Author's Note (disregard if you see chapters past this one attached to the story):
Well, nuts. Didn't get the job. Not to worry, the public schools in my area resume next week, though subbing will be slow for now unless I can get a long-time sub position. Not likely to happen immediately.
Here's where we stand... again. With my time about to become unpredictable, I am going to be withholding the last chapters until they're all done and meet my satisfaction. I expect two chapters will finish things up, but I might go with three based on how the pacing works out. The good news is that I will post all the last chapters together. The bad news? No chapter next week for sure, and possibly not the week after that. For those of you not using Story Alert, my goal is to finish the story and post it on Friday, September 2nd at 8am. If my work prospects are slow, I might get it done and post it on August 26th, but don't get your hopes up about that.
Onwards... for the penultimate time.
Chapter Sixteen: Rising
Arc monitored the progress of the half-crispy, half-battered Vikings as they crawled, hobbled, and dragged themselves from the battle, the last iota of fight in them finally snuffed out. He kept his satisfaction to himself, content to have repaid his captors in full for their "kindness." An animalistic urge within him wanted more satisfaction, wanted to utterly destroy them and ensure they wouldn't cross him again. Two days in an icy cage can make one mighty testy. But the presence of the young man standing next to him, panting from the long fight but still on his guard, reminded him that he was better than that, and he let the urge pass. Let them tell others of Archibald and Nestor, the ones that defeated them this day. It might make future adversaries more reluctant if word got around, though they might refer to him Thunder Smelter or something equally ridiculous. Vikings and their names…
"Next time, Hiccup gets to be the bait," Nestor wheezed out. Mentioning his friend's name reminded Nestor to look to the sky, scanning for the airborne battle that he had reluctantly ignored until now. "Speaking of which, do you see Hiccup and Toothless…?"
A roaring explosion on the other side of the island forced their attention that direction. Arc stood up on his hind legs and stretched his neck to see, spotting another crowd of Vikings surrounding a steaming crater in the snow. Something dramatic was occurring, though the details eluded him.
"Was there another part to this plan you didn't mention?" asked Arc.
"Astrid and the Seer went after the powercore. Stonefist…"
"The powercore's here?" Arc bristled at the revelation. "How?"
"Long story," Nestor said, his breathing slowing to normal. "There was…"
"Save it," said Arc. "I'll catch up later. We should see to your allies, though it appears that Hiccup and Toothless are already on their way."
Nestor saw the black dragon skimming low over the island, flying toward the explosion. Relieved to see his friends in one piece, his brow then furrowed with confusion. "No Cervantes?'
"Cervantes?" growled Arc, searching the air with new determination. He snarled instinctively when he spotted a winged figure fleeing the scene, flying back toward the center of the island. "I'm in pursuit. Go help the others."
"Isn't flying off after Cervantes how you got in this predicament?" countered Nestor.
Arc rolled his eyes, unwilling to admit that Nestor had a point. "Yes, but I'll be smarter this time."
"Famous last words," commented Nestor as Arc took to the air. Hoping Arc really had smartened up, he pumped energy into his legs and ran toward the next trouble spot, speeding past the fleeing Gunnarr as they made their way towards their ships.
Arc's wings throbbed from disuse, slowing down his cruising speed, but no amount of joint pain was about to dissuade him from catching the retreating death mage. He knew a lot about the necromancer's tricks, and he knew from past encounters that Cervantes's flight power was slow but reliable. The death mage had a head start, but he wouldn't be able to outrun or out-fly Arc for long. Barring any abominations hiding in the snow, the necromancer wouldn't escape this time.
When Cervantes landed on top of the snow dome rather than continuing to fly away, it surprised Arc. When Cervantes produced a radiant object from his belt that was unmistakably a powercore, it alarmed Arc. And when Cervantes's smiling face sank under the dome and disappeared entirely, it so enraged Arc that he screamed out the necromancer's name and fried the snow below him with several unintentional lightning bolts.
Then things began to rumble.
It started with a wave of small tremors, spreading out in a uniform front from the dome like ripples in a pond. Loose snow packs broke free or came apart, crevices filling up with snowy debris and hills losing a few feet off their peaks. New crevices began to form across the barren fields, ice cracking and snapping under the stress. The fleeing Vikings felt the vibrations under their feet; some stopping in panic while others putting more effort into running away. Arc's sensitive nose detected a new smell wafting into the air, something metallic and old. Something that hadn't seen the light for eons. A whining buzz began to sound across the island like the world's biggest choir of bees. Even the temperature felt different, warmer, as if the island's cold heart had suddenly transformed into a furnace and the air was heating up as a result.
