It was a little late in the morning but still rather early in the day when the sorcerers and Berkians lifted off for the Meathead Islands. For the most part, they flew separately, Berkians forming their own group in the air, while the sorcerers flew closer to each other and a little distant from the Vikings.
The Berkians held their own quiet discussions, while the sorcerers flew silently, each one straight-backed and focused on the edge of the horizon, waiting for their destination to appear.
Everyone, each from the perspective of the side partition they fell into, was very aware of how close they were, yet simultaneously how very far they were from each other.
And while these two parties examined the glass wall that divided them, someone else beat them to a punch they didn't know they were throwing.
0=
Myre stood at the prow of the boat they commanded, while the dragons they'd brought with them pulled it along on the rough waves that seemed to be nearly everywhere in this little archipelago.
Modo walked up from behind him, stopping at his left shoulder while the few foot soldiers that Myre had asked to come along stood around uneasily.
"How much longer will it be?" Modo asked, staring straight ahead. Even at the speed of dragon, once they'd left the main ship with this vessel, Modo had become quite aware of just how small the boat was.
Myre knew what mood Modo had found himself in. Impatience, restlessness, and an urgency to see something other than dark blue sea and storm clouds wherever he looked.
To put it simply, Modo was vibrating to have something to do.
"Patience," Myre said simply. "The journey concludes when the traveller stops."
Modo scrutinized him for a moment.
"The wisdom isn't helping any," he told Myre. "If anything, it's less than an answer, because it just gives me more questions to ask."
Myre chuckled. "A fair bit of wisdom from you as well."
Modo sighed, unwillingly taking that as all he was going to get out of the other man, when an area within the distant clouds of mist before them began to darken.
Modo peered closer, his hands dangling loosely below him as he leaned over the prow to get a better look.
"What did I say?" Myre remarked, turning and walking away, leaving Modo to have his necessary realization on his own. "You embraced patience."
Modo squinted at the shadow in the sea fog while he turned Myre's words over in his head. After another terse few minutes as the dragons flew, dragging the boat through the choppy waters, in which Modo also decided to rest his hands on the edge of the vessel, lightly gripping the wood by his fingers, the dull grey blob of non-colour began to take shape.
As he watched, the sheer size of the object whose shadow was cast on the fog became clear. It was vast and largely flat, a long spire rising out of it at one corner before steeply sloping down into the rest of the shape.
"Meathead Island," he said aloud, as he understood. "This is it?"
This question was directed to Myre, who had returned to stand at his side.
Not once had Modo turned his head to look, nor had Myre made any discernible sound to signify his presence.
Modo was one of the only people who could hear Myre coming, even when he approached in perfect silence.
"Correct," came the reply, Myre's smile leaking through into his voice, into the tone of his speech. Modo knew it was just the usual calm smile, unrelentingly unsurprised, never on guard.
Never off guard, either.
"And where's the cave we're meant to be going in?" he asked.
Myre gestured. "Do you see those rocks? The ones that look like teeth?"
Modo peered through what was left of the ocean mist. He saw no teeth.
"Nope."
Myre glanced at him. "Are you sure? They're straight ahead, if a little to the right."
Modo looked again, right as the fog parted and all the colours of Meathead Island were visible. It wasn't anything particularly beautiful to look at, but the forests were certainly a welcome sight. There were no houses or huts on this side of the island, so whatever they did, they could do it without fear of being seen.
Modo examined the island for a moment, then cast his gaze to the right, searching for anything that looked remotely like teeth.
He found what Myre had described almost immediately. Sharp rocks rose from the water, curling up and inwards around the dark mouth of a cave, murky water rippling at the entrance. They looked like fangs.
Beside him, Myre looked up, and called to the dragon riders.
"Excuse me," he said, although they would have listened no matter what he prefaced the order with, "could we speed up a little?"
The riders evidently heard him, because the boat surged forwards almost at once, scaly wings flapping vigorously above them. By Modo's reckoning, they would reach their destination in about 20 minutes.
He rested his elbow on the wooden frame of the boat, putting a finger between his teeth. It was a little tic of his.
Myre glanced at him as he bit his finger, but said nothing, preferring to watch the target destination.
"So," Modo said, between his victim digit, "you think Orgoze really found it here?"
"I know, Modo," Myre replied. "Not think. There is no reason, after all, that he would lie to me. Nor does it go against what we know of the ancients to operate this way. Besides, I solved it before he did, but he likes having something to do, so I just waited for him to tell me. Our answers, at least, match up."
"Mhmm," Modo said, working on his fingertip. Something burned, all of a sudden, and he took his hand away to see a small pinprick of blood.
"I don't know what you expected," Myre commented, gazing at the same sight. "You've always had the same teeth since you were younger."
Modo let himself grin. "You remember when I bit my brother?"
Myre shook his head, his smile turning to amusement. "The incident will never leave my mind. Wasn't that when people started saying you should be muzzled?"
There was no question about it, if Myre said it was. "Yeah. Not my fault my teeth never wore down, though. My father had sharp teeth when he was a kid, but they got blunter as he grew up. Combine that with my mother's blood, and…"
"Everlasting sharpness, as you like to call it."
Modo nodded. For a while, they relapsed into silence, watching the waves pass them as the dragons dragged them along.
"What do you think you'll find in there?" Modo asked, gnawing at the second finger on his hand. The prick he'd given himself on the first one had closed up by now.
Myre shrugged. "I wonder. Certainly something to do with the legends of the region, if the ancients' tendency to have a hand in everything is to be trusted."
Modo took his finger out of his mouth and snapped a few times, trying to remember. "There's a lightning god, isn't there?"
"Thor," Myre said.
"Yeah, him. You think there'll be something in there that's connected?"
"Perhaps."
Modo understood that Myre wasn't going to say any more than that, and decided to pursue a related topic.
"Why are you even after this?" he asked. "No magid is coming for it. They don't even know it exists."
"The enchanters know about it," Myre said. "Not that they know that they know about it, but they know about it."
"That," Modo said, "makes no goddamn sense."
"Every magid has grouped themselves by the way they cast spells," Myre explained patiently. "You already know this."
Modo nodded. "So? Don't see how that matters."
"Each group has a prophecy from centuries ago, millennia even. You know this too."
"Yeah, so what?"
Modo frowned, thinking for a moment. "Oh. That's it."
"Same page?"
It was the phrase he and Myre used between them to make sure they understood what the other was thinking. It used to be longer before, but over time, as the situations they found themselves in became increasingly stressful, more and more chaotic, it had shortened to become what it was now. Even in peaceful settings, they still tended towards the shorter form. Saying any of the lengthier versions was an unspoken 'no go' between them.
"The enchanters' prophecy is about this place," Modo said, "and what's in there."
He looked at Myre for confirmation.
"Perfect," Myre nodded. "Not that the enchanters have figured it out yet, as I already mentioned."
"Good thing you're around to do the job for them then, isn't it?"
"Oh, give Orgoze the credit. He likes to be useful."
"You just said you figured it out the moment you heard of it."
"Ah, but we have Orgoze's feelings to consider."
"Tsk."
Again, silence reigned between them, not that either minded. They'd been friends for too long for any kind of awkwardness to linger.
A thought struck Modo, and he turned to Myre.
"How do you know what prophecies each one has? I don't remember you saying anything about that. Ever."
