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Broken
Chapter 30: Irreparable
The heat of the earth was different from the heat of the sky. It penetrated his thick hide and made his body feel alive. The ruddy glow of pulsing light that glinted off the edges of his scales was comforting by itself. It promised endless warmth that would keep him active and healthy through all the seasons. There was a deep layer of crushed bones and sand to let him lie at ease. Best of all, a permanent cloud of steam helped keep his skin from drying out. It was so enticing that he spent most of his time down in the lowest reaches of the nest, close to the heat and haze.
Occasionally he needed more. He would need to see the sun, taste the winds, scent the Kin hovering over their own little nests. Offerings were made more often down below but sometimes he would be fed while outside. Sometimes he could detect the lingering scent of rotting flesh from the enormous Gatherer slowly destroying itself down on the beach. It was of no concern to him but its constant presence put the lightest hint of frost in his liver.
Smoketail had only briefly examined the old one's decaying body when he arrived. It was a sorry and confusing sight. Her death had allowed him to claim a large, healthy nest yet there was something about it that bothered him. He'd spent much of his time keeping control over his ravenous hunger, waiting for his own body to acclimate to its new surroundings and the Kin living there to begin supporting him. Thoughts of how the old one ended up in a crumpled, widely scattered mess outside the nest stayed to the back of his mind.
Now his hunger was easing, his patience was being rewarded and the Kin within his new nest were feeding him. Questions formed that had no answers. When he left his egg nest he hadn't envisioned needing to speak to any of the Kin in whatever nest he claimed. It simply wasn't necessary. Now, however, he wanted their words on the old one. He wanted to know what had been her undoing. Her size suggested extreme age and a vigorous nest to support her. But something had drawn her out of her nest. Or driven her.
What could affect such a powerful Gatherer so?
To find his answers Smoketail moved to the top of his nest and started calling to any who would answer.
It wasn't the call of hunger or a call to defend the nest. It was a demand for attention and communication and it went unheeded. He called several times, his strong voice echoing out of the rocky peaks of the breeding nests. Annoyed, he slapped his immense, scarred tail against the ground and roared in pure anger. There had to be some Kin present that were the right age to respond to his demands.
"Silence is strength."
It was another of his dam's lessons, meant to prepare him for the life he would live within his nest. "Enthralled Kin have no words for their Gatherer. Expect no tales, no teachings, no songs. Only the young will speak and they will know nothing. Silence is strength."
Her words had proved true. Breeding age Kin from the old Gatherer's nest went mute almost immediately after his arrival. They were so conditioned to her presence that they wouldn't respond with any real intelligence despite his inability to fully exert his influence. Those few who might speak to him would be those who had only just reached breeding age during the last season of white, between the death of the old Gatherer and his arrival.
With a vexed growl he turned away from the opening to the upper cavern and headed for the passage that would take him back to the comfortable warmth of the lower reaches. A low rumble stopped him.
A stonebelly had landed just outside the cave and stared at him with large, unblinking eyes. Smoketail swiveled his head around toward it and drew a great breath. He tasted fear, that ever-present bouquet that flowed from all Kin around him. He also tasted excitement and the lightest touch of breeding desire.
The stonebelly lowered itself to the ground, rubbing its scales against the stone to tell of its unwillingness to take flight and be seen as a threat.
He'd had some practice conversing with such Kin. Crush Claw had been the first. He had spoken with that firescale several times. But that one was not here now, nor his strange little preytooth.
"My flight name is Smoketail. Who are you?"
Thick, powerful legs raised the body slightly to expose a somewhat wider frame, thus revealing the stonebelly to be female. She clenched stubby talons against the rough stone floor of the massive cave. "My flight name is Pebbletongue. You... you called for your Kin?"
He understood her confusion. She was no more used to being spoken to by a Gatherer than he was speaking to her. But he wanted knowledge and knew how to speak to those of the nest. "I want to know of the old Gatherer."
Oddly, Pebbletongue dropped her body back to the floor. Her eyes were half closed and she smelled suddenly of stress. What did this mean? She crooned quietly, a disturbing sound that swarmed with old fears and new hopes. The way she spoke was not the teaching tone; it was something else, something raw and unformed. "She was the Great Eel, she was the center and the power. She was madness and destruction. She gathered and smothered and crushed, she..." Her words failed and she gave a feral bark of alarm, as if she still feared the very thing of which she spoke. As if it didn't lay smeared across a beach slowly releasing its essences to the air.
Smoketail stood perfectly still, trying to understand the stonebelly's words, wondering why an as-yet unbred Kin could put a touch of ice in his liver with nothing but a few trembling sentences. He stared at her for several slow, thudding heartbeats.
"How was she grounded?"
Pebbletongue pressed her head to the ground and closed her eyes, a long, low groan coming from deep within her. A moment later he scented the bright tang of real fear, sharp and demanding to be heeded. But there was no danger, just him and the stonebelly. The ice in his liver grew. The groan gained structure, tone and form to become a single word. "Preytooths."
The word slid into his ear canal and sliced its way around his insides. Without thought his haunches tensed and his wings rustled and ached to spread.
Why hadn't his dam told him of preytooths?
Foolish! He growled at himself for such hatchling thoughts. He'd seen Iceblood, been serviced by that tiny lump of meat that clung to Crush Claw like a parasite. Pebbletongue offered no true answer, so paralyzed by fear as she was. He needed more from her.
Smoketail did as he would to be fed by that very thing Pebbletongue seemed to fear. He lowered his head to the ground, unintentionally mimicking her posture. He drew another great, gusting breath and blew it over her small form, the smoke and heat of his lungs washing over her like water rushing over a stone.
"Tell me," he commanded. "Tell me of the old one. Tell me of the preytooths. Tell me of the grounding. I will know and you will tell me." He drove his weight onto his crouching forelegs and clenched his forepaws, the claws gouging the stone floor. The sharp snapping and cracking of the rock beneath him made the fear smell explode from the stonebelly.
Pebbletongue squirmed, half wild with terror. Her eyes stayed closed and her wings folded tight enough to distort her well armored skin. "They came in their woodfish. They broke the nest. Kin fled! We feared! Never before!" Distressed whines and growls rose and fell, telling of the end of a nest. When she settled a bit, she continued. "The Great Eel charged, out the hole. Challenged them on the beach. Slaughter fire crushing death." Smoke curled from her nostrils. "They bled, they screamed, they died. They were prey. They were food."
The stonebelly went silent. Heartbeats passed. Her breathing slowed, then quickened again. Something within her changed. She began to tremble, a slight quiver at first. Soon her legs shivered and her body quaked. Her smell changed. Heat and anger and a memory of bloodlust reached his nostrils. The ice once again stroked his liver. Her mouth opened and a long, angry hiss echoed through the cave until a host of Kin was assaulting his ears.
She stood, lurching up and opening her eyes, staring directly at him. "Ghostwing!" she shrieked.
Smoketail twitched.
"Wounded, dead! Broken, bonded! Remade and reborn!" Each phrase built on the last. Courage and terror fought in her eyes and her open mouth glowed orange. "Anger! Hatred! Fury!"
Smoketail growled. Her words were undirected. Hatred for the old one? For him?
For Gatherers? Not possible.
"She rose!" Pebbletongue's wings flared. "She flew! Shreds and tatters and endless hunger! Weak and strong in the wind, hidden in clouds and smoke!"
A battle among Kin? A rogue ghostwing? Could such a thing happen? Ghostwings were watchers, protectors. They served the Nest, as all Kin should.
"Flame. Light. Battle and madness." Her voice lowered, becoming an ominous stuttering growl. "They dove." She stared, her eyes wide and luminous in the darkened mouth of the cave. Her jaws shut on her building fire. Nothing more was said for a short time.
