Prodigal Son 13
Astrid burst through the door of her home, and headed immediately towards the back wall where her modest chest sat. Every Hofferson had one. In an overcrowded home where even beds were shared, everyone needed a place to put their own personal belongings. Astrid didn't own much. A few changes of clothing, a sheep skin cloak with a deep hood, a few small weapons, her shield, and a set of thick cloth armor. Astrid didn't waste her time with heavy chainmail or iron plates. Those slowed her down far too much, and they absorbed heat. She had watched a warrior or two get cooked inside his own armor. It looked like a painful death. She dressed quickly, strapping on her knee pads, and throwing her cloak over her shoulders.
She grabbed Fishlegs satchel and pulled out the loose papers, throwing them into the chest, replacing them with a few buns and some salted fish which she had wrapped carefully. She was just hefting her shield when she heard a few steps behind her.
"Astrid?"
She turned. Her mother was standing by her bed watching her.
"Stoick's leading a counter-attack." Astrid declared. "In half an hour we sail for Helheim's gate."
Brunhilda winced, small muscles working at the back of her jaw. She said, I'll make a sacrifice for you." She was a hard woman. A mother, a wife, and a warrior. It was rare to see her looking at all shaken. But Astrid could see the worry in her eyes.
"I'm coming back, mum."
"I know." Brunhilda didn't sound convinced. She strode forward and put her hand over Astrid's as the younger woman tightened her grip on her axe. With her other hand, Brunhilda stroked her daughter's hair and drew her into a hug. "Just… never let go of this weapon."
"Of course not." Astrid replied. "How else am I supposed to kill dragons?"
Brunhilda chuckled and held her daughter at arm's length, looking her up and down. "Not just that. If you… You're a great warrior, Astrid. Your father and I are very proud of you."
Astrid felt a bubble of warmth rise in her chest, and allowed herself to take a little pride in her mother's praise. "Thanks mum."
"Just… have a care, alright?" Brunhilda's gaze was drawn downwards to a piece of paper lying beside the open chest. Astrid's heart leapt into her mouth as she realized that it was Hiccup's sketch. The one she had taken from Stoick's home. It had flown loose from the pile when she had flung his papers into her chest.
Brunhilda bent down and picked it up, frowning curiously. She cracked a smile when she read the note underneath. "Where did you get this?"
"It was Hiccup's."
"Of course it was. Who else would have drawn this? Snotlout?" Brunhilda held the paper up to the light, giving it a thorough examination. "Look at the detail!" she flashed her daughter a smile. "He really captured you, Astrid."
"I know." She whispered.
Brunhilda shot her a look. "Where did you find this?"
"Gobber had a collection of Hiccup's drawings." Astrid said as casually as she could manage.
They stared at each other, Brunhilda's smile fading. She said, "Where did you actually get it, Astrid?"
"Gobber's forge."
Her mother's eyes narrowed. "Don't forget that I raised you, girl. Don't think I don't know when you're lying."
For a moment, Astrid wondered whether or not to tell the truth. Whether her mother would understand, would be able to handle what she and Fishlegs- well… mostly Fishlegs- had figured out. The Hofferson clan had lost many good men and women to the Dragons including Astrid's beloved uncle, Finn. But if she admitted where it came from, that she had broken into the chief's home, it would bring shame to the Hofferson clan. Astrid felt a great tug upon her heart strings as she realized how badly she wanted her mother's last thoughts of her to be positive.
Brunhilda's fears were justified; every expedition to Helheim's gate had failed, and they had all incurred heavy losses for the village. When Brunhilda had told her to hold on to her axe, it was so that if she were killed, she would end up in Asgard. There was a very real chance Astrid was not coming back, and she wanted to be remembered as an honorable warrior, not a thief. So she stuck her chin out defiantly and snatched the paper away, carefully rolling it up so as not to smear or damage the sketch. She placed it carefully in the chest and then shut the lid. "I've got to go, mum."
Brunhilda's eyes lingered on the closed container, but she sighed. "Alright. We'll talk when you get back."
"Yeah…" Astrid pulled her mother into a last, tight hug. Then she hefted her shield and walked out with her head held high. She could feel Brunhilda's gaze on the back of her neck.
