"Look, girl…forgot your name, District 9…maybe you should try a weapon that you don't have to aim so much."
Another arrow goes wildly off-target, missing the dummy completely and smashing into the padded wall at the back of the archery corridor. I huff in frustration, slumping my shoulders down by my sides and lowering the practice bow I've been launching arrows from. I've been practicing for at least an hour and a half at the archery station; already, I went against Omaha's suggestion and attempted the knife-throwing area, but was even worse at that. I have no idea how someone can even get a knife to fly without worrying about it cutting them, let alone impaling a target at twenty yards.
As for the bow and arrow…well, my dummy is still very much safe from my errant shots.
"No," I tell the archery trainer, vigorously shaking my head at his attempts to send me away. "No, I'm gonna get this."
He sighs, strokes his chin, and lets his depressed gray eyes wander around the room. It's already past lunch and I've done next to nothing besides disappointing the knife-throwing instructor and now this guy. Even my lone friend has had a better go than me; I briefly entertained Autumn's suggestion of trying the axe station (which we both failed miserably at), but she seems to have picked up spear fighting to at least look capable. That's better than me; so far, all I've been able to kill is the cooked fish I ate for lunch and any enthusiasm left in the archery instructor.
"Let's try a smaller bow, then," the instructor sighs again, taking the contraption I've been trying the last fifteen minutes – almost as tall as I am – and handing me a smaller weapon. "Concentrate. Tune out the surroundings, and focus on the bullseye. Don't shoot until you're confident you'll hit it."
I grip the new bow – maybe three feet in height, at best – and nock an arrow like he showed me. I raise the weapon up to my eye, the blue, whispy feathers of the arrow catching my eye just the slightest. No – concentrate! My eyes center up on the red bullseye thirty feet in front of me, inviting me to hit it dead in the center. Hit me…hit me!
With a surge of confidence – this time I'll hit it – I release the arrow.
Zzzzzz-twang!
No such luck. The arrow sings right past the target, smacking into an exposed steel nut in the backdrop and ricocheting harmlessly into the concrete floor.
I let my arms hang from my sides, dejected that I've failed with yet another weapon. How am I supposed to have a chance at these Games when I can't even figure out how to use something to defend myself with – let alone master it? I can't accomplish in three days what the volunteers have had years – more than a decade, likely – to hone their skills in.
"Alright," I tell the trainer with a faked smile, hiding my surging emotions behind the mask of my face. Better to not let prying eyes from District 1 or 2 see what's going on in my head. "Alright. I'm done. I need a new station."
"Try something with less concentration," the archery instructor says as I leave.
Less concentration?! How am I supposed to concentrate when I can see Sulla and Cobalt at the spears station, hacking away at dummies with halberds twice the size of me? They make it look effortless – as if chopping me in half is simply all in a day's work. I can't even hit a dummy, let alone a bullseye, with an arrow; they've already swept through virtually every weapons station.
That's just two of the volunteers. How does anyone ever beat them?
I notice Tethys again, still loitering against a pillar, flicking the end of her dark hair, and watching the two District 4 tributes, Mako and Coral, at work on the swords station. She hasn't moved from there in two days of training – simply watching others, keeping an eye on all twenty-three competitors. It's unnerving…yet stupidly, I want to get her attention. I want to show that I'm not just going to get run over.
To the swords station it is.
Autumn gives me a sympathetic look as I pass her by at tridents; she's managing to make good work with all sorts of polearms, but after my poor attempt with two-handed axes (ninety-pound girl vs. seventy-pound axe did not go over well), I'm not getting anywhere near those things. If swords don't work out, well…I'll have to think up something else. Maybe my ally can figure out large weapons, and I'll gladly take the help if we both manage to survive at the Cornucopia…but I need a way of helping myself. I can't help her if I'm already dead.
Among fifteen year-old girls here, Autumn and Tethys are looking a whole lot more cut out for the Hunger Games than me so far.
"Are you busy?" I ask the grizzled, thick-built instructor at the swords station as he watches Mako slice a dummy's arm off at the shoulder. "I want to learn."
"Shouldn't you be trying…I dunno, archery or something?" he chuckles, sizing me up with one glance of his eyes.
"Are you the instructor?"
"Yea."
"Then I want to learn."
"Fine," he acquiesces, pointing a meaty finger over to a rack covered in nasty, sharp implements. "Pick out something suitable, and come meet me at the circle of dummies."
I won't lie; the prospect of learning how to sword fight intrigues me. Despite my myriad of weapons failures over the course of the day, I'm still holding onto hope that I can learn something useful. The adrenaline starts pumping as I pick a broad, two-handed sword off the rack, hoisting the heavy weapon up in my hands. It's a straight, narrow, shiny piece of work – and while certainly heavy, it's almost beautiful in its craftsmanship.
"Isn't that a little big for you?"
I look up suddenly from my sword, startled. Mako's loitering nearby, the short, curved blade he'd been training with slipped in his off-hand as he leans against a wall. He looks at me with an expression between amusement and hilarity, as if seeing a girl with a sword nearly the same height as her was the peak of entertainment. His physical build, his Capitol-ready mane of blonde hair…he's far more of a tribute than someone like me.