The tremors grew in strength, the peaks and ridges beginning to flatten, the crevices growing and shifting as the snow compacted and spread, crumbled and melted. The island's convulsions were more pronounced closer to the island's center, but soon the entire island would be affected.
Fighting off his desire to land and tear a hole into the dome with his bare claws, Arc turned away and flew back towards Nestor and the others. Despite the last-minute upset to his plans, Cervantes had still found a way. Despite all his efforts, Arc had failed Latimar once more.
The Monolith was rising.
In all the ensuing bedlam that had followed the black fire explosion and the death of Stonefist, the basket containing the powercore and its accompanying diary-tome was almost forgotten. Dropped in the snow by a distracted Cragfist, Hiccup had Toothless touch down on top of it, the dragon snarling away any Gunnarr who still contemplated hostile action. Most weren't in the mood to try, not with their leader gone and their tribe divided and scattered.
Hiccup dismounted and snatched the basket out from under Toothless, peeking inside to see the ever-glowing, ever-shifting powercore within. That confirmed it – Cervantes's powercore had come from elsewhere. The knowledge failed to make him feel any better. The tremors flowing through the ice made his metal foot vibrate and his skin itch, and he suspected it was only the warm-up exercises for what was coming.
Cragfist and a sizeable number of his people stood less than ten yards away, keeping back but not backing down. Astrid and the Seer stood together in front of them, the Seer arguing with Cragfist about why they weren't running for their lives right now. If Gunnarr tradition was anything like Berkian tradition, Cragfist was now the acting chieftain of his clan. Not a good development.
The Seer showed no anger, nor grief, nor even fear. Hiccup thought he saw a pained expression very briefly settle on her face before the Seer forced it away, returning to her emotionless self. A tear for her Chieftain, perhaps. It was hard to imagine the Seer crying over anything, or anyone.
"You need to lead our people off this island," ordered the Seer. "Do you not feel the ice moving?"
"We still have a deal with Cervantes," said Cragfist, spitting hatred out with every word. "Our… my father, will not have died in vain."
"Is your vision that poor?" she shot back. "The Necromancer's magic is what killed him."
"Because of your traitorous acts," said Cragfist. "Because of your allies."
"If you are this determined to compound our father's folly with your own, then you leave me with no choice." The Seer proceeded to raise her hands above her head, her voice carrying every ounce of authority she could muster. "By right of the Seer, I take the title of our honored chieftain and I give it away. Let there be a new leader for our people."
"You can do that?" asked Astrid.
"She can't!" cried out Cragfist. "None of us will respect the words of a traitor." The panic in his voice counteracted the certainty of his words.
"Until the Elders declare me otherwise, I am still Gunnarr and still the Seer," she declared. She pointed at the one-eyed Gunnarr named Headsnapper, who had stayed out of the arguments until now. "I give you the title of Chieftain, Headsnapper. Do you accept?"
Ignoring the evil glare from Cragfist, Headsnapper calmly stepped forward and nodded. "It is not my place to be Chief, but for our people I will accept this until the Elders make a permanent choice."
"This is insanity!" yelled out Cragfist, grinding his teeth so hard that he snapped a weakened molar off completely.
It was at the moment that Nestor skidded to a halt next to Hiccup, winded again from racing across the island. He turned to Hiccup and said between breaths, "Great, another group of Gunnarr."
"Bigger problem than that," replied Hiccup. "Cervantes has another powercore."
Nestor reeled at the news. "Another one?"
"Another one. And if this rumbling is any clue…"
"Then Arc couldn't stop Cervantes in time, and we're in big trouble."
"Yeah, thanks for summing that AIEEE!"
The ground rocked violently, sending jagged cracks in all directions. Hiccup and Nestor were thrown off their feet as the ice split apart right in front of them, Toothless falling back on his hind legs as something erupted out of the ice.
A tendril as thick as a longboat is wide thrust itself into the air, towering over the gathering like a snake preparing to chow down on a party of mice. It had no joints or sections of note, seemingly one solid entity with a metallic shine that Hiccup had become an expert on recognizing. The stain-free surface reflected the terrified looks of the Vikings as the horrific thing sprouted several dozen smaller rope-thick tentacles, emerging from out of the metal. They swarmed around the base, writhing like ticked-off worms, though these worms resembled interlocking chains of bones that ended in grasping skeletal digits and hands,
Some of them attacked the nearby Gunnarr, batting them like whips and coiling around them like living ropes. The Vikings bashed and cut at the tendrils, but their weapons couldn't even scratch the impervious metal. Astrid and the Seer went to chopping at the tendrils, their absurdly sharp weapons slicing them apart with ease, but for every tendril they destroyed two more formed to take its place. More tendrils went after Nestor and Hiccup, Toothless opening fire and incinerating several of them before one lucky tentacle wrapped around his jaw and held his mouth shut.
