Chapter Text
Astrid, Catia, and Heather marched through the woods to Astrid’s personal training ground, laughing and enjoying each other’s company. Catia had exceeded the week she had agreed to stay, but no one brought it up. She seemed happy, for once, and seemed to trust them more as time went on.
She and Heather had an interesting relationship. They were best friends, except for when they were cooking. After Catia shocked everyone with her gourmet bacon, she and Heather were always competing to see whose food was better. Astrid usually just sat off to the side and waited for the test-tasting part. But at the present they were talking about weapons; a safe topic, as there was no competition in the subject, however ironic it might be.
“So Tia,” Astrid asked, switching her axe from one shoulder to the other. “What’s your weapon of choice?”
“Well, I prefer close combat over distance fighting-”
“I know!” Heather interrupted, excited over finding another similarity between her and her friend. “I just love staring my enemy straight in the eyes right before I give the stunning blow-” she stopped herself after realizing what she had done. “Sorry.”
Catia laughed and shrugged it off. “I actually like it because it was the way I learned to fight. I rarely had a weapon to use, so I fought with my body.”
“How high can you kick?”
“Easily over your head,” she replied humbly. She paused and lowered herself on the ground into a full spilt, then rotated around to face the other direction and stretch her opposite leg. She jumped up and kicked her leg up and out to the side as far as she could, her knee actually reaching behind her shoulder. “That high,” she said holding the freakish position.
“Okay,” Astrid said looking away, “We get it. You’re flexible.”
Catia laughed again and lowered her leg, her hip audibly popping back into place. “I had to work for this, you know.”
“Yeah, that makes it even crazier. You actually tried to be that bendable.” The three arrived at the large clearing, scattered with faded targets. “You know,” Astrid said as she adjusted one of the targets to her liking. “You never actually told us your weapon of choice.”
“Well, I was interrupted,” Catia grinned, glancing over at Heather. “But the answer to your question is this.” She untied a strange leather and wood contraption from her belt, and then strapped them to her forearms. “They are called ‘bladed arm guards,’” she went on, adjusting the wooden bar that rested in her palm and attached to the actual guard.
They were the strangest “weapon” either of them had ever seen. They looked somewhat like a fingerless leather glove with a wooden bar in the palm that attached to a long metal rectangle bolted to the outside of the forearm.
“I don’t see the bladed part,” Astrid commented skeptically.
In response, Catia squeezed the bar, and a thin metal blade instantaneously popped out from the rectangle. It was actually quite a few pieces of metal, each one fitting perfectly inside the other so the blade could fold up inside the little metal box.
“Cool,” Heather shrugged, “but how much damage can that thing do? And how exactly do you fight with it?”
“Damage?” Catia chuckled, “Would you care to find out?”
Heather shrugged again. “Sure.”
Catia held her arm out, the blade exposed. “Run your finger over the blade,” she instructed. “But gently.”
Heather did so, and a soon as she skimmed the blade she gave a loud “Ouch!” She reeled back, shaking her hand to ease the pain. Glancing at her index finger, her eyes widened as she saw blood. “Good Thor, those things are sharp.”
“Now imagine me dragging this blade across your neck. See how it might be damaging?”
Heather shuddered. “More like decapitating.”
Astrid and Catia both laughed as Heather continued to shake her hand, jumbling about her stupid decision. “Show us how you fight with them,” Astrid encouraged. “They’re so awesome.”
Catia smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. A darkness clouded them, as she was scared of some unknown trouble lurking in the shadows of the trees. But the brief expression was gone in an instant, and she closed the right blade by running the other blade over it. She took it off and passed it to Astrid, who eagerly put it on.
“I’ll teach you some basic blocks,” Catia started, waiting as Astrid adjusted the weapon. “The blade is your shield as well as your sword, so always keep it in front of you. Put your right leg back for balance, left for me since I’m left handed.”
Astrid obeyed, putting the blade up in defense.
Catia’s eyes narrowed. “Duck.”
“What?” Her confusion was cut short as Catia’s blade came flying toward her head, and with a gasp, she ducked at the last possible second. “Tia!”
A grunt sounded from behind her, and she turned just in time to see a large, burly man fall to the ground, his head rolling a few feet further. Stunned, Astrid turned away, the disturbing image causing her stomach to churn. Catia didn't look even the slightest bit phased, even though her whole forearm was dripping with blood. Decapitating.
“Run,” Catia commanded, roughly helping Astrid to her feet and taking off the blade on her arm, strapping it to her own. “Run!”
Several other men emerged from the tree line, suddenly waking Astrid and Heather from their shock. They broke into a run, Catia following in hot pursuit. Arrows whizzed by them, luckily straying far from their targets.
