Dimmadreki Chapter 9

Astrid had the morning off. Her chores were done, there were no dragon-training exercises scheduled for this morning, and she had some time to herself. Usually, that meant axe practice in the woods, but today, she decided to indulge herself a little.

She was well on her way to winning in dragon-training. She didn't face any serious opposition; Snotlout was too cocky to learn from his mistakes, the twins kept getting lucky breaks and throwing them away with stupid arguments, and Fishlegs couldn't get out of his own way. She'd learned the habits of each of the common dragon types, and could take them down consistently. Thoughts of the Monstrous Nightmare made her a little nervous, but if she'd mastered the other types, she could handle that one, too.

She decided to wander down by the training ring. She stood on the stage, closed her eyes, and imagined Chief Stoick standing beside her, introducing her to the village as their newest champion. Her father and mother would be right up front, bursting with pride. Everyone else in town would be cheering and shouting her name. Snotlout would be off to the side, hanging his head in defeat, knowing that he'd never be considered good enough for her again. It would be the crowning moment of her life! She smiled and glanced down at where she thought he'd be standing...

...and saw that the stone platform below her was covered in runes, written large with some kind of white powdery substance.

She read them. Apparently, they formed half of a conversation. There was no way to know what the other person or people had said. But that wasn't necessary. The runes told their own story, and that story was unbelievable.

MAGIC IS AT WORK HERE
I AM HICCUP

NO HARD FEELINGS. OUR FRIENDS ARE
SNOTLOUT, RUFFNUT, TUFFNUT,
AND (SIGH) ASTRID

(He must have been talking to Fishlegs. What was that "sigh" about? She didn't want to know.)

IS MY DAD WORRIED ABOUT ME?

IF I CONTACT YOU AGAIN, I MAY
USE MY NEW NAME, DIMMADREKI

IF A NIGHT FURY RAIDS BERK,
IT WON'T BE ME

Either someone with a sick sense of humor was playing some kind of horrible prank, or she'd discovered something that was far more important than winning at dragon training.

Dragon training... what had happened to the training ring? The gate was a blackened ruin, and all the cell doors were wide open! As she watched, Gobber stepped out of one of the empty cells, rested his hands (okay, his hand) on his hips, sighed, and shook his head sadly. All the training dragons were gone; someone or something had set them free. Dragon training might be permanently over.

The other Vikings would all be fixated on the damage to the ring. She might be the only one who noticed the runes. What should she do with this information?

Her father would know. She left the ring at a run. Fifteen minutes later, Gunnarr Hofferson was knocking at Stoick's door. Fifteen minutes after that, Stoick was knocking at the door of the Ingerman house. Fifteen minutes after that, the chief excused himself from all town business and called a private meeting in his home.

Sitting around the fire were Stoick, Gobber, Spitelout with his son Snotlout, Astrid with her parents Gunnarr and Edda, Fishlegs with his father Finnthorn, and the Thorston twins with their mother Butternut.

The chief began by making sure that the runes were genuine. Had someone who knew Hiccup written them? Snotlout insisted that they weren't his, and showed them a sample of his almost unreadable handwriting to prove it. Ruffnut and Tuffnut both said they wished they'd thought of it, but denied responsibility, and their mother vouched for the fact that they'd been home all night. The three teens were excused from the rest of the meeting, along with Butternut. They all left eagerly; it looked like it was going to get intense and emotional, and they wanted no part of that. Astrid also denied writing the runes, and her character spoke for itself. No one questioned her. She was permitted to stay at the meeting because she was the one who had found the runes.

Stoick gestured at Fishlegs next. "The runes suggest that whoever wrote them was talking to you. Tell us what happened last night, young man."

Fishlegs was so nervous, his teeth were chattering. He tried to talk, but nothing came out. Stoick's face darkened. "You owe it to the village to tell us the truth."

"I- I- I'm t-t-trying, sir, b-b-but I..."

The chief leaped to his feet, eyes blazing. "WOULD YOU RELAX?" he bellowed. "JUST TALK TO US, THAT'S ALL! THERE'S NO PRESSURE!"

"Stoick, please," Edda cautioned him. "This isn't helping." Once he sat down, she turned to Fishlegs. "Just take a deep breath, and start at the beginning."

Fishlegs did as he was told, starting with the runes he'd found in front of his house yesterday morning, and ending with him returning to his house in the dark because his lamp had run out of oil. "And that's the whole story, sir," he concluded, trying not to cry.

For a few seconds, there was silence. Finally, Gunnarr spoke. "We've all seen the runes, and his story lines up with them almost word for word. Either he wrote the runes himself, or his story is true."