"Ulp!" was all Nestor got out before he was ensnared, several tendrils wrapping around his limbs and throat and keeping him from moving. Hiccup found himself in a tug of war with a tendril and the basket, a war he was losing as his feet slipped out from under him and he was dragged on his belly toward the main tendril. Another tentacle snuck around his waist and started squeezing, pulling him away from the basket. Tenacity made him hold on for a few seconds more, the basket's handle giving up before he did and ripping off in his hands.
Hiccup cried out in denial, certain that losing the second powercore was a bad, bad thing, though how it could make things worse was debatable. But somebody heard him, and a bolt of lightning slammed into the central tendril, slicing through the myssteel and causing a significant chunk of the tendril to burst into scattering fragments on the broken ice below. Several little tendrils broke apart in the same fashion, others retracting into the main tendril and patching up the considerable holes with their own substance.
Arc came in hard and fast, releasing two more bolts from the air that split the tendril down the middle. The tendril quaked and quivered like a living thing, recoiling down into its hole like a wounded animal, its mini-tendrils releasing their prey and retracting. It disappeared into the recesses of the rattling island, leaving the group shaken but largely unharmed.
Then another massive tendril burst forth into the open, this one behind Cragfist. The terrified Viking screamed out to Thor for deliverance, but it was Arc that saved his pathetic life with two more lightning blasts that scorched the monstrous appendage and sent it back into the ground.
Arc landed near Toothless as the gathering regrouped, the green dragon breathing hard for a change as he regarded the Gunnarr in his midst. "There will be more of those, and my charge is nearly depleted. Though it is more than you deserve, I advise you to leave."
"Agreed," said Headsnapper. He told one of his men to call a retreat, a rarely used horn signal that some Gunnarr didn't even recognize at first. Most of them got the gist of it when their fellow warriors stampeded toward the ship landing to the east. Cragfist gave the nearby tendril hole a wide berth as he followed his brethren, though he stopped before the Seer long enough to deliver a parting word and a seething glare before moving on.
"Don't come back," he warned.
The ground's trembling grew stronger by the minute, the cracks widening and the ice buckling and calving as the island slowly shook apart. The beelike whine became a roar, blending in with the howling wind that now gusted over the diminished ridges to the north. More of the metallic tendrils popped out all across the island, intent on widening the cracks and crevices and speeding on the island's disintegration.
Recovering the basket with the powercore, Hiccup mounted Toothless again and pulled Astrid up after him. Arc took out another emerging tendril before surprising the krebit out of Nestor by bending down and offering his back to his apprentice. Dumbfounded to the extreme, Nestor looked at Arc as if the dragon had just gone senile.
"What's this?" he asked.
Now Arc was looking at him as if he'd just gone senile. "What does it look like?"
"Really?" A thin smile crept onto Nestor's face.
"Don't get used to it," Arc muttered.
"Could we get a move on?" shouted Hiccup over the destruction. Toothless toasted another tendril with a well-placed fireball as they waited for Nestor to get situated just below the base of Arc's neck. Nestor then yelled at the Seer to get on, and though her thoughts and gaze were on the receding throng of Vikings to the east, her heart heavy with regret, she finally ran to Arc and boarded him, finding a feasible riding location a few feet behind Nestor.
"We can't go back to Berk," warned Arc, raising his voice so that everyone could hear him. "Not yet."
"Why? Is there somebody else's day we haven't ruined yet?" replied Astrid, far from the only one surprised by Arc's instructions.
"There's an uninhabited island many miles to the southwest that will offer shelter," said Arc. "Follow me there, and I will explain."
With no better plan to follow, Hiccup agreed. Arc and Toothless took off and rapidly gained elevation, putting as much distance between them and the disaster area below them. Crystal-clear ocean could be seen at the bottom of some of the crevices near the edge of the island, ice floes and chunks breaking off and floating away. By oar or by sail, Gunnarr longboats were leaving in disorganized formations, picking up the few stragglers they could find on the ice floes.
"Not all of them will make it," remarked the Seer quietly, watching the exodus below.
"Most of them will, though," comforted Nestor. "They have you to thank for that."
"Thank me?" said the Seer, sadly shaking her head. "That is the one thing they will never do."
Safely past the perimeter of the island, the dragons and their riders took a parallel course so they could witness the death throes of the Isle of Frost. The dome at the center had grown larger, perhaps taller, as the snow and ice disintegrated into the ocean. Silver replaced white as a cloud of steam formed over the former island, a visible structure emerging from the raw chaos, a league of tentacles pushing away the clinging remains and freeing the thing that had rested at the island's heart for thousands of years.
