Voices float above me as I lie on the cold unyielding ground. I imagine sinking below it. Letting it take me under.
Finding peace.
The piercing pain of loss is a double-edged blade I can't bear to touch. How can I grieve for her? Cry for her? Bleed for her inside when it won't change anything?
It won't change anything.
She's gone.
All the words I never found time to say. All the things we never found time to do. Ripped from me wither merciless finality.
Gone.
But I'm not gone. I'm still here – miles from home, surrounded by scorched earth and a dragon, facedown on my lover's grave.
Here.
Somewhere inside I hear an anguished wailing – the wordless kneeing of unbearable grief. I can't stand to hear it. To feel it. To let it live.
A yawning darkness within me opens wide, whispering promises to take the pain. Swallow the loss. Make it possible to draw a breath without choking on the shattered pieces no one will ever fix.
I dig my fingers into her grave and flinch as the images of Skullette and Mulch sear themselves into my brain. I will choke on the grief. Lie here impotent, unable to avenge them. Loss is a gaping hole with jagged teeth, and I can't bear it.
I push the images away, scramble back from the edge of that gaping hole, and let the darkness within me swallowit all. The wail of grief inside me slowly subsides into a well of icy silence – deafening and absolute. The silence rips me in two, cutting me from everything I can't stand to face. I don't try to stop it. If I feel the loss, it will break me.
And I can't break until Alvin is dead.
Because Skullette is gone. And I'm still here.
And before I follow her, I have a debt to pay.
My fingers clench into fists, my nails breaking as I shove them through the hard-packed dirt. Fury is a welcome companion, warming me with something that almost feels like comfort.
It's Alvin's fault Skullette was even brought to Berk in the first place. His fault I'll never see Mulch again. His fault I languished in a dungeon.
His fault Skullette is dead.
I owe him for all of it.
I can't find my grief for Mulch. My fear for my Dad. My agony over losing Skullette forever. I can't, and I don't care.
Feeling nothing but rage and resolve makes me stronger. And soon, Alvin will realize just how strong he's made me.
My fingers ache with stiffness. I've been lying face-first on Skullette's grave for hours, clutching fistfuls of dirt as if by touching what covers her now, I can somehow touch her.
At some point, I realize that Dad has arrived. Probably to see where I've been. Astrid joins him. I don't greet them. Toothless is sitting quietly beside me as if to let me know I'm not alone.
He's wrong.
I've never been more alone.
It grows colder without her love.
I turn my face to look at him and realize darkness is falling, obscuring the tree line and hiding the ugly remains of the trees that were burned. Everything is burned. Toothless lays down, scorching the earth beneath him before settling. His dark eyes seem to penetrate the emptiness inside me with something that lokos like regret.
He can keep his regret. His sympathy. His quiet understanding.
I don't want it.
I don't need it.
All I need is Alvin's blood on my hands.
I'm still staring at him, and he slowly moves as scuffed boot enter my field of vision. Then they bend to a knee, and Astrid's face comes into view. She slowly offers me her hand as if afraid I'll shy away at any sudden movements.
"We made you dinner, Hiccup." She says as if this should make sense to me.
I ignore her hand. I'm not hungry.
"Come one, Hiccup." She turns to look over her shoulder. I follow her line of sight and see my father over a pot on a small fire. Gobber hunches down on the opposite side of the pot, watching me. "We made stew."
Doesn't she know I don't care? I turn my face away, letting the ground scrape against my cheek. The pain feels good. Real. A tiny piece of what I should be feeling but can't now that the silence inside me has swallowed everything but rage.
"Please."
I can't make small talk. If I open my mouth now, all the hate and fury bubbling just below the surface will spill out and consume her.
Her voice is husky with something that sounds like grief. "She was a brave warrior. I'm very sorry. Really, I am."
I look at her eyes. They're a baby-blue green, opposite of emerald green. And I'm suddenly, illogically angry at Astrid when I remember about her pity competition with Skullette for my attention.