Astrid hopped off the dock and into the longship. She kept her feet even as it creaked and swayed against the wooden pier. The boat was stocked with minimal supplies, so as to not take too much from Berk's storehouses. It was full of heavily armed Viking warriors wearing grim but determined faces. One or two of her distant cousins were there.
Astrid crept light-footed from bench to bench. She cringed as Snotlout nodded to her from the bow, and threw her a wink. Instead she slipped into the only other remaining seat: beside Tuffnut. Astrid leaned over him and strapped her shield into place beside the others. She took her seat as the inside oarsmen. She had never had much to do with Tuffnut. He had a reputation for being rather dim. Oddly enough it was something Astrid doubted. His fascination with death and destruction –one he shared with his sister- often caused him to look at situations in a different light from the rest of the villagers, it was true. He was bloodthirsty, but he wasn't stupid.
"I told my mom we were going to Helheim's gate." Tuffnut said conversationally. He was staring up at Berk, looking a little pale.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." He said shakily. His hands were constantly shifting their grip on his oar. "Yeah, she said she was scared because those ships never come back. But I said 'Of course they don't, mom. Ships can't sail themselves! They have no brain!' that's what I said." he paused for a moment, looking sullen.
"I'm sure that's what she meant." Astrid managed.
He kicked the hull beside him. "Yeah! Stupid ships!"
"Where's your spear?"
He tapped his foot against it. He had placed it on the floor underneath their rowing benches.
"Just remember: Hold on to that and in a few days' time you'll either be back home, or in Valhalla, drinking with the gods."
"Never gone into a fight without Ruff before…"
"Well now she won't be around to distract you from the carnage." Astrid offered awkwardly.
He gave her a blank look, and then grinned. "Yeah. It's gonna be awesome!"
There was a yell from the dock; Stoick the Vast had arrived. Berk's chieftain stood tall, shining in his chainmail. His mighty hammer was gripped tightly in his hand. He bellowed loudly, silencing the four longships. Every warrior turned to look at him.
"My friends, today is a day of reckoning!" Stoick declared. "Today we strike back at the beasts. I am tired of watching our stores get plundered, our warriors slaughtered, and our village burn!"
Unbidden came the image of the young child tottering out of the burning building. Astrid glanced across the dock at Hundolfr Hrolfson who was seated in a different longship. The destitute father had acquired a new mace. He looked… quite calm, actually. Peaceful.
"I swear on Thor's name, we are going to find their nest. We are going to tear it down, and force them off this archipelago once and for all! Today we sail for Helheim's gate!" Stoick thrust his axe into the air, prompting the crews of the four longships to cheer.
Astrid searched the cliff above the docks. She spotted her mother standing beside Gobber and Fishlegs near the top of the ramp, and waved. Brunhilda's distant shape waved back.
"Shove off." Stoick ordered, hopping into the vessel adjacent to hers. The ships were pushed away from the docks. Astrid gripped her oar, and began to row. She kept her eyes on her home island of Berk until it sank from sight. She wondered for the briefest of moments why it sank as opposed to simply growing smaller, but dismissed the curiosity as quickly as it had arrived. The sails were being unfurled, and she had weapons to sharpen and polish. They would do Thor proud, or die trying.
They sailed for a day and a night. Helheim's gate was known to every Viking fisherman. What lay beyond it, however, was a mystery. A great unnatural wall of writhing mist stretched across the horizon in an even line, parting the Dragons' territory from that of Men. Around the boats in every direction stretched calm, endless blue waves. Before them lay the oily, thick grey fog. Within it they could see the faint outlines of sharp, rocky outcroppings. Small shapes flitted through the mist, unseen except for their motion.
"Have no fear!" Astrid could hear Stoick's voice from the lead vessel. "We are Thor's chosen warriors!"
The ships' sails were lowered, and everyone took up an oar. They rowed slowly into the mist. The sun dimmed, and silence fell like a blanket as they churned slowly through the mist. Even the constant breaking of waves on rough rock seemed muffled.
Sea stacks and thin rock formations towered over their heads. At the bow, four Vikings used their paddles to steer the ship, pushing it away from the lofty black stone columns. As they drew further into Helheim's Gate, fluttering wings could be heard far above their heads. They could hear the tittering and chirruping of dragons, calls no one had ever heard before, echoing amongst the monoliths.
