Hey guys! I'm glad to announce that I'm finished with my thesis :) I hope all of you had a good week. This is a fairly long chapter because a lot happens in it. I hope you all enjoy!
Thank you to MaxMan667 for betaing!
Passion Mavros (17)- D1F
I had tried to sleep a bit last night, but Callum had visited me in my dreams. After watching his side pierced and his throat slit, I woke in a cold sweat, the snow sticking to my skin as I rolled out of my sleeping bag. I sat for a few moments before grabbing all of my supplies and packing up my camp. If sleeping won't help me escape from the visions, then I'll keep moving. Even as I blink, the image of Callum's blood staining the grass is imprinted onto my eyelids.
Now I trudge onward, the light of fake stars twinkling above me. I should have brought a flashlight from the Cornucopia, but I left in too much of a hurry, so instead I keep my eyes on the moon so I know which direction to keep moving. This moon may not be real, but is always naturally positioned in the sky. Unless the Gamemakers are fucking with me.
At least I have one less opponent to worry about. I'm not sure what I initially felt when I saw Marlowe's face in the sky last night. Now I feel relieved, of course. I would never feel bad that one of the lesser tributes in this arena met their appropriate grisly end. This is what I've trained my entire life for, after all. This is what I volunteered for. What Callum died for.
Still, I can hear Marlowe's tinkling laugh in my ears. Her beautiful golden beach waves. Who was it that slit open those vocal chords, smeared those long locks with blood? A sudden blast of freezing air blows snow into my face. I shiver and pull my coat tighter around my body. I'm getting away from myself. Marlowe might not have died in combat. She was injured, after all, and stuck in a frozen arena all alone. Anything could have killed her. She was a fool to leave the Cornucopia and go off on her own.
Just like I did.
I sigh and take another step into the snow. There should be tributes near the coast. And if there isn't, I can settle on the island that Leto and I saw before we were drawn back to the Cornucopia by the announcement of the feast. We can't have been the only ones to notice it. WIll there be any tributes there?
I swing my axe casually through the snow, sending it flying, trying to seem normal for the cameras. Once I get a taste of blood, I'll feel better. That's the name of the game after all… blood.
Logan Wheeler (18)- D6M
After spending two days trying to get past that damned muttation, I've realized something. I can't just use brute force to get to that food, the steaming platters of meat, vegetables, and soups that somehow have remained warm throughout the snowstorm and subsequent winter. My mouth waters as I stare at the food, sitting pretty behind the rump of the feathered creature. Its feline eyes watch me with cruel precision.
I lean down to wipe the snow away from the riddle on the tile below. The gloved fingers of my other hand tighten around my sword, my teeth grinding together. I've never been one for wits. I'm a gang leader, after all, not a schoolteacher. And if I can think of the answer, do I really speak out loud to this mutt? Can it even understand human speech? I glance up at it, at those sharp eyes, that carefully composed expression. Something tells me that it can.
If Natalie were here, she would surely know the answer to this riddle. She was always the top of her class, the one who could always make sense of the nonsensical. When my Warriors started to get antsy, feeling like nothing that we were doing to clean up the streets was making a difference, they would sometimes get irritated with each other and get into fights over minute issues. I learned very quickly that I should stay out of it and instead let Natalie take care of it. She had a commanding yet empathetic presence when dealing with people, and she could always understand what someone was trying to say.
I smile despite the cold, the hunger, the ever-present undercurrent of fear that follows me during all hours of the day in the arena. Now that the girl from Four is dead, we're in the final eight. They probably went and interviewed my parents, and maybe even the Warriors. And definitely Natalie. The Gamemakers wouldn't let the opportunity to display tragic young love slip through their manicured and disfigured fingers.
What carries a scythe in the morning,
a sword at midday,
And a scepter in the evening?
The riddle gleams at me, the marble wet and sparkling from the snow. The golden Capitol insignia gleams at me in the backdrop of the mosaic. I try to imagine what Natalie would say if I showed her this riddle, like it was in one of the school's puzzle books that sometimes laid around the lunchroom. Well, what does carry a scythe? she would ask, that knowing twinkle in her eye that told me she knew the answer, but wanted me to figure out myself.
What does carry a scythe? I picture the propaganda posters that hang around the district in the weeks leading up to the Hunger Games. Each district has its own distinct imagery in the posters that relates to their industry. The Six poster always shows some guy in comical overalls, covered in grease and holding a wrench. Not very accurate to what mechanics like my father actually look like during the course of their work, but it gets the message across, I suppose. The Four poster shows someone holding a trident and a fishing net, standing on a boat deck, Twelve shows a miner with their hardhat and pickaxe, and so on. The man on the poster for District Nine inevitably stands in a field of wheat and holds a scythe, year after year.
"A field worker from Nine?" I mutter aloud, half-hoping that the cameras can't pick up my musings in case I'm totally wrong.
What would Nine have to do with the answer to this riddle? And what the hell is a scepter anyway? My mind conjures images of a king adorned in jewels and furs, sitting on a ruby throne. Is it referring to President Snow? I've never seen him carry around a scepter, but he seems the most appropriate person for the role. And what is the business about the times of day? People in Nine don't do their field work in the mornings… or do they? It might be cooler in the early mornings, so perhaps they get up at the crack of dawn to beat the heat. And what carries a sword at midday? A Career? Do the Careers train during their school lunch breaks?
As my mind spirals into a thousand theories, none of them helping me get closer to that food than my attempts to sneak past the mutt, anger begins to smolder just under my skin. It's a fury that I haven't felt in many long months, one that only emerges when I know that I'm at my breaking point… My fists curl and I feel the rage flow like lava, just beginning to erupt.
"Why?!" I suddenly roar. "Why did this shit happen to me!?"
Behind my eyelids, I see Pagani's head, smashed into bits by the One girl's swinging mace. Volt's blood spraying in the air and the Two boy crying out as they were both brutally slaughtered. And me, running away like a coward, Pagani's last words ringing in my ears. Go, Logan!
My sword clashes into one of the crumbling walls beside me. I know better than to attack the creature, but I can still let out my frustration out on the arena itself. This wretched place where I've been sent to kill or be killed. Likely both.
