Wow, that was one heck of a tough chapter to write! Not necessarily the longest, but I've never been so indecisive in my life. I literally had an idea of who was going to win for almost the entire length of the Games - then, halfway through this chapter, I changed my mind :) I hope it's still good though, and lives up to everyone's expectations!
Also, I don't believe I thanked you guys yet for getting the review count over 400. So THANk YOU! :D This'll probably be the last 100 review count celebration, and I just wanted to thank you all for your continual support and dedication to reading a fic that, as LeviAntonius pointed out, is longer than the entire Hunger Games trilogy :) So thanks so much guys!
After this, I'd love to hear you reactions on the Games, seeing as this is their last chapter. What was your favourite moment? Saddest death? Favourite tribute? Hard to believe we started off with 24 when, by the end of this chapter, there will only be 1 :) So let me know what you've thought, it'll really help when the sequel starts!
Oh, and gore warning, obviously. 'Tis the finale after all :) Enjoy the last of the Games chapters!
Janaff Skye, District 8 Male
For a moment, everything goes black. I can't see anything, can't feel anything except the iron grip of panic steadily tightening around my throat. But my ears must be working, because one name screams through my head over and over, so piercing and forceful that I think I'm going to be sick.
MeredithMeredithMeredithMeredithMeredithMeredithMe redithMeredithMEREDITHMEREDITHMEREDITHMEREDITHMERE DITH!
Her name resounds once more, louder than all the rest and I slap my hands to my ears in an effort to drown out the deafening chant. It doesn't disappear, not by a long shot – but my other senses do come back.
And with my returning vision comes the sight of roaring flames, rushing straight at me.
My mind is completely overrun by panic, so much so that I can't even comprehend scorching death as it prepares to engulf me. But my reflexes are still working, and while all I can focus on is approaching wall of fire, my body acts of its own accord – knees bend, head tucks in and suddenly I'm rolling back towards the stairwell. The pain as first my back, then my legs and arms hit the stone steps barely even registers. Hurting is good, good because it means I'm still alive. Which might not last for much longer.
The thought pushes me to my feet and before I know it, I'm sprinting down the stairs, taking them at least three at a time, every leap a risk that I might stumble, fall, break my neck. But that's nothing, nothing compared to the death I'm truly worried about. Flesh sliced from bone with lash after lash from her whip, or charred and melted by that, that monster. I can't take it, can't stand the thoughts and the mental images and all I can focus on is the pounding of my heart. And of the footsteps. Right behind me.
It's her! The idea nearly forces an audible scream from my lips as I poor on the speed, desperate to escape Meredith's manic rage. Still, a smarter part of my mind reasons that she can't be following me, that she's stuck with her dragon, and even if she could walk on the sickening stumps that are her legs, she'd never be able to match me in speed. But this rational thinking is ignored, completely drowned out by total, utter panic.
I reach the bottom of the stairs and finally, some of my common sense seems to break through the wall of fear in my mind. Janaff, Janaff, calm down. You need to think clearly, all right? Thinking is your best weapon right now and you need to use it. But she's here, she's coming, she's right behind me! No, no, she's not. Don't let your panic get the better of you. Think.
Think . . . r-right. It can't be Meredith, it's not. My mind is just conjuring up fearful hallucinations of footsteps in an unhelpful attempt to keep me on my guard. Slowly, I allow myself to stop, halting halfway down the hall to catch my breath. Yes, I just need to think. The castle walls protect me for now – I-I'm fine. I can do this.
Then someone slams into my back, sending us flying to the ground in a tangled mess of limbs.
Two screams ring out through the corridor as we try desperately to get away from each other – I think both of us were thinking we'd somehow run into her. But as I scramble away, shaking the fuzzy, panicked blur from my vision, I realise that for once, I don't have a cause to be more terrified in the arena. Because it was Taralo Hicken who just ran into me.
I guess he'd made it to the stairwell right after me, just before the fire burned us both to crisps. He doesn't look like he could last much longer though. Arm bleeding, pale and shaking – hard to believe a tribute like this has actually made it to the final three.
Final three. That's really . . . that's really it. The odds seem so insurmountable; the hope of going home – so high when I was fighting Gwen and Calican – dwindled to nothing the moment Meredith and her dragon made their appearance. But it never occurred to me that it's a one in three chance – I have a one in three chance of going home.
My eyes dart to the boy sitting in front of me. He's not even looking in my direction – too afraid of the bigger danger, I guess. And it occurs to me that I could do it; I could kill him right now, and bring my odds of winning up to one in two. I must have dropped my sword back on the tower when I ran, but I spent a bit of time at the hand-to-hand combat station during training. Strangling someone to death is slow, arduous job. But when all else fails . . .
I don't even manage to make a move before the entire castle seems to shake, and a deafening crack comes from the tower's direction. Both of our gazes jump immediately to the stairwell we just came down, and we watch as first small, than larger and larger rocks come crashing down with each passing boom, boom, boom. It sounds a bit like thunder.
But I know better. No, it's nothing as benign as some storm that rocks the castle walls.
Meredith can't enter the castle, so she's going to drag us out. That, or let us die, crushed under a hundred tons of stone.
All thoughts of the District 6 boy disappear, replaced with cries of no, no, it can't end like this! I'm actually so close – so heartbreakingly close. To die now, after everything I've been through, would be cruelty of the highest degree.
Though what else is there to expect from Meredith?
Stop! Stop thinking like that! I can't resign myself to death, not now, not ever. I've seen so many Games where tributes have tried and failed to get home. But I've never seen a single one where tributes who give up manage to emerge victorious.
Wait . . . I had a plan for this, didn't I? Yes, yes, of course! Before the music played, before the fighting started, I thought of a way to take down Meredith. But as another cacophonous boom! rents the air, I realise it might not be as easy as I'd planned. Back when the idea had first occurred to me, none of the other tributes were in sight – especially not Meredith. I need time to put my strategy into action, time I really, really don't have. No, that's not fair! The logical part of my brain may realise that the Hunger Games have absolutely nothing to do with justice, but still, it's just not fair. I know how to defeat her, how to take her down; but time isn't a variable I can control. Please, can't the Capitol help for once? All I need is a little something to draw her attention away, some sort of distraction to get her . . .
Ah.
The Capitol might be cruel and withholding, even if they hate letting the insane tributes win. But someone else might be kinder.
"Hey." Taralo jumps about a foot in the air and though I thought his pupils couldn't dilate any further, I'm instantly proved wrong. Only the faintest line of pale blue is visible around the circle of black as his gaze darts towards me, chest heaving up and down from the force of his gasping breaths. Idiot, says a cynical part of my mind, what can this scrawny kid do for you? Look at him: he's about to faint from fear.
Still, this is the same kid who somehow found enough courage to stand between a bloody sword and his fallen ally. I don't need someone who can wield weapons expertly or shows absolutely no inkling of being scared in the face of death – I just need someone who can run fast enough to buy me the time I need.
"Listen," I say as another shock wave rocks the tower, causing me to pick up my speaking pace. I do not, do not want to be stuck in here when this place collapses. "I know we were opponents only seconds ago, but I think we have a bigger problem now. What do you say we put aside our differences for now, unite against a common enemy?" Just like the districts against the Capitol in the first rebellion. I don't mention the reference, feeling that it would probably be lost on such a sheltered kid, but it comes to mind nonetheless. If only we could manage something like that again – get past these petty rivalries and divisions between Career and non-Career districts. The Capitol might not be able to win a second war.
And I realise, the victors are the key. I didn't see this much with my own mentor, but I liked to take walks during the nights we were in the Capitol – helped ease my nerves. As long as I didn't leave the building, the Peacekeepers were fine with it. Of course, that didn't leave many places to walk to, but I saw enough. A woman in her forties from District 7, helping an unstable teen from District 9 into the elevator to escort her back to her own floor. Two victors from District 5 and one from 4, returning to the Centre from who knew where, laughing and joking without a care in the world. Another man, younger and from District 7, preparing to leave the Centre, holding what appeared to be an invitation in his hand and looking very, very much like he'd rather go anywhere but where he was supposed to be heading. At least until a girl from 1 approached, saw the paper he held and, after looking around, failing to see me and assuming no one else was present, pulled him into a comforting embrace before they shared a long, lingering kiss.
People from different districts, Careers and non-Careers alike, yet they can somehow manage to talk, laugh, get along. Suddenly, getting out of here becomes the only option for me. I can't die – because the districts can't be forced to endure any more Hunger Games.
So I'll win, and change things. And maybe . . . maybe that will make up for killing the boy from 10.