Myre gave him a quizzical look. "You do realize Eurenym is a magid, don't you?"
"What does that- ah."
Myre smiled. "Same page?"
"You send him over to do your research," Modo replied simply.
"Correct."
"That kind of loyalty comes in handy, huh?"
"Not that it was a difficult request in the first place," Myre responded, "but yes, I suppose so. Although I would have done what I did irrespective of any prospects of loyalty."
"Look at you and your complicated words," Modo said, a wide smile growing across his face. "So intellectual! So scholarly!"
"Why, thank you, good sir," Myre returned, ending the statement with a theatrical bow.
Modo chuckled, drawing a short, light laugh from Myre.
They stood in silence for a while. They were almost upon the island now.
"Tell me something," Modo said.
Myre looked at him questioningly. "Yes?"
"The enchanters' prophecy is about this place," Modo said. "And I already know about Eurenym. What about the others?"
"The magicians' prophecy is about an exodus. The witches' prophecy is about the gentry. The sorcerers' prophecy is about some grand evolution. The old Atlanteans' is about the ancient lands. And ours-"
"Wait," Modo said, holding his hands up as a signal to stop. "How do you know what the old Atlantean prophecy is?"
Myre gave him a smile. A real, genuine one, of a humour he so rarely saw anymore, of a delight that reminded him of their old days together, before everything had come crashing down.
"That," Myre said, quiet mischief for once shining through his impossibly collected demeanour, "I will leave for you to figure out on your own."
"That's… unfair," Modo replied after a moment, and they were children again for a brief moment, before the present reality swept through them like a wave.
Myre tilted his head, smiling, and Modo knew he'd been had.
"Don't say it," he warned. "I'm not afraid to push you off the boat."
"And I, in return, am not afraid of your pushing me," was Myre's smooth, unconcerned reply.
"Don't," was all Modo said in response. "Don't do it, Myre, don't you-"
"I'll take pity," Myre cut in, green eyes positively glowing with amusement. "I'll tell you, because you were so lost, that you just couldn't figure it out on your own."
Modo made to shove him into the water, as promised, but Myre just swayed, evading the lunge, and with a hand placed delicately on Modo's back, Myre pushed him over the edge instead.
Modo would certainly have fallen in, were it not for Myre taking tight hold of his coat, holding him horizontal over the water, his stomach resting on the short wooden guardrail that ran around the vessel, that Myre had used to nearly pivot him into the deep blue below.
"Some day you won't be perfect, you know," Modo remarked drily, after Myre had pulled him back to a standing position. "And I will be there, Myre."
"I'm already imperfect," Myre responded, flashing him a smile. "You do bring out the worst in me, Modo."
Well, not exactly flashing. The way Myre did it, it would be better described as gleaming.
"Oh, go on," Modo responded flatly, but he couldn't stop his lips from curving upwards at the corners.
Something splashed powerfully in the water before them, and both men were instantly on high alert, heads snapping around to watch for whatever had made the noise.
"And ours," Myre said quietly, continuing where he'd left off when Modo had interrupted him, "is everything I'm working for."
Modo nodded, eyes trained on the ripples that the boat was approaching, a small patch of white foam still remaining on the surface.
"Second Coming," he said.
"Second Coming," Myre echoed.
They passed the point where the ripples had originated without incident.
0=
When the Vikings and sorcerers touched down, the Meatheads crowded them curiously. Hiccup looked around, smiling to familiar faces and shaking hands with senior members of the tribe. The sorcerers were of particular interest to the Meatheads, with their unusual clothes, a style not seen in the Archipelago, and their unfamiliar dragons. While Wreckage proved a very effective deterrent to keep them away, the sorcerers still remained on guard.
"Hiccup," Alphas said, his speech suggesting that he wanted to continue in Greek.
Hiccup excused himself from exchanging greetings with an old Meathead warrior called Agnar, and turned to Alphas.
"Yes?" he replied hesitantly in Greek.
Alphas jerked his head, indicating the Meatheads. "How much longer do we have to wait? I'd rather get this done with as quickly as possible."
Hiccup smiled placatingly at him. "Just wait until the chief gets here. We'll explain why we're here and go right after that."
Alphas sighed and looked away, eyes roaming all over Meathead Village, taking in the details.
Hiccup looked back at Agnar.
"Sorry," he said in Norse, "my friend's a little impatient. Will Mogadon be here soon?"
Agnar shrugged. He was a large, thick man, with a bushy white beard that looked like it had exploded from his chin one otherwise normal day, and he'd never bothered to neaten it since. One eye was cloudy gray, a pale white layer over his blue iris, making it look like the gray of skies before rain. His helmet was small and flat and had short, bull-like horns. The rest of his attire was the customary Viking look that had been in season for the past few hundred years: thick suede trousers, leather boots lined with brown fur that poked out at the top, and a wool tunic fastened around the waist with a belt.
"I don't know where Mogadon is, sonny. That spawn of a Jotun does whatever he wants. He's probably sittin' in front of a fire, toastin' his toes."
Hiccup sighed, head dropping forward. "Should I go to him, then?"
Agnar winked. "Sure thing, sonny. Watch this."
He turned and bellowed in a voice so loud it must have shook the sky. Everyone jumped at the sound, turning wide-eyed to watch the old man.
"Alright, ya eejits!" he roared. "Make way fer this young 'un ter meet that sunuva troll Mogadon, or I'll tan yer hides with the flat o' my hand!"
The warning had the desired effect, and every Meathead scrambled out of the way, forming a path that led in the direction of the hut highest up in the village. As old as Agnar was, he was a fearsome force, and no one wanted to be on the wrong end of his calloused palms.
Hiccup thanked Agnar, and they proceeded on foot towards Mogadon's hut, the dragons trailing after them, looking around with interest, stopping every now and then to sniff some foreign and curious thing.
The sorcerers didn't look around, just walked forward, eyes fixed firmly on the path they had to take.
When they reached Mogadon's hut, a large but plain wooden affair from the outside, Hiccup stepped forward and knocked.
They waited.
They waited some more.
They kept waiting.
"You sure he's in here?" Stratos questioned. "'Cause, seems to me, no one's home."
"Mogadon likes ta pull this sort of joke," Gobber said lightly, waving his hook in Stratos' general direction. "You'll have ta excuse him."
Alphas looked unimpressed. "I'm not going to waste time standing around here, and potentially sacrifice whatever's at the end of this road, just because some Viking Chief has a deranged sense of humour."
"Boy, I can't wait until you meet Dagur," Hiccup muttered under his breath.
Alphas pushed the door open, and immediately dropped as an arrow whizzed over his head, sailing beyond the group into the village beyond. The dragons jerked away, some growling, their pupils narrowing as every sense went into high alert.
Slowly, Alphas raised his hand to his head, feeling through his hair, and when he took his hand away, there was the slightest, faintest stain of red.
"Now why'd you have to get impatient there, boy?"
The voice that came from the dimly lit inside of the hut was completely smooth and sure of itself, hard as stones and baritone as a lynx's growl. It was a voice of power, of someone who'd walked the path to earn that tone.
Mogadon rose from his huge chair in front of the roaring fireplace, the crossbow that had almost ended Alphas held loosely in his meaty hand.
Mogadon was an impressive specimen, this could not be denied.
