocky ground with difficulty. Once that was done he looked up at the mountain at their backs. "Six of us, a whole island full of dragons to search. We have to do this the smart way." He lowered his gaze directly to Hogknee. "We're hunting for a boy. One who rides a dragon. We have to think like him to figure out where he's likely to be. He's been on plenty of fishing trips. Has he been on any hunts?"
Hogknee nodded. "A few. Teaching him the basics; stalking, finding food and shelter and the like."
Einarr nodded appreciatively. "Good. He hasn't gone out with me yet so it's good he's got that under his helmet." He looked up at the mountain again. "Now, he got here by dragon but lost his mount. If he started at the top he may have worked his way down to find someplace safe. Two of us will circle the island's shore, meeting on the far side to avoid missing him if he's down here. The rest of us will work our way up, looking for caves and other hiding places he may be using to take refuge." He pointed at the summit, a considerable distance up. "Once we get there, we work our way back down on the other side. Between the few of us, we have a fair chance of spotting him."
The master huntsman brought his eyes back down to his companions. "This is a hunt but it's a very different one than we're used to. "We're trying to find a boy and avoid dragons. Jaspin may or may not be avoiding those same dragons so keep that in mind if you see any. And no calling out. We don't need the whole nest knowing we're here." He swept an empty hand at them. "Which of us are the best climbers?"
Knutr's compact frame and Osvald's dislike of heights made them the beach sweepers. They set out immediately, armed and keeping an eye on the central spire in case Jaspin or any dragons might be seen. Einarr caught sight of Stonetoss slipping over Tonna's side and dropping weakly to the wet ground. "Stone! You'll mind the ship and keep an eye out for the boy in case we pass each other without seeing him." A shaky hand rose to acknowledge the order. "And set about fixing an evening meal when your stomach's settled. We'll all be hungry when we get back." His last statement he aimed at Hogknee with a nod. The fisherman nodded back, grateful for the sentiment.
Wasting no more time the four remaining hunters approached the rough slopes of the mountain. Einarr held his arms out wide. "We should spread out before we go up. There are lots of usable paths I can see in those rocks. I'd say we might even make it to the top before noon if we're lucky."
Einarr made his way closer to the mountain, one eye on the immense hole blown out of its base and the other on his rapidly receding companions. As soon as he was out of their sight, he laid his bundle down and retrieved his fire arrows. Steel and flint were in a small pouch at his hip and his best hunting blade lay sheathed across his back for easier climbing. His bow went over his head to settle across his chest and over his back, next to the scabbard. His quiver was tied at its bottom to his thigh. He was as prepared as he could get.
With quick yet cautious steps he approached the exit the old Red Death made in its nest.
Kettlecrack had done more climbing on this miserable gods-forsaken rock than he'd ever done anywhere else. His arms and legs were trembling from exertion and he had to stop several times to rest. Taking care not to aggravate his sword wounds only slowed him down. Several times he'd wondered if he would have the strength to make it to the top. Each time he looked up and saw his goal closer he would grit his teeth, swear softly and continue his efforts.
The first dragon nest he passed as he neared the top froze him on the spot. The ledge had looked like a good resting place. Making his way near he could hear a sound that might have been the wind or may have been some strange, twisted echo of the numerous dragon calls that had been building in his ears since the dawn. Pulling himself over the lip and finding a nice, wide surface on which to rest, he'd rolled onto his back and stared at the sky. He concentrated on catching his breath before he examined his temporary resting place.
Another sound, obviously not the wind or an echo, reached him. It came from close by and made the hairs on his arms stand straight up. As he rolled his head to the side he was pinned by the heavy gaze of two enormous eyes. A Gronckle, looking much like the stones of its surroundings, watched him closely. It stayed close to its nest of dragon-fired rocks, making no threatening moves. Kettlecrack was determined to do the same.
He briefly thought of getting up. In his weariness he decided that if he wasn't seen as dangerous where he was then he would rest without moving. The relatively level ground was lumpy and harsh under his aching back and the sun was already warming him beyond the point of comfort. The wound on his thigh was throbbing and itching and it took all his will power not to address it. He had no wish to spur the dragon to action in defense of its eggs.
As the minutes wore on, he was almost encouraged by the lack of aggression from the Gronckle. The other dragons he'd been near while nesting had let him be but he'd not been this close to their precious eggs.
When he had his breath back, he eyed the dragon once more before slowly rolling away from it and gradually getting his legs under him. He carefully stood, sneaking a peek now and then at the dragon. No hostility seemed imminent. Grateful for his good fortune, he made his way further up the jagged slope.
His slow progress toward the summit brought him close to more and more nests. Keeping his eyes open for the prime roosting spots, he picked his way between them. When the ground finally leveled out he saw he'd reached the rough approach to the nest's upper entrance. Kettlecrack was almost exuberant. Despite his wounds and despite his dragon's interference, he'd made it back and could try regaining Alrekr's trust. He hoped his short absence wouldn't drive the immense dragon away from him.
Or worse, change his status from partner to meal.
