Did Anybody See That? Chapter 2
No one knew at the time, and no one ever did know, but Hiccup's bola-throwing machine was even more amazing than anyone realized. He had actually brought down two dragons with his one shot that night.
When his machine fired, one of the weights on the end of the bola came untied from its rope. It passed just over the shoulder of the Monstrous Nightmare and connected with its intended target, the Night Fury. The heavy metal ball hit the black dragon hard in the side of the head near its eye, stunning it. The ball splashed into the sea and was never found. The dragon fell senseless into the forest on the north end of Berk Island, near Raven Point. But because it was a black dragon against a black night sky, and because everyone was fixated on the Monstrous Nightmare, no one noticed.
Everyone was still fixated on the Monstrous Nightmare, and on the thin young man who was supposed to kill it. He had achieved his heart's desire, his lifetime dream, only to find that he didn't really want it. In fact, he really, really didn't want it. But his father and the whole village were watching. He couldn't creep in the front door and escape out the back door this time.
He slowly walked toward his victim, trying not to look into those eyes. He drew his dagger, wishing it made a metallic ringing sound like the swords that the manly Vikings carried. That might steady his jangling nerves a little. The Nightmare saw the glint of moonlight on the steel and tried to pull away, but it was immobilized. He glanced up at it and made eye contact. Again, he saw how frightened the dragon was. Maybe that was his mistake. Or maybe he'd already decided to do something appallingly stupid, and that final eye contact only confirmed his decision.
Shouts of "Give it to him!" and "Finish the job!" reminded him that he had an audience. He heartily wished he didn't. The only consolation was that it was still dark; they couldn't clearly see what he was about to do. Maybe no one would know he'd done it on purpose. Oh, who was he kidding – half the village always assumed his mistakes were deliberate, no matter what he said.
He couldn't get those frightened dragon eyes out of his mind.
"All right, dragon!" he shouted. "This is it!" He held the dagger straight out in front of him with both hands, trying to keep those hands from shaking, as he stepped up next to the huge chest. "This is where it all ends! This is where you get what you deserve! You're done, dragon!" He was shouting to drown out the sound of his knife, as he sawed at the rope that immobilized the dragon's wing and leg. He didn't have much muscle to work with, but his blade was as sharp as a skilled smith's apprentice could make it. It took just a few seconds, and the rope fell away.
The dragon spun, spread its wings, and flew away before anyone could so much as move. Its mouth was still bound, but it could solve that problem at its leisure. When it turned, its tail hit Hiccup and knocked him flying, back toward the rest of the villagers. But now, he wasn't in the center of adoring, applauding fans. Now their faces were hard and questioning as they stared down at him.
Stoick grabbed his son by the front of his shirt, held him dangling a foot off the ground, and roared, "HOW did it get away?"
"I... I... I don't know, Dad. Maybe the rope broke?"
"Maybe? Well, did it or didn't it?" Stoick demanded.
"It didn't," Spitelout answered for him. He was holding the ends of the rope, which were obviously cut, not broken.
Hiccup looked up at his father's face and realized he'd stepped way, way over the line this time.
The tribe held a simple hearing in the Mead Hall, with all the adult men present. Hiccup was charged with treason, for deliberately allowing the tribe's enemy to escape. Spitelout asked the chief's only son if the accusation against him was true.
"Yes," he said. Apparently, that was the end of the hearing. All that remained was the sentencing.
After a very long silence, Stoick spoke, without looking at the defendant. His voice was quiet and filled with hurt. "You've thrown your lot in with them. You're not a Viking. You're not my son." To Spitelout, he ordered, "Put him with the others!"
"The others?"
"The other traitors! Prepare a ship, and send him to Outcast Island in the morning. Lock him in the dragon training ring until then, with guards. Feed him leftover bread and water. Don't waste anything useful on him. He is no longer one of us." He turned away, unwilling to even look at the boy who had betrayed him and disappointed him for the last time.
Two large, angry Vikings frog-marched Hiccup out of the Hall and down to the training ring. They shoved him in, pulled the heavy portcullis down hard, and locked it. That was only rubbing salt in the wound – he could never lift that door even if it wasn't locked.
