I want to scan my surroundings looking for a possible escape, but I can't tear my eyes away from the lump. There's something horribly familiar about its shape, but I don't want to put it into words because it isn't possible.
It can't be possible.
I look at the cloth-covered lump and dread pools into my stomach. It's just the right size for a person. I look at the person shrouded in the cloth and try to find my voice, though I have no idea what I'll say. I don't have to. Alvin speaks first.
"Have a seat." Alvin moves past me, knocking me into the wooden bench lining the wagon wall behind me, and settles on the opposite bench, right beside the lump. His sword drawn.
"This'll be a whole lot simpler if you just listen." He says coldly, his smile sending shiver down my spine. "Agreed?"
I robotically nod my head. I don't think I'll be able to talk anyway. My tongue feels frozen. Making speech next to impossible.
"Now Hiccup, as you may now well know, I am your islands most feared enemy. I've earned that title well over the years. But now I have a problem. A problem that began the moment you spared my own soldier. And now, not even my most loyal men will trust me."
I remain quiet, reading myself for him to strike. But I also can't help but listen to his words.
"It's had me question on whether I should even let you live, or if I even need your dragon secrets." He continues, biting every word so I won't miss it. "But alas, only you hold the power to end the war. Any move I make will be questioned by my men. Now, they'll only listen to you."
"Why not just kill me now?" I challenge. "You have me trapped. Just finish me and be done."
Alvin laughs a mocking laugh. "That would be easy, but I need your secrets, Hiccup. Otherwise this whole war will be all for none. But that . . . and that your punishment for turning my soldiers against me, must be paid in a more severe manner."
He smiles and drives his sword into the lump. Whoever is trapped beneath the cloth sucks in a raspy breath and moans. Blood blossoms beneath the cloth and spreads like a fast-blooming rose.
My breath leaves me as if I've been hit in the stomach. "Who is that?"
Oh please, oh please let it be a stranger. Another soldier. Another object lesson. Please. Don't let it be my dad. Gobber. Astrid. Skullette. I can't lose anyone else. Not now. It's too soon.
Alvin ignores me. "I don't like Stoick. Never have, and never will. Safe to say I don't trust him. I don't trust you, either, but you have a quality they seem to lack."
I can't look away from the blood, and I feel a scream clawing for freedom at the back of my throat.
"Do you know what it is?" he pulls his sword free, and the person beneath the cloth twitches. "It's loyalty."
I can't breathe. I try to stand, but my knees won't hold me, and I crumple to the splintery wagon floor.
No
Ignoring Alvin, I crawl toward the person beneath the cloth. I'm nearly there when Alvin drives his sword into the wagon floor, inches from my face.
His voice is harsh as he bites each syllable into pieces. "Your Viking men aren't loyal. They think they are, but if you out them to the test, they'd fail. Their own agendas will always be more important to them than anyone else's'. Humans are just naturally that selfish."
My breath catches on a shuddering sob, and I try to crawl around the sword. It nicks my shoulder as I pass, and Alvin laughs.
"You on the other hand, are loyal to a fault. You won't scheme, manipulate, or betray. Not if it will cost you someone you love." He yanks his sword free of the floor and slides it into the blood-soaked lump again. "No, you'll go to the ends of the earth, do everything that's asked of you, ignore your own ethics and instincts, as long as you get to save the one you love."
Skullette
No!
It can't be her. But the possibility is extremely high. She was the only one there when we were ambushed. They must've captured her and dragged her here to bribe me. No, no please. Please, let me be wrong.
I've reached the cloth and am tearing at it with shaking hands while the person beneath it moans in agony.
"Please." I can't loosen the cloth. "Please!" I look at Alvin, and his smile twists into a grotesque parody of mirth.
It'll be his soldier. A guard. Someone who means nothing to me. I can't bear to be wrong.
I can't bear to lose Skullette.
"Allow me to help you." Alvin says in a voice filled with malice. Pulling his sword free again, he slices through the cloth and splits it top to bottom.
I snatch at the pieces and yank them free. A scream builds in my chest as I stare.
Not Skullette.
Not a stranger.
Mulch.
Mulch.
He's supposed to be back at the camp. Safe. He's supposed to be, but he isn't.
How? How did they get him when they attacked me? Unless.
They attacked the camp. I'm slammed in the stomach by nothing. But I lose all my air, and my heart pounds in my ears.