"Arm yourselves!" Stoick called out.
"Move over!" Astrid hissed, swapping places with Tuffnut. She unfastened her shield from the hull of the ship and slid it onto her arm, gripping her axe in her other hand. The Viking in front of her raised his sword, ready to strike. There was a sudden gust of wind which knocked her back into her seat. The warrior's sword was flying up into the air, hefted aloft by a flitting black shape.
"Hey!" The bereaved Viking shook his fist up at the rapidly vanishing shape, "That was my grandfather's you beast!"
At this pronouncement, the chirruping noises around them increased tenfold. They increased more as every Viking around them hefted weaponry of one kind or another. Berk's tiny fleet was suddenly bristling with metal.
"Steady!" Astrid called out. "Eyes sharp!" Similar calls were being repeated across all four boats. Another moment passed, during which time the nattering around them grew to a crescendo.
The seastacks surrounding them suddenly burst forth with great swarms of dragons. Tiny scaled shapes flitted all around them, stealing weaponry and pulling at the longships' fastenings. Astrid watched helplessly as a warrior was lifted screaming into the air. His chainmail jangled as eight of the beasts carried him off into the mist. Four more were gathered at Stoick's shoulders, trying to pull him away. She could see him through the mist, standing proudly on the bow of his ship as he crushed the monsters with his hammer.
The swarms writhed and coiled, whirling around each of the longships, thieving weapons from the hands of ready Vikings, and sometimes carrying off shields and helmets. This was useless, she thought as she watched her comrades flail impotently at the flocks. She bellowed an order: "Shield wall!"
Her comrades obeyed immediately. Three-dozen warriors in total, huddled in a tight cluster around the mast. Dragons clawed and clattered uselessly against the shield wall, grasping at the sword tips, which would inevitably thrust out to disembowel them. Their corpses began to pile up, and the deck boards ran red with dragons' blood as the Vikings adjusted their tactics against their foes, gutting any dragon who dared venture down to grip a shield. On the other three ships, other Vikings began to follow their example.
There came a cry from somewhere above them. A chirping call Astrid had been dreading. Nadder fire split the sky, lighting the mast of her longship. The scorched and singed the crew, causing them to turn away. A few arrows were loosed after the beast but it flapped its wings and gracefully vanished into the fog, only to fall upon them again from a different direction. Its fire had broken the Viking's shield wall, and the swarms of smaller dragons fell upon them once again, snatching and grasping at their weapons and armor.
More dragonfire flashed to either side as Gronkles and Nadders began to attack the other ships as well. Their shadows fell across the ships like beams of darkness piercing the fog. Astrid could hear Stoick shouting commands to his troops. Steam began to rise, further obscuring the longships from one another, and preventing any tactical assessment of the battle.
"Reform!" Astrid called out, "Shield wall." She flung open one of the many plunderage chests, and retrieved several arrows and a bow from it. She notched an arrow and backed up until the Viking battle formation swallowed her. A few other archers were there as well, aiming through their covering's small cracks. Astrid took a moment to steady herself, comforted by the closeness and warmth of her battle brothers. They listened to the faint war calls from the other boats, and the constant chittering and flapping of dragon wings. She spotted a larger shadow heading towards the boat, and let fly her arrow. A cry told her she had hit her target, and a large shape crashed into the water beside their boat, breaking half of their oars, and causing the ship to rock and creak. The mast was still aflame. If they survived, the boat would have to be towed back.
Another dragon shrieked above them, and Astrid's heart fell when she recognized it as a Monstrous Nightmare.
"Scatter!" She ordered, even as the Nightmare's flaming spit fell from the sky. Vikings dove out of the way, though one or two were caught in the blaze and leapt overboard, screaming. The Nightmare came down with a screech and spread its wings, coming to a near halt in the air as it eclipsed the sky. It gripped the top of the mast with its feet and began to pull. Astrid was flung sideways and landed against the gunwhale. She gripped her axe tightly as salt water washed over the back of her neck and down her shoulders. The entire boat was tipping, capsizing under the weight of the Nightmare. All around her, warriors scrambled for handholds.
She gripped a nearby bench and hauled herself to her feet, steadying her stance against the wall of the ship. The nightmare was nearly in front of her now, the longship angled so steeply that water was rushing in over the side, soaking her ankles.
