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Broken
Chapter 33: Seeking the path
Fear was for lesser Kin. As a Gatherer he was too large and too powerful to be threatened by those who owed their safety and strength to him. The largest of Kin gave others their true purpose. Lesser Kin would never see their full potential without a Gatherer to focus them, bring them together and build a nest worthy of them.
Smoketail could think of no clearer name for the squirming sensation in his guts. When he'd detected the scent of an outsider wafting down the rocky shaft of his nest, he'd only been interested in learning who the new Kin was and if an offering would be made. Upon detecting the lightest trace of a ghostwing's scent lingering in the upper cavern of his nest, he'd roared in anger and fear. Mostly anger.
The fear was real. His mind immediately filled with the image of the previous Gatherer's carcass, rotting on the beach below. Pebbletongue's last words came to him, making the fear grow. 'They will come for you!'
He'd stood there, all his eyes searching the upper cavern for signs of the ghostwing. His nose told him that elusive Kin was gone. His fear told him to find it and destroy it. But fear was for lesser Kin. He knew better than to leave his new nest so early. The nest would protect him, support him. That was its purpose. His was to strengthen the nest.
The ghostwing was a threat he couldn't ignore. It was also one he couldn't subdue. He could tell this ghostwing hadn't yet reached breeding age. It could not be safely enthralled for many seasons to come. Therefore it could not be tolerated.
There was another scent, teasing him, floating around the edges of his awareness. It was familiar yet different. It did not belong in the nest.
A preytooth.
Not Iceblood. That one had left with Crush Claw, taking its tempting blood and meat scent with it. The firescale had taken its preytooth away after it had been wounded, saying he needed to hunt for his bond partner. More likely he had wanted to remove the enticing odor of injured prey from the nest. Any Kin willing to give in to natural desires might consume it.
Whatever the reason, the two had gone. Smoketail had to decipher the evidence left by the intruders on his own. One was the ghostwing, the Kin responsible for the old Gatherer's death. The other was the preytooth to which it had bonded. Its scent was similar to Iceblood's but undeniably different. There was also an underlying tang to it, that prickly hint of unnaturalness that did not belong to any living prey. This he ascribed to the strange nature of preytooths.
There was more, he finally noticed. Deep breaths carried the proof to him. The scent of the ghostwing carried the same prickliness, alien and unnerving. Which was truly the source? Had the preytooth changed the Kin? Or were they becoming something else, some new and unknown threat?
Was it that similarity between the Kin and its preytooth that had grounded the old Gatherer?
Another deep breath sparked a memory and a thought. Smoketail had scented that prickliness before. It was the source of Iceblood's injury, the fight between it and a juvenile that had attacked him. They had both carried that scratchy scent, concentrated in the long silver claws with which they'd fought. So the prickly odor was a part of preytooths; their long sharp claws. Did the ghostwing carry the same scent through his close contact with a preytooth? Did it have anything to do with the grounding of the old one?
The ghostwing was a problem beyond Smoketail's reckoning. The lessons his dam had given him never touched on Kin who could somehow threaten a Gatherer. Nor had he ever been told such insignificant others could ground one of his kind. Only his own greed or foolishness could truly bring about his destruction. The health of Fire Nest told him the previous Gatherer had not laid too heavy a burden on those who claimed its skies. Therefore it must have been foolishness that led to her demise. Her size told him she'd been very old. Perhaps her mind had gone bad.
Even if that were true it didn't explain why the ghostwing had attacked her. Gatherers strengthened a nest, focused its activities for the benefit of all.
Was it the ghostwing's mind that had gone bad? Pebbletongue had not said so.
The question of the ghostwing vexed him. He once again wanted knowledge as much as he wanted food and could not sate the appetite. Pebbletongue was gone and Crush Claw had not yet returned.
That was why he now stood just beyond the opening at the top of his nest and called for that Kin. He bellowed the firescale's name out across the clear air of the nest and waited for an answer. This had been his routine for several days now. After getting comfortable in the red, steaming depths of his nest he would think about the ghostwing and receive offerings. A few times a day he would climb up to the top to call for the only Kin who would speak to him. Gatherers were patient in nature but this need riled him and twisted his thoughts.
Smoketail heard nothing but the low grumblings of those Kin watching their egg nests. His need would not be satisfied this day. He called one last time, his voice blasting out among the broken stones and crags at the top of the nest. Moments later he heard a distant reply, a tremulous squawk distorted by much distance. Far off a winged body rose, climbing over a distant ridge with labored strokes of its wings.
Its approach was not steady. Smoketail watched it cease flapping several times and drift slowly closer. Once it seemed to blunder into a mild downdraft, sinking many lengths before it worked its way free. Eventually it was close enough to tell that it was Crush Claw. The young Kin did not seem as energetic as usual. When he was close enough he called for permission to enter the Gatherer's nest, still frightened of displeasing Smoketail. A brief grunt of acknowledgment let the firescale drop gracelessly to the ground.
Even Smoketail could tell this Kin could not make an offering. He smelled of exhaustion and stress. Any food within his belly was needed and would be sorely missed if expelled. Curious, he leaned down and sniffed deeply of the firescale's flanks. Crush Claw froze, uncertain of the Gatherer's intentions.
He could detect the oils and salt of recent contact with the preytooth. Iceblood had ridden him a short time ago. There was none of the stimulating aroma of that creature's blood, though. Iceblood's wounds, it seemed, were healing.
"Where is it?"
A mild spike of fear touched the air. Smoketail's calm demeanor allowed it to fade but it didn't vanish.
"A small cave, away from the nests. For safety." The Gatherer found it amusing the firescale did not specify whose safety. "He's resting."
"Why has the ghostwing come?"
The bright rush of fear was intoxicating. Crush Claw's legs folded and his neck rubbed the floor. His wings trembled and he closed his eyes. Smoketail drank deeply of his sudden terror and decided to kill him instantly if he scented any deception.
