Disclaimer Mini-Series, Short 5 out of 5: Maggots!
"If writing is sure to result in victory, then you must write! Rift-Raft said that, and I'd say she knows a little more about writing than you do, pal, because she invented it! And then she perfected it so that no living author could best her in the ring of honor.
"Then, she used her write money to buy two of every tree on earth, and then she made them into a boat, and then she wrote the crap out of every single one.
"And from that day forward, any time a bunch of wood is together in one place, it's called a raft!
"Unless it's a barn!"
"I knew it was wrong, I just didn't know why."
"And that was before or after he tried the bucket of water?" Mogadon asked, still trembling as he recovered from the first half of the story.
Dagur answered him this time around, giving me a much-needed break. "Just after! The look on his face when he figured out my Skrill can't be extinguished: Pure. Gold."
"I can only imagine!" he shouted, sharing Dagur's wide grin but still managing to keep most of his composure. "That boy can't handle surprises!"
Since they were both on the verge, I decided to give them one last push. "I just wish I wasn't standing downwind at the time."
Still trembling, they both turned to me, each asking some variant of "Why?".
I raised an eyebrow at the Meathead chief. "Are you sure your son is housebroken?"
They were only confused for a second, then their eyes widened, and then we had to stop walking as they both fell to the ground in the loudest round of laughter yet. I was tempted to cover my ears while I waited for them to stand back up; Mogadon's laughter is almost as loud as his shouting when he really gets into it. Maybe I pushed him a little too far.
Still, it's a good thing he's taking this so well. If he hadn't, Dad would probably be even less happy about what I've gotten up to in a single hour. I've already got a pretty good idea of what he'll say to me. I've seen him reprimand the twins plenty of times. It never goes well for them unless they can convince someone to vouch for them, and since it only ever worked if Dad trusts their witness, I should probably be safe this time around.
And speaking of Dad, I hadn't realized we were already at our destination until he stepped out of it, looking very exhausted and wearing the 'fed-up' look he only ever wears when he's really annoyed about something. I guess that's another downside to pranking – it always comes back to him somehow. I'll definitely be avoiding it for a while; I think I've put us both through enough already.
Mogadon's face lit up even more when he saw him, and he scrambled to his feet, dusting off his clothes before speaking. "Stoick the Vast! Just the Viking I was hopin' to see! I take it my boy told you all about it?"
Dad didn't answer right away; he just silently stared at us for a few very long seconds before giving a heavy sigh and shaking his head. "Why don't you come inside? Maybe now I'll be able to make some sense out of this." He retreated into the hall before any of us could respond.
I was about to follow him, at least until Dagur grabbed my arm and pulled me aside to make way for Mogadon, who looked like he got tunnel vision once he met Dad again for the first time in years. He didn't even cast a glance at all the stumbling I'd just been put through thanks to Dagur's ever so subtle actions.
Just as the Meathead Chief was about to cross the threshold, he must have finally noticed his escorts were no longer in front of him. I had already been dragged pretty far away by the time he called back to us. "And where do you two think you're goin'?" he asked, probably debating whether he should force us to stay or not.
Dagur answered before I could. "Back to the docks. Stoick said we should be sending the other tribes his way, and I think it'd only be fair if we showed the Burglars and Hysterics our hospitality, too." At this, he let loose a lot of laughter lasting way longer than it should have.
After taking moment to consider the idea, Mogadon sighed and nodded. "I'll let you go just this once, since I don't have the time to argue. You boys don't want to know what happens to people who abuse my trust. Just remember the rules, keep things peaceful, and be back by high noon. Oh, and ever since her loss, Bertha has been a lot less forgivin', so you might want to think twice before messin' with her."
"No promises!" Dagur shouted back before turning around and beginning the reverse journey.
Now ready to follow him, I at least managed to take a few steps this time before I was redirected again. Luckily I didn't go through much stumbling when I almost ran into Savage, who had been coming from the direction of the forest and smelling like he'd just finished answering nature's call.
Thankfully Dagur took care of the talking; I was busy keeping the odor from my nostrils. "Savage? Why aren't you with my father?"
"I had to inspect the outhouses, sir," he said matter-of-factly before noticing who exactly it was he was talking to. His eyes narrowed accusingly when he did. "Why aren't you on the ship?"
"You didn't hear the Meatheads?" Dagur asked innocently.
"No…" he replied cautiously. "Did I miss something?"