"Sorry, mum." Astrid murmured. She took one last breath, and then lifted her axe over her head and threw it and the monstrous dragon. With a meaty noise it hit the beast in the back of the leg. The Nightmare howled and let go of the mast. The longship righted itself, sending her flying backwards. The back of her head crunched against the hardened wooden frame, and the world drew out of focus. The last thing she heard were the anguished cries of her comrades, and the last thing she saw was a herd of Gronckles descending upon them.
Only one ship came back from the expedition. The day was pale and grey. Frost still clung to the rough patches of grass. An agonizing week had passed since she had watched four ships vanish over the horizon.
Brunhilda was there when the sorry expedition returned, charred and smoking. The sail was patched in multiple places, sometimes with articles of clothing. She watched as warriors, wounded and grim were helped off the boat and up the steep climb to the village. Their numbers were halved, with three ships lost. One by one they paraded by, singed and bleeding. As the parade passed through the crowd of silent villagers, her heart slowly sank. Yet she kept herself composed.
When she spotted blond hair, her feet carried her forward. Her breath failed as she recognized Tuffnut Thorston, using his spear for support.
"Astrid…?" she asked faintly.
He fixed her with a sad look and shook his head, then limped on towards the Thorston hall. The world spun round Brunhilda, a thousand emotions swirling in her chest.
Stoick the Vast brought up the rear, and Brunhilda heard Gobber's question. "Did you find the nest?"
She also heard the Chief's answer. "Not even close."
Later found her in the Hofferson hall, carefully unpacking her daughter's belongings. She found a few childhood toys. A change of clothes, Astrid's first axe, a small skirt, a doll... Very little. So very little to remember her by.
Hiccup's sketch of Astrid was lying on her bed. Brunhilda faintly pondered the origins of this unexpected object, yet dismissed it; to think of it was to prod an open wound. Instead she drew her knees up, clutched her lost child's axe, and resolutely refused to cry.
She gritted her teeth, realizing that she would never wake up to see her daughter dressing for the day. At noon, Astrid would no longer be leading the new trainees on a jog through Berk. She would never see her daughter training again. There were a thousand experiences, entire chapters of her life which had closed so very suddenly. Regrets swam through the sea grief. She should have tried to stop Astrid from going, though she knew there was no way she ever could have. Astrid had been…determined. Stoic. Certainly infected with that famous Viking stubbornness.
Loss was a part of Viking life. Especially on Berk. Brunhilda had lost her father, two brothers, and multiple cousins and uncles to the Dragons and the Outcasts and occasionally the harshness of the climate. But she came to the stunning realization that she had never expected Astrid to be among that number. It had seemed so incomprehensible an idea. She had never worried for her daughter like she had for other members of her family. Astrid had always been so… solid. A rock steadfast in the face of life's ferocious waves. A duty and a favor Brunhilda hoped she had managed to return.
Her gaze once again fell upon Hiccup's sketch, and she traced every careful stroke. How that talented young man had captured Astrid's essence. Her ferocity and determination. Brunhilda rose to her feet and gently picked up the sketch. She walked out the door and wandered Berk's familiar paths until at last she came upon the Haddock Hall.
She knocked once, twice, three times. The door was opened promptly to reveal Stoick's vast bulk. The man was holding a large block of ice to his temple. He looked exhausted, and Brunhilda could see new reddened burn marks on his arms, and scratches all over his shoulders. Blood trickled from a small cut on the side of his head.
"Brunhilda." He greeted, his voice tired and rough, but still polite.
"Chief Stoick." She replied, Astrid's tiny axe was still hanging loosely at her side.
"I uhh…" His eyes flickered towards the axe. "I was going to come by later and offer my condolences. Astrid… we would not have made it as far as we did without her. She fought well."
"Of course she did." Brunhilda said shakily. She raised the drawing and handed it to him. "I found this in her things. Hiccup drew it, right?"
Stoick's mouth had gone slack, his eyes wide with shock. He extended a trembling hand. "Where did you…?"
"It was in her things." Brunhilda repeated, suddenly feeling very tired.
He shot her a suspicious look, his eyes narrowed.
"I felt it should be returned…" she began.