The blade sends bits of rock and marble flying, slices into undisturbed mounds of snow, flings up clumps of the dirt below. I momentarily contemplate chopping the mosaic itself into tiny pieces just to spite the Gamemakers, but I stop myself just the second before the steel hits the ground.
I shouldn't. I should keep the riddle intact just in case I forget the exact phrasing... and just in case the destruction of its precious mosaic sends the mutt into a frenzy. I slowly lower my sword, breathing heavily, now staring the creature in the eyes. It hasn't moved an inch during this entire episode, just watching me with those maddenly shrewd eyes. Its beak looks awfully sharp. I don't want to be on the stabbing or tearing end of that thing.
Wildly swinging around my sword isn't going to accomplish anything. But I am in the final eight. There's a very real chance I could win this thing.
Go, Logan!
I shake the sound away, now limply holding my sword in my hands. I may have to face those Careers again, and my swordsmanship skills are rusty at best. It's been almost two weeks since I trained intensively. Maybe I can channel my anger into something productive.
Raven Lavalée (17)- D7M
My breath leaves my mouth as a mist, visible in the chilly winter air. The dawn is just transitioning into late morning. The sun glimmers down at us, but it's a dim, pitiful light, not warming the arena at all. The snow doesn't bother to melt, the cold air still bitter and sharp like the pain in my chest.
I had hoped that my final days would be at least a little more comfortable than this. Thanks a lot, Gamemakers.
Flux is sitting on the other side of our fire, sticking her hands out to be warmed by the flames. Their thin plume of smoke is prevented from reaching the sky by the marble ceiling above us. No one will be able to see the smoke from our camp and track us down.
"Hungry?" Flux asks, holding out a roasted fish. She picks out a fish bone from her teeth with her other hand.
I scoff, shaking my head. "I'm tired of fish."
She rolls her eyes playfully. "Well, I'm sorry. Would you prefer a platter of grilled lamb? Perhaps some grapes with caramel and honey?" she inquires, faking a clipped Capitol accent. She sticks her nose up with an air of pretension, eyes bright with mirth.
I snort. "Disgusting. I'd rather have some of the bread made by the bakers back in Seven." I stare off into the distance, where the trees sway in the winter wind, envisioning the merry faces of the bakers in the town square back in Seven. "Soft rolls with butter," I say dreamily. "I used to take Sparrow there on her birthday to get a cupcake." My heart aches at the memory. "I suppose I'll never get to taste one again."
Flux looks up at me from under her eyelashes. "I wouldn't say that. Unless you're saying that you're going to give your life to save me…" she says dramatically, flourishing her arm in the air.
I frown slightly, then grimace in pain before suddenly erupting into a coughing fit. It's reached a level that I haven't experienced before, even back in Seven before Johanna gave me Capitol medicine. The swamp disease. Tuberculosis. I recall her set jaw as she said the words, the knowing look in her eyes. I reach up to paw at the tree charm she sent me last week with bloody fingers.
"Raven?" I look up to see that Flux's face has fallen. Her dark curls frame her concerned expression. It's not often that she worries. It's a strange look on her.
"You may have the right idea," I say hoarsely.
"Don't be ridiculous," she scoffs. She stands, holding something in her hand. It's concealed in her palm, but I already know what it is.
"Here," she says, holding it out to me. The vial of liquid glimmers at me merrily. I stare at it wordlessly, feeling nothing but dread.
"Just take it," she demands, her eyes flashing.
"You should keep it for yourself," I say..
"What?" she asks. The smoldering embers of fury are evident in her voice.
"I don't want it," I say hollowly, staring into her eyes so she knows I'm serious.
With an angry flash in her eye and a gnashing of her teeth, she throws the bones of her fish onto the ground. "You really don't trust me? What else could the riddle mean except that it's a medicine? A cure?"
I recall the riddle on the statue, practically memorized now.
The cause of the curse
Is the flesh impure
And the liquid obscure
Is the curse cured
"Liquid obscure…" I whisper. It hurts to speak, so I swallow down any other words along with a glob of blood.
Flux shakes the liquid in question in front of my face. "Want me to force-feed it to you?" she asks, voice rising in tone. "Because I will!"
"Flux," I say hoarsely. "We don't know for sure that it will cure my tuberculosis."
Her eyes narrow at the word, clearly unfamiliar with it. "Why wouldn't it?" she finally says. "Your flesh seems impure to me…" She gestures to the blotches of blood on my hands, the paleness of my face.
I shake my head. "It's too small, and not enough. The medicine that Johanna gave me had to be taken for weeks. Months, even." I warily glance at the tiny vial of liquid. "This thing will barely help me. You should keep it for yourself in case you need it in the future."
"It may not cure you, but it can give you strength to keep going!" Flux hisses. Her hair frames her face in wild curls like one of the lions from which she'd escaped just a few days ago.
"And what then?" I ask, feeling some anger of my own rising in my cheeks. "I regain the strength to walk for a few days, then go through this all over again? And die anyway?"
Flux opens her mouth, advancing toward me with fire blazing in her dark brown eyes… then she abruptly sighs, eyes downturned. "Raven… I can't do this without you. Without you or Thimble."
She suddenly looks like who she actually is. Just a scared fourteen year old girl who wants to see her family again. "Flux…" I say softly. "I promise you that you can do this. And Thimble would want you to win to help out everyone in Eight for another year." My eyes fill with tears. "And so would my little star…" The thoughts of Sparrow are still too painful to truly hold and contemplate. This is the first time in a long time that I've allowed myself to examine them fully.
I look up to see that Flux is also crying, just a few tear streaks down her cheeks. She wipes them away furiously. "I came all this way to save Thimble, and I couldn't," she chokes on a sob in her throat. "I can't lose you too."
"Flux," I say seriously, looking her deep in the eyes. "That is not your fault."
Her lip trembles momentarily. Then she sits down beside me, her body warmth a welcome solace in this cold, unforgiving weather. We sit in silence for several long minutes.
"What do we do, then?" she breaks the silence. I stare into the fire, watching as it crackles and smolders. So like Flux.
"You win," I say.
Leto Larston (18)- D2F
After two days of roaming over the snowy hills, making sure that I'm heading north the whole time, I can finally see something up ahead. This arena is huge. The Gamemakers really outdid themselves this time. After all this time out in the wilderness, I still haven't seen a single soul… except for whatever moving mass is waiting for me in the valley of the surrounding hills. I stare down at it at the top of my own hill, slipping my whip out of my pack and gripping it tightly. I let it crack! to see if the thing reacts at all, but I don't notice any particular changes in its movement.