Much of it was submerged in the water, but the clarity of the sea allowed for an excellent view of the Monolith's true form. Half the size of the island that birthed it, its oval-shaped main body had a comical resemblance to a chicken egg on its side, though its top half was flattened and lumpy like the surface of your average deserted island. Its "front" had a pointed cone-like structure that parted the waters before it. The surface was covered in waving tentacles, some only a few feet long while others measured at least sixty or seventy feet high. No holes pocketed its skin, the tendrils growing straight out the metal, some picking off chunks of ice and tossing them away while others were armed with crude oar tips that pushed the Monolith along in the water. A few tendrils wriggled in the air for no apparent reason.
Like twigs facing off against a log, the longboats doubled their efforts to get out of the way. The Monolith ignored them, moving out from the remains of the island and into open waters. No land could be seen in its wake, nothing but a spreading cluster of icebergs. The Isle of Frost had ceased to exist, replaced by the ancient super weapon.
"It's like the island just came alive," said Hiccup, too amazed and horrorstruck to do more than keep Toothless flying level. "All this time, we've been living next to a sleeping giant."
"How are we supposed to stop that thing?" said Astrid, holding onto Hiccup's waist with her one free hand and gripping him a little too tightly. Hiccup didn't answer, didn't want to answer. They could launch every dragon in Berk at the monstrosity below them and they wouldn't even slow it down.
"Let's go!" ordered Arc, the dragon veering off to the southwest. Hiccup had Toothless follow, happy to put as many miles between them and the Monolith as possible, even if their destination wasn't Berk. The air had grown steadily warmer, thanks to the Monolith's birthing pains, but Hiccup couldn't help but shiver nonetheless. This chill was far deeper, the cold knowledge that comes with watching the beginning of the end of your world.
Trees were good. Trees were a big improvement over open ocean and frosted landscapes. The rocky island's smattering of trees, two score at most, offered a welcome change of pace. They stood like watchtowers in the middle of nowhere, their evergreen boughs offering shade from the setting sun to the beleaguered and the exhausted.
Beleaguered and exhausted pretty much described the overall mood of Hiccup and the rest of the group as they landed and collapsed under the woody sentinels, hardly a word having passed between them in the several hours since the battle at the Isle of Frost. This island offered little in the way of sustenance, though Arc quickly remedied that by firing off a lighting bolt into a school of fish he spotted near the island. A few tiny pools of fresh water near the trees took care of their thirst issues.
With several fish stacked on a spit and roasting on a Toothless-spawned fire, the group sat around like comatose patients. His belly already full of fish, Toothless napped while Hiccup and Astrid leaned on him and each other, sharing the body heat. Arc sat facing the beach and watched the northern horizon, the basket with the powercore between his claws. His back to a rotted stump, Nestor kept a watch on the cooking fish, though he mostly stared absently into the fire. The Seer had parked herself the furthest from the camp, slumped against a rock and also staring out to the north, though not with as vigilant an eye as Arc.
"Can't help but think that could have gone better," said Hiccup, the first substantial thing anyone had said that hadn't been a simple instruction or observation.
"We're all alive and free," said Nestor, throwing a twig into the fire. "In my experience, it's hard to beat a result like that."
"And the island-sized war machine of doom made of myssteel?" replied Hiccup.
"I didn't say it was perfect," said Nestor.
"Understatement," commented Arc without facing the group.
"Arc, that's not helping morale," said Nestor.
"You know what also doesn't help morale?" said Arc. "The island-sized war machine of doom made of myssteel."
"By the Gods, I had him," said Hiccup. "I had Cervantes, and I let him get away."
"Can we not play the blame game?" said Astrid, her eyes fluttering open from a quick snooze. "I know two people who are happy to be alive because of you." She gave the sullen form of the Seer a quick glance. "Well, one of us is."
"No one's blaming you, Hiccup," said Nestor. "Right, Arc?"
"Whatever," muttered Arc.
"Arc…"
"I'm not blaming anyone," stated Arc. "If I did, I'd have to blame myself mostly. Three centuries of getting outmaneuvered by that necromancer…"
"Why don't we stop kicking ourselves and just blame Cervantes?" said Astrid. "You know, the actual bad guy?"
"Sorry, Astrid," said Hiccup. "Just feeling a bit overwhelmed. I mean, what are we supposed to do now?"
"Good question," said Nestor. He twisted his head to Arc's back. "Don't you think you're taking this sentry-duty thing too seriously, old man? We're miles and miles away from the Monolith, and it doesn't know where we are."
"I wouldn't assume anything, Nestor," replied Arc. He finally swiveled his head to face the others. "In truth, I'm hoping that's not the case."
