Chapter 29: Leif Sequoia

Atala stands just off to the left and behind Cheecha, the Head Trainer here at the Citadel (most people now just call it the Training Center), watching the older woman's lips move and listening to the words coming out of here very intently. The younger, dark-skinned woman's hands fly through the air, sweeping and chopping, almost like she's conducting a really jerky, nervous symphony.

"In the next several weeks, twenty-three of you will be dead. One of you will be alive. Who that is will depend on how well you pay attention over the next three days – particularly to what I'm about to say. First, no fighting with the other tributes. You'll have plenty of time for that in the arena. There are four compulsory exercises; the rest will be individual training. My advice is don't ignore the survival skills. Everybody wants to grab a sword, but most of you will die from natural causes – 10% from infection, 20% from dehydration. Exposure can kill as easily as a knife."

Well, at least the nervous part is accurate, Atala thinks, as Cheecha finally nears the end of her little spiel. As a sign language interpreter, Atala's job is to always stay right on pace with what any person is saying, to make sure the hearing-impaired receiver in question understands perfectly clearly. And in this case, a misinterpreted word or instruction could have deadly consequences. When Cheecha releases the tributes to train, Atala walks over to the one little, sixteen-year-old girl who hangs back. She's petite, enough that some Careers or Gamemakers might mistaken her as being closer to twelve or thirteen.

'How are you?'

Even the girl's – Leif's – hands are morose as she dejectedly signs back. 'Fine.'

'My name is Atala. I am going to be shadowing you today. I'll stay as far back as you like to give you your privacy, but if you need any help, just ask. What would you like to do first?'

Leif just points in answer towards the fire-building station and starts to make her way over there. Atala follows behind at a short distance, her hands always at the ready.

It had only taken the escort, Eulalie Mackecknie, to pull the girls' name from the Reaping Bowl in District 7 and have no one respond after three attempts at calling the tribute's name for people to realize that something was wrong. The Peacekeepers had to eventually muscle their way into the crowd and haul a shocked and terrified Leif Sequoia up to the stage. One of the officers had even growled, "Are you deaf, girl?"

That same officer had apparently been quite shocked and embarrassed to learn that, yes, in fact, Leif was deaf. Had been since she was a small child.

Her affliction, of course, had made national news, and fans of District 7 here in the Capitol had quickly organized and circulated a petition asking President Ravinstill to provide accommodations. The President had resisted, at first, then eventually caved when the outcry among disability rights groups in the Capitol grew too great. Atala Toom, a young graduate student working on a Master's degree in Special Education, was tapped for the job of guiding young Leif Sequoia through the preliminary stages of the 29th Hunger Games.

It helps, at least, that Leif has mentors who actually care about mentoring her as equally as they do her district partner. Acacia Ivy-Fonio's doting and sound advice for her pupil to learn Avox sign language – a more advanced, but no less practical version of the art form – is hardly a surprise. She is happily married to someone with a disability, after all. Guernsey Hyde, the special needs man who won almost by mistake nearly a quarter of a century ago now, is her husband's best friend. If anyone understands what it is like to be vulnerable, it's the female Victor from 7. Acacia – and by extension, differently-abled Victors like Dell and Guernsey and Savera Inchcape – are accepting of this tribute.

But will the Capitol be accepting? The arena hasn't seen a differently-abled tribute in two decades - not since the aughts, when no less then a third of the Victors in that decade came into and out of the arena alive despite their afflictions. Atala is inclined to think they will. The Capitol loves an underdog story, and there is quite a big sympathy vote here. Lucky Flickerman will make her shine in the interviews – the famous Face of the Hunger Games is apparently already receiving a crash course in sign language from his advisers. As a precaution, so is Caesar, the host of that game quiz show Jeopardy! and Lucky's son, whom people are thinking might be sitting in the interviewer chair before long.

Yet, as Atala watches Leif "listen" to the trainer (Atala is rapidly relaying in sign all the man is saying, in real time) at the fire-setting station, she can't help but let just one tear roll down her cheek. Savera Inchcape not being able to see her opponents coming at her twenty years ago was one thing – Atala remembers watching those Games as a small child with her mother – but the first Victor from Eight balanced this out by demonstrating better hearing and listening skills than even most Career tributes. A tribute who can see threats approaching but can't hear anything corresponding to that danger… well, that is quite another matter. Between that Catch-22 of 'Which would be more bearable – being blind or deaf?', Atala would have to choose blindness, actually. Especially in this environment, where the Hunger Games arena heralds danger much of the time not through sight, but through sound. How will Leif be able to guard against a tribute who might sneak up on her from behind and attempt to catch her unawares? She won't be able to, that's the answer! And it's so unfair, none of it is fair…

The fire-setting trainer ends his seminar and Atala stills her hands, looking to Leif expectantly. The girl doesn't move. Atala decides to carefully tap her on the shoulder, let her know it's time to go on to the next station.

She hasn't even raised her fingers level to the girl's shoulder before Leif's eyes suddenly snap to hers sharply and grab at her wrist, gaze wild and afraid. Atala freezes, trying not to let her mouth drop open in shock. How the hell did Leif anticipate that?

It isn't until later, when the stupid dolt from 1 takes a wild swing with a sword and Leif actually manages to dance away before Atala's hands can silently scream out a warning that the sign language interpreter comes to theorize something of an answer:

Leif may not be able to hear any noises…. but she can feel the air currents move. The air currents that are always a precursor to sound. And Atala suddenly has the strangest feeling that Leif might not be so easily taken down with the element of surprise.

The feeling only gnaws at her all the more when, after three days of training, Leif Sequoia scores an 8 – placing her behind only the massive boy from 11 and the quartet of Careers.