#zimbitsfic

    Tonight, we are overrun with them. This is a weekly occurrence. They swarm the houses, stomping through the winding alleys and making the ground tremble with every step. I’m hiding at home, like I was instructed to, but I’m restless. Why is a grown man asked to stay inside during a deadly dragon raid I hear you ask? Because I am five foot four and a half inches with all the muscle of a common garden sparrow. And I have a certain, shall we say, knack for trouble. And I may be a tad clumsy. Okay, I’m a lot clumsy. Not exactly prime Viking material.

    I can hear the roars outside and each one sends a shiver down my spine. It takes a while, but when I finally dare open the door, there’s a huge beast swooping towards me, its jaws open wide. Its mouth is at least as tall as the door and three times as wide, its throat a blazing tunnel just waiting to spit a stream of fire. The rest of it is bigger than my house, all wide torso with skin a tough, leathery yellow with sharp spines running down its back. It’s a wyvern, gigantic wings where its arms should be, and it swoops towards me like a bat, big bulbous orange eyes staring straight at me.

    I slam the door and the cascade of fire rains down on the wood. I can feel the heat through the slats, its red light momentarily illuminating the room. I fling the door open again before the rest of the house can catch alight, and I bolt before the monster can see me. It has already moved on – they know we don’t keep our cattle and crops in our houses. Vikings are streaming out of their homes, clad in armour and wielding axes and swords. They’re all ready for a fight, like they’re ready every night.

    Most people would leave. Not us. We’re Vikings. We have stubbornness issues. We’ve been fighting dragons for years and it doesn’t look like the war will end any time soon. Around me everyone is rushing to attack, but I’m running in the opposite direction. I know this village like the back of my hand, and there’s lots of eaves and nooks that shelter me from the bursts of fire that occasionally blast past me.

    My name’s Bitty. Great name, I know. But it’s not the worst. My actual name is Eric. Parents believe a hideous nickname will frighten off gnomes and trolls. Like our charming Viking demeanour wouldn’t do that. We’re a little…unkempt, if you will. Hygiene isn’t typically my neighbours’ priority. But we’re good people. And everyone knows each other here.

    A few spot me, Hoark the Haggard shouts a cheery if insane “Mornin’!” before throwing himself at a dragon. Most of them snap at me to get back inside, but I ignore them, continue making my way through the fight. I’m suddenly yanked from my weaving and ducking by a large hand, plucking me into the air as easily as picking a carrot from the ground.

    “Bitty?! What is he doing out again?!” Richard the Vast asks the surrounding Vikings, but they all shrug and mutter, so he scowls at me instead and sets me back on the ground. “What are you doing out?! Get inside!”

    He’s the biggest Viking in the entire village. His chest is so broad, his breastplate is made from an entire dragon hide. He’s the Chief of the tribe. They say that when he was a baby he popped a dragon’s head clean off its shoulders. Do I believe it?

    I watch him grab a wooden horse cart and hurl it at a dragon like it was nothing. It hits true and knocks a soaring beast out of the sky.

    Yes, I do.

    A nearby explosion makes us all duck, sparks and debris splintering the night air. Richard just sweeps it off his shoulders and out of his grand red moustache and surveys the scene with a calculating eye. I slowly try to duck out of sight, hoping he forgets about me.

    “What have we got?” he asks Ack, one of his men.

    “Gronkles. Nadders. Zipplebacks. Oh, and Hoark saw a Monstrous Nightmare,” Ack replies, his fingers twitching on his axe like he’s dying to plunge it into a dragon’s throat.

    “Any Night Furies?” Richard wants to know, scanning the sky.

    “None so far.”

    The relief on Richard’s face is obvious. He orders the torches to be hoisted, and I’m able to slip from the scene without being spotted. As the braziers are lifted into the sky, a golden light bathes the area, highlighting just how many dragons were raiding. The number is terrifying. They swirl and dance through the thick smoke and the noise is deafening. Those that aren’t attacking us snatch sheep and cattle from the ground.

    I finally make it to the blacksmith, deftly hopping over the counter littered with tools and glowing metal. I seize my leather apron from its hook and slide it over my head before taking my place at the bellows. Bad Bob, the blacksmith, is reshaping shorn off blades with a heavy iron hammer attached to the stump where his hand should be. Sweat is pouring down his face, scarred but still handsome, and his dark hair is damp too.

    “Ah! Nice of you to join the party. I thought you’d been carried off!” he quips, flashing me a grin.

    He abandons his hammering and his wooden leg clunks on the floor with every mad step as he dashes from station to station. I follow him, grabbing his scattered appendages as he discards them for another. Most Vikings missing a hand would settle for a hook, but not him. He’s crafted all kinds of tools he can screw onto his wrist, pliers, smoothing files, scalpels, you name it. Ingenious, really, if a little insane.

    “Who, me? Nah, come on! I’m way too muscular for their taste. They wouldn’t know what to do with all this!” I joke, pulling a pose that was meant to show off my bulging biceps. Except there was a severe lack of them.

    “They need toothpicks, don’t they?” Bad Bob smirks.

    I roll my eyes and start collecting the chipped and broken weapons that Vikings are trying to shove in my face. I transfer them to the forge as Bob hands out replacements while he can. I’ve been his apprentice ever since I was little. Well, littler. My true love is cooking, but that didn’t work out. I don’t want to get into that right now.

    Before we continue, I feel like I need to explain. There’s more to these raids than meets the eye. They aren’t mindless attacks, but carefully constructed plans to steal our food and cattle. These dragons are intelligent and cunning, and well versed in warfare. They’re more than animals, they’re shapeshifters.

    Except it’s very rare to see a dragon in its human form. Some say it’s been so long that dragons don’t even know how to become human again. They’re so much more powerful as dragons that they stay that way, losing their mind to bloodlust. Their clan is ruthless and cruel and have waged war against humans for centuries. Their nest cannot be found no matter how hard we try. So, we fight while they steal and kill.

    It’s a vicious, endless cycle.

Chapter One

From my station at the blacksmith’s, I can see the battle still raging around us. People are trying to carry the sheep to safety or protect crops and supplies while the dragons spit flames and lash out with their deadly claws and tails. The air is stifling, and I can feel my hair sticking to the nape of my neck. Over the roars I hear Richard the Vast ordering counter attacks with the catapults. He’s getting desperate, and no one likes that. No one’s forgotten the last time, when he threw his axe into the wall in a fit of rage.

    Ahead, a huge Monstrous Nightmare soars, spewing sticky fire over the rooftops. They’re appropriately named and are one of the more dangerous breeds we come across. Like I said, old village, lots and lots of new houses. As the wood begins to smoulder and burn, I see the fire brigade rushing to action. There’s five of them, all around my age, pulling a cart bearing a huge wooden barrel, overflowing with water. They draw buckets full, throwing it over the fire before it can get out of hand.

    The tall, slender one with beautiful cheekbones is Ransom. He knows more about dragons than anyone I know. Beside him is Holster. He’s loud, competitive to the point of being rude sometimes, and very hot-headed. Then there’s Lardo and Shitty, they’re inseparable, I don’t think I’ve ever seen them apart. Lardo can definitely kick everyone’s butt if she wants to, and I’m pretty sure Shitty is high twenty-four seven. And then there’s Jack.

    Even with an explosion blasting nearby, he still looks poised, determined. The light makes his blue eyes glow and casts shadows over his defined muscles. He’s the most attractive man I have ever laid eyes on; the strong, silent type. And I’m pretty sure he hates my guts. He’s also Bad Bob’s son, so that in itself is problematic.

    Their job is so much cooler. I know I can help, but I’m always told to stay out of sight. It’s humiliating really. I’m dying to help and it’s like I move almost without thinking, attempting to vault over the counter so I can give them a hand, but Bad Bob yanks me straight back.

    “Aw, come on. Let me out, please. I need to make my mark,” I insist, shoving his big hand away.

    “Oh, you’ve made plenty of marks. All in the wrong places,” Bob says dryly, heading back to his work.

    “Please, two minutes,” I beg, just short of grabbing his apron. “I’ll kill a dragon. My life will get infinitely better. I might even get a date.” With your son. I don’t say that part though.

    “You can’t lift a hammer. You can’t swing an axe. You can’t even throw one of these,” Bob insists, grabbing a large bola and waving it demonstratively.

    A Viking rushes by and seizes it with a hurried ‘thanks!’. He throws it expertly at a Gronkle, a fat, stumpy dragon that looks a lot like a boulder. The bola binds its legs, sending it crashing to the floor.

    He’s right. I can’t do that.

    “Okay, fine. But…!”

    I dash to the corner of the stall, where one of my own inventions awaits. I might not have much spare time at work, but I do enjoy tinkering with my own creations when I can. This particular catapult is specifically designed to fire bolas with unerring accuracy, using a unique swinging motion that expertly twists the weapon as it is launched – just like a Viking launching one himself. I’m very proud of it, so I wheel it in front of Bob to show him.

    “This will throw it for me!”

    As it jerks into place, the arm suddenly springs forward, prematurely launching a bola out into the fray. I wince as it catches Phlegma the Fierce around the waist and takes her to the floor with a strangled cry.

    “See, now this right here is what I’m talking about!” Bob sighs in exasperation, rubbing his face. Thankfully with his hand and not with the tool still attached to his arm.

    “Mild calibration issue,” I try to assure him, yanking the catapult’s arm back into place.

    “Bitty. If you ever want to get out there to fight dragons, you need to stop all…this,” Bob huffs, dramatically waving his hand in front of me.

    “But…you just pointed to all of me!” I declare, scandalised.

    “Yes! That’s it! Stop being all of you!” Bob snorts.

    “Oooh,” I scowl at him, ignoring his mimicked ‘oooh’ back at me. “You, sir, are playing a dangerous game. Keeping this much raw Vikingness contained. There will be consequences!”

    I honestly don’t know what I’m trying to achieve or why I’m attempting to threaten Bad Bob of all people, but he just rolls his eyes, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

    “I’ll take my chances,” Bob drawls. He gestures towards one of his blades, all of them lined up ready on the wall. “Sword. Sharpen. Now.”

    I take the first one begrudgingly and lay it over the grinding wheel. The metal screeches and a few sparks fly, and I glare at it as I work, though I don’t really see the weapon. One day I’ll get out there. Because killing a dragon is everything around here. A Nadder head is sure to get me at least noticed. Gronkles are tough. Taking down one of those would definitely get me a boyfriend. A Zippleback? Exciting. Two heads, twice the status.

    Outside, the dragons are staring to get desperate. I can see Nadders flying off with fat sheep in their claws and Gronkles loaded down with racks of fish. We are losing, and badly. Richard the Vast is attempting to direct the catapults, but it’s difficult when your enemy is as fast as lightning. A Monstrous Nightmare squares up to him, and he puffs out his chest and lifts his axe in preparation. Only the best Vikings go after those. They have this nasty habit of setting themselves on fire.

    An ear-splitting moan breaks the noise and I jump, the grinding wheel very nearly skinning my hands. The ultimate prize is the dragon no one has ever seen. We call it the Night Fury. As if on cue, there is another screech and the Vikings outside all duck for cover and even the Monstrous Nightmare pauses. Moments later, a catapult explodes, wood splintering into thousands of pieces. What is left of it smoulders. The blast is so bright it hurts my eyes and I have to look away.

    This thing never steals food, never shows itself and never misses. No one has ever killed a Night Fury. That’s why I’m going to be the first.

    I’m broken out of my reverie by Bad Bob, who is trading his hammer for an axe. He screws it into place, his face determined.

    “Man the fort, Bitty. They need me out there.” He pauses, then gives me a threatening glare. “Stay put. There. You know what I mean.”

    He doesn’t wait for a reply, charging into the fight with an excited yell. I wait until he’s swallowed by the crowd, then leap for my own catapult. It’s hard work wheeling it through the streets. Flaming wood blocks my path and I have to weave in and out of the ruins. I ignore people shouting at me, and throw my strength into shoving my contraption up the hill and onto open ground, away from the mayhem.

    It’s one of the highest points in the village, and gives me the most unobscured view of the horizon. Beneath me, I can see the full extent of the damage. We’ve lost a lot of animals, and most of the village is destroyed. I can spot Richard the Vast taking on a group of Nadders, aided by Bad Bob. His son and the rest of the fire brigade are not far behind.

    I get to work, slamming on the breaks. I crank the right levers, unfurling the catapult’s long arms and spinning it into position. A bola drops into the chamber and I press my eye to the scope, peering up into the sky. Smoke billows behind me, leaving the sky in front clear save for stars and cloud. My hand is poised on the trigger. I can hear the Night Fury’s terrifying screech in the distance. The dark night camouflages it well, and I beg for even the slightest glimpse.

    The Night Fury suddenly unleashes a blast. It’s a vivid silvery blue and hits the defence tower with an almighty crash. For one, breath-taking moment, the dragon is illuminated in the blaze. It’s a black shape on a blacker background, but it’s enough. I fire a split-second later, the catapult flings the bola skywards with so much force the machine lifts off the ground. I wait, eyes wide, and then I’m rewarded by a thud and a surprised screech.

    Holy shit.

    I hit it! Yes, I hit it! Did anybody see that? I spin, elated and desperate to share my victory. I hoped to see Richard, or Jack, or anyone, but I’m met with the cold, dark eyes of a Monstrous Nightmare. The beast slithers up over the cliff, its dark skin smouldering and smoke puffing from its nostrils. I react on instinct, speeding down the hill and back towards the village. The dragon gives chase, snarling and fleeing after me. I don’t mean to scream, but my throat thinks otherwise, and I start to yell, drawing everyone’s attention.

    I can feel the Nightmare intake a breath of air behind me and I dodge its sticky fire mostly on instinct. Vikings yell and scatter as I pelt through them, followed by the flaming monster. Fire splashes up the buildings as I pass them, causing yet more damage. My heart is pounding and I’m pretty sure I’m going to die before I can tell people that I hit a Night Fury. I suddenly realise I really need to pee too, though I’m not sure why that feels important right now. I leap behind the bulking stem of a brazier, praying the dragon on my tail wasn’t all that smart.

    Of course, it is. It descends on me, leering with its huge, gaping mouth. We’ve never seen dragons eat humans, but I’m sure I’m going to be the first meal. It takes a deep breath, and I can feel the hot air rush past me. I close my eyes, preparing myself to be engulfed in flames. Before I’m swallowed though, the dragon is abruptly tackled to the floor. I open my eyes in shock to see Richard wrestling it, snarling in its face like he was one of them. The Monstrous Nightmare snaps its jaw at him, but Richard is fast, drawing himself out of its reach. It tries to roast him instead but pathetically coughs up smoke.

    “You’re all out.” Richard smirks victoriously.

    He swings his hammer, smashing the beast square in the face. There’s a crunch and he does it again and again until the dragon takes to the air, recognising defeat. Around it, the rest of its clan are fleeing too, though not out of fear. Their claws are full of the spoils of war, and it becomes obvious that their raid has been successful. We’re left with nothing. A little breathless, Richard turns to me. Before he can lecture me, the torch I had taken shelter behind collapses, its massive iron basket spilling fire as it goes. It scatters yet more Vikings, who consequently release the Nadders they had been trying to capture. The rescued beasts soar into the sky, joining the trail disappearing into the distance, carrying the last of our remaining sheep. I look into Richard’s furious brown eyes, and grimace.

    “…sorry, dad.”

    People start to crowd around us, a few charred, a few injured, all of them waiting to hear what my father, the chief of the tribe, would say to me. I want the ground to swallow me up, I’ve never felt so embarrassed as I do right now. I try not to look at Jack. I know he won’t look impressed.

    “Okay, but I hit a Night Fury,” I tell him, my only shot at trying to defend myself.

    For a beat, my dad doesn’t do anything. Then he grabs the back of my jacket and hauls me aside, away from prying eyes. I can tell he feels just as humiliated by his frown and stiff shoulders, and I can add guilt to the weight crushing my shoulders. It makes me babble, but it falls on deaf ears.

    “It’s not like the last few times, dad. I mean I really actually hit it. You guys were busy, and I had a very clear shot. It went down, just off Raven Point. Let’s get a search party out there before it—”

    “Stop! Just…stop!”

    My dad unexpectedly releases me, causing me to stumble a couple of steps. I stare up at him, but he looks so disappointed and so furious that I have to look away again. I can feel people staring, and it makes my skin crawl. People have stared since I was little. I’m small. I’m scrawny. I’m clumsy. I can’t fight. I can’t hunt. I’m gay. I’m a waste. I’m not a Viking.

    “Every time you step outside, disaster follows. Can you not see that I have bigger problems? Winter’s almost here and I have an entire village to feed!” Dad snaps at me.

    “Between you and me, the village could do with a little less feeding, don’t ya think?”

    He scowls at me and I quickly shut up.

    “This isn’t a joke, Bitty! Why can’t you follow the simplest orders?” he demands. A spark of defiance flares up within me, and I lift my head to rebelliously meet his gaze.

    “I can’t stop myself. I see a dragon and I just have to…kill it, you know? It’s who I am, dad,” I argue, trying to puff out my chest. Honestly, I have no idea what I would do if faced with that opportunity. But I hope that I’d make him proud.

    “You are many things, Bitty. But a dragon killer is not one of them.”

    I can’t argue that, and the words sting, especially when people around us nod in agreement.

    “Get back to the house. Make sure he gets there,” he adds to Bad Bob, sounding defeated. “I have his mess to clean up.”

    I stare after him, the sight of him turning his back to me engraining itself on my memory. My eyes burn, and I somehow manage to hold back tears. Bad Bob lightly touches my shoulder and I turn to follow him. I can hear the fire brigade sniggering and I lift my head up to glare at them, hoping my face wasn’t splotchy and red.

    “Quite the motherfucking performance, dude,” Shitty smirks at me, his moustache dancing around his face.

    “I’ve never seen anyone mess up that badly,” Holster adds, snickering. “That helped!”

    “Thank you. I was trying, so…”

    My sarcastic response trails off when I see Jack’s face glaring at me. I always assume he’s so scary by himself that he doesn’t need a Viking nickname. I quickly look away, hurrying to keep up with his father. I can’t stand the silence for long, and I hope that Bob will at least hear me out.

    “I really did hit one,” I try, but my voice sounds small.

    “Sure, Bits,” Bob sighs. Tiredly.

    “He never listens.”

“Well, it runs in the family.”

“And when he does, it’s always with this…disappointed scowl. Like someone skimped on the meat in his sandwich. ‘Excuse me, barmaid. I’m afraid you brought me the wrong offspring. I ordered an extra-large boy with beefy arms. Extra guts and glory on the side. This here. This is a talking fishbone!’” It’s a very good impression of my father’s broad accent, if I do say so myself.

    “You’re thinking about this all wrong. It’s not so much what you look like. It’s what’s inside that he can’t stand.”

    Bob’s joke falls flat.

    “Thank you for summing that up,” I say dryly.

    “Look, the point is, stop trying so hard to be something you’re not,” Bob advises, a gentle hand squeezing my shoulder. It doesn’t make me feel any better, and his sympathetic look is just making my heart sink.

    “I just want to be one of you guys.”

    I don’t wait for a reply. I let myself into the house, the singed door slamming shut behind me. I stop and look around for a moment. The outside is a bit charred, but it mostly escaped the ordeal unscathed. We had to rebuild it completely after a bad raid last year. I half wish I could rebuild myself. It feels suffocating in my head, but one thought hums louder than the others. That Night Fury is still out there. And I’m going to prove myself.

  Chapter Two

  The Great Hall is packed to the rafters, the entire village have crammed themselves inside to discuss the latest raid. Richard the Vast sits at the head of the table, grimacing at the din. He hasn’t slept, having spent the night putting out fires and cleaning up the mess his son had contributed to. Bad Bob sits beside him, drinking deeply from a mug of ale. It’s going to be a long meeting. He raises his hand, effectively silencing his subjects.

      “Either we finish them, or they’ll finish us! It’s the only way we’ll be rid of them. If we find the nest and destroy it, the dragons will leave. They’ll find another home,” he insists to their waiting faces.

      He gestures towards a huge nautical chart laid out before him. It’s covered in marks and notes, showing just how futile their searches have been in the past.

      “One more search,” he says decidedly. “Before the ice sets in.”

      Around him, there is a murmur of uncertainty. People glance at each other, worry etched all over their faces.

      “Those ships never come back,” one man reminds their chief gently.      

      “We’re Vikings. It’s an occupational hazard,” Richard shrugs matter-of-factly. “Now who’s with me?”

      He throws a meaty fist into the air, expecting his people to cheer loudly and do the same. But he’s met with a restless silence. They shift uncomfortably, averting their eyes and scratching beards nervously.

      “Today isn’t good for me,” someone murmurs awkwardly.

      “I’ve got to do my axe returns,” someone else mutters feebly.

      “Alright,” Richard hums, lowering his fist. “Those who stay will look after Bitty.”

      The change is instantaneous. His people are suddenly excited and motivated, shouting about packing bags and preparing the ships. It’s an underhanded tactic that he hates to use, but at least it works. His people start rushing to the door, piling out in an enthusiastic chatter. Richard sighs and slumps back in his large ornate throne. Only Bad Bob stays, draining his tankard.

      “I’ll pack my undies,” he jokes, scraping back the bench to stand up.

      “No. I need you to stay and train some new recruits,” Richard tells him, sounding exhausted. He thinks about his bed waiting for him, but then he also thinks about all of the work he still has left to do.

      “Oh, perfect. And while I’m busy, Bitty can cover the stall. Molten steel, razor sharp blades, lots of time to himself…what could possibly go wrong?” Bob asks dryly, quirking an eyebrow at him.

      “What am I going to do with him, Bob?” Richard asks, almost rhetorically. He sounds lost, his brow furrowed with concern.

      “Put him in training with the others,” Bob suggests, nudging another full mug of ale towards him. He doesn’t take it.

      “No, I’m serious,” Richard argues, shaking his head.

      “So am I.”

      “He’d be killed before you let the first dragon out of its cage,” Richard snorts, glaring at him.

      “Oh, you don’t know that.”

      “I do know that, actually.”

      “No, you don’t.”

      “No, actually, I do.”

      “No, you don’t!”

      “Listen!” Richard snaps, tired of Bob’s insistence. “You don’t know what he’s like. From the time he could crawl he’s been…different. He doesn’t listen. Has the attention span of a sparrow. I take him fishing and he goes hunting for…for trolls! When I was a boy…”

      “Oh, here we go.” Bob rolls his eyes and reaches for the untouched beer.

     “My father told me to bang my head against a rock and I did it. I thought it was crazy, but I didn’t question him. And you know what happened?” Richard asks, though it’s clear he doesn’t expect an answer.

      “You got a headache,” Bob mutters under his breath.

      “That rock split in two. It taught me what a Viking could do, Bob. He could crush mountains, level forests, tame seas! Even as a boy, I knew what I was, what I had to become. Bitty is not that boy,” Richard sighs, sounding sad. He stares desolately at the map in front of him, his eyes on a crudely drawn dragon swirling over the parchment.

