Disclaimer: This fic is rated 'M' for language and future sexual content. I do not own any of the characters of The Hunger Games (although I wish I did). All other ideas and creative liberties are my own.
Something nudges my foot—hard—jarring me awake. Blinking long and slow, it takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust, my mind still clinging to the blissful vestige of sleep. It's quiet…too quiet. The ambient hum and whirring of the ship are eerily absent, the sound of my own breathing too loud in my ears. Then, like a switch, my memory flickers on and everything returns in a rush.
The cave is dark, but the embers from last night's fire are still glowing, casting enough light for me to see Katniss milling about, and tucking things into a pouch at her hip. When she secures her fur cape around her neck, I know something's up.
Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I force myself up. "We going somewhere?"
"No, you will stay here. I must get water and check the snares." My mouth opens in protest, but with a hard look and a shake of her head, I'm silenced. The unease of being left behind must be obvious because she pauses at the mouth of the cave, hand poised and ready to pull back the mat. "I will not be long. If you are hungry, those are for you," she says, pointing by the fire.
Eyeing the breakfast she's laid out for me I notice a pile of the fried bread from last night and a bowl of dried purple berries. The meal itself might not be much, but it's the gesture that holds much more promise. It feels good to finally be making some headway, and if I'm not mistaken, I may have just upgraded from stranger to houseguest. Fitting that my stomach chooses to rumble just then.
"When I return," Katniss continues, "I will take you to the stream so you can wash if you wish."
Still in no position to be making demands, I stifle a yawn and nod. "I'd like that very much, thank you." Another urge hits me just as she's about to leave and my stomach clenches. Clearing my throat, I catch her attention. "Am I allowed to leave the cave?" I ask. Arching an eyebrow, Katniss frowns. "I mean, is it safe? I, uh, kind of have to…um…relieve myself."
For a few awkward moments she continues to stare at me, but then her eyes widen as understanding hits. "Oh." Moving away from the opening, she shuffles past me towards the back of the cave and grabs hold of a hide that's tacked up onto the wall. Pulling it back, she beckons me forward. "It is not safe outside," she says, stepping out of the way to reveal a tall but shallow depression in the rock. "You may go here."
"Is that what I think it is?" Joining her where she is, I peer down through a hole in the rocky floor. A good twenty feet below I can just make out the rippling movement of water. "Indoor plumbing, how convenient," I say, flashing Katniss a grateful smile. She doesn't return it right away, but when she does, the way it transforms her face is heart stopping. I must be staring too hard because her smile falters and she glances away. Then turning on her heel, she quickly makes her way back to the cave entrance.
On her way out, I swear she mutters something under her breath, followed by a low chuckle. With a final peek over her shoulder, she disappears behind the mat.
I rush to the front of the cave and listen for the moment she hits the ground. But there's nothing, just the faint twitter of birds outside and the random pops and hisses from the fire pit. Damn, she's quiet.
Having never slept on the floor before—let alone the ground—I take a good long while to stretch out my arms and legs, rolling my shoulders a couple of times. I better get used to the stiff muscles though. I have a sneaking suspicion I won't be seeing a bed or mattress anytime soon.
Alone once again, I nibble on a piece of fried bread and pull out the HOLO, but when I try to turn it on, I'm met with a blank screen. Damn it. Stuffing the rest of the bread into my mouth, I peek out the entrance of the cave in search of an inconspicuous spot to charge the HOLO.
As I search for my pack, I catch a faint whiff of myself, and damn, I really could use a dip in the stream. With my stomach still gurgling, I scarf down a protein bar, chasing away the blandness with the dried berries. I'm about to put away my rations when I pause. Now that I know there's an accessible supply of drinkable water nearby, perhaps I'll show Katniss some of the dehydrated rations. Even if they do taste like crap, I'm sure she'll get a kick out of the rehydration process. Probably think it's some sort of magic again. I set one aside and tidy up my sleeping bag and makeshift pillow, refolding the fur and setting everything off to the side so it's out of the way. Nobody likes an untidy houseguest.