Catia suddenly screamed, and Heather and Astrid glanced back to see her struggling against two of the men. They slowed, turning back to help her. “No!” she screamed. “Run! Get help! Go!”
The other men were charging them, and they had no choice but to run. Gasping for breath, they raced toward their base. “Help!” they screamed as the buildings came into view. “Help!”
Everyone came running to meet them. “What happened?” Hiccup asked, trying to sit them down.
“No, we can’t stay here!” Heather shook her head desperately. “They have Catia!”
“Who? Who has Catia?”
“Don’t know,” Astrid wheezed. “But they’re right behind us.”
“Actually, they’re in front of you,” Tuffnut said calmly, as if the situation meant nothing to him.
Everyone glanced fearfully in the direction of the base, their fear growing into terror as the caught sight of more men creeping toward them. A few of them darted forward, and without warning, Hiccup grabbed Astrid’s axe. He grabbed small package from his belt, breaking it open on the axe head, a green gel running over the blade. He pulled out his Inferno, sparking it so that the flame reached her axe.
He passed the flaming weapon back to her and motioned for her to follow him as they ran back toward Catia. “What about the others?” Astrid shouted as they ran.
“They have the dragons, they’ll be fine!”
Catia finally came into view, already tied and gagged, and surrounded by guards. At the sight of her friend, Astrid ran ahead, swinging her flaming axe as if she had no fear whatsoever. Catia furiously shook her head, grunting and trying to speak.
“Get down!” Hiccup jumped in front of Astrid, pushing her to the ground just as a mace would’ve cracked her skull open. Their weapons scraped through the dirt, extinguishing the flames. The circle of attackers grew tighter, surrounding the two on the ground. They backed toward a cluster of rocks, eyeing their opponents.
“We’re outnumbered,” Hiccup hissed in her ear. “Run and get help. I’ll hold them off.”
“But-”
“Run over the rocks. Now!” With that he jumped up and ran straight into the line of men with a battle cry, drawing everyone’s attention to himself. Astrid scrambled over the rocks, desperately trying to get away. Shouts behind her ensured that they had captured Hiccup and seen her. She almost turned back to help him, but knew that she would be useless on her own.
She noticed Catia’s bloodied arm guard on the ground, and snatched it up as she ran. The red liquid stained her fingers, the metallic stench almost reminding her of whet the weapon could do. She had dropped her axe, and it would be good to have something to fight with. Hearing footsteps behind her, she quickened her frantic pace. Her chest ached and her legs burned. She had to get away, but her exhausted body was failing her. Fear had sucked away all of her energy. She was working solely on adrenaline as she started to climb up to the backside of her hut.
She practically fell onto the platform, and pushed the ladder away from the floor, the men behind her tumbling back. One managed to grab hold of the wood, and pulled himself up. Astrid staggered to her feet and started to run again, stumbling over the bridge between her hut and the next piece of land.
The man was gaining on her. Gasping for air, she tripped and landed of her hands and knees. She scrambled back to her feet just as she felt the man’s hand scathe her foot. She ran to the hanger, pushed the door open and unlatched the stall where Stormfly had been sleeping.
The Nadder’s spines were on end, and the moment she was free, she shot them at the man just entering the doorway. He gave a mangled cry of pain and reeled back over the edge of the platform.
She made her way out into the open, trying to catch a glimpse of Hiccup or Catia. She did, or at least she saw the ship they were on sailing into a fleet of other ships. Her heart sank. They could never fight that many people at once.
Heather came running up beside her. “Are you okay?” she pressed, briefly rubbing Astrid’s back to help her catch her breath.
“Stoick,” she muttered, mounting Stormfly. “I have to get Stoick.” She took off, flying as fast as she could toward Berk.
. . .
Hiccup and Catia walked slowly up the foreboding hall of the ship, the overpowering stench of some unknown substance causing their stomachs to churn. The halls were so dark they could only see a few feet in front of them. They only light came from a guard who walked beside them, carrying a small torch. The walls seemed to be some form of cages, almost as crude as the ones on Outcast Island.
They turned down another hall, and the stench grew stronger. Quiet moaning could be heard somewhere off in the distance, and a soft, sad tune was being sang in the darkness.
A sudden spiel of incoherent words was shouted as someone threw themselves up against the inside of the bars, frantically reaching out to the people walking by. Hiccup jumped, surprised by the man. The guard stopped and shouted something back; it must have been another language, one Hiccup couldn’t recognize.
Hiccup was able to get a good look at the crazed man as they stood in the dark passage. He was skin and bones; nothing more than a skeleton. His clothes were shredded beyond use, dirty and stained with dried blood. He was so caked with filth that his skin was almost unseen. But perhaps most noticeable was the man’s eyes, blank and empty, nearly lifeless.
The man spoke again, but this time the guard stabbed at his exposed stomach with the torch, and he fell back with a cry of agony. Hiccup’s eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, and grew wide with horror as he viewed his surroundings.