      “You can’t stop him, Richard,” Bob says gently. “Only prepare him. Look, I know it seems hopeless. But the truth is you won’t always be around to protect him. He’s going to get out there again. He’s probably out there now.”

      “It’s easy for you to say. Jack is a good boy.”

      If Bob didn’t know Richard better, he would say Richard is jealous, but he knows that’s not the case. On paper, his son Jack is the perfect Viking. He is everything Bitty isn’t, almost to a fault. It’s a little sad that the boys aren’t as close friends as their fathers are.

      “Jack has his own battles,” Bob murmurs, casually glancing down into his drink.

      Richard is silent for a short while longer. Outside he can hear people shouting and preparing for their journey. They would travel tonight, under the cover of darkness. He worries about Bitty, about the trouble he might get himself into, and sighs. Bad Bob is right.

---    

     My notebook is covered in scribbles. I sigh and look up from my hand-drawn map to the gorge it portrays, just off Raven Point. I see nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to suggest a huge dragon might have crash landed anywhere nearby. I draw a big X over that area on the map, then scrawl over the whole thing in frustration. I’ve been out here all morning and found nothing.

    The gods hate me. Some people lose their knife, or their mug. No, not me. I manage to lose an entire dragon. I huff and shove the notebook and charcoal pencil into my pocket. I start violently pushing my way through the undergrowth again, muttering angrily under my breath. I try to whack away a low branch, but it just snaps back and hits me in the face. I swallow the swear word and let out a frustrated growl instead.

    I freeze when I see the split tree trunk. It’s almost entirely sheared off, revealing a huge trench of upturned earth. Something huge must have crashed through it. My heart starts to hammer in my chest and I hurry forward, stumbling over rocks and branches in my haste. I scramble over the small hill, and what I see in the shadow of the cliffside stops me in my tracks.

    The Night Fury is beautiful. It’s not quite as big as a Monstrous Nightmare, and it’s slender, its muscles attuned for speed and not strength. It’s as black as night, with a sheen of blue that only gleams when the sunlight hit its scales. The bola is wrapped around its long tail and lower body, the iron digging in deep. It looks dead.

    Elation rushes through me, as well as relief. I can’t believe I’ve done it. This fixes everything! I can just imagine the looks on everyone’s faces when I bring home the head of a Night Fury! All I’ve ever wanted was to hear my dad tell me he’s proud of me. I hurry over, grinning so wide my face splits in two. I plant my foot on the creature’s huge torso, raising my fists victoriously. I have brought down this mighty beast!

    The dragon shifts beneath my boot, sending a sudden spike of fear through my chest. I scramble backwards, seizing the small dagger from my belt. My eyes trail the dragon’s length, spotting dried blood near its tail. So, it’s definitely wounded, but probably no less dangerous. I slowly step towards its head, blade poised to strike.

    I suddenly notice the dragon is watching me. Its eyes are big, almost too big for its face, and a bright, piercing green. My heart stammers for a second and I try to look away, but I can’t. I’ve never looked a dragon in the eye before, and it’s unnerving and profound all at once. But I still have a job to do.

    “I’m going to kill you, dragon,” I tell it, in a voice that sounds steadier than my nerve. “I’m gonna cut out your heart and take it to my father. I’m a Viking. I’m a Viking!”

    The words sound empty to my ears no matter how much force I put behind them. I raise my blade, ready to plunge it into its throat, but its laboured breathing distracts me. It must really be hurt. But, that’s a good thing. A hurt dragon can’t fight back. I lift my knife a smidge higher, but pause, making the mistake of looking into its eyes again. It stares back, and I can’t help but wonder what it’s thinking. It finally turns away, resigning itself to its fate. Shit.

    With an irritated sigh, I let my arms drop, casting my gaze over its body once more. I did this. And I’m not proud of it. I thought I would be, but now the initial excitement has faded away, I feel dirty and ashamed. I turn to leave, but think better of it. I can’t leave it here to die. Any other Viking would, but for some reason I can’t make myself go through with it. I kneel beside it and start cutting through the rope holding the bola tightly together.

    The dragon’s steely eyes shoot open once it starts to snap. I try not to think about it, focussing only on sawing through the bonds. The instant they are broken, the Night Fury pounces with a speed I didn’t know possible. It pins me to the ground and my heart is in my throat, too shocked to scream. I can’t move, my entire being paralysed by the wide, heavy paw on my chest. It snorts, ruffling my hair and making me jump. It stares at me, big eyes boring into my very soul.

    I’m going to die.

    It opens its jaw wide and I can feel the heat building in its throat. I desperately grasp at the dirt beneath me and with a sinking heart I realise I dropped the blade when it tackled me to the floor. I grimace, bracing myself to be torched at any second. Instead a high-pitched shriek deafens me as the dragon roars, spit and hot breath flying in my face.

    It turns in a blur and leaps away before I have chance to react. I sit up so fast my head spins, watching it spread those gigantic wings. It briefly attempts to fly but it’s clumsy, bashing into the cliffside before dropping out of view. I sit there in awe for a long moment, waiting for my heartrate to return to normal. When I have the strength to stand, my wobbly legs give way again and I sink to the floor.

  Chapter Three

It’s a long time before I move. The walk home takes ages, my legs still like jelly from the shock. I try not to think about what just happened, but my mind keeps going back to the Night Fury’s huge, green eyes. I should be dead. I take it as both a blessing and a sign. I am not meant to kill dragons, that much is obvious now. Anyone else wouldn’t have hesitated, but I just didn’t have the guts. Some Viking I am. It’s no wonder my dad is so disappointed in me.

    I walk into the house through the back door again, thinking about my soft bed. I wasn’t expecting my dad to be seated by the fire, and I freeze in the doorway. He looks as exhausted as I feel, his brown eyes heavy. He stirs the fire with his axe, watching the embers crackle. I swallow and take a few steps to slip past him, but he looks up and says my name, so I go still once more.

    He stands and takes a deep breath, and suddenly I’m scared that he somehow knows about the dragon and is going to disown me for being such a terrible Viking. I take my own deep breath, hoping to appease him before he comes to that decision.

    “I uh…I have to talk to you, dad.”

    “I want to speak with you too, son.”

    We both straighten at the same time, open our mouths and speak as one.     “I’ve decided I don’t want to fight dragons.”

    “I think it’s time you learn to fight dragons.”

    “What?”

    “What?”

    “You go first,” he tells me, waving his massive hand. I shake my head.

    “No, you go first,” I murmur, deciding to get the worst of it out of the way first.

    “Alright. You get your wish. Dragon training. You start in the morning,” he tells me in a way that suggests he was expecting me to be over the moon. Instead, I grimace, my heart sinking all over again.

    “Oh man, I should have gone first. Uh, ‘cause I was thinking, you know we have a surplus of dragon-fighting Vikings, but do we have enough bread-making Vikings, or small home repair Vikings?” I scramble to ask, babbling in my nervousness.

    Except dad doesn’t seem to be hearing me. He lifts his axe, holding it out with an air of finality that makes my blood run cold.

    “You’ll need this,” he tells me, trying to press it into my hands. I don’t grasp it. I can feel my palms starting to get clammy.

    “I don’t want to fight dragons,” I argue in a voice that is starting to tremble.

    “Come on, yes you do.” He tries to smile, but it fails.

    “Rephrase. Dad, I can’t kill dragons,” I try again, on the edge of panicking now.

    “But you will kill dragons,” he insists, trying to give me the axe again.

    “No, I’m really very extra sure that I won’t!”

    “It’s time, Bitty.”

    “Can you not hear me?” I demand, my voice finally cracking.

    “This is serious, son!”

    My father finally forces the axe into my sweaty hands. It drags me down, but its more than the physical weight of the weapon that does it. I look up to see him towering before me, huge, overbearing, unrelenting. The firelight casts shadows across his face so that his beard almost appears black.

    “When you carry this axe…you carry all of us with you. Which means you walk like us, you talk like us, you think like us. No more of…” he pauses, waving a hand in my general direction. “…this.”

    “You just gestured to all of me!” I scoff indignantly.

    “Deal?”

    “This conversation is feeling very one-sided,” I mutter, scowling down at my scuffed boots.

    “Deal?!”

    His tone makes me flinch. I glare at the axe, half wanting it to just dissolve in my hands. It’s a no-win argument, and there’s a pit in my stomach.

    “Deal,” I sigh, exhausted all over again.

    My dad nods in satisfaction. He grabs his helmet and a heavy bag that I only just notice. My face falls as I realise where he’s going. There’s the familiar fear settling in my bones, but I try not to acknowledge it. He only brushes off my concern.

    “Good. Train hard. I’ll be back. Probably.”

    He heads towards the door, pausing to look back at me.

    “And I’ll be here. Maybe,” I murmur, and that seems to be enough for him.

    He nods and ducks out of the door. He doesn’t say goodbye, he never does. I sink into his vacated chair, feeling very small. I stare at the blade, barely able to recognise myself, but not because my reflection is distorted in the cambered metal. I thought I wanted to be a dragon slayer. I thought I wanted to be my dad. Now, I don’t know anything.

    I don’t sleep. I try, but the house just seems empty and daunting. When I do sleep, I have nightmares. My dad fights the Night Fury, before they’re both swallowed in a blaze of flame. I awake in a cold sweat and put my head in my hands. What a complete mess.

    I lay in bed for a while, watching the sun rise through the wooden slats of the shutters. Alone, I can admit I’m scared. My dad’s hunts for the nest never succeed, and men are always lost, either by the dragons or the treacherous seas. That never seems to deter my father though. A lesser Viking would have given up by now.

    I get up when the sun is high enough. I don’t eat, still feeling sick to my stomach. Probably not a good idea, if I really am going to start dragon training. Maybe I’ll just have to watch. Bad Bob wouldn’t really throw me into the arena with a real-life dragon, would he? It’s the best I can hope for.

    I dress in a daze, my fingers fumbling over my buttons. The village seems deserted as I wander through it. Those who haven’t gone on the hunt will be working. Everyone works around here. If buildings don’t need to be repaired, weaponry needs to be made and crops need to be sowed yet again. If it weren’t for the dragon raids, we’d probably be quite wealthy.

    There’s a large training arena on the south side of the settlement, high up on the clifftop. We use it for sport sometimes, where we pit our best fighters against beasts we’ve captured in the past. I’ve never gone to any games, finding them a bit barbaric, but they’re popular. The walls tower high, with rows of benches for spectators, and there are thick, iron chains laced along the top to stop the dragons from escaping.

    I can see Bad Bob waiting by the tall gates, the fire brigade gathered around him. Of course, I’m the last one to arrive. I get a few dirty looks as I approach, but my boss pretends he hasn’t noticed. I hang at the back, hoping to blend into the background.

    “Welcome to dragon training,” he announces with a flourish.

    The gates open and we file in. The others look excited, but I feel like a criminal walking to his death. The arena seems even bigger inside, and I feel like an ant about to be squashed. I’m pretty sure the black, scorched marks on the walls look vaguely Viking shaped.

    “No turning back,” I hear Jack mutter beside me.

    He’s as handsome as ever. Tall, imposing, his chiselled face the picture of determination. If I didn’t feel so sick I’d be swooning over him. The others crowd around us, crowing with confidence and excitement.

     “I hope I get some serious fucking burns,” Shitty jokes cheekily, his auburn coloured moustache dancing around his mouth again. It does that a lot.

    “I’m hoping for some mauling, like on my shoulder or lower back,” Lardo adds like it’s no big deal.

    “Yeah, it’s only fun if you get a scar out of it,” Jack grins, his gorgeous eyes lighting up mischievously. They do funny things to me.

    “Yeah, no kidding, right? Pain, love it!” I drawl, trying to puff my chest out.     As one they all turn around to look at me, letting out simultaneous groans. Jack’s grin morphs into a glare and my bravado drops.

    “Oh great, who let this guy in?” Holster sighs, rolling his eyes.

    “Let’s get started!” Bad Bob calls, distracting the others. I merge into the background again, letting my excited peers bustle towards the front. “The recruit who does best will win the honour of killing their first dragon in front of the entire village.”

    “Bitty already killed a Night Fury, so does that disqualify him, or…?” Holster asks dryly, grinning as the others snicker. I glare at him, but he seems unphased.

    “Can I transfer to the class with the cool bros?” Shitty asks jokingly.

    Bad Bob can’t resist joining in either and slings a reassuring arm around my shoulders.

    “Don’t worry. You’re small and you’re weak. That’ll make you less of a target. They’ll see you as sick or insane and go after the more Viking-like fighters instead,” he tells me, which obviously does nothing to alleviate my fears. I love him, but he’s such an idiot.

    He guides me into line besides the others. Holster is twitching excitedly, and Ransom is bouncing on the balls of his feet. Bad Bob stops in front of two huge doors nestled into the bottom corner of the arena. I know what’s behind those doors, and my stomach churns nervously. There’s a roar, muffled by the thick metal, but it still makes my blood run cold.

    “Behind these doors are just a few of the many species you will learn to fight.” He starts listing off the various breeds we had managed to capture, and to my surprise, Ransom begins murmuring enthusiastically under his breath, his eyes almost manic as he recites facts he has learned.

    “The Deadly Nadder.”

    “Speed eight. Armour sixteen.”

    “The Hideous Zippleback.”

    “Plus eleven stealth. Times two.”

    “The Monstrous Nightmare.”

    “Firepower fifteen.”

    “The Terrible Terror.”

    “Attack eight. Venom twelve.”

    “Can you stop that?!” Bob finally snaps, scowling at him. Everyone apart from Jack snicker to themselves. “And…the Gronkle.”

    “Jaw strength eight,” Ransom whispers, unable to resist, earning himself an elbow to the ribs from Holster.

    Bad Bob ignores him and raises the lever. The locks begin to slide open, each thunk of the metal like the hammering of nails into a coffin.

    “Whoa, wait! Aren’t you going to teach us first?” Holster demands, and I have to admit it gives me a tiny bit of pleasure hearing the tremble of panic in his voice.

    “I believe in learning on the job,” Bad Bob shrugs, and I swear there’s the tiniest smirk on his lips, that sadistic bastard.

    The doors finally swing open. A Gronkle bursts out of captivity like a charging rhino, furious and ready to kill. I have no time to panic and throw myself out of its way before it can pound its way into me. Jack, Ransom and Holster dive for cover too, though Shitty and Lardo start yelling and bounding towards the beast.

    “Today is about survival,” Bad Bob continues, shouting so he can be heard over the roar of the dragon on our tails. He stands safely to the side, observing the action with far too much enjoyment. “If you get blasted, you’re dead. Quick, what’s the first thing you’re going to need?”

    “A doctor?” I joke almost incredulously, scrambling off to the side as the dragon zooms in my direction yet again. I thank Odin I’m small and slight, probably for the first time in my life.

    “Plus five speed?” Ransom volunteers from somewhere to my right.

    “A shield,” Jack answers, his voice steady and calm like he does this every damn day. I peek up from my hiding place (the weapons rack) to see him striding confidently towards the stack of shields on the other side of the ring. My stomach does flip flops.

    “Shields. Go!” Bad Bob confirms, waving his arm enthusiastically in the right direction.

    I sprint across the open ring, my blood hammering in my ears. I’m terrified, but also kind of excited too. It’s a strange kind of thrill that surprises me. I seize the first shield I come across, grimacing when I realise how heavy and clunky it is.

    “Your most important piece of equipment is your shield. If you must make a choice between a sword or a shield, take the shield.” Bad Bob is suddenly at my side. He helps me lift my non-descript shield high and sends me running again.

    I pass Shitty and Lardo amidst a pile of shields, sniping at each other as they tussle over a certain one. It has a large, snarling skull painted on the front, and they’re trying to snatch it out of each other’s hands. I catch titbits of the argument as I dart past.

    “Get your hands off my fucking shield!” Shitty cries, pulling it towards him.     “There are like a million shields!” Lardo insists indignantly, dragging it back towards her.

    “Take that fucker, it has a flower on it. Girls like flowers,” Shitty huffs, gesturing towards one of the other shields at their feet. Lardo takes the opportunity to smash him in the face with it, but he holds on to it in his daze.

    “Oops, now this one has blood on it,” she drawls, rolling her eyes dramatically.

    I notice the Gronkle rearing to throw a blast and I duck instinctively. The ball of fire soars over my head towards the distracted pair and I quickly glance over my shoulder to make sure they’re okay. The shot thankfully strikes the shield and they dive to the floor in a cloud of dust.

    “Shits, Lardo, you’re out!” Bad Bob calls.

    I retreat, heading towards the far side of the arena where Jack, Holster and Ransom are dancing out of the Gronkle’s reach. The dragon swallows up gravel and rocks as it hovers towards us, its mouth huge.

    “Those shields are good for another thing. Noise. Make lots of it to throw off a dragon’s aim,” Bad Bob suggests, still loitering near the edge and out of harm’s way.

    I seize a small dagger from the rack, trying not to trip up over my own feet. The others are bigger than me, and reach over my head to grab the heavier, larger weaponry. I start pounding my shield with the pommel of my knife, and the others soon follow suit. To my surprise, it’s obvious the Gronkle doesn’t like the din, shaking its head and grunting unhappily. It looks disorientated, wobbling in mid-air.

    “All dragons have a limited number of shots. How many does a Gronkle have?” Bad Bob asks, shouting to be heard over the commotion.

    “Five!” Holster yelps, diving for shelter as the beast gave chase.     “No, six!” Ransom pipes up from my left.

    “Correct, six! That’s one for each of you!” Bad Bob said cheerfully.     Ransom drew himself up out of his hiding spot, momentarily forgetting about the dragon as he felt Bad Bob deserved a lecture.

    “I really don’t think my parents would-"

    He yelps, his protest cut off as the Gronkle notices him and fires gobs of molten lava at his shield. It flies out of his hand and he squeaks, hurrying for cover again.

    “Ransom, out!”

    Bad Bob suddenly realises that I’m trying my best to hide in the shadows and pretend I’m not there. He grabs me by the scruff of my jacket and throws me back out into the open. Jack and Holster are on the front line and I stumble behind them. Jack bounces on the balls of his feet, ready to dodge at a moment’s notice. Holster hovers beside him, though his eyes are on Jack instead of the attacking Gronkle.

    “So anyway, I’m moving into my parents’ basement,” Holster says, lounging over the shield he was carrying and trying to look nonchalant and cool. It almost makes me gag. “You should come by sometime to work out. You look like you work out.”

    Jack ignores him, cartwheeling gracefully out of the way as a blast of melted rock is spat in their direction. Holster catches it against his shield but is flung across the ring on to his back. A little part of me is glad and I hurry to take his place at Jack’s side. Maybe this is my moment. Maybe this is when I do something heroic and Jack finally recognises that I exist.

    “So, I guess it’s just you and me, huh?” I say coolly, cursing inwardly as my voice breaks slightly.

    “No, just you,” Jack replies smoothly.

    He deftly rolls away before I have a chance to process what he said. I frown after him, then suddenly realise that the Gronkle is rearing back to strike. A huge glob of lava shoots my way and I manage to lift my shield just in time. The force of it knocks me back and sends my shield out of my grasp and across the ring. My arm stinging, I hurriedly chase after it, not wanting to be left exposed.

    I hear Bad Bob’s panicked shout and lift my head to see the Gronkle zooming towards me. My sudden movements must have startled it into action and before I know it, it has me pinned against the wall. It’s cold against my back and yet again I feel like I’m about to die. The dragon opens its jaws wide enough to swallow me whole and I feel the air rushing past me as it inhales. It’s going to fire point blank. I am a dead man.

    Just as the Gronkle is about to fire, Bad Bob appears out of nowhere. He’s faster than I ever thought he was, anchoring his hook into the corner of the dragon’s mouth and wrestling it aside. The shot misfires, landing somewhere above my head. It’s enough to make me jump, and cinders float around me. I feel like I’m watching everything in slow motion as Bad Bob wrenches the irate beast back towards its prison. I think I hear a wobble in Bad Bob’s voice when he speaks.

    “And that’s six! Go back to bed, you overgrown sausage! You’ll get another chance, don’t you worry!”

    I watch like I’m having an out of body experience as Jack’s dad throws the Gronkle back into its pen. The doors finally slam closed and that is when it hits me. I fall back against the wall, gasping for breath as the shock sets in. My knees knock together, and I try to focus on the cold rock beneath my hands as Bad Bob stalks back towards me.

    “Remember…a dragon will always, always go for the kill.”

    His voice is stern, and it makes something in me churn. He grips my shoulder, steadying me as I start to sag. I can tell the lesson is over, but his words set my brain in motion. I nod clumsily and straighten up a bit. For a moment, no one moves. The others file out first, leaving me alone with my boss and his son. Jack isn’t even looking at me, he’s looking at the floor and somehow that’s even worse. I wait for a lecture, but it doesn’t come.

    After a long, horrible few minutes I walk away. I think I’m still in shock because as soon as I make it past the gates I sink to the floor. I pressed myself into the corner, grateful for the shadows that wash over me. I press my head back against the stone, focussing on the roughness grazing my scalp. My breath comes quick and I have to fight to stay calm. That Gronkle almost killed me, but that’s not why I’m so shook up. It’s Bad Bob’s words that have rattled me.     “What on earth is going through your head right now?”

    Jack’s sudden, hissed words make me freeze. I look up, expecting him to be stood before me but I find no one. He’s standing in the entranceway to the arena, angry enough that his voice carries across to me hidden in the outside porch. I hold my breath, struck with a sadistic need to listen to him, even though it was almost definitely about me.

    “Now I know that didn’t exactly go well,” Bad Bob sighs, sounding exhausted.

    “He almost got himself killed!” Jack snaps, and his tone makes my heart sink. “Why is he even here?”

    “Richard and I agreed it might be best for him to learn how to fight. Maybe then he might not get into so much trouble,” Bad Bob explains gently.

    “He is a hindrance. He’ll never fight dragons,” Jack scoffs derisively.

    “Maybe not. But Bitty has other strengths. He’s clever, and creative, and considerate. You should try to get to know him a little more,” Bad Bob suggests.

    I can hear them getting closer, heading out of the arena. I shrink further back against the stone, my eyes burning as the shame cloaked me.

    “No thanks. Even if he wasn’t so hopeless in the battlefield, he’s still small and annoying,” Jack huffs.

    They pass me, and I can see the indignant look on Jack’s face. It’s nice that Bad Bob tried to defend me, but Jack’s words still wound me. I vaguely hear Bad Bob’s admonition, but then they carry on towards the village and I don’t catch anything else. I press my face to my knees and force myself to breathe. This mess just keeps getting bigger and bigger.

  Chapter Four

I ache something terrible. It took me a long time to get the strength to stand up again after listening to Jack’s conversation with his father, but I managed it. I’ve decided I don’t care what Jack thinks. Well, I care quite a lot, actually, but I’m going to make myself not care. I’m not doing this for Jack, and deep down I know that if he doesn’t like me then that’s his problem, even if it does hurt. I’ll show him, just like I’ll show everybody.

