Author's Note (no extra titles added): Yay, July. It's chock full of... Julyness.
- As of the end of this chapter, we're either at or past the halfway mark. I'm shooting to finishing this by the end of the summer season, though that assumes no other unexpected developments. I haven't had the best of weeks for various reasons (such as having a non-fanfic writing project under serious consideration by a publisher fall through) and my writing slowed as a result. I'm still ahead of the curve, though, so my chapter-a-week pace will continue for now.
- Next week, I will be part of a Special Ed Summer School camping trip. All this means is that the next chapter will be released Friday afternoon (7/8/11) instead of early morning... unless I get eaten by a bear, in which case the story will be further delayed.
Onwards.
Chapter Ten: The Longest Two Weeks Ever
Astrid had her this time.
The Arena echoing with Astrid's determined grunts, she lashed out with a short series of wide swings, forcing the Seer to keep her distance as the battleaxe split the air in front of her. The Seer's twin daggers lacked the range or the ferocity of Astrid's weapon of choice, but the Seer held them at the ready nonetheless, their points like serpent heads poised to strike.
This was a familiar move for Astrid, a familiar mistake. Until the Seer had come along, her method of axe play involved charging, swinging, and evading. Get in close, get in the first hit, and then get away before the counterattack. A tactic that failed every time as the Seer waited for her to overcompensate or tire and then strike in and slap her with the flat part of her daggers.
Throughout yesterday's session in the Arena and all through today's, Astrid never went more than a few axe strokes without feeling the irritating touch of the Seer's steel. The Seer anticipated her moves as if she screamed them out ahead of time. Her temper flared on at least one occasion, the Seer regarding her with disapproval when she swore too vehemently. Calm, always calm, was the Seer – not mockingly, not disrespecting, not even boringly. She even gave advice when Astrid screwed up badly.
This time, Astrid tried something different. Her motions were a traditional combination that she'd already used this session, something the Seer could easily counter. Astrid hoped she'd try.
After the fourth swing, the Seer took the bait. Astrid prepared to swing a fifth time, one that would go too far wide, and the Seer moved in to take advantage of the repeated mistake. Except that Astrid cut the swing short, looped it around, took a step back, and sent the axe hard the opposite direction.
It should have worked. The Seer was right in the kill zone, unable to flee backward in time. It should have connected.
Instead, the Seer rolled forward and under the swing, Astrid unable to compensate from her momentum. She then received twin slaps to her wrists, informing her that had this been actual combat she would have been summarily "disarmed."
Covered in a sweaty film, her arms aching from hours of fighting, and completely baffled by her move's failure, Astrid raised a hand and breathed, "I don't think I can take any more defeats today."
The Seer nodded and the two of them took seats on a splintering bench next to the weapons rack. Astrid felt some satisfaction that the Seer was wet about the armpits and breathing hard, though she didn't look nearly as fatigued. They took turns with the water bucket they used for hydration and spend a few precious moments cooling down.
"Nice move, by the way," said the Seer.
"Nice move?" replied Astrid. "You saw it coming."
"I almost didn't. I almost bought your feint. Most warriors wouldn't have escaped that move."
"Look, if you're just trying to be nice to me, I don't need the morale boost."
"I'm not 'nice' about anything," insisted the Seer. "I tell things as they are."
"Right, the Seer thing," said Astrid. "You sure you shouldn't be leading your people into battle instead of hiding under a cloak all the time?"
"Women don't lead men into battle," said the Seer, her statement lacking any of her usual confident tone. "Not amongst the Gunnarr. They rarely even pick up a blade."
"Really?" said Astrid. The notion that combat was a male-only career path was a foreign concept to her. "So there aren't more Gunnarr women who fight like you?"
"There are very few who fight, period," stated the Seer. "The Seer holds a special place in our traditions, but the Seer is rarely a warrior. Due to my position, I was allowed some… leeway… to train with the men folk. I have never sparred with another female warrior until now."
"I had no idea," said Astrid, her tone sympathetic.
The Seer's face remained dispassionate, though her eyes hinted at a reservoir of emotion underneath her demeanor. "I am heartened to see so many of your women taking up the blade. I knew this of the Berkians before I came here, but it's difficult to believe it true unless you witness it yourself. There are those in my clan that look down upon your tribe for allowing such weakness into your army."
Thanks to the Seer, Astrid had started to rethink her opinion of the Gunnarr. Surely a clan that had a warrior such as the Seer couldn't be all bad. But the last sentence out of the Seer's mouth managed to kill her goodwill. Women… a weakness?
Berk had had female warriors for most of the settlement's lifespan. Astrid knew the history and she was aware that most other tribes didn't have them. Berk had been forced to accept women into the rank-and-file early on because of the dragon raids, with every man, woman, and child imperiled on a constant basis. With the village's small population and harsh conditions, Berk needed every able hand that could hold a weapon. There were more men than women in the warrior ranks, and the Chief was always male even though the Village Elder could be either sex, but Astrid had never felt restricted by her gender when it came to being a warrior.
