enemy. We can no longer be fighting each other when
the future of humanity itself is in peril.
‘The Dragon Rebellion has come! The Things
have been Found!
‘The gods have spoken!
‘There is a time to submit to Fate and the Will
of the gods, and the time is now. Madam, put your
personal sorrow aside, for the sake of us all.’
Valhallarama stood, like a great tree that has been
most suddenly struck by lightning, staring at her sword.
‘So many years,’ she said, bringing up her great
head, ‘so many, many lonely years I spent Questing
for these Things… giving up the warmth of home and
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husband and my child. What was it all for? A fruitless
Quest. And then it seemed that it all might have been
worth it. Sometimes you find that the Things you scour
the world for are right under your nose at home.
‘I thought that there might be a time, when this
dreadful War was past, a time for second chances.
That I could re-build my lost relationship with my son,
who would have the Kingdom that once I wanted for
myself…
‘… only for that hope to be taken away from me
again. This man,’ she spat in Alvin’s direction, ‘if this
man is Crowned, you will tell him the secret of the
Dragon Jewel. And he would use that power to destroy
the dragons forever.’
‘But the Dragon Furious would destroy the
whole of humanity,’ replied the Druid Guardian.
‘Sometimes a King has to do terrible things in order
to protect those he has sworn to look after. When
the stakes are so high, dreadful decisions have to be
taken. It is the responsibility of a King to take on that
burden, that guilt, and I know a little about that kind of
responsibility.
‘Forgive my rough words, Madam. I am not used
to speaking with strangers.’
The Druid Guardian spoke gently, for he was
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aware he was talking to a woman who had lost her son.
‘There is a time when you have to give yourself
up to the will of the gods, and sometimes the will of
the gods is a mystery until we see the final pattern in
the end…’
Valhallarama tried to square her shoulders.
The true sign of a Hero is how they act when all is
against them.
Proudly, she took off her battle glove and gave it
to the Druid Guardian.
‘I will not swear fealty to this man Alvin,’ said
Valhallarama, stiffly. ‘But I will no longer fight him
either. The Company of the Dragonmark will bear
silent witness to the Crowning, if the Guardians of
Tomorrow feel that this is the will of the gods.’
Stoick the Vast, his head bowed like a broken
lion, nodded his head to give his assent.
‘So be it,’ said the Druid Guardian.
‘Hang on a second,’ spluttered the witch, feeling
that the situation, which she thought she had nicely in
hand, was suddenly getting out of control again. ‘This
is going to be a private party! My son is the King and
these people are traitors and uninvited guests! We
don’t want them at the Crowning!’
The Druid Guardian looked at her thoughtfully.
‘Your son is not the King yet,’ he said. ‘And the King
must be crowned in front of the united Tribes of the
Archipelago, as their chosen representative. Grimbeard
was quite clear about that. This lady has given her vow
as a Viking that she will put aside her personal sorrow,
and bear silent witness, and her vow is enough for me.
‘She has given her pledge, and now as a sign
of your good faith, you must set free these prisoners
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of yours.’
The witch was left with no choice. She gave the
order for Gobber and the other prisoners to
be released.
The Druid Guardian banged his staff on the
beach: once, twice, thrice.
‘You have passed the first test. We will not
kill you… yet. We will proceed now to the Cursed
Lands of Tomorrow, for the coronation of the King.
One moment, please, while I address my fellow
Guardians…’
The Druid Guardian lifted up his head and arms
to the heavens one last time. He spoke with dreadful
finality.
‘It is the eleventh day of Doomsday, the Heir has
been found, and the last chance for any other person to
claim the Throne has passed.
‘COME, GREAT POWERS OF DEATH
AND DARKNESS! Arise, and protect the borders
of Tomorrow once again! Any man, woman, child or
dragon who dares to cross illegally into Tomorrow in
the next twenty-four hours will die by the dreadful
wrath of THE GUARDIAN PROTECTORS!’
All around the Vikings on the beach,
the sand began to bubble, and the land gave
birth again to those same ghastly nightmare
creatures that had carried UG and his
followers to their terrible airy doom seventy-two
hours earlier. This time, they left the Vikings
alone, and went shrieking over their heads like
shooting stars or asteroids, back to the island of
Tomorrow, to guard the borders there.
‘What in the name of Woden were they?’
gulped Alvin, turning to his mother with a green
and sickly face.
‘Death by airy oblivion,’ said the witch grimly.
‘We were lucky we had the Things…’
‘The King must be crowned on the stumps of
Grimbeard’s Throne,’ continued the Guardian, turning
back to the traumatised crowd on the beach as they
gazed after those terrifying apparitions. ‘And the
Throne is in the centre of Tomorrow. Follow me, all of
you, to TOMORROW.
