Dimmadreki Chapter 13
"Sir, I can prove that I've been in contact with the Night Furies!" Fishlegs had found the chief in the forge, talking to Gobber about the need for more weapons for the village. Gobber was protesting that he couldn't keep up with the demand without help from his missing apprentice; he was grateful for the distraction.
"Young man, I have neither the time nor the energy for more pranks," the chief rumbled.
"This isn't a prank, sir! Look and see for yourself!" He held out a handful of the scales. Stoick took them curiously, then handed one to Gobber as he closely examined one himself.
"What is it?" the smith asked.
"They're Night Fury scales, sir," Fishlegs explained. "I visited the Night Furies this morning, and I talked to Hiccup some more."
"I've never seen anything like it," the chief said, focusing on the scales and choosing to ignore the reference to his son for the moment.
"It does look like a scale o' some kind," Gobber nodded, "an' it's not from any dragon I've ever fought before."
"Young man, go find Spitelout and bring him back to the forge," Stoick decided. "This calls for immediate discussion." The big young man left at a run, and returned about ten minutes later with the town's second-in-command. Fishlegs told his story, and Stoick showed Spitelout the scales. A few seconds of silence followed, as each of them processed his thoughts.
"You didn't get yourself in enough trouble the first time, young man?" Spitelout demanded. "You're back for more?"
"Th' lad's got hard evidence this time," Gobber retorted.
"A handful of black circles! They could have come from anywhere!"
"If they are Night Fury scales, then at least part of his tale is true," Stoick thought out loud, "and that would lend weight to the rest of his story."
Spitelout was shocked. "Stoick, you're not seriously suggesting that you think he's right?!"
"No," the chief answered slowly, "but he's starting to look a lot less wrong."
"If it's true," Gobber mused, "that means we canna shoot down any Night Furies, fer fear o' killin' Hiccup."
"If he's right, that means the Night Furies can burn our village to the ground," Spitelout exclaimed, "and we don't dare do a thing about it!"
"We've never hit one anyway, so what difference does that make?" Stoick answered, beginning to shake off his emotional shock at Fishlegs' revelations.
"I'll tell you what difference it makes!" Spitelout was amazed that the other two didn't get it. "Didn't you hear what the young man said? This dragon, Hiccup or not, has a mate! They're going to lay eggs, right here on this island! We're going to be up to our armpits in deadly Night Furies!"
"Seein' how rare they are, I doubt they breed as quickly as all o' that," Gobber interrupted.
"But that isn't even the worst part," Spitelout went on, ignoring him. "Stoick, is your son stupid?"
"No!" the chief burst out angrily. "My son has his faults, but stupidity is not one of them."
"Then consider what we're going to be up against, Stoick. Dozens and dozens of Night Furies, all ready and willing to tear our town apart... but not just any Night Furies! They will be Night Furies with minds like Hiccup's mind – smart, clever, able to think of new things and new ways to do things. These Night Furies will be the most dangerous enemies we could ever imagine, with the fire of a dragon and the mind of a Hiccup. They can outfight us and out-think us!"
"Ye never had such kind words fer th' boy when he was among us," Gobber commented drily.
"Sir, Hiccup promised me he would never raid Berk!" Fishlegs cut in.
Spitelout waved him off. "Maybe he did, but did his female make that promise? Have his intelligent, dragon-born sons and daughters made that promise? Stoick, this is a clear and present danger to Berk, and to Vikings everywhere! You owe it to your village... you owe it to humanity... to stop this threat in its tracks, before those hybrid Night Furies destroy us all!"
"You're asking me to kill my own son!" Stoick nearly shouted.
"Your son is a dragon," Spitelout answered, trying to sound kind and failing completely. "He's lost to us. He's admitted to Fishlegs that he's changed."
"He's still my son," Stoick said softly.
"Stoick, he's bred himself to a Night Fury! He's taken a bride without even asking his father's permission! No Viking would ever do such things. Surely you can see he's not your son anymore!"
"He's still Hiccup on the inside!" Fishlegs protested. "He never moved to hurt me, he called off his girlfriend when she tried to attack me, I can tell he's smart by the things he writes... it's still him in there!"
Stoick stood with his hands to his temples, slowly shaking his head, trying to make sense of these impossible revelations. How was he supposed to make a decision when his second-in-command was arguing against all human feelings, and the teen with the facts couldn't prove them?
"If ye aren't sure, then we don't 'ave to kill 'im," Gobber suggested. "We'll take 'em both with nets an' bolas. Once we know which one is Hiccup, the chief can have the honor o' killin' the other one in th' ring, an' we'll just... keep the Hiccup-dragon out o' trouble."
"You mean keep my son in a cage?"