"Confused," said Nestor. "You want it to find us?"
"Want or not want, I think it knows already," said Arc, pointing down at the wicker basket below him. "It went for the powercore, if you remember."
"Hard to forget," said Astrid. "Are you saying it's following the powercore?"
Arc nodded. "The Monolith is essentially a giant Super Guardian, something I suspected was the case from the moment we learned that the powercore was also a key. Guardians can sense Artisan technology, especially powercores, and I'd wager that the Monolith can sense them from quite a distance."
"And this is a good thing?" said Hiccup.
"Yes," said Arc. "Think about it. If Cervantes had the power to awaken the Monolith already, why go to all the effort to secure another powercore? The only answer that makes sense is that he still needs it. Without it, the Monolith will run out of fuel."
"I thought powercores lasted forever," said Nestor.
"Nothing lasts forever, Nestor," said Arc. "From what I know of Artisan technology, powercores can 'recycle' their energy without having it bleed off, and they do this for as long as their containment shell isn't breeched. Once fitted to something like a Guardian, the Guardian itself becomes a new shell, giving the war machine virtually unlimited power. But something like the Monolith? Too big for one powercore. It'll overtax it and exhaust its power supply. Two or more powercores would balance the energy supply, allowing it to run for a very long time."
"I think I get it," said Nestor, his mood brightening. "It's like attaching one horse to a two-horse wagon. You can do it, but you won't get very far and you'll wear out your horse pretty quickly."
"I think I'm getting it, too," said Hiccup, also brightening. "If we lure the Monolith after our powercore for long enough, the Monolith will just… wear out. How long are we talking about? Hours?" Arc looked away and didn't answer. "Days?" Still nothing. "Please don't say weeks."
"I don't know," said Arc. "But however long it takes, I can stay ahead of it. I'll stick to uninhabited regions where the Monolith's progression will do little damage."
"You?" said Astrid. "Not we?"
"Only one of us needs to do this, Young Astrid," explained Arc. "I'm the logical choice. The rest of you can go home."
"Don't have a home, remember?" said Nestor.
"Then it's time you found one," insisted Arc.
Taken aback by Arc's statement, Nestor's response was cut off by the Seer's sudden appearance, standing before them in her typical first-she's-not-here-then-she-is fashion and looking none too happy.
"Listen to all of you," she said. "Acting like you can solve this problem as you might lure a bear into a trap."
"What's wrong with my plan?" said Arc.
"My visions run counter to it," she explained. "The Outlander and the Dragon Rider are the ones who must confront the Monolith. No other plan will be successful."
"That's technically not a plan," said Hiccup. "And I like Arc's idea better. There's a lot less me getting killed in it."
"What he said," agreed Nestor.
The Seer shook her head in denial, unfazed by their skepticism. "My visions…"
"Your visions?" said Arc, his tone mocking. "Young Seer, I have known many a vision-maker in my time. Most are charlatans, a few are genuine, and none of their visions are to be trusted."
The Seer's eyes narrowed dangerously. "If not for me and my visions, you'd be dead at the hands of your ancient enemy."
"Perhaps," admitted Arc. "Then again, your visions didn't help us stop the Monolith from rising. What is good about seeing the future if the important parts are always missing?"
The Seer's hands went to the daggers but stopped short of drawing them. "I have lost everything that mattered to me, yet this is the thanks you give me? I warn you of failure, and you mock?"
"Seer, calm down," said Astrid, standing up and gesturing to her friend. Hiccup and Nestor also rose, hoping to avoid an unnecessary confrontation.
"Calm down? You have yet to see me angry," stated the Seer, though her eyes suggested otherwise.
"My words were harsher than they need be," said Arc, his tone apologetic but not humble. "We are all strung out, and perhaps rest would be good for us."
The Seer took her hands off her daggers and said, "Rest will not change reality, Hyperion. You will see." Then she stormed off to a spot further down the island, muttering something under her breath.
"How did you come by her?" Arc asked to the group.
"She was trying to kill me," explained Nestor. Arc chuckled at the perceived joke, but when the others confirmed that he wasn't joking, he stared in the Seer's direction with an exceedingly hostile glare.
"We should have left her behind," Arc stated a little too loudly.
"We couldn't have found you without her," said Nestor. "Let it go."
"I almost agree with Arc," said Hiccup. "She's free of those warmongers but she's acting like she's been yanked out of Valhalla."
"Can you blame her for being upset?" said Astrid. "Stonefist was her father." Everyone looked at her with astonishment, catching her by surprise. "I forgot to mention that part, didn't I?"
"Why isn't anything simple with her?" sighed Hiccup, giving the blackening fish a turn on the spit.
