LotBF Ch. 10: On the Subject of Evil...

LEGEND OF THE BIG FOUR: THE RETURN OF PITCH BLACK

CHAPTER 10: On the Subject of Evil…

Yes, Gothel had already cheated Mim.

Before she had arrived at Mim’s, she had stopped at a nearby village, ducked into a pub, and tactfully asked if anyone knew of a little old woman who lived in a secluded area of the woods.

The bartender had pointed her over to an elderly man, who in turn pointed her over to several very drunk men, all young, bold, and very, very foolhardy. She had then convinced two of them to meet in the forest near DunBroch’s castle at midnight.

August 2, 1296 AD, 12:03 AM.

It was now a few hours after Gothel had spoken with Mim, and she was addressing the two young men, Riaghan and Diomasach, under the tallest tree in the forest. “Good fellows, I assume that you know about the late Madame Mim, the witch who lives here?”

Both men nodded quickly.

“And I also assume you know that she will change the fates of those who ask her to do so?”

“Not anymore, Ah’m afraid,” Diomasach corrected her haughtily. “She stopped tha’ after Her Royal Highness— ” he said this sarcastically “—Her Royal Highness got the Queen transformed intae one o’ them bears.”

Gothel raised an eyebrow, trying to keep her temper in check; Diomasach’s insolence had not been lost on her. “My dear man, do you want to earn any money at all? If so, I recommend that you keep quiet and listen to me.” She watched him smugly as he shuffled his feet angrily. “Now then, I went to visit Madame Mim before you came here, and she and I are currently competing to see whose method of changing fates is better. That is where you come in. I would like both of you to come along the path and just so happen to find her hut. You go in and find both of us there. You will not acknowledge that you know me at all. You will make up a story about how you would like your fates changed.

“We will agree to do it. Madame Mim will change the fate of one of you, and I the other.” Gothel went on to explain the aspects of the contest. “See, I would like you, Riaghan, to have your fate changed by the Madame. Do what she says and after a couple of days, whether you really are happy with the result or not, come back and tell her you are not satisfied with the result.

“You, Diomasach, will have your fate changed by me. Again, you will do as I say and return in a few days’ time, only you shall be satisfied with the outcome of my spell. That will result in me winning the contest.”

“An’ wot’s in it fer us?” Riaghan asked skeptically.

In reply, Gothel held up, not one, but two satchels full of gold and silver coins. “Each of you shall receive one,” she declared, “if you do as I ask.” She knew she already had them.

Diomasach’s and Riaghan’s eyes glittered with greed as they watched her slowly swing the satchels back and forth, like a hypnotist.

“We’ll do it!” they cried voraciously.

Gothel smiled wickedly. There was no way she could lose.

††

Around the same time, Mor’du was migrating farther into the land of DunBroch.

He wasn’t sure why. Perhaps tonight was the night he would kill that hated princess and her mother. Maybe even her father, too.

He was sure of one thing—he would show no mercy when he found them. He seethed as he thought of that fateful—no pun intended—fateful night when that redhead Merida had separated his spirit from his body. Or rather, when Elinor had. He had thought he was finally free from living life as a monster, a dreaded beast. But when he had not descended into eternal rest, and had simply stayed on earth as a sort of ghost, he knew he had been cheated. Only the beast that had once been himself had been disposed of. They had not killed him.

And now he could not enjoy the pleasures of life: eating, drinking, being with friends. Not that he had had any friends as a human. But still, as a ghost, he could do nothing. He couldn’t even sleep. The only thing he could do was take over the body of another living creature. Namely, another bear.

That was the only way he could take pleasure in life. He ate with the bear, drank with the bear, lived in the bear.

It wasn’t enough.

Maybe if he just destroyed the DunBrochs, he could find a way to become human again. He would start anew. He would live in a new village, make new friends, maybe even find a wife.

Mor’du was slowly deluding himself with the lie that he would be able to truly live again.

††

Pitch Black was restless.

He was becoming impatient for his potential benefactors to arrive. He had seen further who they were. He saw a woman, obviously a witch. There was a man following her, one who had seen much bloody warfare and sorrow. He held a strange respect for the witch in front of him. Pitch also saw a great muscular man, large enough to eat three full plates of human food and still be hungry for more. A vast army stood behind him. The closest person to him was a young girl.