Have the Gamemakers planted a mutt for me to encounter? I scan the horizon with keen eyes. Still no other tributes that I can see, only my own breath hanging in the air. I had speculated for a little while that Marlowe would be lying in wait for her former allies in the wilds of the arena, but after seeing her face in the sky last night, that concern had dissipated. I wonder what did her in. Was it the cold? Her injuries? Passion? Or even the creature that lies before me?
I cautiously take a few steps forward in the snow, one hand holding my whip and the other on the hilt of my knife. As I draw closer, I realize that the creature is not just a mutt- it's a dragon. The thing is standing over a frozen pool of water. The creature doesn't seem to notice my approach. To such a large mutt, I'm probably just a little mouse hardly worthy of notice until I'm directly in front of it.
It's easy to see what Claudius Templesmith was talking about during the feast announcement. The valuable resource that this beast is guarding is clearly the water beneath. I sling my pack off of my shoulder and reach inside, digging for my last minute retrieval from the Cornucopia. I finally find it. The stone that Marlowe left behind, the one that was behind a dragon plaque at the feast. Each beast has only one weakness.
I stand back up and stare at the dragon ahead. It would be reckless to approach a mutt like that with only a whip, a knife, and a stone. I have enough food and water to last days. It would be smarter to scope out this dragon and see what it does before I make my move.
If I can pull this off, I can earn a resource much more important than water: the Capitol's favor.
Luna Everett (12)- D11F
A faint sound in the distance startles me. I stop in my tracks and look around frantically, my breath coming quickly. What if the spider mutt that I encountered yesterday has followed me? I imagine it's thousands of babies swarming my body and I shudder, a part-sob, part-growl leaving my mouth. I can't let this spider get the better of me. Paranoia won't be my downfall, like it has for so many prior tributes. I can do this. I can get through this.
I turn back to face… whatever direction I'm going in. North? I had learned how to identify the cardinal directions by the sun in training, but I'm having trouble remembering what the trainer had said. Thorn had no trouble getting around, and I never had to worry that we were heading in the right direction. The thought of my fallen friend makes my heart constrict. I wish he was here now to help me, to tell me his snide little jokes. He would know where to go.
The only way I can tell which direction I've come from are my footprints, which trail behind me for as far as the eye can see. Ahead of me is white now. Behind me is white snow. To the left and right… white snow. To my left, distant trees rise into the sky. But is that the forest that Thorn and I wandered through at the beginning of the Games, or is it the edge of the arena, or something beyond it? The sun above barely provides any warmth, its sunlight pale and pitiless. My skin on my face hurts from the cold, my nose completely numb. And I am all alone.
My stomach growls. I place a hand over my stomach, feeling a bit faint as I take another step forward. I still have a bit of water in my canteen, but it's frozen solid, no more useful than the snow that surrounds me. I think about dropping it in the snow and leaving it behind, but something in me clings to it like I cling to my life. The gnawing pangs of hunger returned and I clutched at my stomach desperately. I thought that my sponsor might send me some food, but why would they? I'm only twelve years old, with no allies and only a small knife to defend myself from the older tributes. They probably think that I have no chance of winning no matter what.
I'll show them. This isn't the end for me.
I take another step, and my attention is drawn to a mound of snow to my right. I change direction to walk toward the pile, limply holding my canteen and water in each hand. As I get closer, I realize it's not a mound of snow.
Frozen hooves peek out from the snow that has since fallen onto the body. It's hide is bloated, its tail completely frozen through and stiff in the snow, its tongue lolling out of its open mouth. Glassy black eyes stare at me. A cow, frozen to death.
I collapse onto the snow beside it, shivering and clutching my abdomen as hunger echoes through my stomach. The pangs make it difficult to walk, even think. In all my years of living on tesserae back in Eleven, and I've never been this hungry. Fuzzy white spots appear in my eyes and I suddenly feel dizzy. Putting my head between my knees, I notice red staining the snow beneath the cow. It's belly has been torn open, entrails spilling over the snow. The smell of iron and decay reaches my nose, tampered a bit by the frozen state of the body.
I slowly reach forward to wrap my hands around one of the intestines, pulling it slowly from the body until it lies tangled on the ground before me. Another hand into the cow's belly, and I pull out a strange organ. It smells of salt and rich earth. This part of it isn't rotten, preserved by the frozen exterior of the body, but the warmth of life has long since disappeared. The smell of blood is overpowering, even nauseating. But my growling stomach compels me. I lean forward to take a bite, feeling the flesh squish between my teeth and blood seep into my mouth. The dark organ is tough, and I have to rip it out of my mouth so I can chew my bite. I silently cry as I eat, hoping that I'll be able to keep it down.
I can do this. I can get through this.
Can I?
Blossom Urakaka (15)- D9F
I take a bite of my protein bar as I walk. The taste is rich peanut butter with a hint of sweetness, nuts crunching between my teeth. I never had a chance to eat much of the processed food in the Capitol while I was there, but I don't think I missed out on much. I appreciate the energy and strength it's giving me, but it tastes fake. I can't wait to return to the Capitol and their feasts. The roasted ducks and the buttered vegetables, honeycakes and freshly caught squid and fish. My mouth waters at the thought, and I take another bite of my tough, crumbly meal. My broken nose is numb from the cold, but I was inadvertently prepared for this weather by the tribe Elders who had us survive in the fields in the middle of winter to prove our devotion to the Great Skull. The worst part is the pain that radiates from the center of my face. I can only hope that if I win, the Capitol will be able to fix it properly.
The trees above block out most of the sunlight, but even through the leaves I can see that the sun is starting to set. I should finish with my dinner and find a spot to lay low for the night. The girl from Four could have brought her friends with her, and once they figure out that their ally is dead, they may try to track me down. I chew up the last of my protein bar and stuff the rest of my food into my pack, alongside all of the other supplies I obtained from the Four girl, including a first-aid kit with bandages and medicine, some dried fruit, water… and the bladed baton with which I had pierced her chest. I slide the weapon out from my pack, examining the blade carefully. It's still stained with dried blood, red and brown and smelling of rust. I didn't bother with a lot of weapon-training back in the Capitol, but this one seems simple enough to wield. And fairly similar to the wooden staff that was broken in the brawl yesterday.