"And then?" he prompted impatiently.
"Death."
Smoketail considered this. The position of the old one's remains did, indeed, suggest a failure to recover from a powerful dive. But why would such an old, immense Gatherer drag herself up into the sky to do battle with a ghostwing and then plummet to her death?
"Who is this ghostwing?" He didn't recall seeing one in the nest. Now that he thought about it, he didn't know if his nest had any watchers at all.
Once again the stonebelly seemed to come alive with some inner energy that she couldn't quite contain or direct. He scented her agitation and bloodlust oddly mixed with the faint coloring of her desire to mate.
"Two livers of fire, two hearts, bonded, ridden, loved." Her wings spread and blurred, lifting her off the floor. He shifted as well, raising his forequarters to keep her level with his eyes. "They freed us."
They? How many Kin was she referring to?
"They freed us!" she roared. "Freed us, freed us!" She drifted backward with a slight angling of her wing strokes, away from the mouth of the cave. "Grounded the Great Eel! No more Gatherers!"
The touch of ice in his liver vanished at the implied threat. A growl of his own built in his throat.
Pebbletongue opened her mouth to speak again and the glow of building fire silhouetted her jagged teeth. "They will come for you!"
Instinct drove him forward. The clashing of his jaws within the cave was as loud as thunder and the stonebelly's fire was a mere burst of warmth on his massive tongue.
Smoketail turned and headed back down to the warmer depths of the nest. He had much to think on.
Crush Claw wanted to fly in two directions at once. He knew he could be happier draped across Braintwist's woodcave and lightly snoozing as the sun worked its way toward the ocean. But his bond partner had left that place and directed him back toward Fire Nest. His large preytooth would doubtless continue trying to bond with the Gatherer that had settled there. And if he could do that then perhaps he could influence that massive Kin's behavior.
The idea of Braintwist influencing Smoketail made him want to leave altogether; leave his old nest and his new nest and seek some new place to hunt and live. How could his preytooth possibly manage it? He still acted strangely at times, defying anything Crush Claw could think of as level flight.
Two Hearts had said he could try, however. 'He is for you to protect. Do what you can for him.' Whatever idea the watcher had to deal with the new Gatherer, he would certainly need all the help he could get. If Braintwist could somehow convince Smoketail that preytooths had some value, perhaps it might all turn out well.
He spilled air from his wings, getting closer to where Smoketail's upper cave opened to the nesting ground on the mountain. Two hard strokes let him touch ground gently. He lowered himself to let his bond partner slip off his shoulders. Braintwist did so, slowly. The preytooth stood next to him, one foreclaw on his neck as he looked around. All was as before, the nesting Kin watching their visitors as closely as they watched their eggs.
His rider was still calm as he removed the bleater skins that held some old food and walked toward the mouth of the cave. Crush Claw followed him, expecting to be needed if Smoketail was immediately within.
He wasn't. The Gatherer was elsewhere. Down in the warmer part of the nest, he assumed. He cocked his head, listening for those great swelling breaths that would mean Smoketail was resting in the red depths. Hearing nothing unusual he moved closer to the back of the cave. There was a hole that drove down to the belly of the nest. Near the edge he listened again.
He must have been heard. A noticeable wind pulled the air around him down to where the Gatherer waited. It was a certainty that Smoketail had now smelled their presence. A word thundered up to him, pushing on him until his belly touched stone.
"Come!"
Crush Claw peeked over the edge of the hole, gazing into red smoke and swirling steam. He looked behind him to see Braintwist's curious gaze. The preytooth had heard the sound as well.
He didn't want to go down. He'd never been down to the Gatherer's resting place before he left Fire Nest and he had no desire to see it now. But he'd been summoned. Smoketail knew he was there.
Leaning forward and pushing off with his hinds, he launched into the darkened emptiness. He used the glowing light from below to keep his flight true, spiraling tightly down. It took concentration to keep from scraping the walls as he went. Twice he had to flick his wings and violently twist his tail to keep from hitting an unexpected projection.
As he got closer to the bottom he became immersed in conflicting scents. The powerful presence of death coming from the old Gatherer pierced his nose. And side by side with that was the unmistakable odor of Smoketail's den. The young Gatherer's scent was already soaking into the rough cavern walls and competed fiercely with the essences of the Great Eel.
The distraction of scent nearly caused him to blunder directly into Smoketail's muzzle. He saw evidence of the floor coming close. As he made his final turn that huge snout thrust suddenly out of the smoke and steam. With an undignified yelp he flipped over and slammed into the wall, gripping with hinds and wing claws for all he was worth. He came to rest, talons scrabbling for grip and hanging upside down. He craned his sinuous neck up and around to look for Smoketail and cringed as those blunt jaws appeared a single leap away. They were parted slightly, hints of fire leaking upward over the thin black lips.
"What dangers do preytooths bring?"
Crush Claw froze, unprepared to answer questions. Dangers? Didn't all Kin know those dangers?
Of course not. Smoketail had only just left his egg nest. He knew nothing of them save what he knew of Braintwist.
The muzzle parted slightly and closed with a loud snap as the Gatherer leaned closer. Hot moist breath that smelled of death coated his face. "What dangers?" The voice was quiet, demanding. It scared him more than any obvious threat. He pulled his head back and held to the wall tighter.
"Sharp metal." That was the most effective and destructive element they possessed. "Clever traps." Another breath layered him in scalding air. "Aggression. When disturbed they swarm over the ground like water." He'd never seen this behavior but had been told of it many times
The enormous head turned slightly, bringing three eyes to bear on him.
"Who is the ghostwing?"
"Gho-" He tried to shrink into himself, wishing for the first time that he was smaller. He could smell the scent of his own fear. Surely Smoketail knew; how else could he know to ask? "He... he is the watcher of... of the preytooth nest. They have named him First Hunter."
The eyes loomed larger. "What danger does he bring?" Death lurked behind those words. He could smell it, the death of another Kin trapped within each sound.
He wanted to flee but there was no room. Smoketail was so close he could scent every thought he had. Deception would end his life. So would refusal. What to tell him?
The truth. Crush Claw knew it was the only thing that would see him to the end of the day. But one thing he had learned living with Braintwist was that a truth could be made of many parts, and those parts could be both good and bad. And if he was smart, he might be able to use the least dangerous part of a truth to help both Kin and preytooths deal with this new Gatherer.
"He... he bonded. To a preytooth. He wants-" 'Wants' earned him another face full of heated death. "He wishes to... to protect the preytooth nest. Kin are taking their food to bring here. He wishes the hunts to go elsewhere."
Silence. Smoketail stared. Then he moved closer until the tip of his broad muzzle pressed against Crush Claw's back. The words threatened to crawl under his scales and infect him. "I care nothing for where the hunts go. Kin support their nest. The Gatherer is the nest. It is only right."
Shivering and pinned between stone and snout, Crush Claw couldn't answer.
"Iceblood is here. I smell him."
"Yes." A fearful groan.
"He supports me. He feeds me."
"He's... he's useful. I promised." He closed his eyes, dreading where Smoketail would go next.
"You haven't brought any more for me to see." A single tooth grazed his wing joint, threatening to dismember him with a casual twitch of a massive jaw. Its opposing member closed from the other side. He whined, a hatchling sound.
"They w... won't come. I can't bring any-" Pressure built, pain grew. He was moments from losing his wing, likely his life. "They won't come!" he yowled.
Long moments passed. His skittering heartbeat made time turn to stone. Finally the pressure eased, the teeth released. "And the ghostwing?"
Ice lanced his innards, freezing his liver. He kept away from the words spoken earlier that day. Again he hunted for the safest portion of the truth the Gatherer demanded. He took the words into his mind and let nothing else live there.