And at Toothless for giving me something as cruel as hope of finding her here. Alive.
"Hiccup, you can't stay here." Astrid is still speaking, though I show no indication of listening.
I can't leave. What will be left to me if I walk away from this spot?
I hear footsteps walking toward the grave, but I still don't move. My father. He kneels down and leans forward. His eyes looking so much older than the rest of him. "I'm so sorry, Hiccup. I wish you had more time, but you don't if you get caught, everything Skullette did o keep you safe will be in vain."
His words find their mark. If I don't move, Skullette dies for nothing, and I lose my leverage against the man I hold responsible. Besides, if anyone can match the grief I feel over my loss, it's my father.
I sit up slowly, still clutching fistfuls of grave dirt. I can't bear to let it go.
Astrid looks at my hands, a tiny frown creasing the skin between her eyes, and then digs into the front pocket of her skirt she always wears. "Here." Stretching out her hand, she offers me a small pouch.
I take it. The dirt slides into the pouch with a whisper of sound, and I pull it closed. The strings are long enough to tie behind my neck. I knot them securely and let the final piece of Skullette rest over my heart.
"Come eat. You'll need your strength." He says.
He's right. I can't kill Alvin on an empty stomach. I stand and follow him to where Gobber is now using dirt to smother her cooking fire before the flames catch the rest of the trees.
My body moves like it always has. My feet follow one after the other. My nostrils capture the scent of wood smoke and fish stew, and my ears note the creaking of branches and the crunch of ash-coated debris beneath me. But it's all meaningless. I'm a stranger beneath my skin. I wear armor on the inside, a metal forged of fury and silence, cutting me off from myself.
I'm no longer a son.
No longer a friend.
No longer a boy with dreams. With hope.
I'm purely a weapon, now.
Skullette did not die in vain. I'm going to make sure of it.
I embrace my rage. Let it sink into my secret spaces and make me its own as I sit down beside the ruins of the fire, and accept a bowl of stew. It tastes like ashes in my mouth, but I chew with dogged determination. It takes everything I have to force myself to swallow when I'd rather gag, but I do it.
Revenge takes energy.
Now I'm anticipating the execution of Alvin. So that I can finally avenge all of those who've died trying to keep me alive. The boy everyone once knew is now gone. He was lost the minute blood blossoms began to bloom on Mulch's skin.
The rage within me is viciously triumphant.
After finishing the tasteless meal, I grab my knife and I leave everyone as I settle back down next to Skullette's grave. Leaving Gobber to keep the first watch, I unroll my blanket over Skullette's grave and lie down with my face beside the carved wooden cross.
Moonlight gleams on its surface, gilding her name in beauty that should warm me. I reach out and grasp the wood with my bare hand, holding it tight as slivers gouge my palm. It's a welcome pain, but it isn't enough to relieve the silent weight crushing me from within. Letting go, I turn my face away from the cross, away from Dad, away from everyone, and close my eyes.
The wind sighs along the treetops and whispers over my skin like a lullaby, but I can't sleep. Soon, I'll have justice. A life for a life. It won't be enough to seal up the edges of everything that's undone within me. It won't be enough to shatter the silence and let me grieve in peace.
It won't be enough, but it's all I have, and I cling to it with desperate strength.
The wind dies down, and I hear a soft crunch on ash behind me. Tensing, I try to listen for it again, but I can't hear anything beyond the sudden roar of my pulse pounding inside my head.
My knife slides free of its sheath without a sound. I brace myself on my left elbow beneath me, flip the knife blade-side out, and shove off the ground.
Savage stands two yards from me, his knife down at his side, his eyes pits of rage and misery. He means to destroy me. Destroy any chance of justice. Make Skullette's sacrifice worth nothing.
I raise my weapon. I snarl at him. If I were to speak, I'm sure I'd be in a voice not even I would recognize. Cold. Empty.
