Lightning Always Strikes Twice

Chapter 16: The Tide

"Hatred is the coward's revenge for being intimidated."

The forest was beautiful.

Not in the traditional sense of stupor inducing, mind-numbing visual aesthetics nor through basic psychological analysis. It was beautiful because it was timeless. Nature was the world's greatest and most nourishing mother, yet it was also its most brutal terrorizer and deadliest murderer. But despite that, life moved on. Young fox kits learned to hunt. Wolves rolled around in the mud. Flowers blossomed in all colors of the rainbow. Even with all the misery and death, hope seeped into every pore like the rays of the sun and every creature from the smallest bug to the largest bear basked in its glory because, to them, life was worth it.

I sat there and watched like an outsider as the exquisite synthesis of horror and optimism battled furiously. Neither side advanced, but neither side retreated forever locked in eternal conflict.

Sighing, my back hit the rough ground with a thud. Why did everything have to be so complicated? Why couldn't people be as simple as the animals that they ate? Well, I guess if that were true, I wouldn't think of these questions, now would I?

The sun twinkled at my prone form. I sat up with a groan.

Behind me, the bushes shook with ominous fury like the fires of hell were there to liberate them from the light.

A four clawed, winged creature burst through.

"Hey Toothless," I said without so much as a glance.

The dragon approached me and came to rest beside me. The two of us sat there for a time, the sun dancing its number above us, and the forest fighting its own below.

I turned my gaze to Toothless, whose big green eyes were not watching the nature but, instead, were watching me with shifty curiosity.

Leaning over to him, I knocked him hard on the nose. The dragon blinked and wiggled the tip of his snout, a look of pure annoyance pouring out of his eyes.

"That's for being an idiot, last night," I said.

Large, green eyes rolled around in exaggerated sluggishness as the dragon loudly sighed.

An animal, somewhere in the forest below, let out a squeal of pain and a plea of mercy as the jaws of some hungry predator held it captive. Its cries remained on the wind for only a few seconds before they drifted and dispersed like smoke, never to be heard again.

"I'm gonna miss him," I told my companion.

Toothless's ears twitched and the dragon lightly shook out his wings as if they were wet.

Eventually, the dragon, bored with my unresponsive examination of the woods below, moved forward and nudged something at my side with his snout. The object was mostly iron and wood - an array of cylindrical shapes with the larger ones outlining and the smaller ones inside. Three of these, as well as various nubs and doodads, made up the strange gadget.

Toothless sniffed at the polished wood and molded iron with both concern and curiosity dancing in his eyes.

Feeling the dragon's pressure on my side and his hot breath, which actually felt quite nice, I glanced at Toothless and gave a light half-hearted chuckle.

"Oh, this little thing," I innocently said. Toothless growled lightly and gave me a daring look as if saying, 'Just try it.'

"Relax, big fella." The warmth of Toothless's black scales met my fingers like I was kneading with living, breathing clay as I ruffled the head of the Night Fury. My massage moved to his soft, leathery ears and I gave them an affectionate rub.

As I worked, I spoke, "It's a little doodad that launches liquid forward. You push on this," I paused in my work, resulting in half of a moan and half of a growl from the dragon, to show Toothless just how the contraption worked, "which increases the pressure of the chamber. That way, when you open the front, the liquid gushes forward."

"I made it this morning before," my words caught in my throat like a ball of snot, "before the funeral."

I tossed a weak grin at the dragon, who watched with unwavering conviction. "It still needs more work though. The range is terrible and it doesn't really shoot all that well."

Then, with a glare that made Toothless rear back, flatten his ears, tense his wings and hiss, I added, "I did want to try this though."

But I didn't point the tool at the Night Fury and vex him with some mysterious, uncomfortable and highly embarrassing ailment. Instead, I turned tail and ran into the bushes. The leaves quivered and shook in irritation at being disturbed yet again.

The destination I had in mind was not some great utopia or secretive stash, but rather a small wooden grove that contained a flattened series of comfortable grasses and, in the middle, a small circle of rocks filled with black ash that smelt of soot.