After making use of the facilities, I do what any normal person would do when left alone in someone else's space: I snoop. But there's really not much to the cave—just her bed at the back, a neatly organized pile of wooden bowls, flasks made of hide, and smaller pouches which, after peeking into a few, I discover she's using to store dried leaves and berries. Propped up against the wall is quite the collection of blades and spikes and a long, wicked looking spear.
Taking one of the wooden spikes in hand, I test the weight of it and study it up close, only to realize that the tip isn't wood at all, but rather a piece of sharpened antler. Huh. Do they use their own to make these? Regardless, being struck by one of these would definitely leave a mark, if not kill you first. A few arrows are amongst the pile of weapons, and I notice that those too are tipped with sharpened bits of bone and antler.
Placing the spike back where I found it, I finish off the berries and wash them down with a long slurp of water from my canteen. I make a mental note not to drink any water straight from the source, not until I'm sure my gut can survive the local microbes. I unpack and reorganize my supplies again, just for something to do, but I can only drag the task out for so long.
With nothing else left to pass the time, I blow out a long breath and glance around at the blank walls surrounding me. That's when I notice the embers from the fire again, and amongst them, a few bits of charred wood. An idea tickles at the back of my mind and I pluck out a piece of wood, testing the tip against my thumb. Perfect. Finding a bit of flat space on the cave wall, I settle in and get to work.
An hour or two later, I step back, scraping my thumb against the stubble already sprouting from my chin. Tilting my head, I reach out and smudge a bit of the charcoal to my liking, then cross my arms over my chest.
Something thumps to the floor behind me.
"What is that?"
Looking over my shoulder, I find Katniss removing her cape with a pile of dead…something at her feet.
"What are those?" I ask back.
Katniss takes a couple of steps forward, ignoring my question as she reaches out her fingers to hover over my work. "Is this where you are from?"
"Yeah, that's my ship, Panem-12." I run a hand up the back of my head and take a step away, allowing her more room to study the wall. "Fourteen ships left my home planet, Earth, but only thirteen have made it this far." Pretty good odds, my father used to say, all things considered.
"What happened to it?"
"The fourteenth ship?" She nods and I blow out a long breath, scratching at the nape of my neck.
I'm not sure how much to divulge, not because I want to deceive her, but more because I don't know how much of it she'll understand. Truth is, no one really knows for sure what happened aboard Panem-13, and considering it happened well before my time, I'm only going on the stories I've overheard. One moment it was there, then the next, all that was left was a pile of floating debris. Over a thousand lives were silenced in an instant. According to the Capitol, there was a catastrophic malfunction with the ship's energy source, the fusion reactor. But considering the majority of our fleet's scientists and physicists were aboard that ship, it left many questioning otherwise.
None of this will make any sense to Katniss though, so I opt for the simplified version of the truth. "The engines failed."
She frowns and then nods, but I'm not sure she completely understands what that means. "And your people?"
"They didn't survive."
Eyes wide, she looks up at me. "They all perished?"
"Not all of my people, but yeah, the ones aboard that ship did."
Turning her attention back to my sketch, she goes quiet. I watch from the corner of my eye, trying to get a read on her, but she's apparently a master at masking her emotions. "How many of your people are there?" she eventually asks.
"Each of our ships carries around a thousand people, so about thirteen thousand, give or take a few hundred. There've been a few incidents along the way where half a ship's population was wiped out due to localized epidemics, but they always bounced back within a few generations."
And my brothers and I are living proof of that. A few years before Emmer was born, our ship suffered an outbreak that took out half the population of those under the age of eighteen. Once the virus had run its course, the procreation limit was increased in desperate hope of restoring balance to the population. Lucky for me and Rye, we were born just over a year apart, right before the limit was lowered again. A few months later and I'd have never existed.
"When my ancestors were preparing to leave Earth," I continue, "they planned for that sort of thing. Spreading the population out to make sure enough of us made it to…wherever it is we're supposed to end up."
"More of your people will come here?"
