3,125Prodigal Son 2
The markets were always open in the port city of Eskendereyya. Apart from being a cultural, scientific, and economic touchstone of the ancient world, Eskendereyya was a crossroads. It was a point of travel between the east and the west, between north and south. It was a melting pot of cultures and values. Travelers of every religious affiliation, geographical location, and skin color ended up there, and with them they brought the goods and culture of their homelands. Silk and spices were shipped from the Far East along with perfumes and incense. Wheat and maize from some far-away nations, rice from others. Expensive fabrics, exotic animals, anything and everything could be found in Eskendereyya.
The city never slept. Thankfully for Ali Murat Yahya Attar, it always ate. He was a grocer, specializing in fish and fruit. He owned a series of shops along the waterfront. Ali was a good businessman. He planned well financially, and had significant amounts of money. Some of it was stashed away, and some he had reinvested in the fishing vessels he relied upon to bring him his goods. Of late, the costs of fishing in the Mediterranean had skyrocketed. More and more protection was needed to fight off the Moorish Pirates which roamed the area. Yet Ali kept his business running. His shops were efficient places. They stood out from the crowd for the variety and quality of their goods, and the friendliness of their service.
Even so, he was vulnerable to theft. Not only on the high seas, but on land as well, in the city itself. Every so often the street kids would come by and grab a fruit off the stands. The City's guards did what they could, but nothing could prevent the evolution of the street urchins which roamed the alleyways and marketplaces of Eskendereyya. It was a part of life, and he factored the costs into his overhead, expecting some level of theft.
Over the past few months, however, entire baskets of fish had been vanishing, as his sons and employees reported. Not just vanishing, but flying straight into the open sky at high speed. Zipping upwards as if caught on some cosmic fishing line. It only happened when the nights were cloudy, as tonight was. The lights from the city tended to drown out the stars, something he wasn't particularly fond of. In his desert homeland he had used them to navigate, but here he felt cut off from nature, and on a more practical level, he couldn't see whatever sky-bound demon kept stealing his fish!
Ali had bought himself a crossbow, and stood at the ready by his market stall. Beside him his son and a hired guard were tending to the street-level business, haggling with passersby and regular customers over prices and quantities. Ali was quite proud of his sons. They were growing up to be fine businessmen themselves.
A gust of wind blew down upon his hooded head. The sand swirled under his feet. The demon was above him! Ali pointed his crossbow skywards, searching the inky blackness for whatever thieving devil had decided to steal from his stall. Both his son and the guard hesitated, watching him carefully, but he waved them away. They turned their attention back to the crowd of customers and the bustling street beyond.
Ali's sharp eyes caught movement in the skies above. He sighted down the bolt and fired the crossbow. The projectile whistled upwards and vanished, though there was a muffled and satisfying yelp of surprise, and something swearing in… Danish? Demons spoke Danish? Since when did demons speak Danish?
Something caught in the back of his belt and he screeched in surprise as he was swept upwards into the air. He could see the stunned, rapidly shrinking faces of his son, the guard, and bemused members of the street crowd. His crossbow, devoid of its bolt, fell from his grasp only to clatter down on some wine caskets. As he rose further he could see the entire street, bathed in yellow torchlight. For a moment he had a view of Eskendereyya which few in the living realm ever experienced. He could see above his stall, and over the buildings. The entire city, in fact, was lit up with hues of purple and dark blue, stretched across the nighttime coastline each street a strand in a giant glowing spiderweb. In the harbor he could see the lanterns of hundreds of fishing vessels. People below scurried like ants from stall to stall. In a matter of seconds the world had grown so immensely, and his stall had shrunk so much...
Suddenly he was dropped. Flailing wildly and screaming for his life he plummeted, watching his stall rising to meet him. He hit the thick cloth covering which protected his fruit stand from the sunlight. It sagged in the center and then ripped open, depositing him onto a pile of mangoes. From there he rolled onto the ground and landed on his bum, the wind knocked out of him with a huff. Hair tousled and eyes wide with shock, he stared straight ahead, ignoring the laughter of the crowd around him. Ali was too busy trying to piece together the previous four seconds.
Beside his stall, unnoticed by the laughing crowds or the bewildered shopkeeper, a small grappling hook was lowered at an even pace. The hooks found purchase in the arching handle of a fish basket, and it was promptly pulled upwards into the midnight sky.