    Bad Bob’s words are still sticking with me, like thorns nipping into my back. A dragon will always, always go for the kill. So, why didn’t the Night Fury? The mystery is eating at me more than Jack’s obvious dislike, and I have to understand it. I’ve come back to the crash scene, though I’m not entirely sure why. The dragon will be long gone by now, and even if it was around, who’s to say it would hesitate to kill me off this time? I must be crazy.

    I decide to head in the direction it flew off, carefully making my way through the undergrowth. There’s a sharp decline that I nearly fall down, but I manage to snag myself on the rocks on the way down and squeeze through a rocky crevice. The path finally opens to a gorgeous cove that I never knew existed. It is almost perfectly round, littered with trees and healthy flora. There’s a small lake in the centre too, that glitters underneath the sunlight. There’s a single, black iridescent scale on the grass, but no sign of the Night Fury.

    “Well, this is stupid,” I huff, stooping to pick it up anyway. Suddenly, a gust of air knocks me sideways, quickly followed by a black mass that throws me aside with ease. I land on my bottom and stare in awe as the Night Fury attempts to scramble up the sheer cliff face. It’s larger than I remembered, and no less frightening as it frantically sinks its claws into the rock. Though it seems determined, violently flapping its huge and magnificent wings, it still falls, roughly landing on the ground once more. It’s trapped, I realise with a start.

    Grinning, I hurry forward, knowing I might not ever get a chance like this again. I’m careful to hide behind jutting rock and watch as the beast tries over and over to scale the cliff. It beats its wings furiously, but it can never seem to lift itself into the air. It can jump, its powerful legs springing it ten feet up and against the rock, but it soon comes crashing down again. Pebbles and dust start to gather as its claws drag through the stone, and the ground trembles every time it tumbles.

    I abruptly remember the notebook tucked away in my pocket and frantically retrieve it and my charcoal pencil, splaying it open against a boulder. I sketch as quickly as I can, not wanting to miss a single second. It’s haphazard and clumsy, but it didn’t take long for the majestic beast to form on the page. I flick my eyes up again, watching it finally give up after yet another crash landing. Instead it heads to the small pool, each step graceful despite how exhausted it must be. It swipes a huge paw into the water, I’m not sure what for. Fish, maybe? Either way, it comes out empty handed.

    Why doesn’t he just fly away? I frown, studying every inch of it again. I compare it against my sketch, then gasp quietly as I see the mistake. Carefully, I erase the tail fin on one half of its tail to match its real-life counterpart. I’m not entirely sure how dragon anatomy works, but I would say that had something to do with its inability to fly. And that was probably where all the blood had come from. Shit.

    I drop my pencil. It’s an accident, and I scramble to catch it but miss as it cascades down the outcropping rock and into the cove. I freeze, hardly daring to breathe. When I lift my eyes from the stupid charcoal, it’s straight into the big, calculating green eyes of the Night Fury. It gazes back at me, and I can’t tell what it’s thinking. Fear nips at me again, but there’s something else tugging on my heartstrings that I just can’t get my head around.

    It doesn’t move, and it doesn’t break eye contact. It’s sat almost like a cat, calm and poised. I feel like I’ve pushed my luck. Very slowly, I creep backwards, notebook in hand, ready to freeze again if the dragon moved an inch. It didn’t, and my hands finally press against the cold, rocky crevice I’d stumbled through in the first place. I squeeze through, and as soon as I’m clear, I flee.

    It’s night when I get back to Berk. It’s cold, dark, rainy and I’m exhausted, and think longingly about my warm, soft bed. The notebook I clutch protectively to my chest. I can’t let anyone see this. If people knew there was an injured Night Fury down there, they wouldn’t hesitate in killing it, and I can’t let that happen. I’m not sure what’s changed, but this is my only shot at studying a dragon, and I’m not going to jeopardise that.

    As I pass my neighbours’ houses, I can smell their dinners. My mouth starts to water and my stomach rumbles, reminding me I haven’t eaten all day. I let out a tired sigh but change courses, heading to the Great Hall where I know a hearty stew would be waiting for me. I tuck the notebook back into my tunic and push open the giant doors.

    It’s lit up by candles on every table, and there are the odd few Vikings scattered around, talking quietly over their meals. I spot Bad Bob at the far end, surrounded by the other recruits. My heart sinks a bit, but I’d have to pass them to get to the huge pot of soup simmering over the fire. I take a breath to steel myself and march towards them.

    “Alright,” Bad Bob starts as I slink past him. I help myself to a clay bowl and ladle heaps of thick, meaty broth into it. “Where did Jack go wrong in the ring today?”

    “I mistimed my somersault dive. It was sloppy and threw off my reverse tumble,” Jack replies instantly, like he’d been thinking about it all day. I slip into a seat at the far end of the bench, away from everyone else. His earlier words still sting, and I can’t help but roll my eyes a little, along with everyone else in the group.

    “Yeah, we noticed,” Lardo scoffs, flashing Jack a sarcastic grin. Nobody would have noticed, because Jack is perfect.

    “No, no, you were great,” Holster is quick to assure Jack, grabbing his hand. “That was so, ‘Jack’.”

    Jack snatches his hand away like he’s been burned, and if I didn’t know better, I would swear Ransom gave Holster a dirty look across the table.     “He’s right. You have to be tough on yourselves,” Bad Bob agrees with a nod. He pauses as he notices me, causing everyone to send glares my way. “Where did Bitty go wrong?”

    “He showed up,” Lardo smirks at me.

    “He didn’t get eaten,” Shitty adds with a cackle.

    “He’s never where he should be,” Jack answers definitively.

    His tone is enough to make my face go red, and I hurriedly shove another spoonful of stew into my mouth. If he wasn’t Bad Bob’s son, I’m pretty sure I would launch this bowl and its contents at his stupidly handsome face.

    “Thank you, Jack,” Bad Bob says, and I’m not sure if it’s meant genuinely or if it’s a warning.

    He pushes a huge, leather bound book into the centre of the table. It’s worn, the cover faded and old, and there are pages sticking out like they’d been half ripped.

    “The dragon manual. Everything we know about every dragon we know of.” He pauses, and there’s a distant roll of thunder that makes me shudder. “No attacks tonight. Study up.”

    He leaves us in peace, the sound of his wooden leg echoing in the hall. When he opens the door, I can see the storm brewing, and it sets my teeth on edge. I look back to the huge book on the table, noticing that everyone else looks rather unimpressed.

    “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, brah. Wait, you mean read?” Shitty snorts, rolling his eyes dismissively.

    “While we’re still alive?” Lardo snickers, clearly thinking the same thing. “Why read words when you can just kill the stuff the words tell you stuff about?” Holster asks dryly, draping himself casually across the bench.

    “Oh, I’ve read it like seven times!” Ransom gasps, clutching Holster’s forearm dramatically. “There’s this water dragon that sprays boiling water at your face. And there’s this other one that buries itself for like a week…”

    “Yeah, that sounds fucking killer. There was a chance I was going to read that. But now…” Shitty trails off, his expression slack.

    “But now…” Lardo joins in on the mockery, then they both giggle, like there’s a private joke they have between them.

    “You guys read, I’ll go kill stuff,” Holster announces boldly. He stands, and Ransom is quick to follow.

    “Oh, and there’s this other one that has these spines that look like trees…”

    Ransom’s voice is lost as he scampers after Holster, though I can see him still chattering away. Shitty and Lardo meander after him, and I’m sure they’re both high as they squabble about something unintelligible. I turn back, and then notice that Jack is giving me an odd look. It makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

    “So, I guess we’ll share?” I suggest at a feeble attempt to bridge the awkward gap between us.

    “Read it.”

    Jack unceremoniously shoves the huge, dusty tome in my direction and gets to his feet.

    “All mine, then,” I say as he stalks past me and through the empty hall. “Wow, so okay. I’ll see you…” The door slams. “Tomorrow.”

    I sigh and shake my head, dragging the book towards me. I was hoping for some bonding or something over this but clearly, he has other plans. He’s a busy guy and has better things to do than hang out with me. I try not to think about it and pull the lantern closer to me too. It’s gotten really dark now, and I can hear the storm picking up intensity outside. The shutters are rattling in their frames and I can hear the rain beating on the roof.

    It’s an old book, probably written by my ancestors. I open it carefully, not wanting to tear any of the delicate pages. The letters are a bit faded but readable still, though it’s the drawings that set my teeth on edge. They’re accurate, but there’s a twist to the charcoal lines that makes them seem even more bloodthirsty than usual. I slowly start making my way through it.

    “Dragon classifications. Strike class, fear class, mystery class…Thunderdrum. This reclusive dragon inhabits sea caves and dark tide pools. When startled, the Thunderdrum produces a concussive sound that can kill a man at close range. Extremely dangerous. Kill on sight.”

    I read aloud, a useless attempt at drowning out the noise outside. I should have taken the book home to read, but it’s too late now. I’d get soaked in that rain. Better to stay here where I’m dry, even if I am freaking myself out a bit here. I flip another page, grimacing at the sketch of decapitated Vikings.

    “Timberjack. This gigantic creature has razor sharp wings that can slice through full grown trees…extremely dangerous. Kill on sight.”

    The longer I look, the shadows cast by the candles seem to make the dragons move on the page, dancing and swirling across the paper. I squint and try to make them stand still. A sudden blast of thunder outside makes me jump, and it’s soon followed by a bolt of lightning that flashes through the gaps in the wooden walls.

    “Scauldron. Sprays scolding water at its victim. Extremely dangerous. Changewing. Even newly hatched dragons can spray acid. Kill on sight.”

    I’m starting to get a bit frustrated. This isn’t telling me anything I want to know. I start flipping through the pages, the dragons a blur, and list through the names. I’m not entirely sure what I’m searching for at this point, but my fingers are shaking a little.

    “Gronkle. Zippleback. The Skrill. Bone Knapper. Whispering Death. Burns its victims. Buries its victims. Turns its victims inside-out.” Grim. “Extremely dangerous. Extremely dangerous. Kill on sight. Kill on sight. Kill on sight…”

    I freeze as I suddenly land on an almost empty page. There’s no drawing, only a few hastily scrawled words at the top. There’s nothing afterwards either, like the writer hurriedly gave up. My blood runs cold and I realise my shirt is sticking to my back.

    “Night Fury. Speed unknown. Size unknown. The unholy offspring of lightning and death itself. Never engage this dragon. Your only chance, hide and pray it does not find you.”

    With a trembling hand, I reach into my tunic and pull out my little notebook. It falls open onto my sketch of the dragon and I stare at it, not knowing what to think. I should be dead, that much is obvious. Twice now I’ve fled from this dragon unscathed. I let out a long, wobbly breath. This doesn’t make sense.

    ---

    Wind billows through the sails. There’s a crudely drawn picture of a snarling dragon with a blade sunk through its heart. It’s a challenge, a declaration of strength, but no one wants to respond. Richard the Vast stands at the helm, the weathered nautical map in his hands. There’s sea salt crusting his moustache and he narrows his eyes, trying to glimpse something, anything through the mist.

      “I can almost smell them,” he mutters to the man at his side. To anyone else, it might have sounded insane. “They’re close. Steady.”

      He raises his hand as the epic fog bank before them thickens. It stretches higher than the masts and threatens to drape over them like a thick, suffocating curtain. Nothing is visible beyond it, and the crew start to shuffle and murmur nervously, knowing exactly what their chief is considering. Their hearts sink when he opens his mouth.

      “Take us in.”

      The helmsman steers the ship with a grim determination. The other two follow, carving a path through the fog. The hiss of swords being drawn is loud in the clogging air, and drawing their weapons does nothing to calm the crew’s nerves.

      “Hard to port…for Helheim’s gate.”

      The boats are swallowed.

  Chapter Five

The next day at training, I take a brief moment to wonder what the hell I’m doing. We’re about to face a Deadly Nadder – I can hear it snarling with rage – and I stare down at the painted image on my shield. Its teeth are bared, and I run my fingertips over the crude lines. I must be insane.

    “You know,” I say out loud, hoping Bad Bob listens to me before unleashing death upon us yet again. “I just happened to notice the book had nothing on Night Furies. Is there another book? Or a sequel? Maybe a little Night Fury pamphlet?”

    There’s a sudden explosion that demands my attention and I scramble backwards with a shocked yelp. I look to the axe I’m grasping and notice the head has been blasted off, the iron still steaming. Behind me the wall is singed and smoking where the dragon’s shot hit. Before it can rear back for another try, I run.

    “Focus, Bitty! You’re not even trying!” Bad Bob yells at me from his safe spot.

    I roll my eyes and plunge myself into the stone maze he’d created, as some kind of twisted obstacle course. I would love to know what goes on in his brain sometimes. I press myself tight against the rock and catch my breath, listening to him shouting instructions. The Nadder hops daintily on top of the structure, scouting us out like it’s looking for snacks.

    “Today, is all about attack. Nadders are quick and light on their feet. Your job is to be quicker and lighter.”

    I dare to peep around the edge of my shelter, ignoring my fellow recruits as they bustle past me. They dart from hiding place to hiding place, taking advantage of the various nooks and shadows. I watch Ransom tuck himself into a corner, but he can’t resist leaning out so he can stare at the magnificent beast as it hovers above. It spots him, and with an almighty roar whips its long tail in an arc, firing lethal spikes right at him. Ransom shrieks and staggers back to avoid the spray.

    “I’m really beginning to question your teaching methods!” he snaps at our instructor, and I have to hide my smirk.

    “Look for its blind spot,” Bad Bob suggests, ignoring the jibe. “Every dragon has one. Find it, hide in it, and strike.”

    I creep around my shelter, trying to decide whether to approach it from behind or from the front. Shitty and Lardo decide for me. The Nadder has abandoned its perch to sniff through the maze, and I notice with surprise that it hasn’t noticed the pair of them right under its nose. They squish together uncomfortably close to avoid its gaze and I can tell by their expressions they aren’t happy about it.

    “Do you ever bathe?” Lardo hisses, wrinkling her nose up. I can sympathise, Shitty always reeks.

    “If you don’t like it, then just get your own blind spot brah,” Shitty retorts hotly, sticking his own nose up in the air.

    “How about I give you one?!”

    I grimace as Lardo takes offence and shoves him angrily. They always bicker, and then make up two minutes later, but now really isn’t the time for it. They start to tussle, and both the noise and the movement startle the Nadder. It snarls and snaps at them, causing them both to scramble in different directions to avoid its rows of sharp, glistening teeth.

    “Blind spot, yes. Deaf spot? Not so much,” Bad Bob points out.

    I take the opportunity to creep towards my boss while his eyes are on the dragon. I try to be nonchalant, but he can probably see me struggling to lift the huge wooden shield on my arm. I just couldn’t help myself. I had to learn more about my own dragon.

    “Hey, so how would one sneak up on a Night Fury?” I wonder casually. Bad Bob rolls his eyes.

    “No one’s ever met one and lived to tell the tale. Now get in there!”

    “I know, I know, but hypothetically…”

    I can’t even finish my sentence. He roughly shoves me back into the maze and I very nearly stumble into Jack. He looks rugged today, his hair mussed underneath his helmet and dark stubble peppering his chin.

    “Bitty!” He presses a finger to his lips – very nice, pink and plush looking lips - and gestures to me to hide. I obey, but only because he’s giving me this look that I just can’t argue with. A moment later, the Nadder leaps over the walls, surprising us both by landing deftly in front of him. I feel a rush of panic, but Jack stays calm. He gracefully somersaults into its blind spot like it was no big deal. The dragon pauses, confused because its prey effectively just vanished. Jack rears back to strike and I hold my breath.

    We’ve both forgotten about Holster. He dramatically appears out of nowhere and protectively sweeps Jack behind his broad, muscled frame.

    “Watch out, babe. I’ll take care of this,” he announces with a flourish and ignoring Jack’s angered shout.

    Holster flings his axe, aiming for one of the Nadder’s huge, amber eyes. He misses by a long shot and the axe goes sailing by.

    “The sun was in my eyes, Jack!” Holster cries in defence as Jack angrily shoves his shoulder. “What do you want me to do, block out the sun? I could do that, but I don’t have time right now!”

    Jack just growls furiously and takes off. The Nadder is quick to follow, its huge stomps making the ground tremble. While it’s distracted, I shout up to Bad Bob. I think if I keep pestering him, I’ll manage to take him by surprise and he’ll actually give me an answer I’m looking for.

    “They probably take the daytime off,” I call, referring back to the Night Fury. “You know, like a cat. Has anyone ever seen one napping?”

    I startle as both Bad Bob and his son suddenly yell my name as a warning. I bolt around to see the maze walls collapsing around me like dominoes, sending up massive clouds of dust as they collide. Jack comes flying towards me, his hair streaked with grey and his helmet missing, and crashes into me. We both tumble to the floor, a mass of limbs tangled together, and his weight knocks the breath out of me.

    “Ooh, love on the battlefield!” Shitty croons somewhere above us. I’m going to kill him.

    “They make such a nice couple,” Lardo snickers. I’m going to kill her, too.

    We’re scrambling but struggling to untangle ourselves. Jack is big and for once seems clumsy as he hurriedly tries to pull himself free from my uncoordinated body. Something catches, his sleeve on my belt I think, and just makes everything worse. I can feel the tremors in the ground as the Nadder springs closer towards us. Jack panics, I can see the flash in his blue eyes and it sets off something inside of me.

    In the fray, his axe has managed to embed itself in my shield, which is still unfortunately attached to my limp, gangly arm. I can see the Nadder closing in, its enormous mouth preparing to strike. Jack is trying to pull his axe free but all he seems to be doing is wrenching my arm out of its socket. Instead I shove him aside and throw my arm back with as much strength as I can muster.

    The shield flies off my arm and smacks the Nadder across its nose with a nauseating thud. It screeches in pain but that only seems to infuriate it. The shield plummets to the floor at my feet. I’m frozen to the spot, staring as the Nadder roars and lunges for me, desperate for revenge. I’m fairly certain I’m about to feel its teeth sinking into me, but before it does, there’s another ear-splitting crack as Jack swings the shield by the hilt of the axe, striking it in the face.

    The Nadder yelps like a wounded animal and scurries off, disappearing into the cloud of dust. I melt back against the rock, gasping for breath. The world is spinning, and I feel like a puddle of goo, my heart pounding against my chest. These near-death experiences really need to stop before I give myself a heart attack.

    “Well done, son,” I hear Bad Bob say, his voice oddly grim. I hear him limp off, probably to wrestle the Nadder back into its cage.

    After a moment, I force myself to stand up. My legs wobble but hold me. All thoughts of a nice hot bath leave my head when I realise everyone is staring at me. Jack’s glare is cold, and that hurts more than bruises that are already beginning to flower.

    “Is this some kind of joke to you?” He snaps, and I can see it takes everything he has to hold himself back from screaming in my face. “Our parents’ war is about to become ours. Figure out which side you’re on!”     Anger flares up inside of me, accompanied by pain and humiliation.

    “I just saved your life back there!” I yell at his retreating back, my fists clenched so hard at my sides I can feel my fingernails digging into my palms.     Jack turns back, his scowl piercing me through the chest.

    “Bittle, it was a lucky shot,” he sneers.

    The words are like barbs. I watch him go, and he’s followed by the others who mutter amongst themselves. At some point, Bad Bob passes me. He doesn’t speak, but he does lay a heavy hand on my shoulder for the briefest of moments. I cannot even say how much of an embarrassment I feel. It’s a crushing weight that just seems to be getting heavier the more I try to throw it off.

    I don’t have a bath. I know that if I stop and rest I won’t get back up. Instead I head to the stream on the edge of the village, an idea stuck in my head. If I can’t fight dragons, then I will study them. No one knows anything about the Night Furies, and I’ll be the first to know everything. That will prove my worth, to everyone, but especially to my father and to Jack.

    The water is ice cold and helps to alleviate some of the aching. It takes a little time to catch a juicy, fat fish, but I manage it and stuff it into my tunic. It’s just a guess, formed by watching the Night Fury attempting to snag one himself yesterday, but it’s the only idea for a peace offering I have. I hurry back to the cove, hoping my friend is still there and in a good mood.

    I sling the fish through the crevice first, peeking through to watch it slide down the banking. I wait a moment but nothing happens, so I squeeze through the gap to look around. Just as I think the place is deserted, I hear a quiet snort behind me. I whip around to see the Night Fury perched gracefully on a huge rock, looking like a black panther taunting its prey. Its eyes are alert and watch my every move. Very slowly, I pick up the fish and offer it out.

    I freeze as it suddenly hisses. Its gaze is fixed on the knife at my waist and I inwardly curse. If losing my only means of self defence will earn its trust, then so be it. It growls as my fingers touch the hilt, and I quickly take it out of my belt and toss it aside. The knife tumbles down the embankment and into the lake with a plop.

    The dragon calms so instantly I’m taken by surprise. Its large ears twitch and it gazes at me almost curiously. I have an overwhelming urge to touch it and see how the scales feel beneath my fingers. I hold the fish out again, watching as it saunters up to me warily. I hold my breath, and then it suddenly snaffles the fish from my hand and chomps it up eagerly in mere seconds. My breath comes out in a startled gasp.

    It turns its big eyes on me, looking almost expectant. It strides forward, quickly reaching me with its long legs, and starts sniffing at my coat. I step back nervously, my palms outstretched to show they were empty.

    “Uh, no, I don’t have any more,” I’m quick to tell it, hoping it understands.

    It continues to search me with its snout and I retreat until my back is suddenly pressed up against a large rock. I grimace, expecting the creature to be frustrated with my lack of fish. It stops, fixing me with this odd look and I wonder yet again if I’m about to get eaten. There’s a gross, gurgling noise and it pulls a face, and for one horrifying moment I think it’s about to vomit on me. What it actually does is much worse.

    The regurgitated fish head lands in my lap, the stench immediately hitting my nostrils. I stare at it, then up at the dragon, who just stares back. I slowly realise what it wants me to do and I start to feel sick to my stomach. Knowing I wouldn’t get away with miming it, I steel myself and take a bite. It’s slimy, and my teeth gets caught in its sinews as I pull away the flesh. It’s disgusting, and I instantly want to spit it out. I force myself to chew and swallow, though it nearly makes me gag as I feel it slowly sliding down my throat. The dragon is looking at me expectantly, so I give it a smile that turns into more of a grimace.

    To my amazement, it mimics me, the corners of its wide mouth lifting in an odd smile. With a rush of bravery, I reach forward to touch its big, powerful shoulder. The spell is immediately broken. It hisses at me and stalks off like it’s offended. It rounds the edge of the stream where there’s a large patch of charred and blackened ground. It suddenly blasts it again until the muck is smouldering, then curls up like a big, reptilian dog. Unable to resist, I hurry towards it and settle down.