"I saw no ghostwing," the firescale objected weakly.
"Its scent is on the stone upon which you stand. Why was it here?"
Crush Claw knew of his imminent death. That such a small kin could fill the air with so much fear smell was astounding. "I do not know."
That would not do.
"You know this Kin. You share the preytooth nest with him. You claim he wishes the hunts to go elsewhere, to leave the preytooths in peace."
Still the protruding eyes remained closed. "He is the watcher. He protects his nest."
More fear. Was this Kin made of nothing else?
"How does he protect his nest by coming here?"
Crush Claw hesitated. "I don't know." Underneath the fear, he found it. Deception.
With a furious roar that set the walls shivering and drew the eyes of all the nest-bound Kin outside, Smoketail raised his enormous paw and smashed it to the ground. As he struck, however, he remembered Pebbletongue and the loss of her knowledge. He shifted his strike slightly; just enough that Crush Claw's body was not struck directly. Shattering stone pelted him and caused him to squawk in panicked alarm. The runt rose up and drew back, using his wings to propel him away from the danger. Before he could escape, Smoketail struck again. His forefoot darted forward, shifting the claws of his paw to trap the firescale's nearest foot. Two of the little Kin's talons snapped off under the pressure and Crush Claw shrieked.
Jerking wildly the smaller Kin tried to pull its foot free, howling in pain. Smoketail thrust his head forward, jaws open. His great maw snapped shut with a tremendous crash on nothing. He saw the red and yellow body twisting desperately away from instant death.
Nothing moved. Crush Claw shuddered and whined. Smoketail glared and considered.
An idea slowly formed. It was as unnatural as the prickly scent of the preytooth's long claws. To deal with the ghostwing he needed to know what it wanted. He needed to know if it intended to attack. He would not leave. The firescale would leave. It would do what he needed; find the knowledge. He did not think it was a thing a Gatherer should consider. The dead one on the beach convinced him otherwise.
"You will go to the ghostwing. You will question his hunt. You will return and tell me."
The first hints of an injured Kin's scent touched his nostrils. It was close to his own scent and disturbing to him. But there was no deception to be found, only pain and fear. And blood.
"I will," Crush Claw moaned. His leg twitched. He was still trying to free his foot but also terrified of displeasing him. His tail writhed slowly in distress. The blood smell strengthened slightly.
Another idea came, gradually working its way through his mind. "You will also bring your preytooth here. To me."
The firescale stilled, not even daring to blink. Smoketail saw his idea was good.
"I will know the ghostwing's intent. Or I will know the taste of preytooth."
Crush Claw seemed to sag, closing his eyes and groaning quietly. He started to shiver. Smoketail pressed slightly on the trapped foot. A startled yelp filled the cave. "Yes! Yes!"
He lifted his claws slightly and the firescale rose up without hesitation, flapping desperately away from his tormentor. Dark fluid dripped from his shortened talons and spattered the ground.
Smoketail gradually eased himself back down to the heated depths of his nest. The knowledge that small Kin brought back would help him understand how to deal with the ghostwing. He would not end up in a shattered heap upon a lifeless beach.
Unnoticed by the Gatherer, those Kin tending their egg nests beyond the cave caught the scent of the injured firescale as it flew away. Their noses turned upward, tracking it with keen interest.
Knutr's home was huddled among the lines of wooden buildings near the cliffs of the docks. To one side was a storage shed filled with nets, baskets and ropes as well as extra sails for the ships far below. To the other side was Ulfr's house. Ulfr was a widower with one grown daughter and spent much of his time looking after his grandchildren. He was gone so there was no one to overhear their conversation.
Conversation had quickly given over to arguments, making Knutr even more grateful for his neighbor's absence. Kelda's enthusiasm was rising each week and Stonetoss' hesitation spurred her to greater insults each time they met. It was almost as if she were draining Stonetoss' will to fight whenever they came together to discuss 'the dragon problem.' How soon, he wondered, before the gossip would disassociate himself from their small group. More likely Kelda would run him off for not showing the appropriate level of concern.
Knutr caught himself fingering the stub of his left ear, a habit he'd tried to break many times. Kelda was a powerful woman; the strength of her opinions was only matched by her skills as a warrior. In her youth she'd been one of the most successful dragon fighters Berk had known. She'd also been one of the very few shield maidens in the village's history to set aside her warrior ways and take a husband. To no one's surprise she had essentially taken her husband, setting her bride price herself and allowing Ramsbane little say in the matter. The paring had seemed promising at the time; an accomplished warrior matched with Berk's most successful sheep breeder could only enhance the village's security. Few had foreseen how thoroughly her personality would overshadow that of Ramsbane. Kelda had taken over as head of household, raised and trained three children and kept the family sheep pens producing hearty livestock. Now Ramsbane did little beyond breeding his sheep and agreeing with whatever his wife told him.
Lately she had become nearly insufferable. The pressures of regular dragon attacks had kept her aggressive nature in balance. To have the oversized reptiles walking peacefully among their houses was an insult to all she'd ever considered of value about herself and her skills. Knutr had recently heard her mutter quietly that she would go hunting for dragons by herself if Stoick didn't figure out the error of his new policies. Now she seemed to swing between ridding Berk of its few remaining domesticated dragons and returning to Red Death Island to destroy the whole of the species.
The more she invoked the need to attack the dragons, however, the more Stonetoss leaned away from direct action. More and more he worried about the lack of unity among Berk's population against their former enemy. Half a year of peace and the first real signs of a growing prosperity had given many a reason to let the dragons be. Anyone who openly voiced a desire to antagonize the huge pests was quickly reminded of the current state of affairs compared to how desperately bad things had gotten just before the change.
As such, Kelda's approach had moved toward changing the minds of Berk's citizens. Until recently her ideas had little traction to move forward. Then came the raid. She saw it as the perfect opportunity to rekindle Berk's hatred of dragons and was certain it justified a move on the undefended nest on Red Death Island. Still Stonetoss hesitated.