Kneeling next to it, I quickly shoved some twigs into the circle's embrace and grabbed two sticks in my hand. Either something had changed in me, or I was too distracted to notice what I was doing because the fire flared up almost instantly.

Toothless appeared in the clearing with a slow, calculated slink as if expecting an attack at any moment. I ignored the Night Fury.

Instead, I lifted my invention and opened the nozzle. Out came a dark-yellow stream that smelt of salt, fish scales and seaweed. The slightly repulsive odor was due to the supplement used – fish oil. But, rather than igniting the liquid as I hoped for, it cut through the fire as if it were no more than air. Irritated, and slightly disappointed, I aimed the stream directly into the fire, which died in a sizzling stream of stinky, white smoke.

"The fire must not be hot enough. Or maybe there is something else I can use that burns easier." I mused. "Dang, I thought it would be really cool to shoot fire. Kind of like you do, I guess."

I looked over at Toothless who was watching the smoke with narrowed, annoyed eyes and covering his nose with his front left paw.

Toothless truly was an enigma. Never before had I meant someone who was so strong, yet so gentle. It seemed like an oxymoron, but I had no other words to describe it. That didn't mean I forgave him for killing Gobber. Yes, I understood why and respected it but I couldn't just get past it – Gobber was my mentor, a father figure when my real Dad was too busy with the village to be with me. Sure, in all likelihood, Gobber was going to die anyway, and yes, that Monstrous Nightmare was the one that brought down the tower. But that didn't change the fact that Toothless dealt the final blow. A mercy kill was still a kill.

Maybe no friendship was perfect. Although, thinking about it, wasn't that the reason such a bond was so special? The idea that waves and trails could get in the way; arguments, fights and disagreement could intervene; yet none of them could completely destroy your bond?

I looked over at my green-eyed friend lying with a contemplative look drawn over his face. Except for some random ear twitching every once in a while, the dragon remained as still as a frozen lake in midwinter.

Letting out a troubled sigh, I let myself fall to the ground and sprawled out on the soft grass. My hands found a strand of the stringy, green vegetation and I twirled it around my fingers like a piece of twine.

"Dad is going to kill Cheeks today," I told the dragon. Toothless blinked and glanced over at me.

"When Dad told me, last night, that Cheeks was the reason my mother died, I was so angry, confused. I wanted to kill the dragon, myself. He's the reason I had to spend so many nights tired and alone. Before I even realized what I was doing, I had made it all the way to the Kill Ring. But then-"

"I ended up trying free them all – the dragons in the Kill Ring, but it was swarming with guards, so I couldn't get close enough," I confessed.

My shoulders rose up and down in a nonchalant shrug. "Maybe I was just delirious from trauma or something."

Toothless's lips quivered and the dragon peered at me intently.

But I paid him no heed and continued on, "That dragon may have killed my mother, but I can't let him just die. He can speak; he can prove that dragons are more than just mindless beasts. And he knows all about you guys." I gestured at Toothless.

I closed my eyes and lightly shook my head back and forth. With a deep breath, I opened my eyes once more. "Damn it, why couldn't you have been the dragon that can speak – not the insane one," I asked Toothless. "That would have made this so much easier."

Approaching, as if he were breaking some stick taboo, Toothless skittered up to me and tapped me on the shoulder with his large head. I glanced over at him and he threw me a boisterous, gum-filled grin. I laughed.

Then, Toothless turned around, took a few strolls away, and looked to the sky. With a majestic flap that routed twigs, leaves, and pebbles from the ground, the Night Fury took to the sky and disappeared.

I sat there with a smile on my face, before getting up and trudging back to Berk.

The rest of the day went far faster than I would have liked, but no revelations found their way into my brain on the topic of Cheeks. I had no idea what to do – there was no way to release him and I couldn't even find Dad to ask him about it. It was like the man had disappeared into the wilds, no one had seen him.