A twig breaks nearby. I swivel on a dime, quickly raising the baton in self-defense. Nothing but shadows move in the forest, the setting sun casting an orange glow through the trees. I take another short step in the snow, then notice something out of the corner of my eye. A trail of blood in the snow. My eyes follow it slowly, the amount of gore increasing gradually. And at the end of it, a crimson demon.
The figure stands straight up, backlit by the orange sunlight, staring at me, skin drenched in blood so red they must have been sent right down from the sun to kill me. I've escaped the cult, but I should have known I couldn't escape the Sun's will. The bright red demon, the color of my hair, raises a crossbow and points it at my chest. Behind them, I see a giant mound of fur, steaming in the chilly winter air.
"You've come for me?" I whisper, my breath misting in front of me.
The demon is silent for a moment. Then, "What?"
Eyes wide. A tribute uniform under the blood. Not a demon. Just a girl.
My fingers tighten around my baton. The girl notices, eyes narrowing and body stiffening. As she steps toward me, I realize the pile of fur behind her is a corpse. The belly of the beast has been sliced open, some of the organs and entrails removed and dragged into the forest beyond. I look from the disemboweled animal's split hide back to the girl, putting two and two together.
She stares at me, not moving a muscle. The furry body beyond her is steaming with heat despite the frigid temperatures. As the biting wind nips against my nose, even gnawing through my clothes, I can't help but wish that I could crawl into that warm carcass myself.
The girl follows my line of sight, looking back and forth between the creature's body and myself. "...Want to sit?" she asks cautiously.
I glance up at her face, drenched in dried red. Her brown eyes are distant, but not malicious. Could there really be kindness, here, in the Hunger Games?
The girl lowers her crossbow. Her head jerks toward the carcass behind her. "My name is Caillou," she says.
I search her face for any sign of treachery, but find none. Her eyes are as warm as the body behind her. I lower my baton and take a stiff step forward. She doesn't move, so I continue until I'm standing right beside her. She gestures once again to the creature. We continue moving through the snow, soaked through with gore, until we reach the beast. Round fuzzy ears peek up from the snow and a grizzled muzzle is bleeding from a hole torn in the eye socket. I look up at the girl, then down at her crossbow.
"From the feast," Caillou says plainly. She lifts up the hide of the bear and steps inside, ducking down so that she'll fit. She holds it open for me and I duck inside as well, instantly feeling the gory heat seeping into my bones. I sigh in contentment, feeling blood drip onto my shoulders and into my hair.
"What's your name?"
I look up, an inadvertent grin on my face. "Blossom."
She smiles spacily. "A sweet name."
And that is that. We sit in comfortable silence as the sun sets, the Panem national anthem plays, then goes quiet. No deaths today.
I glance over at Caillou, who is sitting serenely beside the ribs of the bear with her eyes closed, hands holding the layers of hide and fat closed around her body. She's done a good job butchering this beast. Most of the organs are missing, especially the ones that are edible. She's probably buried them in the snow to preserve them so she can eat them later. Clever. I would do the same thing.
I'm constantly conscious of the weight of the little vial of liquid in my pocket. I never got a chance to try it out on Marlowe to see if it really is poison.
She must feel me watching her, because she opens her eyes and meets mine. Her bare head is covered in slick blood dripping from the animal hide above us.
"Do I have something on my face?" she asks, slowly grinning, face smeared with crimson.
I slowly smile back, feeling myself start to laugh for the first time in a long time. She cackles as well, both of us giggling like a pair of Capitolite girls. Once my stomach hurts and I'm gasping for breath, we both calm down, holding our stomachs.
"I quite thought that I would end up sitting in a bear carcass with another tribute in the Hunger Games," I choke out.
Caillou wipes gore and tears of laughter in equal measure from her eyes. "Never would I," she says with an easy grin and a tip of the head. I recognize her carefully constructed charm and easygoing body language. I've had enough experience disguising my own emotions back at home to not immediately see it in others. Still, there doesn't seem to be venom hiding behind it. Rather, the front is not entirely true, but not false either.
"You cut off your hair," I say. I recall seeing her in the bloodbath with a bald head, when just before on the hovercraft she had a huge mane of curly brown hair.
Her smile widens, eyes twinkling. "I thought it would get in the way. I asked my stylist to cut it off."
I hum to myself. "I wish I could get rid of mine," I say softly. My entire body is now the color that once sentenced me to death. The smell of rust and iron surround us, fur in my mouth, stuck to my skin.
"Why?"
I let out a small chuckle. "My entire family hates me for it. They wanted to kill me." I stare out of the flaps of bear hide at the frozen forest, listening to the sounds of owls hooting in the distance. The sun is nearly set now, concealing us in shadow.
Caillou's warm eyes meet mine. "That's right," she says softly. "You said in your interview that your family was going to burn you at the stake." Her lips still curl in a soft smile. "A joke, yes?"
I let out a small puff of air. "Not at all."
Her eyes widen slightly, but she otherwise does not react, still sprawled out lazily inside the bear. "Really?"
I sigh. "They're in this weird... religion," I say softly. I still don't want to sic the Peacekeepers on my family, especially my sisters, and I know that the cameras are probably fixed on my face right now, hanging off my every word. "They think people with red hair deserve to die for mocking the sun."
We sit in silence for a few moments. Then I turn to her, realizing that she's watching me with a raised eyebrow. "Wow," she says with a light laugh. Her eyes are bright but distant. "And I thought my life was bad."
I snort. "Really? What is it like back in Three?"
She sighs, looking away, staring out over the bloody snow. "Nothing like that." Her voice is light, but conceals some dark grief. I don't press further.
The poison in my pocket still feels heavy. With half of it left, it would be easy to slip it into her water while she's looking the other way… her canteen sits between us, covered in blood. I reach for the poison with two fingers. And yet, as I examine her face even more, I let it slip from my fingers, back into my pocket.
When she looks back to me, her eyes zone in on my baton, and I can see the wheels spinning behind her eyes. She glances up at me.
"Where did you get that?"
