Saffron Kain

On the day of the Reaping, it was raining in District Six. A steady kind of rain that fell in sheets, making deep puddles in the cobblestone roads. The people didn't seem to mind. There were darker clouds on the horizon, far away from their District and raining harder on someone else. But the weather did cause a change of plans for the ceremonies. Instead of gathering in the usual organized groups in the town square, people stood where they pleased under the awnings of the nearby shops. Those who had no relatives in the draw watched listlessly from their windows; anxious to be done with it all and return to their warm drinks and favourite chairs. A tent had been set up to keep the mayor and the escort from the Capitol dry as they waited on their usual stage, with the row of past winners seated behind them and boredom in their dreary shadows.

The mayor was a thin, gaunt looking man with iron grey hair, and a face like a horseman. There was a cruel sharpness about him, and he seemed as though he were carved from stone a hundred years before. It was only more obvious when he was standing next to Ulysses Book - who was very colourful, as he was expected to be. You could tell right away that he came from the Capitol, with his seaweed green dreadlocks and the half a dozen golden bangles he wore on each arm. For the occasion, he'd even painted a dark blue square on the middle of his lips. In front of the small wooden stage stood a line of Peacekeepers, the rain beating like a drumbeat on their shields. Once, several years ago, a girl from a large family had had her name on one-hundred and three slips of paper. Her mother had been frantic with a worry that had built up more and more each year, and just as the Reaping began, she had jumped on stage and smashed everything apart. The ball, the chairs - she'd even tried her hand at the mayor and the representative before the Peacekeepers had stopped her.

The mother was quietly executed the next day. The daughter was reaped. Since then, the Peacekeepers had stood like a silent warning. It's no use, they seemed to say, you'll never be able to protect your children.

It was difficult to hear the mayor's speech over the sound of the rain. They'd set up a microphone, but it was an old system that hissed and popped, and caused the mayor's voice to echo over itself. In a corner of the town square, among the crowd of onlookers, stood a giant. He had eyes the colour of chocolate cake and freckles on his nose. Nearly seven feet tall, it had been difficult for him to find an awning high enough to stand under. He was called Saffron Kain. He was seventeen years old, and his name was in the reaping thirty-two times this year. On his shoulders sat a child of six; his younger brother, Aloe. Aloe was a quiet boy, and very small for his age. He didn't quite understand what the Reaping was about, since their mother had gone out of her way to shield him from the Games as best she could, but he liked to watch the papers turning in the funny glass balls. So his big brother hoisted him up, and made sure that he could see.

The older Kain boy made most people in the district uneasy. His size made him seem dangerous, and his father had been executed for thievery. His mother was one of the basket women, who went out into the fields to pick the medicinal herbs and flowers that District Six cultivated. Kain himself had taken a job with an elderly man called Leir, who was the local pharmacist. Everyone seemed to work their whole lives so that people in the Capitol could have a tonic for everything. To help them sleep, to help them wake up, to help them remember and to help them forget. Of course, there were more elaborate kinds of medications that could be made; but in those cases, the raw ingredients were shipped to the Capitol to be processed by their private technicians. They didn't want a district getting the upper hand on them and being able to ransom their medicine. But Leir didn't care a lick about what the people in the Capitol wanted, so he used his knowledge to heal the people in town. The people who really needed help. And the Peacekeepers let him get away with it, because sometimes they needed medicine too.

When Kain was twelve, after his father died, his mother told him that he'd need to find work. She said if he could do odd jobs that would be fine, but something like an apprenticeship would be even better. They needed to make up the income. Especially since the family had been billed for her husband's pitiful funeral, and the cost of the execution bullet that had ended his life. But nobody could bring themselves to give the boy work, because even at that young age he was starting to grow as tall as a tree, and because most of them were afraid of getting on the wrong side of the mayor. Old Leir said that it was impossible to get on the mayor's good side, since he didn't have one, and gave the boy a job working the mortar and the pill press. Both jobs took a strong hand and a light touch. Kain was a natural.

As the years went by, the old man lost a little of his stamina and a lot of his dexterity. Arthritis claimed his hands, so that they were twisted like claws; his knuckles red and sore. He could hear the bones grinding against one another whenever he tried to unbend his fingers. There was a medicine he made for himself that lessened the pain, but he could no longer do any delicate work. It was then up to Kain to harvest the minuscule seeds from inside the flowers, to pluck their petals, and to clip the tiniest of leaves from the herb bushes. Leir still bartered for ingredients and dealt with the costumers, but he taught Kain most everything else. How to measure properly, how to tell certain plants apart. What could save your life and what could kill you. And Kain soaked up all that knowledge like he was a sponge.

Nobody in town realized that the same boy they shook their heads at, the child of the woman they refused to look in the eye, was the person who cured their fevers and healed their wounds. If they had known, maybe less of them would have given him cold, sidelong glances on that rainy day. Thinking of what a relief it would be if Saffron Kain were reaped. It would mean one of the other boys would be safe, and perhaps - with his sheer size - he might even win. Bringing food and prosperity to the district for a whole year.

Either way, he'd make himself useful for a change.

Kain knew what the people in town thought of him, but he didn't mind. He figured that everyone was just scared of the way life could turn on them. When they looked at him, they saw a reminder of danger. The danger of being executed. The danger of being blacklisted. The danger of their children living in poverty. The danger of what kind of strength somebody that big might have, and what a boy with his rotten kind of luck might choose to do with it. That's just how people were. It was no use blaming them for being afraid. Better just to shake your head at the sad state of the world, and do your best not to get bitter. Because even though he was head and shoulders above everybody in the district, Saffron Kain never looked down on anyone.