"He protects his nest." He told himself those words over and over until even his own fire no longer existed. "He protects his nest."
Smoketail took a long, deep sniff, tasting his terror. It was truth, there was no deception. Two Hearts protected his nest.
A heavy scuffing told him of a large moving body. The heated breath of a Gatherer was replaced by the heated steam of Fire Nest's deepest bowels. A single word pushed him away just as a single word drew him in. "Go."
Crush Claw exploded off the wall and thrashed his way up the gently rising air, needing more space between him and the belly of the nest. It took an age to reach the sweet evening air, laced with salt and heated rocks and multitudes of Kin watching over their nests.
He sincerely hoped Braintwist had better luck with the Gatherer than he did.
Kettlecrack wasn't happy seeing his dragon disappear down the hole at the back of the cave. There wasn't anything he could do to stop him, of course. He heard a rumbling growl rattle up from below that he assumed was Alrekr. Even though it was broad daylight outside, the back of the cave was deeply dark and foreboding. The stench of decay was everywhere, some of it likely coming from the long dead, half eaten Gronckle still sitting off to one side of the cave near the entrance.
With neither Grimjaws nor Alrekr in the cave with him, Kettlecrack felt rather alone and useless. He'd spent the entire ride from Berk trying to think of a way to get the Red Death to do his bidding. Nothing reasonable had come to him. He'd entertained the idea of trying once more to get up onto the beast's back but hadn't thought to bring a rope. He eventually settled at the opening of the cave, watching those dragons nearby that were sitting by nests of eggs. Apparently they'd gotten used to his presence since they now ignored him completely.
It didn't take long for him to realize the cabbage soup he'd had earlier had not filled him as much as he'd wanted. He looked at the meager rations he'd brought and wished he'd thought to buy some bread. Considering the little money he had, he'd have been better off filching a few cod from the docks.
To take his mind off his hunger and keep from eating everything he'd brought, he got up and wandered toward the back of the cave. Curious, he went looking for the hole the dragons used to move up and down inside the mountain. Before he reached the back wall he was beyond the point his sight could help him. He walked slowly with his hands before him.
There was a sudden slope to the floor. His foot landed on nothing and he staggered forward. He tried to lean back just as his boot sole touched ground and wound up completely off balance. Never the most agile of men, Kettlecrack fell backwards with one leg twisting out from under him and the other sliding forward and up. He twisted slightly as he fell, wanting to turn away from the hole that was trying to swallow him. Instead of landing on the stone floor, his hip and knee pinned his sheathed sword to the ground. The pain of the hilt coming between his hip bone and the unyielding ground brought an angry cry of pain that came back from the walls to mock him.
Kettlecrack rolled off his sword as quickly as he could. The relief was short lived as the direction he rolled turned out to be sharply sloped toward the hole. Forgetting his pain, he threw his arms and legs out to support himself and could only whine in terror as he continued to slide backward. He clawed at the ground, struggling for purchase of any kind. Several panicked heartbeats later his feet landed on an unseen shelf of rock below him. He stayed where he was, breathing hard and wanting to curse Midgard at large for this newest addition to his list of woes.
When he had himself under control he swept his arms around him, looking for a way to pull himself back from the hole. He felt a weight on his hips telling him his sword was still with him. At that moment, he wasn't inclined to feel thankful for that small bit of good luck. There was dim light above and ahead of him, letting him see how far above him the rounded edge of the hole was. He wanted to look behind him to see if there were any good foot holds but couldn't bring himself to do it.
Eventually he worked himself up and away from the edge. Once he stood up he could feel the effect landing on his sword pommel had on his hip. Walking hurt and he was sure he would have a serious bruise by the end of the day. He moved back to the entrance of the cave and sat, his mood souring by the minute.
It didn't help that Grimjaws came scrabbling out the same hole that had nearly killed him moments later. The Nightmare saw him sitting by the entrance and came to him, trembling and pressing his nose to his shoulder.
"Fat lot of good ye are when I need ye," he grumbled, pushing the snout away.
A chattering call came from above. A Deadly Nadder was winging down toward them, a small figure on its back.
Red Death Island was easier to find than he'd expected. He'd never asked anyone how to get to it. He'd only known what everyone knew; it lay a good distance to the west. Jaspin suspected Bitequick had an idea where he wanted to go when he brought her well up into the sky and headed for the late afternoon sun.
They'd flown some distance when he realized it might take too long to arrive. His return trip would either have to wait for morning or he would have to turn around soon and go back to Berk. Looking at the position of the sun, he gave himself a little more time before they would have to go home. He hated the idea of giving up, even if he knew he could try again first thing tomorrow morning. He wanted to find Bitterbug and Seasquirm but he also knew what trouble would be waiting for him if he went missing overnight without warning.
Especially after the raid.
His father had become quite grim after it was discovered that dragons had gone back to stealing livestock. He didn't accuse Bitequick of anything but whenever he was around the Nadder he stared at her with obvious distrust. Jaspin tried not to worry what he would do if his father decided Bite wasn't trustworthy and needed to go away. He was determined to defend his dragon against any such accusations. But in a contest between his father and his friend, he honestly didn't know what would happen. Except that it wouldn't be good.
Finding the missing dragons was the key, he was sure. If they were nesting and needed more food, maybe they could be forgiven. Perhaps Berk could take measures to hide the sheep during the spring thaw each year until the breeding season was over. There had to be a way. Maybe Hiccup could think of something, once he was made aware of where everyone's dragons had gone. Assuming they were at Red Death Island. Jaspin shook his head at his uncertainty. They had to be there!
The island was easy to spot from the air, but being cloaked in mist and steam as it always was made it hard to distinguish from low clouds until they were closer. He saw the tops of the stony peaks being revealed in feathery gusts, including the massive central spire that formed the heart of the nest.
He had originally thought he would circle the island first before landing, looking for concentrations of dragons on the ground. Now he knew that would prove fruitless with so much of its beaches and lower ground covered. Bitequick was a clever flyer, but he had no desire to direct her into an area where she couldn't see where they were going.
That left the jagged peaks. Would the dragons be nesting there? Or would they all be inside, out of the weather? Then again, what did dragons care about weather? Yaks and sheep had thick coats that bothered them when they got wet. A dragon's scales shed water like a smooth stone. Falling rain or snow affected them no more than a day of sunshine or clouds.
As they crossed over the exposed top of the island's mountain he could see the answer. Dozens of dragons were visible, scattered among the rough landscape. Many different breeds were represented in that count. A huge grin lit Jaspin's face as he found the answer Berk needed so badly. He rubbed Bitequick's neck affectionately and the smile slid from his face.
He knew his dragon well and the muscles beneath his hand were the first clue he had something was wrong. They were tight, hard. They had to be to hold the great head up during flight, but she was always moving her head slightly, adjusting to the wind or keeping her gaze on her surroundings. Now she was absolutely locked on something below them, her scales and muscles as tense and hard as stone.
With his attention drawn exclusively to her, Jaspin now noticed there was a deep thrumming in her chest that he could feel in his lower body, even through the saddle and the fleece-lined stirrup straps. He'd never experienced this with her before. What was bothering her?
Bitequick gave a strange call, like a dragon trying to imitate birdsong. He looked over her shoulder to see what was causing her to act so strangely.
Below them and some distance ahead was a large opening in the side of the central spire. Within that opening, he could see a Monstrous Nightmare. Beside the dragon stood a man.
Kettlecrack's gut clenched as he saw someone riding a dragon over his head. How could they have found him so soon? He felt almost nauseous when he realized the person on the dragon was a young man. For an irrational moment he feared Hiccup had come after him. Then he remembered the obvious. The dragon circling to land was a Nadder, not a Night Fury. Still, who on Berk would have come to this place at the same time he did? Had he been followed?