"Can you prove that you didn't write them, young man?" Spitelout demanded.

Fishlegs looked stricken. "How could I prove that?" he asked.

"My son wouldn't do that," Finnthorn protested. "There isn't a cruel bone in his body."

"Doesn't he have an over-active imagination?" Spitelout pressed him. "Especially where dragons are concerned?" Everyone knew the answer to that question – Fishlegs' obsession with dragon lore was a running joke in the village.

"He would never think that a stunt like this would be a good idea, especially when it involves the chief's only son!" Astrid shot back. "I've known him all my life. That's not the Fishlegs I know." Finnthorn nodded.

"Your loyalty is touching," Spitelout replied snidely, "but we have to face the facts. There are two possibilities. One, that Fishlegs wrote those runes himself as some kind of prank. Two, that the chief's missing son has been turned into a Night Fury who let Fishlegs pat him on the nose. Which one is more likely to be true?"

Edda broke the uncomfortable silence. "We can settle this easily. We'll go down to the ring, and we'll watch Fishlegs write some runes with chalk. We'll compare his writing to last night's writing, and see if they were written by the same person." They looked to Stoick for a decision.

"I don't have the heart for this," he sighed. "Spitelout, Gunnarr, you go with the boy and check his handwriting against those runes. Come back and tell me what you learn." The two men and the boy left; Fishlegs acted as though he was being led to the gallows. They returned about twenty minutes later, to a room full of people who hadn't spoken or moved since they left.

"The writing is similar, but not identical," Spitelout announced. "He could have faked it."

"I have to say the evidence is inconclusive," Gunnarr added. "There are similarities in the runes, but there are also differences. For one thing, I think whoever wrote the runes by the training ring is left-handed." Everyone knew that Hiccup was left-handed. Again, they looked to Stoick.

"It sounds like nothing can be legally proven," he said sadly.

"There's another issue that we have to consider, and that's the destroyed dragon-training ring." Spitelout sounded like he was warming to his task. "The door was blasted, almost certainly by a Night Fury, but there are no fresh burn marks or claw marks on the cell doors. The dragons were freed by someone who knew how to work the release handles, and who wasn't afraid that a Night Fury was nearby. Could that have been you, Fishlegs?"

Fishlegs was aghast. "No! I'd never do something like that!"

"Can you prove it?" Spitelout pounced on him eagerly.

"Common sense proves it, ye fool!" Gobber cut in. "Yer accusin' the lad of openin' all the cages an' lettin' the dragons out, all by 'imself, without a weapon or a shield in his hand? Only a suicidal idiot with haggis fer brains would try a stunt like that. Neither you nor I would even dream o' such a foolhardy trick, an' we're experienced dragon-fighters!"

"Why would I even want to do a thing like that?" Fishlegs added.

The second-in-command looked thoughtful for a moment. "Maybe you wanted to put an end to dragon training, so you won't lose?"

Astrid had to respond to that. "With respect, that's nonsense. Fishlegs tries as hard to win as anyone. He's never thrown a fit, or made any threats, or done anything at all to suggest he'd ever do a thing like that."

"That's not good enough," Spitelout retorted.

"It's good enough for me," Finnthorn shot back. "My son is not a liar, and he'd never deliberately destroy town property."

Spitelout glanced at him scornfully. "So what are we supposed to believe? Did the Night Furies do it all by themselves?"

No one answered.

Spitelout exclaimed, "Stoick, you need to intervene here! This young man is looking guiltier by the moment!"

Stoick sighed. "Looking guilty doesn't mean he is guilty. I can't punish someone without proof! There's no solid evidence, there weren't any witnesses, and he hasn't confessed, so my hands are tied." Then his eyes narrowed as he glared at Fishlegs. "You have never caused this village any trouble before, young man, and that's the only reason I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt. But if I find out that you really were behind this, I will make you regret the day you were born!"

"I believe you, sir," Fishlegs answered, wide-eyed.

The chief shook his head. "Whoever pulled this stunt might be the unholy offspring of Loki and Hel itself, but we can't prove who he is. There's nothing more to say. This meeting is over." They left the chief to his mourning.

Later that morning, a rain squall swept across the town. It washed away all evidence of the runes. In mid-afternoon, Astrid took her axe down to the ring for another dragon-training session. Gobber had captured a Terrible Terror on short notice, patched the gate, and set up the tall obstacles in a labyrinth again.

