A/N: Hi guys! I know it's not Wednesday, but I figured I'm late enough with this one it won't matter at this point.

Sorry for the really late update :^/ Midterms have crept up, I've been busy writing another short story for one of my fiction classes, and a whole slew of health stuff has been kind of keeping me from writing.

Though I know exactly how this story is going to end and have outlined the rest of the plot, I've burned through my pre-finished chapters for this fic, so everything that comes form here on out I have to start from scratch. Its busy work and hopefully I'll be able to stay on top of it better heh.

Anyway, thanks for sticking with it, and I hope to get the next chapter up by the 14th.

I also want to mention that I post this story on my Wattpad account (ecroeuf) along with some of my original work (non fanfic) - so if you feel like checking it out there, I'd appreciate it! I also post to a message board on there, especially if I'm late on a chapter (like with this one heh).

Anywho, I won't keep y'all any longer. Here's ch 8 :^)

Enjoy!

-Em


CHAPTER EIGHT


"Isabelle?" Finnick says. His eyes are pinched as the orange glow of their fire harshly slaps raged edges of light into his face, and hands are balled into fists, but Anneyce thinks it's more of a stress release than anything out of anger. She resists the urge to reach over and smooth his hands out, unsure how he'd take her touch in this state of mind. His fingers pulse in the position, squeezing tight and releasing the pressure in a cycle as he likely wraps his head around everything. "Who is Isabelle?"

"Isabelle is a clairvoyant," Anneyce explains. At the last minute, she holds back from saying is a witch. It's a rather negative connotation, and Anneyce didn't want to spin that into Finnick's head. Instead, she keeps the explanation as black and white as the situation allows. "She was the daughter in a house of nomadic psychics," she continues, "until she broke free and settled down elsewhere for…reasons."

"Reasons?" He quirks an eyebrow, and she tries not to take his skepticism personally. It was an odd predicament they found themselves in, and she could tell he was still trying to process the fact that, at one point not too long ago, he was on deaths door. Because of me. The reminder sends a jolt through her chest, and she tries to keep the upsetting mix of emotions off her face as she answers his question.

"I'm not too sure why she left," Anneyce chews her lip, "She's kind of a…taboo topic in the Colony. They don't talk about her much. Or at all, really."

The nymphs were warned from seeking out her prophecies – for they often lead to destructive habits and disturbing scenarios. To the nymphs, knowing your future meant holding a weight that no creature should. The very nature of disturbing a set timeline was not taken lightly; to trust in the Great Gardens intentions was something that every nymph tried to hold herself to. Anneyce had yet to meet a nymph who has openly sought out her services and told about it. Those who do, tend to keep it hushed.

"Some say she got kicked out. Others say she just…left." Anneyce shrugs.

"So she's not a nymph?"

"No," Anneyce shakes her head, "Only those with lineage in the Great Garden are nymphs. Isabelle was part of a nomadic people – they don't stick to a specific section of the Great Forest. Instead they wander, and do trade with the other species in the Great Forest."

"Alright, so we find Isabelle and then…what?"

"As far as I know, she is one of the oldest living beings in the Great Forest," Anneyce shakes her head at the immensity of it. She's not as old as the Council, but she's definitely older than the Queen – and there's a lot of history to be held in that fact alone. "She's also one of the very few psychics who shares her gifts with others. She could probably help us figure out where to go from here…or if there's really anything we can do." If anyone may have answers for what to do in their situation, it would be her.

Hopefully.

"If that's true, then why didn't anyone go to her before you opted to use humans as sacrificial lambs." Finnick argues, his voice sharp enough to cut stone. Anneyce flinches, uncomfortable. He notices her reaction to his outburst, and sighs, moving to roll his hands out over his knees nervously, "Sorry. I'm not mad at you, I'm just…mad at the situation. I know you didn't write any laws."