‘You may find it harder there than you think…’
And as the sun rose higher on Doomsday Eve, the
old man in the blindfold rowed his boat, slowly, slowly
across the Hero’s Gap.
He was followed by hundreds and hundreds
of boats with tattered sails and burnt Vikings, weary
and homeless, drained of all hope and energy by this
dreadful war.
Far away in the distance, too afraid of Tomorrow
to approach any closer, the dragons of the Dragon
Rebellion watched them go, and flew to tell their
leader.
The Dragon Furious stretched out, victorious, in
the hot springs and deep snow of his icy stronghold to
the north, two trails of smoke leaking from his mighty
nostrils.
‘They have the Things, my lord, all of them…’
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said a Razorwing, its eyes dilated with anxiety. ‘The
little gummy toothless dragon, they’ve got that too.
‘And I saw…’ The Razorwing was panting with
horror. ‘I saw the Jewel... the Jewel that has the
power to destroy dragons forever.’
The Dragon Furious did not appear to be
frightened by this news. ‘Ah,’ mused the mighty
Dragon. ‘But you see, I have something gre
ater than
the Jewel. I have the Wodensfang’s promise.’
22. HERO’S END AT THE
ELEVENTH HOUR
Camicazi and Fishlegs had followed the Alvinsmen
to the Singing Sands of the Ferryman’s Gift, invisibly
tracking them on the back of the Deadly Shadow. They
had hidden on the sandbanks directly above the beach,
and, protected by the over-arching wings of the great
camouflaged dragon, they watched this whole scene
being played out from the safety of their hiding-place.
They knew the significance of Hiccup’s helmet
being recovered by the Bullguards. Fishlegs and
Camicazi did not need to hide any more. They could
join up with the other Dragonmarkers now.
Red-eyed, wiping his nose against his sleeve,
Fishlegs was about to join the sad procession of boats
crossing Hero’s Gap towards the isle of Tomorrow
when Camicazi stopped him.
‘What on earth are you doing, Fishlegs?’ she said
briskly.
‘Um…’ said Fishlegs, hopelessly, ‘I’m following
the others… there’s no point doing anything else, is
there, now that we know Hiccup is dead.’
‘The more I think about it,’ said Camicazi, ‘the
less I think Hiccup is dead.’
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‘But… but… the helmet… that was Hiccup’s
helmet…’ protested Fishlegs. ‘And they brought
it up from the sea… There isn’t really any other
explanation.’
‘Oh for Thor’s sake,’ said Camicazi in
exasperation. ‘Have you not hung around with him
for long enough to know that you never give up hope
until you are presented with an actual Hiccup skeleton,
solemnly registered and verified by the Valkyrie Death
Committee as completely authentic?’
‘Yes, but…’
‘We thought you were dead back there in the
Slavelands, remember, and look! You turned up again
large as life – or rather, skinny and asthmatic and
eczema-covered as life! What would have happened if
we stopped looking for you?’
‘But… but… but…’
spluttered Fishlegs. ‘But
sometimes people really
ARE dead, Camicazi! And
it’s Doomsday Eve… We
only have twenty-four
hours before the King
gets crowned, and Alvin
has all the Things…
We haven’t got a hope...’
‘It’s a tight deadline,’
admitted Camicazi. ‘But
then again Hiccup always
works best under tight
deadlines…’
‘I want to believe
you,’ said Fishlegs
longingly. ‘I really, really
want to believe you, but
where IS he, Camicazi?’
‘OH DO HURRY
UP!’ shouted Camicazi,
already on board the Deadly
Shadow. ‘We’ll just have to go and find him…’
‘Don’t you think you should at least tell your
mother we’re OK?’ asked Fishlegs, as he climbed up
after her. ‘I saw Bertha among that Dragonmarker
crowd… she might at least want to know you are still
alive. And maybe she might not give you permission to
go and look for Hiccup?’
‘I think,’ said Camicazi thoughtfully, ‘it might
be better not to ask. You’re right though, it would be
nice to let her know that we’re alive, so she doesn’t
worry…’
Two minutes later, Great Chief Bertha of the
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Bog-Burglars, solemnly steering The Big
Momma, looked up as a great shadow passed
above her. She saw the underside of an enormous
three-headed dragon, briefly turning itself visible as it
sailed south in slow, graceful flaps.
On the dragon’s back were the two small figures
of Fishlegs and Camicazi, and Bertha just caught the
words of her daughter, shouted down from the back of
the dragon, before the words were tossed away on the
wind.
