.
Chapter 26: Lost
(Hiccup)
He was at home, but he had to go out, to the forge, to help Gobber; his father was going to scold him otherwise. Gobber wouldn't have minded, but his father…
He was late, he knew, but he did not want to leave yet. He wanted to stay inside, hidden. He was still too ashamed. It was going to pass, he knew, but, for now, he wanted to wait, to let the people forget about him for a while. He wanted to avoid the glares. He deserved them, of course; that didn't mean he enjoyed them.
It had happened again. His latest invention had failed. It had not launched the net far enough. He had caught himself two Vikings, but that was all. The dragon they were fighting had escaped with the haul. The two Vikings were not happy, and his father had been even less so afterwards.
It will work next time!
Hiccup was sure of it. He knew what adjustments to make. The day it truly did work, they were going to finally understand: he was not useless. And then, maybe he would be allowed to join the fire team. Maybe his weapon was going to be so good, that his father would let him join dragon training early. Ten years old; not even the great Stoick the Vast had entered the arena so young.
Hiccup opened the door. He had to go. He headed straight to the forge, head bowed, hoping none of the other kids was in the mood to tease him for what he had done.
There were voices following him, faces looking at him, people all around him. He did not see them, he did not want to, but he could feel them nonetheless. He knew them, and they knew him.
He started to run. The forge was his place, the only place where he still felt needed.
He had to go back there fast. Yes, close to the fire, surrounded by the smoke and molten metals and dark rocks, into that furnace... where she waited, hungry. Always hungry.
Yes, he had to go there; how foolish of him to doubt her demands. She was going to eat him otherwise. She was not even going to move from her spot inside that furnace. She would command him to get into her stomach, and he was going to do it. He was going to calmly land on her enormous forked tongue, into her open mouth. She was going to allow him one last moment of awareness to cast a look outside, towards that red, glowing underworld. She was then going to force him to feel grateful, as her jaws chewed his body. And then, he was going to die, smiling a fake smile.
She reminded him of all this, she made him see it, she made him feel his own bones break, his ribs separate under the force of her fangs, and he hurried, trembling. He could not hope to leave. He belonged to her, body and mind. He was her slave, and, so, he obeyed. And he had to feel glad, and so he did. And he had to revere her, and, so, he did that too. And he also had to fear her, and that… that was easy.
He arrived. He had made a small mistake. His weapon hadn't worked, but he was going to do a better job next time. He was going to do better, because his father…? No… what father? The queen. He felt the pressure of her palate on his back, crushing him, and he knew who he was once again: a small, insignificant pawn. Did the others have moments of doubt like this? Were the other dragons allowed such thoughts?
He entered the mountain.
She did not appear, shrouded by smoke and mist. Still, he did not simply bow, he prostrated himself, devoutly, his chest scraping the rocky ledge on which he had landed, pebbles falling into the smoldering abyss, like pieces of his pride. He was still allowed to feel his own humiliation. A gift, she would say, a generous concession. He did not complain, nor did he ask for something else. After all, he only wished one thing. Wishing for death was forbidden, however. All she would grant was the pain of it, and the humiliation it entailed, but never its release; unless, of course, she was particularly hungry. She would never eat him though, he knew. He was too valuable.
He slithered forward like a snake, and exposed his belly, whimpering, pleading her to forgive his mistake.
What mistake?
A net-launcher had not worked, but… this did not make any sense! Was she making him think these things? Or were these his own thoughts? What did she want from him? Whatever it was, he was going to do it. Not only that, he was going to want to do it.
The smoky vapor suddenly twirled. There was a noise of heavy boulders being displaced, of wind being forced through stony crevices. It was the sound of a moving mountain, if mountains could move. A sound so low, pulsating so thickly, he could feel it with his insides. It was the sound of bigness, the sound of a power too huge for any living being to face. Finally, she appeared before him, and he saw her, and it felt like the first time.
Why did it feel that way? His terror washed away the question.
She was wondrously big, a mountain within a mountain. The red glow of the lava pools below shone in her six eyes. She took a deep breath, and he had to claw himself to the ground not to be sucked in by the wind. Then, her roar crushed over him like a wave of stone.
Hiccup woke up, shivering, or maybe just shaking, caught in an inexplicable fit. His head was spinning.
The feeling was familiar, which was why he did not panic, though he could think of nothing coherent for some time. He braced himself, until, slowly, the dizziness abated.
What had he been dreaming? He could not recall, yet a feeling somehow lingered. A dread unlike anything he had ever felt. Silently, although he could not specify the reason, his eyes welled up. He let the tears fall freely, clueless of their cause. Why was he feeling such terror? He had dreamt of terrible things before, awful memories, he had even dreamt of dying, but this had somehow been worse.
What could be worse than dying?
Hiccup made sure Toothless was still pressed against him in the darkness, and his emotions began to settle. They were both alive. They were fine. They had landed.
The dragon was still curled around him, one black wing covering him, sleeping heavily. He was exhausted; they both were. They had flown without pause for more than half a day, and half of that had been in a storm the likes of which Hiccup had never seen.
Hiccup had lost most of his belongings in that voyage. His bow, his basket, his tools. And, not long before that, he had lost six scaly friends, and yet another home. He had lost so much lately, he thought. Maybe that was why he had felt like crying moments ago. Yet, remembering those things now only made him want to scream in anger.
He did not want to remember, so he pushed all of it to the back of his mind. He had come here to forget. He had come here for a new beginning.
We are on the mainland now, Hiccup told himself, and the thought soothed him.
It did not take him long to fall asleep again. After all, the sun had not yet risen on Hiccup's first day away from the Viking Archipelago.
He needed needle and thread, and then, a map. He was not going to travel blindly ever again. It did not matter that he could fly; he had learned his lesson. Besides, in this foreign place, he could hardly hope for a Norse-speaking person to offer him directions, as he had been offered in Nendur. How lucky he had been to meet that sailor, and how stupid of him not to heed his warning.
I was careless, but no longer.
He was going to find the cheapest map, for he only had three silver coins left. He was then going to pick the closest deserted mountain, he was going to fly there, and he was going to brace for winter, hoping to remain unnoticed. Come spring, he was going to see what the mainland could truly offer. For now, he needed smaller, achievable goals. His heart could bear no more failures, no more losses.
Yes, Hiccup thought, that's the plan.
First, however, he needed to repair his friend's prosthetic, and make a good job of it too, for they had lost the spare one. Fortunately, the tear on the leather had only split the fin halfway through; it was not going to be hard to mend. Later, he was going to find some leather to make a new fin, since the iron parts of the mechanism were still sound. Needle and thread were going to suffice for the time being.
"Toothless?" Hiccup whispered softly. "Toothless, I'm leaving. I'll be back before sundown, alright?"
The dragon stirred. Tiredly, he opened one eye. It seemed he could hardly breathe. He did not speak; their minds would not connect. He was still too weary, and it was up to him to join their minds, for Hiccup was incapable of doing it himself.
Hiccup felt a pang of guilt. Their flight had sapped every bit of strength from the Night Fury. The dragon did not groan his usual objection. He did not even complain about the saddle being still strapped to his back. He snorted out a disapproving huff, but no smoke came out.
"I know, but I'll be careful. I must repair your tail."
Toothless did groan then. It was not disagreement, only an aimless protest.
