21 The End of the Swimming Race

21. THE END OF THE SWIMMING RACE On the windy clifftops of the Murderous Mountains stood the proud figures of Stoick the Vast and Big- Boobied Bertha, their arms in chains, surrounded by Murderous Warriors. They were too dignified to show fear. They would show Madguts the Murderous how bravely a Chieftain could die. Before them was the Sky Burial Place, where they would be strapped down and left, helpless, for the Sky Dragons to attack them. Nothing would be left of their remains. Above their heads, the Sky Dragons were already massing in their hundreds, with shrieking, hungry vulture cries. Down on the beach, the Tribes of Hooligan and Bog-Burglar stood, depressed and silent, holding burning flares in their hands, looking up at the silhouettes of their Chiefs on the clifftops. The deaths of their Chieftains were not the only things at stake here for the two Tribes. Madguts was about to take over their lands. The Hooligans and Bog-Burglars had packed up all their belongings, and loaded them into their own ships standing in the Harbour. These ships were piled high with every

possession they owned: favourite swords and armour, stools and clothing, clucking hens and pigs and goats. The Hooligans had never intended to settle on Berk in the first place. Berk was not the most comfortable, the most luxurious, the most civilised place to live in the world. It was a funny, boggy, shaggy little heap of heather and rock, where the wind buffeted so strongly that you might as well be on the sea in a ship, and when it wasn't raining it was often snowing. But Berk was where they had grown up, where they met their sweethearts and brought up their children, and when it came down to it, they found that they didn't want to leave.

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So they stood there, sunk in the profoundest melancholy. The sun was going down on this day, and Old Wrinkly's big sand-timer was running out of sand, and his complicated candlesticks were running down to little stubs, marking the Final End to the Competition. The three Judges sat solemnly at the table. Three months, five days, three hours and twenty- four minutes… Three months, five days, three hours and twenty-five minutes… Norbert's defective Flying Machine worked rather better than Fishlegs had expected. But he hadn't expected much, it had to be said. Fishlegs and Camicazi insisted on going in the Machine with Hiccup, Camicazi because it was the kind of crazy thing she particularly enjoyed, Fishlegs because despite all the complaining he wasn't going to desert Hiccup, who was the closest thing to family that Fishlegs had. The Wanderers had to haul the Machine up to the top of the mast so they could take off in it, and Bearcub's Grandmother predicted Doom and

Destruction would be the outcome. 'Vikings–they're all mad… even the small ones…' But Doom and Destruction did not follow–not immediately, at least. It was a very windy day, and when the Wanderers let go of the Machine, lift-off was instantly successful. The wind caught underneath the wings and launched the Machine almost vertically up into the air, like a kite. 'Wahooooooooo!' cried Camicazi, as they soared, legs dangling, hair blown back in the wind, up and up into the big blue sky. 'If Thor meant humans to fly, he'd have given them wings,' recommended the Stormfly, swooping alongside them in an amused way. The wind was strong, the young Vikings were light, and they quickly left the seven boats with the cheering, waving Wanderers on them far, far behind. They were heart-stoppingly high. Hiccup had flown on the backs of dragons before, but never at this height. They were so far up in the sky that it was difficult to see how fast they were flying, apart from the marker of the little boats, now only specks way behind them in the distance.

It was cold up there, so cold that Hiccup was glad that they had tied themselves to the Machine, because their fingers were so numb they might have fallen out, and the sea was a very long way down. And they were up there for such a long time, that after a while, even Fishlegs began to feel that they weren't going to plummet out of the sky like a stone, and opened up his eyes to look about him, at the blue above and below, stretching out for ever. TICK-TOCK-TICK-TOCK-TICK-TOCK-TICK-TOCK went the ticking-thing, getting louder and louder and more insistent with every passing moment. I hope we're going to make it… thought Hiccup.