The last thing I want to do is get in another conversation with a volunteer, however – particularly after my earlier run-ins with Tethys and Crystal did not go well – but Mako's asked me a question; he deserves an answer.
"No," I say quickly, realizing after the word's escaped my lips how my voice jumped. "It's fine."
He laughs, picking up his sword and approaching me as I take a reflexive step back. With one quick motion, Mako crashes his small blade into mine before I can make a move. I stumble in shock, the heavy sword clattering out of my hands and onto the floor.
Clang!
Silence. Pairs of eyes from across the room look my way as I pick up my fallen weapon, embarrassed, and return it to the rack.
"It's too big for you," Mako smiles wryly. "Go find something else. Coral – let's go do something useful."
I wrinkle my nose at his retreating figure as he joins his District 4 partner at the rope course. Volunteer jerk – I can still feel the eyes of the other tributes on me, watching me completely flustered at the hands of Mako's stupid act. Why'd he have to do that? I haven't even talked to the guy yet; haven't made a move towards the volunteers despite talking to Tethys yesterday. There was no reason to make me look incompetent in front of everyone else – like I can't even handle a weapon myself.
But you can't handle a weapon, Skye, a little voice in the back of my head starts. Remember? You've failed at all three weapons stations you've tried. What makes you think swords will be any different?
I don't know why I let things like this get to me. It's only a temporary setback in the eyes of the others, yet I still feel heat criss-crossing my body from shame. These are kids who'll all either kill me or die, yet I can't stand to look foolish in their eyes. What is it about me that turns such tiny defeats into mountains of embarrassment?
"You okay?"
Autumn's crept up on me without my notice, her green eyes lit with concern as I pick a slight, curved blade off the weapon rack. I know she's just trying to help, but the last thing – the last thing – I need right now is sympathy. I'm angry, not depressed.
"Fine," I snap a little too harshly. "I'm fine. Just…fine."
She's smart enough to realize when I want space, backing up and giving me a troubled glance. I immediately feel guilty as my ally walks away towards the Gauntlet – the obstacle course of blocks and steps manned by trainers with padded staffs meant to test a tribute's footspeed and stamina. I shouldn't have just pushed her away like that. I've come to learn that Autumn's a more vulnerable person than her stoic demeanor told me; she's simply better at hiding her emotions than me.
I resolve to apologize before the end of the day; first, however, I need to figure out how to use this sword.
"Ah, the scimitar," the station trainer notes as I re-join him in the midst of a circle of seven human dummies. "A fine slashing weapon. Light, springy…good for quick moments, particularly with your build. Tell me…what you do know about personal combat with blades?"
"We…have things in District 9 to cut wheat," I manage. "Scythes."
"That's probably why you're holding that sword backwards, then," he points to my hand, where the scimitar's silver blade reaches out in front of me. "The curve goes back, designed for optimal cutting with a minimum of resistance. If you want a forward-swept weapon, we can try a kukri, or – "
"No, no," I cut him off. I need to learn this – this…whatever. I need to figure something out. "Let's do this. Use…this."
"Sounds good," he shrugs. "Now, the weapon's dulled so nobody gets hurt, but it'll still go through a dummy easy. First off, I'll practice with you with a training blade – show you how to center your weight and use that without making yourself an easy target. Then we'll see how you do against the dummies; first one-by-one, then increasing in time. Didn't get your name, by the way, District 9."
"Skye," I reply. This trainer's not so bad after all – a little blunt, maybe, but at least he's focused on his job. "Let's go."
He grabs a short wooden stick, squaring off with me three feet away: "Eyes up on me, not on your sword. That's a slashing weapon first and foremost, not a stabbing weapon. Watch how you're using it. Feet shoulder-width apart – now come at me slowly; trying to engage and end as quickly as possible."
It's certainly a hands-on training he's giving me here. I approach him slowly, the sword up and raised by my shoulder as I watch him for movement. He's relaxed as I do so, and when I try to slash down at his neck, he parries as easily as slicing cheese.
"It's not about an extended fight," he remarks, circling me like a hungry dog. "It's about killing your opponent as fast as possible with as few risks taken as you can. Don't leave your guard down!"
As soon as he says that, he lunges at me, his stick aimed right at my heart. I step out of his way, hitting his stick with my sword and aiming the tip at his chest. Too slowly I remember what he said – that's a slashing weapon, not a stabbing weapon – and it's all the time he needs to connect his stick with my shoulder.
"There goes an arm," he says casually. "You gotta be quicker than that. If your opponent misses his attack, you have to finish now."
Frustration wells up in me again. It's my first time using a sword, but after three straight weapons stations and no successes, I can hardly stand to fail again.
"No use," I throw the scimitar aside angrily, letting it clatter off the floor. "I don't get this."
"Hey, hey…" he stops me before I do something rash, like walking away. "Tell you what – let's trade this in for a little more multipurpose weapon. Stay right there."
I cross my arms over my chest as he returns the scimitar, browsing among the weapons rack. I feel stupid again – once more, I'm letting my disappointment in myself rule my actions. How am I supposed to even have a chance in these Games if I'm constantly getting angry with what I can't do, rather than focusing on what I can?