    I hold myself back for all of five seconds. It seems to tolerate me, so I lean forward and try to stroke the long, tapered tail curled up in front of it. It snaps at me with the exasperated air of a dog being pestered by a puppy. I snatch my hand back and try to look innocent, but it snorts and glares at me. Taking the hint, I stand up and leave it in peace.

    I’m not about to leave though. I can’t go home while it’s still daytime. I can’t face the disappointed looks and humiliation I’ll get from the others. Despite its defensive and standoffish attitude, this dragon is probably the closest thing to a friend I have right now. So, I take myself to a large flat rock by the edge of the lake and settle down to wait. The sun has warmed it and the heat sinks into my wearied bones and I’m content to just sit there a while.

    I soon get bored though. I’ve always been one to keep myself busy. If I’m not tinkering in the workshop I’m sneaking off to cook and bake to my heart’s content. I can do neither right now though, so instead I take a stick from the ground and begin to trace shapes in the sand. The sun gradually sets around me, casting a golden light over the whole cove. The dragon looks gorgeous where it naps, the glow bringing out a rainbow in its black scales.

    I’m so lost in sketching the Night Fury in the sand that I almost don’t notice it behind me a short while later. It hovers over my shoulder and I make myself continue to mind my own business while it curiously watches me draw its face. I’m starting to realise that patience will earns its trust more than anything. It might be a long process, but it’ll be worth it if I could just get close enough to touch it.

    I look up when I hear noise, and to my astonishment the dragon has dragged a broken off bough into the clearing. It holds it in its mouth and carves it through the sand with a kind of frenzied excitement. I watch, stunned, as it dances around and creates its own drawing. After a moment it stops and inspects its work, looking proud. I stand to check it out myself, awed at what was happening. The dragon was looking at me expectantly again, waiting for my verdict.

    I stepped on one of the lines by accident and it growled at me, so I quickly remove my foot. Testing it, I rested the tip of my boot on the line again only to receive another snarl. Realising how sensitive it was, I carefully stepped between the complicated and intricate design. I’m slow to start but soon speed up my steps, getting lost in the swirling patterns. I’d expected a clumsy and haphazard bunch of lines but there seems to be an artistic pattern to it that is making my heart race.

    I suddenly stop, my back falling against its snout. I whirl around, not wanting to upset it. It watches me, and I’m lost in its big eyes again. It’s making an almost purring noise that warms my chest. We gaze at each other, and it’s like something tugs on my chest. I have an overwhelming desire to just know it.

    “I wish I knew your name.”

    It’s a whisper, but the dragon hears me. It seems to be waiting for something. I hesitate, chewing on my lip, then look away, closing my eyes. I lift my hand and just wait for what feels like an eternity. The warm snout finally pressing against my outstretched palm makes my breath catch in my throat. My eyes fly open, but I don’t dare look at it yet. The scales are rough beneath my skin and its breath is warm. The sensation disappears and only then do I look.

    I nearly fall to the floor in shock when I see a man standing before me. He looks to be around Jack’s age, tall, broad shouldered and slim with the hint of finely tuned muscle. He has a mop of unruly golden hair that falls into his handsome, freckled face.

    My eyes trail down, and I blush when I realise he is as naked as the day he was born. I look further down, and my stomach twists with guilt. He’s missing his right foot. Instead there’s a smooth stump, ending at the ankle. I quickly drag my gaze back up before I can dwell on it too much. His shoulders are a little hunched and his back bent a bit as if unused to standing. He balances awkwardly on his damaged feet. I look back at his face again when he lifts it and gasps.

    The dragon’s eyes are staring back. Big and round and grey-green with black lines running through like a turquoise stone. I can’t speak, I’m too amazed.

    “My name is Kent.”

    His voice is hoarse, like he hadn’t used it in a very long time, and it makes me shiver. It’s a long moment before I remember my manners.

    “My name is Eric, but you can call me Bitty.”

    My voice trembles but I try to be sincere and cheerful. He doesn’t speak again, and we just gaze at each other, both of us incredulous. Finally, he snaps first. He turns away from me and leaps forward into a crouch. His body morphs as I watch, his pale skin darkening to black scales and his limbs elongating. Wings sprout out of his back like spiked flowers and before I know it he’s a dragon again. He disappears into the undergrowth.

  Chapter Six

One of Bad Bob’s bright ideas is to have a ‘bonding bonfire’. We’re sat on top of an abandoned catapult tower and I’m currently entertaining fantasies about throwing myself off it. It was almost dark when I’d returned from the cove, still astounded by seeing Kent in his human form and the progress we’d made. Bob had basically ambushed me and dragged me along, ignoring my protests. So far, no one else has even said hello to me.

    There’s a fire roaring. I’m watching it crackle and gently roast my fish while the others goof around me and have sword fights with their skewers. Bad Bob has been retelling the tale of how he lost his limbs, and I swear it gets more dramatic every time I hear it. I can see Jack rolling his eyes behind his dad’s back.

    “…and with one twist he took my hand and swallowed it whole. And I saw the look on his face. I was delicious. He must have passed the word, because it wasn’t a month before another one took my leg,” he announces darkly, thrusting his pegleg into the air to demonstrate his point.

    “Isn’t it weird to think that your hand was inside a dragon? Like if your mind was still in control of it you could have killed the dragon from the inside by crushing his heart or something,” Ransom suggests curiously. He gazes off thoughtfully into the starry night, missing everyone’s incredulous looks. I know he’s amazingly smart, but he says some really odd things sometimes.

    “I swear I’m so angry right now!” Holster growls. “I’ll avenge your beautiful hand and your beautiful foot. I’ll chop off the legs of every dragon I fight, with my face.” He tries posing heroically to Jack but is ignored, so he shows off to Ransom instead, who looks pleased.

    “Uh-uh,” Bad Bob disagrees with his mouth full of food. “It’s the wings and tails you really want. If it can’t fly, it can’t get away. A downed dragon is a dead dragon.”

    My heart sinks and just like that I’m not hungry anymore. I lay my skewer of meat aside where it’s instantly snatched up and devoured by Lardo. I turn away, burrowing into my blankets so no one can see my horrified expression. A downed dragon is a dead dragon. Oh Odin, what have I done?

    “Alright,” Bad Bob yawns. He gets to his feet with a groan and stretches. “I’m off to bed. You should be too. Tomorrow we get into the big boys. Slowly but surely making our way up to the Monstrous Nightmare. But who’ll win the honour of killing it?” He asks playfully.

    He winks at his son before hobbling off down the ladder. Jack watches him go, and I kind of understand the look on his face. He wants to prove himself just as much as I do. He works so hard at everything, I think he forgets to breathe sometimes.

    “It’s gonna be me,” Shitty declares proudly. “It’s my fucking destiny, dudes. See?” He rolls up his sleeve, revealing an ornate red dragon winding around his forearm. In the firelight it looks like blood, but I’m sure it’s paint.

    “Your mom let you get a tattoo?” Ransom gasps, his eyes wide.

    “It’s not a fucking tattoo. It’s a badass birthmark,” Shitty corrects him, sticking it in his face for closer inspection.

    “Okay, we’ve been friends since birth, and that was never there before,” Lardo snorts. There’s a thick joint in her hands that seems to have appeared out of nowhere the moment Bad Bob left.

    “Yes, it was. You’ve just never seen me from the left side before,” Shitty sniffs haughtily.

    “It wasn’t there yesterday. Is it a birthmark or a today-mark?” Holster taunts him with a smirk. Ransom chokes with laughter. I don’t think it was that funny.     I can’t take it anymore. I still feel sick with guilt and listening to them fooling around is just making my head pound. I quietly slip away, knowing they wouldn’t miss me. I can feel eyes on my back as I go, but I don’t look behind me. I don’t need to see Jack’s face right now. I head back down to the village but pause on the path. Instead of walking home, I sneak to the blacksmiths.

    There’s a little room at the back that I jokingly call my office. Bad Bob lets me tinker around in here by myself most of the time. I’ve pinned up sketches and blueprints up on the wall, most of them of my bola catapult. That thing’s still up on the southern hill, abandoned. The moonlight is strong and filters in through the window, but I still light a couple of lanterns. I seat myself at my desk and lay open my notebook on the drawing of the Night Fury.

    There has to be something I can do. Kent didn’t deserve to be maimed like that. I stare at the missing tail fin in the drawing. What if there was a way I could make him a mechanical one? It would need to be fully jointed, maybe like a fan, and needs to be rooted to his tail. Logically it could work, right? I shove my book aside and hurriedly start to sketch designs on a blank piece of parchment.

    It isn’t long before I’ve pencilled one I’m happy with. I get straight to work, lighting up the fire and pumping the bellows. It’s very late at night now, but I’m not tired, not even after the long, hard day I’ve had. I fall into a familiar routine once the blaze is hot enough. Heat the metal, hammer it, heat it, hammer it. It’s almost therapeutic, and now I have a goal in mind I don’t feel as bad. Some hours later, I eventually plunge the pieces into the barrel of water with a hiss of steam.

    They fit together almost seamlessly. I’ve had to guess the measurements, but as a prototype I’m sure they’ll do. It’s taken some work. I’ve used a batch of iron we were saving for repairs, and I’ve taken studs from about a dozen shields. I’m tired now, but still unable to rest. I’ve folded stiff leather around the straight pieces, and they open and close smoothly. It feels weighty in my hands, but it feels right, too.

    It’s dawn by the time I leave. Sunlight is streaming I through the windows and the village is just starting to wake up around me. I’m going to be exhausted at training, but I’m sure I’ll survive. Well, I suppose that depends on whatever crazy training exercise Bad Bob has concocted today, but I’ll be fine. It’s worth it. Before anyone sees me, I hurry down to the cove.

    It’s a little chilly, and I wish I’d bought my jacket, especially as the morning dew settles on my tunic and soaks through my breeches. I’m not sure which version of Kent I’d prefer, the dragon or the man. Either way, it doesn’t matter much. I just hope he’ll give me a chance to explain and show him the prosthetic. I stop by the stream on my way and add piles of fish to the basket I’m carrying. It might make the leather smell a bit, but I’m sure he won’t mind.

    I squeeze through the rock and dump the basket down with a groan. I’ve never been one for heavy lifting, and my arms are screaming at me. I look around and spot Kent across the lake. He’s a dragon again, and I’m not sure if I’m disappointed or not. I suppose it might be a self-defence thing. We were both a bit vulnerable yesterday. He eagerly stalks towards me and I don’t even flinch when he sniffs me expectantly.

    “Hey, honey,” I smile. “I brought breakfast, I hope you’re hungry.” I tip the basket, letting the fish slide out on to the floor. The stench makes me gag, but his eyes light up. “Okay, that’s disgusting. Uh, we’ve got some salmon, some nice Icelandic cod, and a whole smoked eel.”

    Kent devoured the lot enthusiastically, until he got to the eel. He gagged and spat it out, screwing up his face in such a way that it cracked me up. He even scraped his massive tongue along the sand just to get rid of the taste.

    “No, it’s okay, I don’t like eel much either,” I laugh.

    I wait until he’s finished scoffing the rest and he’s lying all content and full like a dog who’s feasted on chicken. I say his name and he lazily looks at me, tail wagging ever so slightly and sending up little dust clouds.

    “I’ve made something for you,” I announce, a slight tremble in my voice.

    I rest my hand on the basket and that piques his interest. He’s probably expecting a cake made from fish or something. I take a deep breath and carefully avoid his gaze.

    “I’m…I’m the reason your tail is hurt. I fired the bola that hit you.”

    It’s quiet for too long. When I look up, Kent is watching me. I expect him to be sad or angry, but he seems neither of those. His expression seems more thoughtful, and he just nudges my foot with his nose. I take it as an invitation to keep going and pull out the huge mechanical tail fin. His ears prick up.

    “I know this won’t replace what I’ve taken from you. But hopefully it’ll at least get you flying again,” I say, trying to smile weakly.

    He sits up, completely alert now, and leans to sniff it curiously. Encouraged, I fold it out, demonstrating how it works and showing him the buckle that would cinch it to him. He looks reluctant for a moment, then slowly turns around, presenting his tail to me. My grin is so wide it splits my face. I dive forward and straddle his tail to start buckling him in, my fingers trembling with excitement. It clicks in easily and I lean back to inspect it after spreading out the spokes.

    “There. Not too bad. It works.”

    It’s a bit crude but it kind of does the job. I suddenly notice that Kent is completely tense, adjusting to the sensation of having something there again. His gigantic wings spread and a split second later he bolts away. I squeal and clutch his tail instinctively and I’m carried with him along the ground. He crouches and springs up into the air, ignoring my panicked yells. He soars high and the ground speeds away, turning into a green and blue blur beneath us.     He starts to fall almost immediately. He can’t control it, and the wind rattles through the useless prosthetic. Its counterpart is flared though, and I realise what I need to do. Despite my head spinning, I reach out and tug the fan open, clinging to the thick meat of his tail for dear life. The air catches it and stabilises the twisting tail, letting Kent even out his trajectory. The wind has chilled my face and made my eyes water, but I get a sudden thrill that bubbles out of me into a whoop.

    “It’s working! Yes! Yes, I did it!”

    I’m excited and terrified all at once. Kent starts to climb, his eyes wide and lit up. I glance back at the fin, it’s trembling with effort but holding. I can hardly believe it. My head’s starting to swim and there’s another sudden rush of air. I look back at him, my grip on his scales starting to loosen as my hand goes clammy. Shit. We’re heading straight for the cliff face.

    Kent turns at the last minute. The force flings me from his tail and I only just have time to scream as I’m suddenly freefalling. Luckily, I can see the lake glistening beneath me and I thank Odin we didn’t travel too far. I look up to see where Kent had gone and see him plunging beside me, no longer able to catch the air no matter how hard he flaps his enormous wings. I manage to take a deep breath.

    We both hit the water with a crash. It stings worse than the wind and I immediately go under, Kent following me with a massive cannonball. We don’t go deep, and I’m able to easily swim up and break the surface. I’m vibrating with excitement, a huge grin across my face. I can’t believe it actually worked! I look across to Kent, but he doesn’t look as impressed. He spits water at me. I laugh and splash him back, elated by our progress.

    “Did you see that?” I ask excitedly as we both swim back to the shore.

    Of course, he did, but it didn’t stop me from chattering about it as I crawl onto dry land. Already my head is exploding with ideas and I know just what I have to do next to make the mechanical fin functional. I can’t go back to the village wet through, and our little experiment has left me exhausted so I flop onto the grass to dry out. The sun is still beaming down and Kent collapses beside me, basking in the glow. I turn my head and throw him another grin, but he rolls his eyes at me. I swear he looks fondly exasperated.

    “This is such a great start, sweetheart,” I smile.

    I lightly pat his arm, trying to be reassuring. He doesn’t flinch, but he does honour me with a grunt. I’m not sure why he doesn’t transform back into a human, but I don’t question him, I’d rather he be comfortable around me. I sat up and start carefully removing the fin from his tail. It’s rubbed the scales a bit, from the pressure of the wind. I’ll have to add multiple contact points, to spread out the force. Easily done, and it’d be stronger too. I examine the fin, pleased to see it was still going strong. The leather was soaked, but the hinges were all working perfectly. I lay it aside to dry.

    “Just you watch. We’ll have you flying in no time!” I promised.

    He didn’t react, and after a minute or two had passed I didn’t think he would. He makes my breath catch in my throat though when he suddenly lays his chin on my lap. He closes his eyes, worn out from the exertion, but he looks content and comfortable. I hesitate, then gently put my hand on his head, slowly rubbing the pebbled skin with my thumb. I don’t say anything, but I don’t think I need to.

  Chapter Seven

I spend most nights working on the fin. I have to stop myself not long after midnight, otherwise I’d carry on until dawn. I’m not finished, but that’s okay. I’d rather it be perfect than rushed. It’s not easy work, and my fingers are pinched and singed, but I’m satisfied with what I’ve done so far. If Bad Bob hears me hammering away, he never comes down to me. As soon as I leave the workshop I’m already thinking about the time I can come back. Probably the evening, after I’ve visited Kent.

    I’m in a good mood as I head to the training grounds the next day. The others must notice because they give me odd looks, but I can’t bring myself to care. I fall into line next to Jack and sneak a glance at his handsome profile. I like it when the sun shines in his hair because I can see chocolate tones in the black strands. He catches me staring and I hurriedly look away to avoid his glare. I hope he can’t smell the dead eel stowed away in my inner pocket. Kent’s adverse reaction to it yesterday gave me an idea for a backup plan.

    We warm up and I’m careful not to stretch beside him. I made that mistake yesterday and had to suffer through an awkward arousal for at least an hour. Catching sight of Shitty bending over and sniffing his own foot does not have the same effect. That done, we crowd around the wide doors at the back, awaiting whichever beast Bad Bob is going to unleash on us today. He’s put us into pairs – Jack and Lardo, Holster and Shitty, Ransom and me – and armed us with buckets of cold water. I squint, watching green gas starting to seep through the cracks in the wood.

    “Today is about teamwork,” Bad Bob announces. He’s behind us, ready to spring into action should needs be. I think the last couple of disasters have made him a bit paranoid. “Work together and you might survive.”

    The doors suddenly blast open. I jump so much half of the water slops out of my bucket. I expect to see a huge dragon come stampeding towards us, but instead thick clouds of gas begin rolling out. They fill the ring, instantly obscuring our vision. It stinks, and I try not to breathe it in, slowly edging towards Ransom.

    “Now, a wet dragon head can’t light its fire. The Hideous Zippleback is extra tricky. One head breathes gas, the other head lights it. Your job is to know which is which.”

    Bad Bob’s words don’t fill me with encouragement. I can only just see Ransom’s outline in the gas, let alone a dragon. I listen hard and my eyes water with concentration, on the hunt for any sign of the beast. Ransom’s voice makes me jump again.

    “Razor-sharp, serrated teeth that inject venom for pre-digestion. Prefers ambush attack, crushing its victims in its…”

    “Will you please stop that?” I quickly interrupt, feeling sick to my stomach.

    I think he opens his mouth to retort but we both freeze as we hear Holster quietly humming under his breath, probably to calm his nerves. I can just see his bulky silhouette through the fog, with Shitty’s lankier frame beside him, as they try to scope the dragon out.

    “If that dragon shows either of its faces, I’m gonna – there!” Holster breaks off, voice tense with terror.

    He’s spotted a dark, swirling shape in the smoke, though I think it might be too small to be the Zippleback. He and Shitty hurl their water anyway, which cuts through the gas and splatters both Jack and Lardo. They’re immediately soaked to the bone.

    “Hey!” Jack snaps, his hair stuck to his face.

    “It’s us, idiots!” Lardo snarls, looking ready to pounce on them. It’s even funnier because she’s tiny and Holster and Shitty both tower over her.

    “Your butt’s getting bigger,” Shitty teases her with a smirk. “We thought you were a fucking dragon.”

    “Not that there’s anything wrong with a dragonesque figure!” Holster says quickly, but the damage is done.

    Lardo growls and is just about to leap at them when Jack suddenly grips her arm. The colour drains from his face.

    “Wait.”

    Everyone instantly freezes, the tone of his voice leaving no room for argument. Out of nowhere, a long tail whips their feet from under them, narrowly missing Ransom and me. Their buckets clatter to the floor as they fall, the water pooling around them. I grimace and slowly edge back. The wooden bucket is getting even heavier in my hands and my knuckles start to turn white with how tightly I’m clutching it.

    “Oh, I’m hurt, I’m very much hurt,” Shitty whines from somewhere. The gas has enveloped them again.

    “Chances of survival are dwindling into single digits now,” Ransom whispers beside me.

    I ignore him, peering through the smoke. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears, but I finally hear a shift in front of us. I snap my head in that direction and suddenly see a huge silhouette darken the air.

    “Look out!”

    A Zippleback head emerges out of the smoke. It leers over, its neck long and snake like. Its beady eyes fixates on us and its teeth gleams in the light. Ransom springs into action, hurling the bucket of water and dousing it completely. We both hold our breath, hoping that was the correct head. It leers and opens its mouth, spewing thick gas around our ankles. My heart sinks. Ransom yelps and staggers away in a panic when there’s a strange clicking sound. I wait, bucket poised.

     “Now, Bitty!” Bad Bob suddenly yells.

    The other head sweeps out of the smoke, an identical twin. It’s a few meters above me, and I throw the contents of my bucket as hard as I can. The water soars in a glittering arc but falls short of its sparking mouth. The dragon grins, ready to savour the kill.

    “Oh, come on!”

    “RUN, BITTY!”

    I can hear the genuine fear in Bad Bob’s voice and it sends a shiver down my spine. I ignore the scream though, remembering the secret weapon tucked in my pocket. I took a confident step forward and throw the bucket aside. The Zippleback prepares to strike and I open my jacket slightly. I can see the precise moment it gets a whiff of the stinking eel because it freezes, nostrils flaring. Encouraged, I fished it out of my pocket, careful to keep it out of the others’ view.

    The Zippleback hisses and starts to retreat, obviously just as disgusted as Kent had been. I hold my hands out, guiding it back into its prison almost like it was under my control. It cowers as it scrambles back, ducking into the safe darkness of its cave.

    “Back! Back! Now don’t make me tell you again! Yes, that’s right. Back into your cage.” With a flick of my wrist I sling the eel after it before slamming the doors shut. “Now think about what you’ve done.”

    I manage to heave the lock into place with a grunt. Dusting my hands off, I turn around only to see everyone staring at me, completely slack jawed, even Jack. It was enough to make my skin crawl. I slap a cheerful grin on my face and try to brush it off as nothing.

    “Okay! So, are we done? Because I’ve got some things I need to…”

    I trailed off when I realised no one was responding to me. They were still staring with that same awed expression. Giving it up as a bad job, I jog past them with a feeble farewell. They let me go without question, but I felt their eyes on me the whole time. It makes me shudder worse than the dragon.

    I head down to the workshop again, vaguely wondering if I’ll ever get the smell of eel out of my jacket. Probably not. The fin only needs a little more work, and I’m confident I’ll have it finished in an hour or so. I’m quite proud of it, if I do say so myself. I’ve fashioned a harness to go with it, complete with handles and foot pedals. It took me a bit of time to work out the schematics for it, but I’m almost sure they’ll be spot on. It’ll allow me to control Kent’s prosthetic and give me a bit of something to hold onto.

    The test drive is a disaster. Well, that might be a slight exaggeration. Kent doesn’t seem keen on the harness to begin with but allows me to fit it once I’ve explained what it will let me do. It goes well, at first. We lift off smoothly and Kent heads straight to the ocean, lured by the freedom. We only make it about fifty feet before the force of Kent’s tail snaps free of the taut leather holding everything in place. I’m sent flying back towards the cove with a strangled yell. I’m lucky I didn’t break anything.

    I dash back to the smithy for rudimentary repairs. The straps are reinforced, and I attach a metal clamp to secure me to the saddle and take the brunt of the force. An hour later I’m dashing back to try it out. The hiccup hasn’t deterred me, and I’m full of the same excitement. Kent sees my expression and sits still during the fitting, looking exasperated. I fumble over the catches and hoist myself onto his back as soon as they’re secure.