‘JUST OFF TO FIND HICCUP, MOTHER…
See you later… Don’t worry about me! Bog-Burglars
Fight forever!’
‘CAMICAZI!’ yelled Bertha of the Bog-Burglars.
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‘HICCUP IS DEAD! CAMICAZI, WHERE ON
EARTH ARE YOU GOING? I’VE ONLY JUST
FOUND YOU AGAIN! YOU COME RIGHT BACK
DOWN THIS MINUTE OR YOU ARE IN BIG
TROUBLE, YOUNG LADY!
‘CAMICAAAAAAAZZZIIIIIIIIIII!’
But it was too late.
The beautiful three-headed Shadow Dragon had
already slowly faded into invisibility, like breath into
the wind.
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23. ONE MORE DAY
Far away on the little isle of Hero’s End, a boy lay
stretched out unconscious on a beach.
Camicazi was right.
HICCUP WAS ALIVE.
He only had one day left now.
One day until a King would be crowned on the
Doomsday of Yule.
One day to persuade the Guardians that HE was
the King and not Alvin the Treacherous.
And he had no Things. Not a single one.
How would he ever get to Tomorrow?
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For the Druid Guardian had closed up the
borders of Tomorrow. He had called up his Guardian
Protectors to defend the island of Tomorrow from any
being, human or dragon, who might dare to try and set
foot on the island now the Heir had been found, and
the Crowning of the King was about to commence.
And we have seen just how scary, just how
terrifying, those Guardian Protectors can be.
But at least Hiccup was ALIVE. Barely alive, but
ALIVE still.
Perched on his chest, his head tucked under
his wing with shame, was the little old dragon, the
Wodensfang, waiting for the boy to wake up.
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EPILOGUE
I said, at the beginning of this episode of my memoirs,
that the making of a Hero is like the making of a
sword.
How the sword and the Hero must be tested time
and time again, and the more fearsome and dreadful
the test, the stronger the sword and the Hero, in the
end.
That Boy-That-Once-Was-Me who is lying back
there on the beach at Hero’s End, he seems to have
lost everything, doesn’t he?
He risked everything to get the Lost Things, and
then at the last minute, they slipped through his fingers.
He does not know this yet, poor boy, as he lies
there. He is still dreaming that he is driving the ship
with the Lost Things on it, safely through the Wind.
‘Don’t worry, Toothless,’ he is muttering to
himself, slightly delirious. ‘It will be all right…
everything will be all right…’ Little knowing that
poor Toothless has fallen into dark hands, and is not all
right at all.
It is pathetic, is it not, to see the boy’s delusion,
lying on that beach like a crumpled piece of driftwood
thrown up by the careless gods, as if he were nothing.
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But now I am seventy-six years old, looking back,
I have to say that things are not quite as bleak as they
seem.
At last, for the first time in the boy’s life, he is
finally ready.
It may not look like it, as he lies there, broken
on the beach, having lost the Things, having lost
Toothless, having lost everything. But this was the
moment the Hero was made.
He is ready to take on his destiny now.
I meet him on Hero’s End, hovering over him as
he lies there, and I whisper:
You are ready now.
Know this, when you wake.
You are finally ready to take on Tomorrow.
You may look like a corpse, but you are in fact a
King.
He will need this knowledge when he wakes into
painful reality.
For it will be painful.
He will grieve for the loss of the Things, and
know that it is his fault. He will grieve for Snotlout. He
will feel that this is his fault too, even though Snotlout
chose to take that risk out of his own free will.
But Snotlout has taught him something.
Hiccup believed in Snotlout. He went on trying
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to believe in Snotlout. And in the end Snotlout
believed in Hiccup, and that was one of the crucial,
final things that gave Hiccup belief in himself.
This was what mattered.
He has carried Snotlout with him ever after.
Snotlout and his Black Star are part of his Kingship.
Remember the Wodensfang’s wheezy voice,
whispering in the darkness of the underground hideout
high in the Murderous Mountains, about how a boy
can change from being Speedfast to being Grimbeard
the Ghastly…
‘… and also the other way around.’
Back on those ships crossing Hero’s Gap on
Doomsday Eve, Snotlout’s father, Baggybum the
Beerbelly, does not yet know that Snotlout has chosen
the right side. Gobber and the Dragonmarkers are
still cursing Snotlout’s name, still believing him to be
the most treacherous Traitor of Traitors, still shaking
their heads and their fists, and calling down dreadful
How To Train Your Dragon: How to Betray a Dragon's Hero Page 20