"Don't worry, the village we saw last night is huge. It must be Tinas, the city I heard about. There must be lots of people there. And since some Vikings do come here, I won't stick out too much. You stay here and rest, alright?"
Toothless huffed and closed his open eye.
"If I have enough coin left, I'll bring something back for you to eat," Hiccup added, but Toothless had already gone back to sleep. Hiccup was glad; he suspected he was not going to fulfil that promise, having only three silver coins left.
Hiccup checked if the coins were still in the pouch by the piece of rope he called a belt, where his knife was also sheathed. He then made sure his journal was still dry against his chest, beneath his tunics and fur-jerkin, alongside the dried meat and Gobber's grooming kit, which he had saved from the breaking basket mid-flight. The meat was probably ruined anyway, but the kit had not been soaked enough to rust anytime soon. Hiccup left both with Toothless.
He decided to keep wearing his rope-bound pelt this time, unlike he had in his recent visit to Nendur, hoping no one would suspect him of being an outcast here. Besides, while this place was not as cold as it had been a day ago in the southern Archipelago, nor certainly as cold as it was this time of year on Berk, it was still cold enough for Hiccup's breath to steam in the morning air, and his exhaustion was making him feel the chill twice over.
He left their landing spot, moving eastwards, walking downhill through a red-leafed forest. Yellow rays of sun cut horizontally between the trees, warming his face. There was no snow to hinder his walk. His only obstacle was the terrible soreness of his thighs; Hiccup had never flown for as long as he had the previous day.
In fact, Hiccup planned to never do it again. Toothless had been barely able to carry him for such a distance. Clearly, even Night Furies had their limit, and he had almost pushed it too far. He was not going to push Toothless like that again. Going back north was no longer an option after all. There was a wall now, between this place and the Archipelago. That's what the Wicked Waters were to him, a wall beyond which no dragon-killer had any business going. Hiccup was glad for it. It helped him narrow down his options, now that they had made it through.
How far did we land from the village? He thought after some time, trying not to slip on the carpet of fallen leaves, morning dew making them slick.
No. Not just a village. An actual city!
He allowed the excitement to fuel his spirit as he walked.
He could hear faint waves to his left, crashing against the same cliffs that had marked the finish line to their dangerous voyage. He trailed the coastline from a distance, following its familiar sound.
Hiccup's mouth hung open when he finally emerged from the neatly harvested tree line, tree-stumps cut low, allowing him to take in the scenery from his vantage point. An enormous valley opened before him, the sea to his left, and great, snow-capped mountains far on the horizon, clawing at the distant sky. Above, round, lonely clouds spotted the grassy land with their shadows. Below, a river, large enough for a dozen boats to sail side by side, had carved its way to the sea, slicing the valley like a heavy wedge, and around its delta, the city of Tinas grew, more densely than any settlement Hiccup had ever seen.
Massive walls of light-grey stone, taller than any Berkian house, drew an irregular circle around most of the buildings. Taller still were the handful of towers, sprouting skywards from the western side of the city, the higher side, towards which Hiccup had slowly, inadvertently begun to walk, his sense of wonder making him forget his worries. Where was he going to find a map? Whom was he going to ask for stitching materials? The questions seemed unimportant before such majesty.
From the highland, Hiccup's eyes surveyed the intricate streets with renewed eagerness. He saw countless clay-tiled rooftops, chimneys puffing grey clouds into the chilly air, stone bridges, myriads of boats and ships floating in the huge, circular harbor, and some flowing upriver. And, of course, he could not avoid gawking at the sight of the castle, perched proudly atop the northernmost cliff of the city.
Most intriguing of all, however, was the sight of something like a bridge, suspended on tall, stone arches, higher than most other buildings, cutting through the city from the south, straight towards the castle. Hiccup could not see what was atop it, but he could guess.
"Odin's beard... That's a raised waterway!" He said out loud, hands to his hair, thinking for a moment Toothless was there beside him.
He needed to share that amazing discovery with someone, to tell them how closely it resembled one of his own old ideas for Berk's water supply, only a hundred times bigger. In fact, that aqueduct was the longest construction Hiccup had ever seen, stretching far beyond the walled perimeter of the city.
How many years had it taken to build it? How many hands? How much knowledge?
I should have been born here, Hiccup thought. The thought, however, turned into a bitter ache inside his chest. A wave of homesickness, unlike any other he had felt since leaving Berk, rolled suddenly over him.
Hiccup had been able to keep the feeling at bay for many months, always aware that he was never more than a day or two of flight from his birthplace. Now, with the Wicked Waters barring his way to the Archipelago, or at least making it a near-deadly trip, his condition as an outcast had acquired a heavier sense of permanence.
Hiccup cleared his throat, trying to calm his skipping heart, and replace the sudden panic with the pleasant sense of wonder he had been feeling before. To his surprise, it worked. He smiled again, eager to explore the huge city.
The ground became more even as he descended the steep, grassy hill, leaving the forest behind him.
It was almost noon when Hiccup reached the first barns and farms outside the city walls. The familiar smell of hay and dung greeted him warmly, if a bit unpleasantly. He was no longer high enough to view the city from above, but he could still make out the tops of the castle's towers, so he followed their direction, walking by a few small fields, too small for the presumed population.
These can't be the only farms feeding the city, Hiccup thought. That's when he saw the horses.
He had never seen them before, but they looked exactly like Hiccup had imagined from the stories and sketches that had found their way to Berk. A wheeled cart was being hauled by one of the tall animals, a muscular, brown-coated stallion, one man pulling at the stirrups, directing the beast towards the main dirt road. Hiccup stalked closer, entering the road himself, and joining the increasing traffic.
So many people... and I haven't even entered the city!
Fortunately, none of them seemed to pay him any attention.
Walking leisurely, Hiccup reached the massive walls. A gateway, large enough for two carts, welcomed in all of the travelers. Hiccup wanted to stop and admire the architecture, but he was funneled through the gate by the traffic of people. He nonetheless kept looking up, admiring the artificial vault above. It was made entirely of large stone blocks.
How do the blocks not fall? He wondered. Do they support their own weight? They must have been carved to the shape of an arch beforehand. But how did they manage to put them up there in the first place?
Head bent backwards, Hiccup examined the structure from underneath, much like visitors used to do in Berk's great hall. As he did so, his eyes caught what seemed like a trap-door at the very center of the vault's ceiling. He wondered about its purpose, but he did not have enough time to figure it out, before he was pushed onwards by the flow of people and horses; the elegant animals, Hiccup noticed, smelled almost like Berk's hairy yaks.
Once inside the city, Hiccup was struck by the noise. Shouts and murmurs, crying babes and polite conversation, horses whinnying, workers and workshops, carts and wheelbarrows dragging heavily on what Hiccup noticed was no longer a dirt road, but a floor of stone. In fact, it seemed most of the main streets had been painstakingly paved with flagstone. It certainly conveyed a sense of luxury, but was it really necessary? Vikings would hardly pave the inside of their own homes, yet mainlanders, it seemed, would even pave their streets!
Hiccup walked forward, following the flow of people and the peculiar background noise that the city seemed to emanate. As he passed enough streets and crossings to fill any Viking village, both the traffic and the noise began to dilute, and Hiccup found he no longer knew which way to go.
