Author's Note: I'd like to thank James018, Nemi-Dina, mockingjay777, babyamiee, fasistaanime, Phobiakat, Woodland Spirit, Danny Barefoot, and TheDivineMsEm for following this story. Thanks also go out to Danny Barefoot, nightwing509 and Guest for their reviews. Hope you all enjoy this chapter.
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Edited 3/5/2014
Chapter 10
Parion and her team dressed us in the outfits she had designed for the day. I wore a leather tunic decorated with red and gold patterns like leaves at harvest time, brown leather breeches, and brown leather boots. Rue wore a longer tunic than I did, and her clothes were patterned with red and orange leaves. Our outfits were essentially the same. Parion presented us with pride in the dining area.
"Don't they look wonderful?"
"They look like dying leaves," Chaff muttered. A bottle of drink sat in front of him .
"That's the effect I was going for."
Chaff groaned. "Now I get to escort a bunch of dead leaves to the demonstration. If you had only thought to dress me as a gardener, this would be the highlight of my day, stylist." He stood up. "Come on, leaves."
No one said anything during the swift ride to the ground floor. Chaff played with a coin. Rue stared upward at the lights speeding by us. I watched both of them.
When the elevator stopped and the doors opened, we faced a long hallway like the one where we had waited on the first night. That was the night I had seen her, the girl on fire. Her hair had been braided around the crown she wore; already her stylist had been bold enough to predict her triumph over all other Tributes.
She had been beautiful that night. Later I had learned she was strong too. And I still didn't know her name.
"Your demonstrations are supposed to show your strengths. Don't attempt to show any new skills to the Gamesmasters, in case you haven't honed them yet. Little one, there are going to be places to hide and tight spaces only you can maneuver in. Big one, do the Fielddancer who trained you proud. Show them just how strong our men can be."
"Her name is Rue. My name is Thresh."
Chaff chuckled. "I know your names. They know your names. Haven't you realized yet, boy that no one cares?"
"We're children," Rue said defiantly, "someone cares."
"You are a commodity. You are a tool shaped by Panem. And now it wants to use you."
We had reached the stadium by then. I didn't say anything to Chaff. I put one hand on Rue's left shoulder, opened the doors, and led my sister into the annex where we had waited on the first night. Even when the doors closed, I sensed Chaff waited on the other side for a few moments. Maybe it was just hope.
The annex was dimly lit. Rue and I stood at the end of a line of Tributes. There were twenty of them in front of us. To them, we were shadows, and they were shadows to us as well. But I could touch my sister's shoulder and know she was there, even if I couldn't see her clearly.
After a few moments passed, my tunic felt tighter around my chest. Sweat formed on my forehead and in my armpits from the heat. Breathing began to feel like a task. From the rise and fall of my hand on Rue's shoulder, she must have felt the same way. "It's so hot in here. Why is it so hot in here, Thresh?" Rue asked.
"Silence will be enforced with punishment," a voice snapped overhead.
We waited in silence and heat. By the time the collar of my tunic was soaked with sweat, relief came. The doors behind us opened. I thought we would be let free. I glanced back, and it was the stout bland boy and the girl on fire from District 12 who walked in.
The boy wore a dull gray outfit. Even in the dim light, I would have noticed the girl. She almost shone like she was still on fire. She was barely taller than Rue, but I could feel her anger. It was obvious in her straight back, clenched hands, and clenched mouth. She was deadly.
I wanted to talk to her.
"Marvel Anton," the voice overhead called.
At the very front of the hall, where our chariots went out on the first night, a door slid open. Light flooded in, and I squinted while shielding Rue's eyes with my hands. A tall, strong-looking boy walked into the light, until even his dark outline disappeared into the light. The door shut behind him and he was gone.
Every few minutes, they called us forward by our Districts: first the boys then the girls. My stomach began to growl like it used to back home. My legs became restless but I couldn't pace. My throat had gone dry, but there was no water to drink.
When the voice overhead called my name, I squeezed Rue's shoulder. She stood on her toes and hugged my waist. Then I walked through the door into the light.
The door closed behind me with a hiss. It was much cooler in the stadium than I thought, but the lights were still painfully bright around me. I had to shield my eyes with my hands. When I did, the lights dimmed.
I stood in the middle of the stadium. Twelve people—the Gamesmasters—sat in two rows in a private box in the seats high above me. Six were men; six were women. They wore dark robes, and in the darkness around them, their faces were more bored than intimidating. My stomach growled again.
"Begin your demonstration," one of the Gamesmasters said.