"Tomorrow begins the summit, and there's much I should attend to," said the Seer, standing up and walking to her cloak with little enthusiasm. She donned it without her usual flair, as if reluctant to resume her role.
Considering how tired Astrid was of getting thoroughly beaten, she surprised herself when she said, "Maybe we can get in one more session in the morning, before the summit begins."
The Seer hesitated before facing Astrid, her hood not yet down over her eyes. Astrid though she saw a minute crack in her emotionless façade before the Seer calmly nodded in agreement.
"I think there is time for that," she said, putting the cloak's hood over her face and disappearing into her Seer persona.
She made to leave the Arena when she suddenly froze in place, her hands going to her head and gripping it as if it was about to fall off. Then she lurched forward, staggering several steps before one of her hands caught the wooden pole in the center of the Arena. She likely would have collapsed to the dirt otherwise.
Astrid shot up and ran to the Seer, who used her other hand to wave Astrid away, her teeth clenched and her head pressed against the pole. Astrid could only watch as the Seer silently weathered the affliction that had mysteriously pounced on her, barely breathing and barely aware of her surroundings. Her jaws ground into one another, but she refused to utter a single moan or word of distress.
It went on far too long for Astrid's comfort, but the affliction finally passed out of the Seer. The cloaked girl quickly regained her composure, standing firm once more and looking as dour and cold as usual. Without another word, without a single hint or clue about what had just transpired, the Seer quickly…
"…Left the Arena, as if nothing had occurred," finished Astrid. "I wanted to go after her, but I had the feeling she wasn't in the space for talking."
"Better that you didn't, lass," said Gobber, currently armed with his favorite mug-arm attachment and a plate of mutton. He and the gathered Dragon Squad riders, all except Hiccup, sat under the flickering stars near a coastal vantage point that offered an excellent view of the blackened sea and the slightly-less-blackened village. A tame fire kept them company as the night air began to grow chill.
"It's why they call her the Seer, you know," continued Gobber after taking a swig of his beverage. "They say she has a direct link to the Gods, but it's not a pleasant experience for her. Every now and then they give her a vision or portent of the future. It might be a warning of a storm on the horizon… or it might be a warning not to eat that cheese wheel that's been sitting in your cellar for months. Some say that it's the Seer's visions, and not their warrior ways, that have allowed the Gunnarr to grow as powerful as they have."
It was too beautiful a night to spend the last Gunnarr-free evening crammed into the Great Hall, so Gobber had suggested that they spend it outdoors. They still needed to practice signals and go over the flight routine, but such concerns weren't front and center currently.
"That's a lot of responsibility to put on one girl's head," said Astrid.
"Maybe that's why she came to you," remarked Ruffnut over her plate of fish. "Maybe she needed to burn off some steam."
Astrid didn't think so, not with the way the Seer calmly went about sparring. The Seer was looking for something she wasn't getting from her people. It felt more like a need for company, for friendship.
"She sounds hot," said Snotlout, chewing on a chicken leg. "Is she single?"
"I didn't ask," answered Astrid irritably.
"She doesn't sound single," said Snotlout. "I might have a shot."
"You'd have a better shot with Fenrir than with the Seer," said Tuffnut, a toothpick between his teeth and a plate of well-cleaned bones on his lap.
"But that's still not no-chance," replied Snotlout. "The odds are not insurmountable. I'll do something cool like… I don't know, save her life. I hear that goes down well with the ladies."
Astrid rolled her eyes as Ruffnut groaned and said, "What is with men and the whole damsel-in-distress business? We don't swoon over every guy that comes to our rescue."
Tuffnut snickered. "Hey, if it didn't work, it wouldn't keep happening."
"Yeah?" replied Ruffnut defiantly. "Well, next time someone saves my bacon I'll just politely thank them and move on with my day."
"Anyway, can I join tomorrow's session, Astrid?" asked Snotlout.
"NO!" she firmly declared. "And if you show up, we'll use you as a target dummy."
"Okay, okay!" said Snotlout. "It was just an idea."
"If the Seer gets too many visions all at once, will her brain explode?" said Fishlegs, a massive mutton leg in hand.
Fishlegs had finally learned that those questioning stares he got over some of his ideas were not complementary. As those stares began to materialize once more, he quickly added, "On a different subject, is Hiccup showing up soon?"
"He's giving Toothless some flight time," said Gobber. "The Chief decided it was safe enough to let him fly for a little bit. He needs to get back in shape before show time."
Fishlegs groaned as he thought about the summit. "I hope the Gunnarr are easy to impress. I'm not feeling all that confident about this."
"You guys will do fine," reassured Gobber. "You know your flyin', you know your signals, and you know how to handle yourselves in a fight. We couldn't ask for more."
"It'd be better if Green Lightning showed up again," said Fishlegs. "I bet he'd put the fear into the Gunnarr."
Green Lighting, a.k.a. Arc, had already taken on a legendary status among the young Vikings, the dragon equivalent of a guardian who did battle with the minions of the Underworld and left when the heroics were over. Astrid hoped she was never forced to tell them the truth. She didn't have the heart to burst their bubble.
