XXVI.
She never realized how much she underappreciated her vision until she lost it.
The rounded dome top of the spherical dragon trap resolutely snapped shut above her, blocking light outside with a sudden burst of blackness, securing blinding darkness within. Immediately the rounded metal wall of her cramped prison evaporated into unrelenting black. The blackness took on a weighty mass, a heavy, oppressing solid matter, and swallowed Astrid into its maw.
The thick, consuming, forceful darkness pressed down upon her so absolutely she suffered indeterminate eras of motionless and thoughtlessness before it came to her she could rely on her other senses.
Touch.
Surface. Hard. Unyielding. Smooth. Hard timber boards, pushing up against her knees.
Okay, but I knew that much before the trap snapped shut, she thought to herself as her hands sightlessly patted the floor around her.
Touch. Scattered, sewn flakes on top of the wood surface. Like coins on a floor.
Touch. Cold. Flaky. Thick. Fingers fumble. Rub. Pick one up. Feel in hand. Outline with fingers. Flattish. Elliptical shape. Thickish. Size of palm. Rough. Scaly.
Scaly. Dragon scales. Of course. There were dragons scales scattered on the hard wood floor of the dragon cell. And… something smooth… as though polished… curved… and sharp. Either a dragon talon or a tooth, she deduced.
Touch. The continued pressing weight of darkness.
But what can you hear? Astrid could detect a faint reverberation echoing in the small metal cage. Beyond it, in the unseen world of sky and sight, she heard boots clomping on the ship deck and terse voices bellowing out instructions. Suddenly, the procedural, steady movement of heavy soldier footfalls quickened to loud, angry poundings that rattled her ears and the hard timber deck. As the thumping faded and Astrid strained her ears, she guessed to herself all the men and women on board had charged to one side of the ship.
Why?
Sudden shouts. Even though the Visithugs had charged away from Astrid's dragon trap, she could still hear their words.
"Four-winged dragon coming southeast!"
"It's the Vigilante!"
"He's sighted us!"
"Prepare the nets!"
"No, steady! Hold fire! He's turning back!"
Astrid curled her knees up to her chin as she intently listened to the Visithugs beyond.
"He'll be heading back to his stronghold – to rally all his dragons against us!"
"Wait a minute. Drago's coming."
"Make way for the chief!"
"Quiet."
"Quiet now."
Astrid strained her ears.
Heard nothing.
Drago spoke softly when he met with Stoick the other day, she recalled. She could hear but the near-silent snuffling of boots, not the Visithug chief's voice. And that was assuming he had arrived and had begun speaking to his people.
Waiting in amassing gloom, muffled sounds, nothing but the touch of her knees pulled tight to her chest to provide herself physical sensation.
Shouts. Cheers.
Like a cry to war.
And indeed she heard the scrape of anchors being raised, and someone hollering above it all, "No time to wait for the Chief of Berk to return! If the Vigilante still flies, we have to assume his plan failed. Raise the sails!"
Astrid's stomach sank. She knew without seeing it that the Hooligans, upon hearing about the Vigilante's brief visitation, would soon be raising their sails and heading north, too.
I'll never get out of here in time.
Never get to warn them about Drago's future plans to turn against Berk.
"Prepare for war! We go to attack!"