If a rhino grew to be the size of an elephant, and was made to stand beside one, that would be a very accurate representation of what people saw when Stoick and Mogadon stood side by side.
Mogadon advanced towards the group, clacking every time his peg leg touched the ground, looking steadily down at them. His thick cape and helmet were hung on the wall beside the fireplace, leaving his curly blonde hair, unkempt and flattened by the years of wearing his helmet, free for all to see. His beard, on the other hand, flared outward, curling at the ends, nearly symmetrical.
His one eye looked calmly at them, even slightly amused.
"When I makes you wait," he said, very softly, gazing at Alphas, "you waits, or you learns what it's like to be that fella Bucket."
He nodded to Hiccup. "Course, chief, if I'd known it was you, I wouldn'ta stayed in that chair."
His eye passed over the rest of the present company, stopping at Gobber.
"Where's yer stalker, bones for brains?" he asked the blacksmith in his low tone. "Did Thor send you a hammerhead snake ter poison it this time?"
"That dragon learned its lesson after the last time I fought that mangy scoundrel," Gobber replied, showing teeth. "Listens like a dog now, I tell ya. Whistle an' it comes."
Mogadon harrumphed. "Odin alone knows if what you say is what he sees."
The Meathead chief turned and walked back inside his hut.
"Come in then, boy," he called behind him as he turned his chair until its back was to the fireplace. "You'd better tell me why yer here."
Mogadon sat down in his chair, managing to look impressive even when slouched. Hiccup led the way in after Mogadon and, after a moment, everyone else began to file in as well.
Mogadon held up a hand. "Yer new friends is stayin' outside, chief. Berkians only, right now."
Alphas raised an eyebrow, disdain showing clearly on his face. "A little impolite, I think. Telling us to stay outside, after you almost shot me?"
Mogadon nodded. "Nice to see you's quick on the uptake there."
Stratos stepped forward. "Look here, chief, you'll-"
"Stratos."
Omegas pulled the large man back. "Respect his wishes. You are on his land."
He talked with pure steel in his voice, like every word came clanging out, straight from the forge, smouldering hot and freshly hammered. Listening to that voice was like seeing an iron door close, bolt shut in front of you, vast and impenetrable. Hiccup almost had half a mind to step outside himself.
Stratos stiffened, then stepped back, behind the boundary of the hut, his eyes riveted to the ground.
And Alphas would have stood in the doorway forever, staring at Mogadon, if Omegas hadn't taken him by the arm and hauled him outside.
The door shut with a thud. Now that they were gone, Mogadon looked at Hiccup.
The expression on his face was gaunt, for a man so well fed. Stern, gruff, for one so inclined to joke.
Haggard, for a chief so overwhelmingly powerful he could bite straight through iron nails, and had, multiple times.
"I knows those clothes, son," he said, and his voice was so weary as it spoke those burdened words, that Hiccup found himself taken by a strong urge to help the Meathead chief with whatever weighed him down.
"Sorry?" he asked, stepping a little closer to hear better as he did. What was he talking about?
"They's magicians," Mogadon said flatly, staring directly at Hiccup, with a single half-lidded eye, almost as if daring him to object. "Isn't they?"
The room froze.
Mogadon sighed. "I seen those clothes before, boy. Y'see, me an' the magicians have this little relationship. I go ter their island and pay my respects, every couple'a years. My father did it, an' the chief before him, an' the chief before him, an' what have you. Only, they calls themself enchanters. Seems ter take offense at bein' called magicians."
Mogadon sat forward, hands clasped before him, elbows resting on his massive thighs, a frown on his face and a burning light in his eye.
"Now you tell me how you's got ter know 'em, 'cause they's a plague on this world an' its people, boy, an' you'd better climb outta that hole before somethin' reaches up from inside, an' drags you down."
Hiccup was absolutely speechless, unable to answer for a bit, before he was able to collect himself.
Mogadon knew?
Mogadon visited, just like his father had?
The thoughts raced through his head, whirling past each other and slamming into each other and chasing after each other and running from each other, knocking over what sparse furniture decorated the inside of his brain, spilling the contents of whatever jars found themselves unfortunately in the way, until Hiccup's mind was a chaotic mess, frozen in its state of mayhem, and every thought was standing around and looking guilty.
Hiccup shook himself, and looked back to Mogadon, who was watching him quietly.
"They lied ter you too?" the Meathead asked, in a soft voice.
After a moment, Hiccup replied.
"I-I don't know, Mogadon. It's…" he took a breath, "confusing."
The other chief nodded gravely. "Seems that way, son."
Hiccup began to pace from one end of the room to the other, as everyone watched. Mogadon's gaze followed him, the chief swivelling his one eye back and forth to track the young man.
"Let's uh, let's start from the beginning," Hiccup said, in the midst of crossing the room. "When did you first find out, and what's happened since then?"
Mogadon sighed. "My father told me when it was my time to inherit the chiefdom. He told me I'd have to go ter their island every five years an' pay my respects, uphold the relationship."
He scoffed. "Loada bull. Magicians doesn't care about anyone 'cept themselves. They only takes what you has to give, an' doesnt give anythin' themselves, Hel take 'em."
Hiccup frowned. From Mogadon's description, it didn't seem the magicians were quite the same as the sorcerers.
Wait, no.
"You called them enchanters before," Hiccup prodded. "And now magicians. What are they?"
Mogadon looked at him with a distinctly unimpressed expression. "Son, I calls them magicians 'cause they's magic. They calls themselves enchanters. Dunno what the difference is. Blasted magicians."
Hiccup nodded. That cleared it up. "Alright."
Mogadon nodded back at him. "Now, you tell me about what you've been doin' with those morons. However you gotten mixed up with 'em, I tell you it ain't good."
Hiccup winced. "It's… a very long story."
"Tell me," Mogadon said, leaning back in his chair. "They can wait outside 'til Ragnarok comes, an' I have more time than I need."
Hiccup looked around and, spotting a stool, dragged it over. He sat down, facing Mogadon.
"You might want to get comfortable for this one," he told the chief. He took a deep breath. "Okay, so, it all started around a few weeks ago, when Fishlegs and I were taking an early morning flight…"
0=
After Hiccup was done recounting the events that had led up to their arrival, with some corrections and additions from the other Berkians in the room, he fell silent, the room watching Mogadon.
To put it lightly, the Meathead chief looked as if he had seen the entire universe come into being and die in a single second.
Spectacularly dumbfounded, in a word. Two words.
After a solid minute of silently contemplating their story, he asked a question.
"This Myre… what's he want?"
"Something about magic and the first dragon," Hiccup replied. "We don't know what exactly."
Mogadon raised an eyebrow. "Who's we?"
"Uh…" Hiccup glanced at the door.
"Listen, son," Mogadon said, sitting forward with his elbows on his knees, "whatever type of magicians these ones are, they's the same as the ones I know. They mighta helped you get Berk back from Myre, but that's only 'cause they wanted the win on 'im, I know it. An' there's nothin' else they's helped you with, is there?"
Hiccup paused, trying to think. The sorcerers had definitely been nice to them, hadn't they? What had they helped the Berkians with?
They had worked together to escape Caird's ship.
They had retaken Berk for them.
There must have been something else.
What else?
What else was there?
Hiccup examined every single memory he had of the sorcerers, but found nothing.