"No thanks," said Snotlout. "If Green Lightning shows up, then those bone things will show up."
"Might make the summit more exciting if they did," commented Tuffnut.
Astrid was only half-listening as she looked out to the north, knowing that she couldn't see Toothless racing through the night sky but still watching for him nonetheless. She had a feeling that Hiccup was going to be late again tonight – he had one more stop to make before returning.
It would be the last time. She kept telling herself that. After tonight, this detour in Hiccup's life would be over. The summit would commence and Nestor and Arc would be gone before it concluded, or so Nestor had reassured. The Gunnarr would be convinced to keep giving peace a chance, the village would be able to give their war-free life another chance, and maybe she'd feel secure enough to give her and Hiccup a chance.
She had to keep telling herself that.
It was a good thing that Hiccup hadn't eaten. Otherwise he'd have decorated Toothless's scales with his stomach contents by now.
Toothless conducted his third spinning loop in a row, the G-force pinning Hiccup to the saddle as he gleefully spun through the air. He had already dive-bombed mountaintops, skimmed the ocean surface, popped in and out of several wafting clouds, and even played a game of tag with a rider-less red-scaled Nadder that had been out on a fishing run. The dragon's joy at being airborne again would have been more infectious if it wasn't tying knots in Hiccup's stomach.
He didn't want to complain about it, nor did he want to ruin Toothless's fun just yet and force him to land with the rudder. But Hiccup spent all his time now shutting his eyes and wishing away his growing nausea. He was used to a lot of acrobatics, but this was overkill.
He'd just learned a new lesson about owning dragons – if they can fly, let them. Otherwise they go crazy.
"Pal… ugh…" Hiccup's stomach warned him that it had reached its limit for spinning around as bile reached his mouth. He gritted his teeth and managed to speak without having more than words come out. "Bud, unless you want another bath tonight, I think we should cool it on the spinning."
Toothless agreed and straightened out, adopting a pleasantly calm route over the island. Hiccup's stomach remained unsettled until the world ceased spinning altogether, then began to relax as things stabilized in Hiccup's head.
"It's safe to say you're just fine in the air," said Hiccup. "Landings may be tricky, though. We better find out how tricky. You know where to go, right?" Toothless waggled his head and set course for Nestor's camp, their last stop before heading back to Berk.
The landing turned out to be less tricky than feared. Toothless approached the clearing near Nestor's cave at a glacial pace, gently letting his rear legs take the brunt of the landing and then falling onto his forward right leg. Only then did his still-bandaged left leg touch the ground. The wounds had closed and sealed, new scales already helping to seal the damaged area, but too much jostling would delay the healing further.
As Hiccup dismounted and walked with Toothless toward Nestor's camp, he could hear Nestor talking to someone or something. His thoughts focused on Arc, which immediately made his thoughts unhappy ones, and he slowed down so he could hear what was being said. But he soon discerned the nature of the one-sided conversation and laughed as he walked on.
"Shoo! Away! Lots of fish out there! No fish for you here!"
In the lightless gloom of the camp, Nestor was futilely attempting to talk a chirping Terrible Terror into leaving. The little dragon was looking at him eagerly and expectantly, Nestor flinging his arms around in frustration.
"What gives?" said Nestor to Hiccup as he approached. "I gave this little guy a fish head and now he won't leave me alone. So much for random acts of kindness."
"Yeah, they tend to glom onto whoever feeds them," said Hiccup. He managed to rescue Nestor by convincing the Terror to leave for fishier parts, Nestor shaking his head at the ease of which Hiccup could commiserate with dragonkind.
"It's a little dark over here," said Hiccup. "No fire?"
"Trying to actually not attract attention until the village was tucked in for the night," replied Nestor. "As you well know, I suck at being subtle. Oh, and I put the axe under the moss-covered boulder back at the pond. No one should stumble across it."
"All the boulders have moss on them," said Hiccup.
"The moss-covered boulder that resembles Arc's rear end," clarified Nestor.
"Thanks… and gross," replied Hiccup with a mix of unhappiness and gratitude. "I hate to hide it, but if I give that axe to Astrid she'll end up using it and people will start asking too many questions and so on."
As Hiccup was mostly guessing at Nestor's location inside the gloom-covered camp, Nestor relented to a small fire now that Hiccup and Toothless were around to take credit for it if they were discovered. Hiccup checked Toothless's injury and after seeing it no worse for wear he leaned back against his lounging dragon chum, whose mood was several shades lighter for having flown again, and shot the breeze with Nestor for a time.
He couldn't stay too long, as Gobber, Astrid, and the others expected him to show up eventually. But he felt the creeping stress of the Gunnarr summit every time he stopped occupying his mind with other things. He needed a few more minutes of freedom before his life was consumed by it for the next five days.
Saying goodbye to Nestor was part of it as well. The man was a friend, one that Hiccup wished could walk around Berk without fear of horrible death. For some reason, Hiccup had a tendency to attract those kinds of friends.
"So I thought that if I couldn't lift one catapult round, why not divide it into three smaller rounds that added up to the same weight," explained Hiccup, deep into one of his anecdotes. "That I could manage to lift."