"The people aren't ready to go back to war," he complained. "They keep making excuses about it being spring time. Many think the dragons might be feeding their young. They think it might be over in a few weeks. I heard Grumblemud saying he'd heard Spitelout-"
"And what about poor Yrsa and Signy?" Kelda gestured with a particularly violent wave of her hand toward the northeast field. "They were nearly snatched away by the beasts! Should it matter whether they were nearly eaten by dragons or baby dragons?"
"Yrsa and Signy aren't the problem," Knutr interjected wearily. "The people aren't the problem." He waited a moment for her to finish glowering at the gossip and turn her fierce expression toward her host. "Stoick's the problem."
He knew they didn't fully agree with him on this. He let them grind their teeth a moment, pausing to take a sip of his ale. "He's gone soft on the dragons. He's had to. His useless son killed the Red Death." He grinned, a wan and mirthless twisting of his lips. It made the scar on the side of his head pull taut. "His useless son rides a Night Fury." He raised his arms, questioning the world in general. "How can he be against the dragons when his son sits on that black devil?"
Oddly, Kelda's expression eased. She frowned slightly. "Hiccup's not a bad sort," she said quietly.
"But he's not the Viking sort, either." Knutr pointed with his mug at both of his guests. "He's still useless. And when Stoick's gone and he's chief, where will we be then, eh?"
Kelda had no answer for that.
"What should we do then?" Stonetoss fidgeted with his empty mug. "Wait a while and see if things change?"
Knutr grimaced. "You're a fine one for waiting, aren't you? Better to talk than to swing steel."
Stonetoss slammed his mug down, cracking its base. "Swing steel at what? Dragons that lay around like drunk yaks? Or dragons that sneak around and filch meat from the eaves of houses? Or dragons that only raid in twos and threes now?"
The shorter man's eyes narrowed and his smile soured. "Yes." He gave a breathy chuckle at the gossip's obvious confusion. "All of them."
There was a knock at the door.
Knutr thought it rather telling that both his guests looked concerned at the interruption.
"Who could that be," Stonetoss wanted to know.
"Didn't you say Gudrik might come," Kelda hissed.
"Idiots," Knutr muttered under his breath and went to the door.
Hogknee was wandering aimlessly. He hadn't intended to; it just happened. There was no place he could go without feeling uncomfortable.
He'd never been good at waiting and there was nothing else to do at his house. Svala understood and said nothing when he left. Normally he would go to the great hall and talk to friends or down to the docks and just sit in his boat. He didn't want any pity from his friends over his missing son and his boat was gone. At one point he found himself walking toward the small beach opposite Ingifast's boatyard where Jaspin often went with Bitequick. When he realized where he was going he faltered, stopped and just stood. Jaspin wouldn't be there.
Would he?
No. He'd been gone too long to return and head to the beach without explaining himself to his parents. There was no use in going to the beach. He eventually retraced his steps back toward the center of the village.
There was nowhere he could go that would help. Jaspin was gone, flown away to the island overrun by dragons. Something happened to him there and Stoick wouldn't let him go look. The chief said there was another Red Death living there.
No, actually it had been Hiccup who said that. And Stoick hadn't liked that, had he? Did that have any bearing on his missing son?
Only that he was forbidden from going there and looking himself. Bitequick was there, crushed to death. Hiccup said that, too.
Did Hiccup know something? Had he found more than a dead dragon in that immense lair?
Hogknee shook his head and began walking again. Hiccup was many unfortunate things but malicious and deceitful were not among them. His steps carried him through patches of thickening grass, fragrant with new life. Spring would soon become summer and the world's brief dance of renewal would bless Berk with another yearly bounty.
He'd have traded it all to know where Jaspin was.
His greatest hope was that Bitequick had abandoned him, overcome by her natural need to find a mate among so many other dragons. If there was truly another Red Death and it killed her, that didn't mean that Jaspin had shared the dragon's fate. His son was young but smart and tenacious. He was also loyal. That worried him more than anything. If it were in his ability to stay near his dragon while she surrendered to her nature, he might have been too close to that-
That mind-boggling colossus, rearing up as high as the great hall and large enough to set half of Berk ablaze with one devastating, fiery breath. He remembered the withering fear that had knifed him in the belly as it burst from its hidden tomb. Most everyone admitted they'd counted themselves Valhalla-bound the moment it made its appearance and bellowed like a vengeful god at the Vikings on its shore.
No one could stand against that.
Had Jaspin?
"Hogknee."
He raised his head, realizing he'd stopped again near a small path between two houses. Passing by the other end of that path was Einarr. He assumed the master huntsman had happened to catch sight of him standing motionless, caught up in his tormented thoughts. Einarr was an old friend of his and distantly related by marriage. Upon recognizing him he raised a lax hand.
Einarr hesitated, sympathetic distress on his handsome face. He said nothing for a moment, knowing any question he could ask was already anticipated and that Hogknee's distraction alone was all the answer anyone would need. He eventually raised his head slightly and asked, "How's Svala doing?"
"Best she can," the fisherman husked.
An uncomfortable silence settled in that odd space, between two small houses in the middle of Berk. Einarr didn't like it. He didn't like seeing his friend in such a state.
"I... I need..."
The anguish in the fisherman's voice decided him. With a glance at the two outer walls, he beckoned Hogknee to follow him. Too many gossip's stories had come from supposedly 'private' conversations held in such places where a stray ear within either home might hear the wrong thing. "Come, have a drink with me."
Hogknee shook his head. "I'm in no state for a crowd."
"Not the hall," Einarr clarified. "My home. Ingrid and Worm are at her mother's. We won't be bothered."
That at least drew a lighter tone and a half-smile from Hogknee. "You still call him Worm?"
Einarr grinned fiercely at his friend's reaction to his two year old son's persistent moniker. "I'll give him a proper name when he stops crawling in the dirt."
