Welcome back!
Sorry for the delay :-).
I know this chapter, like the last one, is a little slow... but in my mind it's all necessary for the overall story arc. At the end, you'll have to let me know your opinions.
Thanks again for the reviews. They're always appreciated and very helpful.
Please feel free to send me criticism - the good, bad, and the ugly. So knowing what you see as problems is always helpful.
What I've learned so far is the following:
- need to develop, describe and introduce characters better.
- extend the time line of the story. I'm very linear with the story. Everything is happening over the span of a couple days.
- Helpful to use the stream-of-consciousness technique sometimes.
- Grammar and spelling still suck, but hopefully fixable. :-)
- I might be too slow in plot development and the story was coming across as just a love story between two characters initially.
All these inputs (some mine, some yours) will hopefully help me next time around.
The only way to become a good writer is to satisfy you - the reader... If I can't do that, then I'll never be able to write something worthwhile on my own. Criticism, and opinions about character development, emotional interactions, plot speed, scene setting, suspense, etc... are all really important to know.
Like I said, I'm a tech monkey so writing something that is creative is really hard. It goes against how I've been taught to express information to others.
Oh, and if you have any great buttercup sayings, don't hesitate to let me know... the well has run dry. :-)
Chapter Warnings: None. Rated PG.
LAST WARNING: Buckle up, Buttercup... The story is turning...
Chapter 11
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Time seemed to stop.
The breeze eerily calmed.
The world around them stilled.
Stoick quietly gasped, sucking in a small breath before freezing. His mind went dark...
The beating of his heart pounded in his ears like a drum; its tune was that of pure fear. Slowly releasing his breath, Stoick shot a concerned glance toward Gobber as the fear slowly built in his gut. Squaring his chin, he puffed out his chest and strode past the panting teens and puzzled smithy, making a beeline for the seer's hut. The trio of remaining Vikings shot puzzled looks before quietly falling into step several paces behind.
Stoick's mind whirled. What could the seer want? Why would he be summoned? Why today? Why now? Where was Hiccup? Had something happened? No... No... He promised to stay out of trouble... He was back at the hut... safe... alive. Out of harm's way... He was protected... Oh, dear sweet Odin... this time please... I beg you, please... this time let him have listened... The thoughts burned like a wildfire in his heart. The effort to keep moving forward was almost too great as an overwhelming fear engulfed him. "No..." he whispered, shaking his head slowly as if he could undo what was about to unfold.
When Stoick entered the village square, he was snapped out of his wild thoughts by the frantic motion of a very massive, blonde teen with a wild-eyed, flushed face running frantically. Flagging him down, the youth skidded to a stop a few paces in front of the Chief. The harried fish-like teen looked panicked, well, more panicked than his normal state of anxiety and confusion. "Fishlegs, where's the seer?!" Stoick demanded.
Shaken by the Chief's booming voice, the fifteen year old began to stutter nervously, lowering his head after drinking in the site of two very large, and scowling Viking leaders, flanked by a pair of dim-witted fraternal twins. Raising a trembling arm, he pointed.
The Chief's eyes darted quickly in the direction of the shaking finger. Inhaling quickly, Stoick squinted and focused his attention on the small windowed wooden shack nestled within a group of evergreen trees at the edge of town. "Ah..." he sighed, "... the divination hut." With a pounding heart he set off toward the small building, knowing the seer only took visitors when things were grim.
After a few long strides, he turned and faced three puzzled teenagers and one very worried-looking smithy. "If you see Hiccup, tell him..." he paused, gathering his thoughts, "... just tell him I'm looking for him. Tell him to go home and wait for me. Tell him not to leave the house."
Stoick turned, and was suddenly startled as a high-pitched screech ripped through the air. "S-Sir?"
Stoick turned and stared down at the terrified, trembling youth who appeared about to release his bladder. Raising his brows, the Chief nodded, signaling the teen to continue. Wringing his hands, the terrified fish-like boy cleared his throat and attempted to drop his voice an octave, "Well, we haven't seen him since this morning when he was talking to Astrid and ..."