Pitch was vaguely confused. This girl was much, much fuzzier in his mind than the others were. He couldn’t even tell what color her hair was—brown? Red? She seemed ever so slightly reluctant to follow the large man.

But what did it matter? She was one puny human among the hundreds that would help him rise again; she couldn’t possibly foil his plans if she decided to rebel against him.

††

The Outcasts were only two days from Corona.

A young girl strode boldly across the deck of the Outcast battleship. She was sixteen and a half, with long, auburn hair always tied back in a fishtail braid. She had hazel eyes and a narrow, pretty face covered in freckles. She was quiet but strong, small but brave. She did not speak as the Outcasts did; she spoke in a light, friendly tone (unless she was angry), delicate and precise, with no accent whatsoever. She didn’t wear the same clothing as the Outcasts; instead, she preferred a short tunic, lightweight pants, a yak-fur vest, and moccasin-like boots.

Not only was this benign-looking teenage girl an assassin, she was Alvin’s personal executioner.

Ashlynne Longspear was the most feared Outcast in the tribe, second only to Alvin. Her quick reflexes, silent feet, and ability to melt into the shadows made it easy for her to kill. And harder for her to be killed.

Not that anyone would dare try to kill her. Ashlynne and Alvin had a strange relationship, hardly ever seen in the Outcast tribe. Alvin would kill the first man to look at her wrong. He had done so several times, in fact.

Anyone who displeased Alvin badly enough to warrant condemnation had no hope of survival past three days after he was declared guilty, because there was nowhere one could hide from Ashlynne. Whether she used a bow, a spear, a sword or a knife (her weapon of choice), she never missed a target. Never.  

So on the night she headed for the Chief’s cabin on the battleship, no one stalled or harassed her. Well, almost no one.

“So, Ashlynne, goin’ ta snitch on yer precious Alvin’s crew members?” chortled a sailor snidely, having had too much Outcast beer. He and a pal snorted.

Ashlynne cast a cold eye upon them, and the two sailors shut up immediately. Many of the Outcasts, being quite superstitious, believed that Ashlynne was in possession of magical powers; specifically, the power to hypnotize others to do her bidding with only her eyes. Whether she actually had magic in her eyes was unknown. But the fact was that she could convince the most suspicious man on earth that she meant him no harm, even as she pulled out a knife to kill him. And that was just with her eyes. When she used her honey-infused voice, it was hard even for Alvin to resist her.  

“You’re lucky you don’t know what you just said, fool, or you’d be able to breathe through your neck about now,” Ashlynne spat icily, not bothering to add any of her normal sweetness to her tone. “Be glad that you’re drunk and I’m not in the mood to kill.”

The men scurried away. She watched them with sudden amusement.

That was another thing about Ashlynne. Her moods were as unpredictable as a storm at sea, much like Alvin’s, in truth. She could switch from a friendly, caring attitude to kill mode in an instant and go right back again.

She continued down the deck to the large Chief’s cabin. It wasn’t luxurious—nothing in the Outcast world ever was—but it was much finer than any of the other cabins except for her own below deck. She strode up to the door and walked right in. She didn’t even bother knocking, as Alvin would not care if she were to barge in on him.

Alvin was clearly irritated about something. “Savage, tha’ better not be ya, or yer gonna find yerself in a world o’—” He stopped midsentence as he realized it was Ashlynne.

A genuine smile spread across the callous Viking’s face. It obviously gave him pure joy to see her. An evil, malicious joy, indeed, but joy nonetheless.

“Ashlynne, me girl, I was wonderin’ when ya were gonna come ta see me! I been waitin’ fer yer visit all day, been the high point, it has…”

Ashlynne always spoke cordially to Alvin, despite their deep relationship and the fact that they went back a long time. “And why would that be, sir?”