Sensing a chance for a much needed distraction, Hogknee agreed and they headed to Einarr's house. Once inside and relatively safe from curious busybodies, the huntsman handed the fisherman a wooden mug carved with a Monstrous Nightmare's sinuous head and neck for a handle. Within was some of the best ale the Ingerman family made. They drank in silence for a bit, Hogknee's eyes drawn to the small fire burning low in the hearth. With his last frustrated words between the houses in mind, Einarr asked his friend, "What do you need?"
Hogknee's head came up, his features suddenly strained. He drew a great breath as if he intended to shout something. A moment later he let it out slowly, as though any request he might have made had already been denied.
"Speak," Einarr insisted. "Do not fear laying your burdens on me." He deliberately grinned at him despite the mood. "I have broad shoulders to carry any load."
A matching grin almost, almost made it to Hogknee's lips. His eyes stayed dark and his thin frame tensed. He seemed to expect confrontation. Einarr was trying to decide if he should prod further when Hogknee spoke.
"I need to get to Red Death Island."
It took Einarr by surprise. He could make no sense of it. When he thought back on what had happened to the Vapnfjord family recently he got an inkling that the request was somehow connected to Jaspin's disappearance. Getting no further in his thoughts, he could only ask, "Why?"
"That's where he is." A subdued anger could be seen now, twisting his mouth and drawing his brows down.
While Hogknee's answer did explain why he would want to go to that lifeless pile of dragon-infested rocks, it didn't tell him enough. There was plainly more to it. He leaned forward, inviting the confidence of his old friend. "What's happened?
After only a moment's hesitation, Hogknee quickly related Stoick's visit and Hiccup's revelation. Bitequick's death bothered Einarr only because he knew the Nadder had taken strongly to the boy and had provided a goodly amount of protection. Unfortunately it hadn't been enough. Against a Red Death, nothing was enough.
Nothing but Stoick's son and his singular mount.
It surprised him that Hogknee had been aware of the monster's presence but only until he realized that Hiccup's chaotic nature had played its role once more. So now Hogknee was desperate to get to that miserable place to search for his missing son and the chief wouldn't allow it. Objectively, Einarr could understand Stoick's decision. With the new behemoth in residence, the place was entirely unsafe. But that just made the need to mount a search all the more critical. Stoick may have been balancing the welfare of the entire village against that of one lost boy, but that boy was his friend's son. And he would not stand by and let Jaspin's chance of rescue slip further away with each passing day. He would act.
In fact, knowing what he did made it seem as if it were destined by the gods. Einarr knew of the great beast's weakness. He understood his chance of slaying such a creature by himself or with a chosen few was practically nonexistent. But there were things he knew from his dragon fighting days that would make their passage safer. There was even a new method he'd been itching to try, one brought about by Hiccup's desperate fight against the old Red Death. Yes, he'd be bringing a few fire arrows when they went looking for Jaspin.
Such ideas were premature. He had to catch his deer before he could skin it.
"We need to speak to Eyvind. He's just brought Tonna back this morning from fishing the Snapspines." He thought a moment. "First, though, I think we should visit Stonetoss. That fool's flapping lips might finally be useful."
"What do you want?"
Knutr's voice tried to discourage his visitors as much as his thickset body blocking the doorway. Einarr looked down at the man and smiled condescendingly.
"Ah, there you are. Seeing as I haven't been able to find Stonetoss or Kelda they must be in there with you. Mind if we step in for a word?" He tipped his head slightly to indicate Hogknee standing off to one side.
Knutr's eyes narrowed. He'd never liked Einarr and felt the huntsman was far too arrogant for his own good. "Why?"
His patience ran out quickly and his false smile vanished with it. "Because," he answered in soft tones that held more than a hint of disdain. "You and your little sewing circle can help this man find his lost son."
The stout man's antagonism diminished, leaving him to turn to his guests who sat out of sight. He questioned them with a look. Seconds later he turned his gaze back to Hogknee, the slightest trace of pity in his expression. He stepped back from the door and pushed it the rest of the way open.
It was an uneasy gathering. Einarr nodded perfunctorily to Stonetoss and Kelda before sitting on an upturned barrel. The annoyed look he got from Knutr told him he had just taken the man's seat. He smiled at the room in general with a bit more sincerity, mildly amused at annoying his obnoxious host. Hogknee stepped in after and only stood, looking at them all as if wondering why he was there. He and Stonetoss shared an uneasy glance before they both studiously ignored each other. Knutr closed the door behind him.
"So," Einarr said briskly, his smile brightening in a most patronizing way. "Have you lot figured out how to right the wrongs of the world by complaining about them to each other?"
Kelda sputtered and Stonetoss glowered but Knutr stepped in before things could get out of hand. "You said we could help find Jaspin. Explain yourself."
Einarr paused several seconds before he answered, still smiling with infuriating calm. "We know where he is. We just need volunteers to go get him."
Silence filled the house as confusion kept the three gossips from speaking momentarily. Stonetoss glanced briefly at Hogknee, who was watching Einarr with a vaguely perturbed expression. "Why come to us? Why not tell Stoick? He'd send out a rescue party, probably lead it, too."
The huntsman shifted only his eyes to meet Stonetoss'. "Oh, Stoick already knows where he is."
"Then why hasn't he been brought back?" Kelda's indignation flared readily.
"Because he's forbade anyone from going."
Silence again, quickly dispelled with outraged shouts.
"How could he do such a thing?!"
"What's he thinking?!"
"This is unacceptable!"
It took a minute for the ruckus to settle enough for Knutr's suddenly cautious question to be heard.
"Where is he?"
Einarr's smile actually widened. "On Red Death Island."
That took the wind right out of their sails. Kelda gaped a moment before she scoffed and demanded to know, "What was the little fool doing out there?"
Hogknee frowned but said nothing. Einarr gladly provided the answer. "Getting himself in trouble, obviously." Stonetoss muttered something too soft to hear while staring at his balled fists pressed against his knees. Hogknee glared at him but still said nothing.