"If he's still your son on the inside, we'll… keep him safe. Yeah, safe," Spitelout explained, hoping he sounded convincing. "We'll keep him from being a menace to the village and the people. Otherwise, someone is sure to try and kill him."
Stoick was still trying to think clearly, but it was hard in these circumstances. "There's one thing we have to settle first," he said firmly. "Young man, you've proven to my satisfaction that you've had contact with one or more Night Furies. You have not proven that one of those Night Furies is really my son."
"I met one and lived to tell the tale, sir. Doesn't that count for something?" Fishlegs asked pointedly.
"Maybe it means yer very lucky," Gobber suggested.
"Or maybe it felt sorry for you," Spitelout chimed in helpfully.
"So… how I can I prove it's really Hiccup?" Fishlegs wondered.
The three adults pondered that for a few seconds.
"If the dragon walked into town and wrote, 'I am Hiccup' where we all could see him do it, that would do the job," Spitelout said.
"He'll never do that," Fishlegs blurted out. "He's afraid someone will kill him."
"That's a reasonable assumption," Stoick nodded.
"If he wrote it in this secret hidin' place o' his, in front of a few reliable witnesses, I'd accept that," Gobber said, and Stoick nodded again.
"I don't think he'll do that, either, sir. His girl friend doesn't like people. He told me not to come back unless I was alone and unarmed."
"In that case," Spitelout commented, "I'd say you have a problem, young man."
Fishlegs slowly turned and walked away. He'd hoped that the dragon scales would solve his problem, but they'd barely made any difference. The adults were not helping him at all. Maybe he needed the help of someone who wasn't an adult. Yeah, that was how he'd do it. He made a quick visit to the docks, then headed back into the forest, unaware that someone else who wasn't an adult was silently following him.
He got back to the cove entrance, took a deep breath, and crouched to step through. The dragons were pretty much where they'd been when he left them that morning, but they were lying side by side, apparently asleep. One of them was stirring, so he stayed motionless and waited until they noticed him. That took about ten seconds; then one dragon leaped to its feet, and the other started to charge at him but quickly stopped.
"Uh, good evening, Mrs. Hiccup," he quavered. "No, that's Mrs. Dimmadreki. Uh, Dimmadreki, what should I call her?"
HER NAME IS MYRKRID
"Okay. Myrkrid, I'm Fishlegs, and I hope we can be friends. At the very least, I hope you don't eat me." He tossed her a fish from his pocket; she snapped it out of the air and relaxed her aggressive posture. Dimmadreki made some noises that sounded like he was translating what Fishlegs had said. ("At least he has some manners," Myrkrid commented.) "Dimmadreki, thanks again for the scales, but the chief isn't convinced that it's really you. Can you think of any other way to prove it without getting yourself hurt?"
The dragon made a face that looked remarkably like Hiccup's I'm-thinking expression, considering how different his head and face looked now. Then he drew a square on the ground. He drew two vertical and two horizontal lines inside the square that divided it into nine smaller squares, then wrote the numbers from 1 to 9, one in each square.
TELL THEM TO DRAW THIS IN THE UPPER
SHEEP PASTURE. THEY SHOULD DRAW 2
NUMBERS NEAR THE TRAINING RING.
TONIGHT, I WILL SHOOT THE BOXES WHOSE
NUMBERS MATCH THOSE NUMBERS.
"Okay, that might work," Fishlegs said doubtfully. "That will prove that you're intelligent, but how will it prove that you're you?"
YOU'RE RIGHT. NEVER MIND. He looked thoughtful again. That was when they saw motion near the entrance to the cove. Both dragons tensed up; Fishlegs quickly stepped aside so he wouldn't get caught in the crossfire if the Night Furies started flaming.
Astrid cautiously stepped through the opening, axe at the ready. "So this is where you –" She got no further before the nearest Night Fury lunged at her with a roar.
Never mind if it's Hiccup or not; this is self-defense! she thought. She screamed and hurled her axe at the charging dragon's head with all her strength… and the other dragon spat out a bright-blue fireball that hit her axehead in mid-flight. The axe spun crookedly, splashed into the water, and sank out of sight. It was as if he knew I'd throw it, she thought, and aimed for the spot where it would go. Then she realized she'd thrown away her weapon and was now helpless in front of a very angry dragon.
That dragon backed her up against a boulder and pinned her there with its muzzle, growling so low that she could feel it in her bones. "Fishlegs!" she hissed. "If it'll listen to you, then tell it to let me go!"
"You broke my deal to be alone and unarmed, and you tried to kill Myrkrid. I don't think they'll listen to either of us right now."
She glared at him. "Myrkrid? Oh, now you're on a first-name basis with these dragons?"
"We were always on a first-name basis with that one, but his name is Dimmadreki now."