He stood, his hip still complaining about the rough treatment it had just taken. As he watched the Nadder touch ground, he noticed that the boy was armed. A sword dangled from a new looking scabbard.
The Nadder didn't stand still after it landed but twisted its head around to look at all the dragons nearby sitting close to their nests. The boy jumped down and tried to stay near his mount but the Nadder stepped away. Its rider watched it wander around, looking puzzled. The dragon was rather vocal at that point, chittering and grumbling to those dragons near it. It got no more reaction than either Kettlecrack or his own dragon had.
The boy turned to him, one hand on the hilt of his sword. The blade looked a bit too large for him. Kettlecrack would have assumed it was a training blade based on the boy's age, but the new scabbard told a different story. He'd snuck out his father's blade, most likely, and would probably get a good thrashing when he returned. At least that's how it had gone with Kettlecrack and his first attempt to hunt with his own father's weapon. Without knowing it, Kettlecrack's hand came to rest on his own sword's grip.
A few hesitant steps brought the boy closer, into the shade of the spire and out of the glare of the early evening sun. He peered into the persistent gloom of the cave, holding one hand over his eyes.
Kettlecrack now recognized him as Jaspin, Hogknee's boy. He remembered the fisherman's son rode a Nadder and asked too many questions. He took a step forward, wanting to assert some authority.
"What are ye doing here?"
The boy stopped, dropping his hand. "Anvindr?"
Kettlecrack stopped as well, unsure why being so easily identified worried him. It wasn't as if there were any strangers on Berk. Then the thought came to him: what if the boy tells Stoick?
But this was just a boy and Kettlecrack was a grown man. He'd set him right. He took another step forward. "Aye. What are ye doing here?"
Jaspin pointed over his shoulder at the dragons nesting behind him. "I'm looking for Bitterbug."
The boy's answer perplexed him. "Lookin' fer a what?"
"Bitterbug," Jaspin repeated, smiling a bit. He looked behind him at his own dragon. Bitequick was still milling about, acting like she didn't understand what the other dragons were doing.
"What's that?"
Jaspin turned back. "Hmm? Oh, that's Herdis' Nadder. I'm hoping to find her here somewhere. And Seasquirm, too. Maybe even some of the others." He pointed to the smallish Monstrous Nightmare hovering over his shoulder. "Is that your dragon?" He started walking toward them, friendly as could be.
Kettlecrack was still uncertain how worried he should be about the sudden and unexpected appearance of the boy. If he discovered Alrekr and returned to Berk, Stoick and the rest might come and interfere with his plans. Worse, they might ask him about what happened to Rorik. He'd had some time to think about that impulsive act. He didn't exactly regret it but he was no longer entirely certain it had been necessary.
As bold as could be, Jaspin came up to them and offered his hand to Grimjaws' snout. To his irritation the red and yellow dragon sniffed with interest at the boy's outstretched palm. A few strokes along the bridge between the long oval nostrils and the runt was thrumming as happily as he ever did for Kettlecrack.
Something caught the older man's eye as Jaspin stood there, rubbing Grim's nose. The hilt of the boy's 'borrowed' sword had a beautiful blue and white stone set into it. Now that he looked closer at it, he could tell the handle was of considerable craftsmanship. That, plus the new scabbard made him suspicious.
"Hey, where'd you get that blade?"
Jaspin suddenly frowned and backed up a step, leaving Grimjaws disappointed. His hand went possessively to the pommel. "It's mine."
Having been on the losing side of several arguments about questionable possession of valuable items, he instinctively raised his hands and gave his best smile. "I didn't say otherwise. It's just such a bright... sparkly thing for a young lad like you. Doesn't seem to fit, is all."
"My da gave it to me." Jaspin hadn't expected anyone to covet his grandfather's sword. Admire, certainly. But the look in Kettlecrack's eyes said he felt more than admiration for the blade. Being so far from his home on a self-assumed mission to find missing dragons, he felt he needed to project as much confidence as he could. He didn't want Kettlecrack getting any ideas. "I can use it, too."
The man frowned, soured by the implied threat coming from a mere boy. He decided he didn't like the boy being at the nest. It posed a danger he didn't need. "Best you get along. Go back to Berk. There's nothing for you here."
Jaspin wasn't having any of that. He meant to find Bitterbug and Seasquirm. "I'm not done here. I have to look for-"
"There's nothing for you here!" A wave of a meaty hand swept toward the dragons sitting by their nests beyond the cavern entrance. "It'll be dark soon and you got a long flight ahead of ye."
Jaspin would not be so easily discouraged. "I have to look. Herdis is counting on me."
Kettlecrack's exasperation was mounting. He'd never really liked this kid but he'd never had to deal directly with him before. "What are ye going to do, run around with a torch and stick it in the dragon's faces looking for just the right one?"
Determined to defy Kettlecrack's demands to leave, Jaspin snapped, "If I have to!"
The older man looked at him with disbelief. "Are ye mad!?" He pointed once more to the dragons outside. "Ye think those beasts will tolerate you poking about their nests?" He suddenly got an idea that might persuade the boy to leave. "Ye heard what happens when a hunter gets between a sow and her piglets?" The expression on Jaspin's face confirmed that he had heard those stories. "Ye think a dragon's going to let ye go muddling about her nest full of eggs? It's too dangerous. Ye need to go back home right now!"
Jaspin looked aside at Bitequick. She was standing in a cleared space between the nests and fidgeting. She was obviously agitated about something but he couldn't guess what it might be. Worry started to gnaw on him that maybe the man was right. He'd told Herdis he wouldn't bother Bitterbug if she were tending a nest full of eggs. But he still needed to find her. That was the whole reason for being on the island.
That thought sparked a question. He turned his eyes to Kettlecrack and asked, "Why are you here?"
The man sputtered a moment, looking like he had been caught in a lie. Then he got angry. "That's none of yer business! Ye need to get on home to yer da before ye get in trouble!"
Jaspin had been around Snotlout long enough to recognize bluster when he saw it, even in an adult. Oddly, Snotlout usually knew when he'd been out done and would laugh it off. Kettlecrack, however, sounded a bit desperate. It was as if he feared being caught on Red Death Island more than Jaspin did. The boy felt he had a good reason to be there, but what was Kettlecrack doing there that could make him act so... guilty?
Thinking of how Hiccup often dealt with Snotlout's behavior and the sparring he had done with his training partner, he drew himself up to his full height and stared hard at Kettlecrack. The top of his head only came to the bridge of the man's nose and he weighed barely half what Kettlecrack did, but this was a contest of wills. He wouldn't let the man intimidate him, not when he was only trying to help Herdis and her dragon.
"I'm not leaving until I find her," he said calmly. He was rather proud of the steady tone of his voice.
Unfortunately his firm insistence only stoked the anger burning in Kettlecrack's chest. He needed this boy to leave before he discovered what he was doing and his stubborn attitude was provoking him in the worst way. Echoes of Kelda's derision and Stoick's refusal to see reason filled his mind until his hand was clenching the hilt of his sword tightly enough to hurt.
"Yer leaving now! Get on yer dragon and go before I-"
Kettlecrack had an instant's doubt as to what threat he could actually use on the boy. But the point became moot when thunder broke in heavy waves through the cavern. At least it sounded like thunder to the boy, who looked outside at the aging light of a sun sliding down the last quarter of the sky. The man knew better; he looked toward the back of the cave in dread. He felt that same miserable clenching in his gut when he knew his plans had once again been ruined.
A sudden gust of air came into the cave, rushing between the two Vikings and the undersized dragon. It pressed on them for several seconds as an enormous set of lungs down at the bottom of the nest drew a great breath.