Taralo still seems reluctant, and I can guess why; after all, he is being asked by someone who nearly killed him to help take down a deadly, enraged monster. And her pet dragon. "Look," I say, grasping desperately for something to add that might help convince him. "I'm sorry for earlier. But I can't . . . I can't do this alone. And if you don't help, we might both end up like your district partner."
I know it was harsh, mentioning Gwen so soon after her gruesome death, but I truly think it's necessary to motivate him. Taralo's whole body flinches at the thought, eyes widening, face paling; I think he's going to be sick again. But instead of bending over and retching all over the floor, he makes a gesture that sends a surge of hope soaring through my heart: he nods.
"Thank you." I reach over, offering a hand which he hesitantly takes, and pull him to his feet. We need to get out of here; this part of the castle certainly doesn't look like it's going to last much longer. "Okay, here's my plan . . ."
Meredith Blade, District 4 Female
Is there anything more beautiful than tumbling rocks? I think not, Darrel! Unless the tumbling rocks were crushing someone. Ooh, then it'd be just delightful!
No, no, that wouldn't be good either! That would mean Janaff died by getting crushed, and then I wouldn't be able to have my fun with him! Unless the rocks just crushed him a little bit. Like if they fell right on his legs. Hah, wouldn't that be perfect! Like, um . . . oh, what do they call that? Irony? Poetic justice? Pfft, justice? Lame!
"Come on out, Janaff," I shout, though I don't know if he can hear me over the sounds of Darrel breathing fire and repeatedly crashing into the castle. "Come out and plaaaaaaay!"
"And we will play this time, got it, Darrel?" I mean to whisper in his ear, but sadly, I'm not close enough. And my harness doesn't exactly allow for lots of movement. "No mistakes like with him."
Ugh, even the thought of my district partner makes me want to puke! Perrin, Perrin, acting like the leader, never letting me have any fun, never letting me kill the way I wanted to. He didn't even let me murder him like I'd planned! Oh, I'd imagined it all in my head. First I'd burn his legs off; we'd feel just like twins! Then both his arms; have to use fire of course, so the wound won't bleed out. Like how the explosion burned my stumps! But that's me; I want to talk about Perrin. And how, after I'd destroyed each limb with fire, I'd climb off Darrel so that I could be nearer to my dear district partner. Then I'd use my whip, my nails and my teeth to draw out the pain as much as I could before he turned into my dead district partner.
But Perrin didn't even let me get past stage one! All because someone – Darrel, I'm looking at you – didn't lift their claw enough.
Don't worry though, Darrel dear; it's all behind us. Forgive and forget . . . pfft, yeah, right! If I did that, I wouldn't want to kill Janaff! And I do. In so, so many ways. Pity he can only die once.
Still, we'll make it good. After all, we've practiced now, haven't we Darrel? And practice makes perfect! Perrin was practice; Janaff is perfect! Well, no, no he's not. He's weak, pathetic, a loser. Loser of the Hunger Games. Because there can be only one winner. And you're looking at her, Darrel!
Wait . . . movement! See it, Darrel? There! Someone's running out the castle courtyard! Yes, yes, time to play, Janaff, time to die!
Aw, no; it's not Janaff. I know exactly what he looks like, have every inch of him memorised so I can fantasise about carving into it with my nails, just like what I did with his ankle. We're pretty high up, but even I can clearly see that whoever is running has white hair. Not brown. Not Janaff!
But he's still someone to kill. The thought pops into my head immediately – or maybe it's not a thought, maybe Darrel's actually talking back to me for once – and continues, He's still someone who needs to die. Another loser. Another loser of the Hunger Games.
Well, whether it's me or Darrel, they're right! People in this place mean only one thing: wimps! And all wimps must die for me to win – duh.
Janaff, though. Another part of my brain speaks up, quieter and more . . . collected? Sane? Ha, not sane. That would imply that the rest of me is insane and that's just ridiculous! What if you leave and Janaff runs and you never, ever see him again?
Ooh, that's a good point. But there's a child running, a child to kill right now! I killed one girl earlier, melted her into nothing more than a puddle of goopy bits, but that's not satisfying enough! Where was the blood, the screams, the long, drawn-out torture? I want those things; I need them. And Janaff, selfish Janaff, isn't giving them to me.
"Okay, Darrel, turn around!" I give a crack of my whip and tug on one of the harness ropes until he faces the direction I want. Wait; where did the kid go? My head jerks frantically from the left to the right, but there's no sign of the white-haired wimp. No, no! I've gotten myself so excited over the thought of the screams; they can't be taken away from me now!
It's okay, it's okay; think rationally, Meredith – what the heck does that even mean? No, never mind, doesn't matter; what does matter is the kid, the wimp, the loser I need to kill! He went to . . . he went to . . . the forest! Of course! I snap my fingers and pat myself on the back for good measure. Brilliant! Of course he would have hidden in the forest; that's where lame things hide. And die. Rhine died in the forest. And Code. And my conscience.
Hah, I made a joke, Darrel! It's funny because I never had a conscience to begin with.
"Fly, Darrel, fly! Fly to the forest!" I whip him once and we're off, heading straight for the nearest patch of trees. Oh, but this is no fair! The tribute is playing hide and seek, and I always hated that game. You just find the other person, then it's over. And there's nothing I hate more than a swift ending to things; no, I want this nice and drawn-out. With as many screams as I can manage to fit in my schedule. Because, you know, I'm a very busy woman. Places to go, people to kill – specifically, Janaff. Yes, I'm booking a whole day off for him.
"So enough of this dumb game," I croon, tracing my fingers over one of Darrel's sleek, black scales. "I know I'm tired of it. Are you, Darrel? Yes, I think you are." My lips twist into a grin as I give him two lashings in rapid succession – our code for kill everything with fire! "Let's flush him out."
I can't believe I wasted all my time at the District 4 training centre practicing with mere weapons. Flames, flames are the only way to go. Look at them! So magnificent, dancing across vibrant green trees and turning them black and lifeless in seconds. Even the grass wants to mimic the beauty of fire, taking on a yellowish hue as the heat dries them out. Of course, the most flattering way to present flames is alongside a heap of charred and smoking flesh, but that will come soon. You have to ramp up to the big stuff.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are!" How rude these losers are? Perrin, Janaff, this kid: none of them ever answer me. Me! Well, you know what, fine. Darrel is better company than any mere human.
I'm preparing to whip my darling pet again, let him spew another bout of flames across the forest, but one thought stays my hand. Hmm . . . if I burn too much, could I accidentally kill the boy I'm searching for? Probably; these tributes are so unbearably weak. Can't even manage to see my games through to the end, let alone enjoy them. Honestly, I don't know what's wrong with people these days. They're games, I'm playing; have a bit of fun!
I ponder the burning forest, mind whirring with solutions to this problem and of course, being the genius that I am, I come up with one. I'll just land. See? Brilliant!
"All right, Darrel, down we go!" My fist pounds repeatedly on his head until he gets the idea – poor Darrel, he can be so slow at times – and finally, we make our descent. Eugh, it's smokier down here than I thought; but who cares! I'll find this loser – whoever they are – make sure they are a loser – even though it goes without saying – and then return to Janaff for the final bit of fun! I don't know what comes after, can't quite remember; but if it involves more killing, Darrel and I are all for it!
But first, the winner must take care of two losers. "So come out," I whisper, cracking my whip in anticipation of the death soon to come. "Come out and play."
Taralo Hicken, District 6 Male
I'm going to die. I'm going to die. I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'M GOING TO DIE!
It's all I can do to stop the sob building up in my throat but the thought that any noise I make could lead to my death helps in keeping silent. The coughing is also hard to stop; at least the wind is blowing the fire and smoke away from my position, or it'd be much, much worse.
But that doesn't really matter, because a moment after the dragon stops breathing fire, the ground seems to lurch, forcing me to grab the tree I'm hiding behind for support. Don't look! my mind screams, influenced by a lifetime of cowering inside my own home. Yet my reflexes act the same way after I punched the dwarf, and I find myself unable to stop my head from peeking around the trunk to see what's going on.
Oh god! I whip back around behind the tree, new tears forming in my eyes at the thought of the scene I just witness. T-t-the dragon . . . it just landed. And I can hear her voice, mocking, calling out, "Ohh kiddy! Or do you prefer loser? Wimp? Which one? Come on, you can tell me – I don't bite. But Darrel does!"
Splinters worm their way into my palms as my hands press into the bark, a failed attempt at melting into the tree and disappearing from view. It's getting harder and harder not to break down and cry, fear of death the only thing that's stopping me. No, no please! I've barely lived, haven't been told anything about dying. Is it scary? Does it hurt? Mother, Father, where are you?! There's nobody left, everyone's gone, everyone's dead and I need . . . I need . . .