He paused in the middle of a great crossroads, and finally took the time to observe the huge buildings that lined the streets, no longer having his view obscured by the dense crowd.
Most of the houses were built side by side, and all were made of stone, which allowed them to rise as high as four stories, though the higher floors were usually made of wood, with their outer walls sometimes painted in a yellowy-white color, contrasting with the dark timber of their vertical supports. Some of those wooden floors were even made to protrude from the floors below, leaning above the streets in a way that Hiccup found both imprudent and fascinating.
While only few of the buildings had balconies, all of them had lots of windows, and while most of the windows closed with shutters, some were made with a metallic grid, filled with tiles of glass, a material Hiccup had only seen used for precious vials or bottles, for it was considered quite expensive in the north.
However, such extravagances should not have been surprising this far south, and Hiccup quickly realized why. These people did not suffer from dragon raids, so their carpenters' efforts were not going to be wasted in the span of a few summer months.
Still, as Hiccup had noticed in his travels, even the southernmost villages of the Archipelago had seemed rather unburdened by the plight of the dragon war, yet neither Nendur nor Thargran had reached this level of lavishness in their constructions. He could not help but wonder why.
Perhaps the mere fact that these mainlanders had never seen a dragon was enough to make their buildings reach for the skies, whereas all Vikings knew the skies did not belong to them. It was a strange thought to consider: a place where people did not fear dragons, for they did not believe in them.
Such place truly does exist, and people live here! Normal people leading normal lives, yet so completely different from ours.
Hiccup's mouth was slack with wonder as he absorbed the richness and complexity of this place. Everything around him had been meticulously constructed by expert craftsmen, and every street seemed to have been planned by visionary chiefs. No… kings!
How hard does a king have to work to manage such a place? Hiccup asked himself, aware of the amount of work his father put every day into governing a mere village.
He must have many helpers. That might explain why his castle is so big.
Hiccup could see the great building in the distance, towards the sea, the largest of the streets leading towards it in a perfectly straight line; he only had to turn left...
But, Hiccup decided to continue east, to the river, following the gradually descending street he had been walking. He was curious to see the castle from up close, of course, but there was a strangely intimidating spotlessness in that direction, the houses becoming even more opulent. Not to mention the increasing number of armed figures patrolling the raised sidewalks towards the castle, some in heavy plate armor, covering every bit of their skin, and even most of their faces. They all wore swords at their sides, which either meant they were very rich, or, more likely, that they worked for someone who was even more so.
They were probably guards of some sort, Hiccup thought, and, as he had done in every other of his recent visits to foreign villages, he preferred to avoid places where he could risk being asked questions, especially if the questions where in a language he did not understand.
Despite their intimidating bearing, however, Hiccup allowed himself to cast a few nervous glances towards them, trying to study their armor. It seemed quite impenetrable, not to mention expensive.
How did the blacksmith make those joint pieces fit so well? He wondered, when the guard he was examining turned towards him.
Hiccup flinched. He spun around in a circle, finally pointing his feet to his former direction, hoping to project the impression of one who had nonchalantly changed his mind, but only looking like a fool instead.
Praying his strange behavior had not sparked the man's curiosity, he picked up his pace onwards, avoiding that particularly wealthy district, feeling suddenly very self-aware of his appearance. Hiccup had always worried about looking like an outcast when visiting Viking villages, and, though he had hoped the opposite, this was even truer here, where most people could afford to wear colors Hiccup did not even know could penetrate cloth. The only doubts regarding his condition were preserved solely by the heavy pelt around his shoulders, concealing his tattered clothes underneath; only his boots were fairly new.
The street he had picked led him to pass underneath the waterway, which he admired for a while, before moving on. He crossed street after street, when he finally reached the riverbank.
To Hiccup, the river looked almost like a lake, so large it was. In fact, it widened and split in two, leaving an island in between, large enough to fit every Berkian household twice over.
There, two bridges crossed. The largest one took to the island, while a smaller one continued to the other side, their thick, stone arches, much like those Hiccup had seen at the gates, diving into the riverbed, sustaining the large road above. Boats were being rowed underneath them in each direction.
Hiccup joined the traffic on the bridge to the island, his eyes darting around, trying to take in everything at once.
When Hiccup reached the island, a loud tolling sound made him jump. A deep, metallic chime, regular, slow, and mournful. The people around him seemed unconcerned, so his sense of alarm subsided quickly. Still, he was unable to ignore the strange sound; it almost called to him, so he found his way to the source, led by fresh curiosity.
A huge, round building appeared before him, standing isolated in a large square. Its huge double gate was painted half in black, with white runes, and half in white, with black runes. The runes, Hiccup did not recognize. From the dome at the center of the building, a slim tower jutted out towards the sky, and, atop it, swinging, the biggest bell Hiccup had ever seen, its shape resembling that of a hollow sphere. It was so big, that even Toothless would have been able to fit inside it.
Hiccup's mind churned with a few awe-fueled calculations.
How could a blacksmith obtain so much metal? He asked himself. That one bell seemed to contain the weight of all of Berk's swords and axes put together, and most likely all their nails and arrowheads too.
That thing could confuse the dragons of a whole raid! How much did it cost?! And why is it ringing?
As he approached, Hiccup figured the answer to the second question.
Devotees were drawn towards the building like moths to the flame, and every time the black-and-white gate opened for one of them, worshipful chants leaked out; men's voices producing deep, long 'ooo's and 'aaa's, their humming reverberating within the great stone hall.
Hiccup went closer, but did not enter. His nose caught a scent of strong spice fanning out in warm waves. He did not understand the words of the chant (assuming they were actual words), but he found the sound and the thick incense to be both soothing and empowering. His skin prickled, a sense of calm wonder enveloping him. The experience felt ominous and enthralling at the same time. Still, he dared not enter.
Even though entirely different from any Viking place of worship, Hiccup recognized this building as a temple. Walking through the island's streets, he found two more similar places. Neither of them had a bell, nor black-and-white gates, but they were all clearly places of worship of some sort.
Strolling around, mulling about his findings, Hiccup felt a strange sense of disorientation. It was his first time seeing people worship different gods, and not only that, but probably different religions within walking distance from one another. He found the notion disconcerting. How could there be many different faiths at the same time?
They must agree about some things, otherwise…
Someone had taken notice of his troubled expression. A completely bald man wearing grey-white robes, with a concerned but not unkind look furrowing his hairless brows. He was coming closer.
That's when Hiccup realized he had stopped walking, standing in the middle of a small plaza, near yet another house of worship. This one was smaller, simpler, but, unlike the others, it had familiar carvings on its wood and stone. Too familiar.
The man called to him in a gentle voice:
"Child?" He said, his accent unfamiliar. "You are Veeking, yes? Clearly, Odin guides you to his temple."
Hiccup shot another look at the building behind the approaching man, and his mind made the connection.
Vikings!
Like a frightened mouse, Hiccup spun around and ran, darting away as fast as his feet would allow.
Had he been recognized? No, it was not likely. Still, he turned corner after corner, ran over small bridges, sped through stone underpasses, no longer in awe at their vaulted ceilings, his heart in his throat. He could not allow himself to even risk being caught. He could not leave his friend flightless, especially in this foreign land.
When he finally stopped to catch his breath, Hiccup realized how stupid he had been.