    Our launch is a little wobbly, but to my delight everything seems to be working. The salty wind stings my face and my hands instantly ache with the force of holding on, but that thrill I feel as we soar high above the cliffs and the glistening sea is more than worth it. I can’t believe I’m actually flying. For about fifteen minutes.

    We crash land into a wide-open field, skidding through tall grass and mud. I feel dizzy and sore but elated, and I sit up hurriedly to see if Kent shares my excitement. To my surprise he’s writhing through the grass in pure bliss, on his back with his legs up in the air and groaning happily. I stare at the grass in awe, another idea for tomorrow’s training forming in my head.

    It works. I try it during training the next day against the burly Gronkle. As soon as I’m close enough I press it to its nose before dropping it to the ground. The dragon goes with it, rolling around and whimpering delightedly just like Kent had done. I’m a little surprised it worked so well, and as soon as the Gronkle is stowed back into its cage, my fellow recruits swarm around me as we leave and start bombarding me with so many questions I’m instantly overwhelmed.

    “Hey Bitty, I’ve never seen a Gronkle do that before!” Ransom said, stumbling beside me excitedly.

    “How’d you do that?” Shitty asked eagerly.

    “It was really cool,” Lardo added with a casual nod, the epitome of cool herself.

    I squirm, feeling on edge and awkward. I struggle for an excuse, my eyes falling on the large axe Jack is carrying.

    “I left my axe back in the ring!” I suddenly announce, pretending not to see Jack’s highly suspicious look. “You guys go on ahead and I’ll catch you up.”

    I hurry back towards the ring but change direction as soon as I’m out of sight. Phew. That was awful. I need to be more careful if Jack is already so wary of me, I can’t risk him following me. Which I’m sure he’d do. I love how determined he is, but I really don’t want that willpower discovering what I’m up to.

    I visit Kent again after working some more on the harness. We don’t fly today, but we sit together again, like we often do. He still hasn’t transformed back into a human since that time, but I never ask him to. I imagine it’s still a difficult thing for him. It’s enough for me to just sit beside him anyway, absently petting him like a dog. He doesn’t seem to mind. I find that if I scratch just behind his ear, he goes all limp and his big tongue lolls out of his mouth. It’s so cute.

    It’s also a trick that works on the Deadly Nadder. I try it in training the next day, just as the dragon is lunging towards me. I spot Jack diving forward with his axe raised, but I reach it first. The Nadder goes boneless like Kent had done, and even makes a slight purring noise. Jack is so stunned he drops his axe, but it soon turns into fury. I hate upsetting him, it must kill him to not be the best in his father’s class, but if it means I can end the lesson before anyone, human or dragon, is hurt then so be it.

    I have lunch in the Great Hall for the first time in forever. I don’t even bother trying to sit with my fellow recruits, choosing a seat at another table. To my shock they all scoot towards me with their food, looking keen and bright eyed. They leave Jack by himself, and the scowl he shoots in my direction makes my heart sink.

    “Hey Bitty!” Ransom greets brightly.

    “What was that?” Holster wants to know, shocking me by sounding genuinely curious. “Some kind of trick? What did you do?”

    “Bits, you’re totally going to fucking come in first, brah. There’s no question!” Shitty assures me, nodding wisely. His eyes look red and dazed. Again.

   I grimace and shrug, shovelling food into my mouth so I can leave. I appreciate that they’re being so nice to me, but the attention is weirding me out a bit. Especially because I feel guilty about Jack. I finish my food in record timing and make yet another excuse. They look disappointed but offer cheerful goodbyes. I avoid Jack’s eyes as I leave, knowing them to be boring into my back, like he’s trying to search my soul.

    It doesn’t help that I discover another trick when I’m sitting with Kent later. I’m fiddling with a polished stone, turning it over in my fingers as I think about what I could do with it. It’s pretty and would look nice mounted in jewellery or something. The mirrored edge catches the bright sunlight and casts a patch of light on the ground. Kent spots it and can’t resist clawing at it. I move the stone, making the light dance, and Kent follows it, transfixed. He’d probably never do it if he was human, but as a dragon he chases it for ages.

    The next day at training, I watch the gates open, wondering if my little light trick would work on whichever dragon Bad Bob presents us with. I’m itching for our lesson to finish, as I finally completed my next round of work on the harness and prosthetic last night and am desperate to test it out. I’m not sure the bigger dragons would be as fascinated with the light as Kent had been.

    To everyone’s amazement the smallest dragon we’ve ever seen skitters out of the darkness. It’s the size of a small dog, with huge eyes that take up most of its face. If I’m being honest, it looks positively adorable.

    “Meet the Terrible Terror,” Bad Bob announces.

    “Ha!” Shitty scoffs, bending down to peer at the tiny creature. “It’s like the size of my d—”   I’m pretty sure he was about to say his penis, but his sentence is thankfully cut off with a strangled yell. He’s tackled to the floor in a blur, the Terror snarling as its teeth tear into his clothes.

    “Get the fucker off! Get it off! Oh, I’m hurt! I’m very much hurt!”

    Before anyone else can react, I move forward, the polished stone in my hand. It catches the sun easily and the Terrible Terror instantly spots the patch of light twirling on the ground. It pounces immediately, captivated by it. I guide it back towards its cage with ease as it is completely oblivious to anything other than the pesky light. The dragon follows it into the darkness and Bad Bob closes the gates again, utterly dumbfounded.

    I slip the stone back into my pocket, amazed it had worked so well. I grin sheepishly as the others cheer and surround me. Jack hangs back, furious all over again. Whatever Shitty mutters to him, it makes Jack scowl even harder. I’m not sure why, but I get the feeling that Jack can’t take it anymore. I’m going to need to be careful.

  Chapter Eight

That afternoon, I finally strap the new and improved harness to Kent’s back. He stands tall and ready, as excited as I am, I think. I’ve had to make quite a few modifications, and I’m reluctant to dive straight into flying with this one. We need to take a little more care and I need to study Kent’s movements properly if we’re going to make this work. So, for now, Kent is tethered to a sturdy post to keep him stationary while we’re in the air. He throws it a disapproving look that makes me chuckle but otherwise allows it.

   He only has to flap his gigantic wings once or twice to get us into the air and moves them at a steady pace to keep us there. The slow pace allows me to enjoy the breeze in my hair without the thrill of oncoming death. It’s perfect, just what I need to be able to observe his tail movements. He almost looks a bit like a kite tied to a tree stump and it makes me snicker. He sneers at me, as if he understands what I’m laughing at.

    Of course, the rope snaps. We’re suddenly flung forward without resistance and sail through the air. Unable to correct his trajectory, Kent crashes straight into a tree, sending a flock of birds screeching into the air. We tumble to the ground, both of us groaning. No doubt I’ll get more bruises, just after the last ones had faded. I sit up and rub my head, grateful that we at least landed in the grass and not the water.

    I go to unclip myself but to my dismay the clips securing me to the harness have been warped out of shape. Shit. I knew I should have reinforced the steel that little bit more and added a hinge. I give it a hard tug, but it doesn’t budge. Kent looks at me with a raised eyebrow, wondering why I hadn’t got up. I growl and give it another pull but it’s futile.

    “Great.”

    We wait until nightfall, and then we wait just a little bit longer. It’s pitch black when we start heading back to the village. This is stupid, and dangerous, but I really don’t have a choice. There’s no way of unclipping that strap without my tools. Kent doesn’t turn human and I don’t suggest it. I assume he feels safer as a dragon when walking through a village of humans intent on killing him if they spotted him. Even if he did transform, we’d still have the same problem anyway. I guide him through the crevices, though it’s a tight squeeze. We tiptoe through the undergrowth like thieves, hoping that everyone has gone to bed. I can’t help but notice how beautifully his scales gleam in the moonlight.

    “We have to be super quiet, honey,” I whisper as we edged towards the houses.

    It was a useless warning. He knows as well as I do how bad things would be if we were caught, but it was just an excuse to ramble to myself to calm my nerves. The streets are thankfully empty, and we sneak down them, sticking close to the shadows towards the smithy. I steer Kent inside as quietly as I can and light a couple of candles. I grimace as I realise just how big he is in the tiny space. He tries to turn, but his massive tail scatters a bucket of tools to the floor.

    “Bitty?”

    We both freeze. That’s Jack. I hurriedly seize the pliers and frantically try prising the saddle hook open, but it still won’t move. My heart is starting to pound in my chest and I nearly drop the tool, my hands clammy. Kent is looking in the direction of the window, his eyes wide and curious.

    “Are you in there?”

   He’s right outside. Without thinking I throw myself out of the window and slam the shutters behind me. The slack in the strap is pulled taut but there’s just enough if I stay very still.

    “Jack. Hey. Hi Jack. Hi Jack. Hi Jack.” Odin, I sound ridiculous. I inwardly curse, hoping I don’t look as awkward as I feel. Jack doesn’t look impressed.     “I normally don’t care what people do, but you’re acting weird. Well, weirder,” Jack accuses, narrowing his lovely blue eyes at me.

    I open my mouth to give him whatever lame excuse comes to mind, but I’m suddenly yanked back, pressed tight against the shutters. It’s obvious I’m surprised for a moment and Jack glares suspiciously. A second later I’m dragged back through the shutters with a yelp and they slam in Jack’s face.     Before he has chance to open them, I seize the tools I need and desperately coax Kent back through the door. Just as Jack wrenches the window shutters open, we disappear into the night. I’m grateful for Kent’s dark skin as it camouflages us in the shadows and we manage to escape unseen.

--- 

As the sun dawns the next day, a lone, battered ship pulls into the bay. The men upon it look equally as battered, worn thin and dead on their feet. A crowd forms on the pier as they disembark, looking like hometown heroes who had just suffered a serious defeat. It’s obvious that many Vikings haven’t returned, and Bad Bob watches as his neighbours’ hearts break.

      He spots Richard clambering off the ship and pushes through to meet him. Their chief looks like his pride has taken a hit, and it’s clear that the loss of his men has disheartened him. Bad Bob stops dead when he finally sees the extent of the damage. It’s a wonder the ship made it back in one piece. Richard stalks past him, easily cutting a path through his people. Bob quickly turns and hobbles after him.

      “Well, I trust you found the nest at least?” he asks hopefully.

      “Not even close,” Richard mutters darkly.

      “Oh, excellent,” Bob replies dryly, shaking his head. He reaches out with his hook to snag Richard’s duffle back, sharing the burden wordlessly.

      “I hope you had a little more success than me,” Richard sighs tiredly.       “Well, if by success, you mean that your parenting troubles are over with, then…yes,” Bob shrugs. It is bittersweet.

      Richard stops dead, staring at him in confusion. A couple of merry Vikings rush past, one of them hurriedly squeezing Richard’s shoulder.

      “Congratulations, Richard! Everyone is so relieved!” the man grins widely.

      “Out with the old and in with the new, right?” his lady friend cheers.Richard is dumbfounded.

      “No one will miss that old nuisance!” the first man hooted, even dancing a little on the spot.

      “The village is throwing a party to celebrate!” the woman adds gleefully, like a bunch of men hadn’t just been lost at sea. They both disappear, skipping towards the pier.

      “He’s…gone?” Richard whispers overwhelmed by their insensitivity.

      “Yeah…most afternoons. But who can blame him? I mean, the life of a celebrity is very rough. He can barely walk through the village without being swarmed by his new fans,” Bad Bob explains.

      “Bitty?” Richard looks even more confused. Bad Bob smiles and puts an arm around his huge shoulders.

      “Who would’ve thought, eh?” He guides him towards the Great Hall where he can make sure Richard has a good meal and a big tankard of ale. “He has this…way with the beasts.”

  Chapter Nine

The sky is clear and a perfect blue, with only a gentle breeze blowing west. It’s ideal flying weather, and Kent soars through it gracefully. It’s an amazing feeling, gliding above the ocean with the wind ruffling my hair. The clouds are billowing around us like fluffy marshmallows, and everything beneath us is a blur. The harness is working perfectly, the weight is evenly distributed, and every clip and ring is doubly reinforced. If I can lock down the various fin positions required for manoeuvres, then we can really start exploring the skies.

    “Okay there, honey, we’re going to take this nice and slow,” I remind Kent, gently patting his shoulder.

    I’ve mapped out a leather cheat sheet and attached it to the harness, ready for me to consult at a moment’s notice. I’ve inscribed the different tail fin positions, along with the accompanying pedal locations.

    “Here we go, here we go…position three. No, four.”

    I push down my left foot, clicking the pedal into the correct notch. The tail fin flares out behind me, instantly catching the rippling wind. We roll off into an arcing bank, the setting sun casting an orange glow over us as we soar by. I tuck myself tight to Kent’s neck, making us a little more streamlined. The extra speed makes my gut swoop pleasantly and I cling tighter to the handles.

    I study each fluctuation of Kent’s tail fin, trying to match it with the pedals. The prosthetic is quick and responsive, and it makes my chest swell with pride. I look up and gauge a target to really test us both – a towering arch of stone rising from the sea. Perfect.

    “Alright, it’s go time, it’s go time.” We dive towards it, lining ourselves up with the gap.

     “Come on, come on sweetheart!”

We zip through perfectly, the wind whistling as we sail past.

     “Yes! It worked!”

    I pump the air with my fist, elated at the smooth manoeuvre. The triumph is short lived though, and we smack into a sea stack as I struggle to keep up with the turns. I apologise, scrambling to correct the pedals, only to bash into another stone pillar. Kent grumbles at me and swats me with his ear, making me snicker.

    “Yeah, yeah, I’m on it. Position four. No, three.”

    We start to climb, finally piercing the thick, fluffy clouds. The dew sticks to my jacket and sprinkles my face as we burst through them. I look down and see the entire island for the first time. It’s truly magnificent and is shrinking faster with every passing second. I swallow and clutch the handles so hard my knuckles turn white. I should be terrified, and I kind of am, but it’s squashed by this blossoming thrill of freedom. I can’t contain it any longer and let out a whoop of excitement as we pick up speed.

    “Yeah! Go, honey! Yes! This is amazing! The wind in my…”

    My words die as I notice the leather guide starting to flap madly and tear free in the turbulence.

    “Cheat sheet! Stop!”

    I grasp at the airborne sheet, managing to seize it before it flies out of reach. Kent, however, seems to think I was issuing an order and stops beating his wings. We slow to a stop and before I know it I’m weightless. The rings on my vest float off their harness hooks and I’m suddenly detached and free falling. I’m instantly very, very frightened.

    “Oh, gods. Oh no!”

    Without me controlling it, Kent’s tail loses control. He yelps as he starts to spiral downwards, and I plunge alongside him, the air rushing by me and making my eyes water. Kent fights to get back under me, the panic evident on his face. Somehow, that helps me to keep calm even as we plummet.

    “Alright, okay. You just gotta kinda angle yourself. No, no, come back down towards me. Come back down.”

    I clench the cheat sheet in my teeth and extend my arms and legs, trying to give him as much surface area as I can, even though the gravity pushing down on me makes my limbs ache. There’s a couple of misses but he finally angles himself and tumbles close enough for me to snag the harness. It feels like we’ve been falling forever, yet it can only be seconds. I lock in the clips and pull myself back into the saddle with just enough time to yank hard on the handles, dragging Kent out of his dive.

    We skim the tree tops, scattering leaves in all directions. We careen past the wooded cliff and directly into a treacherous slalom course of jutting sea stacks. I pull the sheet from my teeth and attempt to check positions, but it flaps violently in the turbulence and it’s just impossible to read it as the stone towers zoom towards us.

    With no time to think I toss the now useless sheet over my shoulder and grit my teeth in determination. I steer Kent’s tail on instinct alone and I don’t have time to be amazed at my perfect intuition. It’s like there’s a connection between us, letting us move together as one. Together, we manage a tight, hair-raising series of split-second turns and finally make it to open water, unscathed.

    I finally take a breath of sweet, sweet air and look behind me at the death-defying obstacle course now safely behind us. The relief and pride burst out of me and I let out an ecstatic yell, throwing my arms up in the air. Kent shares my delight and gives an excited squeal and follows it up by spitting a huge blue fireball several feet in front of us. My glee turns to dread as I realise he’s heading straight towards it.

    “Aw, come on.”

    He relishes diving through the heat like a human might enjoy sinking into a warm bath. It isn’t hot enough to burn but it does char my jacket and covers me in a fine cloak of soot. We emerge blackened and slightly smoking, and Kent couldn’t be happier. I cough the ash out of my lungs and I swear he’s laughing at me. I swat him playfully.

    “Very funny. That’s enough now, let’s find somewhere to rest.”

    We start to sink, Kent still letting out a few snickers. Controlling the pedal now seems as natural as breathing, and I don’t even have to look behind me to check the tail positions. I just seem to know. Eventually we spot a small, deserted island and head towards the shore. The landing is mostly smooth, and I gratefully pry myself out of the saddle. My legs and hands are stiff from holding on so tightly and it’s a relief to stretch them out.

    We catch fish together, finding a near unending supply in the clear waters. I manage to coax him into spitting fire on a couple of pieces of driftwood before he tucks into his feast. I spear mine on a stick and settle down to roast it. It doesn’t take him long to finish, and he curls up behind me, letting me rest my back against his side. It’s usually how we sit together in the evenings, and it’s comforting.

    After a few minutes he lets out a really gross gurgling sound and scoffs up a half-digested fish head, gobbing it at my feet like he was giving me a gift. I give him the driest look I can manage and indicate my own meal.

    “Uh, no thanks, I’m good.”

  Kent makes that annoying snickering again and settles down, dozing a little. There’s a companionable silence as I eat my own dinner and I feel like something has changed between us. Kent must feel it too, because after a few minutes, I suddenly realise he’s shrinking behind me. I sit up and turn to watch as the dragon shape shifts. It’s mesmerising to watch his limbs shortening and the pebbled skin turning smooth and pale. Before long, a human is sat beside me. He gives me a tentative smile and I give him one back before looking out to sea again, if only because he was butt naked again.

    The fin falls away, completely useless now his tail has morphed into a pair of legs. I’m filled with a weird kind of honour, that he trusts me enough to see him like this again. I don’t know what to say, so I default to my usual clumsy speech.

    “Hey. Kent. Hey Kent. Hey Kent.”

    I grimace but he just chuckles and lightly nudges my shoulder.

    “Hey, Bits,” he replies, his voice still a little husky with misuse.

    “That was fun, huh?” I ask brightly, hugging my knees to give my hands something to do. I glance at Kent when he doesn’t reply straight away, but he’s smiling gently.

    “Thank you. For helping me fly again,” he murmurs. I almost don’t catch it, and my expression softens.

    “Oh, honey. It’s the least I could do after what I did to you. I’ll never be able to forgive myself,” I say sadly, looking down at the smooth stump where his foot should be.

    “I forgive you,” Kent tells me, in a tone I can’t argue with. “Besides. You’re right. Flying together is fun.”

    He flashes me a grin that lights me up from the inside. I laugh quietly, my shoulders starting to relax. I run my fingers through my hair, shaking soot out of it.

    “Odin, if Jack could see me now,” I snorted, dusting off my hands. “I must look like a complete mess.”

    “Maybe he likes the dishevelled look,” Kent smirks, waggling his eyebrows at me. “I’m so disappointed I didn’t catch a glimpse of him the other night. I wanted to see if he’s as handsome as you say.”

    I roll my eyes, half regretting him telling him all about my crush if he was just going to mock me, even if it was good-natured. The other half of me was just pleased that I could talk about liking a boy with someone I counted as a friend.

    “You’ll never meet him. You’d just embarrass me,” I sniffed, laughing when he squawked indignantly.

    “I would not!”

    I just laughed at him, tired but content. We fall quiet again, but there isn’t an awkward need to fill the silence. After a while we both hear tiny wings flapping hard over the rustling waves. We look up to see a group of Terrible Terrors heading towards us. I sit up straight as they drop gracefully onto the sand, but Kent doesn’t seem to be concerned. The tiny dragons hesitate, instantly recognising him. There’s an awkward moment where no one knows what to do.

    The group starts to transform, their bodies growing instead of shrinking like Kent’s. They remain small, for humans, though their eyes almost seem too big, still resembling their dragon counterparts. There’s two women and three men, and I concentrate on their faces, because they are all completely naked. They’re understandably wary of me. I must look obviously human.

    “Stand down,” Kent tells them, almost lounging back. His tone is lazy, but it still somehow commands their attention. “This human is not our enemy.”

    “Can you be sure of that?” one of the men asks, eyeing the harness and prosthetic tail fin at our feet.

    “Absolutely,” Kent says firmly.

    Just for a moment, I think I see a flash of something in his eyes, but it’s gone before I can be sure. The visitors hesitate, glancing between themselves. The man who spoke doesn’t seem convinced, and frowns at me.

    “This is unnatural, Kent,” he argues lowly. “You’ll get into big trouble.”

    “That’s my concern, not yours,” Kent tells him sharply. I look up at him, not expecting him to take a tone like that. “He is not to be harmed.”

    “…very well,” the man finally agrees, though he still doesn’t look convinced. “We’ll pass on the message.”

    “See that you do.” Kent nods and lounges back again.

    There must be some kind of dragon hierarchy I’m not aware of, because after a short pause the Terrible Terrors transition back into dragons and are on their way again. I watch them disappear on the horizon and am suddenly struck with the overwhelming realisation that this is a lot bigger than I thought.

    “Everything we know about you guys is wrong,” I murmur, a little awed.

    I look up at him, but he glances away, appearing a little uneasy. He gives a half shrug, drawing patterns in the sand.

    “There’s a lot more to it than you realise,” he admits quietly.

    I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. Then too much time passes, and it would be weird if I speak now so I don’t, looking back to the ocean instead. I feel him transition beside me, and a moment later I’m leaning against a dragon’s huge torso instead of a human’s shoulder. He feels safer as a dragon, and I’m starting to understand that. I can’t blame him. I’d probably feel safer too.

  Chapter Ten

I flick my pencil upwards and listlessly watch it roll back down the slanted desk. The candle burns low, casting dancing shadows over my sketches, but I don’t have the energy to change it. Today’s flying session has left me exhausted, but my mind just won’t settle. It’s racing with so many thoughts about these dragons. They’re completely different to how I imagined. Those Terrible Terrors had every opportunity to murder me where I sat.

    Kent’s behaviour had been a little odd too. What kind of authority did he have over them that I wasn’t aware of? They knew him, and had obeyed his wishes, albeit reluctantly. This whole thing is just mind-boggling. I’m honestly not sure what I’m going to do. We miraculously haven’t had a dragon raid in the few weeks I’ve known Kent, but I know it’s only a matter of time. I think he does too. He always watches the sky at nightfall, like he’s waiting for something.