Mulch looks at me, sadness and pride mingling with the love he's always shown me, and then moans again. I come undone.
"No, no, no, no, no." There's so much blood. So much. It pours from his chest and covers my hands, splashes on my green tunic, and I can't stop it.
I can't stop it.
"You shouldn't have messed with my soldiers, Hiccup." Alvin says, his voice as hard as the wagon floor beneath me. "You were disloyal, and now it's cost you."
I would say I was never loyal to Alvin in the first pace, but it feels like my voice has been pulled from my throat. I can't say anything to him, but I somehow manage to speak to Mulch.
"It's going to be okay," I tell Mulch. Tears burn my eyes, and I have to blink to see him. "It's going to be okay." I lie, because I don't know what else to do. It's like I'm back with Hunter, only this time, it's much worse.
Because now I can't cry anymore. He was the one person I could cry in front of. The one person I could go to fore refuge. What's going to happen now?
He tries to speak, but blood bubbles from his lips instead. I grab the cloth and press it against his chest with both hands.
"It's going to be okay." I say again, and press harder, though I don't know how to make my words true.
Mulch shakes his head slightly and tries to raise his arm. I grab his hand with mine and wrap my fingers together. His hands swallow mine, though now his skin is like ice.
"Save him," I beg to Alvin. "Please. Get him to a doctor. I'll do anything you want. Anything."
"Yes, you will," he says. "Because if you don't, I'll kill your little girlfriend in ways the citizens of Berk and Outcast Island will remember for decades."
"Girlfriend?" I look up, tears obscuring my view of Alvin's face. "I don't understand. This is Mulch. I want you to save Mulch!"
"Oh, it's far too late for him," he says and, with a flick of his wrist, drives his sword through Mulch's neck.
The scream inside me rips through my throat. I reach for the sword, but it's already gone. Throwing myself on Mulch, I shove the cloth against his neck and beg for him to look at me, though I know he can't.
He can't, and he never will again. Wild sobs choke me, and I can barely find the air to let them loose.
Rough hands grab my arms and pull me from Mulch. I scream and beat at the person behind me to no avail. The wagon stops, and two more guards enter, scoop Mulch's body up inside the cloth, and haul him out. Tossing him into the forest unceremoniously. The guard holding me tosses me to the wagon floor and exists as well, leaving me huddled at Alvin's feet.
He crouches to my level, Mulch's blood still glistening on his blade.
"You will go to your father, and claim a surrender tomorrow."
I star at his sword cross my arms over my chest, and rock back and forth.
"Are you listening?" he grabs my chin with his hand, forcing me to meet his gaze. "Pay attention. Everyone's life depends on it."
My teeth are chattering, and my body shudders, but I make myself nod. I can't lose anyone else. I can't. I just can't. Whatever it takes to get them off of Alvin's kill list, so help me, I'll do it.
"You will go to your father and claim a surrender. I've seen the way my soldiers look at you and your spirit. You're their Savior. No doubt they will listen to you with the proper reasoning." His smile flickers at the edges. "What that is, I'll leave to you."
I'm too numb to argue. To wonder how he thinks I'll convince an entire army to surrender after we've had a roundup of victories. To argue that they'll think I've gone mad and will not even listen to me even though I am the Dragon Conqueror.
"When you convince them, and you will, you will travel to our little town on our island and where I will declare you an Outcast, and part of my army. I still need your knowledge of dragons, of course. That's too valuable to waste." His voice lowers. "If you don't do so, your loved ones will be tortured and killed."
He lets go of my chin and runs his palm across my cheek, tangling his fingers in my neck hair. "Do I make myself clear?"
I nod, a wobbly, uncertain movement, and watch the blood slide down his blade.
"Until tomorrow," he says, and then he's gone.
The wagon lurches forward again, and it takes a moment to realize I'm not alone in the back. One of the guards is sitting on the bench behind me, holding a paper-wrapped package in one hand and a damp cloth in the other.
I scoot as far away from him as I can without touching the puddle of Mulch's blood seeping slowly into the floorboards. When he ignores me, I wrap my arms around my knees and try not to let the agonized wailing I hear inside my head leave my lips.
Mulch is dead.
Dead.
He'll never give me another cod again. He'll never be there to catch my tears when they fall, or gather any food, or take care of Bucket.
Bucket!