Working at the pharmacy, he started to learn all kinds of ways to make it easier for people to take foul-tasting stuff. One of his favourite tricks was using honey and lavender flowers to make a sort of hard candy. At first, he'd the recipe them whenever Aloe had a cold or the flu - just take whatever medicinal paste was needed, and blend it into the honey mixture instead of putting it in the press. After awhile, Kain had taken to carrying a few of the plain candies around with him, wrapped in small squares of paper. Just in case he bumped into any little children as he went about his day. He liked children. They way they laughed brightly and loudly, and looked up at him with awe-filled eyes and asked him questions about what it was like to be so tall, and if he could touch the ceiling. And then he would touch the ceiling, and their eyes would go so round and big that it was like he'd just done a magic trick.

"Look!" Aloe said, kicking his feet into Kain's chest, "There's Mommy!"

Their mother was quietly pushing her way towards him. She was in her heavy coat, and her hair was damp from the rain. Kain smiled at her, trying to look relaxed. He knew how much she worried about the Reaping. If something happened to Kain, she'd have to find somebody to watch Aloe in the evenings, and that wouldn't come cheap. She'd lose the money he brought home, on top of it. And she'd lose a son.

"You're lucky I've got sharp eyes," Valeria Kain said as she took her place beside them, "You blend right in with this crowd. I almost didn't see you."

Aloe giggled down at her.

"How's the weather up there?" She teased her littlest son.

"Rainy."

"Is Leir alright?" Kain asked softly, as the mayor droned on in the background.

The rain had brought a blast of cold air with it, that had aggravated all the little pains in the old man's joints. He'd barely been able to move the day before, and had no choice but to confine himself to his bed. Valeria had been tending to him all morning, while her sons put on their best clothes and made his way to the town square.

"When I left him he was sleeping like a baby," Valeria replied, taking his large hand in hers, "Leave it to you to worry about someone else at a time like this."

A tense, unhappy suspense filled the air as the mayor finished his speech. And as Ulysses Book stepped up to the podium, the crowd had gone as quiet as a graveyard. The only thing to be heard was the rhythm of the rain.

It was time.

"Ladies and gentlemen of my beloved District Six," Ulysses said, with an operatic flourish of his hands, "It is my great pleasure to announce your tributes for this year's Hunger Games!"

He took a few gliding steps towards the lottery of female names, reached in and pulled out a slip of paper. The girls of the district held their breaths. Some clenched their fists, others closed their eyes, some seemed to quietly whisper bargains to the sky. The younger ones had tears welling in their eyes. Kain could see fear everywhere he turned. People wondering how they would live if they lost their daughters, their sisters, their nieces and their friends.

"Tansy Capro!" Ulysses declared.

A woman screamed out - a wild, hysterical cry, like a lunatic's. A girl of thirteen, with auburn hair and a dark blue dress stepped onto the stage. All the blood had drained from her face, and when Ulysses happily shook her hand, she wore an expression of violation.

"Congratulations, Miss Capro! I'm sure you'll do us all proud!" The escort said, more to the cameras that were filming him than to anyone else, "Now let's see which strapping young man will be joining you in the arena!"

He pulled the slip of paper from the ball, and took it over to the podium. As he opened it, an overlarge drop of rained rolled off the edge of the tent and splashed right onto his hands.

"Oh dear," He said suddenly, "It's… a bit smudged."

He peered at the bleeding ink, desperate to make out any sort of a name at all. If he had to drawn again, he'd look foolish in front of the entire Capitol. Who knew what would happen then? Should he call out for volunteers? Just as he was about to choke on his own anxiety, the mayor rose from his chair and looked down his nose at the slip.

"Can you make it out?" Ulysses asked quietly enough that the microphone failed to carry his voice.

The mayor glanced at the waiting crowd, and whispered the answer into Ulysses's ear.

"Saffron Kain!"

A murmur of relief rippled through the crowd, who seemed to relax as they turned to look expectantly at Kain. They hoped he wouldn't make a scene that would embarrass their district during the live broadcast.

But the boy just stood where he was for a moment. Stunned.

"The man said your name, and all the people are looking at us." Aloe told his brother, as though it was the greatest of all curiosities.

Kain gently lifted him off of his shoulders and put him on the ground. He patted his scruffy little head and gave him a sad, steady smile. Then he looked at his mother. Her eyes were full of anguish and fear, and she quickly pulled Aloe towards her and held him close, as if she wanted to hold her bigger son but didn't dare. Kain gently kissed her on the forehead and began walking towards the stage.

He held his head high, no longer trying to shrink himself into the world that could not fit him. Kain walked as proudly as a soldier, his face unreadable, his mouth a stern line. When he got to the bottom of the stairs, he turned to look at the crowd. A thousand faces, maybe more, obscured by the rain that was soaking through his only set of decent clothes. He tried to look each and every one of them in the eyes. He peered at the faces high in the windows, he even stared at the people that had turned away from him in shame.

My name is Saffron Kain, he told them in his silence. You stood by as they killed my father. You stood by as they let us starve. You resent me. You fear me. You have sent me to horrors few of you can comprehend. But I will go.

My name is Saffron Kain, and I would fight to the death a thousand times to protect my district.

And he walked across the stage and shook hands with Ulysses Book.