"So we'd need a ship and some supplies," Knutr stated, showing his firm grasp of the obvious.
"Wait, you're kidding, right?" Stonetoss looked around at the others. "You want to head back into the nest? The five of us against all those dragons to look for one boy?"
Hogknee glared at him, his hand moving slowly toward the dagger on his belt.
"Wait a minute," Kelda interrupted. "Something's off here." She pointed a finger at Einarr. "Jaspin rides a Nadder. He'd have to fly it out there to get to that place. If he hasn't come back, how do you know that's where he went? And if he rode his dragon out there, why hasn't he ridden it back?"
Hogknee broke in, loudly demanding, "Does it matter? We know where he is, we just need to go get him!"
Kelda's expression softened. She understood the strength of a parent's desire to protect their children. "I agree; we need to go get him. But this doesn't make sense. Stone's not the sharpest axe on the wall but he's right about the five of us going against a whole nest of dragons. It's obvious something else is going on."
Einarr could sympathize with both sides. Hogknee didn't want to reveal the new Red Death's presence on the island for fear of losing any chance at getting help. But there was no way they could properly plan Jaspin's rescue without taking it into account. Kelda was right about needing to know the whole story. When Hogknee couldn't bring himself to explain, he spoke up.
"Jaspin lost his dragon. That's why he hasn't flown back home."
Kelda turned to him, a frown marking her already disagreeable features. "And how do you know that?"
"Because Hiccup's already been searching for Jaspin. All he found was the boy's dead Nadder at the top of the nest. It had been killed by something much larger than it." Einarr shrugged slightly. "I believe the words he used were, 'crushed to death.' Right Hogknee?"
The fisherman's eyes were downcast and his voice greatly subdued. "Aye."
"Crushed?" The rumbling word from Knutr expressed disbelief but also hinted at nervousness.
Einarr shifted his gaze to his host. "Mmm. And what could be on that island that could crush a Nadder?" He paused as the large man's brows drew down in growing concern. "What could drive the dragons to begin raiding us once again for food?"
"No!" Surprisingly it was Stonetoss who objected, loudly. "That demon spawn is dead! We all saw it!"
With exaggerated patience and a condescending tone Einarr did his best to kill all their doubts. "It was no demon. It was a dragon. Flesh and bone and as mortal as you and I." He met eyes with the others in the room, one at a time. "And yes, it's still dead. But where there was one, there can be another. Nothing living can exist alone in this world."
Even Einarr had to stop for a moment and consider the full meaning of that statement. How many of those raging behemoths could there be in Midgard? Were they destined to always suffer their existence? What did that mean for those who wanted to live in peace with the other dragons? Was that even possible?
The memory of the battle with the last one-
No. The first one.
That memory rose up in each mind, the unfamiliar sensation of helplessness against something so huge and so destructive that even the mightiest Viking warrior had to pause and call upon the gods for help. The death of the first one had settled in their minds as proof that the warriors of Berk could do the impossible. With the aid of one very specialized weapon, of course. But no one denied the courage it took for them to all face that living nightmare on the stony beach of its nest.
Conveniently forgetting, naturally, that most of them hadn't even attempted to strike a blow once the catapults had been demolished and the fleet incinerated. At that point they'd mostly been running, but no one seemed keen on remembering that part.
Stonetoss looked around at the small gathering. "What are we going to do? Are we going to go back to fight that..." He trailed off and then suddenly turned to Einarr. "Does Stoick know?"
"Of course Stoick knows!" Einarr scoffed. He turned back to Hogknee, sympathy lightening his tone. "That's why he's not planning to look for Jaspin. He's planning an attack on the new Red Death, right this minute." He nodded to the fisherman. "And he doesn't want anyone going there and stirring up the nest before hand."
Stonetoss managed a quiet, "But-" before Einarr cut him off.
"That's why we must go and look for Jaspin, now. Before the nest gets stirred up." He stood, glancing at each of them once more. "We're the boy's best chance at getting home." Each of the others eyed Hogknee, weighing everything that had been said. "I'm certain I can convince Eyvind to bring us there in Tonna."
Kelda was scowling fiercely, clearly unhappy about his plan. "Now wait a minute. I've no fear of fighting dragons and I want to get Jaspin off that cursed rock as much as any of you. But you're saying there's another Red Death living there?"
Einarr's strained patience was evident in his voice. "Yes."
The head of the Ornolf family stared at him a moment. "And you think the five of us should just go there and start traipsing around to look for one lost boy?"
"So you were paying attention."
Anger simmered in her eyes. "Are you daft!?"
Stonetoss and Knutr sat quietly, watching the two of them argue, not wanting to interfere between Einarr's worthy goal and Kelda's reasonable objections. The huntsman's voice lowered dangerously. "I think not."
Kelda's restraint broke and Knutr was once again grateful for his neighbor's absence. She stood suddenly, her fists balled up and her arms actually quivering. "HAVE YE ALREADY FORGOTTEN THE BATTLE!?"
A strange calm seemed to come over Einarr. His own anger ebbed, as if washed away by the woman's greater rage. He stared silently at her for several moments, his face passive.
"Have I forgotten the sight of all Berk's warriors, ready for battle and eager to fight? The hole we punched into the mountain? The ...unbelievable beast we unleashed upon ourselves with our catapults and our war cries?" He smiled thinly and with much scorn. "Yes, I completely forgot all that."
Kelda seethed. Hogknee looked distraught as he realized the simple desire of finding his son alive on that island was far more difficult than he'd allowed himself to hope.
"I forgot all that because it has nothing to do with our purpose. We are not going there to hunt the Red Death. We are not going to hunt dragons. We are going to search for a boy. Quietly. Sneakily. Carefully."
By no means mollified, Kelda snarled, "You really think we can get away with-"
"I think the dragons are busy doing the same thing as the seagulls and the wild yaks. I think that if we stay away from them and their nests while we're there they will give us no trouble."