"No need to apologize, Finnick," she says softly, and then sighs, "Meetings with Isabelle are extremely frowned upon in the Colony." Anneyce explains, grimacing. "We like to keep our comings and goings to ourselves within the Colony, and that included our problems and vulnerabilities. The Queen considered human men the best option in that regard, and so it stayed that way for a very, very long time. A thousand years before my time."

Finnick studies her for a moment, before nodding. Relief pitches through her chest, and she feels her shoulders relax. It's messy and confusing, the way she wants desperately for him to not be upset with her. She doesn't necessarily deserve that, though, considering the situation her people have gotten him in. The thought of it sinks like a rock in her chest. If not for her, he wouldn't even be tangled in this mess.

"There's a chance she may know something, but there's a chance she may not." Anneyce warns, her voice soft as she tries to keep from upsetting him again, "But I think she's our best option right now."

Our only option.

"Alright," he says, slowly.

Despite the wary tone in his voice, relief washes over her like a tide. She doesn't know what she's relieved about, really. Perhaps just the fact alone that he still has it in him to trust her, even after everything she's told him.

"How do we get to her?" He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes intense in the firelight.

"The idea is that you need to prove that you want to find her," Anneyce says, rising to get to the bag that she and Johanna packed. "Once you do that, she'll show you the way."

After a few moments of digging around, she eventually finds the object she was looking for. In a small vile, buttoned away in a side pocket of the bag, is a calling mixture. Various roots and seeds and herbs that the nymphs use, crushed and mixed for calling and strength. They're more of a sensation kind of object – their "powers" coming from texture and smell. Using them would potentially be a long shot, but it's their best bet.

Anneyce had watched robotically as Johanna tossed them in to the bag, at the time unsure what Johanna thought she would need them for. Though it's probably not what the intended use would be for, they'll come to be immensely handy. She vaguely recalls how to even attempt to summon Isabelle - not to keen on whether or not what she was about to do would even work. It had been a gossiping affair, a strategy she'd happened to have overheard from a source she can't really recall. The legitimacy of the ceremony was foggy at best, but she figured it wouldn't hurt to try.

Anneyce can feel Finnick watching her curiously as she uncurls the lid, pinching her fingers into the vile and dusting the contents out into a makeshift border that circles their small camp. When she closes the gap, effectively encircling them in the middle of it, she stops a moment to kneel on the ground. Touching her fingers to the line of sprinkled herbs, she closes her eyes, offering her proof.

Please. We are in deep need.

Finnick lets her sit in silence for a minute or two, pushing her pleas into the circle, hoping that somehow, some way it gets to the intended person.

When she's drained all the need and spoke her peace, she moves towards the fire,

"Now what?" He asks extreme curiosity painted over his features. She smiles and offers a timid shrug.

"Now we wait for an answer."


They awoke in the center of a circle of mushrooms.

After Annie effectively sprinkled out the mixture into the ground and presented the waiting game, the two sat up most of the night, waiting for…something. Anything, really.

Finnick never meant to, but he eventually fell asleep, among their circle of herbs. He supposes Annie may have followed suit not long after, because she was curled in the leafy floor of their bed, sound asleep the next morning. He shakes her awake, his eyes pinned to the dotting circle of white-capped fungi, sitting in place of their circle of herbs. It's a startling thing, to think someone came to plant them right under their noses while they slept.

When she sees it, she gasps in surprise, and then stands in glee as she takes in the sight. She circles in place like a dog trying to find a spot to sleep, and her eyes hover the scope of the ground, and then make their way to the line of trees, before she's pointing and saying, "There! Over there! The path!"

He follows her line of sight, and sure enough, more mushrooms of the same type and size sit in a line that stretches beyond the trees. They disappear into the shadow of the forest, stretching towards the unknown.

"She heard us!" Her excitement is contagious, sparking out a new kindling of hope. The stretching expanse of her smile is enough to get his motor running, and he struggles to catch up as she dances towards the path. He scoops up the bag she was too eager to remember to pick up, and tramples behind her while she charges ahead, her nose to the ground like a bloodhound as she follows the path the mushrooms lay out.