    A huge shadow suddenly blocks the doorway and I bolt up in surprise. I’d only left it open for the nightly breeze and hadn’t even heard anyone approach. My dad stands there, tall, proud, as intimidating as ever. He looks weary, his shoulders burdened with the weight of chiefdom. It’s not a weight I’m looking forward to. I suddenly remember the sketches of Kent and the prosthetics covering my desk and I fling my arms over them.

    “Dad! You’re back!” I turn slightly to face him on the bench, carefully hiding the contents of my desk from view. He’s never cared much about what I work on, and I’m frantically hoping that’s still the case. “Bad Bob’s not here, so…”     “I know. I came looking for you,” my dad replies simply, shrugging his massive shoulders.

    “You did?” My heart starts to sink.

    “You’ve been keeping secrets,” he tells me sternly and my heart practically plummets into my boots.

    “I have?” I push the papers aside, hoping he thinks I’m just tidying up for the night.

    “Just how long did you think you could hide it from me?” he demands, taking a step inside. He fills up the whole room.

    “I don’t know what you’re…”

    “Nothing happens on this island that I don’t know about,” he interrupts me, his voice so cold it sends a shiver down my spine. I’m well and truly fucked.

    “Oh?”

    “So. Let’s talk about that dragon,” he says darkly.

    The candlelight flickers even more and I know the colour is draining from my face. He’s going to kill me. And then he’s going to kill Kent. My only option is to beg.

    “Oh gods. Dad I’m so sorry. I was going to tell you. I just didn’t know how to—”

    He starts laughing, big and booming in the small workshop. My words die in my throat and I stare at him, utterly baffled.

    “You’re not…upset?” I ask hesitantly, watching him with wide eyes.

    “What?! I was hoping for this!” He grins, and I can see his eyes dancing even in the dim light.

    “Uh, you were?” I gasp, unable to resist feeling a little elated with relief.

    “And believe me, it only gets better. Just wait until you spill a Nadder’s guts for the first time. And mount your first Gronkle head on a spear. What a feeling!” he gushes excitedly.

    He’s oblivious as my expression sinks. Bad Bob must have told him about my progress in training. He thinks I’m a budding dragon trainer. The disappointment leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. He suddenly claps my back enthusiastically, nearly sending me stumbling into the wall.

    “You really had me going there, son. All those years of the worst Viking Samwell has ever seen! Odin, it was rough. I almost gave up on you!” He looks obviously delighted, not noticing my ironic grimace. “All the while, you were holding out on me! Thor almighty!”

    He grabs a small stool and sits before me. He looks almost comical, his huge, bulking frame perched so delicately on such a tiny seat. And he gazes up at me with this overjoyed expression that reminds me of an excited puppy. If that puppy is a huge, moustachioed Viking.

    “Ah, with you doing so well in the ring, we finally have something to talk about,” he sighs happily.

    He rests his chin on his hands and his elbows on his knees, watching me expectantly. I avert my eyes, completely lost for words at this point. There’s a long, pregnant pause that soon becomes awkward when it’s apparent I have nothing to say. He clears his throat and straightens up a little, looking a little less excited.

    “I brought you something. To keep you safe in the ring.”

    He reaches to his belt and unhooks a small, horned helmet I didn’t notice before. I accept it with a quiet and awed thanks and inspect it. It’s probably a little too big for me, but it’s neat and well made. I slide my fingers along the intricate carving, feeling an odd kind of connection to it.

    “Your mother would have wanted you to have it. It’s half of her breast plate.” He taps his own helmet, smiling fondly and looking far away, just for the briefest moments. “Matching set. Keeps her close, you know?”

    I grimace, a little uncomfortable at holding something that was so close to my mother’s bosom. It still belonged to her though, and I couldn’t help feeling attached to it already. Anything of hers is treasured dearly in our house. Gods, I miss her.

    “Wear it proudly. You deserve it. You’ve held up your end of the deal,” he tells me, beaming.

    His expression makes me squirm. I feel like such a fraud, but I just can’t bring myself to open my mouth and tell him about Kent. Gods, I’m such a coward. I yawn, feigning tiredness, though I feel anything but.

    “I should really get to bed.”

    He stands, eager to take the escape route just as much as I am. He nods, overzealous, and we both open our mouths to speak at the same time.

    “Yes. Okay. Good talk. See you back at the house. I’m glad I stopped by. I hope you like the hat.”

    “Good. We should do this again. Great. Thanks for stopping by. And for the uh…breast hat.”

    Breast hat?! Gods, why do I say such ridiculous things? My dad leaves with an awkwardly mumbled goodnight and disappears back into the night. I groan dramatically and collapse back onto my desk. I am such an idiot. How did I get into such a mess? I’ve no idea what I’m going to do in the arena tomorrow but obviously my dad is expecting some kind of amazing dragon slaying. The thought makes me sick.

    I stay at the workshop for another hour, until I’m sure he’s fallen asleep. I’m grateful he’s home safe, I really am, but everything was a bit simpler when he was away. Now he’s back, the guilt is crushing me again. I tiptoe into the house and can instantly hear him snoring away in his room upstairs. I slip into mine, but it’s a long time before sleep comes, and even when it does it’s fitful.

    Dad leaves before me in the morning and we don’t get time to chat, which is probably for the best. I feel sick to my stomach with nerves. Today is a test and I don’t know what to do. I could let Jack kill the dragon, he’s certainly more than capable, and I know that earning his father’s pride would mean so much to him. But the thought of another dragon dying by our hand is unacceptable. I can’t let it happen.

    I dress, skip breakfast, and make my way to the arena, but it’s all a blur. I can’t seem to get my brain to work properly. I think people wish me luck as they hurry excitedly to their seats, but I don’t hear them. It’s only when I’m standing in the ring with a Gronkle soaring above that everything snaps back into focus. The crowd’s roaring is deafening, the dust is choking my chest and there’s a sprinkling of sweat on the back of my neck.

    The Gronkle dives and sends my recruits scrambling. I stagger back out of its way, behind a huge outcrop of rock that had been lugged in to serve as a shelter. I try to gather my wits, but my brain is completely fried. A moment later, Jack joins me to escape a spew of lava, and he fixes me with his trademarked glare, pointing his axe at me.

    “Stay out of my way,” he warns me. “I’m winning this thing.”

    “Please. By all means,” I reply, though I don’t really mean it.I don’t think I could watch Jack spear the Gronkle, but I still don’t have any ideas myself.

    He darts off, and I’m not sure if he even heard me. He rolls off, the picture-perfect Viking as he storms towards the Gronkle. The crowd cheers him on, stamping their feet and screaming themselves hoarse. I stand up and spot my dad in the stands, beaming with pride. He catches my eye and gives me a nod of encouragement that only makes my gut churn. I adjust my new helmet before it slips down in front of my eyes again and give him a half-hearted smile in return.

    I turn, expecting to see Jack lunging for the Gronkle with his axe poised. Instead I have to duck quickly, the Gronkle’s teeth mere centimetres from my throat. It’s so close I can smell its putrid breath. Without thinking I reach out and press my fingers to the sensitive spot by its ears, the one that made Kent’s leg repeatedly stamp the ground in pleasure when I rubbed it. The Gronkle drops like a stone, its tongue lolling out as its body is overwhelmed with bliss, like a dog when you pet its belly. I didn’t even mean to do it. It was like instinct.

    Jack is furious. He lets out a snarl and slams the hilt of his axe against the weapons rack, making it judder violently. I can’t blame him. I hate stealing this victory from him, but it’s better than the alternative. The crowd screams its approval, and everyone looks to our village elder, a wizened old man named Johnson who always keeps his face covered and spouts strange existential proverbs, for his judgement.

    I take it as my cue to leave, not wanting to be around to hear what he had to say. I try to slip off unnoticed but Bad Bob appears behind me, snagging the back of my jacket and stopping me in my tracks.

    “Not so fast,” he tells me, hiding his amused smirk.

    “I’m kinda late for—”

    “What?” Jack snarls at me, looking absolutely livid. “Late for what, exactly?”

    My dad holds out his huge hands, silencing everyone. I can only wish to command that kind of respect one day. Everyone shuts up, watching Johnson with wide, expectant eyes. Bad Bob points to his son but Johnson shakes his head. I see the bright hopeful light in Jack’s eyes die out before he schools his face into a neutral expression and it breaks my heart. Bad Bob points to me and Johnson nods. My heart sinks as the crowd explodes around us.

    “You’ve done it, you’ve done it, Bitty! You get to kill the dragon,” Bad Bob grins, clapping me heartedly on the back. If he’s disappointed that his son didn’t win, he doesn’t show it, but the look Jack fires me is practically murderous.

    “That’s my boy!” I hear my dad yell gleefully from the stands.

    The other recruits are cheering too, and Shitty and Ransom hoist me up onto their shoulders before I can do anything. I feign excitement, if only for my dad’s benefit, but it’s killing me. There’s a big celebration, where my dad gloats and I just want to disappear into my chair. It’s near dark when I can finally escape, and I flee to the house. I’m barely thinking, and I pack a bag with trembling hands, unable to see another way out.

    “I am so leaving!” I announce to the cove a short while later. Kent is nowhere to be seen, probably skulking off somewhere hunting fish. I continue to rant, knowing he could still hear me. “We’re leaving. Let’s pack up. Looks like you and me are taking a little vacation, forever.”

    I dump my bag down dejectedly, planting my hands on my hips. I let out a breath that ruffles my untidy fringe, staring down at my scant supplies. A sharp, short screech makes me jump and I whip my head up, spotting Jack perched on a huge boulder casually sharpening his axe. Fuck. I must be distracted if I didn’t hear him following me.

    “What are you doing here?” I ask, hoping my voice didn’t tremble too much.

    He gracefully hops off the rock, casting aside the flint he was using. He looks calm, composed, a contrast to his earlier fury. He spins his axe, attempting to look casual, but I know it’s a threat. My eyes dart around, looking everywhere for Kent. There’s no sign of him.

    “I want to know what’s going on,” he says, slowly walking towards me. I stumble back. “No one just gets as good as you do. Especially you. Start talking! Are you training with someone?” he demands, brow furrowing.

    “Uh, training?” I repeat, a little confused. His eyes fly to the harness around my chest and he grabs it with lightning quick reflexes.

    “It better not involve…this,” he sneers.

    “I know this looks really bad,” I say hastily, holding up my palms to mollify him. “But you see, this is…uh…”

    A loud rustling in the bushes disturbs us both. Jack is instantly suspicious, and lets me go to investigate, his eyes narrowed as he tries to peer into the growing darkness.

    “You’re right!” I announce loudly in a panic. “You’re right. I’m through with the lies. I’ve been making…outfits! So, you got me. It’s time everyone knew. Drag me back. Go ahead. Here we go.”

    I grab his arm and place his hand to my chest, insinuating he really should drag me back. He snatches his arm back and shoves me roughly, making me stumble. I can see the anger burning in his eyes again and I feel guilty once more.

    “You lied to me, Bitty,” he hisses. “You’ve lied to everyone!”

    He’s interrupted by a growl on the other side of the cove. I recognise it and my heart sinks. We look over to see Kent prowling towards us, his teeth bared, and body arched as if ready to pounce at any moment. Jack instantly tackles me to the ground, the surprise and panic evident on his face. I groan in pain as my shoulder hits the floor – he’s a lot heavier than he looks.

    “Get down, run, run!”

    Jack staggers up in a split-second and lifts his axe, preparing to lunge. It’s touching that he’s so quick to defend me, but I instantly panic, images of his blood spilling out onto the ground flashing before my eyes. I scramble to my feet and forcefully knock Jack’s axe askew and out of his hands, screaming at Kent to stop. He stops his pounce short and skids, spraying us both with sand.

    “He’s a friend,” I tell Kent breathlessly, holding out my palms between them. Kent snorts in disagreement but Jack stares, horrified. “You just scared him,” I tell Jack, trying not to sound like I was scolding him.

    “I scared him?” Jack splutters, his eyes bulging as he takes in Kent’s dark, svelte form. “Who is him?”

     “Jack, Kent. Kent, Jack,” I sigh, waving my hands between them in a lacklustre introduction.

    Jack looks between us, and I can tell he’s warring with himself. His fright wins, and he turns and bolts, heading straight for the village. Great.

    “We’re dead,” I say dryly. Kent, satisfied with Jack’s departure, starts to pad off. “Where do you think you’re going?”

    Kent rolls his big eyes at me, clearly more interested in whatever he was doing before. I shake my head and hop gracefully onto his back, clipping the harness to his saddle in one smooth motion. He grumbles as I steer him around, but he obediently launches us into the air, his massive wings beating down the bushes around us. By now, we have flying down to an art.

    Jack hasn’t got far. Kent swoops down effortlessly and scoops him up in his arms, thankfully gentle. Jack however lets out a startled yell and kicks his legs, understandably terrified. We soar high, levelling out once we reach the treetops. There, Kent carefully perches on the top branches of a pine tree. It sags and creaks under his weight but holds, and Jack dangles a hundred feet in the air. A tiny part of me relishes the pale, petrified look on his face.

    “Bitty! Get me down from here!” he shrieks, voice shrill with fear.

    “You have to give me a chance to explain,” I insist.

    “I’m not listening to anything you have to say!” he argues, sounding childish.

    “Then I won’t speak. Just let me show you,” I say diplomatically. “Please, Jack.”

    I extend my hand, praying he’ll take it. If I can just show him how wonderful Kent really is, how amazing flying through the sky is, I’m sure he’ll understand. Jack eyes me for a moment, then Kent warily, then the ground below, where the cove looks minuscule. That seems to make up his mind. He swats my hand away and reluctantly climbs over the pedal, lines and harness. He settles behind me, avoiding as much contact as physically possible. It’s a start.

    “Now get me down,” he says stiffly.

    “Kent, down. Gently,” I stress, knowing he probably has other ideas.

    As predicted, he leers mischievously. He slowly spreads his wings, and I swear he’s showing off the span of them. They fill with the updraft, and for a moment we just hover in place. I take a breath, hoping he was going to swoop down carefully like I’d asked.

    “See? Nothing to be frightened of,” I say to soothe Jack, but even I can tell I don’t sound so sure.

    Kent suddenly launches himself straight upward. Jack yelps at the enormous acceleration and I instantly grab the handles tightly, my stomach swooping. Every downbeat of his wings bucks the saddle, heaving us into the sky and doubling our speed like a rocket. Jack is thrown backwards, and he yells, winding his arms around me and holding on for dear life. It’s something I’ve always dreamed of, but certainly not like this.

    “Kent!” I scold, my heart pounding in my chest as I scream to be heard over the rushing wind. “What is wrong with you? Bad dragon! He’s not usually like this,” I add to Jack, mortified.

    My face pales as I realise what Kent intends to do. Kent abruptly rolls and plummets down towards the coastline, the instant change in direction making me nauseous. My foot moves on instinct, controlling the prosthetic fin so we don’t plunge to our deaths. Within seconds we’re soaring over the ocean, and the little shit purposely dips and showers us in salty froth. Jack is screaming in my ear and I briefly wonder if I’ll ever be able to hear again.

    “Kent! What are you doing?! We need him to like us!”

    Kent completely ignores me, heading skywards once more. The damp on our clothes instantly dries in the whooshing air. He begins tumbling head over the tail like some glorious dance, and all the blood in my body rushes to my head as we loop.

    “And now the spinning. Thanks for nothing, you useless reptile,” I say as dryly as I can muster, hoping he realises just how thoroughly unimpressed I am with his obnoxious display. Behind me, Jack clenches his eyes shut and presses his face into my shoulder, despite being a head taller.

    “Okay! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Just get me off this thing!” he begs, his hands digging into my sides.

    There’s not an ounce of aggression left in him, and that seems to appease Kent. He levels off, heading up at a steady pace to glide through the clouds. Jack, sensing the change, slowly opens his eyes to look. I hide my smile, knowing how he sees a world he’s never even dreamed of. The awe is obvious on his face and he’s never looked more gorgeous. The setting sun makes his eyes glow and he reaches out to skim his fingertips through the clouds. He grins, despite himself, and I know I’ve won him over.

    Kent rises above the blanket of clouds and emerges into a cloak of stars. The sky darkles around us, and the Northern Lights dance just beyond our reach, scattering a rainbow of colours along the horizon. They seem close enough to touch, but so far away at the same time. Below us, Samwell’s torches flicker in the inky darkness, and it’s truly beautiful. Wordlessly, Jack’s arms slide into my vest and he closes the space between us, resting his chin on my shoulder.

    The movement takes my breath away, and instantly I know something between us has changed. I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s like we’re leaving everything behind as we climb past Samwell’s tallest peaks and head out to open water. If I look back, will I see the little bits of worry and stress falling away from us? Probably not, but it feels like it’s just us, Eric and Jack and Kent, without the weight of the world.

    “Alright, I admit it,” Jack murmurs softly, breaking the little spell we were under. His voice tickles my ear and gives me goose bumps. “This is pretty cool. It’s…amazing.” He pauses, then lightly pats Kent’s side appreciatively. “He’s amazing.”

    I smile gently, my heart swelling with something I can’t place. I lightly squeeze Kent’s sides with my heels, letting him know I agree. Right now, I can’t think of anything more incredible than gliding through the night sky with Jack’s arms around my waist.

    “So, what now?”

    I groan. Every little worry we just shed comes piling back, a million times heavier. It’s a problem without an answer.

    “Bitty. Your final exam is tomorrow,” Jack needlessly reminds me. “You know you’re going to have to…kill a dragon.” He whispers that last part, clearly not wanting up upset Kent.

    “Don’t remind me,” I sigh, but it’s too late.

    Of course, Jack has to ruin it. That boy. 

Chapter Eleven

We only fly for another twenty minutes or so before we notice a steadily growing din around us. It’s a strange hum that makes our ears ache and Kent’s flicker upwards, scanning the area. Spooked, he dips below the clouds and I can see him twitching with a growing panic.

    “Kent. What’s happening? What is it?” I hiss, leaning close.

    He gives a short, low bark, and I somehow know he’s telling me to be quiet. Jack presses close to my back, looking around us warily. Out of the dense cloud, a Monstrous Nightmare appears and my heart jumps into my throat. Jack and I duck as low as we can manage, but the Nightmare doesn’t even glance at us. A Zippleback appears on Kent’s right, effectively boxing us in. My pulse is starting to quicken, and I hope Jack can’t feel the sweat starting to appear on my back.

    “What’s going on?” he whispers in my ear, clearly hoping I knew what was happening.

    “I don’t know. Kent. You’ve gotta get us out of here, sweetheart,” I murmur.

    Kent hisses quietly. Other dragons, previously invisible in the thick clouds start to appear around us. There are probably hundreds, all different kinds, and they’re all carrying fish or struggling animals. Their snouts point unrelentingly in the direction they’re heading, like nothing can break their focus.

    “It looks like they’re hauling in their kill.” I quickly shut up as the Nightmare beside us swivels his eyes towards me. He looks ravenous.

    “What does that make us?” Jack asks nervously.

    I don’t pay any notice to the question. I trust Kent with my life. There’s no way he can get us out of this right now without being swarmed. The dragons bank and dive in formation, plummeting through the thickening fog and weaving between towering, craggy sea stacks. I’m grateful the pedals for the prosthetic are smooth and oiled, drawing as little attention as possible. The last thing we need is our company discovering Kent has a weakness they can exploit.

    We emerge at the base of a massive volcanic caldera, glowing with rivulets of lava. The flock of dragons fall into rank, funnelling through a crack, and zipping through a winding tunnel. The temperature instantly drops. It gives way to a vast, steamy inner chamber, tiered with crumbly shelves and overhangs. Dragons lay about, nesting in hordes and watching the entrances with beady eyes. The arriving ones soar in, dropping the fish and game into a central pit that was glowing red and shrouded in mist.

    “What my dad wouldn’t give to find this,” I breathe in awe.

    Kent peels away from the procession, landing on a small, shadowy shelf to keep a low-profile. No one notices. The heat of the pit is dry and rolls by us in waves. We peek around the rock, watching the busy hive continue to drop their food into the gigantic pit. Sheep and cattle cry as they fall, but we don’t hear them hit the bottom.

    “It’s satisfying to know all of our food is being dropped down a hole,” I comment wryly.

    “They’re not eating any of it,” Jack frowns.

    The last to arrive is a slow, dim-witted Gronkle. It hovers over the pit and regurgitates his paltry contribution -- a pathetic little fish. As it falls into the steamy chasm, a terrible roar rings out, shaking pebbles and the rocks around us. The Gronkle realises it’s made a mistake and tries to flee, but before it can, a gargantuan dragon head; grey, wrinkled and bony with dark, calculating eyes, juts out from the pit and snaps it from the air, swallowing it back whole. The crunching noise is sickening, and Jack and I instantly recoil in horror.

    “What is that?” Jack gasps, his own eyes wide. I can see his knuckles growing white as he clutches the rock.

    The dragons around us cower, pressing themselves into the rock in fright. The monstrous beast sniffs the air, like it’s seemingly aware of us. My blood turns to ice. It turns towards the ledge where we’re hiding and lets out another almighty roar. The rush of breath is hot and putrid, and spittle flies in our direction. Several dragons take flight in a frenzy.

    “Alright, Kenny, we gotta get outta here, now!” I cry, clutching the handles of his saddle.

    Kent launches into the air, barely avoiding the monster’s snapping jaws. It lunges for us but changes its mind mid-strike and snatches a poor Zippleback out of the air instead. It’s distracted by its meal and Kent vanishes in the winged exodus as thousands of dragons flee the caldera in fear. The cold air cools the sweat on my face and I only breathe out in relief when we break out into the night.

    We’re silent the whole way home, stiff and sore and scared. Jack’s hands don’t unclench from around my waist until we land, safe and sound, in the moonlit cove. We dismount, and my legs feel like jelly when they finally touch the ground. Jack is twitchy, and he grabs my arm in a death grip.

    “It totally makes sense. It’s like a giant beehive. They’re the workers…and that’s their queen. It controls them. Let’s find your dad.” He starts to yank me away but panic flashes through me and I pull myself free.

    “No, no! Not yet,” I argue desperately. “They’ll kill Kent. We have to think this through carefully, Jack.”

    He looks incredulous, glancing back at Kent. He’s watching us with a neutral expression, like he’s waiting to see what we’d do.

    “Bitty,” Jack says impatiently. “We just discovered the dragons’ nest…the thing we’ve been after since Vikings first sailed here. And you want to keep it a secret? To protect your pet dragon? Are you serious?”

    Kent can’t take it any longer. A moment later he’s a man again, shoulders broad and brows furrowed in anger. I can just about see his freckles in the moonlight. Jack’s shocked expression as he takes a step back is almost comical.

    “I am not a pet,” Kent snarls, inches away from Jack’s face. He’s not quite as tall, but his rage is intimidating, and I can tell it makes Jack think twice. He swallows and nods, realising Kent is far from anyone’s pet, let alone mine.

    “The answer is yes,” I tell Jack, firm and resolute. I hate to stand against him, but this is bigger than us.