Afterwards there was a moment of calm silence. Jaspin looked around in puzzlement, his quarrel with Kettlecrack forgotten. "What was that?"
"What was what?" Kettlecrack grumped. He was already trying to figure out how to salvage what was left of his plans. There was only one way that came to mind at that moment.
All thought among the living things within the cave ceased when a piercing roar blasted through the stone walls. Kettlecrack and Jaspin were forced to cover their ears while the Monstrous Nightmare cringed and stayed close to his rider. The Nadder wandering outside shook briefly, as though the sound had lit into her muscles and set them all ablaze for a single heartbeat.
As Jaspin slowly uncovered his ears and waited for the ringing in them to stop, he looked at Kettlecrack and his dragon. Both had their attention turned toward the back of the cave. He looked that way, seeing nothing but inky darkness. His heart was thudding so hard he could hear it in his ears. But the beats were too slow for as nervous as he was, as hard as he could feel it pounding in his chest.
Then he realized it was the mountain's heart he heard. It had to be; such a slow, heavy drumming could only belong to the smoky mountain of Red Death Island. Except that it was getting louder. And closer.
Kettlecrack knew he had to make a decision. He looked down at Jaspin, irritated beyond measure at what his mere presence had done to his plans. Never mind that his plans were incomplete and nearly unworkable besides. If the boy left now, Stoick or Hiccup would soon show. Or worse, both. "Should have left when ye had the chance, boy," he muttered. Jaspin didn't seem to hear him. The boy was fixated on the back of the cave. He wondered what the boy's reaction would be when he saw it.
Considering how Kettlecrack had reacted to it the first time, he suspected it wouldn't be good; panic and retreat, most likely. He'd been fortunate enough to have Grimjaws there to stop his intended attack. Now Kettlecrack was there and could possibly change the boy's reaction. But it wouldn't change the fact that Jaspin couldn't be trusted to leave.
"Now you'll have to stay here with Alrekr and me."
The words didn't register. They simply couldn't compete with what happened next. The mountain's heartbeat became the tangible impacts of the young Red Death's strokes against the stone shaft as it worked its way up. There wasn't enough room for it to spread its wings and fly out as the lesser dragons did. Each time a yak-sized foot gouged into the rock the tremor made its way into those waiting at the top of the shaft.
When the mountain's heart stopped there was another powerful gust of wind drawn into the cave. A low rumbling growl followed. The Nightmare at Kettlecrack's side responded, its own chittering screech sounding pitifully weak in comparison. Another series of ground shaking thumps rattled them, not as powerful as before. Then a large, blunt muzzle coalesced from the gloom around it. A vertically elongated face with large nostrils, protruding teeth and a pale, rounded forehorn pushed itself into the light, as though it was being birthed from the darkness.
Kettlecrack was actually amused for a second when he felt Jaspin standing next to, and slightly behind, him.
Three sets of eyes and an oversized lower jaw followed. The head seemed to know exactly where it wanted to go, for it guided the massive body out of the black depths and moved straight for the three relatively tiny bodies. Four, Kettlecrack could now see. The boy's Nadder had come forward at Alrekr's appearance and pressed nearly as close to the boy as Jaspin stood to Kettlecrack.
For the man, there was no such thing as complete familiarity with the imposing beast. He was silently grateful when the Red Death stopped its approach to glare at them all, its tail and hindquarters still indistinct in the gloom behind it. This was an important moment; Kettlecrack might be able to establish dominance over the situation, at least as far as the boy went. In the quiet moment that they were sized up by the Red Death, he held out his arm as though casually introducing one comrade to another.
"This is Alrekr. My new dragon. And Berk's greatest weapon."
Jaspin was clearly stunned. The boy hadn't seen the old one on the beach, dead or alive. Even though the new specimen was barely a third the size of the old one, it was big enough to inspire real terror. He stared, his mouth open and his breath coming in shallow pants. He whispered, as if afraid of spurring the beast into action. "That's... that's a..."
"That's right," Kettlecrack said, his pride blooming in a moment of recognition for what he'd been able to do with a creature that was scaring the boy stiff. "That's why I'm here. I'm training him. Once I have him in hand, Berk won't have to bother finding allies against the dragons. Or against anyone. We'll be able to rule anywhere we go. No one can stand against us."
Jaspin was still trying to deal with the sight of fireside stories come to life. The Red Death that they'd fought on the shores of this island had been the enemy in every telling, the unknown cause of centuries of fighting. No one seemed to know why its death had allowed the other dragons to become friends to Berk, but it struck him at that moment that another one living on the same island as the first had to mean trouble for the Vikings. No good could come of its existence.
Could it?
The scene held; no one moved. The terror at the unbelievable size of this new dragon began to ebb. The Red Death stood over them, its many eyes taking them in while it continued to draw deep breaths. The sound of its breathing within the cave was like storm winds that rose and fell within seconds.
Jaspin nearly felt like he might be able to move safely. To do what, he didn't know. But that's when the Red Death chose to lower its head and bring its snout close to them. Fright took hold again and he tried to back away quickly. Kettlecrack's large hands planted themselves on his shoulders and held him solidly in place, elevating his fear to a near panic.
"Stop struggling, fool," the man snapped. "It just wants a look at ye, that's all!" Neither of them had any idea how close to the truth he really was. Still Jaspin struggled until Kettlecrack gave him a hard shake that rattled his teeth and broke his concentration on the towering monster before them. "Hey! Hold still and watch me!" Jaspin gawped at him, not understanding. "Just stand there, don't move. Ye hear me?" The boy only stared. He gave him another shake and the words finally seemed to catch hold. "Hear me? Just stay here and watch me!"
When Kettlecrack released his shoulders he didn't move. He could only stare, struck dumb as the older man calmly smoothed his triple braided beard and walked toward certain death. As he got closer, to his astonishment, the enormous snout descended until the lower jaw was directly on the ground, the forequarters hunched like a cat stalking a mouse.
Without Kettlecrack holding him in place, Jaspin felt like he needed to run. But the man's calm approach to the huge dragon arrested him. What was his intention? What was he about to see? He wanted to flee yet he also wanted to see if Kettlecrack could really do what Jaspin was quickly realizing he intended to do. Was it possible? Could a Viking really tame the largest of dragons?
And then it happened. Kettlecrack's heavy hand reached up and firmly patted the Red Death on the edge of one gaping nostril. For good measure, the man looked back at him and ran his hand back and forth across the thinly scaled skin and smiled. Fear seemed to leak out of his bones as the man remained uneaten. A short blast of heated air puffed from those nostrils, skewing the man's horned helmet and filling the air with the heavy odor of heated flesh. A fainter tinge of decay followed.
There was an odd skittery screech from his left. It was Bitequick and she seemed as deeply effected by events as Jaspin. She was shuffling constantly, flaring her wings and bobbing her head. She eased away from him and nervously stepped closer to where Kettlecrack stood. Jaspin raised his hand, wanting to stop her but still too fearful to act. Her strange calls continued. They were answered by Kettlecrack's Nightmare, who seemed moved by her display.
Still some distance from the great head, she stopped. Kettlecrack was watching her as closely as Jaspin and the Red Death. Bitequick leaned forward and began making a throaty retching sound. Several partially digested fish landed with a splat and sent thin tendrils of steam upward. Jaspin was still anchored to the spot by the bizarre situation as the man stepped away from the Red Death's snout and came to the slimy pile in front of the Nadder. Bitequick only watched as he chose the largest fish. He grunted as he wrestled to get a grip on the slippery mass. He ended up having to cradle it in both arms as he walked back to the enormous snout.