Dagur rolled his eyes, but I cut off anything he was about to say in the hopes that I could get Savage to leave sooner. "You might be able to get caught up if you hurry to the Hall."
Dagur shrugged and nodded when the Outcast raised an eyebrow.
"Alright then. Stay out of trouble, sir."
Dagur scoffed and let him pass.
Once he did, I started putting as much distance between myself and the retreating Outcast's smelly path as possible. Once Dagur had caught up to the new pace, I decided to ask a few questions in order to distract me from my nose. "Okay, two things. Why is Savage with you and not the Outcasts, and what loss was Mogadon talking about?"
"You don't know?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Why would I?"
Now his eyes narrowed. "I thought the Burglars went to you guys first last winter."
"Uh, I was kind-of out of the loop last year," I reminded him, not lying at all.
"Oh, that's right!" he shouted, swinging his fist through the air in front of him. "I think I'll start with Savage. You can always ask your father about Bertha. And now that I think about it, not many people know about what happened to the Outcasts yet, so you're not behind there."
He took a few deep breaths, readying himself for the tale, then jumped right into it.
"Sometime during the summer, when things were just about at their worst, Savage washed up on our shores on a little raft. He was burned and bruised and starving, but that didn't stop him from giving us a full report. After a meal and some quick first-aid, he told us about a huge dragon raid that destroyed Outcast Island. He didn't see which, but he's certain that one of the two Night Furies was leading it-"
I automatically tuned him out the moment he said that – the moment it all came back to me. My mind flashed back to the blurry haze of last year, becoming crystal clear for the first time in months as I remembered the worst raid I'd ever been a part of… a raid that happened mid-last summer.
One evening, the Queen called me down to her pit and told me of a large, craggy island with many wild dragons (i.e. potential new slaves) and dangerous humans. These humans were closer to the nest than any others, and their leader was powerful and skilled – the only true threat within our borders. The Queen put me in charge of an all-out assault on these dangerous humans because of what I'd done in the other raids. She was confident that I would pull through for her, just like I'd done so eagerly for the past two seasons.
More than anything, I wish that was the night I could have disappointed her.
Even as I was, even with a mind that wasn't really my own, even though I finally found a real family to be by my side, I knew something was wrong. The constant headaches were the first sign, but two seasons of migraines trained me into ignoring them. Still, even as I happily and eagerly served the Queen, I couldn't convince myself that what I was doing was right. There are only two events in my life that I'd give anything to go back and stop from ever happening; this is one of them. It was our first and last 'kill' raid. No stealing, no hiding to keep safe, and no mercy. Our orders were to eliminate the threat, and we had to obey.
I tried to get all my nest mates out alive – that's why I had a plan for everyone to follow. First, I asked for five minutes to survey the island alone, then for another ten to free the caged dragons that I'd found. I figured we could use all the help we could get, and I assumed that captive (and potentially vengeful) dragons would be a good place to find some. The Stone-Eaters didn't disappoint, or at least not the ones that stayed around. I also knew I'd need a distraction to escape the compound (since it's easier to break into jail than it is to break out of it), so I'd told my nest mates to each find a different human and strike all at once, to give us the upper hand in the battle and to give me a chance to join it. Once I was out of the compound, I was shocked at what I saw.
Everything had fallen to chaos after that first strike – humans and dragons were fighting without rhyme or reason. I don't think so many shots and arrows have missed their marks in any other battle in history. The Vikings were too panicked and overwhelmed to keep their hands steady, and we were too disoriented by all the noise to keep our heads steady. Those that fell did so in close combat, at the swords or claws of their opponent. And many fell. It was a frenzy. Every kill was overkill, and there was only one thing I could do in the madness.
That night, it became my mission to personally protect as many of my nest mates as I possibly could. Or personally avenge them, if I failed.
I lost count of the number of Vikings I killed in that raid. It would have been the least I could do to remember their faces, but thoughts like that couldn't cross my mind, and it wouldn't have mattered even if they could – there were just too many. When I try to remember them now, the fights all blend together; there were no individuals, there were no heroes, and there were no survivors. There was only one mindset, only one rule: kill the enemy.
Actually, now that I think about it, that's not entirely true. There were no exceptions or holes to the mindset, but there was a human that stood out, that I did remember – one man that killed more of my nest mates than any other. He was singlehandedly fighting three Flame-Skins at once with a crossbow and an axe by the time I found him. He had cornered them in the time it took for me to get there; a little discipline and focus went a long way that night, and he had a lot of both. If it weren't for a frantic Flame-Skin's report, I wouldn't have known about him until it was too late. Out of all the humans I saw, his was the only steady hand. Even at the time I could tell he was the King of the island… that must have been Alvin. Like the Queen said, he was the greatest threat in the area.