"Yes. Thanks." The man was puffing repeatedly as he stared down at the picture. "In her things, you said?"
She nodded, picking up a certain anger in his tone. "Chief, if anything has happened-"
"Nothing!" He was snarling now, red-faced. "If you find any more of my son's sketches in your daughter's things, I will expect them returned to their rightful owner immediately! Good day!"
The door slammed shut in her face. If she had not felt so out of sorts with exhaustion, she would have pursued the issue. She didn't appreciate the unspoken accusation in his tone.
Astrid felt sand between her fingertips. It was on her cheek as well, and in her hair. She even felt like someone had stuffed her head full of sand, given how difficult it was to formulate anything approaching rational thoughts. A muffled thumping noise echoed in her skull, as if she were underwater listening as waves slammed into a sea stack. Water was lapping at her knees, and she could smell the stench of rotting seaweed. She cracked an eyelid open and beheld a raven.
The enormous bird was perched on a large rock a meter from her. Sunlight reflected from its sleek black feathers. She gazed up at it through half-lidded eyes. "Are you Huginn, or Muninn?"
The raven squawked loudly and tilted its head at her.
"Get out of here." She ordered hoarsely, "Go tell Odin I'm not dead yet!"
It squawked one last time and took off, beating the air with its wings as it rose and disappeared.
Astrid shut her eyes and rested a moment, building up some strength. Her head was pounding, her thoughts muddy, her memories jumbled. She rolled onto her back and cried out weakly. Her eyes were closed, but the sun still pierced her eyelids making her moan and turn her head away in protest.
Time passed, and her eyes adjusted, though the process went much more slowly than usual. The beach was yellow sand, rough and hot. Beyond it was sandstone, coloured in greys, reds and browns. Astrid slowly made her way up the beach, crawling at first but eventually she gathered the strength to force herself to her feet. She stumbled past the high-tide line, marked with rotting seaweed and thin, bone-white chunks of driftwood.
Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the distressed calls of a Deadly Nadder, carried on the wind.
Facing the sea, she took a seat on a boulder. Almost perfectly spherical in shape, it jutted a good two feet out of the sandstone, as if the gods had dropped a marble into the earth. Around it were several shorter flat rocks, fairly wide. As she watched, a small crab scuttled from one of them into the shelter underneath another. Beyond them was the blue ocean, looking fairly calm. But no other land masses were in sight. She wondered where she was.
Astrid sniffed and took stock. Her right side was aching madly. Her knees, elbows, and shoulders were sore, though her left knee was throbbing particularly badly. She sported several bruises on her arms and an enormous goose egg at the back of her head. The aching in her side was the worst though, and she wanted to see the damage first hand. Astrid gingerly began to undo the straps holding on her leather cuirass, but found her progress impeded by a leather strap. She followed it down to find a satchel at her waist.
It was fine quality leather, carefully oiled. Her memory slowly pieced events together. It was Fishlegs' satchel! He had given it to her before they'd shipped out. She had been wearing it during the battle at Helheim's gate.
She unslung it and opened it up, pouring a few cups of seawater onto the sand. Inside were a few changes of clothing, soaked, and a few slices of salted fish, carefully wrapped and dripping wet. Another object slid out and landed on the dry sand; Hiccup's journal. It too was soaked, but through some ungodly miracle, the ink had not run.
Astrid laid it out on one of the flat stones, using smaller pebbles to prop the pages open, allowing the offshore breeze to sift through them and dry them out faster. She would need the paper for kindling, and it was no good wet.
She kept the salted fish in its wrapping, placing a rock over it to prevent the more adventurous seagulls from snatching it away; for all she knew, it was to be her only food source for quite a while. She also used a few small pieces of bleached driftwood to prop the oiled satchel open, allowing it to dry as well.
She continued to undress, grunting at the minor aches and pains which accompanied the removal of her cuirass and her undershirt. She lay her wraps and undergarments aside as well, sitting half-naked on the rock as she waited for them to dry. The salt, of course, would make them stiff and uncomfortable. She hoped to find a freshwater stream somewhere on her new island, not only for drinking but also for washing. She leaned over to examine herself more closely. Her left side was a blotchy mess of angry blue bruises with yellowing edges. She was sore, but sure that nothing was broken.