Before I knew it, the village was meeting up at the Kill Ring. What shocked me most was that everyone seemed to know why we were there. Berk was never big on gossip unless it involved some type of tragedy or promise of bloodshed – this meeting both criteria, must have spread through the town like wildfire.

I listened to a few Vikings chatter animatedly about what Stoick would do to the monster. Their embellished fantasies rose to such levels that I had to stifle a groan; I left when they started a bet on how many pieces the dragon would be in once it was over.

The Kill Ring was nearly packed to capacity. Not down in the ring itself of course, but the outer rim was practically overflowing. And floating in the air, like some pestering disease was everyone's rampaging excitement. It fueled all into a frenzied high as they chattered vigorously with one another.

Nearby, I noticed a disturbed Snotlout, who had a hollow expression on his face. The wind ruffled his hair under his cap and dragged brown strands across his face, but the young man did nothing to stop the hair from obstructing his vision. Next to him, Tuffnut was waving his arms around and, by the looks of it, making strange sounds. Over the chatter, it was impossible to hear exactly what noises he was making.

As I had done a fantastic job of avoiding Snotlout the entire day, I made sure to steer far from his line of sight.

There was no way that I was ready to deal with that impending conversation. Maybe putting it off was going to make things worse in the long run, and if so, I would deal with that, but I couldn't add more to my plate right now.

Finally!

Dad arrived looking a tad intimidating. He wasn't wearing anything unusual: just the same green tunic adorned in scale mail; an oversized belt, armbands, and shoulders pads; and his brown fur cloak. No, what was different was his face. Under that massive beard was an expression, not of happiness but of infinite hate and anger.

Still, I had to try. I ran over to my father, who was getting ready to enter the Kill Ring with axe in hand.

As he took the first steps down the slope, I called out, "Dad!"

There was a slight stutter in his step, but the man never stopped and continued on his trek down the ramp. Then, with a heave, he lifted the iron gate up and took a step into the ring.

A terrible crash and the iron slammed shut onto the stone underneath. I ran to the gate and stammered out, "Dad, do you really have to do this?"

Stoick turned and looked at me with an unreadable glint in his eye. At first, I thought it might be one of anger, but when he looked at me, it softened into something I couldn't discern.

"Yes, I do," he said in a whisper.

As Dad walked to the middle of the Kill Ring, I watched with rapid fixation. My hands pushed against the metal bars, but the metal was unyielding.

The Viking Chief, looking every bit the part, shouldered his axe and beckoned to the people of Berk. Their cheer and applause exploded. In a way, the sound made me feel better – after all, how could anything so grand and rapturous lead to something bad.

"Six years ago my wife died." Stoick's voice was loud, powerful and dominating. There was neither shiver nor hesitation hidden in his words "Her body was never found and I hoped that maybe she just disappeared. But I can fake it no longer. This monster is responsible for it and will pay with its blood."

I sunk down against the gate. Why was death the answer to everything?

"Release the beast," Stoick said with unwavering conviction.

Quickly, I spun around to watch.

A creaky sound interrupted the excited murmurs and cheers as iron chains clinked and lifted the wooden log that locked the door close. Once free, the door opened slowly as if no one were in a hurry.

And once open, a scaly leg took one step forward, out into the light.

Really, even with all my meetings with Cheeks, I had never gotten a good look at the dragon. Still, he played the part of Monstrous Nightmare well as a large, stripped dragon had more pointy ends than a Viking warrior. There was nothing all that different from a normal Nightmare: he had the horns, the massive needle-like claws and incredibly menacing teeth. The only real difference was the scars that marred his body.

Cheeks took another step and I noticed one other problem: the dragon had a slight limp. In a way, it made him look overly pathetic and, for just a second, I wondered if he was faking it.

Stoick roared and gripped his axe.

Yellow eyes blinked as Cheeks looked down at Stoick. But Cheeks did not react save for a frown that appeared on the dragon's maw. He carefully, always keeping an eye on Dad, examined his surroundings.

Dad, impatient with the lack of action, bellowed out some incomprehensible mess and charged the dragon.