"Which is why your new and improved tri-a-pult had the three arms," finished Nestor, seeing where this was going. Toothless had his ears perked up as well – he hadn't heard this one.
"Right. So I had the launcher positioned on the ridge overlooking my house and it stayed there unused for months until we got raided again. I had to hoof it all the way up the ridge and got the tri-a-pult prepared just as the dragons were retreating. Luckily they were retreating my way and I had a clear shot at a Nadder, so I set the calibration and let fly."
"And the reason why the tri-a-pult isn't in the Viking arsenal is because…"
"I didn't quite have synchronization down. All three rounds were supposed to hit the target together, but instead they hit each other in mid-air and went off in different directions. Two of the rounds flew out to sea… and the third took out the chimney on my house. I spent the rest of the summer brushing up on my masonry."
Nestor laughed lightly. "So the grapple launcher incident was not an isolated event."
Toothless nudged Hiccup from behind, as if saying that's my Hiccup, and Hiccup found himself chuckling as well. "Actually, it was probably the least damaging one to date. But to change the subject away from me, how goes the translation?"
"Slow, and I doubt I'll have more information to offer by the time Arc gets back." Nestor then paused, scratched his head as if digging some nugget of an idea out of his mind, and said, "The Artisan engineer who wrote the diary was working on something, and he's very vague about it. Chances were that he didn't want to accidentally reveal it in his memoirs. But there was one word that seemed important, something the writer danced around as he described his daily activities. A word that slipped into his writing without him realizing it."
"Which is?" asked Hiccup.
"Monolith."
Hiccup mulled the word over silently and then repeated it aloud. "Monolith… no idea what it means, yet it scares me."
"Same here. Maybe Arc can shed some light on it."
"Are you going to be alright with Arc?" asked Hiccup rather bluntly, unable to resist asking the question after the dragon's name cropped up a second time. "Once he learns that you've been telling secrets…"
"He's not going to do anything," said Nestor. "He'll be unhappy and he'll be insulting, but that's nothing new."
"I still think you need to get some distance from him, for your own sanity if nothing else."
Nestor didn't answer the question, unless staring off into the dying embers of their campfire counted. When he did speak, his voice seemed very distant. "You know what convinced me to travel with Arc? It was one of his tales about the Hyperions and how they were the protectors of both the past and the future. There was one grand epic where Arc comes off like a knight-errant while he slays the evil sea monster from the deep. It was… corny, to say the least, and I suspect he was exaggerating the size of the squid he was wrestling with, but at the end he recites this oath that every Hyperion takes upon receiving the Hyperion essence. If I remember it correctly…"
Nestor took a second to double-check the words and then began to recite the oath in a slow, respectful tone. "We stand against the mistakes of the past, so that they don't harm the future. We stand between the world we care about and the ones that wish to destroy it. We stand for the one thing worth standing for… hope."
Hiccup heard the oath and felt moved by it. Ever since hearing the origin story of the Hyperions, he often wondered what it had to be like to be nigh immortal, to carry a treasure trove of secrets and powers around for centuries while watching the world change and move on. Maybe it was different for dragons, but it didn't sound like much of a privilege to Hiccup, not if being a Hyperion meant you were destined to outlive everyone you cared about over and over and over again. You'd have to really believe in that oath to be willing to make such a commitment, not just for yourself but also for the world.
Toothless had listened intently to the oath as well, though exactly what he thought of it was difficult to tell. The thought of Toothless somehow acquiring an essence and becoming a Hyperion seemed downright absurd to Hiccup, though he had to admit that his reaction was more emotional than logical. He didn't know how Hyperions picked other Hyperions or if the choosing process was even voluntary on the part of the Hyperion-to-be. For all Hiccup knew, Toothless could be perfect for the job or completely wrong for it.
All Hiccup knew was that he didn't want Toothless to change, and he hoped the decision never became a possibility. Maybe it was a selfish wish, but it's what he felt. Still, the oath was a good one, a noble one.
"Catchy," was all Hiccup could offer as a reply, however.
"I thought so, too," said Nestor somberly. "I just wish the dragon that said those words was the same one I know now. But I'd like to believe that even if Arc can no longer live up to his oath… maybe I can."
The conversation ended soon afterwards. They both knew what tomorrow was going to bring. Arc would return, either having destroyed Cervantes or knowing where Cervantes was and requiring Nestor's help or having lost the scent one more and needing to move on. Nestor was certain that they'd be gone before sundown.
The summit began tomorrow as well. Viking formalities, Viking feasts, Viking politics, and quite possibly a Viking funeral or two before it was all over. Hiccup's part in the process didn't begin for three days more, but as the chieftain's son he had to show up and look… well, he had to show up regardless. No more time for tinkering or chumming.
They didn't say goodbye, exactly. As Nestor had put it, every time they thought they were parting ways permanently the Fates found a way to have them blunder into each other once more. So… until next time, hopefully with the world in a more peaceful state of mind.
As he took to the air upon Toothless, zooming back to Berk, Hiccup sadly wondered if peace was even possible in the world they inhabited.