Who will I ask for directions, if I'm too afraid to speak to another Viking?! Hiccup hid his face in his hands, his forehead damp with cooling sweat. Thor help me, I'm such an idiot.
Sadly, he feared he had lost his chance with that place; he could not risk going back there, now that he had given the perfect impression of a fugitive. He was going to have to find some other Viking willing to help him out. There were bound to be others.
Making matters worse, Hiccup found another reason to fret over his stupidity, a slightly more pressing one.
He was lost.
He had reached a muddy alley. He could not see the river, nor hear the sea. Around him, a maze of narrow streets, much less elegant, much less clean than those of the higher side of the city, the houses in much poorer shape, though still of impressive sizes.
A sickening sense of disorientation began to burn within him. He could no longer tell north from south. As if by some illusion, he began to feel the tall buildings grow taller around him, the streets narrower, the sky more distant. Part of him wanted to claw rabidly at the walls surrounding him, wishing for higher ground. Alas, Hiccup had never been a good climber. He felt a powerful need to fly, but Toothless was too far away for him to call.
Too panicked to stay still, too tired to run, Hiccup took a deep breath, picked a direction, and tried to follow it as best he could, much like one did when lost in a forest. Of course, Hiccup had never gotten lost in a forest, at least not for long. Forests provided plenty of clues regarding direction. The slope of the ground, the position of the sun, the mossier side of the trees. Here, however, the ground was flat, the narrow alleys looked all the same to him, and the buildings were just as tall as trees, and much better at hiding the sun's position than the canopy of the northern woods.
Soon enough, Hiccup realized the direction he had picked was probably the wrong one, a sense of unease joining his panic as the buildings, now made entirely of wood, turned shabbier at each crossing, the people more reserved, their clothes much more similar to those Hiccup was hiding under his pelt. His hand clutched inadvertently at the pommel of his belt-knife.
Walking those streets, trying to find his way back, Hiccup realized one more thing, which somewhat stained the wonder he had begun to feel for this city. After crossing the river, he had occasionally caught sight of both men and women, some younger than himself, some as old as Gothi, sitting on the sidewalks, stretching their hands to each passerby. Hiccup had not paid them any mind, too overwhelmed by his surroundings to consider what they were doing. Now, seeing more and more such people, in this much uglier side of the city, Hiccup finally knew what they were.
Beggars.
Their condition was suddenly obvious, even though Hiccup had never seen the like. In the Viking islands, no man or woman was ever left outside to beg for food or warmth. That kind of treatment was not even reserved to outcasts, who were most often killed long before suffering this kind of humiliation. This meant that, in the Archipelago, any lawful person without food or shelter was always going to be taken in by someone, and, often enough, it was the chief's household that had the honor to offer protection to the unlucky.
In fact, on Berk, Stoick had erected a large alehouse for that very purpose, hidden just behind the treeline of the nearby forest, managed by a trusted alewife, namely Helga, who stored only the ale she produced inside, and never food, so as not to attract the flocks of raiding dragons during the summer. The alehouse was open to anyone, of course, but it was usually occupied by those who were waiting to rebuild their homes after a dragon raid, though it was also a house for the rare guests that sailed to the island.
Apparently, Tinas had no such place for the downtrodden. It did however have other establishments, some of which Hiccup found to be entirely unfamiliar, like a particular building, the front of which was adorned with ragged, yet colorful drapes hanging from the windows, down to the colonnade that supported its facade. Both under the front porch, and beside the steps that led inside, small clusters of women stood by in the cold, seemingly waiting for something, one smoking a pipe, one adjusting another's hair.
From the distance, they all seemed dressed quite lavishly for the location, though, when Hiccup got closer, he found no elegance in their dresses, which left so much skin bare, they made little sense in the current season. He inadvertently stopped in his tracks to look at the strange women from across the street. That's when he noticed the two brawny men sitting there, playing a game on a small table, their darker clothes making them harder to spot under the shadow of the portico.
One of the women, rather stout and mature-looking, though still of handsome features, noticed Hiccup. She grinned at him impishly and, with one finger, traced a curl of her black hair towards the already low chest-piece of her dress, then slowly pulled down one side of it, revealing a pale, plump breast. She winked at Hiccup, as some of the women sniggered with her. Most of the others, especially the younger girls, looked away, some seeming close to Hiccup's age, perhaps even younger.
When the two men noticed the exchange, they told the women off with words Hiccup did not understand, then focused back to their game.
Sensing the unexpected mockery, Hiccup unglued his eyes from the woman's exposed breast, and walked onwards, head bowed, trying to hide both the feeling of humiliation heating his cheeks, and that of excitement tightening his groin, the image of the woman's small, hard nipple still burning into his mind, making the capricious appendage between his legs almost painfully stiff. He heard laughter rise again, then fade behind him as he quickly left the street.
What was that?! He wondered, understanding nothing about what had just occurred, yet fighting the urge to go back for another look. Why would a woman tease him like that? What was that place? He could not even begin to guess, and the unfamiliar experience added bafflement to his sense of unease.
Fortunately, not all the places Hiccup came across looked as baffling. There were familiar establishments too in this unfamiliar place, like the taverns, which Hiccup recognized by the smell of roasting food, inaptly mixed with the foul, rancid odors of this district, those of hot tar, stagnant water, and human waste, and, of course, the vomit of drunken patrons, the sight of whom was not new to Hiccup, if not for their timing.
Drunk before midday?
The unease inside Hiccup grew. He decided this was definitely not a good part of the city, and when he entered a street he had already crossed, he quickened his pace, trying a different direction.
After hurrying through a desolate courtyard, he finally stopped on a small stone bridge, crossing a rather picturesque canal, cradled by an unexpected air of tranquility. The place, while not as neat or clean as the higher side of the city, seemed far less hostile than the slums Hiccup had just fled. In fact, he found it rather charming. He stayed there for a bit, laying his hands on the stone parapet of the bridge. He took a deep breath, and looked up.
The canal forced the buildings apart, allowing Hiccup a broader view of the sky. It was just past noon. The sun hinted at his direction. Hiccup looked down. His direction was confirmed by the flow of the water below him. He was facing downriver. Before him, three more bridges crossed the canal, but there were probably many more towards the sea, though Hiccup could not see them as the stream curved, tall buildings trailing its banks on both sides like an endless corridor.
Above the canal, ropes, heavy with wet garments, zigzagged from window to window. Below, on one side of the bank, a low, paved sidewalk touched the water. Stairs of old, creaking wood made it possible to get down there, as had some women, who were boiling water on a large pot, washing clothes together, then emptying their wooden basins into the canal. One woman had also caught the occasion to wash her small children. When done, the little boy and girl began to run about, still naked, yelling, laughing, and fleeing from their mother's open cloth, buttocks pink in the cold air. The chase ended quickly, when the two kids began to shiver.
Hiccup realized he was smiling, his eyes finding an unexpected beauty in the simple lives of these mainlanders. A sense of warmth welled up inside of him. How nice it would have been, he thought, to be born a southern child like those two, far from dragon raids and deadly winters; to have mother and father both, farmers, or tanners, or, even better, blacksmiths. Maybe he would have even had a little brother or sister by the time he was seven. A safe life. A simple life. No war. No exile. No bounty on his head.
No Toothless.