I looked ahead. Eight statues were spread randomly in the center of the field. They all held two blood oranges in their outstretched hands. If I lived to see the next harvest, I would have to find a tree with ripe blood oranges and celebrate.
At every planting, the Master and Perfect Fielddancers put on a display of their abilities back home in one of the biggest festivals we had. I had competed in the festival that started the planting season that year, my first as a Master. It wasn't about winning; it was about being a better Fielddancer.
I heard the drums from the competition playing. The fires crackled in the circles around me. Bah-dah-bump-bump-bump-bump, bah-duh-bump-bump-bump-bump. I was dressed in my cotton breeches dyed orange in honor of the Harvest that provided the seeds for the planting. Bah-dah-bump-bump-bump-bump, bah-duh-bump-bump-bump-bump. My heartbeat sped up to match the drums. My mind cleared of everything but the demonstration.
I approached the first two statues with the opener. In any match between two Fielddancers, the opener consists of sweeping our feet behind us—first the right foot, then the left—while keeping our eyes on the opposing Fielddancer, and a clapping together of the Fielddancers' hands.
Since the statues couldn't clap hands with me, I executed a round-leg kick from my left leg and knocked the blood oranges from the statue on my left. Bah-dah-bump-bump-bump-bump, bah-duh-bump-bump-bump-bump. As they flew into the air, I danced to the one on my right, holding my hands in front of my face and chest for defense while slipping my leg behind me. I danced again to my right, spun on my right leg, and planted a flat left hand in the center of the other statue that made it crash to the floor. Two down. Bah-dah-bump-bump-bump-bump, bah-duh-bump-bump-bump-bump.
I flipped onto my left hand and used my right leg to kick the nearest one on my right. It fell to the ground and surrendered its oranges. Bah-dah-bump-bump-bump-bump, bah-duh-bump-bump-bump-bump. Dancing to my left, I kicked another statue to the ground with a well-aimed right kick. Bah-dah-bump-bump-bump-bump, bah-duh-bump-bump-bump-bump. Four down.
I spun in mid-air and punched the head off the statue to my left. Bah-dah-bump-bump-bump-bump, bah-duh-bump-bump-bump-bump. Dancing to my right and flipping in the air, I planted my right elbow, flat left hand, and left knee into the statue that waited there with its oranges high over my head. Two more blood oranges soared into the air. Bah-dah-bump-bump-bump-bump, bah-duh-bump-bump-bump-bump. Six down.
Landing on my left foot, I danced on my hands and swung my legs like a windmill low to the ground and high in the air to reach the next statue. I kicked out the legs from the next statue. Fielddancers called it disarming. Any Fielddancers' strength was in his legs, as a weapon and to keep stable. Bah-dah-bump-bump-bump-bump, bah-duh-bump-bump-bump-bump. I rocked back on my hands, swung on my legs again like a windmill, and pushed off my hands to take down the final statue with two feet. Bah-dah-bump-bump-bump-bump, bah-duh-bump-bump-bump-bump.
I was breathing heavily at the end of my demonstration, and my body ached. I danced to a stop, bowed at the waist, and waited for the Gamesmasters while blood oranges splattered to the floor around me. Shards of statues littered the floor.
One of the Gamesmasters yawned without covering his mouth. Two other Gamesmasters stared blankly at me. The rest of them glared at me.
I had put on a performance worthy of a Master Fielddancer.
If they liked my performance, it would determine my fate in the Arena.
I was going to my death and possibly the death of my sister.
But looking in their faces, I could see it wasn't worthy of their interest.
I picked up two blood oranges from the floor. They were juicy, plump, and bruised not destroyed. I picked up one of the shards of statue; it was as sharp as one of Nana's flint kitchen knife. I decided then and there to demonstrate a new skill for the Gamesmasters.
With a casual toss of the shard, both oranges flew into the air. The Gamesmasters' eyes followed the fruit. One even cocked his eyebrow. Before the oranges fell, I threw the shard into the air as well. One blood oranges was cut cleanly in half while the other returned to my right hand. I bit into half of the cut orange. Bitter and sweet juices flooded my mouth.
Then I threw the whole orange and the shard at the Gamesmasters, hoping my aim would be true.
All twelve of them gasped and ducked. If I had any skill as a knife-thrower, there might have been one or two wounded—or dead—Gamesmasters. But twelve was not real for me.
Instead the shard cut through the orange and stuck into the wall behind the Gamesmasters. The Gamesmasters gasped when two of them received halves of the orange. I almost laughed then remembered how Chaff ended his Games: When the last Tribute, a vicious girl from District 8, was dead, Chaff just smiled.
Still eating my half-orange, I walked through the exit door.