On the roof of the library of Eskendereyya, greatest library of the ancient world, a dragon landed. This was an unusual occurrence. In point of fact it was probably the first time it had ever happened. The creatures were not native to that part of the world. They had only recently been discovered in the furthest, most northern reaches of the settled world. Word had not even reached Eskendereyya that they existed.
The event was made even stranger by the breed of dragon. Called a Night Fury by the Danes, the only peoples to have encountered them, the sleek, black creature looked almost demonic with its slitted green eyes and wide, fanged mouth.
What was more, it carried a rider on its back. A tall, lanky figure in leather armor and full face helmet. They landed with hardly a whisper, sliding smoothly to a halt despite the rather large basket of fish which was dangling from one of the many saddle hooks. The rider swung his leg over the dragon's side and slid down a few inches to reach the ground. Dismounting had become so much easier in the past few years.
He pulled off his helmet and shook out his shaggy auburn mane. He brushed it out of his own sharp green eyes and sighed. "Well, bud, I think we're going to have to pick a different stall next time. That guy had a crossbow. That was way too close."
Behind him, the dragon scrabbled around in a tight circle, straining to get at the basket hanging just behind its head.
"Toothless!" The rider turned and grabbed his dragon, calming the animal enough to remove the stinking sack. The grappling hook was still tangled in the handles, and it took the rider a moment to clear it. The dragon bounded forwards and dove greedily into the pile of raw fish.
"You are just the worst kind of slob, you know that?" The rider said fondly as he coiled the thin line. He followed it back to its source; an ornate shield mounted on the other side of the occupied dragon's saddle. He gave the string a gentle tug and watched as the internal springs pulled the line back in, coiled within the shield itself, ready to be shot out again at a moment's notice.
The shield was his prized possession. Its design was quite complex. He had built the device himself. He had planned, drawn and crafted the intricate parts using the molding techniques of Andalusian jewelry smiths. The technology of springs and gears he had taken from clockmakers as far east as Byzantium. The outer shell had been forged in Constantinople itself. Of course, the Rider had access to certain resources other smiths did not. There was a particular breed of dragon, he had discovered, which when fed a particular type of iron ore, vomited up an extremely light, extraordinarily durable type of iron.
For a time, the rider had made his living quietly selling it to smiths all over the Viking archipelago, but time, tide, and torch-bearing search parties had driven him further and further south, chased away by his attachment to the very creature which carried him. Their bond was a permanent one now, and the Rider wouldn't have it any other way. He had carried some of the iron with him, though. Normally he would never have considered himself to be a hoarder, but his gut had told him that it would come in handy, if only to make a last-minute dollar. Instead he had turned it into one of the most useful tools in his arsenal.
He frowned, looking back out at the yellow lights of the city. "I hope he's all right. Do you think I should pay him back or something?"
The dragon grunted noncommittally and shuffled forward on its midnight black paws. Its head was now almost fully submerged in the basket.
"I mean… we are stealing, Toothless." The Rider said severely. He stared out across the city. "Those weren't our fish, and he had a right to defend his property."
His only reply was the satisfying gulping noise of the dragon's feed.
"All we did was scare him a little. And he did try to kill us."
The dragon licked its lips in satisfaction and wandered over to him. It hovered at his shoulder, watching him with big, round eyes. The rider reached up and absentmindedly scratched its chin causing it to coo peacefully.
"You all full now, bud?"
It nuzzled his hand.
"Never mind…" the rider said, turning away from the vista. He grinned at his companion. "No one could afford your appetite, Toothless. I think if you could find them, you'd eat every fish in the ocean."
The dragon snorted and wandered over to a scorched section of stone. For a moment, the library's roof was bathed in blue light as it reheated the burned surface. Then it curled up and settled in for a deep sleep. It gave the rider an inviting look, opening its wing to shelter him, yet he shook his head and retrieved his shield. "Not yet, bud- and don't give me that look! You always need your naps. I need my 'me time' too."
The dragon gave him a skeptical stare. Then it shook its head in defeat and curled itself up to sleep.