She glanced at Hogknee, seeing his muted distress at the scenes they were all imagining. "A slim hope, you ask me. If you're wrong, we'll be up to our noses in dragons protecting young and another Red Death."
Einarr frowned distastefully. "Have you forgotten scores of dragons laying on rooftops like cats? Begging for fish in the gathering circle? Taking advantage of the peace and acting like pets?" He looked around at his group once more. "I think we have less to fear from the dragons than you think, as long as we don't threaten them."
The lead gossip practically whispered, "What about Stoick?"
"We'll head south, saying we're fishing. Out of sight of Berk, we turn west."
No more objections were voiced but no one looked terribly enthusiastic either.
"We need to leave as soon as we can. Tomorrow morning would be best." Hogknee nodded slightly. The others seemed to be lest certain. "It will take several days to get there, days Jaspin may not have. The longer we wait, the more likely Stoick will get there first."
Kelda sounded more resigned than confident, but she finally conceded with a quiet "Aye." That prompted Knutr to follow her example. He turned to Stonetoss. The gossip nodded but when he added his voice to the others it sounded more of desperate determination. Einarr clapped a grateful looking Hogknee on the shoulder.
"Since we're going 'fishing' we need to sneak our weapons aboard with our provisions. No point in raising suspicions needlessly."
Hogknee looked at him, concern plain on his face. "You said this isn't a hunt. We're looking for my boy."
Einarr did his best to sound reasonable. "In a nest full of dragons. Would you really suggest we go unarmed?"
After a moment's thought, the fisherman shook his head.
"Then it's settled. We'll meet on the docks at daybreak. I'll go talk to Eyvind right now."
Einarr headed down the many flights of stairs along the cliff. He would have to finish his errand quickly. He had his own preparations to make and some special supplies to locate. He smiled grimly to himself. He would finally have what he'd wanted since he was a child, what he'd wanted more than anything since losing Kadlin: a chance to hunt dragons at their source.
As he reached the lowest level of the docks he spied Berk's newest ship, the 'Night Fury.' He grimaced at the poor choice of a name. Why should they honor such a destructive beast?
His steps faltered. The memory of the previous night's conclave came to him. He'd seen things he'd never figured on seeing, things he didn't want to consider. It made no sense. How could Stoick have sunk so low, changed so much?
Those bizarre, honorless tricks the chief had resorted to; it had baffled and enraged him. Wasn't it enough to know they'd battled for generations against beasts they could have domesticated, suffered for their lack of knowledge? Why pretend they were something more? Why not invite the yaks to the great hall for a game of knucklebones?
He shook his head. Hiccup and that bloody black devil. That had to be the root of it.
If Stoick had allowed that poisonous influence to invade his house, that was the chief's problem. His was finding Jaspin and avenging Kadlin. He would do nothing to jeopardize the former but he would have the latter if he could manage it. As a master huntsman he knew not every hunt would go as planned. Kelda was right to be concerned about this venture but he truly believed they could succeed, if they did as he said and did nothing to disturb the dragons.
At least not until they found Jaspin. Afterwards… oh yes, afterwards there would be a reckoning. And if the gods smiled upon him and his ideas, he might find himself taking a trophy that even Hiccup the useless couldn't claim: an enormous monster brought down through cunning and ruthlessness. The way all Viking victories should be.
He caught sight of Eyvind and waved.
The bright, warm sunshine that chased away the night's gloomy shadows wasn't enough. The happy songs of birds celebrating the clear, bracing weather weren't enough. Not even the heavy huffing breaths of a furnace drawing heat from its first meal of coals managed to wake Hiccup. It wasn't until the first stroke of Gobber's heavy shaping hammer rang in his ears that the young man jerked awake, a thin line of drool briefly connecting his lower lip with his most recent sketches.
"Whazza?" As if being rudely awoken weren't enough, his neck immediately complained of the awful stress Hiccup had put on it by falling asleep at his work table. He tried to straighten; his back added its vote to the 'sleeping slouched onto a wooden table is a terrible idea' ballot.
"Owwwww." He braced his hands against the work surface and arched backwards as much as he could. Several heavily marked sheets of parchment slipped to the floor. "Ugh. Wha time..." He glanced at the doorway to his small work room and got an eyeful of late spring light. With a pained grunt he covered his eyes and rested his elbows on the table a moment.
He hated mornings like this.
Gobber's hammer was vigorously working something that sounded long and thin but not heavy enough to be a weapon. Hiccup knew the sound of most metal objects when they were being shaped. This sounded more like a long metal band of some kind. His mind skittered off to his mental list of items made in the forge that would be a match for what he was hearing. Unfortunately it didn't seem interested in returning. Hiccup sat and stared at nothing in particular for several long moments.
"Are ye coming out or do I have to come in and get ye?"
Hiccup shook loose of his mindless lethargy and stood carefully. He put weight on his left leg slowly. Having had his iron and oak leg strapped on all night was another mark against him and his stump would certainly not appreciate being pressed into service so quickly. There was a bit of the usual numbness from the tip of the abbreviated leg as well as the tingly flickers of pain deep in the bone. His remaining calf muscles resisted waking up as much as he did and started to twitch. He could feel a cramp coming on and started rubbing the flesh beneath the leather straps to ward it off.
"Hiccup?"
"Out in a minute, ok?"
The clanging resumed. He eyed the sheets that remained on his work table, noting the many incomplete ideas that had come to him late the previous night. A level headed review of what he'd scribbled out in his exhaustion would most likely see the majority of the sheets scraped clean for reuse. He seldom had workable ideas when he tried to brainstorm so late at night.
Ignoring his notes he pushed his way out into the smithy.