It's not a quick journey – they follow Isabelle's breadcrumbs for what feels like a few hours. The mushrooms are plentiful, though, sitting in neat, unending rows stretching them deeper and deeper into the Great Forest. By the half hour mark, Annie's enthusiasm had weaned some, but she still seeks out the path with fervor, too involved in the task to be much for small talk. Finnick was left to mull over his thoughts; recap everything new he'd learned and the discussion he'd had with her the night before. One sentence in particular that she spoke last night had the tendency to pop around his head, like a buzzing fly trapped between windowpanes.

The Queen considered human men the best option, and so it stayed that way for a very, very long time.

Another classic example of the Queen wished it, and so it stayed. It was even more evidence to the hypothesis he was brewing on the Queen: it was very obvious she was hiding something from her subjects. Something big, something important.

But Finnick of all people should know it was hard to shake a contract such as that – to be raised in the history of slaughter. Did it not mirror his own background? Only 70 years strong, and the people of Panem still held onto the tradition of the games: a tradition that slaughtered their own children. That hardly had anything on a thousand years of built in human sacrifice for the health of many.

Did that mean he necessarily agreed with it? No. But could he picture just why the Queen was able to get away with it for so long?

One look at Annie, in her strong-willed unshakable faith, and the answer comes easily. The nymphs trust and follow with utmost belief. They do what they need to do to survive, and the Queen used that mentality to her advantage. It's a blood boiling thought, the more he ponders on it, and it catches him by surprise with the emotion of it. Thinking about how this manipulation twisted its roots in Annie ticks him off.

He's hoping if there's one thing Isabelle can do, it's help her see sense in the harshness of it. He doesn't want to be the one responsible for crashing down the world that she knew, if he could help it. That was a burden he was hesitant to take on, since he knew the impact of it first hand.

He can distinctly remember the exact moment his own world burned down, not too long after he won the Games at 15. Life was rough before then, but it paled in comparison for what was coming to him afterwards. He played the game, followed the rules - to an extent. But he was young, and had yet to even touch upon what the word "consequences" could mean. Consequences paid heavy prices that came in the form of freedom, family, and emotional stability. He didn't realize the power of the word "no" until favors from the President trickled in after him like a fog.

Snow had granted him his first refusal with a slap on the wrist. The second time Finnick refused, he was rewarded with a jaded threat, whispered behind glasses of wine at a function for some kind of Victor's ceremony he couldn't recall.

And then the third and final refusal had cost him his family.

"There seems to be less of them for the last mile." Annie says, pulling him from his contemplations. Her stride doesn't skip a beat, but her brow furrows, confused at the pattern before her. Now that she's pointed it out, Finnick notices it too. What used to be a more compact line of fungi, now is only a scarce, dotted line.

He's hoping that's a sign that they're getting close.

Above, a raven ricochets through the trees, cawing an explosion of noise as it passes. Finnick watches it go, it's oil-slick plumage heading towards the direction the path leads. As it ghosts beyond the trees, three more whizz past the two of them, heading out in the same direction. Finnick and Annie pull to a stand still when they soar by, marking the first time they've stopped walking since they discovered the mushrooms.

"Alright…kind of creepy." Finnick murmurs, and Annie chews her lip, staring ahead.

"We should keep going," she says, rolling her shoulders before striding ahead once more.

Had she always been so resilient? Finnick was a little taken aback that he'd never noticed this part of her. It was kind of badass, really, watching her stride ahead towards the unknown.

Eventually, the mushrooms lead them towards a swamped out area. The thick, muted foliage choking out the sunlight ahead, casting dark shadows in front of them. Despite the darkened palette, the air grows humid and sticky, and Finnick feels a thin layer of sweat start to sit on top of his skin. Pools of thick, green water zigzag the path of mushrooms through the scarcely placed dry footholds. Moss chokes out most of the trunks of trees, and even more ravens sit to perch, watching the two of them trample through with beady eyes.