Hiccup's smile fell away like a broken mask. Those were unfair thoughts. He had earned a dragon's friendship. His life was never going to be simple. He had accepted it long ago, and he still felt privileged for it, despite all he had suffered. He just had to resist a little longer, and he was going to smile again with his friend, once their lives back on track.
With renewed sense of purpose, Hiccup finished crossing the bridge, leaving the peaceful canal behind him.
The smells of the lower city did not improve much when he finally reached the docks, but the sounds of bobbing boats and yelling sailors produced an aura of familiarity that made Hiccup feel the slightest bit less out of place. If not for the occasional set of plated armor patrolling the streets, making him tense, Hiccup felt more focused, losing the panic, and regaining part of the wonder he had felt when he had first entered the city. It seemed so long ago now, and it was, if the pain of his feet was any indication. He had probably walked five leagues since morning, and the day was not yet over, though the sun had already begun its descent.
The thought made Hiccup realize how hungry he was, not to mention how thirsty. He had lost his waterskin during the previous night's stormy flight, and he had not drunk a drop since.
Searching around, Hiccup spotted a long wooden basin filled with water. Tied to an adjacent railing, a rather small horse was drinking lazily from it. Hiccup joined the unfamiliar animal, and finally quenched his own thirst, cupping the cold water with both hands. When done, he let out a sigh of relief, which was cut short when he noticed how sour and brackish the water had actually tasted. He grimaced, and looked disapprovingly at the horse beside him. Still, when the beast looked back at him, its placid stare made Hiccup melt into a smile.
How is Toothless holding up? Is he still sleeping? Has he recovered from the flight? I better hurry. It'll be sundown soon.
Hiccup said goodbye to the horse, and continued westwards. Walking again along the shore, with a majestic view of the castle from below, Hiccup crossed another bridge, back to the island with the many temples, and realized that, in his rush to flee from the Viking priest, he had exited the walls of the city. The tall fortifications now trailed the coastline behind two rows of shops and storage houses, the docks before them bustling with a mixture of people from all parts of the city; some simple sailors, others dressed in finery.
Hiccup considered his options. Sailors did carry maps sometimes, and it made sense that they could speak more languages, but he still felt unsure. What if a Berserker had reached this place? It no longer seemed such an unlikely notion.
Hiccup rubbed his temples. Had he always been so wary of other people? When had it become a struggle to simply talk to other humans?
Roaming about the docks, thinking, Hiccup's curiosity was caught by the sight of a tall, elegant man wearing a long coat, dark blue of color, with strange reflections suggesting some sort of silver embroidery. His beard was black as ink, trimmed neat and very short, which was definitely not in the Viking fashion. The man had a confident posture, hands behind his back, fingers turning a single golden ring. Despite his appearance, there was no vanity in the way he spoke as he issued orders to the captain of a very large ship. The captain had his leather cap in his hands, and was nodding politely, while his men unloaded sacks and crates from the ship.
Hiccup detected a few careful guardsmen spread nearby, discreet but vigilant, creating a comfortable zone of protection around the unmistakably important man. Hiccup moved along slowly, trying to keep away from the invigilated circle, making himself small, his eyes always fixed on those men, even as he finally surpassed them.
"Veeking?"
Hiccup started. He whirled towards the female voice, cold sweat prickling his skin, nerves tensing just like the grey cat which, at Hiccup's sudden movement, leaped away, and scurried into an alley. Unlike that cat, however, Hiccup froze in place.
"Aww," complained the girl, who had been petting the animal.
Hiccup looked up, and felt his jaw slack.
On a small pyramid of crates and barrels, an eruption of long, chestnut curls, gleaming bronze in the afternoon sunlight, framed a fair, oval-shaped face, with skin darker than the average Viking, dark-amber eyes, and generous lips. While not stout by any means, the girl was not an ill-fed figure, her feminine curves suggesting a slightly older age than Hiccup's, though the impression was probably intensified by her dress.
Underneath a fine wool cloak, the girl wore what was surely a tailor's lifetime achievement; striking, yet at the same time totally different from the lavish garments Hiccup had seen on those women in the slums. This one was much plainer, but flawless. Made of dark-green silks, rippling with few simple folds, covering layers of white, embroidered wool, it was tight-fitting at the waist, discreetly full around her chest, but high-necked, its elegance tarnished only faintly by some mud along the hem, and the girl's slumped, tired posture. She was sitting cross-legged, elbows leaning on her knees, a bored expression on her face.
A sense of inadequacy fell upon Hiccup like an avalanche. He tightened his pelt around his shoulders, trying to hide his ragged clothes underneath. He felt suddenly worse than naked. In fact, he was sure that having his breeches pulled down in Berk's great hall (a prank that, unlike Fishlegs, Hiccup had managed to avoid suffering) would have been a far less mortifying experience.
Still, despite the pressure he felt, Hiccup could not keep his eyes from the girl. Before him, he realized, was an actual lady, like those of the stories.
Was he supposed to apologize and get out of her way? Was he supposed to bow? He could not. He would not. Vikings bowed to no one, not even their own chiefs, and, for once, Hiccup was thankful for his upbringing. Bowing would have meant taking his eyes off the girl's figure, depriving himself of her beauty.
The young lady slid to a lower crate, sitting again, now closer to Hiccup, though still looking down on him. To Hiccup's surprise, there was no condescension in her eyes, only mild curiosity, which soon turned into puzzlement.
"Hmm, ne. Tarsi ne," she said in the southern tongue, then seemed to change her mind: "But… you look Veeking. You are, true? Understand the what I say, no?"
Her accent was not far from what Hiccup had heard in the southern islands of the Archipelago, but her grammar was clearly off.
Hiccup smiled at the strange phrasing. There was something endearing about it, though he could not tell what. He swallowed, feeling his own heartbeat.
"What gave it away?" He grinned uneasily, finding in sarcasm his only source of confidence. "It's because of my big muscles, isn't it? They've always been my gift." He flexed an arm, then hid it quickly back under his pelt, his face flushed. Had he not just drunk? Why did his tongue feel so parched?
The girl looked unimpressed, and Hiccup suddenly regretted his own humor. He had hoped to provoke at least a smile, or a raised eyebrow, or anything. What if he had offended her? Perhaps it was time to leave. He considered following that cat into the alley.
"I don't know what is bigmassels," the girl finally replied, obviously struggling with the language. Hiccup let out the breath he was holding, relief flooding his chest. "No," she continued, "at first, it was for the wears. But after, I saw your… color. Then, I was ready to bet. And I was right!" Her expression brightened with self-satisfaction.
"Color?" Hiccup asked.
"Yes. The… grass, inside your eyes."
"I have grass inside my eyes?!" Hiccup rubbed his eyes with mock urgency. "How about now? Is it gone?"
It was only for an instant, but the young lady surrendered a view of her perfect teeth, a brilliant row of white amusement.
Hiccup felt it like a victory. Not only had he made a girl smile, but a southern lady at that! So far, he had only managed to make Berkian girls laugh with mockery, but never mirth. Part of him knew of course that, for most of his people, the two things usually coincided; there was rarely room for actual wit or comedy on Berk, and even less so within the more dutiful members of the tribe, like, most notably, Astrid Hofferson, whose laughter was as rare as the sight of a Night Fury in midwinter.