The jaws parted, the fish went in, the jaws closed. A low thrumming filled his ears, like Thor's hammer beating the walls of the cave. Bitequick seemed to faintly echo the sound. The Nadder was watching the Red Death closely, as though she were as stunned by Kettlecrack's display as Jaspin.
When the great head rose and the beast settled itself to stare at them, Jaspin began to wonder if the dragon before him was actually related to the terrifying monster from the fireside stories. It certainly didn't seem to act like it. Kettlecrack came back to where he stood, swaggering slightly.
For a moment calm settled throughout the cave. Jaspin felt a glimmer of wonder at what he'd seen, what might be possible. Kettlecrack had said some things, made some claims to which he hadn't paid close attention. Now he had questions about this huge dragon and what the man intended. He didn't get to ask them, however.
With a thundering snort the Red Death lowered its head again. This time it moved forward toward Jaspin, the bulk of its body now separating him from Bitequick.
The sight of the huge beast coming directly toward him like that reignited his panic. Seriously fearing for his safety, he tried to take off running the opposite direction. Once more, Kettlecrack caught hold of him and held him in place. The familiarity and control the older man seemed to have with the Red Death evaporated from his mind as the massive jaws overflowing with teeth closed in on him. He did not want to be so close to it, no matter what its intentions might be.
"Hold still, I tell ye! He wants to see ye!"
Jaspin twisted in his grip. "I don't care! Let go!"
Fighting against Kettlecrack's hold on him, Jaspin lost sight of the imposing creature. He grunted with the effort of getting loose, laying hands on the man's arm and trying to pull himself out of his grip. When he twisted again, ignoring the man's low cursing, he spun around enough to see the massive lower jaw almost close enough to touch. The teeth that sprouted from it were no doubt as sharp as those of his own dragon. But Bitequick had never thrust those natural weapons so close to him until they had come to know each other enough for him to trust such movements. Jaspin didn't truly know anything about this immense dragon and he certainly didn't trust it. For all he knew Kettlecrack might intend to...
Some nameless fear ripped through his muscles, the whole situation immediately feeling far more dangerous than it had moments ago. He swept his arm against Kettlecrack's hand and twisted savagely, yelling wordlessly as he finally broke free. He stumbled backward, nearly falling. With one hand on the ground and one on the hilt of his sword, he tried to move away from the huge snout, only to see the head had turned and tilted to bring three independently moving eyes around to study him. An icy feeling swept from his stomach to his limbs and he froze, certain any movement would mean his death.
Angry at the defiance a child was showing him, Kettlecrack glared at the boy crouching off balance on the ground. Whatever had spooked him was enough to convince him that his secret would not be kept if the boy left. He had no idea how he would keep him there while he worked out how to train Alrekr, but that was a question for later. Right now he needed to assert his dominance over the kid. Glancing at the inquisitive dragon staring at Jaspin, he moved calmly until he was standing between him and the entrance of the cave.
"I told ye, yer not leaving."
This time the boy heard him. His reaction was not what Kettlecrack had hoped.
Recognizing the statement for what it was, Jaspin looked up briefly at the man standing between him and his escape. He turned his attention quickly back to the Red Death as it snorted again, sniffing at him from little more than an arm's length away. The boy felt pinned and didn't know which threat to pay more attention to. He scrambled to his feet, lurching off balance for an instant. His movement carried him close to Kettlecrack and the man pushed him away, back toward the looming mouth. Not wanting to get closer to the unknown dragon, he staggered sideways away from both. He looked around for Bitequick but she was now on the other side of the Red Death's towering body.
Kettlecrack sized up the boy and his state. He was at his most vulnerable, confused and frightened. He glanced again at the sword hanging from his hip. That was a threat he could not allow. He took a step toward the boy and held out his hand.
"The sword. I'll have it now."
Jaspin was paralyzed, confused as to how the threat of a dragon that might mean him harm and the inexplicable statement Kettlecrack had made had turned back to his grandfather's sword. Surely that couldn't be what this was about. But as worried as he was about the two threats that faced him, the idea of handing over the sword started a flame in his belly that slowly grew. He had no intention of staying, or of getting closer to the Red Death, and he certainly would not be giving his new sword to anyone. He especially would not be handing it over to a man who was acting like he knew he was doing something wrong by being there with a living Red Death.
He thought furiously, trying to come up with a way out of his unexpected dilemma. He needed help, he knew. And there was someone there he knew he could count on for help when he needed it.
"Bitequick!"
A scowl creased Kettlecrack's brow as he realized the boy would not be easily cowed. But the moment of tension passed as no response came. Jaspin's concern showed plainly on his face as his plea went unanswered. He called again for his dragon. Kettlecrack glanced to the other side of the Red Death's huge body, able to see where the Nadder stood from his vantage. The smaller dragon seemed enthralled with Alrekr, hovering around it while not getting any nearer to its head than her rider did. He could hear her sniffing constantly and see her wings and tail twitching. Kettlecrack eyed the boy again.
"Ye won't need it while yer here and I won't have ye getting any stupid ideas." He held out his hand, trying to impress the lad with his fierce determination.
The word rose up in his mind, clear and powerful. Jaspin intended to speak it as he heard it in his thoughts. But the quiet sound of his hesitant response hurt his own resolve as much as it seemed to bolster Kettlecrack's.
"No."
Jaspin cringed immediately at the sound of his own voice. He couldn't hand over his sword, he wouldn't! He didn't have to do anything Kettlecrack said. But he was alone in a cave a long way from home, unsure of himself and his abilities in this strange situation. He had a good sword and some training and he had his Nadder with him. This wasn't a fight with swords, though. It was an argument for a sword. And Bitequick was out of his sight and not responding to him.
Kettlecrack sensed the weakness in the boy and stepped closer again. Jaspin backed a step away, getting closer to the wall of the cave.
"There's no need for this. I'll not hurt ye. It's for yer own good. Hand it over."
The boy was torn. He truly didn't know which way to go. He did not want to give up the sword, his hand unconsciously gripping its hilt possessively. Without Bitequick to help him escape this place and this person, however, he felt helpless. The thought of his dragon prompted him to call out once again. "Bitequick, help!"
That pushed Kettlecrack a bit too far. He strode forward with all the authority he could muster and reached out for the boy. Jaspin backed up as quickly as he could, stumbling over the uneven floor of the dark cave until his shoulders struck stone and he could go no further. His hand pulled at his sword, revealing a portion of the bright blade in the dim light. Doubt stopped the motion from going any further. Kettlecrack saw the glint of steel, the small portion of the blade exposed and checked his stride. He, like Jaspin, had no expectation of this turning into an actual fight.
Such a naked threat could not be ignored, though.
Kettlecrack saw the boy's hesitation, the real fear mixed with anger. His opportunity to take control would slip away in a breath if Jaspin pulled the blade free. His own hand was on his sword, a natural response to the threat of a drawn weapon. He clenched the hilt hard, feeling the sore spots on his palm and the throbbing pain from his hip. With a grimace, he took the final step and committed himself.
Jaspin was caught up in flickering memories of Snotlout's training, in words of advice from Mord. It wasn't a fight, though! Kettlecrack's hand was on his sword but this wasn't a fight. His own hand trembled, undecided on sheathing the blade in submission or withdrawing it and changing the whole situation into something he didn't want. When the man backed him against the wall and reached out for him he acted on pure impulse. He let go of his sword's hilt and held out both hands to keep Kettlecrack away.
The bruising grip Kettlecrack applied to his upper arms brought out another automatic response. He struggled, trying pointlessly to get free. He knew the man would take his sword away, would bring him toward the Red Death. Panic dove into his heart and kicked his lungs. The breath that came out was a loud, fearful cry. "NO, STOP!"
It was that sound that changed everything.