I didn't take any chances. I ordered two Hum-Wings to drop on him from above while he was distracted by the Flame-Skins, to simply stop flapping so he wouldn't hear them coming, and after that… the flock of Stone-Eaters joined in. Outraged about what he'd been doing to them and their kin for months, they happily pounced on the momentarily helpless Outcast. I can still see Alvin squirming and shouting as he was held down by our Hum-Wings, completely confident that he could escape. I can still hear him screaming as the razor-sharp, circular sets of teeth tore him apart seconds later.
There were very few painless deaths that night.
If it weren't for me, there would have been even fewer. I can still see the broken bones, still see the burned beards, still make out the terror on the face of every human who saw me right before I went for their throat. I can still hear the battle cries, still hear the desperate shield-banging meant to keep me away, still hear the helpless screaming right after. I can still smell the powerful scent of fear, still smell the acrid mix of blood and steel, still smell the gore of the slain dragons and mauled men all around me. The foul stench of war filled every inch of the island. It was so strong that I could taste it…
Gods… thinking about it now, it was almost as bad as the Kill Ring. It probably was just as bad for the Outcasts, only this time… this time, I was the ringleader. I was the monster, killing the landlocked humans at every turn and sending them to the afterlife without remorse. It was a bloodbath – a slaughter. The humans never stood a chance, but they all went down fighting.
I knew it was wrong, I just didn't know why. No, that's not right. I couldn't know why. The Queen wouldn't let me. I guess, in that way, she was 'merciful'. She took away my worst memories, my memories from Berk, just so I wouldn't feel remorse about choosing a dragon's life over a human's.
But that doesn't help me much now, does it?
I've got blood on my hands, and I can still see it, plain as day and dripping in silence.
If I still had my memories, would I have done it? Would I still have protected my nest mates, even if I knew it meant becoming my-
…
If it meant becoming the villain?
…
Why? Why did it have to be this way? Why do I have to have all these Gods-forsaken memories of that whole GODS-FORSAKEN year?! Couldn't the Queen have taken those instead of my scales?
NO!
I almost jumped out of my skin at the fierce answer I wasn't expecting to get. I immediately forced myself out of my thoughts, looking to the mid-story Dagur to see if he'd noticed anything and then looking everywhere else when I saw that he hadn't. We were completely alone on the path, and before I could start wondering if I'd imagined it, the voice returned. I didn't hear it so much as think it. It was almost like the Queen's telepathy.
Have you learned nothing?!
I froze when the reprimanding voice washed over me, angry and sad and full of disappointment. At this point I couldn't tell if it really was a voice, or if it was a memory. It sounded so familiar…
Do not forget the past. Do not even try. Would you truly risk forgetting everything?
No, not everything! I immediately thought, ready to argue that I only wanted to forget that one day.
Or the other.
And then I remembered. I remembered exactly where I'd heard this voice before, and I remembered what I was asked when I did. Whatever drive I had to argue or fight or beg for things to be different left me instantly.
I… I'm sorry. I wouldn't. Not now, not ever.
I'd forgotten.
For a moment, I had actually forgotten everything They taught me. They were right- no, they are right. I can't live in the past, but I can't forget about it either. I can't forget about awful things even though I'd rather not think about them. I was given the chance already, and I made my choice. These memories could be the key to making amends, to helping anyone who made it through that horrible year. They could be the key to finally creating peace.
And I would never, ever forget Toothless.
Taking a few deep breaths to calm myself, I did what I should have been doing from the start: I began putting my memories to use.
I didn't think anyone had escaped the island. I remember ordering the ships to be burned at some point… but I guess Dagur did say Savage washed ashore on a raft. Either way, he lived to tell the tale; that's the important part of all of this. I need to accept that if I want to move on.
Nodding once, I turned my attention to Dagur again.
"-and he's been our advisor ever since. I hate to admit it, but without his knowledge on keeping dragons at bay and his experience as second-in-command, our tribe's losses could have been a lot heavier. Well, everywhere but the mainland, that is."
"That's good," I sincerely noted. I guess someone else was able to save some lives in that awful war. At least something good came out of that Kill Raid. That's a thought I never thought I'd have, but… it helps. Nodding again, I moved on to my second question, relieved get to another topic. "And Bertha?"