“Well, ya see, Assassin, I’ve been thinkin’. I’ve been thinkin’ tha’ it might not be such a good idea ta just pick up the boy right off the isle when we get there. If’n ya believe wot the sailors ‘ave said, the kingdom’ll boot us right back where we came from. They’ll easily see an’ defeat us. An’ then there’s tha’ Night Fury the boy’s got. It ain’t goin’ ta let us anywhere near ‘Iccup. It’ll blow us all ta bits before we get wit’in twenty feet of ‘im. Between the island and the dragon, there’s no way we kin get at ‘im wit’out committin’ suicide. I don’t ‘ave a clue as ta wot ta do.”

It was clear that Alvin had confided this in no one else.

Ashlynne looked thoughtful. “I don’t know how to solve the dragon problem, but we could lure him away from the island, couldn’t we?”

“He’s too smart to be enticed like tha’. ‘E might be a little too trusting and naive, perhaps, but we’d ‘ave ta have some good bait to fool him,” Alvin brushed away her idea.

“But we do have some good bait…” Ashlynne challenged. “Me.”

Alvin was still for a few seconds. Then he erupted into boisterous laughter. “Ha ha, ya’ve done it again, me girl! I knew ya’d come up with somethin’! Don’t know why I didn’t think tha’ up meself. But tha’s a perfect plan!  

“Yer an assassin, sneaky an’ the like. Yer also a master of disguise and outstandin’ in imitations. If’n you kin sneak onta tha’ island an’ pretend ta be a villager, an’ pretend ta be Hiccup’s friend, ya kin lead him right ta us! There’s still tha’ Night Fury ta deal with, but if’n we kin catch ‘em by surprise, we could stand a chance!”

“I know, Alvin. I’ve already got a plan up my sleeve,” Ashlynne smiled wickedly. “As for the dragon, don’t worry about it. Once I’ve got the boy far enough away from it, I’ll take care of it.”

Alvin chuckled. “I don’t disagree with ya, girl. Not one liddle bit. I know my assassin.” He gazed at her with an odd fondness.

He snapped back to the plot. “Anyway, we’ll certainly ‘ave ta land off the island somewhere if’n we don’t wanna be seen by anyone. We’ll ‘ave ta go up an’ tell the crew we won’t be headin’ straight for Corona anymore. Come on.” He gestured roughly to usher her back onto the deck, picking up his heavy battleaxe in the process.

At the bow of the ship, Alvin suddenly turned to his assassin. “Oh, Ashlynne, I forgot ta tell ya somethin’ back there. I know ya have a tendency ta bring back me prisoners dead, ‘cause ya lose yer temper. I know ‘ow it is. Now I’ve been forgivin’ in the past—”

Ashlynne grimaced. Alvin was more merciful to her than to the other tribe members, but his version of “forgiving”—ten lashes with a normal whip (as opposed to a dragon whip) and a day without food or water—was very much different from hers.
   
“—but this time, ya better not fail me. This is too important ta mess up. I need tha’ boy alive, or we can’t take over the Isle of Berk an’ get revenge on Stoick the Vast. It’ll be better fer yer health, too, girl. Ya know I care about ya a lot, but ya also know wot ‘appens ta those who fail the great Alvin the Treacherous, regardless o’ who they are.” He slammed the edge of his axe blade deep into the side of the ship.

Ashlynne had never really been afraid of Alvin, as they were close. But now that she was seeing this side of him, the side that killed and asked questions later, directed at her, she felt a morbid fear. She gulped as she watched the blade quiver in the woodwork. She did know what happened to the failures of Alvin’s tribe; she had watched every time it occurred.

It wasn’t the fact that failing Vikings were being brutally executed. She was an assassin, after all; killing was her occupation.

It was whom Alvin executed that scared her.

Even his right-hand man wasn’t safe, as one of them had been put to death once. Alvin had even had his own sister slain because she had had trouble adjusting to the Outcast way just after they had been banished. Savage, Alvin’s current second-in-command and childhood best friend, always lived in fear of displeasing his chief.

If Savage was that terrified that Alvin would have him executed, Ashlynne had no doubt that he wouldn’t care if she had to die, despite their deep relationship with one another.

Alvin pulled his axe out of the wood and turned to her. He smiled sadly at her, and it seemed for a moment as though he would be truly sorry if she were killed.

“I would hate ta have ta do tha’ ta ya…

“…daughter.”