"Gather 'round, ye four," Gobber announced. "I've got bad news, an' I've got good news. Th' bad news is, Fishlegs won't be joinin' us fer trainin' anymore. Th' good news is, I saved fifteen percent on me longship insurance!"

"What happened to Fishlegs?" Astrid asked.

"He's been apprenticed to one o' the cooks in th' Mead Hall," Gobber explained. "Chief's orders. He says we don't 'ave enough bread-makin' Vikings. Now, spread out an' get ready fer today's challenge!"

Snotlout had a rare moment of competence and sneaked up behind the Terrible Terror after a few minutes. Astrid tripped him just as he was about to pulp the thing with his mace. She didn't know why she did it; she'd never had compassion on a dragon before. She blocked the lizard's fire-shot with her shield, whacked the little creature with the shield to knock it senseless, and the training session was over. It might be the last session they'd have in quite a while.

She used the rest of the afternoon to visit Fishlegs in the Mead Hall kitchen. He was busily rolling out dough on a cutting board, to be baked into loaves for tomorrow's lunch.

"I feel bad about this happening to you,"she began. "If I'd known where it would lead, I wouldn't have said anything about those stupid runes."

"It's not so bad," he replied. "I wasn't much of a dragon-fighter anyway. Anyway, you shouldn't feel bad; you didn't do anything wrong."

"Neither did you!" she exclaimed. Then she lowered her voice, making sure none of the other Mead Hall workers were nearby. "Did you really see a Night Fury?"

"Yes, and I patted him on the nose," he replied earnestly but quietly.

"Did it look scary?"

He thought before answering. "I couldn't really see him very well in the dark. What I could see, looked awesome. He didn't act scary."

"Do you think it was... Hiccup... somehow?"

"I'm convinced," he nodded, "but I can't convince anybody else."

She saw a cook looking in their direction, so she raised her voice to normal. "There's no reason for you to be punished, even if it isn't official punishment. I'm going to find a way to clear your name. It's the least I can do, after I got you in trouble."

"How?" he wondered. "The only way to clear me is to find a witness to speak for me, and there weren't any witnesses except Hiccup and the other dragon."

"Then we're going to find Hiccup," she decided, "and he is going to clear your name."

Fishlegs looked puzzled. "How are we going to find him? We don't even know where he lives anymore. He could be anywhere within a hundred miles of here."

"He has to be somewhere on Berk," she replied. "He's lived here all his life. He wouldn't leave without a good reason."

"How about 'his father would kill him if he saw him'? Is that a good reason?" Fishlegs was openly dubious. "If you do find him, how are you going to persuade him to walk into a village full of dragon killers, just to testify for me?"

"He always had a strong sense of right and wrong," she answered. "If he can get you out of trouble, he'll find some clever way to do it. The only question is, will he mess it up?

Fishlegs shook his head. "The only question is, will you kill him when you see him? You're the red-hot dragon-fighter; a Night Fury head would be your ultimate trophy."

"You're right, it would be, but I wouldn't kill Hiccup!" she exclaimed, mystified. "Why would you say a thing like that?"

"Well, you might confuse him with some other dragon," Fishlegs said defensively.

Now she shook her head. "Is there another Night Fury I might confuse him with? I mean, how many Night Furies are we dealing with here?"

"At least two," Fishlegs replied. "He said he had a friend, and I never saw that friend, so I think she was a Night Fury, too."

Her eyes narrowed. "Maybe... maybe there are enough Night Furies to clear your name and bring me some glory at the same time."

o

"Please tell me the chief is finally getting worried about his missing son." Alvin was actually getting anxious. He'd invested a lot in this plan; when was Stoick going to start cooperating?

"I'm not sure if 'worried' is the right word," Savage replied nervously, "but he's definitely not himself. Our informant tells me someone wrote some runes on the ground that said the chief's boy got turned into a dragon, and the chief has punished the boy he thinks is responsible, even though he can't prove anything. That's unusual for him."

"Well, it's about time!" Alvin burst out. "I was starting to think the man had a heart of stone! As long as he's not rowing with all his oars, that's good enough for me. Notify the warriors and the ship's crews. We sail for Berk tomorrow night! Our revenge begins at last!"

Turned into a dragon! The man must be out of his mind to take a story like that seriously, or even half-seriously! But then he remembered – his mother never told him exactly how she was going to make the chief's boy disappear. Had she actually turned him into a dragon? If she had, it would have been the crown jewel in her career as a witch. Vikings kill dragons! Maybe Stoick had already killed his own son, and didn't even know it! He grinned malevolently. Perhaps the Norns, the deciders of destiny, were finally on his side. He'd strike before they changed their minds.