I'm a little hesitant to answer, seeing as how I'm not exactly certain myself, but I settle for a curt nod.
"What do they want?" she asks.
I thought I'd already made that obvious, but maybe not. "My people are searching for a new home."
Still staring at my sketch, Katniss goes quiet once again. This time I can see the wheels turning in her head, about what though, I can only guess. To alleviate any concerns, I start into the spiel we were told to give in case we happened to make contact with the local inhabitants.
"You see, my people are refugees," I start, trying to inject as much false sincerity into my voice as possible. "Our home planet, Earth, became inhabitable and was no longer able to sustain us. We've been searching the galaxies for a habitual planet for many, many years in hopes of putting an end to our wandering. We have much to offer, and it would be to both our people's advantage if we could find a way to live and work alongside each other as allies."
"Allies?" she repeats, the curious tilt of her head letting me know she's not sure what I mean.
"Friends," I supply instead.
There, I said it. More or less the exact words President Snow and his council think will fool the inhabitants of whatever planet is trusting enough to take pity on us into a false sense of security. Under the direction of a leader who had even the tiniest shred of human decency, those words might ring true. But President Snow is not a man to be trusted, and even I can see through his thinly veiled plan of planetary domination all in the name of humanity.
The silver lining though, however small it may be, is that a couple of months prior to the draft, there were whisperings of discord amongst the council. Rumors spread through the ships like a power surge of a possible overthrow, replacing President Snow and his faithful followers with a more transparent and less internally corrupt government. I can only hope that for the sake of Katniss's people, those rumors become reality.
All this uncertainty is what's keeping me from revealing too much to Katniss, picking and choosing what bits will get her to trust me and not think all humans are merciless and desperate. But that doesn't mean I don't feel guilty as hell for having to lie to her. If only I wasn't cut off from communicating with my ship, I'd have a better sense of what was going on. There's a chance one of the other planets proves to be a better candidate, and if that's the case, and even if they didn't explicitly say it out loud, it's safe to assume no one is coming for me.
On that depressing note, I sneak a glance over to Katniss, wondering what's going on behind that blank stare of hers. Maybe she's pieced together the possibility that the arrival of my people in such great numbers might not be all of a good thing. Or she's smarter than she's letting on and knows I'm not telling her the whole truth.
As if she knows my thoughts have veered in her direction, Katniss glances back at me. For the second time since she found me out in the middle of the woods, she takes me off guard with a smile, one that I'm hesitant to return.
She reaches over and places a hand on my arm, and gives it a gentle squeeze. "Come, let us take a walk."
It feels good to get the blood pumping through my limbs again, to breathe in the fresh air and hold it in my lungs as a breeze washes over me. Katniss, on the other hand, is on a mission, and I march my way through the underbrush after her.
The hike to our destination takes no more than fifteen minutes, and along the way, Katniss points out some of the local plants, informing me which ones are safe to eat and which ones to stay away from unless I want to spend the day with my head between my knees emptying the contents of my stomach. A few of the fruiting bushes, she says, are deadly, so I take extra care to study and commit them to memory. Just a handful of one in particular, nightlock she called it, is enough to kill a grown man in his sleep. The sleeping death, it's fittingly called.
When a stream comes into view, she hangs back by the tree line and points to an area along the bank where the grass looks tamped down. "It is shallow there; the water is slow."
It's a good thing the weather's warmer out today, given I didn't think to bring the sleeping bag or anything else to use as a towel. Before reaching the edge of the stream, I kick off my boots and skim a toe through the water, but then I lose my balance and my entire foot goes splashing beneath the surface. "Damn, that's brisk!" I shout.
Laughter breaks out behind me, but I choose to ignore it and shake my head. Although I'm personally not offended by public nudity, for her sake I'm better off keeping this quick.
I unzip the top of my suit and shrug it off my shoulders, turning to the side to toss it down on a dry patch of grass. Katniss is still there, but I'm surprised to find her eyes trained on me instead of the woods. Well, if she wants to watch, then let her watch.