Hoops. Of course; he should have known. In fact he now remembered seeing his hefty friend approaching the smith before they all left the cove the previous night. Fishlegs had asked Gobber if the barrel hoops his father had requested would be ready soon. The Ingermans might not trust the man to make their barrels for them but they had no choice but to get their barrel hoops from him. Hiccup stopped and watched him working one into a nearly perfect circle, his mind slipping back toward the quiet, dark place it had just left.
Hiccup blinked when a thick, sooty finger pressed under his jaw to lift his head. Gobber's bemused expression filled his vision.
"Fell asleep on your work table again, didn't ye?"
Hiccup rubbed his cheek, feeling the rough texture left by the unfinished wood on his flesh. "Of course not," he said petulantly. "I just like to have a nice oak table finish to my cheeks first thing in the morning."
Gobber only shook his head at his apprentice's strange humor. "Make any progress?"
With a grimace, the young man responded, "Yeah. I discovered that trying to design new weapons after midnight is a waste of my time." He rubbed his cheek, the slightly red imprint of knotty oak still visible. "It's also bad for my face."
After he finished rounding the hoop, Gobber set it aside and pointed to a corner of the shop. "I rummaged around in my wood pile and found a few suitable shafts this morning."
After their conclave was finished, Hiccup and his father had stayed behind with Gobber and Mord to consider how to take advantage of the Red Death's hidden weakness. Despite Gobber's earlier objections that a spear would be ineffective against a dragon's scales, they'd come up with an idea for a modified spear that might work. Hiccup had promised to try and think of some other idea on his own, in case the spear idea didn't work out.
The 'shafts' Gobber had chosen were actually old tent poles. All three were oak and easily as thick as Hiccup's forearm. They were also longer than he was tall. He picked the shortest one up, grunting slightly at the effort. "You gotta be... Gobber, if you put that triple edged point you were talking about on this thing and a counterweight on the other end, how much is it going to weigh?"
The smith shrugged with a slight grin. "Not so much that a brawny warrior like me couldn't chuck it a good distance."
Hiccup gave him a flat look. "At a small moving target? That's almost certainly going to be trying to set you on fire?"
His concerns were dismissed with a casual wave of a heavily calloused hand. "Eh, so the brute will have a sporting chance. Makes for a good challenge."
The young man frowned worriedly. "Gobber..."
His mentor sighed. "It'll be fine, Hiccup. We still have some time to work out the kinks."
Hiccup nodded uneasily. Something about planning an attack on another Red Death was far more unsettling than just jumping on Toothless' back and fighting it 'on the fly.' There was time to think about all that could go wrong. So horribly, catastrophically wrong.
"What will you use for the counterweight?"
Gobber pointed to the hoop he'd just set down. "Hoop bands. Spiral wrap one or two along the butt end until you get a good balance."
His apprentice's eyes lit up. "Wow. Yeah, good idea. It should distribute the weight evenly along the shaft."
"Mmm." Gobber stepped forward and took the shaft from Hiccup's hands. He hefted it slightly. "I still think it's a bad idea, honestly. A sword in a warrior's hands is the only thing I've ever seen that's guaranteed to get through scales." He raised the shaft, as though it were a finished spear he was about to hurl. "Making this heavier might help, but the heavier it is the closer you need to be for a good strike." He set the shaft down with an uncertain scowl. "I wouldn't want to be the one dancing on that beastie's head trying to poke this in its eye."
It was Hiccup's turn to shrug carelessly. "So make a really big bow to shoot it."
Gobber gave him an annoyed look. "If that's all the help you're going to be you might as well go get you some breakfast."
"What? Are you saying you couldn't make a bow big enough to launch a spear?" The laughter in his voice seemed to irritate his mentor. "I'm sure the average beefy Viking could handle it with no... problems."
Hiccup got an all-too familiar look in his eyes. "Oh," he said quietly. "What if we made... no, there's no way." He shook his head vehemently. "No one could actually..." His head snapped up. "OH!"
Gobber flinched. He'd seen that wild look in Hiccup's eyes before. Houses had been damaged and livestock scattered to the farthest fields as a result.
Hiccup was desperately hunting for something with which to draw and muttering. "If we used the three bladed point idea... yeah, that could work. And it would- no, wait, wait. You'd never find-" He ducked into his small work space and returned a moment later with parchment and charcoal. "Maybe you really could make it bigger and get away with it. It could- no! No, no, no, you have to account for fletchings. There's no way... unless..."
"What are you on about, boy?"
"Ugh, maybe if you reinforce the limbs with metal, like your counterweight. But it would have to be really springy..."
Gobber rolled his eyes. "Hiccup."
The boy bent over his parchment, scribbling like mad. "Springy is hard. But still it's better than having it break-" He went silent a moment before he jerked up, his expression exultant. "Of course!" he crowed. "Why didn't I..." He lost his momentum almost immediately. "But you still have to worry about the shaft bending. How..."
The older man wanted to smack the kid on the head when he got like this. "Hiccup!"
Vivid green eyes snapped to his, full of life and sparking with ideas. Including one that seemed to be really important. "Of course! My knife!" Parchment and charcoal were carelessly abandoned as he took off at a fast limp toward his house.
Gobber watched him go, a bit disconcerted at his apprentice's stranger-than-usual behavior. He shook his head and muttered, "If I didn't know better I'd say he'd eaten some bad scallops or something."
The waters off the beach were barely warmer than when the ice had covered it, despite it being well into the season of green. Two Hearts had thrashed around in the briskly cool waves, ridding himself of the dust of several days. He had asked Featherstone to remove his dead tail fin and all the bleater skins that held it together. Now, unable to fly but free to bathe, he stood just off the shore with only his head above water. The claws of his forepaws were sunk into the loose rocks of the submerged shore. The ground dropped away sharply beneath him so his hind claws could not reach the ground. He was very slowly doing his water-wing exercises, gently stirring the water at his sides as he stared at the shore.
Before him sat Yellowbreath. The stonebelly, like all her kind, did not enter the water. The bodies of those Kin were too dense and could not float as his did. For her, to enter water deeper than her chest was to invite drowning. They stared at each other, the silence kept away by the endless flock of waves that crept to the shore.