Dagur shrugged, waving it off like it wasn't important. "Oh, she just lost her husband and brother on the same night sometime last winter. I figured she'd be over it by now, but I guess not."
Luckily, this was a pretty good distraction, even if it was terrible news. At least it didn't involve me this time. Plus, it raised a few questions. "But aren't the Bog Burglars an all-female tribe?" I asked, hoping to have one of them answered. Dad always drilled that detail into me whenever he talked about them.
"Yeah, that sure worked out for them." At my raised eyebrow, he chuckled and put a hand on my shoulder. "Desperate times, my brother, desperate times. If the Burglars hadn't started inviting men to live on their mainland a few years back to keep up with the raids, I honestly doubt they would have made it. The extra numbers and muscle were just the edge they needed to survive."
"That makes sense," I said neutrally, shrugging off his hand; this time, I should be focusing on gathering information, so it'd be best if I kept my emotions out of it. "So Bertha already had her brother and husband living with her last year?"
"If she hadn't, she wouldn't have lost them," Dagur simply stated.
A cold breeze swept in from the ocean, but it died almost as quickly as it came.
Ignoring what I hoped wasn't the sign of a cold front, I pressed Dagur for details. "Were they living together before they got married?"
Dagur nodded. "Yes, and before you ask, they weren't officially married until about a year ago. I think Bertha's husband was one of the first men to be invited to the island. From what I heard, he was a pretty upstanding Viking, which got the rest of the tribe thinking. Two years after that, they got hitched and made Burglar history. Since that marriage was the first of her tribe, Bertha set a few precedents while she could, to make sure things wouldn't change too much. She even signed into their laws that no man could be Chief of the Burglars just to be safe. Women still hold most of the political power and leadership, even after marriage – almost like the reverse of how all the other tribes work – but at least they have marriage now. Her tribe really dodged an arrow with it either way."
"So they're not the 'scourge of men' that they used to be?"
"Most of them are," he conceded, shrugging. "I heard there's still a sect on their mainland that teaches the ins and outs of 'effective one-night stands', but I think the rest of the Burglars finally saw that marriage works a lot better for a healthy society." He leaned in to whisper. "I even heard a pretty reliable rumor that Bertha broke the tradition of not getting close to men way before she got married, and that her husband was the father of her current heir. Camicazi was pretty depressed when the Burglars came to us for aid right after you guys rejected them, so I'm guessing she was pretty close to him, just like her mother. I didn't believe that rumor until I saw it with my own eyes, but now it's hard to deny that he was her actual father."
I felt my eyes widen at the last bit of information. Camicazi is older than I am, so her parents must have been close for decades. A whole bunch of things just started making a lot more sense. Dad's caution with the Burglars, the strong resentment of Big-Boobied – formerly "Level-Headed" – Bertha, and the fact that I never encountered an all-female tribe during the raids all came crashing together, wrapped up in an ugly bow.
Better be safe on this one. "Dagur, I think it'd be best if we don't show the Burglars the same, uh, 'hospitality' that we showed the Meatheads."
Dagur was taken aback. "And pull the same prank if we did?! You don't know me as well as I thought you did, Brother! I hardly ever use the same trick twice; I only do that if I know it'll work, like I did with Gobber earlier. If I did it more often than that, people would know what to expect!"
Hmm. Maybe I should tell the twins that. It'd give Gorge some relief from the stuffed yak, at least. "So you know it wouldn't work on the Burglars?"
He shrugged. "Well, not as well as it did with the Meatheads, anyway, so it's not worth it."
I only just realized we were in front of the Berserker's ship when Dagur began walking up the gangplank. These conversations really have a way of killing my situational awareness.
Dagur finished his explanation as he stepped on the deck. "Plus, Mogadon was right. It'd be harder to get away with, so it's really not worth it. That's why I didn't say we'd be showing them the 'same' hospitality, just our hospitality. I always leave the normal approach on the table, just in case everything else fails." He glanced at his dragon as I put my first foot on the deck, then turned back to me when my metal leg followed. "By the way, I've been meaning to ask you something. Why weren't you surprised when I told you guys about my Skrill? Like I said, I knew it would work to get a rise out of Gobber with how much I've done it with my men, but you… well, you know what you did. Have anything to say about that?"
The piercing gaze was a little unnerving.
"Um… no?"
He shrugged. "Fine. I'll just have to figure it out for myself."