"You said you'd give refuge to those who lost their homes." His voice is cold and empty.
I don't say anything.
His face contorts, his body shakes, his legs tense.
I use my eyes for communication, and they scream, "Get. Back."
He watches me, his knife hand trembling so badly that he'll never be able to stab me with it before I disarm him, tie him up, and leave him for Dad and Gobber to deal with. Rolling to the balls of my feet, I lunge for his right arm.
His left flashes out, silver streaking through the moonlight, and I remember his ambidextrous sword work a millisecond before he can slice into me. Spinning to the side, I drop and roll forward, coming up several yards away.
He's trying to kill me.
I crouch, blade out. Something feral tears through me, obliterating Astrid, Dad, the kind of boy I once dreamed I'd be, and every cautious word Skullette ever spoke, leaving nothing but pure, scorching bloodlust in their wake.
Savage swings his sword in dizzying circles and rushes at me. I wait until he's almost at me, and then dive forward, low to the ground, crashing into his legs and sending him flying over the top of me. His blade nicks me as it goes by, but I can't feel the pain, and he drops his sword as he lands on his side.
"Hiccup!" my Dad calls.
I'm screaming now. Raw, agonized wails that flay the air with their fury. Out of the corner of my eye I see Dad and Gobber hurrying toward us, but I have no time for them. Whirling, I lunge forward while Savage is still reaching for his sword. He sees me and slashes out with his knife instead. The blade catches my cloak and tears into it, but I don't slow down.
I can't.
Driving my boot into his wrist, I grind the small bones together. He yells and drops his knife.
I slam my knees onto his diaphragm and feel the air leave his lungs. He whips his left arm up and punches me in the face, and I land in a pile of ash on my back. He's already on his feet. Already coming for me. I can't see his weapons. I don't know which hand he'll use. And I don't have time to get up.
He's in the air, long legs dropping down, his face a mask of murderous intent.
I broke his right wrist. The weapon must be in his left hand. I roll to his right as he lands beside me, his left arm already swinging forward. Flipping my blade around, I push myself off the ground and bury my knife deep into his chest.
He sags, deflating slowly onto the ash beside me, and reaches for the knife with his empty left hand.
He isn't holding his sword. I scan the area and see it gleaming yards away from us. His knife lies beside it.
"I wanted to give it to you." His eyes stare at me like a child trying to understand what he'd done wrong. "That's all."
You tried to kill me! I scream through my eyes.
He was. I know it. I had to have known it. He's Alvin's most loyal soldier. He'd do anything for Alvin as long as he got rewarded in the end. I didn't just fatally wound an unarmed man who wanted nothing more than to give me a simple gift.
His blood seeps along the knife hilt, thick and warm, and coats my hands.
You tried to kill me I talk through my eyes.
"I wanted to wake you carefully. I know you're in such a fragile state. And I expected a defense mechanism." He coughs, a horrible wet sound that sprays me with blood. "I just wanted t give you his old sword. To kill him with at the execution."
No. no. I pull the knife free as he slides to the ground. No
My hands can't stop the bleeding, but I try. Pressing against his wound, I try to make sense of him. Of myself. Of what we've done.
What I've done.
Dad and Gobber rush behind me and I hear the soft footprints of Astrid too. Gobber doesn't push me aside, instead he kneels down. He knows the wound is beyond his skill of healing. And we can't get him back to the village in time.
Besides, I've learned from past training that when a pool of blood reaches a certain size, there's no point. He raises a hand, long fingers gleaming white in the moonlight. "Hiccup?"
I can't look at him. I can't.
"Alvin, not responsible." His voice is nothing but a whisper straining against the blood filling up his throat.
I can barely speak past the suffocating guilt choking me. I killed him. A desperate man. A pawn of Alvin who would do anything he wanted. But who wanted nothing more than to be free from his clutches.
I can't break the silence. It's breaking me.
He doesn't speak again, and I cover his wound with my bloodstained hands until his chest falls silent.