Astrid pulled a small emergency knife from her boot. She had lost her axe, her shield, and all other weaponry. The knife was no good for killing. Its blade was perhaps three inches long. Not enough to kill a dragon, but for woodworking and preparing dead animals it would come in handy.
Astrid could see no trees on the island, but there was wood. Specifically, the bleached driftwood which lined the beaches. Some pieces were large enough for a fire, but all were far too small to lash together for a raft. Not that she had the rope. There were logs as well, too heavy for her to move. Even if she found the rope, and lashed them together, her clothing was threadbare, far too thin to construct an effective sail.
She wandered down the beach a kilometer or two, staying on sandstone as much as possible to avoid tiring herself out on the soft sand. She did find fresh water on the far side of a large spit. It couldn't even be called a creek, really. Merely moisture which ran down a sandstone slope and disappeared into the sandy beach. Several natural shallow caves had been hewn from the soft sandstone by years of waves and weather erosion. They sat well above the tide-line, and were filled with small chunks of bleached driftwood.
The sun crawled higher in the sky as she wandered three more kilometers, arriving at what she reckoned to be the far side of the island. She felt a surge of excitement as she caught sight of a distant landmass on the horizon. Once again, she could hear the calls of a Nadder, somewhere down the beach. She kept going, staying low as she moved fluidly around the rim of the bay. As she traveled, the squawking and chirping grew in volume. She reached a rocky outcropping and peered around it.
Beyond was an enormous pile of wood. Splintered timber from one of Berk's longships. Rigging and lines crisscrossed the waterlogged wreck, half-submerged. A little further up the bank was a Nadder, lying on its side, tangled in the rigging. It had somehow tangled one of its wings in the ship's sail. There was a spear embedded in its side. It was not a deep wound, but it would be fatal if not dealt with. As she watched, the Nadder raised its head and let out a troubled wail.
Breathing hard, Astrid pulled back and leaned against the rocky wall. She gripped her knife tightly. It was far too small to kill the dragon. And even on its side, the beast was still capable of breathing fire and shooting its poisonous spines. Yet she needed to get past it, to the timber. She needed the sail fabric which was wrapped around its wings. She searched the sea and surrounding area for bodies. Weapons. Wreckage. Anything she could use to kill the beast, and came up empty.
Grimacing with disappointment, she wandered back along the beaches. A four-kilometer hike to the place where she had washed ashore. Her supplies were still there. Her shirt and undergarments were dry, and stiff as boards, but she wrapped her chest up and slipped her shirt on anyway, thankful for the shade; her bare back had been exposed to the sun for several hours.
The fish fillets were warm, and infested with flies, but she ate one anyway. She carried the leather satchel over to the trickling water she had found. She dug a shallow hole there, and chopped some stiff grass stalks, placing them in such a way as to allow moisture to flow into the oiled satchel. With any luck there would be drinking water there the following morning.
Then, with the setting sun before her, Astrid settled down to think. She needed the lumber. She needed the rigging. She needed the sail. She needed to get past that wounded dragon. It would bleed out and die eventually. But would she still be alive by that time? Would she still have the strength to build a raft and set sail? Berk was part of an archipelago. This was not the first time a Viking had been shipwrecked. She could survive. Hop from island to island. Perhaps make it home, hug her mum and get a new axe.
But first she needed to get past the dragon.
Her gaze fell upon Hiccup's journal. Damp, but dry enough to handle. The boy certainly had a way with the beasts if he had managed to ride a Night Fury.
How to Train Your Dragon by Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third
Astrid flipped the front cover open and started down the first page. "Alright, Haddock," she grumbled, "we tried our way. Now let's see what you can do."
This story is finally starting to take shape!
In terms of renaming the story, the overwhelming majority of people seemed to think I should keep it the same, so I will. Even so, I appreciate all of your commentary, and all of your suggestions for other possible names.
The meeting between Brunhilda and Stoick was originally very different, and I hated it. They were both out of character, and terribly mean to each other for no good reason. I wrestled with it for quite a while before finally deleting a fair chunk of the chapter and starting again. There was almost nothing salvageable. I'm still not entirely satisfied with the result, but I had to move on, or stall out. Don't you hate it when that happens?
As always, I love to hear your thoughts, good or bad.
Cheers,
-CC