Caillou Wight (17)- D3F
I've seen that kind of bladed baton before; many, many times back in training. The girl from Four had sliced open countless dummies with her whispering silver blade. Her face had shown up in the sky last night, and I'd thought that she had been killed by the elements or by her allies. Yet here is her blade, here in the hand of a red-headed girl from Nine. Her green hunter's eyes warily meet mine.
"I killed the Four girl for it," she says simply.
I raise an eyebrow. "Really? Or did you just find it laying around where she died?"
She stares at me, expression indecipherable. "I have no reason to lie," she says.
If Blossom really did kill Marlowe, then I have a serious competitor on my hands. Or a powerful ally. By the look of things, I have the latter. I lean back onto the bloody surface of the bear's skin and blubber, feeling it squish under my body. I swallow my disgust, smiling at her pleasantly.
"Why didn't you kill me?" she asks abruptly.
I blink in surprise. "I didn't want to."
"You still should have," she says. There's no emotion behind her words, no anger, confusion, or relief. She's only stating the facts as if explaining the rules of the game to me.
"It's not like me to do something I don't want to do," I say languidly, winking at her.
She blinks slowly, then nods. She takes a drink of water and I follow suit from my own, wincing as the rash on my leg is irritated by the movement. Truthfully, I'm not sure why I didn't kill Blossom. She's right; I should have shot an arrow through her skull and gotten my first kill, all without trading a word with her. But something about the fear on her face had reminded me of the little girl from Eleven when I jumped out of the tree on her and her ally. Her shriek rings in my ears and I shake my head to get rid of it.
I look back over to Blossom to see her staring at me. "What's wrong with your leg?" she asks.
I glance down at my right leg. I wordlessly roll up my pant leg to reveal the rash. It's been getting worse, spreading up my leg from my ankle and now reaching for my waist. "It doesn't hurt," I say plainly, observing the redness on my skin that is clearly different than the blood that has soaked through my jumpsuit. It reminds me of the patterns I used to draw on my body with black markers, the scrawl of a small child trying to create something beautiful. "It only itches. A lot."
Blossom tilts her head as she looks at it. "Looks like a simple poison rash," she says. "I know some herbs back in Nine that could cure it… but I'm not sure if they have them here." She glances outside of the bear's carcass.
I smile brightly at her despite the itchiness. I roll my pants back down, then curl my fists to keep myself from scratching. My fingernails dig into my palms. "What kinds of plants?"
"Jewelweed is the best," she says. "It has round green leaves and little orange flowers with three petals. If you chew them up and put them on the rash, it should clear up without any trouble."
Just like with the baton, she has no reason to lie. I silently file away the information for later. "I'll keep that in mind."
We sit lost in thought for several more minutes, until the night is completely dark. The moon shined brightly above from between the treetops, the stars twinkling at us merrily. The bear's body still steamed with heat. Ever since I brought it down yesterday, the blood hasn't cooled down and the skin and fur haven't froze. The warmth has likely saved my life in these cold snowy days. I glance over one last time at Blossom, whose eyes are now closed. She leans back against the skin of the bear, breathing deeply.
I let go of some of my worries, wondering myself if this whole thing was a ruse just for her to stab me as I sleep. I contemplate staying up all night just to watch her, but my eyelids droop with exhaustion as the night drags on. The distant sound of owls hooting and wind blowing through the branches of the trees lulled me into a deep sleep.
...
I wake to a still early morning, the bear's insides still pulsing with heat around my body. Sticky blood drips onto my face as I sit up, rubbing the gore away from my eyes. Blossom isn't sitting in the bear, but perhaps she left to go relieve herself, or she just wanted a reprieve from the blood and fur. I climb out of the flaps of skin and onto the snow, wrinkling my nose as the cold hits me like a train. Shivering to myself, I glance around, but see nothing except trees and snow. I spot one pair of bloody footprints leading away from the bear's corpse. After following it for a few minutes, the trail disappears, apparently blown away by the wind or intentionally obscured. I frown to myself, looking around carefully. There are no shadows waiting for me in the forest like yesterday, no sounds except the whistling winds and a woodpecker thumping against a tree trunk in the distance. I make my way back to my gory camp, head hanging low.
I sit in the snow beside the bear and wrap my arms around myself, staring at the ground. All of Blossom's supplies are gone, but it doesn't seem like any of mine are missing. Apparently she wasn't on the same wavelength as I was. Allies for a night, not for the foreseeable future. I should be glad. I shouldn't be getting attached to anyone this late in the Games. There are only eight of us left, after all.
An owl hoots nearby, and I glance up to see it sitting in one of the snow-covered treetops, staring at me with its beautiful black eyes. The dawns that the Gamemakers create for us are truly exquisite, the pale yellows and golds filtering through the tree branches. I smile a bit at the owl, gathering the strength to stand and prepare some food for myself. One of the only things available to me is the bear meat, which itself is tough and grisly, but also comprises my shelter. There's something poetic about eating away at my own refuge.
As I chop away at some of the meat with an arrow, I can't help but think about Blossom again. About how difficult her life was back in the districts. If her family really did treat her so horribly, then she's been toughened all her life, almost like the Careers were. She's a serious contender for the crown, especially if she really did kill Marlowe from Four. If I was thinking about this logically, I should be hoping that I'll never see her again. Because if I do, I'm not sure I'll come out on top.
Logan Wheeler (18)- D6M
What carries a scythe in the morning,
a sword at midday,
And a scepter in the evening?
After spending a few hours training with my sword, I'd spent the better part of yesterday trying to find the answer to the riddle, to no avail. The mutt still stared at me with unyielding black eyes, not moving an inch. I figured that the new day would produce different results, perhaps a revelation where I would suddenly realize the riddle's solution and receive my reward with grace, the cameras recording every moment. Yet as I stand here again, above the same old mosaic, standing at the same old creature, there is no epiphany, no sudden click as the puzzle reveals itself to me. Only frustration and hunger. The same hunger that has pained my stomach for the past few days, making it hard to think, to stand, to breathe.
"President Snow?" I ask the beast, an answer that I've given it a hundred times, hoping it will somehow work this time. It only stares at me with familiar canny eyes.