Finnick wonders just how far they're willing to take this, and he's contemplating vocalizing that they should probably try to find a different plan, when the mushroom trail goes cold.

Before them, a small house constructed of wood, brick, and foliage sits squat, locked in the middle of a moat of water. Its architecture seemed to droop under the weight of the humid air, dry twigs and lush vines crawling up and poking through messily lain brick. Even more mushrooms, this time of varying sizes and varieties dot the landscape like bushes of wildflowers. Smoke plumes in puffs from the chimney, and ghosts of candlelight identify the occupancy of the house.

Isabelle's house.

Nothing points to that conclusion - no signs and no indicators other than the dotting of mushrooms. But a whisper of intuition rocks through his head. This is the end of the trail, and the clairvoyant sits just behind the doorway of this odd home. It's almost an eerie feeling, the surety of it.

The ravens re-appear, flocking in pairs on the low hanging branches of a compact beech tree stationed a few feet from the front door. Their eyes watch like dancing lights; not a sound coming from their purple plumage or sharp, curved beaks. Finnick can't shake the feeling that they feel sentient…more so than any kind of raven he's seen before. It was like they knew exactly who the two of them were and why they've come.

He has the singular horrifying thought that they could be mutts – but he shakes that off quickly enough, common sense leaking through his resolve. He was already spooked out enough without throwing that into the mix.

Somewhere, among the time it took the ravens to overtake the tree and the recognition that this was the house they were looking for, Annie's fingers envelope his own. He peers over at her, having not realized she'd come to stand so close.

Annie observes the house, completely overlooking the ravens altogether. Her eyebrows set into line, forming a crevice of deep worry. She looks over at him when he offers her fingers a small squeeze, her serious expression blanketing the both of them.

"You okay?" He asks, because it seems like the appropriate question.

Annie takes a moment to chew on it, frowning. She looks back at the house, her eyes rolling over the expanse of it before quietly answering his question, "Is it silly to say that I feel guilty coming here?"

"No, it's not silly." He assures. She had mentioned that she wasn't a popular topic in the Colony. How had she described it? Taboo? It's got to be a culture shock showing up here, especially if you had been raised to vehemently avoid it.

"Visiting Isabelle has always been something that a nymph just doesn't do." Her fingers squeeze into his. The ravens rustle in their tree, knowing eyes lined on them like targets, "The fact that I'm here…it feels wrong. Illegal." She whispers that last bit, her gaze hovering over the birds, as if she were afraid of their eavesdropping.

"We can turn back, if you'd like. Figure out another option."

She shakes her head, "No, there is no other option. We need to do this." She rolls out her shoulders again, another wave of determination washing over her features, "I want to know what she knows."

Finnick nods, a little relieved. They needed answers, and he thinks Isabelle is their best bet for that. He waits for her to move again, and she wastes no more time, keeping her grip of his hand as she almost tugs him along. Annie seems unbothered by the ravens, but Finnick eyes them almost warily as they pass the beech tree to stumble upon the front door. Their tiny heads swivel with the duos movements, almost robotically. He sizes them up, putting up the screen of a face he uses when addressing Capitol elites. Fake, political, strong. Tempting them to challenge him. The birds don't react, and with that he turns his attention to the front door of the house, officially putting his back to the odd creatures.

There's no doorbell or knocker set on the round, knobbed door.

"Should we knock?" Annie asks, her expression a mixture of wary and confusion.

"I guess so." He ghosts a look over her a moment, waiting for her to change her mind, but she just nods. He returns it with a gesture of his own, and then peers over his shoulder one last time to the raven tree.

But the peculiar birds were now gone, having absconded from the tree almost as if in thin air. A shiver runs down his spine as he gazes back to the doorway.

"Well, no turning back now,"he mutters to himself, raising a hesitant hand towards the warped wood.

He knocks.