Cheeks, startled with Dad's speed, fired a blast of fire into his path, but Stoick, with years of trained reflexes, easily dodge the attack.

Unable to get a good view, I ran back up and around to the deck of the Kill Ring. All around me, people were whooping, hollering and banging the iron net. Suddenly, the Vikings in front of me stepped to the side and a smoldering fireball came and slammed into the web of iron and steel. Small pieces of fire rained down on me, but I paid them no mind and ran to the slightly darkened metal.

Cheeks was now on the far side panting slightly and holding his front right leg. A bright red gash was oozing blood onto the Kill Ring floor, but the dragon was paying no attention; instead, his focus was entirely on Stoick, who looked completely in his element.

"Cheeks, say something," I mumbled under my breath. "Why aren't you talking?"

But the Monstrous Nightmare never said a word. He kept fighting a losing battle with my father. One gash became two; two became three. The dragon's panting increased to audible levels.

Due to Stoick's deadly skill with an axe, Cheeks tried to keep at range with his fire but even that was proving ineffective. Nothing the dragon did kept Dad at bay for long. Strangely, Cheeks' wild shots keep hitting the same spot, right in front of me causing me to periodically move away and out to the side. Initially, I wondered if the dragon was doing it on purpose, but his lack of focus on me – never once did he look in my direction – made me think otherwise.

I pressed my head against the black, weakened metal in front of me – Cheeks' coincidental blasts had taken its toll on the one concentrated area. The smell of crisped metal filled my nose.

Cheeks fired once more – his tenth shot. I would have liked to say that his last attempt was a good one, that it was filled with great trickery or intellect, but, in truth, it was a complete act of desperation. The Monstrous Nightmare was limping heavily and fired blindly trying to get Stoick away from him. He missed utterly and Stoick laughed savagely into the sticky, hot air.

"You're out of shots – what are going to do now, monster?" the Viking Chief asked as Cheeks stalked around the edge of the Kill Ring. The dragon stopped when it was directly under me, its eyes still fixated on Stoick.

It was then that I realized something. Not once, did Cheeks take to the air. Was it possible that the dragon didn't know how to fly? Or did something happen to his wings? But then again, when I got stuck with it alone, it had flown. So why not now?

Stoick approached the heavily panting dragon with a raised axe and a maddened glint in his eye.

"Are you ready to die?" he asked as simply as if he asked of the weather.

Cheeks opened his maw, whether to speak or do something else I knew not, when a crinkling sound erupted into the clearing.

Suddenly, the burnt, frail metal under my fingers gave way. The entire section that Cheeks' fire barbecued collapsed and fell into the Kill Ring. I quickly followed and manage to land on my feet.

Dazed, I shook my head to and fro and looked up. Only a few feet away from me stood Cheeks, his narrow yellow eyes watching me. At this proximity, it was very apparent just how injured the dragon was – the stomach-churning smell of blood rode the air like a bird in flight and the sporadic breathing showed the creature was in pain.

Behind the dragon, near the center of the Kill Ring stood Dad, his axe frozen in mid-motion and a look of horror on his face.

Cheeks looked at Stoick, smirked, then turned to me and approached with an overly slow stride.

"What are you doing?" Stoick yelled and charged.

Long, sharp claws surrounded me as the dragon awkwardly picked me up. Pinpricks rattled my body as Cheeks began to squeeze. I felt the claws start to sink into my flesh and let out a gasp of pain. Squirming only made the feeling worse, but I still tried to kick at the dragon to get it drop me. His grip tightened more, forcing air out of my lungs and blood out of my body.

It wasn't until Stoick halted completely, beard fraying in uncontrollable fury that the deadly grip lessened.

The rest of the Kill Ring was in an uproar as people hurried about – most seeking weapons of some kind. With a clang, the front gate of the circle opened and four or five warriors ran in and stopped next to Dad.

While Dad's rage was quite clear, his voice quivered at his yelled at the beast, "Drop him!"

Cheeks sent another toothy, diabolical smirk and gave a light squeeze.