He became a little more concerned as he neared the enormous cave. Several of the dragon nests he passed were guarded by beasts that seemed to take offense at his presence. He couldn't understand why they would object now when they hadn't the first time he and Grimjaws had blundered into their midst.
Kettlecrack stopped, suddenly struck by a disturbing notion. What if it had been Grimjaws that had made his acceptance here by the other dragons possible? Would they attack him now? The Gronckle on the cliff hadn't. And what about Alrekr? Was he endangering his life by returning to the ruler of all dragons?
He eyed the nest-watchers around him warily. None were moving toward him but all were focused on him. He took a few steps toward his goal, watching and listening for any sign of attack. The growling wavered but didn't escalate. He moved on, trying not to get too close to any of the nests.
Once more he was inside the huge cavern where he'd met his destiny. As before, the enshrouding darkness at the back kept his eyes from making out any critical details. A creature like Alrekr wouldn't be cowering at the back of a cave, though. He looked outside, wondering if he was down below or somewhere else on the island. He tried to convince himself it was disappointment and not relief he felt to find himself alone.
He cast about for his meager sack of food, wondering where he'd left it. Likely the items in it were beyond safe consumption. Maybe the onions and potatoes might still be salvageable.
A rumbling snort buffeted his ears and spiked up through his heels all the way to his guts. The air seemed to disappear, leaving him without a way to breathe. He wanted to turn. He also wanted to flee. Kettlecrack's head obeyed the impulse but his feet did not. Six glowing spots reflected the light outside, up towards the invisible ceiling. Having discovered Alrekr's whereabouts, he still struggled to name the feeling crowding his throat; relief or dread. He had his sword but what he desperately wished for was a nice fat fish, preferably one brought by Grimjaws.
Several moments of stillness gave Kettlecrack the notion that perhaps he hadn't lost his influence on the giant dragon after all. He took a few slow steps closer, hoping he wasn't making a mistake. He called to Alrekr, hoping the sound of his voice would remind him he was a friend and not a snack. When the shining eyes suddenly lowered and came toward him, it was all he could do to hold his ground. He'd done this before; he could do it again. Hold fast, he told himself.
The immense snout rubbed the ground, coming to a stop disturbingly close to him. He called to his new dragon loudly, praising it with exaggerated vigor. Heartened by Alrekr's calm demeanor, he closed the last few steps and ran his hand along the edge of the beast's gaping nostril. He smiled at his good luck.
Then the dragon gave a huge sniff, the wind gusting from behind to flutter his rough clothes. Nervous at the sudden action, Kettlecrack took a step back. In the dim light of the back of the cave he could only tell that something had changed when Alrekr's eyes disappeared. Then there was a brief wash of hot, fetid breath before something heavy and wet slammed into him, nearly knocking him down. He staggered backward, his mind reeling in confusion. His hand went to the pommel of his sword. A low rumble reminded him what he was facing and he tried to remain calm. As the seconds passed, he came to realize what Alrekr had done.
For an instant he seethed, wanting to smack the blasted dragon across the nose with his blade. That such action would likely result in his becoming a scattering of ashes across the top of the island stayed his hand yet again. He folded his arms, partially in an admittedly ridiculous air of outrage and partially to keep his hands firmly off his sword.
"Well," he shouted. "Had ourselves a good taste, have we?" The massive tongue and jaws worked minutely, as if the dragon was savoring the experience. "That's just great. Hope you're happy." He looked down, unable to really see any change in his appearance through the gloom. He could certainly feel the results of Alrekr's curiosity, though. "Ugh. This is never gonna wash out."
When he looked up at the Red Death, the beast shifted his head slightly and moved the nearest forefoot closer to its own jowls. His eyes traveled up that huge paw to the side of the creature's head. If it stayed down like that...
Understanding that he might be seriously miscalculating, Kettlecrack moved closer to the forefoot. He reached up as before and hauled his bulk up on top. He moved closer to the lumpy jowls, grabbing one of the stubby red projections in each hand. For an instant he hesitated at the thought of more climbing. Moments later he was working his way up Alrekr's neck and onto his head. He knelt down just in front of the wide bony plate that made up his neck frill. He'd made it, and with the beast's full cooperation!
Slowly, as though mindful of his miniscule passenger, the dragon stood. The perspective shift reminded him of taking off on Grimjaws, only without the broken nose and the gut-shriveling terror. He felt the hairs on his arm and neck rise and his heart was hammering. He'd done it! He was riding his dragon!
If only Stoick and the rest could see him!
(c)Wirewolf 2015
"How to train your dragon" and all attendant characters are copyright
Dreamworks Animation and used without permission
AN: You know that point in a roller coaster ride when you reach the top of the first drop and it levels out and the track in front of you disappears, that tipping point where gravity commits you to the course you've chosen and makes you pay for that choice? That's what this is.
As a side note, the rest of the story is pretty much plotted out now. Coming chapters shouldn't be nearly as difficult to write as they have been. I'm not about to say future chapters will come quickly. Doing that would just invite disaster. But no more delays for plotting, at the least.