As a child, Hiccup used to have a fear of forest goblins, those pesky little creatures that lived in every hollow tree and who were legendary kleptomaniacs of the stealing-children variety. Despite his dad's assurances that the little imps had been eaten up by dragons long ago, Hiccup had maintained a sizeable fear of going to the outhouse in the middle of the night due to being grabbed by goblins and shoved into some rotting log, there to be endlessly tormented or tickled or whatever goblins did with their purloined children.
So it was natural for Hiccup to instinctively, though very briefly, think Goblins! when he actually was abducted in the middle of the night two seconds after stepping out of the outhouse.
Prior to this, the night had been uneventful. Hiccup and Toothless got back to Berk, Toothless got dinner, Hiccup met with Gobber and the others and went over their plans for the demonstration yet again, Hiccup met with his dad and went over the plans for the demonstration yet again, whereupon his dad ordered him to get some sleep as tomorrow would be a big, early-rising day.
With the pale moonlight glinting off his light-colored nightclothes, Hiccup was in the process of gently closing the outhouse door and tiptoeing past Toothless, who was fast asleep in his dragon house a few yards away, when his feet suddenly left the grass. The abduction was so quiet that Toothless didn't even stir. Hiccup was rudely yanked into the cloud-spotted sky, the night air breezing by him as he went airborne. It felt like a great hand lifting him away, though he couldn't see what had grabbed him. He just knew he was grabbed, gripping pressure all around him and over his mouth, stifling his cries.
Then the culprit's identity dawned on him as the island flowed by underneath him, and his suspicions were confirmed a minute later when he was unceremoniously dumped into a clearing not far from the village. Hiccup brushed dirt off his nightclothes as his abductor dropped his Shroud and landed in front of him, the expression on Arc's face making Hiccup almost wish he'd been abducted by goblins instead.
"Have you told anyone about the location of the powercore?" demanded Arc, his tone unquestioningly hostile.
"Hello to you too, Arc," said Hiccup, using his pent-up anger toward the dragon to counteract his fear.
"This is not a smart time for flippant remarks, Young Hiccup," threatened Arc.
"It never is," said Hiccup. "Why should I tell you, anyway, considering you probably know the answer?"
"I do not see all, Young Hiccup, and my concerns are far bigger than your petty need for emotional retribution."
"Well, gee, if that's the case, then do whatever you're going to do to me," said Hiccup, too fatigued and upset to care that he was saying a very dumb thing. But his words did make Arc hesitate.
"Do you think me a monster, Young Hiccup?" said Arc, almost sounding hurt by the idea.
This time, Hiccup hesitated instead. "I think… No, I don't, but you don't have any problem using people, putting them in danger…"
"For good reasons, Young Hiccup."
"Really? Good reasons? Nestor doesn't agree with you there."
"Nestor is like you: young, shortsighted, and poor at keeping silent."
"Thanks for stating your high opinion of us. Did you even talk to Nestor first or did you go right to spying on us again?"
"I have not spoken to Nestor, and yes, I did overheard your conversation earlier tonight. It's easier to determine the depths of your foolishness that way." Arc lowered his head so that it was inches away from Hiccup. "He's told you far too much, Young Hiccup, and I have no reason to trust you with our secrets."
"Like you're one to talk," shot back Hiccup, mustering up some indignation along with his anger and hoping it would keep him from wondering what the upset Hyperion had in store for him. "You've spied on me, lied to me, put me and my friends in danger, and now you've added kidnapping. If this is how you treat everyone around you, is it any wonder Nestor trusts me more than he trusts you?"
Hiccup didn't think he had the power to rattle Arc, yet rattle him he did. For all of half-a-second, the dragon's scary gaze withdrew and was replaced by something that Hiccup dared to call remorse. But then Arc's hostile glare returned almost immediately, though the hostility was thinner than before.
"I am not here to explain myself, Young Hiccup," he snarled. "Especially not to you."
"Me? What did I do other than getting sucked into your mess? Or is this one of those long-term grudges where one of my ancestors did something wrong to you in the past? Did my great-great-great-granddad kill one of your friends?"
"No, Young Hiccup, you did!" spat out the looming dragon.
The impact of Arc's dreadful accusation didn't fully register on Hiccup at first, Hiccup feeling mostly angry and confused at the dragon's statement. Arc took it worse than Hiccup – he suddenly looked ashamed, repelled by his own heated words. Hiccup was still trying to figure out what had sparked such anger, because unless you counted fish and ants Hiccup's kill count was non-existent… except for…
That's when it all came together, Hiccup's jaw dropping as one thought synched to another. He couldn't even keep the revelation quiet, the sad discovery spilling from his mouth as his brain tried to get organized again.
"Red Death… Latimar…"
"That was… unfair of me," remarked Arc, facing away from Hiccup and still as shame-faced as before. "I'm better than this."
"Red Death was Latimar," said Hiccup, finally getting his brain to work but still overwhelmed by the news.