Stoick's voice rose in pitch and he half ordered, half plead, "Don't even think about it!"

Cheeks, ignoring Dad, brought his head down to mine and opened his mouth. A disgusting aroma of fish, salt, blood and fire swam through my mind with the grace of a dog. Sharp, foot-long teeth tickled my head as the dragon lightly dragged them over my flesh. The dragon, with his open mouth, drooled and red, sticky saliva got stuck all over my hair and face.

Then, with his throaty, chilling voice, Cheeks purred, "Are you ready to die?"

His voice was no more than a whisper and I was sure I was the only one that could hear it.

I can't explain the rage that I felt at that moment. Not only was this dragon too much of a coward to talk so that everyone could hear him – he was going to kill me as some means of revenge against Dad. Why I ever thought saving this monster was a good idea, I had no clue.

"No," I told Cheeks with a snarl. "Are you?"

Still far too close for comfort, the dragon said, "Yes, but not today."

Without warning, Cheeks opened his claws and I tumbled to the ground in a heap. Sputtering, I turned my gaze to the dragon just in time for him to open his maw and fire another shot of orange-red fire, this time purposely aiming for the weakened spot on the wall. The iron exploded in a spectacular display creating a gap large enough for the dragon to squeeze through.

Cheeks wasted no time as he launched himself up and squirmed through the hole. The pieces of broken iron dug into the sides of his wings like spears and left a swath of pinkish flesh.

As Cheeks made his retreat through the opening, I sat flabbergasted. How in the world could the dragon fire again? Monstrous Nightmares only had ten shots – where in the world could an eleventh come from?

The sounds of arrows whizzing through the air interrupted my thoughts. We Vikings were not the biggest fans of bows – cowardly way to fight – but we hated the idea of a dragon escaping far more.

"Stop it. Don't let it fly away," Stoick yelled as I ran out of the Kill Ring to get a better view.

Cheeks, free of the arena took a few arrows to his side and hissed in both annoyance and pain.

The Kill Ring was built on a plateau that was mostly surrounded by cliffs. If the dragon could make it a couple hundred feet to the edge, he could simply fall off and use that to start his flight. Of course, he could always fly immediately, but that would leave him extremely vulnerable to attack. But if he used the cliff as protection, it was possible he could get away, safely.

An arrow struck the dragon right under the wing and easily sunk in like a knife in bread. A roar, loud and full of agony erupted from Cheeks' muzzle as the dragon stumbled toward the cliff. Another, much larger, projectile struck the dragon and crushed his back left foot with a sickening crack. Cheeks collapsed to the ground, blood flowing from his wounds onto the thirsty grass. The dragon, a grimace on his face, forced his wings to take a mighty flap and lifted off. But, as the fates would have it, that was the last recesses of his strength and the dragon's ascent ended abruptly. The great Monstrous Nightmare fell from the sky and disappeared beyond the cliff.

All heard the massive splash that soon followed.

Throwing myself forward, I crawled to the edge of the cliff and looked over. The waves hit the side of the island with rigorous passion. Their rhythmic thumping could be felt through the rock I knelt on like the loving tap of a child trying to get her mother's attention. I waited for the dragon to surface, yet the surface never quivered. For a long time, I sat there and watched the surf with an emotionless expression plastered on my face.

Eventually, the sun's slow descent reached the horizon and turned the waves a disturbingly ironic yet appropriate blood-red.

Author Notes: A day late and a short chapter? What is this madness! Well, yesterday was the Fourth of July and sun and fun preoccupied me. Oh, by the way, I'm going to take the next week off from this story – this is the end of an arc and a good place to let the story sit for an extra week. But alas, baring some unfortunate consequence, the story will update on, or near, July 18th.

As for all the deaths lately, don't worry, everyone won't die; only most of them…I kid, I kid.

Also, while writing this chapter I discovered the song, "Paradise Awaits" from Killer Tracks. Absolutely beautiful music helps the creative juices flow for writing. Like, a lot.