"That's really Hiccup?" She looked at the other dragon. "Now you're calling yourself Dimma-something? You're getting a little pretentious, don't you think?" Myrkrid gave her midsection a shove with her muzzle; Astrid squirmed and tried to embed herself into the rock, to keep that dragon from getting any closer. Dimmadreki stalked over and stood next to his mate. She glanced from one Night Fury to the other, and thought of something that made her squirm even worse. "You... you and her... the two of you... ick! With a female dragon? How could you do that?"
MAGNIFICENTLY,
ACCORDING TO HER
Fishlegs tried and failed to stifle a snort. It wasn't like Hiccup to brag like that, but it was definitely like him to come back with such a sarcastic answer. Astrid glared at him angrily for a moment.
She stared at the dragon who did the writing, searching for something about it that looked like Hiccup. All she saw was black scales, bat-like wings, and a very threatening expression on the reptilian face. The only reason she was even remotely willing to believe Fishlegs was the simple fact that these dragons hadn't killed him (or her).
He stared back at Astrid. She was just as blonde and blue-eyed and fair-skinned and slender as she'd ever been. He searched the inner reaches of his brain, trying to remember why she'd seemed so irresistible to him such a short time ago. Finally, he wrote some more runes on the ground.
WHY ARE YOU HERE?
"I was following Fishlegs," she snapped. "We were supposed to be looking for the Night Furies together."
"I thought you were stuck in a family reunion!" Fishlegs protested.
"I couldn't stand being around all those ancient relatives in their forties and fifties, reminiscing about the good old days when men were men and women were obedient," she growled. "I said I was going for a walk, and nobody cared; that's how it always is with young people at family reunions. Have you worked out a way to clear your name yet?"
"None of us can think of a way that will convince the chief without somebody getting killed," Fishlegs replied. "He's a tough one to convince, especially with Spitelout shooting down everything I say. Gobber is trying to help, but no one listens to him; maybe that's a side effect of hanging around Hiccup for so long. I may have to live with an unclear name."
"I don't give up that easily," she shot back. "I am going to find a way to make this right, even if it takes me a year!"
"I, uhh, I don't think the dragons have a year," he quavered. Dimmadreki gave him a startled look. Fishlegs explained about the adults' plans to capture the Night Furies with nets; he didn't mention their specific plans for Myrkrid.
The female suddenly pulled away from Astrid and turned to face Dimmadreki; they exchanged some urgent-sounding grunts and growls. Dimmadreki turned to Fishlegs.
CAN WE TRUST YOU TO NOT TALK
ABOUT THIS PLACE?
"Yes!" he answered without hesitation.
WHAT ABOUT HER?
He hesitated, and that was all the answer the Night Fury needed.
NOW WE HAVE TO FIND A NEW PLACE
TO LIVE. DON'T BOTHER COMING
BACK HERE; WE WON'T BE HERE.
WE REALLY LIKED IT HERE, TOO
With an irritated glare, he turned to Astrid.
THANK YOU FOR MESSING THAT UP
"What do you expect me to do?" she snapped. "Betray my own village?"
"At least he still has his sense of sarcasm," Fishlegs commented. "Will I ever see you again, Dimmadreki?"
PROBABLY NOT
Fishlegs' crestfallen expression nearly made Astrid laugh – how could he be disappointed at saying good-bye to dragons? But Dimmadreki seemed slightly upset about it.
I'LL MAKE IT UP TO YOU.
CLIMB ON MY BACK AND I'LL
FLY YOU BACK TO THE VILLAGE
"What?" Astrid couldn't believe her eyes.
"Whoa!" Fishlegs exclaimed. "Me? Ride a dragon? Ride a Night Fury? Uhh… there aren't any steps. How do I get on?"
Dimmadreki extended a foreleg for Fishlegs to use as a step. He hesitantly climbed up onto the dragon's back and tried to get comfortable. "There aren't any handles, either," he noticed. "How do I hang on?"
TIGHTLY
"Wait! What about me?" Astrid demanded. She had no desire to ride a dragon, but the idea of Fishlegs doing something heroic without her was too much to swallow.
WHILE YOU'RE WALKING HOME,
THINK ABOUT THE BEST WAY TO
ASK SOMEONE FOR A FAVOR.
HINT: TRYING TO KILL MY MATE
ISN'T HOW IT'S DONE
Then he bounded into the sky, with Myrkrid close behind him. Fishlegs nearly fell off, but soon found his balance. As they winged out of sight, Astrid could hear him shouting, "Oh, yeah! I think I might be awesome!"
She had to walk home. Fishlegs got a dragon ride. She'd lost her best axe. Hiccup had found a girlfriend. Life had suddenly become totally unfair.