A hero. That's what always happened in the fairytales. A hero would come along, at the very last moment, and save everybody. But twenty-one of us have already died. And none of the people left are heroes. I-I know I can't be. Neither is that girl, Meredith – no, she's the villain, the one who's supposed to be defeated in the end. But what if that doesn't happen soon enough?
Then there's Janaff. I don't . . . I don't know what to think of him. He was ready to kill both me and Gwen. But now he wants to help me.
Although in my heart, I know that's not the case. What happens to a hero, once he defeats the villain? Does he remain noble and loyal, or ignore his values to survive? The storybooks may end one way; but this place just loves to prove them wrong.
Oh, why couldn't I be back with Lore and Gwen? They were brave, kind – everything heroes should be. Yet Lore couldn't defeat the huntsman who failed to show mercy. And Gwen . . . Gwen . . .
My stomach twists as the scene flashes before my eyes and I clench my lips together tightly, knowing that if I throw up now, Meredith might hear it. Still, that doesn't stop the bile from rising in my throat at the thought of Gwen, Gwen melting, Gwen burning, the sickening smell of charred flesh as it cooked and warped beneath the dragon's flames and oh god, I'm going to- I'm going to-
"Really, it's rude to hide like this!" For once, I'm almost glad to hear Meredith speak. It reminds me just how close death is, and just how much I have to lose by making any noise. My hands go immediately to my moth necklace, eyes stinging with new tears caused by the acidic pain in my throat. But I can't allow anything to pass through my lips, I have to remain silent. "I don't know about you, but I have a very busy schedule! And I'm sure Janaff wouldn't want to be kept waiting! Wouldn't you, Janaff? Mm, silly me, you can't hear! You're at the castle . . . the castle . . . hm. Darrel! I believe it's time for a road trip!"
She continues to laugh maniacally, exclaiming that her dragon doesn't need roads, but I tune her out, too intent on her earlier words. She's . . . she's leaving! I'm going to live, I won't die, I'll-
No. She's going to head back to the castle. And Janaff said he was setting up his plan there, that I had to keep her in this position or it wouldn't work. He might not be the most trustworthy person, but I don't have any other options. If she gets there, before he's ready, he'll be doomed. Then I'll be doomed.
And the villain will win.
Suddenly, a blaring noise booms through the arena, shocking me so much that I nearly jump out from my hiding spot. My first thought is that it's over, it's done; the dragon is roaring as Meredith flies away to kill the one person who might be able to take her down. But after another moment of listening, I realise it's not the bellow of a beast. It's . . . music?
Not the slow, haunting tune we heard earlier, though. No, this is more familiar, a song I've heard every night since I entered this place. It's-
"Haha, look at that, Darrel! Remember him? Oh, he had such a pretty face. Before we burned it off!" The anthem continues as an image of the boy from 1 is shown in the sky. Loud music used to scare me, but now I couldn't be more grateful for it; getting down on my hands and knees, I allow myself to cough up the meagre breakfast Gwen and I ate this morning, the retching noises thankfully obscured by the anthem. Good, get it out. And breathe, part of my mind says, a part more confident than I've ever sounded. You've still got work to do.
Work . . . k-keeping Meredith here? But I can't, I just- I can't! I can hear her, cackling over the boy from 4's death and recounting it in vivid detail. It makes me want to throw up all over again; how can I hope to keep her here when I can't even stand to hear her talk? The only way to distract her is to present her with a target. And I just can't. I'd die.
"What? WHAT?! Who killed her? Who dared to kill her? No! I said they were all mine! My playthings! Who. Stole. My. FUN?!"
It's Catherine she's talking about. Her face has flashed into view, so young and innocent that my heart just breaks. Catherine, who I just hugged not an hour ago. I had her arms around me, felt the warmth she gave off, heard her sobs as she showed the first sign of weakness I'd seen since we'd met. She was three years younger than me, and yet had such enormous amounts of courage, ones I could never hope to gain. So why is she gone, with me still here? It doesn't make sense, it's not fair – but I couldn't do anything to save her.
"Oho, but I got her! Oh, wasn't that a delicious death, Darrel? Delicious, hah! I sound like I'm going to eat her! WHICH I'M NOT! Don't get any ideas, Gamemakers! I mean her death was divine. And bloody, and gory and fiery."
Gwen. That's Gwen's face in the sky, that's Gwen's death she's talking about. And, for the first time in my life, I feel a small seed of emotion not closely connected to fear. No, I think it's . . .
Anger.
Gwen had been through enough pain, had suffered everything to get back home like she wanted. Snow White was supposed to have a merciful huntsman, but he was vicious and bloodthirsty and insane. She was supposed to have seven kind dwarves to take her in and help her, but they were monsters, flesh-eating and demonic. Life isn't a fairytale, I know – but after all that, after all that, the evil queen is going to win. Do things have to be that bad?
No. T-that's too much. Maybe Janaff isn't a hero in the same way my old allies, but he still wants to defeat Meredith. Lore would always say to me, "If I don't win, I hope you or Gwen do." He c-can't win now. Neither can Gwen. And I don't . . . I don't know if I can.
But if I don't win, I hope Janaff does. Mother always said this world was awful; I never fully realised how true that was until now. Still, I can- I think I can change it. Or try to. Because after killing all those people, after killing Gwen, the evil queen does not deserve to live.
She's raging about the death of the boy from 10 when I see it. A distraction, a way to keep Meredith in one place so Janaff can complete his plan. When the anthem plays, the sky darkens and the moon comes out – but so do those little fairy lights. One of them is lazily drifting nearby, slowly coming closer to my position behind the tree. I don't think it's seen me yet though, or it would have attacked; Lore, Gwen and I saw what they did the first night in the arena when a poor squirrel got in its way. I know a dragon's no squirrel, but I don't need it to kill the monster – though that'd be nice. No, just distract it.
But this, this is crazy, isn't it? What if I don't move quickly enough and the fairy attacks me, what if Meredith sees me and the dragon breathes fire, what if . . .?
Go for it, Taralo. It's almost as if I can hear Lore's voice in my head, reassuring me, encouraging me. This is exactly the sort of hare-brained scheme he used to enjoy. Do it. Can you imagine the expression on her face? Might make everything we've gone through in the arena worth it.
Please do it. For me and Gwen.
My shirt's been ripped and stained in more places than I can count, but it could still work. My fingers are trembling as I slowly pull it off over my head, but even then, they're steadier than usual. Odd, because this has to be the most terrifying thing I've ever done. A murderous fairy in front, a giant dragon and its mad master behind; how have I not dissolved into a complete panic attack yet?
I guess, maybe, because things couldn't get any worse. It was always the fears I imagined that terrified me, but now I know that there's nothing, nothing scarier than what I'm about to face. And yet, I'm doing something about it. One of my biggest worries back when I was with Gwen and Lore was that I was weighing them down. I couldn't use a weapon, couldn't build shelter, couldn't be brave. Couldn't do anything. And they both suffered for it.
T-they're both beyond my help now. But if they were here, I know neither would want the evil queen to win.
It's this knowledge that gets me moving, and without even thinking, I'm leaping forward towards the fairy. Something not unlike a squeal comes from the orb of light, and, ready for the attack, it zooms straight towards me.
Right into my shirt.
I'd stretched the material out as much as I could between both of my hands, and as soon as the fairy comes close enough, I bring my arms together, effectively ensnaring it in a mess of fabric. Not for long, though; the thing is hot, and in addition to the burns slowly beginning to appear on the shirt, I can feel tiny claws scratching away at the material. In seconds, it'll be free.
So, for once in my life, I don't hesitate. I just grab the ends of the bundle and hurl it away from the forest with as much force as I can muster, watching it sail through the air, about to land . . . landing . . .
Right in front of the dragon.
"What was that?" The tiny good feeling I'd started to have – almost like triumph – disappears as soon as Meredith snaps out of her rant about not getting to kill Calican. My back is firmly pressed back against the tree, knees trembling once more, and suddenly I'm not filled with confidence or a desire to do things, but a sensation of utmost terror. Why, why did I do that? "So, someone wants to play catch, do they?" Oh god, oh god, this is it, this is . . . oh god, no! "Well, I like that better than hide and seek."
My eyes are shut tight, mouth moving in a soundless prayer while my fingers grate into the bark, too petrified to even try grabbing my moth necklace. This is how I wait for my death.
But none comes.
Because at that moment, the fairy breaks out of my shirt.
I can't see anything, nothing but the darkness that I'm terrified will become permanent once Meredith and the dragon murder me. But I can hear the cry of, "A light bulb? A flying light bulb? Are you trying to replace Darrel? Let me tell you, Darrel can fly and cause a lot more light than you. Want to-"
But her words are cut off, replaced by an irritated squawk, along with a growl from the dragon that quickly becomes a roar. For the second time today, my mind screams to not move while my head does the exact opposite and I find myself shakily peering around the tree to see what I think might be the most beautiful sight I've ever witnessed.