Bitequick, gradually sliding into the confusing morass of raw, base desires, knew nothing of her rider's struggle. She was trying to deal with her body's new sensations. The scents of nesting dragons was intoxicating yet disturbing. More, the palpable effect of the huge Kin within the cave was spurring a protective reaction she could not understand and was almost powerless against.
When Jaspin's anguished cry reached her, it was as if she'd been awoken from a troubled sleep. The shock of that distressed shout ripped away the strange cloud of unwanted thoughts and she saw clearly for the first time since entering the cave. She instantly recognized the enemy before her. That, coupled with the sound of her rider's fearful call, spurred her into immediate action.
With an enraged screech, she shot a stream of her hottest fire directly at the huge Kin's face. It wouldn't injure her enemy, only distract him. She used that moment to launch herself into vigorous flight. The sound had come from inside the cave so she knew exactly where to go. Turning almost as soon as she was airborne, she cut an arc around the massive snout of the Gatherer. That immense Kin reared back in anger, giving a terrible roar in answer to her attack.
Before her she saw her rider and another preytooth locked in desperate physical conflict. Bitequick knew she was endangering the Kin truce with her actions but refused to allow her bond partner to be injured by another preytooth. She roared angrily at the larger one holding her rider as she landed. Her tail came up, her spikes flared and she charged with wings extended.
Jaspin heard the familiar sound of his dragon's voice. He stopped struggling for a moment and craned his head around the bulk of Kettlecrack's thick arm and chest. He was immensely grateful to see her. Not only had she finally responded to him, but she was obviously going to help protect him. He relaxed slightly, anticipating Kettlecrack's release of his arms when he realized he had another, far more dangerous threat approaching him from behind. As he expected, the man turned, allowing Jaspin to see her clearly.
It was over in a blink. One instant Bitequick was running toward them and the next there was an explosive movement from the huge dragon she'd come around. One giant foreleg, one massive paw and several immense claws swept around with unbelievable speed and slammed into her so hard she was lifted off her feet. Her legs, wings and tail flailed uncontrollably as she hurled sideways into the wall of the cave. The sound of breaking bones and ripping scales was barely detectable over the resounding echo of the Red Death's furious roar.
The body slid down the wall and landed motionless against a small pile of rocks. Limbs and neck were twisted to extremes but it was the awful sight of her horribly distorted chest that told of her death. The crushing blow had deformed the whole of her trunk. Below her on the floor lay two broken teeth and the shattered end of one of the spikes from her neck frill.
For a time, both were frozen, stunned by what had happened. Jaspin wanted to see his dragon get up but the sight of her mangled body made it obvious such hopes were in vain. Kettlecrack kept his eyes on Alrekr, fearful the attack would spur the beast into a vengeful response.
The Red Death stared at the dead Nadder a moment. It then growled low and heavy, turning toward the other occupants in his cave. It brought its head down, staring balefully at the two entangled Vikings. This made Kettlecrack take a cautious step back, which in turn brought Jaspin out of his stupor.
The boy wanted to go to his friend, despite knowing there was nothing to be done. When he writhed against Kettlecrack's hold, the man tightened his grip. "Stop moving, idiot, or we might be next!"
Jaspin looked up at his antagonist, then followed that one's worried gaze to the Red Death. Three hateful eyes looked them over while a continuous growl rumbled into the floor. Against the memory of the fireside stories, his hatred of the mountainous creature before them grew. It was the enemy. But there was something else he remembered that fanned a hotter rage in his chest. "You!"
Kettlecrack turned an annoyed look toward the boy. "See what ye done, boy?" He shook Jaspin hard, tightening his grip further. "Ye and that stupid dragon of yers gone and riled him up! What ye trying to do, get us all killed? Ruin all my work?"
The anger was filling Jaspin, leaving no room for anything else. It showed on his face, making Kettlecrack hesitate. "You did this! You made him do it! You killed her!"
The relatively calm, quiet fisherman's son was gone. In his place was someone Kettlecrack hadn't seen before. The familiar face contorted in fury. Whatever anguish had been there over the loss of the dragon had burned away. He had no idea how he was going to get him calmed down, let alone safely out of the way. His own anger at the damage this child had nearly done to his plans rose up to match his. He leaned forward, pressing his face into the boy's and shouting, "Shut up ye miserable-"
It never occurred to him that his triple braided beard could be a liability. Not until the seething boy in his grip opened his mouth, jerked forward and bit into one of the braids. When the kid leaned back and twisted his head, the pain was enough to make him release his arms and try to grab his head or ears; anything to get him to let go.
As soon as Kettlecrack let go, so did Jaspin. The man's relief was short lived as he heard the boy's next move. He didn't see it, but he felt the effects of it. There was the soft sound of metal singing; a blade being drawn quickly from its scabbard. It was followed by the gentle hiss of a sword swinging hard. That was when he felt a lighter tug on his chin. Without thinking he stepped back from where the boy stood and they both looked down at the three severed braids lying on the stone floor.
Kettlecrack's temper finally got the better of him. He shouted, ripping his own sword free of its sheath. For an instant he considered his weakness as a warrior. He'd spent more time trying to kill dragons than practicing his sword play, despite what Mord drummed into all capable fighters in Berk. He'd never been that good with a sword and had almost always lost the practice sessions, no matter who he faced as an opponent.
But Jaspin was a slim boy with a snitched sword who'd awoken his wrath. He would show this kid what happened when he drew steel against a bigger, angrier man.
He swung, hard. He put every bit of his strength into the stroke, expecting Jaspin to block. When he did, he would knock that pretty sword right out of the kid's hands and that would be the end of it.
Except it wasn't. The boy pulled back slightly, letting his stroke go unhindered. There was another flash, quicker, and a bright burning pain suddenly lay across his upper arm. Kettlecrack stepped back, looking at his arm. A short slit in his tunic's sleeve showed the narrow cut the boy had given him. There was another flash, dim light from outside the cave licking up the polished length of the kid's weapon. He barely got his own sword positioned for a block of his own. The bright, vibrant sound of clashing steel echoed through the cave and put a shock into the man's blood.
This kid was trying to kill him!
Kettlecrack blocked again, a vicious slash across his middle that was followed by another cut whipping toward his head. He took two large steps back, surprised at the strength and purpose behind the boy's swings. He hesitated; he didn't want to hurt the boy but he wasn't about to let him slice him up, either. Especially not over a dragon that could easily be replaced.
The room he gained by backing off was taken up by the determined Jaspin. Kettlecrack had to block two more strokes, aimed at his legs and his middle. His anger was still rolling hot but he was more annoyed with this kid swatting at him with a real sword like they were at practice. Another slash came at his head and he jerked back with a curse.
He barely had time to register it but Jaspin was swinging that large blade like it weighed nothing. And his own rusty skills were barely sufficient to keep its hungry looking edge from taking bites out of him. Jaspin pressed again and again, cutting high and low, sometimes thrusting directly at him. Neither had a shield so he could only parry and retreat. His temper began rising again at how hard he needed to work to keep the kid off him.
"Oy! Stop it!"
Jaspin ignored him, moving around to one side and trying to take his sword arm off.
"I said stop it!"
A low cut got past his defense and left a nasty wound in his thigh. He shouted in pain and swung blindly in retaliation. He accomplished nothing. Jaspin had moved again.
"Stop it ye-" Another slash came in and he blocked it, answering with a powerful cut of his own. Jaspin parried with some ease but he didn't let up this time. He would batter this child's defenses down until he dropped that wickedly sharp sword of his. The practice he'd had long ago came to him and he went after the boy. Slashing and cutting, he stepped after his target. The sound of their swords meeting set the cave to ringing.
Alrekr almost got him killed.