A particularly painful pang rumbles in my abdomen and I bend over, holding my stomach. I try not to faint despite the dizziness that I've gotten partially used to. White spots dot my vision as I blink, standing back up straight to stare at the beast. Perhaps it won't let me past since I tried to charge it with my sword? Does a creature like this take offense to attempted murder? Surely the Gamemakers couldn't program it with that much intelligence.
"Corolianus Snow."
Still no change. I sigh, kicking at the snow in front of me.
"Panem," I say. "District Nine. A king."
Nothing happens. Molten anger flows through my veins again, and I contemplate spending some time training to get rid of it, but I'm not sure that I have the energy. My only choice is to get past this damned mutt, or I'll starve to death. If I don't freeze to death first.
"The Head Gamemaker!" I yell in frustration. "Tag Nylon! A Career!"
The creature blinks at me. Its head tilts for the first time, as if thinking closely about what I said, but ultimately keeps its furry and feathered body planted on the marble in front of the food.
Once again starting to feel the fury of the past couple weeks building up, I throw down my sword in a rage, turning around and running my hands through my hair as I pace in front of the creature. Muttering to myself viciously, I think of every piece of Panem history that we learned in school. The answer has to be something related to our nation's oh so great foundation or the evil rebellion. It was why the Hunger Games were established, after all. "The Dark Days, the rebels, the Capitol generals…" I try to think of specific names, but nothing comes to mind. I should have studied harder. If I had known that one day I'd be facing off with a giant bird-lion-snake mutt with a riddle so that I didn't starve to death, then maybe I would have listened during all those boring history lessons!
My spiral of rage is broken by a light twinkling sound from above. I quickly look up, overjoyed to see the small silver parachute descending from the sky right to my location. I watch it with bated breath, a hesitant smile on my face. Surely the Gamemakers wouldn't let my mentors send me the answer to the riddle. That would defeat the purpose of their little game. Let the suspense of the situation slip away from the Capiolite audience. Will he figure it out or will he starve? Tune in tomorrow to find out!
I grab the little package of the sky as soon as it's close enough. The silver box is small but heavy. I open it with a gasp to reveal an array of survival foods; nuts and dried berries, some sticks of jerky, salted crackers, and a tube of peanut butter. My stomach suddenly lets out a roar of hunger. I immediately grab at the nuts and berries, shoving them into my mouth as fast as possible. Nothing has ever tasted so good, not even the Capitol's best buttered oysters or cheeseballs.
Once I've eaten my fill and come to my senses, I let out several deep breaths and close the lid on the box. I need to save the rest for later if this riddle thing keeps going the way it has so far. There's no message in the box- I was right that the Gamemakers wouldn't let my mentors send me the answer. If they even know it. Or even thought of it. They weren't exactly helpful back in the Capitol, more concerned with getting their next fix of morphling than helping Pagani and I learn how to survive.
Resentment stirs once again in my chest. Do my mentors and the sponsors truly hold me in such low regard? They could have sent me a clue, a message of encouragement, anything. But instead they send me food. Completely excluding the possibility that I could solve the riddle and get to the food myself. They didn't even try to help!
Raw anger grips me and I stand, throwing down the food onto the ground, standing to squint at the mutt. My fingers curl into fists.
"You all may think I'm stupid, but I'm not!' I yell into the air, circling my sword and the box of food that lay on the snow. I grind my teeth, wondering if I look even dumber right now or if the Capitolites are really listening. "I'm going to do this!" I holler at the sky. "No matter what it takes."
Luna Everett (12)- D11F
All through the night and day I stayed beside the body of the dead cow. My nose has become so accustomed to the scent of rust and iron that I can barely smell it anymore. I've been resisting the urge to eat more despite my rumbling stomach, the thought of chewing more of the rich organs of the animal making me queasy. I sit beside the animal's head, staring up at the sky. The sun is bright. Perhaps the Gamemakers are having pity on us, and the snow will melt soon. Something tells me that's not the case.
Another growl from my belly jolts me back to myself. I take a sip of water. I still have a bit left, but I've barely been thirsty. I glance back at the cow behind me, its middle section torn apart and sprawled on the snow. The pieces of the cow that I ate yesterday had kept me alive, but it had given me a massive stomach ache and diarrhea that rivaled the time my baby sister Abella had caught a fever and nearly died. Who knows what would happen if I ate more. Would my body be more used to it, or would the sickness worsen?
The growls of my stomach compel me to my feet, over to the shredded innards of the animal. My gloves are still stained with blood from last time, and I wet them again with the slimy gore as I paw through the entrails of the cow. Not for the first time, I wonder what could have done this. The cow's body is frozen, but it's difficult to tell if freezing or its open belly was its cause of death.
I find a small organ that is an unappetizing dark color, cold and stiff. I hesitantly bring it up to my mouth and begin to eat, swallowing each bite with a grimace. Once the organ is mostly eaten, I gently place the rest of it back inside the cow's belly and lay on the bloody snow. My stomach now grumbles for a different reason, not pleased about my choice of lunch. My eyes close for several moments. It's much easier to sleep during the day when the temperature is a bit more forgiving.
I wake to the distinct sound of snow being displaced. I instantly sit up, my angry stomach protesting, to see a small spider crawling up my leg. I turn to the direction of the noise.
The giant spider is approaching, its heavy gray body sliding over the snow due to the movement of its legs. A parade of spiders, big, small, and in between, accompany it across the snow. At the sight of the cow, the smaller spiders immediately swarm over it. The cow's surface is almost instantly engulfed in a writhing layer of black shiny bodies.
I squeal and jump to my feet, shaking off the spiders as they crawl up my legs, trying to run away. My water bottle trips me and I tumble back onto the ground, which is now teeming with spiders. I shriek and try to stand as the shadow of the large spider gets closer and closer. I look up to see it looming above me, eight black eyes gazing ahead blankly. I grip my knife tightly, all the while knowing that it will have little impact on such a large mutt.
With tears in my eyes, I scramble to my feet and hold my knife out in front of me. The sound of squirming spiders is the only thing I can hear. A few still hang on my sleeves, and I shake them away.
"Stay away!" I scream, my voice trembling.
The spider propels itself further. It lets out a piercing, otherworldly shriek, and its front legs lift up from the snow, revealing a pair of pincers that move ceaselessly, dripping with either saliva or poison.