  Jack concedes surprisingly quickly, though I don’t know why. His shoulders slump and he looks away in embarrassment, his cheeks tinged with pink. It’s kind of cute.

    “Okay. Then what do we do?” He asks.

    “Just give me until tomorrow, I’ll figure something out,” I sigh in defeat. I have no idea what.

    Jack nods and it falls quiet between us. Kent folds his arms across his chest, his irritancy dissipating when he realises Jack has no fight left in him.

    “You were right, by the way,” he tells Jack. I can tell he’s still a little wary, his shoulders are tense, and his voice is tight. “It is her that controls us, and her ancestors before that. For centuries.”

    “What do you mean?” I frown.

    “It stems back to the First War,” he sighs, and his expression looks haunted.

    I know the war of which he speaks. Human versus dragon in a bid for power. It happened eons ago, when the gods still walked the earth. Legend has it Odin slaughtered hundreds of them, but I don’t know how true that is. What I do know is that since then, the peace was destroyed. There used to be a harmony, I think, but that is never mentioned much. We saw dragons in their human form less and less and the stories grew more and more grandiose, in our favour of course.

    “Our queen was devastated by the defeat and declared that we would never take our human form again, because it is weak and deceitful,” Kent continues. “The monarchy became corrupt and we obey in fear. You saw what happened to the dragons who got in her way.”

    They were eaten or killed. The memory of crunching bones makes me shiver. We know nothing of this. But our people never bothered to find out. We were blinded by our fear and our hatred and caused so many unnecessary deaths. The whole thing is just one huge, bloody mess.

    “We have to stop this.” It’s only then I notice my fists are clenched so hard my nails are digging into my palms.

    “How? You saw how powerful she is,” Kent snorts, kicking at the floor with his stump. It’s a sad sight that makes my gut twist. “There’s no stopping her. It’s all we’ve known for so long. I don’t think we even know how to be people anymore.”

    “I’ll think of something. And I’ll figure out tomorrow too,” I say firmly, but my voice sounds more determined than I feel.

    “Okay,” Jack lets out a breath through his nose.

    Kent’s words seem to have struck a chord in him. He searches my eyes for a moment, then suddenly shoves my shoulder, making me stumble back a bit. I look at him incredulously.

    “That’s for kidnapping me,” he sniffs haughtily.

    My mouth drops, and I look at Kent for support, but he just snorts dismissively. Jack grabs me without warning and I tense, expecting another push of some kind. The unexpected kiss on my cheek though is tender and makes my breath catch in my throat.

    “That’s for everything else.”

    He vanishes before I can even formulate a reply. I stare after him, completely stunned. I slowly raise my hand to my cheek, and it’s like I can still feel the press of his plush lips. I hear Kent cackling behind me and I whirl around to glare at him, unable to stop the blush rising to my face. He only laughs harder.

  Chapter Twelve

I’m standing in the middle of the arena with the sun beating down on my back and the crowd roaring in my ears. I wish I was anywhere but here. The place has been transformed. Flags and banners flap in the wind, all of them emblazoned with my name. They make me feel like a fraud. I’m pretty sure the whole of Samwell has turned up for the event. My father is in the thick of it, clearly enjoying every second of it.

    “Well, I can show my face in public again,” he jokes to his people, who all chuckle knowingly. “If someone had told me that in a few short weeks, Bitty would go from being, well...Bitty, to placing first in dragon training...I would've tied him to a mast and shipped him off for fear he'd gone mad. Yes! And you know it! But here we are. And no one’s more surprised…or more proud than I am. Today, my boy becomes a Viking. Today, he becomes one of us!”

    The crowd erupts with appreciative roars and cheers, but each one of my father’s words is like a knife to the chest. If only he knew what a coward I am. I honestly have no idea how to stop this. If I don’t kill this dragon, then everyone is going to see me for what I really am. But I just can’t bring myself to slay any of Kent’s people. It’s just wrong.

    Jack sidles up to me. I don’t know how he managed to slip past the gates, but I’m grateful. He gives me a supportive smile that makes my heart pound.

    “Be careful with that dragon,” he warns.

    “It’s not the dragon I’m worried about,” I admit with a sigh, glancing back up at the crowd.

    “What are you going to do?” he asks. His hand jerks, like he was going to squeeze my shoulder but thinks better of it.

    I have no choice. I refuse to fight this dragon. A new resolve starts to blossom inside me. I’m going to make them see there’s another way.

    “Put an end to this,” I say decidedly. “I have to try. Jack. If something goes wrong…just make sure they don’t find Kent,” I beg him.

    “I will,” he promises, his expression grim. “Just promise it won’t go wrong.”

    I can’t do that, and he knows it. Bad Bob approaches, his face kind, and claps his son on the shoulder. He gives me a nod and I lift my mom’s breastplate helmet on my head.

    “It’s time, Bitty. Knock ‘em dead,” Bob tells me.

    I take a breath and step forward as they retreat. The crowd hollers themselves hoarse. I can vaguely hear my fellow recruits screaming excitedly. It’s touching, but I can’t bring myself to look at them. I do look at my dad though, and he gives me an encouraging smile. I try to return it, but it quickly drops from my face. I hoist my shield further up my arm, ignoring how it aches already. I eye the weapons rack, and eventually choose a small knife I know I won’t end up using.

    I turn to face the heavy, bolted door and take another deep breath. It does nothing to calm my nerves. The bolt is raised, and it feels like everything is moving in slow motion. The crowd finally hushes, and I can hear the blood pumping in my ears. My hand is trembling, so I grip the knife harder. There’s a deep booming that reverberates around the ring and makes the rocks on the floor quiver.

    The doors blast open with a stream of sticky fire. It’s followed by a Monstrous Nightmare, coated in flames and looking furious. It tears out of the cave like an irate bull and I grimace as I hear the crowd jeering, knowing that would only piss it off even more. It climbs the walls and chain enclosure like a bat, gripping with the gnarled hooks on its wings.

    It hisses at the provoking crowd but soon spots me and descends, leering and licking at the flaming drool dripping from its lips. The onlookers go silent again in anticipation, and for the briefest of seconds I can hear my own, panicked breathing. It’s now or never. With the Monstrous Nightmare’s eyes locked on me, I extend my arms and deliberately toss down my shield and knife. They clang to the floor like a tolling bell and I take a definitive step away from them.

    The dragon pauses, confused, then begins to edge towards me, almost like a curious animal. How to show him that I mean no harm? I cast my mind back to the first time Kent honoured me with his human form. I don’t know if this will work, but it’s worth a shot. I outstretch my palm towards it, but it snarls threateningly. I notice its big, orange eyes flickering towards my helmet. I take a breath to acknowledge the point of no return, then reach up and remove it from my head. I toss it aside.

    “I’m not one of them.”

    I can almost hear the crowd collectively gasp and murmur amongst themselves. I’m glad I can’t see my dad’s face. He’s probably furious, and rightly so. But the dragon is obviously calming down, and I hold my hand out once more.

    “Stop the fight.” My dad’s voice is dangerously calm.

  “No, I need you all to see this. They’re not what we think they are. We don’t have to kill them,” I say, my voice surprisingly steady.

    “I SAID STOP THE FIGHT!”

    His scream stops me dead. There’s a horrendous clang, probably from his hammer being slammed against the railings, and it’s enough to rattle the entire enclosure. Spooked, the Nightmare snaps at my outstretched hand and I only just manage to wrench it back in time. The spell is broken, and it reacts to my sudden movements, screaming and blasting a stream of fire. I yelp and dive to the side, but my jacket is singed.

    I immediately scramble up and run, but the Nightmare pursues, snapping and springing from wall to floor. I hear Jack screaming my name somewhere to the right and I try to run towards him. I have no time to think about how genuinely terrified I am. I briefly consider the weapons rack as I pass it, but as soon as I think about arming myself, it erupts in flame. It’s closing in on me.

    A hammer whistles through the air and smacks the Nightmare square in the face. It snarls in anger and with a sinking feeling I realise Jack has somehow made his way into the ring. The dragon heads straight for him. Before I have time to react, I notice my dad on the far side of the arena, frantically waving us both toward him. Jack is thankfully closer, and sprints in that direction.

    I follow as fast as I can, my legs screaming with the effort. My hair is damp with sweat, making it stick to my forehead. Jack clears the gate and my dad pulls him to safety. Before I can reach it though, the Nightmare blasts the ground in front of the doorway and a wall of fire springs up in my way. I skid to a halt. I’m trapped. It pounces before me and rears back, preparing to finish me off. I close my eyes and brace myself, hoping it’s quick.

    Suddenly, a terrible roar pierces the din. I hear Bad Bob yell about a Night Fury and I instantly wrench my eyes open. I look up to see Kent bounding through the screaming crowd, snarling in anger. He blasts a hole through the chain enclosure and disappears in the boiling smoke. The crowd rush to the railings in time to see a flurry of wings cut through the dissipating haze. I scramble back as Kent and the Nightmare tumble into the clear, locked in a toothy, vicious fight.

    I’m frozen to the spot, unable to do anything but stare. It’s the first time I’ve seen Kent look like a malicious animal and it’s terrifying. He manages to kick the Nightmare off him and send it backwards. He plants himself protectively in front of me and roars deafeningly. I have no idea how he managed to get here but I’m so grateful he has. The Nightmare circles, but I can tell it’s wary now by its hesitation. Kent lunges towards him, teeth thrashing, and it’s enough to make the other dragon relent and back away.

    “Alright, Kent, go. Get out of here!”

    Before anyone can attack, I fling myself at Kent’s side, grabbing hold of him defensively. The crowd gasps in shock, but it’s not long before they grow livid. I try pushing Kent away, but he refuses to budge. Vikings begin clambering through the enclosure, yelling furiously and brandishing their weapons. A new wave of panic washes over me as I notice my father leading the charge, his hammer held high.

    “Dad! No! He won’t hurt you!”

    My screaming is futile. The other Vikings surround us and start to attack, wielding their hammers with yells and sneers. Kent tosses them aside like ragdolls, but his eyes remain on my father, like he knows he’s the real threat.     “No, don’t! You’re only making it worse!”

    My voice is cracking now and no matter how hard I tug on Kent’s harness he won’t stop, blind in his attempts to protect me. My dad leaps to attack, and Kent throws me aside and meets him head on with a pounce. They tumble together, but Kent manages to pin him with ease. To my horror he opens his mouth wide and inhales. There’s the familiar build of gas and everyone braces. I scream so desperately it tears my throat.

    “Kent! Stop! NO!”

    To my relief, Kent swallows the blast. He looks back at me, not understanding why I don’t want this man dead. In that split second the crowd rushes in, piling on him and taking him down. I throw myself at them only to find Jack holding me back. He’s stronger than I am, and easily clamps me to his chest as I struggle fruitlessly.

    “No! Please...just don’t hurt him. Please don’t hurt him,” I beg, sounding completely wrecked.

    My dad gets to his feet, fuming and shaken. A Viking presses an axe into his hand and for one horrifying moment I think he is going to slice Kent’s throat. Instead he hands the weapon back and I nearly collapse.

    “Put it with the others!” He commands, his voice shaking with fury.

    It genuinely breaks my heart to see the Vikings guiding my friend away. He looks sad and defeated, dragging his tail as he walks easily. He’s locked in the cave and the second Jack lets me go, I fall to my knees, sobbing in despair. My father drags me back up by the back of my jacket a second later. He shoves me through the crowd and I have never felt so humiliated, tears streaming down my cheeks. He doesn’t speak, and roughly heaves me into the nearest building that allows us some privacy – the Great Hall.

    The massive doors rattle and echo as they slam shut behind us. I stagger but don’t trip, and my dad storms past me, his cloak a whirlwind behind him. He paces against a backdrop of shadowy tapestries and carved pillars - a legacy of heroes, all peering down in angered judgement.

    “I should have known, I should have seen the signs,” he mutters, fists clenched at his side. He ignores my weak calling of his name and snorts at me. “We had a deal!”

    “I know we did,” I reply, tearful and flustered. “But that was before…ugh, it’s all so messed up.”

    “So, everything in the ring. A trick? A lie?” he snaps, glaring at me with pure hatred.

    “I screwed up. I should have told you before now. Take this out on me, be mad at me, but please…just don’t hurt Kent,” I beg him desperately. The threat of Kent’s death is still very real and rips at my heart with each passing second.

    “The dragon? That’s what you’re worried about? Not the people you almost killed?” my dad thunders, his eyes ablaze.

    “He was just protecting me! He’s not dangerous!” I insist.

    “They’ve killed hundreds of us!” he snarls, looking like he was only just holding himself back from striking me.

    “And we’ve killed thousands of them!” I snap back, a bolt of fury lighting me up from the inside. “They defend themselves, that’s all. They raid us because they have to. If they don’t bring enough food back, they’ll be eaten themselves. There’s something else on their island, dad. It’s a dragon, like—”

    He huffs, cutting me off. He points a shaking finger at me and my heart sinks.

    “…their island? So, you’ve been to the nest.”

    “…did I say island?” I ask weakly, but it’s too late. I fall silent, knowing I’ve said too much.

    “How did you find it?!” he demands, almost looking insane. I’ve never seen him like this and it’s terrifying, makes me trip and stumble over my words in a panic.

    “No…I didn’t. Kent did. Only a dragon can find the island,” I stress, hoping to get that through his skull.

    He glares at me and a long moment passes. I can see the exact moment an idea forms in his head. His eyes flare up again and he stomps towards the doorway.

   “Oh, no. Dad, no.” I chase after him, panicked. “Dad. It’s not what you think. You don’t know what you’re up against. It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen.” I grab his arm, tugging with all my might, but it makes no difference. “Dad. Please. I promise you can’t win this one. Dad, no. For once in your life, would you please just listen to me?!”

    It’s a scream of frustration that finally makes him react. He throws me off him and I crash to the floor, hard. I wince in pain, nothing broken, but we’re both still in shock. There’s an icy stillness.

    “You’ve thrown your lot in with them,” he mutters, his voice stinging like a knife. “You’re not a Viking. You’re not my son.”

    He pushes through the doors and before I can even leap to my feet they smash shut. I throw myself at them just as I hear the lock fall into place. I scream and beat my fists upon the wood, but they don’t even budge. I can hear him yelling, I can’t make the words, but I don’t need to. He’s going to take Kent and hunt for the nest. I pound and shriek until my voice dies in my throat and my knuckles are bruised but I’m still not let out.

    I lose track of time. The dried tears itch on my cheeks and my body aches something terrible. I can’t even say how I’m feeling, but I know I’m a wreck. It’s at least an hour later when someone finally opens the doors. I streak past them in a blur, praying that they hadn’t already left. I race to the cliffside where there’s a perfect view of the docks.

    The ships are sailing into the distance.

    I clutch the rockface as something inside me breaks. They’re going to die, every last one of them, and I’m powerless to stop it. I stay until they’ve disappeared on the horizon, but even then, I still don’t move. At some point, I hear footsteps behind me, but I don’t need to look to know who it is.

    “It’s a mess. You must feel horrible. You’ve lost everything. Your father, your tribe, your best friend,” Jack murmurs, standing next to me to watch the tide drawing in.

    “Thank you for summing that up,” I say bitterly. I sigh immediately afterwards, my shoulders slumping. “Why couldn’t I have killed that dragon when I found him in the woods? It would have been better for everyone.”

    “Yep,” Jack agrees easily. “And the rest of us would have done it. So why didn’t you?”

    I shake my head, I really don’t know. Jack’s eyes glimmer, and I suddenly realise he’s after something.

    “Why didn’t you?” he repeats.

    “I don’t know.”

    “That’s not an answer.”

    “Why is this so important to you all of a sudden?” I snap, irritated by his pushiness.

    “Because I want to remember what you say right now,” he tells me, something strange in his voice.

    “Oh, for the love of – I was a coward, I was weak! I wouldn’t kill a dragon,” I huffed loudly.

    “You said ‘wouldn’t’ that time,” he pointed out, only succeeding in frustrating me further.

    “Whatever! I wouldn’t! Three hundred years and I’m the first Viking who wouldn’t kill a dragon!” I snarl, throwing my hands up in the air in exasperation.

    “First to ride one though,” Jack reminds me, suspiciously casual. I blink. I’ve never looked at it that way before. I suppose he’s right. “So…”

    “I wouldn’t kill him because he looked as frightened as I was. I looked at him, and saw myself,” I murmur, awed at my own realisation.

    “I bet he’s really frightened now,” Jack says, looking back at the calm ocean for a moment. “What are you going to do about it?”

    I sigh. There’s no getting around it. I have to do something. Gods, I think I’m in love with this man.

    “Probably something stupid,” I snort.

    “Good. But you’ve already done that,” he prompts. I swear he looks playful.

    “Then something crazy,” I reply, the corners of my mouth lifting.

    “That’s more like it.” 

Chapter Thirteen

It’s an insane plan. No, it’s more than insane. It’s too insane even for words. But Jack likes it and his approval means everything to me right now. We race down to the village and I’m surprised at the hope starting to bud in my chest. I don’t know what it was that changed between us yesterday, but I’m grateful. It would be so easy for Jack to scoff in my face and tell me I deserve everything that has happened. But he hasn’t. He supports me.

    I daresay we might even be friends.

    He grabs the other recruits on our way. I wouldn’t feel comfortable barging into their houses and dragging them out, but he does it almost like it’s his job. If the situation weren’t so dire, I’d laugh at everyone’s vaguely stunned faces as he barks orders at them. They’re confused, but as soon as they know it’s about my Night Fury friend and my dad’s ridiculous mission, they’re on board.

    I lead the way into the now-deserted arena. The remnants of the disastrous exam and the horrific fight are everywhere. Banners and flags are scattered over the dusty floor, and no one has bothered to clean up the charred weaponry or anything else. I shake my head free of the memories and head straight to the heavy, bolted doors that house the dragons. The others hang back, understandably wary. I hesitate for only a moment. These might not be as understanding as Kent, and who knows what he told them in the short time he was in captivity?

    But I have to try.

    “If you’re planning on getting eaten, I’d definitely go with the Gronkle,” Ransom tells me dryly, arching a perfectly groomed eyebrow.

    “You were wise to seek help from the world’s deadliest motherfucker,” Shitty announces dramatically, waving an arm with a flourish. He stinks.“…it’s me,” he adds when I don’t react.

    “I love this plan,” Holster assures me. It’s dangerous and idiotic and hot-headed, so of course he would.

    “You’re crazy,” Lardo huffs, shaking her head at me. Then she smirks. “I like that.”

    “So, tell them the plan,” Jack urges me.

  Instead of telling them, I decide to show them. I lift the bolt on the doors and throw them wide. For a long, agonising moment, nothing happens. Then slowly, the dragons emerge from the darkness. There’s four of them, the Monstrous Nightmare, the Deadly Nadder, the Gronkle and the Zippleback. They step out into the sunlight and I finally see the scars littering their bodies and guilt hangs heavily on my heart. If they want to kill us, they’d be entirely justified.

    I take a step forward, unsure how to address them. They stand still and watch me, like they’re waiting for something, but what? It would be better if we could stand eye to eye as equals. I didn’t get chance to try this before, after my dad interrupted my meeting with the Nightmare, and now is as good a time as any to try again.

    “Hold out your hands, like this.” I outstretch my palm towards our company, glad to see it isn’t shaking. “And look away.”

    “Look away?” Holster splutters, fear showing through his bravado. “Are you crazy?”

    “Relax, it’s okay. Just trust me.”

    He bites his lip but does as he’s told. They all do, stretching out their arms and turning their heads away. Holster braces himself, like he’s ready for his hand to be bitten off any second. I glance back at the dragons, then move out of their way. Warily, they close the distance, each of them slowly lowering their snouts into the offered palms. My friends all gasp as one and my shoulders slump in relief as I watch.

    One by one, the dragons morph into humans. The Deadly Nadder in front of Jack shrinks into a tall and slender woman with cascades of golden blonde hair. The Monstrous Nightmare facing Holster becomes a broad-shouldered man, his skin tanned and tattooed. The Gronkle before Ransom is a woman almost as small as a child, but her muscled arms could probably lift ten fully grown men. Finally, the Zippleback transforms into one androgynous looking person, thin and gangly with sharp, clever eyes. They smirk at Lardo and Shitty’s gobsmacked faces.

    It confirms my belief that dragons and humans are far more intertwined than any of us had ever realised.

    My friends stare, drinking in those reptilian features that lingered and marvelling just like I had done. None of the dragons wore a stitch of clothing, and I could tell that Shitty immediately felt like he had found his people. We had always struggled keeping him in clothes. After a moment, nine faces swivel towards me expectantly.

    “If we are to save Kent, and the people of Samwell, and rescue the dragons from their queen, then we need to work together,” I say into the silence, proud that my voice doesn’t tremble. I’ve never felt so sure of myself. “So, let’s cast aside hundreds of years of warfare, and call a truce.”

    It’s the Nadder female that speaks. Her voice is scratchy from neglect, like Kent’s had been. She turns towards me and searches my eyes. I almost feel like she’s searching my soul.

    “Kent was right about you, Eric Bittle,” she murmurs. “You’re a man who can change the world.”

    “I don’t know about that,” I reply awkwardly, a little embarrassed. “I’m just the first guy who wouldn’t kill a dragon.”

    She smiles, like it’s one and the same. She holds out her hand.

    “We accept your truce.”

    We shake hands, and something shifts. It’d be silly to say destinies change in that second, but that’s almost what it feels like. As soon as we separate, everyone rushes forwards. There’s a small commotion as everyone talks over each other, introducing themselves and asking questions, touching tattoos and hair trinkets and furs. If we didn’t have more pressing matters on hand, it would be beautiful.

    “I hate to break up the party guys, but we have a job to do,” I remind them. They all stop abruptly, remembering the mammoth task that lies before us.     “How are we going to get there?” Ransom frowns, looking around us.

    The blonde Nadder smiles again, her blue eyes playful.

    “We fly.” 

Chapter Fourteen

The ride is smooth and quick. I sit with Jack on the female Nadder and she is swift and controlled. I let Jack take the reins and he’s obviously a natural. I swear, is there anything this boy can’t do? The Nadder is responsive to him too, moving as one almost instinctively. The others are a little uncoordinated to begin with but soon pick up the basics. It fills me with pride to see how hard they’re trying to make this work. It also makes me realise just how much effort it took Kent and I to get to where we have.

    There’s a slight breeze from behind, spurring us on, and the sky is clear. There’s a little sun which hopefully won’t cause too much of a problem. I’m not sure what I’m expecting, but if my dad has anything to do with it, there’ll be a brutal fight. It’s probably already begun. I hope we’re not too late.

    The island starts to appear on the horizon. I’m nervous, but I’m also filled with a strange, excited anticipation. If a year ago you’d have thrown me on the back of a dragon smack bang in the middle of a fight with their queen I think I would have melted into a puddle. But now there’s a determination in me that’s bursting to break free. I’m going to end this. I’m going to free these dragons and I am going to end this war.