Hiccup paused a moment longer to make sure his friend was safe and warm, then he set off across the roof of the library. The library of Eskendereyya was among the largest in the world. Standing several stories tall, and several times the square footage of the Great Hall, it was an astounding and alluring sight for the intrepid young Viking. Within its walls was contained the knowledge and wisdom of a hundred cultures, the learning of a thousand scholars, and the words of a million poets. He wanted to read it all!
He had picked the roof as a nesting area almost immediately. It was a high point, easy to take off and land on. There was only one entrance, and the amount of dust build-up told Hiccup that no one had used the rickety ladder in a long, long time. His choice had only been solidified once he'd discovered what was inside the building.
He approached one of the three great domes which were placed at the center of each wing of the massive library. They each had their windows to let daylight in. they kept the windows open all the time, figuring no thieves would ever bother to break in anyway; it wasn't like many of them could actually read.
Fish baskets aside, Hiccup didn't consider himself a thief. Even though he was technically breaking into the building. He came to acquire knowledge, after all. Wasn't that what Libraries were for? Could knowledge be stolen? And if it could, was hoarding it really the right thing to do?
His gaze lingered on his sleeping friend.
Sometimes. He thought, Depending on what was at stake.
Working in darkness, he wedged his shield against the frame of one of the windows and pulled out the grapple. He lowered it into the darkness below and then carefully eased himself over the window sill. He slid easily down the line and landed on the smoothly tiled floor with a faint thump.
He stopped there, listening for any signs of the patrolling guards. Only silence greeted him, along with the strange white noise created by the wind whistling through the stone structure.
The Viking reached into a pocket and pulled out a small tin filled with a light blue gel. He had found out early on that Toothless' spit contained residue from the chemicals the dragon used to flame. He had collected the liquid while Toothless slept (the dragon always drooled when he slept), and boiled it down until all that was left was the flammable gelatin, which burned for ages! Far longer than any candles! It had taken him a month to collect this much, but it was looking to last him twice as long, if he used it sparingly.
Hiccup found an alcove between two of the shelves, and carefully lit the gel using a flint and steel striker. The blue flame blossomed outwards, giving him a small circle of light. He stood up, holding the candle in the palm of his hand and walking amongst the shelves, giving each book and carefully rolled scroll a close examination.
What was on the menu tonight?
Ah, yes. Homer's Iliad.
Hiccup had spent some time in Greece, and had learned to speak and read both languages, Greek and Latin. He found them relatively easy to pick up. Hiccup loved the Iliad. He could do without the grand battles and brave thuggish warriors constantly cutting each other to pieces. The dramatic fights between Hector and Achilles, he usually gave those a miss. He felt a lot of sympathy for Cassandra; cursed with knowing the truth, and knowing that no one would ever listen. And how could one battle last ten years? Obviously neither side was trying very hard. Maybe they knew they were fighting for a stupid cause, though every time he read the description of Helen of Troy, Hiccup's overactive imagination would always conjure a picture of Astrid Hofferson, clothed in white and standing at some Greco-Roman balcony, waiting for her beloved. The image made his heart ache.
But he loved Odysseus! The character was not only a capable warrior, but a brilliant thinker and respected for both of his strengths! Odysseus had won the battle in the end, finally getting Greeks inside the city. They owed their victory to him. And there was a whole other book devoted exclusively to him and his adventures afterwards! Hiccup couldn't wait to read it!
There, in the library of Eskendereyya half a world away from home, he settled down at a random table to read a good book.
Eskendereyya is Arabic for Alexandria. I'm using the old term to put a little more distance between this story and reality.
Andalusia is an area of Spain.
Moor was an old-world term for a particular type of Muslim invader.
Constantinople (now Istanbul) was the capital of the Byzantine Empire, a prominent force in the ancient world.
I'm not sure where exactly to place the archipelago of HTTYD in History's timeline (or on a map), but let's say its roughly eighth/ninth century. Maybe? I dunno. You know what attacked Alexandria in the ninth century? Motherfucking Pirates! This is gonna be fun! XD
And yes, I worked in the shield from the TV show. It always seemed so much more fitting for Hiccup than the flame sword. I'm not sure why they decided to cut it from the movie. It's a pretty awesome little gadget, and it showcases his ingenuity pretty well.
Let me know what you guys think. I want to make sure I've captured the Toothless/Hiccup relationship, so if you've got any commentary let me hear it while we're still close enough to do some major editing.
15/03/30 – Made minor editing changes.