The giant metal monster held position in the frigid ocean, its myriad tentacles recessed into the superstructure. Resembling an embryonic lump of metal without limbs or form, it waited for new instructions as an arctic storm began to pelt it with flimsy sleet. Somewhere inside the bowels of the mystical war machine, its driver/commander/master brooded over his next course of action.
The Monolith hadn't been quick enough. It had taken too much time to awaken, and the powercore had eluded him. The Void take him, Arc had finally wizened up. He and his allies, his troublesome allies, had escaped with what was rightfully his.
He had set a course to follow, but he abandoned the idea once he determined how slow the Monolith traveled in the ocean. It was a machine of conquest, not pursuit. He was still learning the many unique powers of this marvelous device, but unless flying was one of them he had no hope of catching up to the powercore before he ran out of time.
Hours ticked by, and he learned more about his new home, his new toy. He could pursue them in part, though not with any significant chance of success. But there was something else he could try, a time-honored technique practiced by the most ruthless of warlords.
Despite the lap of the ocean on the rocks nearby calling on her to sleep, despite the stomach-yearning smells of cooked fish in her nose, the Seer remained rooted to her spot on the shoreline. The darkened sky offered her no sign of her old life; the clouds offered no solace to her pain. Fatigue and hunger were fitting punishments, emptiness for a now empty life.
Cloudy. The sky, the night, and the future, all very cloudy.
Knowing the future, or parts of it, should've been a great power to have. Outfoxing your enemies, outmaneuvering disasters, outwitting the celestial plans of the Gods themselves – it should've been the greatest talent one could possess. But it was the opposite, had been so the whole time, and she couldn't understand why it should be so. Did the Gods punish those who could See? There were Gunnarr who thought so, who snidely whispered to their friends about…
"Fish."
Nestor, alone, standing nearby with the spit in hand and holding out one lonely specimen to her. He was reluctant to intrude on her solitude, but he gave her a goofy smile nonetheless.
"Last cooked one," said Nestor. "We're out of mutton jerky, by the way."
"I can hunt for myself," she replied, turning away.
"No question about that," said Nestor, leaning the fish on a rock so that it wouldn't get dirty and sitting down near her. "No reason not to eat an offered fish, either."
"Not hungry."
"Possible, but unlikely. And if you're right about us having to fight the Monolith, you'll need your strength."
The Seer looked at him again, unamused. "You're using my own arguments against me."
"Yes, I am." Nestor tried to smile again, but the depressed look on her face made him abandon the attempt. "Look, believe or not, I do understand…"
"Do not!" she hissed at him.
"Uhhh…" Nestor stammered. Did he just insult her somehow?
"I do not share feelings, and I do not need to! I am still Gunnarr, and I will deal with life as such. Now, please leave!" She looked away again, dismissing Nestor from her presence.
"Sorry to have intruded," Nestor said softly, sighing to himself as he stood up and started walking away.
"Wait, wait!" she suddenly pleaded, stopping him in his tracks. She was looking at him with sad, apologetic eyes… helpless eyes. Probably the first time in her life she's ever felt helpless, Nestor figured.
"I… I shouldn't act that way to you," she explained as Nestor took his spot back. "You spared my life, and that should afford you respect."
"Respect shouldn't be based on who's not killing who," said Nestor. "As I was trying to say, I understand what it's like to not have a home left to go back to."
"I suppose you do, Outlander," said the Seer. "I appreciate your concern, but if I can endure the harshest of winters by myself, I will endure this."
"As you wish." This time, he only got a few feet more before the Seer's voice rang out again and froze him in place, this time with a question.
"How did you do it?" she asked, her voice cautious and inquisitive, very un-Seer-like. "What allowed you to go on… when you had nothing left to fight for?"
"I had a friend to help me through it," said Nestor. "And eventually, I found something to stand for."
"What do you stand for, Outlander?" It was an honest question, no snide tone at all.
Nestor didn't even have to think about it. ""I stand against the mistakes of the past, so that they don't harm the future. I stand between the world I care about and the ones that wish to destroy it. I stand for the one thing worth standing for… hope."
The Seer appeared more curious than inspired. Nestor dropped his serious demeanor and said, "Too corny?"
"Perhaps," she replied, "but I can't find fault with it."
After Nestor gave her back her solitude, she reached out and plucked the fish from its spit, taking out one of her daggers and expertly filleting it. Hungry or not, she did need to eat, and it was impolite to let food go to waste.
Astrid started awake again, an alarmed look on her face that quickly dissolved once she became aware of her surroundings again. The half-remembered dream dissolved just as fast, something violent and disconcerting that had knocked her out of her slumber.