A wave of discomfort washed over Hiccup at the memory of the Viking maiden. Distant feelings, hopeless dreams, shoved aside by recent struggles, reemerged without prompt, unwelcome. Hiccup tried to ignore them, and he was almost disappointed to realize it was easier than expected. Was it because he had left the Archipelago?
"Not grass eyes like that," the young lady said, lips still curved in a faint smile. "I mean, what is the color… green! Telema! Not grass. Green and blue eyes, usually you island-peoples have them."
"Oh… I… I hadn't noticed," Hiccup muttered, scrambling for something else to say. He did not wish to excuse himself already; he did not wish to leave her presence. It felt like too great an honor.
"But you are strange for a Veeking," she said, narrowing her eyes, scanning him. "You look… like a real 'barbaric' of the north. But also not like that."
"Yeah, that's me alright," Hiccup replied absently. Yet, he found he was unsatisfied with his response. Feeling a sudden urge to impress the girl, he considered adding: 'I can ride a dragon, though.' Fortunately, he held his tongue.
"Why are you in Tinas?" The girl asked. "Have you a relative from here? You don't speak common, no?"
"No," he admitted, "I can only speak, well… Veeking, I guess." He chuckled. "It's my first time here. I'm actually looking for a map."
She gave him a dubious look. "A map? To where?"
To the safest, most secluded mountain, Hiccup thought, but instead replied: "I don't know yet."
She frowned. Silence fell between them. Was he supposed to go now? No, she was still looking at him; he had not been dismissed.
"My…" the girl began tentatively, "truths-master, I think is the word, he has books and maps of many types. It is he that teaches me your language. His name is Dàlaras. He is Aticasi. He has a shop, not far, near the Temple of the Two. Finding it is easy. But…" she looked hesitant, scanning him once again from head to toe, "no matter. You go that way." Without looking, she pointed with an index over her shoulder.
Hiccup could not help but smile back at the information, ignoring how his slightly crooked front-teeth looked compared to her perfect ones. To think she had been the one to help him! He had to thank her properly. But how?
Before he could decide what words to use, however, Hiccup's ears caught the sound of clunking metal behind him. He turned warily, and staggered aside, making way for two armored men, their helmets cradled under one arm, their other hand on the sword-hilts at their sides.
Seeing their naked faces, Hiccup found neither of them to be particularly frightening, especially compared to any Viking dragon-killer, which was likely why he did not flee at their sight. Yet, there was another reason too. Most pressingly, he did not want to look like a coward before the noble girl. He had already made a fool of himself once today.
Besides, the two men, though disdainfully, regarded him only briefly, before one of them asked the young lady a polite question in the southern tongue. The girl replied dismissively, and the two exchanged more words, which Hiccup could not understand. Finally, the girl climbed down the pyramid of crates, disregarding the man's offer of help.
"My father calls," she said. "Hope you find your map, Veeking that don't look Veeking." Then, after offering him one last, small, exquisite smile, she turned and walked away, the two men on her heels.
Dazed by her graceful expression, and disappointed by her abrupt departure, Hiccup lost his voice. He merely stood there, his mouth dry, and could only watch as the two guards escorted the young lady towards the man in the dark-blue coat.
Frustrated, Hiccup left the docks, making his way towards the inner city, scolding himself for failing to thank the girl for her help. He had not even said goodbye. He had not even asked her name!
Great, now she definitely thinks me a 'barbaric of the north', Hiccup thought, his heart heavy with shame. His sole source consolation: he was probably never going to see that girl again. I'll be leaving this place anyway.
Remembering the instructions the girl gave him, and realizing that the 'Temple of the Two' was actually the one with the black-and-white gate, Hiccup spotted what seemed a likely place for selling parchment, books, and, with some luck, even maps. He would have never recognized it, were it not for the wooden shop-sign jutting out of the building, swinging from a wrought-iron bracket beside the entrance door. Hiccup could not read the curvy runes carved into the board, but they did suggest the presence of a shop, or so he guessed, since Vikings had no use for such signs in their comparatively tiny villages, where workshops were few, and everyone knew everyone's trade.
The stone building was more tall than wide, squeezed between two larger structures. There were only two windows on each floor, and a barred one on the ground-floor beside the entrance. Hiccup tried to peer inside through the murky glass behind the iron bars. It was dark, but his eyes saw a long, rectangular table, and a longer counter, the wall behind which was completely lined with shelves.
This must be the place.
Stifling his trepidation, Hiccup entered the shop. A thin, tubular bell rang hollowly as he pushed the heavy door.
Not for the first time today, Hiccup gazed at his surroundings, mouth open. He had never seen so much parchment in one place. There were probably more scrolls and books lying around in this small room, than in the whole Archipelago. Despite the dimness of the room, he counted more than thirty leather-bound tomes, most bigger than Bork's Book of Dragons, and much better cared for. Most of them were stored on the shelves behind the counter, but there were a couple on the table at the center of the room.
Hiccup moved to it, and opened the bigger one, lifting a heavy embossed cover decorated with brass corners and studs. He browsed the wide, densely-written pages, admiring the unfamiliar craftsmanship.
"Ve tu vas, djone?" A voice asked, calm, but wary.
Hiccup looked up, withdrawing his hand from the precious tome, as if burned. A small door had opened silently behind the counter. There, filling its frame, stood an old man with a rather rotund belly. His features were soft, his face shaved, and his skin thrice as tanned as that of any northern fisherman, yet strangely unmarred by the effects of sea and wind. He was bald, except for a pair of bushy eyebrows and a few strands of grey hair at the back of his head, which he kept at shoulder length, lending him a rather disheveled appearance, contrasting starkly with his fine clothes. Despite his unfavorable looks, however, the man had affable, if sleepy eyes, which were currently looking at Hiccup, a thin veil of worry steadying them.
"Hi… uhmm… are you Dàlaras? Do you speak... Veeking?" Hiccup asked nervously, embracing the southern pronunciation of the word, hoping it would facilitate their conversation. It proved unnecessary.
"Oh! A young Viking!" the man said with relief, his accent as perfect as that of any southern norseman. Chuckling, he fully entered the room to stand behind the counter. "And a real one at that! For a moment, I feared I had to call the city watch," he guffawed. "Don't get many patrons who dress like Vikings, you see. Fact is, I don't get Viking patrons at all, especially of your kind."
Hiccup's eyebrows curled. "What kind is that?"
"You are from the north north, are you not?"
Hiccup stiffened, his hands suddenly clammy. How could this man know?! Sure, northern Vikings were different to an attentive eye. They were rougher, and had slightly more menacing bearings, but that was exactly why Hiccup had never been taken for one, even by the Vikings of the southern islands.
"What makes you say that?" Hiccup asked, trying to conceal his surprise with a nonchalant smile, which came out rather as a smirk of unease.
"The way you voice your words; it's a bit different from the Vikings that usually come from Nendur and Kattegat. Let me guess, you must be a Tharg- no, maybe not. You are… what was the name… Balhem? Balhemi? You are from Balheim, right?" The man's expression brimmed with satisfaction at his own knowledge.
Hiccup let out a breath he had not realized he was holding. To his immense relief, the man was wrong, and by about a dozen days of sailing at that. Was Balheim the northernmost island this man knew of? If that was the case, then Hiccup had no reason to fear. Still, this man was surprisingly knowledgeable, and dangerously observant. He had to be careful.