Before the full sentence escaped Fishleg's lips, it was quickly hijacked and completed by Tuffnut, "... ran off because he was acting all stupid and clumsy because... " he hesitated before turning his head, crossing his eyes, and making gagging noises by pretending to stick his finder down his throat.
Without missing a beat, Ruffnut completed her twin brother's thought, "... he was coming on to Astrid, the ice queen, and she totally blew him off. Completely humiliated him... Heh. It was pure enjoyment to watch. Just magical..." She finished by crossing her arms and smirking, obviously amused, "She impressed me. But I would have done better. There needed to be some form of physical pain for my satisfaction."
Stoick's eyes widened, "Hiccup... Hiccup spoke to Astrid? Directly?" A look of confusion plastered upon his lined face.
"Yeah, and then he ran off with his tail between his legs, "Ruffnut snorted. Laughing, she snarked, "Guess he couldn't take the humiliation in front of his loooooove..." Smirking, Tuffnut flapped his arms and made clucking noises as his scratched the dirt. In support, a chorus of smoochy sounds and lewd groans rang out from the other teens in support.
Shaking his head in annoyance, the Chief exhaled and turned to leave the guffawing trio of teens. Suddenly a rough hand grabbed his shoulder holding him in place. Stoick jerked his head to the side, his eyes locking onto another's. "I'm here if you need me... always. I've got your back." Gobber said in a gruff, worried voice.
Stoick clasped his large hand on top of his friends. "I know that. I've always known that."
Reluctantly releasing the Chief's arm, Gobber watched his friend turn and head toward the seer's shack. His long strides lacked their former confidence.
It only took a few moments for the Chief to make his way to the partially hidden shack. Standing before the plain, slightly warped brown door, he mustered all his courage to reach up a hand and pull the rickety door open. The Hooligan leader was a fearless Viking, yet all his bravery ebbed away as he eyed the small door handle ominously jutting out of the modest structure. His mind started to spin as sweat beaded on his brow, slowly rolling down the curves of his tanned, lined cheek, only to disappear within his bushy red beard. Why was he summoned... Why now... Why the urgency... Why was the seer in her divination room requesting an audience... This was odd. This was a bad omen. This was like... it was like when he was summoned at Hiccup's birth... It was like when he was told... only one would survive.
Stoick bowed his head, remembering the pain of that day. Remembering how he wanted to die... Remembering how seeing his newborn son for the first time gave him a reason to live... Remembering how everyone told him it was a mistake to save his weak, runt-of-a son...
A very small, sad smile broke across the mighty Chief's lips. He knew they got it all wrong...
He was the weak one. Hiccup saved him. Saved him from despair... Saved him from a life of loneliness... Saved him from losing his true love forever... Because as long as Hiccup lived, so did she.
With great trepidation, Stoick reached out a trembling hand and grabbed the rusted handle. Slowly lifting the oddly hot latch out of its pedestal, he slowly pushed the small door open and paused for a long moment in the doorway. Peering cautiously inside, he let his tired eyes adjust to the dark and dusty interior. Slowly, the shapes and features started to materialize out of the darkness.
Very little adorned the plain, wooden walls of the small, modest structure. Each of the four walls was marked with a a large, carefully drawn reddish symbol, encircled by many strange, carelessly scribbled black runes, none of which were recognizable by the Chief. Each symbol was unique and seemed to almost pulsate in the dim, flickering light, mimicking breathing. The place felt almost alive.
The Chief's eyes continued to scan over the dimly lit room, drinking in every small detail. His eyes immediately stopped when they fell upon a short, wobbly table, accompanied by two adjacent chairs in the middle of the single-room hut. Upon the table lay an open book with many more odd-looking scribbled runes scattered across the tattered and dirtied pages, filling the margins. An old feather quill, still dripping with fresh ink rested in the gutter of the book, the ink well nearby almost dry from use.