"You okay?" asked Hiccup, still awake despite the weight of the fatigue pressing down on his eyelids. Even the diminished flicker of the fire and the steady pattern of Toothless's breathing hadn't been able to put him to sleep, the dragon having not stirred once in hours, his head on his paws and his tail curled around him. The mighty dragon deserved a long rest, what with all the constant flying and fighting he'd done in the last day.
"Yeah, just the same stupid nightmare," said Astrid, sitting up from her slouched sleeping position next to Hiccup. "You're still awake?"
"Eh, too much to think about," he said, his right hand holding a stick and drawing a simplistic picture of Berk, houses and all, in the loose earth. "Keep thinking about Dad. I hope he's not going crazy worrying about me."
"You'll see him soon," she reassured. "If Arc's right, we can head home tomorrow."
Hiccup glanced at the old dragon, who had resumed his self-designated sentry duty down by the seashore, out of earshot. "Feels like we're abandoning him. He shouldn't have to do it by himself."
"What else can we do, Hiccup? Fly next to him and offer moral support?"
"Yeah, does sound silly." He paused for a moment, lost in thought as he drew another house on his dirt picture. "This hasn't been so bad, though."
"It hasn't? Were you doing something fun when I wasn't looking?"
"What I meant was the six of us, together, fighting the good fight. It just feels right."
"Yeah, it kinda does," admitted Astrid, leaning into Toothless again and closing her eyes. "But I couldn't do this for long. I miss Berk already."
"That's the tough part," said Hiccup, adding some flying dragons to Dirt Berk's skyline. "It's funny what comes to mind, the things you start missing after a while. The view from the cliffs, the fires in the watchtowers at night, even the stink coming from the dragon stables. And yet… part of me still wants to see more of the world, see what's out there. I want to keep men like Cervantes from ruining what we've built. I want to keep showing people that you don't have to live with war or live in perpetual fear. I… I don't think I can do that from Berk. I'm not saying I want to leave, but I don't think being stuck in Berk is a good thing, either. It'd be easier with Toothless at my side… and with you…"
He had expected an argument with Astrid by now, and he wasn't getting one. He looked at her and found her asleep once again, her face in a peaceful state for now. He had no idea how much she'd heard, or if she heard anything. Feeling an impulse come over him, he brushed aside her bangs and kissed her lightly on the forehead, Astrid stirring slightly at his touch but not waking.
"But I'd never ask you to do that," he quietly added, as he rolled over and allowed his mind to succumb to his fatigue, drifting off to sleep within seconds.
Trying his luck with another contemplative loner, Nestor walked down to Arc's sentry location, the dragon resting on his belly but remaining vigilant for any distant signs of disaster on the horizon. Arc's gaze found him but the dragon didn't speak as Nestor found a misshapen log to sit on, Nestor choosing to stare out to sea instead of addressing Arc directly.
"I've wondered for some time now if you've wanted to get rid of me," Nestor said, deciding that the blunt approach was the appropriate one. "I guess I have my answer."
"It's time, Nestor," Arc replied, also looking out at the great waters instead of his young apprentice. "Even if you could follow me on this journey, you need your own life."
"I'll admit, I have thought about it a lot lately. But settling down somewhere? Impossible. I know it, you know it. So where am I supposed to go, Arc? Live by myself in the woods?"
"You've made allies, Nestor. They will help you for now. And when the threat is over, when I am able to come back… we can remove the field."
"What?" Nestor turned and stared at Arc, seriously shocked by Arc's statement. "You said…"
"It's dangerous, Nestor. There's no guarantee that you'll live through the process. But at this stage, I think the risk is warranted."
"You may think it is, but what about me? Are you that disappointed with me?"
Arc scrutinized Nestor with a calm fatherly gaze. "I was never disappointed with you, Nestor. Everything I know about you, everything I've seen you do… I couldn't be prouder of the man you've become. In many ways, you're stronger than I am, and it troubles me that I couldn't recognize my own failings until it was pointed out to me… until you reminded me. But this is not the life you should have, and you are overdue to be freed from it."
"Freed from it?" Nestor shook his head, denying Arc's interpretation. "You make it sound like it's a prison. And this talk about the life I should have? I had no life before you came along, and what I did have wasn't happiness and joy. Yes, our lives are difficult, and there are times I hate it. Yes, I have no chance at normalcy while I'm with you, not that I had much of a chance at it before. And, yes, you're not exactly easy to live with. But I believe in what we're doing, and if you haven't noticed there are others who believe in it as well. We've done a lot, and we can do a lot more. I'm not going to risk my life just so things are easier, but I will risk my life so that things are better."
Arc sighed and closed his eyes, though the slight smile he wore suggested he wasn't disappointed in his protégé's attitude. "It could be a very short life for you, Nestor. Even with your power, even with mine, the next battle can always be your last one."