Reassured that his true origins were still a secret, Hiccup fueled his voice with fake enthusiasm: "Yes! How did you know? You've ever been in Balheim?" He asked, and decided to add a few details to his lie, to prevent suspicion. "I was apprentice to the blacksmith there, Asmund. You know him?"
"Oh, no," the man said, making an airy gesture with his hand, "life had me travel many lands, but crossing the Wicked Waters? No. While I'd certainly love to see a living dragon, I don't think these two old legs could take the journey." There was pause. "So, you asked for Dàlaras. Well, you've found him. Now, what brings so young a Northman to this humble bookbinder? Afraid I don't have much written in this tongue. Sadly, you Vikings are not famed for your scholarly arts, especially you northern ones. Axes and blades, am I right?"
It seemed the man was expecting his patron to agree, and perhaps reply: 'yeah, books are for weaklings!' or something along those lines. Instead, an involuntary chuckle escaped Hiccup's throat. He tried to cover it with a cough, but he inadvertently sucked spit into his lungs, and it turned into an actual coughing fit.
Dàlaras looked perplexed at the reaction. Hiccup could not blame him. The man had no way to know the irony of his words.
"So…" Dàlaras said, "need something, boy? If you are searching for an interpreter, I'm afraid you ought to look elsewhere. I charge gold for that sort of thing, and, no offense but…" His eyes scanned Hiccup's figure.
"Gold?!" Hiccup croaked, stunned, his voice still hoarse from the cough.
Is this man's trade that profitable?!
"You may have better luck in your faith's church," the man went on. "It's four streets south of here, in Odeeno's square. Just don't confuse it for Odal square; the temple there will provide no help to a Viking. The One's faith does not get along with you 'angel-killers', or any of the other faiths for that matter. Not that the others are much better... but…" he lowered his voice, murmuring to himself, "guess there's little to be done in that regard. Mothers of idiots are always pregnant." He sighed and cleared his throat. "But, we are not supposed to point such things out, even with the war and all..."
Hiccup frowned again. He had only listened to half of what the talkative man was saying, but he had already dismissed his suggestion. He dared not go back to the Viking temple after the stunt he had pulled off. They were going to ask him questions there. Besides, he did not need an interpreter.
"I just need a map," Hiccup said. "A map of the mainland."
The bookbinder's back straightened. "The mainland… You mean a map of the whole continent? Boy, I don't think you'll find such artifact in this city. Not a readable one anyway. Perhaps not even the King has one. And if he does, it's likely painted on some palace-wall in Nym. You may have better luck asking the Archon of Anirun himself. In fact, they might have one or two in the Academia, but they'll be just for show; too lacking in detail to be any use. Why would you possibly need such a thing?"
Hiccup cocked his head, confused. Had it really been an unreasonable demand? How big could the mainland be?
"I like to travel," he replied casually.
The bookbinder blinked, then gurgled with mirth. "Travel the continent? You Vikings are truly something." He shook his head. Yet, after seeing his patron's serious expression, he went on: "Anyway... you may find I have enough smaller maps to piece out most of the continent. But… for so many maps, we are still talking gold here. Perhaps you can start with a map of this kingdom. I guarantee it will be enough for a month on horseback in almost any direction but north. Still, keep in mind that even the simplest maps of the kingdom sell for quite a bit of silver."
Hiccup nodded thoughtfully to himself. "How much for just seeing one?"
"That depends. If you want to consult it here, I think a copper will do for today. You must have one heck of a memory, though."
Hiccup grinned. "A map of this kingdom, then. Can I see one for a while?"
Dàlaras stared at Hiccup once again, still rather perplexed. Then, seeming entertained by the young patron, he shrugged. "Wait here," he said, and disappeared behind the small door to the back of the shop.
He returned holding a long leather case under one arm. He smiled knowingly at Hiccup. "This is one of the best I have of Erfar, so be careful with it."
Dàlaras walked from the back of the counter, to the large table at the center of the shop. Hiccup followed, and watched expectantly as the man loosened the laces of the case, and pulled out the parchment, which was rolled around two long wooden rods, with pommels at each end. He spread out the map, and placed two decorative marble-blocks on its surface, so it wouldn't roll back on itself.
Hiccup stared at it. Despite its generous size, the map was incredibly detailed, and, to Hiccup's utmost surprise, it sported different colors. The towns were drawn as tiny red-roofed houses, and the rivers were filled with a greenish ink, which had probably been blue at some point. The borders were drawn with black ink, as were the mountains. The labels were also black, and they were written with those southern, unreadable runes. Still, Hiccup thought he recognized the Wicked Waters by the twirly waves drawn in green.
"This is Tinas, right?" He asked, pointing at one of the largest coastal cities.
The man nodded beside him, letting out a hum of approval. "Indeed! And this is the capital, Nym," he said, pointing to a city much further to the south. He then dragged a chair near him, and sat down, groaning at some pain. "Go ahead and ask if you have questions, but keep in mind I don't do business after sundown this time of year."
Hiccup nodded and began studying the large map. He spotted the drawing of a seemingly isolated mountain-chain, and chose it as his next destination for the winter. He still needed something more tangible with him, lest he forget the lay of the land.
He reached underneath his pelt, under all three of his tunics, and pulled out his journal.
The man looked up, raising an eyebrow.
"May I?" Hiccup asked.
Dàlaras shrugged. Curious, he leaned closer to look at what his guest was doing.
Hiccup opened a blank page, and, with his charcoal-point pencil, he started copying the broader details of the map, picking only the information he found necessary, and writing labels whenever drawing took too long. He tried to be as quick as possible, without sacrificing precision.
Pausing to sharpen the charcoal-point with his knife, Hiccup looked at the bookbinder, and saw eyes wide with surprise.
"Something wrong?" He asked, putting back the small blade.
"What's your name, boy?"
"Erland," Hiccup lied, as he had prepared.
Dàlaras hummed to himself. "That's some skill you have there, Erland. Who taught you to draw?"
Hiccup did not know whether to feel confused, or flattered; his drawing technique had never been complimented before.
"I wasn't really taught," he said. "I just learnt by drawing plans for my work at the smithy." It was the truth.
Dàlaras raised both of his bushy eyebrows. "Remarkable. If you told me you learnt at the Academia, I would probably believe you. You are making a very nice copy in so little time. Perhaps I should charge you more." He grinned.
Hiccup was not sure if the man was joking. He hoped so, and grinned back uneasily. "The Academia?" He asked, trying to divert the man from the subject of payment.
"Never heard of it? I guess that's not surprising for a Viking. You see, there are many schools in the 'mainland', as you say. Places where people go to learn and research many things. Yet when most people say 'the Academia,' they usually refer to the one in Anirun. You won't find it on this map. It's much further south from here, in another… well… it's not really a kingdom, but I don't know the word in your language. I studied there for eight years when I was young."
The bookbinder looked up wistfully. "You Vikings say your god Odin sacrificed his eye to acquire knowledge, right? Well, there are scholars in the desert city who've sacrificed far more. And you should see its library. It is said that millions of scrolls and books reside within its walls. A building so large and so tall, you could see as far as the docks of this very city, if you stood on its rooftop."
Hand still working on his miniature version of the map, Hiccup tried to imagine such a place, but a thought stopped him. He grimaced. "That's impossible," he said confidently. "You would not be able to breathe up there, if they were that high."