Something about Hiccup's tone jogged Arc out of his dismay, his anger gone for the time being as he faced Hiccup again. "So Nestor did tell you the story of Latimar after all. You Vikings and your names. You can't even make up your mind on what to call him. Red Death, Green Death… Queen Dragon. Inaccurate on all counts, incidentally. He had only one name that mattered, the name the Cervantes took from him so long ago."
"Arc… " stammered Hiccup, still unable to wrap his mind around the idea that the monstrous dragon that almost destroyed his people, whose fiery finish had robbed Hiccup of one of his precious limbs… had been a Hyperion.
"No, Hiccup, you did nothing wrong," said Arc, his face neutral once more and his tone soft. "The creature you knew, Red Death, was not my friend any longer. You merely ended his suffering. I acknowledge that. But when we're in pain, even someone of my age can lash out on the undeserving."
"I didn't want to kill him, Arc," explained Hiccup, his voice barely a whisper. "I had to, but I didn't want to. I still have nightmares about it, watching him go up in flames…"
"That's because you have a conscience," said Arc. "It speaks well of you. Understand that I would not have burdened you with this knowledge had you not talked to Nestor. I do not fault you – there is only one being I fault."
"Cervantes," replied Hiccup. His legs were feeling rubbery all of a sudden and he sat himself down on the fragrant grass so as not to topple over. "What was he like – Latimar, I mean?"
Arc sat his large bulk down near Hiccup so that he wouldn't be talking too far over the boy's head. "He was the one that decided that I should become a Hyperion. He presided over my rebirth, convincing my predecessor that I would be a fitting candidate for the essence. He was fair, rough around the edges, but keenly aware of his great stature and image. No Hyperion alive knows what species he came from, only that he was the last of his kind… or the first of his kind."
"Huh?" said Hiccup.
"None of us can recall ever seeing another great dragon the likes of Latimar," explained Hiccup, "and our memories are long. If Latimar knew more, he was unwilling to share it. I often wondered if he was some aberration or some lost experiment from the Artisan Empire… or that he wasn't even a native to our world. But this was the world he adopted, and he was as good a steward to it as any Hyperion. I've seen many kingdoms rise and fall during my time, yet our friendship outlasted them all. We fought many battles together, though I often felt that I could have sat back and let him do it all and the outcome wouldn't have changed. But he never made me feel inadequate, and I relished his companionship. He was one of the few things that made the long years bearable."
"Then Cervantes came along," remarked Hiccup.
"Indeed, he did. I wasn't around when Latimar befriended Cervantes. Latimar never told me what he needed from the young man, or why he'd been willing to part with his knowledge. I hope it was for a good reason, because Latimar ultimately paid for his misjudgment with everything he had. Cervantes drained him of almost all of his power and his mind, though he left within Latimar a thin fragment of Hyperion essence out of some distorted sense of decency."
Arc's head drooped as he continued to speak, old emotions resurfacing once more. "I remember the last time I saw Latimar, some three-hundred and twenty years ago. He lived in this area, amongst the ice and the snow and the unending cold. He was using a volcano as his home; I'm sure you know of what I speak. My friend couldn't recognize me, couldn't speak one word, and could barely withhold his instinctual urge to devour me. He was using a few lingering Hyperion tricks to hide the volcano, to summon the other dragon species to do his bidding – to feed him. I considered destroying him, to release him from his sorry existence and spare others from the threat he now posed. But…"
"But he was your friend," said Hiccup.
Arc nodded. "Dragons have their dreams, Young Hiccup. Mine was to find Cervantes and have him undue what he did to Latimar, even if I knew that such a thing was likely impossible. I left Latimar alone, believing that he would cause little damage in this sheltered part of the world. I didn't anticipate your people moving here, though. Even when I knew that his actions were provoking a war between humans and dragons, I couldn't bring myself to intervene. Hyperions are connected to one another through our essences, so I felt Latimar go without needing to see his grave. My one last dream dashed… and from then on all I wanted to do was make Cervantes pay in full for his crimes."
"So this is all about revenge," said Hiccup, feeling a smidge of hostility begin to override his newfound sympathy for the old dragon. "Do you think that justifies your actions or how you treat Nestor?"
Hiccup expected to get a new bout of anger from the dragon, but Arc didn't take the bait. His demeanor was downright sad now, almost depressing to look at. "The curse of intelligence, Young Hiccup, is that you can justify almost anything. To find a monster like Cervantes, to destroy him, I had to think like him. I had to be willing to act like him. I told myself that this is more than vengeance, that there is something Cervantes is after that merits my means. Latimar didn't live here just because he liked the cold, Young Hiccup. He knew something about the Artisan Empire, a secret entombed out there in the ice. Something he watched over before he was robbed of his mind. Something he refused to even hint at - something that terrified him.
"But… it seems that through both inaction and action I have caused injury to you and your people, and that is something I hope to square with you one day, Young Hiccup."
Hiccup wasn't sure how to feel about that. Part of him would have been happy with Arc declaring Berk a no-fly zone and never returning. That would have been square enough. Yet the remorse behind Arc's confession was getting through to Hiccup, and he wondered how much of the dragon's disposition was just an act he showed to the world.