"I'm aware," said Nestor. "But I'm starting to think I might just outlive you, old man." The smile on his face belied his words.
Arc snickered at the young man's well-deserved bravado. He was happy to keep Nestor at his side, happier than he would ever willingly let on. But at some point in the last few days, something had switched over between them. Maybe it was something in Arc, perhaps something in Nestor, or even something in both of them, but the change was there, ready to be born and grow. All it needed was some air and an official declaration.
"If this is your choice, then so be it," declared Arc. "Come the morrow, we will set off together once more, to lure the Monolith to its eventual extinction. But I must add one new condition – that you are no longer my protégée."
Nestor frowned, unsure of what that meant exactly. "So what are we, then?"
"We are Arc and Nestor, or Nestor and Arc if you like," said Arc lightly. "We are partners, not master and student. Keep in mind, this may not be fortuitous for you. I tend to be far less kind to my friends than to my pupils."
Nestor grinned, happy to see that the dragon he once knew had returned to him. In the lonely and frequently hostile world he inhabited, it made all the difference.
Wake up, Hiccup.
Hiccup did just that, the fleeting voice a whisper in his mind as he groggily opened his eyes on the new day. He could've stood to sleep longer, all morning if allowed, but with the sun well above the eastern horizon he couldn't afford to lounge about too much longer.
His living bed had ceased its relaxing breathing, Hiccup realized. The camp was still asleep, Astrid still dozing next to him, Nestor and the Seer parked around the fizzled fire, Arc remaining at the shore. But Toothless was definitely awake, a low growl vibrating through his tummy and alerting Hiccup to a threat.
"Toothless?" he asked, the dragon responding with another growl as he faced off with something nearby, Hiccup's vision blocked by the dragon's bulk. Standing up to see, he immediately put a hand to his mouth to stifle a yelp, then immediately put his hand back down upon realizing that he might want to get everyone's attention.
"Guys, wake up!" he yelled. "Wake up! Situation right here!"
The others stirred, making grumpy inquiries and complaints until they stood up and saw what Hiccup was referring to. The Seer's weapons flew into her hands, Astrid picked up her axe, Nestor's right arm began to glow orange, and Arc came bounding back from the shore, blocking the thing's egress route. Hiccup, not armed with anything, stood by his well-armed dragon and waited for something to happen.
Another dragon skull had arrived in their midst, floating between a pair of evergreens and watching them like an unabashed voyeur. Nearly identical in shape and size to the Terrible Terror skull that had orchestrated an attack on Hiccup's Dragon Squad, its metallic composition suggested that it wasn't a product of necromancy. Its hollow eyes were devoid of any darkness, the skull less intimidating than its predecessor simply for appearing so… artificial. Of course, the fact that it was here, floating before them, was plenty intimidating.
"Must be from the Monolith," said Arc. "A scout, most likely."
"Not a very good one," said the Seer. "We know of its presence."
"I don't think it's here to scout," said Nestor. "It's here for some other reason."
"Why does it look like that?" said Astrid.
"Cervantes is in control," said Hiccup. "I guess he's going with what he knows."
The skull's mouth opened wide, releasing a rainbow-tinged light stream that widened and contorted until it formed the now supremely-familiar image of Cervantes's upper torso and head. Different medium, same old Cervantes. This time, though, there was no confident smile or condescending attitude. The old necromancer had a stern edge to him, like a sage about to verbally berate his pupils.
"If you're seeing this message, then I'm speaking to Archibald and his allies," said Cervantes. "I cannot communicate with you directly, not through the Monolith, so this will have to suffice. I will give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you've surmised my plans. I imagine you think yourselves clever, having already found my Achilles Heel. I admit that I was forced to rush things, to activate the Monolith before I could get my hands on the second powercore, and now you've taken it far from my reach. I do find that distressing, but then no plan ever survives intact.
"So I've decided to make use of the might I have with the time I have. I would love to send it after you, but I'll have to settle for something closer. If the Void requires that I fall, be assured that I will not fall alone. Keep in mind that the image you're about to see was created several hours ago, and by now the Monolith will be well on its way to the following destination."
The picture changed to a daytime ocean perspective, flying just above the gyrating waves. An island in the center of the picture grew larger as the image neared it, an inhabited island complete with tall cliffs and a sturdy dock and lots of tiny figures moving about their lives without any idea of what was about to hit them.
If Hiccup's heart didn't stop outright upon sight of the island, it surely had to have slowed to a crawl.
"I am never cruel without cause, but I can be very cruel indeed," said Cervantes, his last words before the message winked off and the skull self-disintegrated into a puff of sparkling shards.