The fairies are fast. And tiny. These combined strengths, when attacking a big, slow dragon and a girl who can't change her position at all, serve incredibly well. The little pink orb is all but a blur as it darts around, trying to claw and burn the both Meredith and her beast. I don't know if it's having much success with the mutt, thanks to the scales covering most of its body, but Meredith's reaction is enough for both of them.
"Burns!" Her screams, always sounding pretty close to animalistic, are now positively bestial as the fairy zips closer to her. "Burns, burns, BURNS! No! Not again, no explosions, no legs! Legs! Charred and gone, Janaff! Is this your plan again? To make me . . . burns, BURNS!"
Each of her shrieks is punctuated by a crack of her whip, but even her lightning-fast weapon can't match the speed of the fairy. Beneath Meredith, the dragon is snapping and biting at the flying orb, tail swishing wildly back and forth, though nothing it does manages to even touch the sprite. Still, it's roaring so loud that it barely hears Meredith, who seems to have gotten over her initial rage enough to shout, "Up! Darrel, UP!"
No! They're going to move away, away, what about Janaff's plan? If they move, i-it's all over. But it has to work, she has to be stopped, good has to win! Please. I-I thought- I thought I could help . . .
Powerful winds stir as the dragon beats its wings, whipping my hair across my face and rustling the leaves of my tree wildly, causing more than a few to fly off and scatter. No, no, that's my cover! I sink lower behind the tree, on my knees as I watch Meredith and the dragon rise. Run, I tell myself, RUN! But my legs, my arms, everything is locked in place. T-this is it. I couldn't do it.
The force of the winds sends the fairy careening away from the dragon, pushing it with enough power that it explodes upon contact. It's a detail Meredith doesn't miss, and even from here, I can see that mad grin stretch wide across her face. "I did it! I DID IT! I foiled your plan, Janaff! No more bombs and burns for you! I mean, for me. For you, there will be PLENTY of burns!" She cackles, whipping her dragon twice as they hover on the spot. Slowly, his mouth begins to open – and I know, I know exactly what's going to happen. But I can't move; I can't move! N-n-n-n-no, I w-w-wanted to be b-brave, b-b-be a h-hero and I t-tried, I tried, doesn't that count? D-doesn't it? P-please?
Then there's a deafening crash and finally, finally, Janaff's real plan is set into play.
Janaff Skye, District 8 Male
I almost ran. Once Taralo had cleared the courtyard, and once I'd been sure Meredith was following him, I nearly left him to die. The wooden gates looked so inviting, and both tributes were all the way by the burning forest. I could slip out, go around behind the castle and sprint to the safety of different trees. I was a pretty fast runner to begin with, and the arena has only helped to enhance that skill. I could make it; I knew I could.
But there'd be nowhere for me to hide. The flames of the dragon would touch every corner of the arena; Meredith would burn the whole place down if she had to. And the Capitol would make sure she did too. Originally, I'd had hope that the Gamemakers might interfere; they've killed off crazy tributes before. No one wants an unstable victor – at least, more unstable than they usually are. But now it's clear that I'm on my own. No hope that this fairytale arena might get a fairytale ending.
Which was why I'd wanted to leave. I'd been so close, so, so close to letting ever cowardly instinct I had take over. But I couldn't, for two reasons. One, the only weapon that had any hope of taking down a dragon was here. And two . . . I couldn't leave Taralo like that. Using him as a distraction to take down Meredith had been one thing; the kid was so frail, I was sure he'd die as soon as he left the castle walls. But he'd made it to the forest, and was keeping Meredith in the exact position I needed. This kid, who'd entered the arena a scared, sheltered little boy, who had nearly been murdered by me only a short while before, was helping me now. Leaving him to die would be a much worse crime than killing the boy from 10.
So I open the wooden gates, but don't run through them, even though I desperately want to. Meredith may be a good distance away, but that doesn't change the fact that she's right in front of me. If she so much as turns her head, I'm dead. Deep breaths, Janaff, I tell myself, as I head back into the courtyard. Deep breaths.
Of course, I have no idea if this will actually work. The weapons stations at the Training Centre may have been quite extensive, but none of them even began to cover how to work a catapult.
Or three, to be exact. I'd noticed them when I first entered the castle, but hadn't really taken much interest – at the time, I'd figured any fight I had would be in relatively close range. Meredith having a dragon wasn't revealed until earlier today. But, looking them over as I push them through the open gates – slow going as, even with their wheels, it's like trying to move a car – they appear to be rather simple. I'd actually read about how to operate one back when I was ten, and had been going through a medieval fantasy phase. My grandfather had given me every book on the subject, and of course, catapults were wildly used. This kind was known as an onager, loaded by winching an arm down. At the end, there would be a sort of bowl to place the projectile in and, thanks to the Gamemakers' wonderful attention to detail, a pile of rocks were already present in the courtyard to be used as such. After that, all you had to do was shove a lever down and watch the catapult go to work.
In theory. Whether it actually worked or not would remain to be seen.
I shudder at the thought as I work on shoving the next catapult out of the courtyard. What if . . . what if it doesn't work? God, I wish that wasn't such an easy question to answer. If it doesn't work, you're dead. Taralo's dead. Meredith wins.
"No," I whisper, the word coming out between panting gasps as I strain my arms. That just, that just can't happen. Never mind what the Gamemakers want, would the universe really allow that to be the outcome? Every book I ever read, every lesson I was taught as a child, always said evil was defeated and good rewarded. Could life really be that unfair?
The Capitol murdered your parents when you were too young to even remember, yet they had you reaped just in case you were like them. They take innocent children every year and slaughter them as a reminder that those who seek a better life can never have one. They twist minds, break hearts and destroy hope. Of course life could be that unfair.
The thought sends a spike of anger piercing through my cloud of fear, and with a sudden burst of energy, I shove the second catapult into place. Just one more now; I glance worriedly in Meredith's direction, knowing that at any moment, she could turn around and fly back here. As much as I hate it, as much as it terrifies me, I know I'm her main target. Taralo wasn't responsible for melting her legs in an explosion; I doubt she even knows his name. And if she gets bored with him . . .
Without warning, music blares through the arena and I nearly jump out of my skin, mind automatically recalling the twisted version of In the Land of the Sun that played out through the arena earlier. No, no – this song is quicker, more upbeat. The anthem. Of course; in light of the threat Meredith posed, I'd barely paid attention to my surroundings, which were steadily darkening with the coming night. Better act fast then – I didn't want to be stuck unable to see my target when it came time to release the catapults.
It takes the entire song for me to move the final one into place, and by now, I'm sweating profusely, arms and legs limp and wobbling from the effort they exerted. But I'm not done yet. After a quick glance towards Meredith, I head back inside the courtyard once more, this time to carry the much lighter rocks out. Ah, scratch that; they're heavy enough that I'm forced to roll them out individually. Winching the arm down and heaving them up into the catapult buckets is even harder; I'm positive my arms are going to break from the strain by the end of it. But every time I feel like quitting, all it takes is a look at the dragon to remind myself exactly what I stand to lose if I stop.
I can't believe this, though. Enough time has passed for me to get all three catapults, plus the ammunition out of the courtyard, and yet Meredith hasn't made a move, nor has a cannon sounded. Taralo must be more competent than I thought. The idea causes my heart to twitch in regret as I winch the final arm down; as much as I wanted my plan to succeed, a small part of me was also sort of hoping Taralo would die while being a distraction. So far, we've both been motivated by the same goal: kill Meredith. If that's done while both of us are still alive . . .
I was completely prepared to throw morality to the wind a while ago, when I killed Calican and nearly did the same to Taralo and Gwen. Because I want to go home – I just want to go home. But if Taralo helps me, and survives, would I be able to finish him? To murder someone who essentially saved my life? I don't know. But I highly doubt he'd be able to kill me. Which really leaves only one option.
One that makes me sick to contemplate and I quickly force if from my mind. I'll think about that later; who knows, we might not even survive this. If the catapults don't work, it's all over and Meredith wins.
Speaking of Meredith . . . I glance over at the dragon and my heart nearly stops to see it rising in the air. It hasn't turned, not yet, but any moment now it could and then we're dead, I'm dead and after getting so close that's just, just . . . no. I can already picture my grandparents' faces, just want to go home to them, get out of this arena and to be burned by a dragon, burned to a crisp, charred and blackened like that girl, Gwen, I-
Get a hold of yourself! I nearly snap out loud, but even in my head, it's enough to clear the fear, if only for a moment. The dragon is hovering in place, there's still a chance. So I don't hesitate to leap for the nearest catapult and yank the lever down.