The gathering of Kin and preytooths the night before had been largely successful. The squishy yet dangerous preytooths had begun discussing how to attack the Gatherer. They seemed quite energetic about it. Two Hearts hadn't the liver to tell them they had no chance of carrying out their plans if their scaled companions couldn't figure out a way to drive off the nest. He and Yellowbreath had taken it upon themselves to try working something out.
As familiar as the two of them were with their bond partners and the preytooth nest, they didn't have enough knowledge of their full strengths and weaknesses. They had passed a few ideas back and forth earlier that morning but none had any lift. Now the sun was well into its journey and they had accomplished nothing but silent thought. Two Hearts did not count himself as good with ideas as Yellowbreath but he had been around the preytooth nest longer and knew some things about them that she probably did not.
It had not helped. None of his ideas had enough lift without knowing what the preytooths could actually do against a Gatherer. Their last fight against one had been entirely one-sided. In their defense, they hadn't known how to prepare for such a fight. But now that they did know to prepare, they didn't seem any more encouraged.
"Two Hearts, I am deeply troubled by this. I see no clear ending."
His heart thumped a little harder within him. "We must still try."
"Yes," she agreed. "We must. But I cannot see the end of this. If preytooths and Kin come together and ground the new Gatherer, will that be the end of it?"
He gave a short, confused grunt. "Of course it will. Why wouldn't it be?"
"Did you ever believe we would see the Great Eel grounded? Before you met Featherstone, could you see a day when Fire Nest would be free?"
The ghostwing didn't like thinking on those days. They no longer felt like good days now, despite how he viewed them at the time. "No." His voice was as cool as his liver.
"You bonded with a preytooth. Could you see that day ahead of you?"
"My path has been... different from most."
"When you grounded the old Gatherer, did you see another coming to take its place?" Her words were stronger, more urgent.
"No."
"And if we ground Smoketail, do you see yet another Gatherer coming to take his place?"
The cold of the water seemed to seep into his bones and touch his liver with hard frost. "What do you mean?"
"One Gatherer gone, another takes its place. If this one is grounded, will there be another? Is Fire Nest ever going to be truly free? What if this is the way it is meant to be and we are only trying to fly through a never ending storm?"
Without thinking Two Hearts drove his head below the water and pressed his snout hard to the cold rocks below him. The near silence of the water surrounding him focused his mind on the horrible, biting idea. Gatherers forever? Was there a line of them making their way to his old nest like waves on the ocean? Were they fighting a foolish fight? Could that be the way of things?
Words and visions flashed across his mind. Scenes and conversations from his first days to that morning flickered like sparks from burning trees. It rushed and rolled and roared at him. It battered at him for a time he could not define. Then certain ideas came up and rose like smoke, covering the lesser, distracting thoughts.
His sire's story was one. His own was another. And Featherstone's influence bound it together. He thrust his head above the water and loudly growled, "NO!"
Yellowbreath's eyes widened slightly.
"There was a time before the Great Eel. Fire Nest was free. Then that Gatherer came and the breeders were enthralled. That time is over. There was a time before I knew Featherstone. We flew rough airs and are now bonded, strong. That time will never end before we end. This is how it must be. What is good we protect. What is bad we ground. The shape doesn't matter. Smoketail is a Gatherer and we cannot allow him to enthrall the breeders. What comes after will come after."
The stonebelly thought on this for a long time. Finally she quietly said, "I have another idea. But its worth will depend entirely on how the preytooths intend to attack, what weaknesses they need protected and what strengths they need enhanced."
Two Hearts lifted his head slightly to raise his lower jaw out of the water. "They have said sharp metal in their foreclaws is the only way to strike Kin with surety. But their thrown weapons are often effective."
"Not against Kin the size of Smoketail."
The ghostwing paused. "No." He gave his wings a hard stroke against the water, raising his body slightly in process. "I fear they may have to swarm it with their sharp metal. But with the few they intend to bring and the nest to protect it, I see no chance of survival."
"My idea may keep the nest at bay. For a time, at least."
Two Hearts pulled himself a little closer to the shore, water draining off his back. "How?"
Yellowbreath did not answer for several heartbeats. She scented of distress. "The Gatherer stays mostly in the depths of Fire Nest. There are now two entrances to it. The long drop from the top and the new hole the Great Eel made." Her distress grew. "I think we can block the breeders from entering through those two places."
"Block them?"
"Yes. If the preytooths can find a way to fight the Gatherer and ground it, we may be able to prevent the nest from coming to his aid."
He suspected he knew her idea already. "There will be as few unbred Kin as there will be preytooths. We cannot fight them all when they learn he is in danger."
"They will not know. If they do not know, they will not come."
He was greatly confused. "How will they not know?"
"We will use his strength against him. We will block Fire Nest from catching his scent or sound."
"Block it with what?"
Once again her distress grew. She seemed to greatly dislike her idea."
"Injured Kin."
Her words had no lift. They lay before him like dead roundbacks.
"I-" He felt lost, like he was flying in a starless night sky. "Your words are twisting in my head. I cannot..." He tried his best to grip her idea in his teeth and bear down. "If there are injured Kin blocking the way... how... where do these injured Kin come from?"
Yellowbreath's growling voice became subdued, pained. "We will be those injured Kin."
(c)Wirewolf 2014
"How to train your dragon" and all attendant characters are copyright
Dreamworks Animation and used without permission
AN: I'm not entirely thrilled with this chapter. Usually I have the chapter title long before I finish writing it, sometimes even before I start. This time I spent an hour after completing it trying to figure out what it should be called. And I'm still not happy with the title I gave it. I believe this is because I didn't have a unifying theme in mind before I started it.
At any rate, I have my yearly trip to visit family for the holidays coming up soon, then I will be working on a small personal project. Afterwards I will begin chapter 34. And no, I don't know what I'm going to call it either.