A low grunt as loud as thunder in the confines of the cave made him look around in spite of himself. He saw the huge dragon watching their fight, unmoving. Beyond him was Grimjaws, also still as stone and only watching. In that unguarded moment Jaspin connected with another cut high on his upper arm. Blind rage moved his sword in an ungainly arc. It wasn't a move anyone taught, it wasn't even meant as an attack or a defense. It was nothing more than a thoughtless reaction, an unguided flailing of an injured limb. That was probably why the boy didn't expect it. And because he didn't expect it, he didn't block it.
Jaspin understood his mistake as soon as he made it. Kettlecrack's swing had been fast and powerful but that shouldn't have mattered. Mord had given him the basics in dealing with opponents who were quicker and stronger than him. His problem was that, as angry and distraught as he felt, he'd begun expecting Kettlecrack to do certain things. Mord had told him more than once; 'Don't think you know who you're fighting, even if you do know them.' Kettlecrack's angry slash hadn't really been an attack; it had been a temperamental fit given motion.
The first impression Jaspin had was that Kettlecrack must have had his blade turned sideways. The impact of the sword's tip against his throat left a sharp sting that quickly faded but it was the blunt force of the blow that left a throbbing ache behind. Already angry, he swore to himself that he wouldn't make that mistake again. Seeing Kettlecrack's sword still moving away in its ponderous arc, he stepped forward to press his attack again.
Something was wrong, though. His breath suddenly rattled and bubbled and he simultaneously became aware of warmth creeping down his neck. As he reached up to touch a warm stickiness his throat unexpectedly filled and he coughed. The hoarse hacking sound he made alarmed him, though not as much as the bright red spray that flew from his lips. He looked down at his fingertips to see them also coated with his blood.
Even then it didn't fully register what had happened until he looked up at Kettlecrack. The man stood, all anger vanished and his sword dangling loosely in his hand. The look of horror on his face, the shake of his head; it was real. He'd lost the fight and now...
Jaspin shivered, a chill feeling swiftly working through his body. He tried to speak and coughed again, spewing his life's blood onto the floor of the cave.
"WHY WOULDN'T YE STOP?!" Kettlecrack's shriek filled him with panic. He was injured and he didn't know what to do. He pressed his hand to his throat and felt the raw anger of the open wound and the warm fluid dribbling over his fingers. He heard Kettlecrack still yelling at him, blaming him for what had happened.
He'd never meant to get into a fight, never meant to take Bitequick anywhere dangerous. And now he was on his knees, feeling a tingling weakness creeping over him as he fought for breath. He coughed again, painting the stone and his left hand. He leaned back, lifted his blood spattered hand and saw the strange blank outline of his hand on the ground. His lungs were screaming but he couldn't make a sound. It was all a mistake; he'd only come to help Herdis.
Jaspin retched, his body starting to shake. Real fear burned in his veins in place of the blood he'd lost. He tried to stand but could barely raise his head. He started to fall forward, unable to keep himself up.
Kettlecrack was there, next to him. The man caught him and eased him onto his back. The look on his face was strange, almost like he was trapped between guilt and envy. "Hush now, boy. It's all right. Ye fought a good fight. The Valkyries will be for ye soon. This is a warrior's death, don't you worry." The missing braids of his beard gave his face a bizarre, lopsided look. He lifted Jaspin's hand and held it tight.
"It's Odin's halls for ye, for certain."
Lying on his back helped a little but he still couldn't breathe and his coughing was getting weaker. He tried to speak, to tell him to ask his father's forgiveness for sneaking off and for leaving without saying goodbye. He could only take short, ragged gasps. Gray started to seep into the edges of his vision.
"My father will greet ye when ye get there."
Jaspin's lungs were burning like fire but he was feeling it less and less as the moments passed. A thousand thoughts rushed through his mind and he could express none of them. Beneath them all was the sorrow of having seen the bright, happy creature he'd befriended lying lifeless, her graceful body battered and still. He'd wondered once, early on, if he would outlive Bitequick or if she would still be dancing among the clouds after he was gone. He supposed he now had his answer.
His mind was wandering and the cave was getting darker. Kettlecrack's voice was dim and hollow, distorted by echoes and overlaid with the diminishing sound of raspy choking. A sense of peace stole into his heart and his limbs grew heavy, like they were made of stone. He heard one last sentence before he closed his eyes and heaved one final time.
"Tell him I'll be coming soon."
He sat in the dark, listening to the waves as the tide said its farewells to the stony shore. A cool wind played across his face as though trying to comfort him. Its soft sighs and gentle whispers could do nothing to lift the burden from his heart, though. Faintly outlined by the moonless night sky, Kettlecrack stared out into the watery emptiness where Jaspin had disappeared and wondered where he'd gone wrong.
Maybe he shouldn't have accepted a runt of a dragon to train. Perhaps he should have been more forceful in how he trained it, once he'd gotten it. Or maybe he should have just gone on a raid of his own, once he had Grimjaws firing targets on his command. He just didn't know. Of course having the boy show up unannounced and unwanted had pushed things to a breaking point, but surely there could have been some better way to handle it than...
He shook his head miserably. He'd always had the worst luck. It never seemed to matter how hard he tried or how well he planned; something would interfere. Now his best plans to date were ruined and he couldn't see how it had happened. Whatever his misstep had been, it brought him to sit alone on a cold rocky beach and consider his situation.
He'd done the best he could for the boy, no thanks to Grimjaws. The unreliable beast had balked at carrying the body down to the beach, as though there was any difference between a dead boar and a dead Viking. The dragon had finally, reluctantly carried Kettlecrack and his burden down to the water's edge. It had only watched as he laboriously cobbled together a raft from the remaining scorched timbers of Berk's old fleet. Once he'd secured Jaspin and the meager offerings he could send with him and pushed the whole affair out into the receding tide, the Nightmare had refused the 'kill' command that would light the raft and its contents for a passable Viking funeral. The stunted dragon had growled at him and backed away when Kettlecrack gave the command. Aggressively insisting on obedience had only driven the runt into flight.
So instead of a proper send off, Jaspin had quietly slipped away with the outgoing tide. With his luck, Kettlecrack wondered if he would see the boy again as a draugr, come back to take his revenge. That would certainly be as unfair as everything else that had happened. Granted, the sword had been a terrible temptation. He'd even swapped with him, laying his own blade on Jaspin's chest with his cold hands holding it in place. As he'd gotten the raft out into waist high waters, however, a nagging fear of the consequences finally convinced him to take his own sword back and lay the beautifully made weapon with its owner. To amend for his temporary bad judgment, he'd even dug out his last two half pennies and placed them on Jaspin's forehead. He had a feeling he wouldn't be needing them any time soon.
Now Kettlecrack waited for the dawn and whatever new difficulties it would bring. He was cold, soaking wet from the chest down and his dragon was off having a sulk. He had little food left and no good way to get back up to the top of the mountain where he'd left it. He was still no closer to figuring out a way to bend Alrekr to his will. And worst of all he now had a fellow villager's blood on his hands.
It hadn't been his fault. It had been an accident. That wouldn't matter, though. If it was ever known, he would be seen as a murderer and every chance of dying a glorious warrior's death would be gone. The only good that had come of his actions was that Jaspin had been sent where Kettlecrack wanted so badly to go. He would have to hold on to that as he went forward. And he would have to go forward, somehow. Even with everything ruined, there was no other choice. No matter what damage had been done, Kettlecrack still had to pursue his goals.
He raised his face to the first faint sign of daybreak creeping across the eastern sky and looked for any sign of his dragon.
(c)Wirewolf 2014
"How to train your dragon" and all attendant characters are copyright
Dreamworks Animation and used without permission
AN: I am sorry for this. I looked for a better way, a nicer way. Nothing seemed right. Sometimes you're only left with the consequences for which you've prepared.