The man looked back in Hiccup's eyes. A slow, sly, smile pulled on his lips. Then, he laughed heartily. "And he's smart too! Right you are, boy. Indeed! How come you know so much about heights? I didn't think Vikings were familiar with tall mountains. And who taught you about the world's shape? I know of very few people who would be able to make the objection you just made."
Hiccup froze, his mind racing, as was his heart. He tried to keep the latter from making his hands tremble as he drew. "I used to hear things…" he said, "you know… Lots of travelers came to the smithy for repairs, so…" he trailed off, resuming his work, praying it was a sufficient lie. He could clearly not confess to discovering such things by flying on a dragon's back.
Dàlaras hummed again, a pleased look on his face. Still sitting, he leaned over Hiccup's work, studying it more closely. He allowed Hiccup to work in silence, until the map was nearly copied.
"Forgive me for prying, Erland, but why are you traveling this kingdom? I once heard of a rite of passage where young Vikings leave to spend one winter away from home as a test of strength, but I thought the rite demanded that you stay on your own islands. Besides, I thought it was only a myth, one of many regarding you Vikings, I believe."
Hiccup did not look up from his work. He took some time to ponder his next lie. He had to be careful; this man was far too knowledgeable. In fact, the rite of passage he was mentioning did exist, though Hiccup knew of no one who had participated for certain. There were only rumors spread to the other villages by proud chiefs, usually about their firstborn sons, like, most recently, the one about Dagur the Deranged surviving such a trial. Still, most people regarded them as false boasts. It was a common practice, especially during the Thing. Stoick the Vast had never attempted to make the same claim about his own son, of course. Not only would nobody believe him, but they were going to laugh at him. Regardless, no one truly dared to leave the village for the winter, at least in the northern islands. Jumping off a cliff would have been a more merciful death. Most importantly, no household could afford one less pair of working arms, even the chief's.
"I'm not here for any trial," Hiccup said. "Truth is, I travel with my brother. Our parents died a long time ago, and the smithy of our village took me and my brother as apprentices, but the smithy has his own sons now, and we can't stay with him anymore. We decided to cross the Wicked Waters. People said life is less harsh here, and the winters warmer. The part about the winter seems true at least, though not as much as I had hoped." Hiccup shrugged, trying to hide how satisfied he was with his story.
The bookbinder leaned back into the wooden chair. "Sorry to hear about your parents, Erland," he said, concern furrowing his brows. "Where is your brother now?"
Hiccup had begun preparing for that question ever since the word 'brother' had escaped his mouth. "He's waiting for me, looking after our stuff. One of our bags broke, and after I find the map, I also need to search for a needle and some thread."
The man nodded. He looked away thoughtfully, humming. He stood up then, and walked into the back-room. There was a sound of steps on wooden stairs, as the man climbed to one of the upper floors.
Hiccup finished copying the map, and waited for the man to come back for his payment. When he heard steps again, Hiccup put his journal back underneath his tunics, and rose.
The man returned with a small ball of linen-thread, and two strong needles piercing it.
"Here," he said, "I use these to bind parchment, but they'll work just as well with leather, I think."
Dazed with relief, Hiccup took them in his hands, and felt himself relax, like a sail when the wind halts. He had found everything he needed.
This is too much luck for one day, he thought; there has to be a downside to this.
"How much?" He asked.
Dàlaras waved a dismissive hand, and sat tiredly on his chair again. "I'll ask no coin of you today, Erland. But I will ask that you go to your brother, and consider this together. If you still plan to travel the kingdom, I bid you a safe journey. But if instead you think you've travelled far enough, I'll make you an offer. You see, clever minds and hands like yours are too rare this far north. I've been dismissing apprentices for years. But if you care to learn my trade, and if you are willing to study some languages, I could really use your skills to help me copy books and maps. I also have no wife, so there's no risk of me making… replacements. As for your brother, if he's half as good as you are, he can help too. And if not, I'm sure I can find him a smithy to work in. I do have a few acquaintances in the high city."
Hiccup's eyes suddenly stung. He had to look away, pretending to think. He was not used to witnessing such generosity, and, once again, in the span of just three days, he was being offered a place and occupation by a total stranger. Why did his skills appear so useful to everyone lately? Reading. Drawing. Smithing. Did those things grant such privileges in the south? They had always seemed so irrelevant on Berk.
He considered the latest offer. A life among books, and knowledge beyond anything any Viking could imagine. It was enticing, sure, but he had already dismissed it in his head, just like the offer of the sailor he had met in Nendur who had asked him to become a deckhand on his ship. Hiccup had been rather drunk then, and he had managed to voice his refusal easily. Now, his tongue was stuck to his palate, grateful, but speechless.
"No need to tell me now," Dàlaras continued. "Go to your brother, and talk it over with him."
Hiccup nodded, his throat still tight. Then, he thought of Toothless, and felt his resolve return, along with his voice. "Thank you," he said, "that's very generous. But I don't think I can accept. I'm sorry."
The bookbinder named Dàlaras smiled, though his eyes did not hide his disappointment.
Hiccup thanked the man twice more, then bid him farewell, and left the shop, feeling terribly sorry, though also rather heartened. Most pressingly however, he felt anxious. Sunset was drawing near. He had to go back to Toothless, and he had to do it fast, if he didn't want nightfall to catch up with him. There was no time to buy the fish he had promised his friend.
Hiccup began jogging westwards, trusting his memory of the streets. He soon exited the city, crossed the fields, then climbed up the hill, and finally reached the forest. All the while, his mind churned with images of Tinas and all its contradictions, its beauty and its ugliness; so much of both in one place. Hiccup tried to save those memories into his mind. The kind bookbinder, the young lady, the Viking priest, and even that strange woman who had teased and laughed at him.
Once Hiccup entered the forest, he started running, following the glimpses of a rapidly setting sun, its warm glow making the red leaves above even redder.
They had landed quite far from the city, and before Hiccup could find their landing spot, the sun disappeared under the horizon, leaving only a cold, blue twilight. Still, he did not lose his way, and, before long, he recognized the place where he and Toothless had slept the night before.
Only, Toothless was not there. What was there, instead, made Hiccup's marrow turn to ice.
The ground looked as if it had been stomped by a herd of angry yaks. There were scorch marks and burnt leaves, and even small craters, where blood had pooled, and had long been absorbed into the dirt.
Shards of wood and shining metal were scattered on the forest's floor; rings of broken mail, the tip of a blade, pieces of a chain, melted, and, amidst all that, despite the darkness, something darker, yet still glistening. A Night Fury's scale.
Hiccup's heart sunk.
This is not happening. I'm still in a dream. This is not real.
He spun around, once, then twice, then more, searching in every direction, hoping Toothless would appear between the trees. Yet, no dragon came, and he grew only dizzier and dizzier.
He slumped onto the ground, breathless. Silver spots swam into his eyes. Darkness narrowed his vision. He was aware that he was fainting, but did not fight back, unwilling to face the dreadful notion:
Toothless has been captured, or worse…
Hiccup fell, unconscious.
AN: I have recently made some substantial revisions to the previous chapters after receiving some very useful feedback by the awesome Dyannehs, who is an expert on all things Vikings. I therefore thank her, and wholeheartedly recommend her very interesting articles on Viking culture, which you can find on her tumblr blog by the name "dyannehs".