He stood and stared at his surroundings. The stone walls were twelve feet high, surmounted with a cage of metal bars around the edges and a mesh of heavy chains in the middle. There was one exit, barred by that heavy timbered portcullis, and five big double doors in the opposite side of the ring. Behind those doors lurked the dragons that unwillingly served Berk, by teaching young Vikings how to fight them. He'd had dreams of getting into Dragon Training, of facing those dragons in the ring. Well, here he was. Hurray.
He walked in circles. Then he walked in circles the other way. Then he sat. Then he leaned against the wall. He tried talking to the guards through the portcullis, but they kept their backs to him; they had orders to ignore him. He walked in some more circles.
At lunch time, someone lowered a basket of hard bread and a small bucket of tepid water into the ring on ropes. He didn't have much of an appetite, and said so. "Suit yourself, traitor." The basket and bucket were taken up again.
What else could I have done? he asked himself. If I'd killed it, I'd feel even worse than I do now, and when the town called me a hero, I'd feel like a hypocrite. If I'd refused to kill it, someone else would have done it, and I'd be disgraced and feel guilty at the same time. As soon as I hit it, I was doomed. He resolved, from now on, to be more careful what he wished for.
As the sun was setting, his five friends stuck their heads over the edge of the walls. Four of them just looked, shook their heads, and left, but Snotlout stayed behind.
"I don't know what you were thinking back there," he said, "but I ought to thank you. Now I'm next in line to be the chief of this tribe. Enjoy your exile. I hear those Outcasts are a rough bunch!"
Hiccup turned away from him without comment, and after a few seconds, he heard his cousin leave. But his words remained behind. Those Outcasts were a rough bunch. Someone like Hiccup probably wouldn't last a week in a society like that. Stoick may have called his punishment an exile, but in reality, it was a death sentence.
He contemplated opening one of the dragon's cages and getting it over with. But he wasn't sure he was strong enough to work the big handles. And he wasn't quite desperate enough for that, not yet. After some thought, he had a better idea.
At supper time, he was offered the same basket and bucket. This time, he forced himself to eat as much as he could, and stuffed the rest of the bread into the pockets of his vest. It might be a long time before he ate again. Now it was just a question of waiting.
Staying awake late into the night was the easy part; he was too keyed up to sleep, and the rough stone floor offered no place to be comfortable. The guards were relieved well before midnight. He recognized them, and knew they weren't the sharpest tools in the forge. He kept on pacing in circles, maintaining a steady, monotonous rhythm. Eventually, the guards grew drowsy; they were no night watchmen.
Once he was sure they were asleep, he climbed the timbers of the portcullis like a ladder, jumped, and caught the edge of the rocky rim. It took some scrambling, and he thought he might have awakened the guards, but he was able to climb through the bars and out of the ring.
His first priority was to find some more food for his journey. The fishing boats were almost never completely emptied; there would be a fish or two under the rowing benches if he looked. He quietly made his way down to the harbor, stuffed a pocket with small cod, and crept back up to the village.
Now where? His only idea was "anywhere but Outcast Island." If he were caught in the village again, they'd send him away without ceremony. So he turned his back on the town that had already turned its back on him, and headed for the wilderness on the north side of Berk Island. He had no plan for getting food, or shelter, or warmth when winter came. He might die as easily in the forest as among the Outcasts. But at least he'd have a small chance of making it. A small chance was better than no chance at all.
As he climbed the hill that led to the other half of the island, he looked back at the little village that was the only home he'd ever known.
Bye, Dad. I'm sorry I'm such a disappointment to you; I guess a talking fishbone wasn't your style. Don't miss me too much. Lout, enjoy being the chief, but from what I've seen, it's not as much fun as you think. Ruff, Tuff, you'll be awesome warriors if you ever try fighting somebody besides each other. Legs, keep studying, but pull your nose out of the books now and then and enjoy life. Astrid... oh, gods, I'll never see Astrid again...
If his spirits had begun to rise when he slipped out of the ring, they hit bottom by the time the town was finally out of sight.
Now he was really alone.