I don't even stop to watch it crash, but I do notice out of the corner of my eye that it flies far to the right of Meredith. No, no! I've only got three shots at this, and one of them was just wasted. But I can't let that stop me, because while a miss means death, so does a hesitation. So I pull the next lever down, and this time I can't help but pause and watch it fly, hitting the dragon's tail as it swings through the air. Not quite where I wanted, but close. It gives me a sense of pride, of hope. It lets me know that this might actually work.
But the good feelings stop as soon one monstrous, red eye turns to glare in my direction, accompanied no doubt by a pair of smaller, ice blue ones, though I can't see them from this distance. She's watching though, I know she is; only her gaze could make my blood run cold, my heart freeze up in my chest, my breath dry in my throat. I'm paralysed by a panic I can't break and oh god, oh god, oh god!
It's not until she starts flying towards me that I remember the last catapult at my side.
Meredith Blade, District 4 Female
What? WHAT?! He had . . . you had TWO plans? Oh, Janaff, you nasty boy, you wimp, you LOSER! Two plans is not allowed, that's too much! Or two much. Heh.
No. The time for jokes is over, Darrel. It was over the moment that, that thing came at us. And burned. It burned like the explosion, like my legs. YOU'RE NOT GETTING THE REST OF ME! I'm the only one who burns people now, I'm the one who lives and watches and laughs! Not the one feeling pain! Pain and burning and charred, crisped legs quickly disappearing, melting under the fires of-
"NO!" I shriek, and whip Darrel to make him fly faster. We're heading straight for the castle, straight for where I know Janaff will be. I can feel it. The other boy was a decoy, part of Janaff's little traps. Well, I figured it out! WHO'S SMART NOW?
Me. And he is dead. I lift my whip, ready to crack it down again, but something catches my eyes. Something small, but getting bigger and bigger as we get closer to it. Or it gets closer to us. What is . . . oh, rock!
I yank Darrel's rope to force him away, but he's not quick enough; the stone is flying right at us, and my scream is in sync with Darrel's roar as the rock goes right through the thin, leathery surface of his left wing.
"No! No, no, no, no, NO, NO, NO, NO!" Over and over again, I shriek the word as we go spiralling towards the ground, Darrel's one good wing unable to keep us up. It's enough to ease our fall though, and my harness holds firm as Darrel slides through the dirt, coming to a crashing halt a mere hundred metres from the castle. "NO, NO, NO, NO! JANAFF!" Darrel roars as I whip him, though he probably didn't even feel my blow. Too caught up in the pain of his own injury. Well, deal with it, Darrel. You want to feel better? Kill the one responsible; KILL JANAFF! He's taken MORE than enough from us!
It takes six more lashes for Darrel to finally understand what I want, and finally, fire gushes from his mouth, bathing the stones in beautiful orange light. But only beautiful on other people. Not me. SEE, JANAFF? SEE? THIS IS WHY YOU DON'T BURN ME!
I laugh as Darrel lumbers closer to the castle, and force him to whip his tail against the outer walls. Oh, Janaff's trapped now, like a rat in cage. I saw rats earlier today, and you know what I did? I KILLED AND ATE THEM! And you're going to get the same, Janaff. Only it will take ages. Because the rats only squeaked and that's no fun. But you, you're going to scream for me.
Taralo Hicken, District 6 Male
My vision nearly goes black as I hear Meredith take off, the overwhelming rush of adrenaline dissipating and leaving me weak and exhausted. There have been so many, so many moments where I thought I might die in this place but that was by far the most terrifying.
A huge part of me wants to just collapse on the spot and sleep for at least a year, but I force myself to keep my eyes open. This isn't over yet. Every muscle, sore after staying tense with fear for so long, screams as I slowly push myself into a standing position. It feels like I've aged sixty years in the past two minutes. At least Meredith is gone for now; I would be completely helpless if she came back.
Not that you aren't already. She's back at the castle, the dragon tearing it to pieces from the ground because, by some miracle, Janaff's plan worked. The monster can't fly. So the odds of good winning have gone up, just a little bit. But they won't stay up long if someone doesn't do something soon.
I watch as an entire tower collapses and flinch, knowing that Janaff must be somewhere inside the castle. We didn't . . . we didn't come up with a plan for this. I don't think either of us were even expecting the catapults to work.
No, no; we did discuss this. But only briefly.
". . . And that'll kill their flight power," Janaff finishes explaining as we run through the shaking castle. "Give us more of a chance."
"W-w-what about . . ." I can't seem to find the words; it's hard to talk to someone who nearly killed you only a few minutes ago. "A-after?"
His face is grim, as though he can't imagine us getting that far. "Well, if we can separate her from the dragon, we might actually be able to pull this off."
"H-how do w-we do that?"
He bites his lip, and I can practically see the gears turning in his mind. "I don't know yet. Just focus on staying alive for now. We'll deal with other problems later."
Cross that bridge when we come to it. Like Lore always used to say. Well, I-I think we've crossed that bridge, and come face to face with a giant, murderous dragon and its master. But what do we do, what do we do?! Janaff came up with the plans, he's the one with the good ideas! And all he said was separate her from the dragon. H-how?
As much as I don't want to answer, I know there's only one way. She stays attached to the dragon by the rope, tied from her waist to either horn. It won't break easily. Which means, unless the catapults have somehow survived the destruction at the castle, someone will have to climb up on the beast and cut her loose.
It's almost too perfect how, at that moment, my eyes land on a sharp rock nearby that could just about do the job. Or maybe too terrible is more of the expression. I j-just, I-I . . . me? I c-can't- c-c-could never do something like that! Throwing the fairy was one thing – I could do that from my hiding spot. But going out in the open, right up to the d-dragon and climbing it? No, n-n-no; t-that's for the heroes. N-not me.
B-but . . . the heroes are all gone. L-Lore and Gwen and little C-Catherine: a-all gone. Even Zephyr isn't here to help me. Who steps in when there are no heroes?
Think of all you've done since you left the house. You rode a train. You braved the chariot rides.
Who steps in when there are no heroes?
You survived the bloodbath. You tried to save Gwen when you thought she'd been poisoned.
Who steps in when there are no heroes?
You helped your allies through a booby trapped maze and lived to tell the tale. You tried to protect Gwen from the huntsman. You punched a dwarf. You helped Gwen walk. You escaped Calican. You stood between Janaff and Gwen knowing full well he'd kill you. You distracted a dragon. You threw a vicious fairy at an evil villain.
Who steps in when there are no heroes?
You.
Well, w-whoever's left.
My fingers scramble around the rock as I try to swallow every sob that's built itself in the back of my throat. One for my parents. One for Lore. One for Catherine. One for Gwen. And countless other, more selfish ones, for myself. For having to endure these Games. For having this be the only glimpse I might ever see of life outside my front door.
I could just leave Janaff, and run. But I know I'd never make it far – I've never been on my own, never in my entire life. If I can do this, maybe Janaff will think of some other plan to stop Meredith. Maybe – though I know it's a dumb hope because Gwen told me so when I said the same thing to her – maybe we can both go home.
My feet take off without me even thinking about it, and I don't really register that I'm sprinting towards the dragon until I'm halfway there. I can't form a proper thought at all; my mind is too busy screaming, blaring as many warning signals as it can. You're going to get yourself killed! Stop! STOP!
I want to. I-I really do. But someone needs to do this. I don't- don't know what happens after death, but I think all the kids in here would hate to know that they died only for evil to win. Someone needs to change that. S-someone needs to get a happy ending.
I don't know if I'm the person to do that. But I can try.
Even as I run, I'm cringing, half-expecting the dragon to turn around and blast flames in my direction, but neither its focus nor Meredith's wavers; they're both intent on destroying the castle, probably to get at Janaff. The thought makes me speed up, and before I know it, I'm dodging the dragon's swinging tail to reach its back claw.
Being here, so close to it, almost makes me want to run again. Its talons are longer than me, wicked sharp and the whole monster smells like charred flesh. I nearly gag at the memory of Gwen, but force my mouth shut. No, no, I can't stop now. Any hesitation could lead to the dragon killing me. Or my shaky determination being overrun by cowardly reflexes.
So I take a deep breath – instantly regretting it as my nose fills with the sickening scent of the beast – and my one, free hand goes to my moth necklace. Its death marked the beginning of all these terrible events. Funny, when it was alive, I tried helping it; now, in death, it's helped me. I feel almost like a moth myself, only instead of flying free before getting stuck in the curtains, it's been the opposite. The curtains may be safe, warm and comforting – but they don't allow you to go anywhere. Getting past them, you run the risk of getting squashed by a boot, but there's just so much . . . more out here. Even though right now, I'd much rather be back in my cozy, comfortable, confining home.