Shaking with fear, I turn to run, accidentally crushing spiders underfoot with sickening crunching sounds. The giant spider shrieks again as its smaller compatriots are killed, and I can hear it moving closer to me. I look back and see its terrifying pincers, its blank, alien eyes, its body plump and hairy, and I notice a few small spiders clinging to its body. I turn to the other spiders that swarm the cow's body, consuming it whole, then back to the large spider. I let out a screech of dread, and the spiders clinging to their mother's body cower in fear.
This spider only wants to protect its children. Find them food and ensure they survive, just like my own mother. Just the way that I've always tried to look after my sisters. I stumble in my step, crunching a few more spiders as the mother shrieks in grief and anger. Tears stream down my face, fingers loosely gripping my knife. What will happen if I manage to kill this spider and all her children? Would I be able to live with myself? How long would it be until a Career takes me out in one stroke of their sword? And if I do win, what then? I will always be a part of death.
"I may kill everyone in this arena, but I will never truly win. In this game, no one wins." I whisper it reverently, like a final prayer.
I can now hear the clicking of the spider's pincers. Tears stream down my face, but my eyes are closed.
The spider pierces my neck first, the pain shooting through my veins and burning like a fiery rage. I try to reach up to grasp my punctured, bleeding throat, but find that I can't move a muscle. The strength leaves my body and I begin to collapse, just as the spiders crawl over me, their little legs skittering across my skin, leaving little bites. Something else stabs into my side.
My last thought is of Thorn, his dry smile and arms opening to hug me.
Leto Larston (18)- D2F
The sound of the cannon causes the dragon to lift its head and peer around the arena, then a few moments later plop it back down onto the ground. I hold my breath, then let it out in one long stream of misty air. I had been watching the dragon for the better part of two days, trying to understand its patterns of movement. I've discovered that it barely moves at all. Not to hunt or feed, not to scout for tributes, nor to stretch its wings. It laps up some water every now and then, but otherwise lies on the ground as if asleep with its eyes closed. But I know that it would still stir to action if it saw me approaching. There would be no way to reach that pool of water without being burned alive.
There's only seven of us now. If I want to impress the Gamemakers and the sponsors, I need to do something worthy of note. Passion has more kills than me, and there are still several older tributes alive. I need to set myself apart from the rest, and getting to that water will be the perfect method. I pull the stone of Marlowe's out of my pocket, rolling it in my palm curiously and examining its sheen. It seems like a normal grey rock, completely round, speckled with bits of black. I had seen it on the feast table behind the dragon plaque, glinting in the sunshine before Marlowe had taken it for herself. She had been a fool to leave it behind at the Cornucopia, but it wouldn't do her much good now anyway. She's dead, probably taken by an infection in that shoulder wound.
I wonder what Passion is up to. Probably still sitting around the Cornucopia, flipping her hair as she watches herself in the golden reflection. Smirking to myself at the image, I focus back into the moment and toss the stone up into the air a few times, catching it in my palm. I don't know what such a small rock can do against such a large dragon, but the Gamemakers have always had strange tricks up their sleeve, especially during these Games.
I take one last drink of water to prepare for the ordeal to come, then spend a few minutes stretching. I know that this endeavor won't be easy, but I've spent my entire life training for this. I remember the advice that all the victors at the Academy have given me through the years. Cato telling me not to be afraid to use brute strength when I spent too much energy dodging his blows. Celia dancing around the sword of her opponent as if she had rehearsed it. Cassius with his winning smile, sweet-talking me into letting my guard down. Enobaria hissing like a wild animal, sending a shock fear through me. All conflicting with each other but none contradictory. My body and reflexes possess a bit of each of their training strategies. I grip my whip tight, stone in the other, ever aware of the knife at my belt. I start down the hill.
As I approach, the dragon's nostrils flare and two thick plumes of smoke emerge, floating into the air. Its eyes stay closed. I stop in my tracks for a moment and hold my breath, then slowly continue to move forward. Every step crunches in the snow, but I try to move as quietly as possible. As I get closer to the frozen pool of water, I can see that it shimmers with a strange golden hue.
With another crunchy step, the dragon moves its head, letting out a puff of smoke. I grip the rock tighter in my sweaty palm, contrasting with the chilly air raising goosebumps on my skin. I turn to stare at the golden pool of water. I envision my victory, me standing in front of the entire nation as Snow places a coronet on my head, turning to solemnly smile at the cameras. Getting this water will get me one step closer.
A rumbling sound reaches my ears. I turn to my left to see the snow moving. In fact, various lumps of snow all around the pool of water are stirring, mixing white snow with the dry brown dirt underneath. Then out of each little heap of snow pops a humanoid figure. They're gray, looking to be made of cracking gray stone. Each holds in its hand a short sword also made of rock. They all immediately rush toward me.
My heart jumps into my throat. I turn to run, but find myself stopped in my tracks by the snout of the dragon. It's now awake, its face right behind me, yellow reptilian eyes open and glaring at me. It opens its mouth and I spot a fire burning deep in its throat.
I roll out of the way just in time, looking up to see the dragon's fiery breath bruning the stone soldiers. But when the flames sputter out, the figures are still moving toward me, their stone bodies unharmed.
Without a second thought, I throw the rock as hard as I can at the nearest one. And to my amazement, the stone soldiers instantly stiffen up. The rock is swallowed whole into one of the dirt mounds from which the soldiers sprung. And then, just as they had pursued me, they turn and begin to attack the dragon instead.
The dragon seems betrayed, roaring in disapproval as the soldiers hack at him with their swords. The stone cuts deep, and the dragon breathes fire at them to defend himself, but they seem indestructible. Just as one of the soldiers finally begins to melt from the heat, its stone body slouching as it continues to slash at the dragon, another soldier stabs through the dragon's throat, and molten lava spills forth onto the ground, melting the snow and leaving a dirty patch of grass, soil, and stone. The dragon lets out one last roar, its voice strangled by the opening in its throat. Then, the soldiers begin to pull it down into the dirt beneath, and before I know it, they all are subsumed into the soil's surface once more. Nothing but a giant field of marred soil marks where the dragon slept.
I let out a large breath of relief, getting to my feet shakily. The pool of water was left untouched without the battle. It appears that there really was no trick to using the feast item- all I had to do was chuck it at the monsters and set the entire battle into motion. Now the water is mine.