The cages were filled with people. Starving, dying, people. Old, young, male, female, they all shared the rather dead look in their eyes. Hiccup’s skin crawled as they reached out though the bars, like pale, lifeless ghosts seeking for something living.
He glanced over at Catia, noticing that she too was already gaining a dead look in her eyes. Her feet dragged and she stared at the ground, not a trace of spirit showing on her face. The only emotion that she faintly portrayed was sadness, though seemingly without reason.
The guard stopped and opened a cell, unchaining their hands and shoving them into the tiny room. The chains around their feet, however, clanked noisily as they stumbled forward.
An old man sat in a corner of the cell, his wild grey hair and beard framing his face like a lion’s mane. He muttered something, looking up at them revealing his one good eye. The other was replaced by a hole, scarred and hideous.
Catia replied, her voice sounding as lifeless as her eyes. The man laughed slightly, though it soon turned into a harsh racking cough which caused his whole body to shake.
“Tháinig mé díreach,” Catia whispered, sitting down beside him; strangely not bother by the filthy floors. “Ach tá mé daor mo shaol ar fad. An fear óg thall fhios ag aon rud ar an sclábhaíocht cé.”
The man nodded, smiling a toothless grin. It was clear by the way his body shook that he didn’t have long to live, not that anyone here had much to live for. Catia and the old man were still conversing, and Hiccup slowly examined the cell they were in, searching for a way to get out.
“Don’t bother,” Catia said suddenly, her voice soft and sad. “If there was a way out, someone would have found it by now.”
Hiccup’s leg started to throb, reminding him that he still had a few blisters from last week’s hike, probably more now that he’d done all that running. He swallowed and forced himself to sit on the disgusting floor. How had he ended up in this mess? He slowly realized where he and Catia had been taken. This was a slave ship. They would likely spend the rest of their lives working in some mine or be sold to work for someone else. No, his friends would come. They wouldn’t leave them to fend for themselves.
“Trofí?”
The foreign wood woke him out of his blank stare. He glanced at the bars next to him, finding a little girl gazing up at him. Her hand was extended through the bars, her palm open, as if expecting him to put something in it. Her face was covered in dirt, though there were tiny clean trails where tears was washed it away. Her hair was glossy black, though the shine was dimmed by filth. Her clothes were stained and torn, and bruises showed on her bare arms.
“Trofí?” She asked again, pushing her hand a little closer to him, staring up at him with the most pitiful puppy dog gaze Hiccup had ever seen.
Hiccup didn’t understand what she wanted, but Catia seemed to. “Miláte Elliniká?” she asked the little girl, standing up from her place next to the old man and knelt in front of the child. “Do you speak Greek?”
The little girl’s eyes lit up and she nodded vigorously. “Naí. Poios eísai?”
“To ónomá mou eínai Catia. Ti gínetai me séna?”
“Eímai Élena. Eímai pénte chronón!” The little girl held up five fingers proudly.
“Her name is Helena,” Catia chuckled, “and she is five years old. Oh, aftó eínai mia tétoia kalí ilikía! Giatí eísai edó?”
Helena’s happy face faded into sadness. “Merikoí kakoí ánthropoi me píran makriá. Allá o bampás mou érchetai na me párei. O ídios léei óti tha mou agorásei píso étsi óste na boró na eímai kai páli eléftheri.”
Catia licked her lips slowly before translating. “She says that bad men took her away, but her father is coming to get her. She says he will buy her back so that she can be free again.”
Why the story affected Catia so much, Hiccup didn’t know. He felt sorry for the child, but he was currently feeling just as sorry for himself.
“Poiós eínai aftos?” Helena asked Catia, pointing to him with a confused look.
“O fílos mou, Lóxinka.” Catia replied, failing to translate, much to Hiccup’s annoyance.
Helena giggled, obviously at him. “Aftó eínai asteío!”
“What is she laughing at?” Hiccup asked Catia somewhat under his breath, even though no one else could understand him.
“She thinks your name is funny,” Catia replied, somewhat amused herself.
Helena grew serious, looking at him again. “Giatí eínai tóso ísycha?”
“Den xérei kathólou elliniká,” Catia replied simply, then turned to Hiccup. “She wanted to know why you weren’t talking to her, so I explained that you don’t speak Greek.”
“So now she thinks I’m illiterate too,” Hiccup groaned. “Great.”
Catia was about to reply, but a guard suddenly appeared out of nowhere, slashing his sword across the bars of their cell. “Quiet!” he bellowed, his accent foreign. “You slaves now. We mark slaves. So come.”
He opened the door and pulled the two of them out and began to march them down the dark hallway, a strange smell of burning flesh guiding them as they made their way past cages of dying people.