And there's only really one way to get there. I take one more deep breath – through my mouth this time – trying to prepare myself for what comes next. Then, slowly, achingly slowly, I stretch my arm out, hand reaching for the claw before my fingers finally brush against the smooth scales of the dragon's leg.
Immediately, I jerk my head around, terrified that I'll find an angry, red eye staring back at me. But no, it's still focused on the castle; with all these scales, I doubt it even noticed by touch. I wouldn't call the idea reassuring, not with what I'm about to do, but it makes this, I don't know . . . less scary? No, not less scary – not when there's a gigantic, fire-breathing dragon I need to climb. But I somehow do muster up the resolve to stick the rock in my pocket and grab the leg with both hands before finally beginning my climb.
The ridges of the dragon's scales make it easier to climb than I thought, the fact that it's staying in one place also helping. Funny, I was a nervous, shaking wreck back when I was hiding, but now my arms and legs are perfectly still. The panic is still there, but it's being repressed by a bigger, more powerful feeling: the desire to survive. And if I allow my knees to buckle in fear even once while I'm up here, I could fall to my death.
Like climbing a hill, I tell myself, trying to keep calm as I slowly inch my way on all fours across the dragon's back. A gigantic, breathing, black hill. Pretend you're with Lore and Gwen again. Pretend you're safe.
And is it my imagination, or do I almost see he outlines of my allies, beckoning me forward?
Straight down the centre of the dragon's back are some more protruding spikes, and it's these I use to pull myself into a standing position before turning towards the beast's head. Hand over hand, step by step, I use each passing spike to guide me over the shuddering back of the dragon, heading straight for the neck. Twice, my foot slips and I nearly turn back right then and there, telling myself I can't do this, I can't do this, I can't do this. But somehow, I manage to regain my footing – and enough courage to keep going.
The spikes start to grow smaller as they reach the dragon's throat, to a point where I can't use them to make the climb up to the beast's head. But its horns are long, protruding over the dragon's neck; could I . . .?
For the heroes. For the heroes. For the heroes, I repeat to myself, thinking of Gwen and Lore and all the others as I balance myself on the last spike. Reluctantly, my hands peel away from its surface, and I stand straight up, trying to grab one of the dragon's horns in my hands. Maybe just a little more . . . no, I can't reach! I'll have to- have to . . .
Jump.
Normally, I would hesitate; take a breath, close my eyes, grab the moth and ask for Zephyr to reassure me. But my position balanced on the spike is precarious enough, and I have no time to think about jumping before I do just that. All I have time for is a whispered, "Please."
The fact that my hands actually touch the smooth surface of the horn as I leap is so surprising I nearly let go in shock – instead, my fingers quickly tighten around the bone. Thank goodness, because a second later, the dragon jerks its head right to blast more fire at the castle and I'm almost flung off. A cry of fright tries to make its way through my lips, but I bite my tongue as hard as I can to keep it in; I'm only two metres from Meredith, the rope she's tied to attached at the base of my horn. If I swing myself hand over hand across the horizontal part of the spike, I'll be able to stand behind her on the head and cut the rope from there. But no, no, that could never work! She'll see me for sure, and toss me to the dragon and-
No, Taralo. It's Lore's voice I hear in my head, louder than the dragon, louder than Meredith, louder than everything. Buddy, this is going to be amazing! You can do it, definitely. Don't worry – Gwen and I will be with you every step of the way.
Meredith Blade, District 4 Female
Fire and rocks, fire and rocks everywhere but NO JANAFF! And no cannon, so I know he's not dead. No, no, he's hiding; hiding and sneaking and plotting my demise and NO! Not again, Janaff, not again. You've made too many plans, and now it's time for my plan to work. My plan, MINE! So come out and play, Janaff; come out and die.
"Find him, Darrel! Find him, find him, FIND HIM, BURN HIM!" Where is he?! People don't just disappear! I whip my head to the right, desperately searching, but there's nothing, THERE'S NOTHING, so I look to the left and . . .
Something. But not Janaff.
The boy doesn't even notice me staring at him until a second later, and when he does, his eyes grow almost as big as Darrel's. But these are red; no, these are pale blue, pupils enormous and it's that boy, that boy from before! The one who was part of Janaff's trap.
"NO!" I screech at him, and he jumps, nearly dropping a rock he holds tightly in his hand. A weapon. A weapon! "NO, NO, NO!" If he's here, that must mean Janaff has another trap planned. "NO!"
I lash out at him with my whip, and a red line appears across his cheek and down his arm as a short cry escapes his lips. A cry: a baby scream. Oh, I haven't heard screams since Perrin died.
I whip him again, but he's gone around the other side of the horn, and my weapon hits nothing. No, no! He's hiding – like Janaff! And hiding means plotting and I will not stand for it! No more plots, no more plans; only death and fire.
Lunging forward with stumps for legs is difficult, but I try it all the same. Something yanks me back though, and I jerk wildly around, sure that I'm going to see Janaff holding me, grinning, with another bomb in his hand. Or one of those glowing orbs. NO BURNS! I crack my whip in his direction, but not his direction, because he's not there; my harness is what's holding me back. Oh, they thing that will stop me? My free hand tugs quickly at the knot around my waist, and soon I'm no longer attached to Darrel's right horn. But that's fine, fine because I'm leaving to kill. First this boy. Then Janaff.
His wide eyes peer around the horn, face turning white as a sheet once he sees me approaching, but he doesn't move; his hands appear to be occupied with something behind the horn. A plan? A TRAP?! No, no, NEVER! I snap my whip in his direction again, inching ever closer in preparation for the torture I'm planning to cause.
But selfish, selfish, SELFISH BOY! He doesn't give me a CHANCE!
Because when I reach back to crack my whip one more time, he makes the mistake of taking a step back.
Janaff Skye, District 8 Male
My arm is killing me. Actually, scratch that – everything is killing me.
I was running through one of the corridors when the wall collapsed – heading for the armory, hoping to grab at least something I could use against Meredith. But then I got caught under the falling rocks, and now I'm stuck.
"No, come on!" Even talking hurts, but I force myself to do it – it's the only thing keeping me awake and conscious. I heard once that, if you were ever caught in a rockslide, you shouldn't move because you might make things worse. But if Meredith finds me here, I'm dead. So I figure normal rules don't really apply.
"Come on, Janaff," I say. I've been trying to use my good arm to clear a path, and I swear I can see daylight. "You've moved whole catapults, you can shift some rocks!" My tone is starting to border on hysterical, and even though I know that's bad, I can't seem to stop it. I'm stuck, trapped and she could find me, find me at any moment! "Come on!"
It'd be a lot easier to know where I was if it was light out, but with the darkness of night, I don't even notice there a hole in the rocks until my hand shoves through it. Yes! Desperately, and somewhat carelessly, I swing my free arm around until I find a solid rock I can grab to help drag myself out of this mess.
Slowly, ever so slowly, the rest of my body emerges into fresh air and I sigh with relief. Though it's short-lived, as, seconds later, I remember exactly where I am. And exactly who's after me.
My heart nearly stops when I realise I'm no more than twenty metres from the dragon, and I freeze instantly, hoping Meredith won't be able to see me with the rapidly falling darkness. My glasses were crushed in the collapse, and I can only make out a fuzzy figure atop the dragon's head. But something . . . something's not right. She's usually in the middle, always, that's where her harness keeps her. Now, though, she's all the way over by one of the horns.
There's a second movement, from something else this time, and my eyes widen, the shock enough to force me into a sitting position. I may not be able to make out any features, but with that white hair, there's no mistaking him. Taralo . . . how the hell did he get on the dragon?
My surprise turns to horror as I watch him take a step back, only for his foot to find nothingness. Two blurs surround him as his arms windmill desperately before slowly, gravity takes over. No. "No!" I'm not even aware that I'm shouting aloud, not even sure why I'm so opposed to it. I knew he had to die eventually, if I ever wanted to get home. But he helped me, saved my life and without him . . . without him, I'll be all alone. Against her.
I swear I can hear the sickening crunch as his body hits the ground; hard to tell, but if that white blob is his head, it looked like it hit the ground pretty hard. Get up, get up, "Get up!" But either he can't hear me, or he's too dazed from the impact. Probably both.
I should run to him, should help him, save him. After all, he saved me. But my instincts, my survival instincts, my cowardly instincts, tell me to stay put, and instead all I can do is stare in horror as the dragon opens its mouth, the makings of a fireball building in the back of its throat.
Taralo Hicken, District 6 Male
Once upon a time, there was a rich man with a good and beautiful wife. They loved each other dearly, but were very sad because they had no children. The wife prayed and prayed, but still, they remained childless.