A sudden large snap and crackle from burning wood echoed loudly into the otherwise soundless room, causing Stoick's eyes to suddenly lock onto the small, smoke-dirtied hearth near the far wall. Watching mesmerized, his eyes followed the delicate flames from the cool-burning fire, as they reached up and gently licked the bottom of a small, dark gray metal pot hanging from a metal tripod.
The brownish liquid steamed and slowly churned, occasionally bubbling over the side, producing large sizzling sounds as the brew dripped onto the hot embers. The aroma emitted by the vaporizing droplets filled the room with an aroma so foul, the Chief wrinkled his nose in disgust.
Dutifully standing over the slowly browning mixture stood the seer, Gríma, dressed in a simple dark blue, knee length tunic, trimmed in a bright gold braid. Meticulously stirring the odious, curling fluid, she chanted softly in an unknown tongue, apparently unaware of her curious visitor frozen in the doorway.
Without warning, two words loudly reverberated through the noiseless room, "Sit Down!"
Startled by the fierceness in her voice, Stoick quickly took a step back before regaining his composure. Hurriedly moving toward the rickety table, he awkwardly pulled out the small chair opposite the old book and quill and seated himself quickly. A loud scraping sound of wood-against-wood screeched into the quiet room as he scooted his chair forward, clumsily squeezing his large frame under the small table.
Sitting rigidly, shoulders thrown back, he stared forward somberly at some nonexistent object on the far wall. After several long minutes, he slowly placed his large, sweaty hands gently on the tabletop, palms facing down. The Chief's eyes started shifting uneasily from the wall toward the the only other figure in the room, patiently waiting to be acknowledged. The almost-always-fearless leader blew out a long steadying breath through pursed lips, clearing his mind and calming his anxiety, unaccustomed to being the quiet, submissive figure in any room.
The seer widened her stance to more aggressively stir the foul liquid, making several strong rotations before releasing the old metal spoon, allowing it to drop loudly against the rim of the cauldron-like pot. Wiping her hands on her tunic, she spoke without turning. "The future is difficult to see... forever changing... like the endlessly shifting sands on the sandy shore... pulled and pushed by the rolling waves. Your son's future is difficult to see, but a nexus seems to surround him. I've never felt anything like it. It's as if he's the epicenter of a strong disturbance. The focal point of evil. Exactly what, I can't say. The signs are too murky to be seen clearly."
Stoick's nails dug into the soft wood of the table as he blurted out, "Hiccup? But he's just one small, insignificant boy. How could this be?"
Shaking his head in disbelief, Stoick's eyes grew unfocused, "He's just... just a small boy. Just one little boy... No one of consequence." He muttered weakly, eyes filling with unshed tears.
Almost soundlessly, Gríma grabbed a small object off the mantle and reached for a cane propped against the wall. Awkwardly hobbling toward the table, she seated herself in the unoccupied chair. Placing a small item next to the old, leather bound book, she started scribbling in the book, never making eye contact with the Chief.
The ancient, fragile looking vase contained a single flower; the Meadowrue flower, known for it's hardiness and longevity. The site of the slowly dying flower sent a cold shiver up the Chief's spine, instantly whisking him away into his memories. The last time he had seen this vase and flower was at the beside by his dying bride.
Slowly raising her wrinkled, withered hand, she licked her slightly trembling thumb and index fingers. Grabbing a dirtied page from the book, she ran her fingers up and down the edge of the page lovingly, savoring the slightly rough texture before slowly turning the page. The sound of crackling parchment sent shivers up the Chief's spine as he silently watched the seer flip through several pages of the incantation filled Galdor book before softly speaking, her voice now soft and raspy. "Much divination will be done on Winterfillth night when I take vigil in the graveyard of our ancestors. It's then I'll better see the fates of the younglings. But there is a darkness growing which is clouding and altering your boy's future."
Gríma slowly looked up into Stoick's fearful eyes with great concern. "I see a dark hand reaching for your son. Its grip beginning to tighten."