Smiling with joy at my victory, I lean down at the pool of water, using the hilt of my knife to break through the ice to the water beneath. I still have plenty of my own from the Cornucopia, but it never hurts to stock up. I fill up what I have drunk in the past couple days, then stand and look onward. I should keep moving. With this triumph under my belt, I can't allow my popularity to stall. The boy from Six is still here somewhere; he has to be. I'll find him before anyone else does.
Flux DuBois (14)- D8F
I pile some extra wood onto our fire. Raven trembles beside it, his eyes closed. I wish I could give him a blanket, but I have nothing to give him. Not even a coat of my own. At least our bodysuits are well-insulated. I open our bag of water and dip my hands inside, pooling a bit in my palms.
I kneel down beside Raven and offer some water out of my palm. A green eyes peeks open, unfocused and hazy. I gently tip my hand so that he can sip the water, trailing into his mouth. He swallows with visible effort, then his eyes slip closed again.
"Thanks," he whispers, voice hoarse.
I stand with a frown, taking in his pale face, the sweat on his brow. He shivers again and draws in a shaky breath.
"How pretty do I look right now?" he asks with a light laugh, eyes still closed.
I snort. "Gorgeous. Tuberculosis will be the next big thing in the Capitol."
"Too bad I won't be here to see it," he says. The pain is evident in his voice. I swallow hard and sit beside him.
"It's not too late," I whisper. The vial of maybe-medicine is sitting pristinely at the edge of the fire to prevent it from freezing. I glance over to it, then back to Raven to see that his eyes are now open, staring at me.
"It will be alright, Flux," he murmurs. The dark circles under his eyes contrast with his white, sweaty skin and bright green eyes, now dulled with pain and exhaustion. "I may be able to live a good life if I win… but I just want this to be over."
I stare at him. I know that he doesn't just mean the Hunger Games, or even the pain from the illness. He's talking about this life, this agonizing existence that we've both lived since before th Games. A victory isn't going to make much of a difference. The trauma will still be there, the horrible world that we live in will still be the same. His sister will still be dead, her life cut short by the same people who would place the golden coronet on his head.
I bow my head, breaking eye contact with him. "There's always something to live for Raven," I say meekly, peeking up at up from under my eyelashes. "I don't want to lose my friend."
Raven draws in a shuddering breath. "The only way for you to live is for me to die."
I duck my head. I know he's right.
"Don't worry, Flux," he says quietly. "I'm going to see Sparrow and Thimble again. And my mother." When I look at him, he's grinning.
I shake my head. "You don't have to constantly sacrifice yourself for other people," I say, frustrated. "You volunteered to save Sparrow, and ever since then you've put yourself on the line for us. You went to the feast even though you could have died. And now this!"
"Flux…" he says, eyes resolute with some deep understanding. "You're right. I came here to save Sparrow, and I couldn't. I couldn't save her and I couldn't save Thimble. But I can save you." He draws in a shaky breath. Then his eyes harden. "And you better kill that sadist who killed Sparrow."
I choke on a breath, my eyes welling up with tears, but I grin despite the sorrow. "I'm going to miss you, Raven."
...
He dies not long before the faces are shown in the sky that night. At first, I didn't even realize that it happened, his body just as still beside me as he'd been for hours. Then a cannonshot booms throughout the arena, and I desperately search for a pulse on his neck, for the feeling of breath against my hand. But there's nothing. My shoulders fall, tears returning to my eyes, but I blink them away. Now is not the time for grief.
I drag him out of the building, where he rests under the twinkling stars for a few moments. The hovercraft is quick, appearing in the sky with a loud hum, and I watch at a distance as he's lifted into the sky. I wonder if he'll be buried beside Sparrow. It's the least they're father could do to put them to rest.
After the hovercraft disappears in seconds, leaving behind a deafening silence. The sounds of distant birds and sea breeze return slowly, and I sit on the cold marble with my arms wrapped around my knees. I'm alone for the first time… basically ever. I've always had my friends and my family. Even when I was alone on the island before, I knew that Raven and Thimble were waiting for me back on the mainland. Now it's all up to me.
I return to my fire and stare into it for hours, not bothering to sleep. I won't be able to anyway. His face appears in the sky, right after the little girl from Eleven. The sight of her makes my stomach queasy.
I uncurl my palm, staring down at the little tree-shaped charm. I'd taken it from Raven's neck before the hovercraft retrieved him.
"I won't let you down, Raven," I whisper into the silent night.
Obituaries:
8th) Luna Everett (12)- D11F - killed by spider mutts. Created by Dragon Silvertongue. Luna honestly went much further than I think everyone expected her to. But the thing is, she was a tough nut to crack. She and Thorn both learned life lessons during their time together. Her death wasn't completely tragic.
7th) Raven Lavalée (17)- D7M - died of tuberculosis. Created by MaxMan667. Raven didn't stand much of a chance due to his illness, but he was just too interesting of a character to kill off early. After I chose to kill Sparrow, I knew that he would struggle with motivation to keep going. But in his time in the arena, he made some true friends in Flux and Thimble. A family, even, that his father never gave him.
We had two deaths this chapter, but the kills stats remain the same:
Kill Stats:
Most Kills:
Passion Mavros (17)- D1F- four kills: Sparrow, Alder, Pagani, and Thorn.
Tied for Second-Most Kills:
Leto Larston (18)- D2F- two kills: Rai and Volt
Marlowe Bahari (18)- D4F- two kills: Terra and Cyprian
Cyprian Clay (18)- D2M (dead)- two kills: Caiden and Jeremy
Faroud Pistris (18)- D4M (dead)- two kills: Dylan and Rylex
Tied for Third-Most Kills:
Blossom Urakaka (15)- D9F- one kill: Marlowe.
Pagani Chevy (16) (dead)- D6F- one kill: Callum.
Also- last chapter, I tried to make a poll on my profile for the Final Eight but it wouldn't work. So I made a strawpoll for people to vote, but I know this was likely annoying since FFnet doesn't let people post links anywhere, so you couldn't go to the poll on mobile. So I'm trying to make another poll (this time for the final six, since we have six left) but I'm still not sure if it will work. I just think poll are so fun, and I like seeing people's favorite tributes. Anyway, if you go to my profile and see the poll is finally working, go ahead and vote.
See you all next week!