Not a single situation apart from those two, where the sorcerers had actually helped them. And Mogadon had said they fought for Berk only to take something that Myre wanted away.
But there was a flaw to that argument.
"If they didn't care about anyone except themselves, why would they help us escape from that ship?" Hiccup asked, challenging Mogadon.
"'Cause they don't want Myre ter have you, either," Mogadon replied simply. "Hothead as that magician boy is, he's been raised a leader. He knows that if Myre gets his hands on you, yer good as against 'em. He knows he hasn't been lookin' a good guy ter you, an' you told me what Myre offered you. Do you think you woulda said no if he'd asked you back when you still hated each other's guts?"
Silence reigned in the chief's hut.
Mogadon sighed wearily. "I dunno what the word for it is, but you isn't lookin' at things clearly, son. They's bastards, ter put it politely. Run along with 'em if you want, but keep an eye on 'em, an' keep watchin' yer back. Magicians doesn't care 'bout anythin' 'cept what they get. An' if they asks you for anythin', say no."
Mogadon fixed a stare on Hiccup. In the dark of the hut, his chair blocking the firelight, the man looked like Odin's shadow, perched in his throne, lit from behind by hellfire itself.
"An' from now on, think 'bout everythin' they say. I know you's clever, son, but they's sneaky. An' sometimes, even Odin gets made a fool of by Loki."
Mogadon watched Hiccup as the smaller man sat on his stool, the slightest frown on his face as he gazed at the rough planks of the floor, all others in the room invisible, in that moment, to the two chieftains.
"I'll… I'll watch myself, Mogadon. Thanks."
The Meathead grunted. "No problem, chief. Anythin' for Stoick's boy."
He stood, then, and cracked his neck, his knuckles, wringing his arms free of the discomfort of inactivity.
"What were you here for, anyway?"
0=
The boat lifted over the rocks, suspended by the ropes, and glided over the patch of rocks that would have moored any conventional vessel. The ropes creaked as they bore the strain, the boat rocking slightly from a gentle sea breeze.
Modo looked over the edge.
"They don't look like much," he remarked. "I don't think any ship would be holed from just this."
"You don't handle ships enough for your opinion to be qualified," Myre rebuked gently. "The waters of the oceans are treacherous and deadly, and nothing you see is as it appears."
Modo looked back over the edge. His hands held a tight grip on the guardrail, keeping his balance as the boat swayed lightly, rhythmically, from side to side.
"Nothing you see is as it appears," Modo repeated. "I feel like I've heard that before."
Myre shifted his weight in time to the boat's movements, keeping his balance perfectly.
"Of course you have," he said. "Medtern used to say it to his sailors."
A very dense silence descended upon the boat.
Myre looked up in front of them, to the cave. The dragons had slowly carried them closer, inching forward, and now the boat hovered just feet away from the mouth. Water rushed and frothed beneath them, individual currents sorting themselves through the rocks that sat like waiting teeth, hoping for dinner to come crashing down.
"Stop here, please," Myre called to the riders, and the boat halted in its progress, producing a forward swing that toppled Modo backward and sent the other men they had brought with them sliding to the rear.
Myre swayed slightly backward, but otherwise stayed on his feet.
"Lower us down."
Very, very slowly, with painstaking care, the dragons descended, lowering the boat onto a thick patch of rocks, crowded close enough together that the wood wouldn't snap the moment the weight of the boat's passengers was felt. Myre jumped out of the boat, landing on a flat rock, and immediately began to hop, zigzagging, from one spike to the other, clearing them effortlessly, making his way to the mouth of the cave without incident.
Modo followed, stepping carefully, following Myre's path, while the other soldiers in the boat slipped and wobbled their way to the cave. All the while, Myre stood on some unseen platform in dark, knee high water, waiting.
The cave was a yawning mouth of blackness before them, dripping stalactites reaching from the roof, so low that in some places, they dipped into the rippling water, their distorted underwater images fading into the murkiness.
Beyond that, a cloud of darkness hid anything else from sight. All there was to see were the shadows.
The view Modo had, of Myre standing before the cave, his back to them, staring straight into the heart of the darkness, would have been enough to send shivers down the spine of any lesser man. The unknowable depths that they looked into screamed of something… deathly.
Myre turned back, and signalled to one of the dragon riders. Someone on a Shockjaw descended, hovering before Myre. His face was covered with a cloth, wrapped around his nose and jaw, tied behind his neck. His hair was blond, his skin was pale, and his eyes were very blue.
"Go scout the cave," Myre told him. "Do it as fast as possible. Report back as soon as you find anywhere dry, if at all."
The rider nodded, and he and his dragon flapped off into the cave. Modo came to stand beside Myre, wincing as his leggings were quickly soaked in freezing water, while the other soldiers waited behind them.
"Something's off about this place," he said to Myre. "I can feel it."
Myre nodded. "I can, too."
They waited in silence, watching the darkness, until the rider returned, fading out from the shadows.
"Sir," he saluted Myre, "there's dry land ahead. It's well above high tide. Me and the other Shockjaw rider can take you there one by one."
"Alright," Myre said. "Thanks. Tell him to come down here."
The rider saluted again, and rose to pass the orders on to his comrade.
Modo looked into the cave, taking in the darkness again. He frowned.
"Is it just me," he said softly, leaning closer to Myre, "or does it look like something's shining in there?"
Myre nodded again.
"Don't say anything to the others," he whispered. "We'll go in first and make sure it's nothing too dangerous."
With that said, Myre stepped away, making room for a Shockjaw to descend on either side of Modo. Both men grasped the hand of the rider, and hauled themselves on top of their respective dragons.
"Take us in," Myre said. Both riders saluted, and urged their dragons on, into the cave.
As they gently maneuvered through stalactites and stalagmites, the darkness of the cave closed eagerly around them, swallowing them up. Modo waited for his eyes to adjust, as the light from outside vanished at a particularly rapid speed.
"It got dark very quickly, didn't it?" Modo said aloud. The rider sitting before him flinched.
"You might be mistaken," Myre replied, from somewhere in front of them. "That would be rather unnatural, don't you think? Oh, and try not to distract our comrades. Flying takes some concentration."
Modo understood instantly, and shut up. He was right. Myre had noticed it too. This was a darkness vivid and unnatural, nearly malevolent if it had been alive, something that overwhelmed you, devoured you.
It was like stepping into another world, where nothing you knew mattered and the shadows were alive and red eyes glowed in the corners and everything ate you.
But Myre didn't want him to upset the riders, so Modo wouldn't voice any of it.
On they flew, the only sound around them that of thick, leathery wings flapping, warm dry air rushing past, so at odds with the icy water below.
Something glinted in the dark as they passed, and Modo peered around, trying to make it out as it receded behind them. It was something glassy, that was all he could tell. A vein of crystal, or obsidian perhaps, all too common with volcanic islands. Maybe something more than that, even, an exposed gemstone, or diamond. That would be rare.
And something more than that? Well, nothing he could name, for sure.
Eventually, they touched down on some kind of gritty black sand, a thin layer over some long slab of rock. Modo could see now, somehow, see the stone spikes that rose from the water at the edge of a fairly wide cavern, see the waves of black water that crashed upon this underground beach. It wasn't a dim sight like he'd expected, that left out the most crucial details and sent you stumbling and skinning your knee. It was like the air itself was lit up from within, whatever 'within' air could have, alive with some ghostly black light.