"And Nestor?" he asked, hoping there was also remorse toward his apprentice.
"Nestor," said Arc, and he managed to look even sadder. "He told you how he met me, yes? I suppose you must think of me as some amoral mastermind, plotting how I would use him for my own purposes."
"Actually, the thought did cross my mind once or twice," said Hiccup. "Getting kidnapped didn't help, you know."
"Well, I never had a plan for him," said Arc quietly. "Truly, my desires were simple. I talked with him… because I was lonely. And when he was struck down by the plague, it was equally simple for me – he was my friend, and I wanted him to live."
Hiccup believed him, but he did his best to hide it. He wasn't ready to trust Arc again, and he hoped his scowl would prompt the dragon to keep talking. It worked.
"I knew that saving his life would forever set him apart from his people," continued Arc. "But a Hyperion's life is not one a human can share for long, for so many reasons. I had to be sure he could survive on his own – you are responsible for the life you save, after all. I know that I have not been… kind… to him, certainly not as kind as he deserves, but he will be better off for it."
"Well, I'd say you did a bang-up job," said Hiccup sourly. "He's about ready to leave you."
"That's the way it should be," said Arc, his tone completely at odds with his statement.
Hiccup caught the contradiction, and whatever anger he had toward the dragon was eclipsed by a wave of pity. Arc was a far lonelier creature than even Hiccup could relate to. An "anomaly" among dragons, feared by humans, destined to watch the world live and die around him. He'd lost the one constant in his life – Latimar. And he was refusing to allow Nestor to become a new constant, even though it was plain as day that Arc desired it. In his own way, he was protecting Nestor.
"It wasn't a mistake, was it?" questioned Hiccup. "The barrier-field… you gave it to him on purpose."
A light chuckle escaped Arc's mouth. "Whether I meant to or not, it was still a mistake. It has marked him ever since. There are ways to remove it… dangerous ways, yet still doable. But it may be the only way he will gain any semblance of a normal life."
"Have you ever thought about talking to Nestor about all this?" said Hiccup, hoping to egg Arc into showing a little warmth to his friend. "He could use some reassurance from his… uh, mentor."
"What he could use is a different life," said Arc, standing back up and flexing his wings in preparation for flight. "Once Cervantes falls, Nestor will get it. I have finally narrowed down the necromancer's location. Come the next sundown, the world will be free of him… and so will I."
Arc's desolate mood evaporated all at once, his stern attitude returning as he mentioned Cervantes. He was mentally gearing himself up for battle, those repressed feelings he'd just shared to Hiccup repressed once again. "I should return you to your home now," he declared.
"No, I'll just walk," said Hiccup, not desiring another trip in Arc's not-so-tender grip. "It's not far."
"As you wish," said Arc. "You are a curious creature, Young Hiccup. Most humans I have encountered ask few questions. Most run from the unknown, or try to destroy it. If our respective peoples are to stand a chance at surviving into the future, we will need more like you. I truly hope that Berk may one day be the rule and not the exception. Attend to your own life and live well, Young Hiccup. Your part in our affairs is over."
Hiccup watched Arc ascend into the sky for the briefest of moments before the dragon put on his Shroud and faded from view. Then he began to walk home, more tired than ever and burdened with yet more secrets. But he wished Arc well, something he hadn't ever expected to wish. And he firmly hoped Cervantes received the justice he'd escaped for three centuries.
The assembled throng of Vikings greeted the rising sun as they filled up the cliffs and bluffs high over the village dock. The entire village had turned out to meet the arriving Gunnarr, wearing their shields and brandishing their weapons in a combined show of force and respect. There was much jostling and complaining as the people of Berk peeked over or between their comrades to see the red sails of the approaching longboats. Several manned Berkian longboats were anchored off to the side, partly to make room for the guests but also to remind the Gunnarr to be on their best behavior.
The dragons were present as well, many of them airborne over the island while others perched on houses or patiently waited with their riders. There had been some talk of corralling the dragons so to not make the Gunnarr nervous until Stoic put an end to such discussion. He wanted the Gunnarr nervous; it would make them that much more amenable to negotiation.
The Dragon Rider Squad stood together near the ramped entrance to the docks, their respective dragon mounts milling about behind them. Stoic and Gobber were there as well, Stoic at the front of the gathering with Hiccup at his side. They wore their most auspicious warrior gear, which worked to enhance Stoic's broad shoulders and thick arms but only served to exacerbate Hiccup's overall thinness.
Toothless hung back a few feet from Hiccup, the bandage off his leg earlier than the healer advised. The whole proceeding was mostly for show, to impress upon the Gunnarr what strength the Berkians had at their disposal, but a bandage anywhere on Berk's star dragon would not help matters. He kept off his injured leg as much as possible.
The Seer and her bodyguards had passed by the gathered Berkians and were briskly walking down to the end of the dock as the ten longboats drew near. According to Gunnarr custom, it was the Seer's job to reassure the chieftain that it was safe to proceed with the summit. Hiccup hoped she was satisfied with Berk's security or else this was going to be a short summit.
"This part's full of pomp and circumstance," said Stoic to his son. "All you have to do is stand and not drop anything."