In front of their house was a juniper tree. One winter's day, the wife stood under the tree to peel some apples, and as she was peeling them, she cut her finger. Watching as a drop of blood fell on the snow, she sighed and said, "Ah, if I had but a child as red as blood and white as snow. And as she spoke, she was overcome by a feeling of comfort – a feeling that her wish had been granted. Months passed, and she fell terribly ill. "Please," she whispered to her husband one night. "If I die, bury me under the juniper tree." And she did, and he did – but not before she had a beautiful baby boy.
Her husband wept bitterly for her, but as more time passed, he overcame his sadness and married again. Eventually, he and his new wife had another child, who this new wife loved dearly – but she could not stand to look at the boy. An abomination, no child of hers. She would beat him and scold him, and one day, when the husband went out, she killed him.
The daughter had seen and cried at the loss of her brother, but her mother forced her not to tell. To hide the evidence, the mother cut the boy up and made him into a pudding for his father to eat when he returned, but the daughter took the boy's bones, wrapped them in a handkerchief and placed them beneath the juniper tree, where she wept and wept. But a happy feeling took over, and when she left, she wept no more. Then, the juniper tree began to move, and as mist and fire surrounded the trunk, a beautiful bird sprung forth. When the smoke cleared, the tree was unharmed, but the handkerchief and bones were nowhere to be found.
The bird flew away, and landed on the house of a goldsmith. It sang such a pretty song that the goldsmith gave him a golden chain. Next, he flew to a shoemaker's, and sang the same beautiful song. The shoemaker was so entranced, he gave the bird a pair of dazzling red shoes. Finally, the bird flew to a miller's, and the man was filled with such a sensation of joy at the bird's song that he gave the bird his millstone.
Then the bird flew back to the family's house and began to sing his song perched in the juniper tree. The father heard the enchanting melody, and went outside to see what beautiful creature was singing. When he came out, the bird threw the golden chain down around the man's neck. The daughter also came to see who sang the song, and to her, the bird threw down the pair of shoes. Then the wife, who was suddenly feeling ill, ran outside, for her greed was so great that she craved a gift. And the bird threw down the millstone, crushing her to death. The father and daughter heard the sound, and turned to see what had happened, but all their eyes could find was smoke and fire from the juniper tree. Then, from these flames emerged the boy, and the father and daughter, so overjoyed, took his hand and brought him into their house.
And they all lived happily ever after.
This is the story of The Juniper Tree. Only, the fairytale got a few things wrong. The boy started out a bird, one who had been cooped up in its cage for its entire life. It was not killed, but was forced into a world of horrors, one in which it had no experience. But there were others, other who made its stay more welcome. A boy to whom the bird chained himself, never wanting to leave his side. At first, the bird was worried this chain was holding the boy back. But it came to realise the boy enjoyed the chain, a chain of friendship that helped them both endure the hardships of the world. And then there was a girl, who received, not her own pair of shoes, but the bird's. And its feet, and its legs, for the bird helped her walk in her time of need.
There was also an evil woman, not the boy's stepmother, but intent on killing him all the same. Only, the boy didn't need to drop a rock on her to bring about her death; no, he just needed a small stone, a sharp one, to cut away at her lifeline. The rest would take care of itself.
Still, the fairytale wasn't completely wrong.
My brain doesn't feel quite right; my head hit the ground hard and maybe that's why, for the first time in my life, I'm not frightened – even as my blurry vision focuses on the dragon's fire. But I think . . . I think it's for a different reason. Because some parts of the fairytale were right. In the end, the boy is reborn from the fire, and reunites with the father and daughter. Or the other boy and the girl.
The fire engulfs me, and that's when I truly believe I see them. Lore and Gwen. Outstretching their hands to me, smiling and laughing just like before. They pull me to my feet, still smiling, always smiling, and together, we leave this place of pain and misery behind.
And we live happily ever after.
Janaff Skye, District 8 Male
The cannon shakes me to my very core, but even then, the dragon's fire doesn't cease – not until there's nothing left of the boy from District 6. This is it. I'm all alone. With her.
And I'm standing in the middle of the castle debris, sticking out like a sore thumb.
My ankle, painful enough with Meredith's cuts, must have been at the very least twisted by the rocks, because the moment I try to stumble backwards, my leg buckles and I can't stop the cry that springs from my lips. My hands clamp over my mouth a second too late.
"Janaff." The word cuts through the air like a knife, somehow making it all the way down to my ears. I'm trembling all over now, can't even manage to get my arms to push myself back. She's looking at me; they're both looking at me, I can tell, I can feel it and oh god, oh god, I'm not ready for this. "I killed your trap. Your distraction. He was your plan, but I killed him." The words are carefully controlled, which scares me almost more than the shouting. And it does absolutely nothing to prepare me for the next outburst. "I. KILLED. HIM!" The words hit me like a wall, and it takes all of my willpower to stop myself from curling up into a ball and sobbing. As it is, I can feel the tears forming, clouding my already blurry vision. "Burned to a crisp! Like you wanted to do with me, Janaff. You want to burn me again? NO! NEVER! NEVER, NEVER, NEVER! You'll burn first! And DIE!"
Silence follows this, and I can practically imagine Meredith trying to calm herself down, while I struggle to stay collected. It's a losing battle for me though; my chest is heaving, each breath painful, failing to fill my lungs, accompanied with what sounds almost like a whimper.
"But first," Meredith adds, and I can just make out her hand as it raises her whip. "You're going to scream."
And the crack! echoes through the arena, sounding not unlike a gunshot. Oh, what does it matter which it is? What comes after is the same in both cases.
Death.
I want to close my eyes, want to turn away and scream. Fear is illogical, irrational – but it's also powerful, inevitable and it takes control of everything. It's fear that holds me paralysed, forcing me to watch as my death comes ever closer.
But then, something happens.
Meredith falls.
Her dragon twitched his head, growling when she whipped it, and the motion sent her tumbling to the left. But she doesn't stop tumbling. And she careens over the edge, grabbing at the one rope still attaching her waist to the horn.
It's . . . it's been cut.
And she's still falling.
She screams in rage as her plummet continues while I feel like I'm flying, soaring high above the cloud of fear to reach the rays of happiness. It doesn't matter that she tucks herself into a ball, doesn't matter that she rolls and recovers from her fall unlike Taralo. Because the dragon has seen. The dragon has noticed its master is gone.
And the dragon is mad.
This time, I manage to shield my eyes as the dragon's fire burns white-hot, lighting up the whole area with its brilliance. Sheer, sheer brilliance! Then the heat disappears, the light dies and the beast gives one final, triumphant roar before it takes off, heading back off towards the mountains.
S-she's . . . she's gone. Haha, she's gone! Oh my god, oh my god, she's . . . she's dead!
I won.
I-I won.
I won.
Without thinking, my arms shove me into a standing position, the pain in my leg suddenly easy to ignore. Because it's over. It's over! I can't . . . I can't believe it. I turn around, expecting the hovercraft to appear behind me. That's what happens, right? My brain is so full of relief, I can't think straight. No, yes, of course that's what happens. The hovercraft comes and picks me up, and I go home. Home. To my grandparents. Grandmother and Grandfather – I get to see them again! Oh god, I can't believe it! Can't believe I . . . I . . .
No.
No, no, no, no, please, no.
There's no cannon. No cannon. No cannon, no cannon, oh god, no cannon.
That means . . . t-that means . . .
CRACK!
"YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD KILL ME?!" It's as though a line of fire has suddenly been traced onto my back, but that's nothing compared to the internal pain I'm feeling. She's here, she's here, this is still going on, NO! Please, I was done, it was over! "YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD BURN ME AGAIN?! I'LL. NEVER. BURN! NEVER! NEVER AGAIN! AND YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!"
Crack! And the whip hits again, carving into the first wound she made and making me stagger. My senses are overloaded with horror, I can't process anything and yet somehow, somehow I manage to turn, just in time to get another lash across the chest before her hand wraps around my knee, yanking it forward and pulling me down to her level.
"YOU DIE! YOU! YOU'RE THE LOSER, YOU!" She's on top of me now – no, no! – and her nails are digging into the whip mark across my chest, tearing it deeper and deeper and making me scream. "You think I can't avoid a little dragon fire? You think I can't roll away and hide? LIKE YOU?! I trained for this, I TRAINED! YOU'RE NO ONE, NOBODY! AND YOU DARE. BURN. ME?"
Her nails leave my chest, now a mess of torn flesh and drag down my arms, creating white and red lines, but nothing else. They're not quite sharp enough to pierce my unhurt skin like she wants, and she realises this. My eyes are closed, my lips clenched tightly together, but still the tears are escaping, still the sobs are evident. Especially as she clenches my chin tightly with one hand, wrapping the other in a handful of my hair. "Look at me."