"Thank you," Myre was saying to the riders as they disembarked, while Modo was looking around. "Please bring the rest of them, will you?"
Both riders saluted, and in perfect time, said, "Yes sir, Myre!"
The shout echoed off the bare walls, amplified and distorted into an incomprehensible wall of sound that slammed into the small party, crashed over them, and made almost everyone jump.
Myre glanced at the ceiling.
"I suppose we will have to refrain from loud noises from here on out."
Sheepishly, the riders went to mount their dragons, but they shied away.
"Come on," one of them whispered soothingly to his dragon, reaching out to rub a hand against its neck. "It was just an echo. Nothing to be afraid of."
The dragon chittered nervously, but allowed its rider to climb up. Beside it, the other rider did the same, having successfully coaxed his dragon to calm down.
And then both dragons turned and, without even a signal from their rider, they shot off, trailing sparks as the lightning they emitted activated of its own accord.
After a long silence, which Myre used to remove his khopesh from his waist, Modo spoke.
"They're not coming back, are they?"
"Not at all," Myre responded. "They're afraid of something more than the echo. Whatever that is, I'm sure we will find out."
Modo sighed, and removed his own weapon from its sheath at his hip, a sword with a handle that was connected to the blade by a chain. He swung it a little beside his leg as they began to walk up the underground beach.
"What else is off about this place?" Modo asked casually. "I'm sure you noticed more than I have."
"For one thing," Myre said, "The echo was louder than the actual sound. That is impossible."
"By conventional logic," Modo offered.
"By conventional logic," Myre agreed. "Of course, we live in a very unconventional world these days."
The two men stepped out around a corner, and were immediately spurred to war.
0=
The Berkians and the sorcerers flew, again, in relative silence across the narrow strait between the North and South Island. The Slice of Death had been aptly named during the Viking-dragon war, teeming as it was with Tidal Class dragons, at the moment outlined only by the arrows of foam they left in their wake, far below in the shimmering blue sea.
Thuggory, of course, was making himself a nuisance, and revelling in it.
"So, Hiccup," the Meathead heir said, flying sideways, nearly upside down, above the Berkian chief on his Monstrous Nightmare. He was unfortunately, perhaps in a moment of childlike naming strategy, named Killer.
He and Hookfang got along very well in terms of laughing at anyone else, especially Snotlout. Killer was, however, far more devoted and loyal to his rider.
Hiccup struggled to ignore the Meathead looming over him. It was difficult, especially considering Thuggory was the epitome of a Viking heir. Ignoring a young man built like a bull, especially when he was literally hovering over you, was a task he was sure even Thor might have some trouble undertaking.
"Come on, Hiccup," Thuggory insisted. "Don't just brush me off. You and I are almost brothers, you know. We should be closer."
"Take that up with Dagur," Hiccup finally responded. "You both want me to be your brother so badly, I might just start bribing you for it."
"A chief selling himself off for the good of his tribe," Thuggory pondered. "How noble."
"Thanks," Hiccup said drily. "Now can you please move? I don't want to get flattened in case you lose your grip."
Thuggory chuckled, and obliged, Killer sweeping away from over Toothless and settling in beside the Night Fury.
"And how are you, dragon king?" Thuggory inquired, addressing Toothless this time. "Are you feeling the burdens of leadership yet?"
Toothless snorted and rolled his eyes.
Alphas, watching them from behind, signalled to Omegas, pointing at the Night Fury, not that any of the Vikings noticed.
"Did you find a bride yet, Thuggory?" Astrid taunted. "You're running a little late in the game."
"Not that late, surely," Thuggory replied effortlessly, brushing off the jab without a care. "Gobber, for one, still has no one to show off."
"You don' know how many women're chasin' me right noo, lad," Gobber said, instantly taking up verbal arms with distinct enjoyment. "I could be with any of 'em if it took me fancy."
Astrid mimed gagging, not that Gobber saw it, his eyes trained on Thuggory. The Meathead heir had displayed a unique talent for Rudery, the delicate and high-class Viking art of insulting your opponent and everything about him, and his yak too for good measure. Gobber, an old veteran, took every opportunity to keep in practice.
"'It' doesn't seem to have taken your fancy yet, Gobber," Thuggory replied after a short second. "Hiccup's told me about why the Boneknapper was chasing you all those years. Perhaps you were holding your britches up for a reason?"
Gobber laughed. "Good one, lad! I almost want ter throttle you!"
Thuggory's smile turned wary at that one. "Thanks, Gobber. I appreciate it."
He turned to look at the remaining two members of the Berkian half of the party, and sailed over, making Snotlout flinch as he passed by, and settled next to Fishlegs.
"Any new dragons you've found yet?" Thuggory inquired pleasantly. "It always fills me with delight, you know, to hear that you've found something new to occupy yourself with."
Confusion flickered over Fishlegs' face as he tried to comprehend where Thuggory was leading the conversation, but he eventually gave up.
"Y-yeah," he said hesitantly, "there's always something to be found. No matter how long you've been living somewhere, you end up getting surprised when you least expect it!"
Hiccup frowned momentarily, knowing exactly what Fishlegs was referring to. They'd gone to see the Red Ghosts the day before the sorcerers had arrived, documenting more about the species. Something about the dragons must have still been on Fishlegs' mind.
Hiccup quickly wiped the frown off his face before Astrid could see. There was no reason to make her suspicious and taint the surprise.
"Well," Thuggory said casually, "it's good that you have something to love, if not someone."
Fishlegs and Snotlout both flinched at the same time, not that Thuggory noticed the latter. A wide grin grew on his face.
"Oh, was I wrong?" he asked with a hint of glee. "Has Fishlegs, the man who collects knowledge with such vigour that Huginn and Muninn would be jealous, finally found love?"
"I'm trying," Fishlegs squeaked out.
Thuggory guffawed, and slapped Fishlegs on the back. He didn't budge, but the sound echoed across the Archipelago.
"Well, I wish you luck, big man," Thuggory grinned, before tilting away, innocently passing by Snotlout, who went very still as Thuggory flew back to Hiccup.
"Now that the pleasantries are over," Thuggory said smoothly, ignoring Snotlout's simultaneously relieved and enraged stare, "would you like to tell me what business you have with Dark Harbour?"
He glanced behind them, where the sorcerers were flying silently in tight formation.
He turned back to Hiccup, and leaned closer.
"Does it have to do with them?" he said in a mock whisper, loud and dramatic.
"... I can't say right now, Thuggory," Hiccup said, after a pause. "Sorry. Maybe Mogadon will tell you, if you ask him."
Thuggory shrugged. "No worries. Not everything has to be shared. Although, I admit, I am curious."
"Yeah, well," Hiccup said, glancing behind them, then back at Thuggory, "I hope you'll understand."
He could feel Thuggory's curiosity growing, no matter how much the Meathead heir tried to hide it. But that was as much of a hint as Hiccup was going to give. He could trust Thuggory not to pry any more than that.
Onward they flew, until Dark Harbour was before them. The sharp black rocks peered out of murky water, the mouth of the cave yawning, wide open and befittingly dark, just like Hiccup remembered from his first time seeing the place. Thuggory led them to a clearing some way away from the opening of the cave, and their party landed on the grass. Thuggory dismounted, and raised his hands.