"Easier said than done," replied Hiccup, his muscles complaining from the strain of the shield and one-bladed axe in his hands. "I swear this stuff's gotten heavier."
"A little too much riding and not enough melee practice will do that to you," said Stoic. "Not to worry, son – it'll be your dark friend they'll be lookin' at, not you."
The first of the longboats came alongside the dock and began to unload its crew, a full complement of fierce Gunnarr led by a large man clad in black leather and a one-horned helmet. Hiccup couldn't tell much about him from this distance, but he assumed the guy was the Gunnarr chief, Stonefist, by the way the others deferred to him. The Seer strolled right up to him and started conferring with him about something undoubtedly related to Berkian hospitality. Whatever she said apparently satisfied the Gunnarr chief, as he moved past the Seer and to the sloping walkways leading up to Berk, the rest of his men following behind. The other longboats were landing now and unloading, the dock filling up with Gunnarr troops in short order.
"My turn," said Stoic as he strode forward, signaling some of his men to follow him down the path. "Hiccup, you might as well go stand with your squad while I greet Stonefist. This might take a minute or two."
Hiccup obeyed, more than happy to blend in with his friends. He could never pass himself off as fearsome and he was glad his dad wasn't trying. He'd let Toothless do that for him, his scaled friend now at his side and warily eyeballing the growing numbers of the Gunnarr.
While most of his friends had their attention focused on the meeting below, Astrid managed to sidle up to Hiccup and quietly whisper in his ear, "Have I mentioned that you're kind of cute when you're playing Viking?"
"You're in a chipper mood," replied Hiccup, matching her whisper. "Had a good fight with the Seer?'
"Eh… we had one match and then she left," said Astrid. "Her mind was other places… and she still beat me."
"So you're just happy to be here?" asked Hiccup.
"I'm happy that these two weeks are over," she answered. "I happy that other… things… are over."
"Yeah," said Hiccup, trying to hide his mixed emotions over the matter. "These were the longest two weeks ever, and we're not in the clear yet."
"I think this summit will go well," said Astrid. "We've got a good squad, the Gunnarr didn't come with more men than they promised, and your dad's in control of things. And the Seer assured me that she wants peace as well. Five more days to go, and then maybe things will finally settle down."
Hiccup nodded but didn't say anything. Hiccup did want things to settle down, to go back to the easier days of free flying, dragon training, tinkering, and yearning after Astrid. Yet he couldn't help but feel like he was missing out on the bigger story. He didn't want to endanger anyone again. He didn't want to leave Berk to go help Nestor and Arc in their battles. But he had been a part of something wilder and greater than anything Berk had to offer, and it was disappointing that he couldn't see how it ended. It was disappointing that he couldn't share what he knew with his father, that there were secrets between them once again. At least he wasn't alone with the burden. Astrid and Toothless were with him on this, even though Astrid was obviously relieved to be done with Nestor and Arc.
As the Gunnarr began to march up to the cliffs and past Hiccup and his group, he had to put away such thoughts again and return to the here-and-now. His dad walked with the Gunnarr chief at the front of the procession, making introductions between Stonefist and various Vikings.
When they got to Hiccup and his squad, Hiccup tried to stand as erect as he could and hoped the chief couldn't see how his arms quivered under the weight of his war gear. Stonefist wore an impartial expression, his thin black beard poorly hiding a thicket of scars that graced his chin and throat. He wasn't nearly as big as Stoic, but he had the same imposing air around him, as if he had the power to snap his fingers and summon a hurricane whenever he desired.
"Well met, son of Stoic," Stonefist dispassionately said. "I have heard much about you. I look forward to hearing the tale of your triumph over Red Death from the one who did the deed for a change."
"Ah, well… I mean, thank you, sir," said Hiccup, catching himself from making an etiquette breach. He may have even flinched a little at the dead dragon's name – his one crowning moment of heroics forever ruined by his knowledge of who Red Death once was.
Stonefist nodded curtly, his gaze lingering on Toothless and the dragons behind the squad. He stared at Toothless the longest, the dragon and the chieftain sizing each other up before Stonefist moved on.
The only Gunnarr Hiccup recognized as they marched into Berk was the Seer and Cragfist, the belligerent son of Stonefist who had come to Berk those long two weeks ago. The Seer gave no acknowledgement of either Hiccup or Astrid as she walked by. Cragfist, on the other hand, gave Hiccup an unmistakable sneer. Hiccup was prepared to pretend he hadn't seen it, but Toothless wasn't. The dragon managed a quiet yet threatening growl at Cragfist, who was clearly taken aback by Toothless's reaction but didn't stop to make a big deal of it.
Hiccup smiled to himself once Cragfist had gone on. Toothless hadn't even warmed up yet and he was intimidating the Gunnarr. Maybe they were going to pull this off without any violence after all.
It was unfortunate that Hiccup lacked the Seer's gift of vision, for it might have kicked in to warn him that the bigger story continued to unfold around him. It would have told him that the wonders and horrors of the last two weeks were going to pale significantly when compared to what was coming at him.