The whimpers are only building in the back of my throat, but I refuse to open my eyes, trying instead to conjure up images of home, of my grandparents; s-she can't . . . I can't let my last sight be her. "LOOK AT ME!"
She yanks my head up before slamming it back to the ground and a muffled cry escapes my lips, quietened only by the fact that she's still holding my chin, preventing my mouth from opening fully. "I said," the snarl is right in my ear before she pulls her head back, and now my head is being lifted once more and no, no, please, ple-, "LOOK. AT. ME!"
The second hit is more painful than the first, but this time all I can manage is a low moan. And slowly, my eyes open, because I can't stand the pain, no more, please, I was so close. But I'll never make it home. That fact is written all over her face, twisted into a mask of pure rage – no, more than that. It's the look of someone who has completely and utterly lost their mind.
I flinch as she brings her head closer, until we are literally nose to nose. "Show me the fear," she hisses, ice blue eyes burning holes into my skull. "I want to see it, want to see every bit of it. Because you're the loser. And you deserve it. AFTER WHAT YOU DID TO ME!"
And then she plunges her teeth straight into my shoulder.
"AHHH!" It's pain, pain like nothing I've ever experienced before and she rips and shreds until she's literally gnawing on bone. But somehow, the agony clears a small part of my brain, a part that isn't screaming, no, no, NO! along with all the rest. No, this one is saying, GET OUT OF THERE!
Her stumps are on either side of me, but they offer little help with balance, and she's neglected to hold down my other arm. So as she raises her head, spitting blood and pieces of flesh in my face, I twist my hips and shove her off of me.
Her shriek mingles with my cry as we both desperately try to right ourselves. She's up first though, and her nails – no, claws – wrap around my leg, digging deep into the old cuts she made right as I manage to stand. Then her teeth are in my calf, tearing my flesh and we're both screaming as I grab her hair to yank her off before running, running, as fast as my injured leg can go.
Which isn't fast at all, and though she's slower on her stumps, her whip still catches me around the ankle and I go down hard. Just like that day by the trap. Only no, no, it's not because than I had a bomb! Then I had a plan! And Perrin. And Code and Rhine and oh god, I'm not ready yet! I thought I prepared for everything, thought of each and every little detail, but how do you prepare for death? You can't, you can't and I'm . . . I'm . . .
"Scared?" Meredith's whip releases my ankle and snaps across my back before I have to react. "Well, Janaff?" My arms struggle to push me up, but my chest is burning from falling on the open wounds, and I can barely stay even stay conscious. Still, I have to try, but each time I attempt to rise she cracks her whip, and I collapse once more, another lash mark stinging across my back. "Are you scared?" I can hear her coming closer, hear the dragging sound the her shirt's sleeves, which she must have cut off and tied around her legs, make as they pad across the ground. But my whole back is on fire and I just can't- can't-
"ANSWER ME!" Her words are punctuated with a crushing blow to my ankle and I cry out, trying to pull away, put her hand is around my calf, yanking me back. "ANSWER!"
Whatever she holds is pounded repeatedly into my ankle until with an almighty snap! the bone breaks. And then, then the screams really come.
"Yes, YES! How does it feel? How does it feel to lose, Janaff? Oh, and you haven't even burned yet!" I'm gasping for breath now, each pant carrying with it a heavy sob as my fingers scramble for purchase in the castle wreckage. As though I still have any hope of getting away.
There's a hand digging under my stomach, and I'm flipped over almost effortlessly, the fresh wounds on my back hitting the uneven rock behind me and eliciting another wince from my lips. But that's not enough for her.
She holds a rock in one hand as her stumps slide back onto my stomach – it's bears a thick coating of blood, my blood. What she used to break my ankle. Her other hand grabs for my arm, and I try meekly to resist, only to be completely stunned as the rock slams into my jaw. The world erupts into a sea of black spots, and by the time my eyes refocus, both of my wrists are being firmly held above my head, encircled by one of Meredith's hands.
"I don't know exactly how I'll get you to burn," she continues, lowering the rock and slowly grinding it into my already bloody shoulder. "Darrel deserted me. BECAUSE OF YOU!" This time, the stone smashes into my cheek, and I let out a shuddered moan, my vision going black once more. It takes longer for me to recover this time, and I only manage to catch the tail end of Meredith's words. ". . . flammable? Yes, yes they are!" Before I know it, she's sliding off of me, and her whip is cracking down on my exposed stomach once more. "Come on, up! UP! We're going to the trees! Because trees burn! Like you."
Crack!
Crack!
Crack!
"I said, UP!"
Crack!
Part of me knows this is degrading, knows that I should be standing up to her, defying every order and being brave in the face of death. But I'm not facing death; I'm facing pain, pain and torture, to last as long as I still draw breath. No, no . . .
Crack!
"UP, UP, UP!"
The tears are flowing freely now as I get on all fours, preparing for the pains of standing. I'm halfway there, biting my lip so hard I draw blood, when Meredith shoves me down again. "NO." She smiles, her eyes level with mine. "You walk like this. Like me. So you see how it feels."
And with another snap, she forces me forward, as though I'm nothing more than a dog. I can't even register the humiliation though – the pain, the pain. My face contorts in agony as another spasm runs up from my broken ankle; dragging it along the ground twists it, the bones grating together and why can't this stop, why can't this stop?
In the dark, and with my glasses gone, it's impossible to see. My hands are out in front, feeling my way as Meredith cackles and whips me from behind, until I freeze. That wasn't . . . that wasn't a rock I just touched.
"What's the hold up? Keep moving, KEEP MOVING! We have a schedule, a burning appointment to make!" Another lash, then another before I hear her moving around me, coming to deal a more severe punishment. "I said, KEEP-"
I thought all strength had left me, but I somehow find the power to yank the sword out of the debris and shove it through her stomach.
I should have known that when the castle collapsed, the armory weapons would have spilled everywhere. But I was too stupid to look for one. Still, I have it now, and that's all that matters as I twist the blade violently before extracting it for another hit. "No!" Meredith screams, trying to claw at my face, but I'm already swinging the sword; this time, it lodges deep in her arm, warm blood spraying both of us as I tear it away once more. "That's not . . . that's not FAIR!"
The blade stabs deep in her chest and her words turn to incoherent splutters as she falls. I don't even bother rising to my feet, merely kneeling over her to strike again. "No," she says again, but it's more of a whisper, and even in the darkness I can see those blue eyes fading, those blue eyes that haunted me, that terrified me. "You c-can't . . ." She coughs up blood as I stab again, not caring where at this point, just wanting her dead, dead, dead. "I was . . . supposed to be the . . . the . . . the . . ."
"Loser . . ." is the last word she speaks, though it's more of an exhalation rather than two audible syllables. Maybe I imagined them. Maybe I'm imagining this. Oh god, what if I'm dead already?
I don't hear the cannon, so busy plunging the blade in and out, in and out, make sure she's dead, make sure she's dead! Too many times, too many times I've let her fool me. There's nothing but ringing in my ears, ringing and her mad cackle and I can still hear it, it's in my head. So she can't be dead, not yet, not yet. One more stab, one more, another to make sure, just in case-
There's a burst of static, and a loud voice suddenly booms through the arena, but still I stab down, stab her – is it her? I can't tell, there's too much blood and what if it's not, what if she's gotten away again, what if she's behind me?!
"Ladies and gentlemen, I am proud to present your victor for the 37th annual Hunger Games: Janaff Skye!"
No, no, not yet. That's what I thought before, that's what I guessed, but I was wrong, wrong and my mistake let her whip me, claw me, bite me, break me. Not again, she's not dead yet, she's faking, can't you see? But they can't, they can't because a ladder is descending in front of me – no, no! She'll escape! She'll leave, she'll kill everyone, she'll win! You can't let her . . . you can't let her . . .
Seeing as I'm not going up on my own, people begin descending the ladder, dressed all in white with masks over their mouths. No, no! D-don't. "Stay back," I whisper, still bringing the sword up and down. "She'll kill you . . ."
One of the approaches and gently takes the blade from my grasp as another holds my arm, sliding a thin, silver needle through my skin. And they're hands are all around me, and a voice, trying to be reassuring. "It's all right, Mr Skye, it's all right," but no, it's not, these people are defenceless against . . . against . . .
The bloody mess in front of me. That's it; that's all that's there. No features that are even noticeable recognisable.
"She escaped," I try to tell them, shout at them to make them listen, but my tongue feels thick, my eyelids suddenly weighing more than the catapults I pushed earlier today. "Watch out . . . she's going to kill . . . kill . . . k- . . ."
I can't even finish the thought in my head before their chemicals kick in, and the darkness envelops me. Eyes close, muscles relax – and I pass out in their arms.