"Oh Thor, god of thunder," he began, "please send us a hammerhead chicken to guide us safely through the treacherous path we are about to walk, as you have with many multitudes of hammerhead animals for Gobber."
Gobber fixed a look on the young man. "The yak and the whale were real, lad. Don't be makin' a joke outta Thor's power."
"I completely believe you, blacksmith," Thuggory said, and knelt as an honest-to-gods hammerhead chicken emerged from a nearby thicket. It was a normal chicken, except for the two large bumps on either side of its head, in which were nestled its beady chicken eyes. Apart from that, it had the same empty-headed look and brown plumage of other chickens in the Archipelago.
Gobber crowed, while the sorcerers looked on in mild confusion.
"I told you!" he yelled in delight. "I told you Thor sent a hammerhead whale and a hammerhead yak when I was bein' chased by that rattlin' scoundrel! An' now it's a chicken!"
"I almost don't want to kill the mood," Thuggory said, before anyone else could speak up, "but that chicken has a severe infection of coryza."
He grinned at Gobber's crestfallen expression. "Got you for a second, huh? Cheer up. I'm sure you'll have your proof at some point."
"Clever, aren't ya?" Gobber said morosely. "Why is this thing even here? Did you train 'em to come to you whenever you say 'hammerhead chicken', just for the joke on poor old Gobber?"
"I don't have the foresight for that, Gobber," Thuggory shrugged. "Or the dedication. They just come for food if they hear people around. I didn't expect it to look like an actual hammerhead chicken, honest."
Gobber sighed. "Alright, lad. I'll believe you."
"Not that this talk of infected chickens isn't important," Alphas cut in, speaking to Thuggory for the first time, "but why are we standing around here, instead of heading into the harbour?"
Thuggory raised an eyebrow at the accent, but otherwise remained unfazed. "The harbour is inaccessible in most cases. Dragons with small wingspans can get in, but not all of you have small dragons. Luckily, Meathead genius has given us another entrance, carved into the island."
Everyone looked around. No entrance was in sight.
Thuggory grinned. "You're all a bit narrow-minded, huh?"
He stepped over to a plain looking boulder, and booted it away with astonishing ease, revealing the hollow underside, the wooden material of which the fake rock was made. Where the impostor stone had stood was now a wide staircase cut into the bedrock of the island, enough for even a mid-sized dragon to walk down, although with some difficulties.
"Tada," Thuggory said, giving a theatrical bow. "Meatheads. Always have a backup plan. Of course, this would have been easier if we did it after the dragon war ended. Whispering Deaths and all that."
Alphas gave a singular clap. "Well done. This will be very useful. A map of the caves would be even more ingenious, if you have one."
"No one's explored the caves thoroughly enough to make a map," Thuggory explained with a pained expression. "Of course, you have a Tracker Class with you, so you won't get lost, yeah?"
The sorcerers looked at each other with distinct expressions of bemusement, but shrugged and advanced. Alphas lingered behind with Wreckage for a moment.
"Stay," he told the dragon, who promptly sat down. With that taken care of, he followed his comrades down the secret staircase.
Hiccup looked at Thuggory. "Sorry if this is a bit much to ask, but could you stay with the dragons until we come back up?"
"No problem, chief," Thuggory grinned. "I'll be the best dragon babysitter you could ask for. Now go and have an adventure with your new friends."
Hiccup smiled gratefully, and began to descend the staircase, Toothless following. Of the dragons, only Wreckage, Hookfang, and Grump stayed behind, the latter more due to laziness than a matter of size.
"Could we get a light, bud?" Hiccup asked Toothless. The dragon obliged, lighting a flame in his mouth and holding it, illuminating the stairwell in an almost eerie purple glow. The others began to follow, dragons tailing behind, each one lighting their own flames as they descended into the darkness.
"I never quite understood," Alphas said from behind the Berkians. "Does holding a flame like that have any effect on the shot limit?"
Hiccup glanced at Toothless. "No, I don't think so. Fishlegs?"
"As far as I can tell, it doesn't reduce the amount of firepower available to the dragon," Fishlegs said immediately. "Shot limits are still a little confusing to me, though, so I can't say if there's any effect at all."
"We haven't had a situation where that could be tested, though, right?" Astrid asked. "Like whenever we used the Dragon Eye, none of our dragons had to shoot at anything right after we used it."
"Dragon Eye?" Alphas said.
Hiccup waved a hand. "Long story. I'll tell you some other time."
They kept walking downward, bare gray stone bathed in flickering orange and purple lights.
A thought occurred to Hiccup, and he smiled. "So, Snotlout, do you think you need to brawl with Thuggory?"
The staircase must have had great acoustics, because Thuggory's voice floated faintly down from above.
"Now why would Snotfeatures need to do that?"
"I do now," Snotlout muttered, then said loudly, "Pray to Thor, Thuggory, because when I come back up, I'm going to make Fishface sit on you."
"Not even Thor can help me with that one," came Thuggory's response a few seconds later.
Snotlout snickered, despite himself. "Then I'll pound your face into the dirt. You won't even be a Meathead after that."
"What will I be, then?" Thuggory called down after a while.
"An Uglithug!" Snotlout shouted. The sound echoed up and down the staircase, multiplying and distorting, until it was an overwhelming screech that forced everyone to clap their hands over their ears and made the dragons extinguish their flames in fright as they jumped in sudden panic.
After a brief pause, which everyone used to collect themselves and Snotlout used to look guilty, Thuggory's voice sailed down the passage again.
"I think the pun would have been better if there weren't banshees down there with you."
Toothless warbled worriedly. In the very dim light that remained, in the absence of dragonfire, Hiccup could see that his ears were flat against his head, and he was vibrating with tension.
"Come on, bud," Hiccup said soothingly, reaching out to the Night Fury. "It's ok, it's ok. I'm here with you. It was just an echo."
Toothless shied away initially, then allowed Hiccup to rub his hand along his scales.
Everyone else was attempting to calm their dragons down behind them, with some success. Even then, Hiccup could feel the tension radiating from the dragons, coming off them in waves.
Something was wrong with that echo. Some primal instinct was telling their dragons it was unsafe.
Something was very wrong with that echo.
"Toothless," Hiccup whispered to his dragon, kneeling in front of him, "I know something doesn't seem right, but I need you to stick with me, okay? Please, bud. No matter what happens, you know I'm with you."
After a long moment, Hiccup faintly saw Toothless nod.
Blue light dimly lit the stairwell as Toothless activated his Alpha display. A low growl travelled from the dragon up the staircase, and possibly down it as well. Immediately, the other dragons quietened.
They began to descend the stairs again. This time, no flames were lit. The only light came from Toothless' blue glow.
0=
"Woah," was the first thing that came out of Hiccup's mouth as they entered the cave for the first time.
The place was dark and round, like a Titan Wing Screaming Death had carved out the place, and stretched infinitely in either direction. It seemed impossible, bigger than the North Island could contain. The only reason Hiccup could see anything was because of the white light that cascaded from clusters of crystal spikes, dotted all over the walls of this cavernous place.
Hiccup would have loved to ask Thuggory a question about how in Odin's name this cave could fit in the North Island, but he didn't want to risk that terrible sound again.