I'm the opposite of the girl Omaha told me about – the ally, I now presume, who he killed to win. While she may have figured out her strengths, I'm falling victim to my weaknesses.
"A gladius," the trainer's returned, carrying a short, stout blade in his hand. "Good for…well, pretty much everything and anything, from goring a guy to digging a hole in the ground. If you get one of these in the arena, you're set."
"What do I do with it?" I ask.
"Usually used for stabbing. Wield it in front of you, like you're preparing to go on defense," he tells me, holding his own wooden stick in the same manner as an example. "Wait for an opening, then take the chance given to you and kill your opponent. It's okay for slashing…I wouldn't entrust it to that personally, but it'll do the job. If you can stick it right into somebody's heart, you're set."
Fine. Let's do it again, I think, spreading my feet and squaring off with the trainer. He takes the initiative this time, hopping a step to his left before cutting diagonally-down with his stick. The gladius is light and easy to flick, and I easily cut off his angle of attack. It's almost...too simple to use.
"See?" he says, as if I've just mastered warfare. "Defense is step one against a trained sword-wielding opponent. A small, yet practical and lightweight blade like that can do wonders. Now you try – attack me; get past my defenses. Remember, all you need to do is find an opening."
Easier said than done, but I'm willing to try – I have to try.
I skip on one foot, juking out with my left and cutting over across his body to the right. He anticipates my attack easily, but I give him just enough of a slash to keep him occupied. Find an opening…he's a trainer, does he have an opening?
Perhaps I need to think creatively.
Without thinking about the consequences, I kick the trainer hard in the back of his right knee while making a half-hearted slice at his arm. He intercepts the sword – like I figured – but he doesn't see the kick coming until I connect. The trainer stumbles, trying to regain his balance. I don't waste time, snapping my arm forward as he jerks and ramming the dull tip of the blade into his stomach.
"Guh!" he grunts, falling over to the ground. I pull back, horrified – is that kind of thing allowed? Did I just hurt a Gamesmaker?
"That's it!" he nearly shrieks with delight once he's picked himself back up, easing my concerns. "See, Skye? You find an opening – or in your case, you made one. Smart thinking, by the way…everyone else so far has just hacked away, even if they're awfully good like that boy from 2. Let's go again; I'll attack."
We practice for the next hour, alternating between sparring and me gutting dummies through the abdomen and chest. It's exhilarating once I get a feel for the gladius down – a quick flick of the wrist here, a block here, a short lunge here. There's no pinpoint accuracy needed like with the bow and arrows; no special grip like with the throwing knives. There's timing and spatial awareness – and apparently I can handle both just fine. A smile creeps across my lips for the first time in forever – maybe I do have something to offer. Maybe I can make it out alive – at least if some volunteer like Mako or Crystal comes my way.
"Alright, alright!" the trainer exclaims after a particularly lively bout. "Gimme a breather; you're picking it up nicely, Skye."
I stick my hands on my hips, happy about what I've accomplished as I gaze around the gym. Tethys, as I expect, is still casting dangerous looks at every tribute with those beady yellow eyes of hers…but now and then, I can see she's flicking them my way. I guess she's been watching the sword station over the past hour, trying to judge whether or not the girl who tried to make conversation is anything to watch.
Did I make a good impression, creepy girl from District 2?
A loud thud jars my attention, and I see someone fall off the Gauntlet and on the floor, hit right in the head by a trainer's padded baton. I can't make out who it is at first, but when I walk closer, I feel my heart my skip.
Autumn – knocked down right in front of the two tributes from District 1.
"Autumn!" I cry, running past one of the obstacle course's trainers and kneeling down next to her. "You alright?"
She looks fine – physically, at least – but a tear's welled up in the corner of her eye. Crystal's standing not six feet away, her hands jammed into her jumpsuit's pockets as she laughs with glee.
A hot lance rips through my guts; how dare she? That privileged…stuck-up…whore laughing at my ally, who's never gotten her kind of…well, Career training in District 1? Who could very well be dead within a week; who surely doesn't have the odds anywhere near her favor like Crystal and her pretty alliance do?
All that, and Crystal laughs?
"Hey!" I shout, anger clouding out my better judgment. "Stop it!"
"Ooh," Crystal replies mockingly. "I hurt your feelings, 9? You and your little…partner?"
"Go away!" I angrily yell. I don't have a good response lined up – don't have any sort of reply that can actually hurt her feelings. All I have is anger. "Just…go away!"
"Maybe I don't want to?" Crystal laughs. "Maybe I like seeing her…is she crying? Is – and what are you looking at, bitch?"
I turn around as Crystal's bitter eyes look past me. Still standing against a pillar, Tethys plants her unmoving – almost inhuman – gaze right on her opponent from District 1. The girl from District 2 has spotted a weakness in her fellow volunteer tribute, something she can use…something she can kill. While Crystal's busy laughing openly at Autumn, Tethys is laughing with her eyes at her.
The girl from District 2 licks her lips, and for the first time since I've seen her, the corner of her mouth turns up in a bloodthirsty smile.