How am I going to explain it to him? To anyone if I even find my voice again. With Hunter's death still weighing heavily on my shoulders, this only makes things worse.
The truth is too harsh to touch, and I shy away from it before it sears itself into my brain and becomes real. If I can't feel, I'm not alive, I'm not real. Instead I find a quiet place within myself where once again, Alvin doesn't exist, my family is still intact, and I'm not covered in anyone's blood.
My own little backdoor out of this life. A world where love, dreams and darkness all collide. Maybe if I try hard enough, I can leave my broken world behind.
The harsh kneeing inside my head becomes muted – the grief of some other boy. Not mine. I rock, holding myself as I'll fly into a million pieces if I let go.
There's nothing in my head but a severe longing to be like Mulch. I don't want to feel anymore. I long to be like Mulch. Lie cold in the ground like Mulch. There's room inside for one more.
The guard says something, but I can't hear him. If I listen to him, I might hear the grief-stricken wail of the boy who just lost something precious. Grieving. Lost and bleeding.
He slaps me, but I can't feel it. He says something else, then crouches down in front of me and scrubs my face with rough persistence. When he pulls back, the damp cloth is his hand is covered in bright red patches, like little crimson flowers decorating the fabric.
Bile rises at the back of my throat, and I tear my eyes away from the cloth.
He removes the string on the package he carries and tears off the paper. I don't look to see what he has. It might be covered in red too.
He's talking again, louder this time. His boots dig into the hard wooden floor beneath us as he stands. I catch a glimpse of crimson staining the edge of his right sole, and tuck me head toward my chest.
My chest is covered in rusted-scented crimson.
Covered.
I beat at it. Tear at it with frantic fingers. I have to get it off me. I have to.
The guard helps. Rough hands tear away my brown vest fur coat, unlace my tunic, and I claw my way free. I'm panting harsh bursts of aid that fill the wagon.
He attacks my skin with his red-flowered cloth again, and I twist my body, trying to get away. I don't want him to touch me with that thing. I can't stand to have it touch me for one more second.
He drops the cloth. In its place, he holds a new tunic that looks just like my old one used to look. Pure green. Crimson-free. Just green. Green. Green.
Green symbolizes life, nature, fertility, well being. Green is the color of nature, fertility, life. Grass green is the most restful color. Green symbolizes self-respect and well being. Green is the color of balance. Green is a safe color.
I let him slide it over my head. Let the rough linen threads scrape against my skin. Maybe if they scrape hard enough, I'll forget. About the crimson. About the awful wailing I still hear inside me.
About what I just lost.
The guard pulls me to my feet and fumbles with the laces on my dark green pants, but I don't help him. How can I? I'm not really there. I'm home, back on Berk. My small little island. I'm home, in the town Square, sipping lemonade while my family is close by, just out of sight.
He says something, but I don't hear him. I'm too busy listening to the deep rumble of men's voices coming from the Square.
My pants puddle around my ankles, and he lifts me out of it.
The lemonade I sip is the perfect combination of tart and sweet. I want to share it with my family, but they stay just out of reach.
He pulls new pants over my legs. Dark green, just like the one he removed.
I wish they were light blue like the summer sky I see from the Square.
I'm sitting on the wagon's bench.
No, I'm sitting on our rocker.
My shoe is gone.
It's summer. I don't need shoes.
Now, it's back again. A stranger is tying it. Which is silly, because I can tie my own shoe. If I want to. Which I don't because the summer sun is hot, and I'm too tired.
I'm so tired.
The stranger grabs my prostatic leg and starts to polish and buff it. A kind gesture, but my curiosity prevents me from thanking him.
He wraps my cloak around me. No, it's a blanket, because I'm cold. Which is stupid. The summer's so hot.
I stop rocking on the chair in the Square. Or maybe the wagon stops.
I'm not in a wagon. I never was.
Hands lift me up and set me down on a faded dirt road. I stare at my boot. It's the same color and design as always, but the scuffs and creases are gone as if they never were.
Behind me, a wagon clip-clops away. I don't turn. I don't know where the Square has gone. Where the summer sun went. It's cold now. Cold and gray and the air feels damp against my face.
Someone calls my name, and I look up to see Astrid, her bright blue eyes full of fear, beckoning to me from the border of the campsite. Other rush behind her to join her at the sight of me. As I turn and walk toward her, I hear the faint wailing of the grief-stricken boy grow louder and clamp my lips tight to hold it in.