"'Woah' is right, I think," Alphas said as he emerged from the stairs. Omegas had a small smile on his face as he regarded the crystals.
Fishlegs stepped up to a crystal, touching it reverently.
"This is fascinating," he said in an awestruck voice. "I wonder why the Meatheads haven't told anyone about this. I've never seen natural fluorescence this bright."
"Probably wanted to keep it to themselves," Alphas said dismissively. "When you have a limited resource, you're more likely to reserve it for your own use."
"It's not that limited, though," Omegas pointed out. "They could have mined this and sold it to traders. I'm sure it'd get a good profit, seeing as it's so unique. Not like you'd run out of it any time soon."
"I don't think they cared enough to sell it, honestly," Hiccup shrugged. "Meatheads did well for themselves even during the dragon war. I don't think they needed that little bit extra."
Alphas shrugged. "Well, whatever. It's not that important. What we should be discussing is how we explore the place. That riddle didn't say much about finding the next one."
"It said something about monsters, too," Snotlout added.
The mood grew a little more tense at that reminder. Stratos looked up and down the tunnel warily.
"Let's have two teams," Omegas proposed. "One goes in this direction, and the other goes in that direction."
He pointed both ways.
"Who's on which team, though?" Snotlout asked, beating Hiccup to the question.
"Let's see…" Alphas pondered, a hand resting lightly on his chin as he thought it over. "You'll definitely need sorcerers on both teams, because who knows what's down here. Me and Olympiodoros will be on one team, Stratos and Omegas on the other. You can divide yourselves among those two teams on your own, because you know your strengths better."
The plan was logical. Hiccup couldn't see any immediate faults in the idea.
The Berkians watched him, waiting, and he realized he was supposed to assign them to teams.
"Uh… Astrid, Fishlegs, and Gobber, you go with Omegas. Snotlout and I will go with Alphas."
"Man," Snotlout complained, "how come I get stuck with you?"
"Because, Snotlout, I say you do," Hiccup said tiredly. "Just…"
He sighed. "Do me a favour and don't… don't cause any problems. Please."
The silence after that statement was almost unnerving. Snotlout blinked at how bluntly Hiccup had said it, but didn't try to push back.
Hiccup frowned, squeezed his eyes shut as he massaged his forehead along the brow with the fingers of one hand. Something felt off, some nagging feeling behind his eyes. It wasn't any kind of pain, exactly, or tiredness, but it was… different.
Maybe it was the light, Hiccup told himself. He wasn't used to bright white light like this, lighting up surroundings that were otherwise drenched with shadow. Firelight was better. This light was harsh and cold, unnatural somehow..
Unnatural.
That word seemed to perfectly describe the illumination of his surroundings for a reason Hiccup couldn't identify. It was like that word was made to describe the light these crystals gave off, every syllable inspired by some different aspect of the crystal, its coldness, its alien beauty, the way it had formed, perfectly symmetrical, the contrast of its faint hue of shimmering colours behind the transparence of the crystal, like oil spilt on the sea, rainbow under the midday sun, against the pure white of its light.
Every new second Hiccup spent thinking over the crystal, the more it seemed incongruous to reality.
He walked over to the crystal, knelt beside it, and began running his hands over it while everyone watched.
Omegas leaned closer to Astrid and quietly said "Is he okay?"
"He was until now," Astrid whispered back. "I'll ask him about it."
Omegas nodded, and left it there.
"We need to assign the dragons as well," Alphas said, after a moment of watching Hiccup examine the crystals. "My team can have the Night Fury, since his owner's with us. We don't have another dragon, so one of you will have to give yours up."
Olympiodoros had declined to borrow a dragon from the stables, choosing instead to ride with Stratos. On their team, only Hiccup had a dragon. Hookfang and Wreckage had stayed above ground.
"We'll keep Flametaur and Spiral," Omegas suggested. "You can have the Nadder and the Gronckle. If that's okay?"
He looked at Astrid and Fishlegs for their assent.
Astrid nodded, but Fishlegs hesitated.
"Alright," Omegas said, clapping Fishlegs on the back, "take Spiral instead of the Gronckle."
Alphas opened his mouth, but a look from Omegas stopped him. Alphas frowned, and held up two fingers, wagging the third a couple of times. Omegas gave a slight nod, inclining his head almost imperceptibly to his side.
While they silently communicated, Snotlout pulled Fishlegs aside.
"Hey, Fishface," Snotlout said, the demeaning nickname lacking its usual bite, what with his wary tone. "Did I do something to make him mad?"
The person in question was obvious. They both looked at Hiccup, squatting on the cave floor, frowning at the crystal in front of him with his thumb between his teeth, a look of intense concentration on his face.
"You mean any more than usual?" Fishlegs replied. "I don't think so. He's been getting weird lately."
"Weirder."
"Just weird," Fishlegs insisted. "I don't know, maybe he's tired or something. You know how Hiccup hides these things."
He gestured at their chief as subtly as he could. Astrid had walked up and was bent over beside him with her hands on her knees, speaking quietly.
"Just behave this time."
"I always behave," Snotlout replied indignantly. "When have I ever not been a team player?"
"Like… all the time, Snotlout."
He folded his arms and turned away. "Shut up, Fishface."
Omegas seemed to win the debate, because Alphas finally sighed and relented, beckoning for Stormfly to come over. He turned his back on the other team, but not without a fleeting glance at Fishlegs.
"Alright," he said out loud. Hiccup looked up at them from the crystal he was examining, and Alphas met his gaze, Stormfly trotting up behind him. Omegas was giving Spiral instructions, pointing at the other team.
"Let's get going, then," Alphas said, and began walking off, Olympiodoros at his shoulder. Hiccup got up, kissed Astrid on the cheek, and followed.
Snotlout hurried to catch up, and soon fell into step beside them as they left the other team behind. The dragons stayed at their sides, Toothless right beside Hiccup, while Stormfly stayed close to Snotlout. Spiral appeared a moment later, choosing to keep pace right behind Alphas.
The crystals glowed along their path, lining the walls in great clusters. In some spots, they were crowded together, their light converging into a single brilliant point that was almost too bright to look at. The formations were very regular, and seemed to center around a certain height on the cave walls.
All this information ran through Hiccup's head while Snotlout, desperate to break the oppressive silence, tried to say anything he could think of.
"So, Alphas," Snotlout tried, "this dragon, behind you. Why's it called Spiral?"
"Ask Omegas," was Alphas' response, and that topic was over before it even started.
Snotlout tried again.
"What kind of dragon is he?" he asked this time.
"Cloud Eater," Alphas replied.
"Why's it called that?"
"I wasn't the one who named them," Alphas said. "At a guess, I'd say because of the kind of breath they use, and because they're good fliers."
"What's special about their breath?" Hiccup said this time, earning a relieved look from Snotlout.
Alphas thought about it for a moment. "You know Scauldrons?"
"Yeah."
"And Windstrikers?"
"Yeah."
"Cloud Eaters have the breath of those two combined. Hot air and hot water."
"Huh," Hiccup said. "That's interesting. How do they generate it?"
Alphas sighed. "They take in the air or the water, then spit it out. They can only heat and use one at a time."
Hiccup nodded. "Got it."
They walked on, silent again. Snotlout began trying to think of a conversation he could safely start with the sorcerers. Alphas was just a little bit scary.