    As we get closer I see the columns of smoke rising from the sea and my heart sinks. Most of the ships have been destroyed. I try not to let it cloud my mind though, and I instruct Jack to lead the formation. I can see a huge, gaping hole in the mountain where it’s been cracked open like an egg. Dragons teem out of it, circling the skies frantically. Vikings litter the beach, hauling catapults and boulders into place. The gargantuan queen perches at the base of the volcano, spewing fire and roaring so loudly we can feel the shockwaves from up here.

    She’s so huge she makes my father’s crew look like ants. She smashes them like ants too as she descends, crushing anything in her way. She looks like the stuff of nightmares, her grey skin stretched over gaunt bones and rotting teeth. Her wings are tattered and holey, and it looks like she is reluctant to use them. Her gaze is focussed on one thing only, and my stomach churns when I realise she’s gearing up to fire straight at my dad.

    “Okay, we need to redirect that blast,” I shout, hoping the Nadder can hear me over the roar of the wind.

    She moves her head in what I assume to be a nod and bursts forward with an injection of speed. I raise the signal to the others and they’re soon on our tail. No one seems to notice us, their attention understandably locked on the queen and the destruction she is raining down upon them. She opens her mouth wide and inhales, the air rushing in. The Nadder doesn’t even need prompting. There’s a stream of fire before I can even tell her, and it collides with the back of the queen’s head.

    Of course, it isn’t enough to do any damage, but it distracts her from the Vikings scattered on the beach beneath her. We punch through the blossoming smoke, banking across the sky. The others follow, and we roll in unison. I grin, catching the sight of my dad and Bad Bob staring at us all in total awe. It’s short-lived though, and I force myself to get back to the task at hand.

    “Shitty, Lardo, watch your backs. Move, Ransom!”

    The queen shakes off the blast with ease and snaps at our tails as pass. I lead the squadron out of harm’s way, climbing out of reach and circling. I’m proud of how well we’re working together already, humans and dragons uniting seamlessly. It’s the stuff of legends, really.

    “Look at us, we’re on a motherfucking dragon!” Shitty hollers at the Vikings down below, clearly elated.

    “Up, let’s move it!” I shout over him, unable to resist the fond smile. “Ransom, break it down.”

    “Heavily armoured skull and tail made for bashing and crushing. Steer clear of both,” Ransom replies, studying our enemy meticulously. His ability to identify and analyse dragon features in a heartbeat always amazes me. “Small eyes, large nostrils. Relies on hearing and smell.”

    “Okay. Holster, Ransom, hang in its blind spot. Make some noise, keep it confused. Shitty, Lardo, find out if it has a shot limit. Make it mad,” I order, knowing both would relish the opportunity.

    “That’s my specialty,” Lardo crows proudly.

    “Since when? Everyone knows I’m more irritating. See?” Shitty sticks his head in her face, waggling his tongue and making ridiculous noises. I swear the Zippleback rolls both sets of eyes.

    “Just do what I told you,” I say exasperatedly. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

    “Don’t worry brah, we got it covered!” Shitty assures me. I’m not filled with confidence.

    Jack and I peel away from the commotion, careening back towards the ocean. I can hear Shitty and Lardo taunting the queen with insults as we pull away. I gotta say Jack’s arms around my waist feel as good as I remember, but I try not to dwell on it. There are more pressing matters at hand. Like finding Kent. We head over the smouldering ships, and I focus on searching rather than the panic that’s starting to eat away at me.

    I spot him. It’s a ship at the head of the fleet, and it’s steadily burning. Kent is still in dragon form, heavily chained and looking downright defeated. I steer the Nadder over the deck and hand the reins over to Jack. He briefly squeezes my waist and I stop myself from looking back at his face, afraid of what I’ll see. I line up my jump and hop, not giving my brain any time to register the distance. The wind rushes through my hair and my eyes water but I stare hard at the safe part of the deck, aiming my fall.

    I shield my face from the flames, crouching as I land. I spare a second to wave to Jack, showing him I was fine, and he gives me a brief nod before zooming off to help the others. I pelt over to Kent, ducking spitting embers and sparks as the ship continues to burn. He doesn’t notice me at first, but when he instantly starts pulling at his restraints. I unbuckle the muzzle first and he immediately lets out a shriek, probably warning me of the imminent danger we are in. I start working on the chains. Under my hands he morphs into a human again, but the chains bite tighter at his arms as he does so. He’s frantic, trying to help me with clumsy, trembling hands.

    They won’t budge. The links pinch at my fingertips as I try to coax them free, but it’s impossible. Bad Bob welded these chains and without the key I’m not getting them off. I curse and look around for a tool to use, but Kent’s urgent calling of my name makes me look up. Flames are starting to lick my coat and I’m sweating in the growing heat. Through the haze of smoke, I see the huge foot of the queen speeding down over us. It crashes through the frame and smashes the bow under its impressive weight.

    We’re flung through the air as easily as ragdolls and we’re thrown into the water in a maelstrom of burning planks and rigging. It’s freezing, a shocking contrast to the flames, and the salt instantly begins to sting my eyes. I ignore it, concentrating only on Kent’s sinking form just a few feet in front of me. He looks as panicked as I feel. We’re both caught in a mess of rigging, dragged down to the bed in a matter of seconds. The palette Kent is chained to settles into the rocky bottom like an anchor, shooting up clouds of sand. He stops struggling, and that’s what breaks me.

    I refuse to give up. I give another hopeless tug at the chains, my lungs practically burning now from lack of oxygen. There are black spots in my vision and I know my strength is fading. He shakes his head at me, eyes desperate, but I ignore his unspoken plea. I won’t leave him!

    A meaty hand grabs my shoulder. I wrench at it, bubbles streaming from my mouth, but it drags me upwards. The last thing I see is Kent’s shocked eyes beneath me before I break the surface. My head spins at the sudden intake of air and I gulp it down greedily. It takes me a moment to realise it’s my dad who has rescued me. He drags me under the shelter of a hanging rock and doesn’t give me chance to recover before he disappears beneath the crashing waves once more.

    It’s long, agonising minutes before there’s a sudden explosion of water. Kent bursts out of it in his dragon form carrying my father, and I’m so relieved I could collapse. Kent lands gracefully, carefully depositing my dad beside me. He snorts and dances restlessly on the spot, and I instantly fling myself onto his back and begin buckling myself into his saddle. The ground rumbles underfoot and somewhere above us the monster screeches, its massive claws stomping around in the smoke. Kent spreads his wings.

    “Let’s go, honey!”

    My dad unexpectedly grabs my arm, halting me in my tracks. I look down at him and am left speechless by his reproachful look. He’s soaking wet and salt froths on his auburn moustache.

    “Eric. I’m sorry…for everything,” he murmurs sincerely. I swallow, my throat suddenly tight.

    “Yeah…me too,” I manage to admit.

    “You don’t have to go up there,” he says, but we both know I do.

    “We’re Vikings. It’s an occupational hazard.” I smile, and my chest swells when he returns it.

    “I’m proud to call you my son,” he whispers, squeezing my arms.

    “Thanks dad,” I croak, my eyes prickling.

    He nods, then finally lets me go. I take a deep breath and squeeze Kent’s sides with my heels, a silent command. He leaps up into the air and instantly begins to climb. We’re both charged by my father’s belief in us, and rocket into the sky. As we streak through the sky I locate the queen, surrounded by our friends. Of course, Shitty and Lardo are bickering. Is that Holster stranded on the queen’s head? And where is Ransom? What the hell has been going on? Jack soon whips them into shape, issuing orders like he was born to do it.

    The Zippleback sweeps over the irate queen, easily scooping Holster up to share the saddle on one of the long, snake-like necks. To my horror, the queen spots Jack in her way and begins to inhale, the familiar hiss of gas growing louder as it amasses. Sure that Kent is now dry enough to fire, we head in their direction. Jack and the Nadder seem caught in the suction, pulled towards the monster’s gaping mouth.

    Kent shoots a massive blast that jolts the queen’s head sideways. Jack and his Nadder are thrown clear of its mouth but the force also knocks Jack clean out of the saddle. He tumbles through the air and we zoom after him, cutting through the sky like a knife. The ground is racing towards him, but Kent reaches out, seizing him by the leg. I cheer loudly, every nerve in my body singing with adrenalin. They share a grin between them before Kent safely deposits him on the shore amidst the other Vikings.

    We don’t stop to take in their awed stares or yells of encouragement. Instead we circle back to re-engage, a black speck against the clouds. We rocket past the queen’s head and start to climb higher and higher. I eye the beast again as we soar past, looking for any weaknesses we can exploit. I spot her wings again – they look weak and spindly compared to the rest of her.

    “That thing has wings,” I remind Kent. “Let’s see if she can use them!”

    I pull him into a harsh turn. We plummet, gaining tremendous traction in an instant. The wind buffets us as we target the queen in a super-sonic blur. Kent unloads another fireball against her head and it explodes in a shower of sparks like a firework. She goes down with a rumble and we climb again, hoping to lure her into the air.

    “Do you think that did it?”

    I look behind me, trying to peer through the swirling clouds of dust and smoke. Suddenly the enraged behemoth emerges through the smog, flapping her wings furiously. It’s a daunting sight, but I refuse to think about it. The second I acknowledge my fear we’re dead.

    “Well, she can fly,” I say dryly.

    We dive again into the tangled sea stacks, weaving through the rocks like rabbits through a briar. The queen snaps at us but simply cannot reach. We pull ahead, and she smashes through the canopy of stone right behind us, bursting through fifty-foot formations like they were mere saplings. There’s just no slowing her down, it isn’t enough. I eye the clouds above, and an idea suddenly hits me.

    “Okay, Kent, time to disappear.”

    Kent pulls into a steep climb, heading straight for the clouds. The queen follows in an instant, closing in fast. I hear the loud hiss of gas before I smell it and I yell a warning, though Kent probably knows before I do. There’s an ear-splitting blast and we narrowly dodge a column of flame and smoke. We reach the low-hanging clouds and pierce through them like an arrow. The monster follows us but lets out an irritated roar when she realises she can’t see us in the dense mist. Just what I was hoping for.

    We curve around and dive at her, seemingly out of nowhere. The blast Kent fires punctures yet another hole in one of her flimsy wings. She screams in anger, but we’ve disappeared before she can even locate us for a shot of its own. My clothes are soaked in dew, but I don’t even notice, too caught up in the strategy we’ve established. It’s an endless loop of attacking and disappearing, lighting the clouds up with a piercing blue light almost like lightning. The infuriated roars the queen gives with each hit is like thunder to match.

    She snaps, fed up of our game. She unleashes a never-ending stream of flame, whirling around and spewing it in all directions. I scream a warning and Kent ducks the blast, though it clips his tail. I grimace as half of the prosthetic tail fin falls away, badly burned and smouldering.

    “Okay, time’s up. Let’s see if this works.”

    I pull Kent into a turn, flying directly into the queen’s snarling face as soon as she’s stopping throwing fire.

    “Come on, is that the best you can do?”

    Kent follows my taunt with his own, and that’s probably what makes her bellow in fury. Without warning we jack-knife into a steep dive. She’s hot on our tail and Kent pumps his wings, racing faster than he’s ever gone before. I press myself flat to his back, forcing my eyes to stay open even though they burn. We stay just ahead, no longer trying to evade her. I glance back to check the tail fin, wincing as it further disintegrates. We don’t have much time.

     “Stay with me sweetheart, we’re good. Just a little longer,” I assure Kent, briefly patting his shoulder.

    The queen closes the gap. I tuck in and hold the handles steady, making sure the monster has us in her sights. Kent twitches impatiently underneath me, aching to spin and fire.

    “Hold, Kent,” I hiss.

    There’s a rush of air as the queen inhales and my ears are filled with the shrill hiss of building gas. Ignition is coming.

    “NOW!”

    I slam my foot on the pedal hard as Kent extends one wing, neatly cutting through the air. We pivot in place, hurtling directly into the monster’s mouth. Kent fires point blank down the gaping blackness of her throat. The amassing gas is ignited, backfiring into her and erupting in a chain of blasts throughout her body. We emerge from the clouds, the queen hot on our tail, exploding from within. She glances forward and sees the ground rushing up. She throws open her wings, attempting to put on the brakes, but the punctured, damaged web can't stop her momentum. She chokes on the internal, expanding fireball and we pull up, streaking past her head to safety.

    She hits the ground, head first, and explodes in a maelstrom of fire and flesh and bone. We weave through her massive back plates, wings, and flailing legs - a high-speed recall of the freefall slalom run we inadvertently stumbled into on our first flight. The growing fireball races toward us, about to swallow us.Somehow, somehow, we manage to clear the obstacles and I risk a glance over my shoulder. We’re outrunning the raging inferno.

    I look forward just in time to see the monster's massive club tail careening towards us. I curse under my ragged breath and try to shift our direction, sweaty hands slippery on the handles. The last shreds of Kent’s tail tear away and flutter past me in streaks of red. The pedals go dead.

    “No, no!”

    We can’t manoeuvre, completely dead in the air, the spokes of the prosthetic flapping uselessly. There’s nothing we can do. The giant tail smacks into us, tearing me from the saddle and snapping the harness with ease. I tumble against the backdrop of the fast-approaching fireball, a terrified scream tearing my throat. The heat is unbearable, licking at my skin, and I desperately reach up towards Kent. I see him wrestling towards me, but my vision is starting to cloud. We’re going to die. I choke on the smoke and in fear, tears stinging my eyes. I’m going to die.

    The fire swallows us both. 

Chapter Fifteen

“Eric? Eric!”

    “Bitty!”

    Ash and smoke swirls in the air, acrid and choking as the Vikings search for the chief’s son and his Night Fury. They’re aided by the dragons, who stick their snouts high into the air and sniff intently for the slightest whiff of them. All they can smell is soot and burning flesh. Everything is scorched. Even the ground beneath their feet is charred and smoking from the terrible heat.

    “Eric? Son?”

    Richard squints through the grey haze, finally making out the unmoving silhouette of Kent. He hurries to the dragon’s side, Jack on his heels. They’re both staggering with exhaustion and blackened by grime. Richard sighs slightly in relief when he notices he’s conscious, if a little roughed up, his wings curled around himself protectively. The scorched saddle however, is empty. Richard buckles to his knees, overwhelmed by the loss. Behind him, Jack’s throat grows tight and he quickly averts his eyes as they well up.

    “Oh son, I did this.”

    Richard chokes on his words, shoulders slumped. Bad Bob flanks him, looking just as sorrowful. The Vikings hover a respectful distance behind, sharing a mournful silence with the dragons that had stayed to witness the death of their queen. As Richard weeps, Kent stirs groggily, tilting his head towards the huge man. Their eyes meet.

    “I’m so sorry,” Richard manages through his tears.

    Kent hesitates, then slowly unfurls his wings. He reveals Bitty, unconscious and pressed tightly against his chest. He looks small and broken, covered in soot and blood. Richard’s eyes widen, and he scoops his son up in his giant arms, cradling him like he was something precious. He cocks an ear to his chest and listens to his heart, then bursts into hysterical, relieved laughter.

    “He’s alive! You brought him back alive!”

    The crowd roars, and the dragons surprise them all by joining in, just as elated that both were alive. Richard leans in close to Kent, fat tears dripping into his moustache, and places a tender hand on his shoulder.

    “Thank you, for saving my son,” he murmurs, each word filled with sincere gratitude. Beside him, Bad Bob eyes up Bitty’s body.

    “Well, you know. Most of him,” he comments.

    Richard doesn’t grace him with a reply. He stands, easily carrying his son’s body and embracing him like he was a child again. Jack takes a step forward, hurriedly wiping his eyes on his sleeve and leaving a sooty smudge across his face.

    “I’ll take care of Kent, sir,” he offers after clearing his throat.

    Richard nods thankfully and limps off through the crowd. There’s only a boat or two fit to sail, but by the looks of it, a few dragons were willing to give them a ride. Bad Bob squeezes his son’s shoulder proudly before following their chief. Jack watches him go, oddly feeling more at peace with himself than he has in a while. He turns back to Kent who is eyeing him mistrustfully and he can’t help but smile.

   “Don’t look at me like that. Come on. Let’s get you up.”

    Kent stubbornly glares at him for a moment more, then gives in. A moment later he lies there as a human, battered and bruised. Jack’s eyes soften, starting to see what Bitty sees. He extends a firm hand and smiles a little more. Kent hesitates, then takes it and lets Jack haul him up with a groan. Jack could probably carry him with ease, but he doesn’t suggest it, knowing Kent wouldn’t be impressed at all. Instead, he loops his arm around his neck and helps him hobble after the others.

    “You’re amazing you know,” Jack finally murmurs, low enough so only Kent can hear.

    “Not as amazing as Bitty,” Kent whispers back, his eyes on Richard’s retreating form. Jack nods in agreement, smiling to himself.

    “I’ll give you that one.” 

Chapter Sixteen

The first thing I’m aware of is pain. It washes over my body, starting in my head and spreading down through my bones to my feet where it ends in fire. I feel a bit feverish with exhaustion, my hair sticking to my forehead with sweat. But then I hear it, a quiet, impatient grumbling. My eyelids are too heavy to open to begin with, but I finally manage it. Kent’s face, Kent’s human face, is above mine. He’s grinning widely, eyes dancing, and the freckles over his nose seem even brighter than usual.

    “Hey, Kent,” I mumble, closing my eyes again and fully planning on going back to sleep.

    But then it hits me. I bolt upright, ignoring the sudden spike of nausea and pain, and look around me. I’m in my bed, moved beside the firepit in the main part of the house. This doesn’t make sense.“I’m in my house.” I look at Kent, hovering over me like an excited puppy ready to pounce. “You’re in my house.”Kent lets out a delighted peal of laughter that only confuses me further. “Uh, does my dad know you’re in here?”

    I shift to get out of bed, eager for answers, but immediately freeze. Something isn’t right here. My entire body feels off. I reach out a shaking hand and slowly peel back the sheets. My head whirls as I’m suddenly startled, horrified and overwhelmed all at once. I reach towards the bloody stump and attached metal appendage but then pull my hand back, thinking better of it. I take a minute to get my brain around it, squashing down the growing nausea. Kent’s grin falls from his face, looking understanding instead.

    Okay.

    I take a deep breath, let it fill my lungs, and then exhale. My heart rate settles a little bit. This…isn’t the end of the world. I’m alive. That in itself is a miracle. It would have been impossible to escape a fight like that unscathed. This isn’t going to hold me back.

    I swing my legs over the side, touch down first with my foot, and then the mechanical prosthetic. It feels weird, like it’s not meant to be there. I take a minute to inspect it, marvelling at the spring-loaded iron. Bad Bob’s work no doubt. Kent is by my side in an instant, and with a start I realise he knows exactly how this feels. Gods, how ironic.

    I brace myself on the bedpost and carefully lift myself up. The second I put any weight on the new foot, pain flares up my thigh and I wince, trying to stifle it. I stumble on the first step, unused to the weight, but Kent is quick to catch and stabilise me. I throw him a grateful smile.

    “Thanks, sugar.”

    I lean on him like a crutch, taking steps together. I notice he’s wearing a similar prosthetic, and together we form a poetic silhouette. The pain eases a little with each step and by the time we reach the door I feel a bit more confident. I prise it open and yelp at the sight of a Monstrous Nightmare swooping past my house. I slam the door closed in shock, and Kent bursts into laughter. I narrow my eyes at him, unimpressed, and hesitantly open the door again.

    The sight I’m met with takes my breath away. Vikings and dragons in all their forms mill around the village by the dozen, basking on the sunlit rooftops, weaving along the plaza, soaring through the air in a glorious parade. No one is fighting, there isn’t a sword in sight. A Nadder blasts fire onto the framework for a massive barn, while a Viking hammers the white-hot metal into place. Nearby, a draconian woman is admiring herself in a new dress with a Viking tailor making adjustments as she turns. Another Viking backs a Zippleback into a stall to check its size. I stare out at the harmony, unable to believe my eyes.

    “I knew it. I’m dead.”

    My dad appears beside me on the porch, chuckling heartily. Kent stands behind me, almost protectively, and laughs along with him.

    “No, but you gave it your best shot,” he teases, wrapping a warm arm around my shoulders. It’s the stuff of dreams. He gestures towards the transformed village. “So, what do you think?”

    I have no words for him. I just shrug, gazing around me in awe. The villagers and our visitors suddenly realise I’m awake and swarm around me with a hero’s welcome. It’s a little embarrassing and overwhelming. They call out greetings and praise, and I blush when I notice Jack hurrying across the plaza to meet me, followed by his father.

    “Turns out we just needed a little more of this,” my dad grins, sweeping a hand over me.

    “You just gestured to all of me,” I laugh, playing along and nudging him. “Well, most of you,” Bad Bob adds, pushing his way to the front and beaming with pride. He nods towards my metal leg. “That’s my handiwork. With a little Bitty flare thrown in. Think it’ll do?”

    I look down at it. It doesn’t feel quite so horrendous anymore.

    “I might make a few tweaks,” I joke weakly.

    Jack appears at my side and for one fleeting moment I think he’s about to embrace me. Instead he jabs me sharply in the arm and I recoil with a grumble, swatting at him.

    “That’s for scaring me,” he tells me seriously.

    “Is it always going to be this way?” I huff. “’Cause I…”

    His tight grip on my arms silences me. Before I can react, he leans down and kisses me on the mouth. For a moment, the world disappears. It’s short but firm, a promise, and it makes my toes curl. He pulls away and I’m left with a swirling warmth, slightly dazed.

    “…could get used to it.”

    Everyone watching hoots and teases, but I ignore them, my face bright red. I look up as Kent gently nudges my shoulder. His arms are full, a saddle and an adapted harness gleam in the sun. He smiles widely at me.

    “Let’s go for a ride.” 

Epilogue

The wind on my face has never felt so good. Kent and I glide through the air seamlessly, my prosthetic foot rotates the pedal with ease. Astride him, I’m whole again. Behind me, Jack’s Nadder gives a squawk of disapproval as we soar miles ahead, easily winning the race. I look out over the changed world as we swirl through the bright blue sky and I feel my chest swell with pride. It’s really something, to see your wildest dreams become reality.

    We race through the village, under eaves, over rooftops, down cliff-sides and through ship masts. It’s almost like a high-energy, romantic dance between Jack and me. I keep catching his eye and his laughter makes me melt. It’s romantic until our friends join us at least, but that doesn’t make it any less fun. We take to the open sky, rocketing far above Samwell. The sky swirls with blazing, multicoloured dragons. I let out a whoop of sheer joy and spin towards the blinding sun.

    This is freedom.

    Let me set the scene for you.

    This is Samwell. It snows nine months of the year and hails the other three. Any food that grows here is tough and tasteless. The people that grow here are even more so. The only upsides are our friends. The friends who merge into our lives seamlessly like they’ve been there forever. The friends who help us to be better people. The friends who only eat fish and growl at each other and occasionally spit fire when annoyed.

    Our friends, the dragons.

The End