Olympiodoros adjusted the cape around his shoulders. Alphas glanced at him.
"You still haven't told us why you're wearing that," he said.
The mood instantly turned tense. The hairs on Snotlout's arms stood up automatically.
Everyone could tell that was not a light remark. Alphas' tone made his meaning clear.
Tell me why you're wearing the cape. I will not hesitate to beat the answer out of you if you don't.
Why he would take such a stance towards his own ally, neither Hiccup nor Snotlout could tell.
The Berkians watched Olympiodoros' face as it flickered through various expressions, settling finally on a slightly apprehensive look. They knew they were bystanders to this conversation.
"I… don't think I'd like to say it right now," Olympiodoros said, staring at the floor.
"Not my problem," Alphas replied, staring at him unblinkingly. "Why. Are you wearing. The cape."
"Can I tell you later?" Olympiodoros pleaded. Snotlout felt a surge of sympathy for him, for no reason he could discern. It wasn't like he'd ever been in a similar situation.
"Now."
"But-"
"Now."
Olympiodoros shuffled uncomfortably as they continued along the cave. The moments passed in silence, and right when Alphas was about to say something, frowning with irritation, he spoke.
"When I was running from the wolves," he said, "I tried to get out through one of the gates. It needed a key, and when the guard saw me, he helped me unlock it. His name was Marcus."
Hiccup listened closely. Alphas had also mentioned wolves, back on Berk.
"The wolves found us. We fought them. One of them bit him in half."
"That's his cape?" Alphas questioned. "It's torn at the bottom."
Olympiodoros nodded. "It's his."
"And why," Alphas replied, "do you feel this damn attached? I don't see you wearing Lysander's coat."
Olympiodoros hesitated. "Nevermind."
"No, go on," Alphas pressed. "I'd love to know the rest of it. Did you feel a connection with him, right before he died? Did his last breath speak of the world beyond? Enlighten us with the wisdom you've been blessed with, it's only fair."
"I don't have any wisdom," Olympiodoros mumbled.
Snotlout felt a greater surge of sympathy for him. Being interrogated by Alphas wasn't a fun way to pass the time. He knew from experience.
"You must, to mourn him like this, in a way you didn't even mourn Lysander," Alphas continued. "Tell me, Olympiodoros."
"I don't-"
"Tell me!" Alphas yelled, the sudden increase in volume making the Berkians and the dragons flinch. "Tell me what's so important about that guard, Olympiodoros, or I swear I will have you stripped and chained under the sun for a month!"
Hiccup clasped his hands over his ears, waiting for that screeching echo, but it never came. Instead, Olympiodoros spoke, raising his voice as well.
"He was good to me!" Olympiodoros said, the words seeming to spill out of him in response to the crushing presence before him that Alphas had seemed to generate in an instant, an overwhelming aura of authority that demanded compliance. "He helped me for no reward and he died for his kindness!"
"I see," Alphas replied, all his rage gone, instantly calm again now that he had his answer. "He was nice to you, and that's why you remember him."
"... Yes," Olympiodoros replied after a tense moment, hanging his head, staring at the ground once more.
Alphas watched for a good few seconds before speaking, his voice very soft.
"You wouldn't rip the cape off of a dead man, would you, Olympiodoros?"
Olympiodoros froze. Alphas held his gaze intensely, eyes cold and unblinking.
"You prepared him for death."
It was more a statement than a question, as though Alphas had his answer already. He nodded, seemingly to himself.
"Yes. You prepared him for death. You left him coin for Charon."
"How do you know?" Olympiodoros whispered. "How do you know I left him the fee?"
"The palace counted the money we were given," Alphas told him. "Some was missing. One gold coin and two silver. I get the silver, it's Charon's fee. Why the gold, Olympiodoros?"
"... I buried him," Olympiodoros admitted quietly. "He said he would become a god when he died. I wanted to leave him his first offering."
"You buried him?" Alphas whispered, turning fully to face Olympiodoros.
The entire party stopped, dragons shifting uneasily.
"While we were chained up and down and sideways in the wolves' den and being tortured, you were wasting time on a nobody?"
"He wasn't a nobody," Olympiodoros said, but there was no defiance in his voice.
"I'm sure he wasn't," Alphas said, shoving him backwards into the cave wall. "I'm sure you had drinks every Saturday, just like you did with Pelagius. I'm sure you were there when he got married. He must have meant a lot to you, more than we ever did, for you to leave us and the mission behind to mourn someone you barely knew."
Alphas slammed his hand down, and Olympiodoros wheezed as he was lifted up by the throat, his back scraping against the stone.
"You had better have a good reason," Alphas hissed, "for ignoring us in favour of a random normal. I've been branded because of your actions."
Olympiodoros choked and spluttered, and Alphas threw him down, where he heaved enormous breaths, flooding his body of the oxygen it had been deprived of.
"I'll forgive it," Alphas said coldly, "but something like this deserves punishment, do you hear?"
"Um, Alphas," Hiccup interrupted, drawing forward and briefly touching Alphas on the arm. He turned to look at the chief with a gaze so harsh and icy it could have generated frost in Muspelheim.
"What?" he said coldly.
"Forgive him," Hiccup suggested, while Olympiodoros gulped air on the ground, propping himself up on his elbows.
"I just said I did," Alphas replied. "Now stay out of it."
"You haven't forgiven him," Hiccup protested. "You wouldn't want to punish him if you had. Please, he got emotional. It happens to the best of us. You can't say for sure what he was feeling when it happened, or why he felt so strongly about it. Just… let him go."
Alphas watched Hiccup silently, and as Olympiodoros got his breath back, he also looked up at Hiccup, watching him with a strange expression.
"You owe him, Olympiodoros," Alphas said quietly, speaking without ever looking away from Hiccup. "Better pay that debt, hmm?"
He turned, and continued down the path they'd taken.
The air shuddered, and Olympiodoros paused in the middle of getting up.
The hairs rose on the back of Hiccup's neck.
And then came a great sound like the blowing of the Gjallarhorn, deep and low and vibrating, a constant juddering rumble that was too high to be a rumble, a sound that invaded your entire body and made you numb with its resonance. It seemed both hollow and full at the same time, a paradoxical, impossible noise that sounded like it had blown out from the depths of the world, a call from the throat of a forgotten monster, or perhaps the undulation of an ancient god, that spoke a language lost to memory.
A pale, gray-white fog emerged in the distance, approaching lazily. Alphas immediately had his sword out, and Olympiodoros scrambled to unsheathe his as well. Snotlout brought his hammer out in front of him, and Hiccup brought Inferno to a light.
The dragons gave low growls, eyes narrowed to slits as they hunched in defensive stances, bodies arched, wings drawn close to their body.
The everpresent not-rumbling grew more intense, overbearing, almost penetrative now, so loud that Hiccup almost dropped his sword to cover his ears. It was nearly unbearable, and the sound echoed in his head so loudly that his vision was starting to blur.
And then, so quickly that it was difficult to believe it had ever been there, the sound shrank away, receding into the distance, ebbing to deathly quiet.
The fog remained.
And then it pulsed, and swarmed them in a flash, moving so quickly that it gave the illusion of the ground moving under their feet as hundreds of wispy tendrils of mist rushed past.
Out came the monsters.