Still ignoring her, I pull my undershirt over my head and I swear I hear a small gasp when she catches sight of my skin, but it's probably because of how fair I am. Goosebumps prickle my exposed skin, but it's her flushed cheeks and piercing stare that send a shiver down my spine. Is she checking me out? Because I swear there's something in her eyes that's crossing the border into "I'm more than just clinically curious" territory.
To test my theory, I run a hand across my shoulder and then down to scratch at my ribcage. When I sneak a second peek over my shoulder, I have to suppress my amusement when I notice her eyes glued to my chest. Hmm…interesting. This next part should be fun.
Looping my thumbs in to the waistband of my underwear and pants, I shove them both down my legs and kick them off to the side. There's no mistaking her gasp this time, but when I look over, it's not my crotch that she's staring at. It's my leg.
Despite my blatant nakedness, Katniss makes her way toward me. I reflexively cover my privates. "You bear the mark of the Spirits?"
"The what?" Still staring, she points at the hunk of metal and plastic that makes up the lower portion of my left leg. "Oh, um, no. An unfortunate accident when I was a child. They had to amputate from the knee down due to infection, but they gave me a new one that works just fine."
With embarrassment clearly written across her face, Katniss spins on her heel and scurries back up to the edge of the trees, this time keeping her ramrod straight back to me.
As much as I'd like to stand around naked all day, I ease myself into the water, taking it slow so I don't trip and fall in face first. Once up to my waist, I extend out my arms, letting the lazy current brush along my fingertips. "So," I say, turning and gingerly sliding my feet against the rocky bottom, "what did you mean when you said I was marked by the Spirits?"
Still keeping her back to me, she clears her throat. "My people believe that when a fawn is born unlike the others, it is an omen from the Spirits that change is on the horizon."
Huh. Now that's a coincidence if I ever did see one. That aside though, it makes me wonder how common of an occurrence something like that is around here. Onboard the ships, there's just enough diversity, and at times intervention, to keep genetic abnormalities at bay. It also helps that each ship has a genetic backup plan in the form of frozen embryos that we've carried with us all the way from Earth. If ever faced with the problem of keeping the gene pool deep enough, our ancestors thought that one out too.
I catch Katniss stealing a quick glance over her shoulder, and I can't help myself from wiggling my eyebrows at her like a mischievous little boy. I've never been much of a flirt, but I've seen the way some girls back on the ship have looked at me before, and that's exactly how Katniss is looking at me now.
Sinking lower into the water, I inhale a quick breath then dunk beneath the surface to scrub my hair clean. She's not there when I resurface, which causes a ripple of unease to rush over me and I stand to get a better look around. There, a short distance away, I find Katniss bent over, foraging for something in the tall grass. Something inside me stirs and I suck in a sharp breath. Now I'm the one staring but I don't think she'd find it quite so amusing if I get caught. Shaking my head, I trudge back onto the grass and locate my discarded clothes.
Using my undershirt to dry off, I forego my underwear, tucking it into the back pocket of my pants after slipping back into my suit. Giving my head a good shake, I step back into my boots and join Katniss, who's digging up some roots with a stick. "How can I help?" I ask.
She hands me a pouch and points to some plants floating on the surface of the water a little further up the stream. "Those plants floating in the water, that is watercress; you can start with that."
As I set to my task of scooping out large clumps of the water plant, we make small talk. Although, it seems I'm doing more of the asking and her more of the answering. Since we're foraging, the topic of food naturally comes up, and I ask about her people's typical diet. She explains that for meat, they hunt the large water birds with their bows and arrows and use lures and nets to catch fish from the streams. Smaller game is trapped using a variety of snares, a few of which she promises to show me tomorrow, as well as how to set them. Leaves and roots from wild plants round out the rest of their meals, along with nuts and berries, which they use for a whole variety of things ranging from food to medicine and even jewelry.
When I ask about the larger game, though, she says there is no honor in hunting them, for they are cherished by the Wood Spirit. To kill one, unless out of self-defense, is forbidden. The furs and hides of those that pass naturally are free for the taking, but only if the animal's spirit has left the body and has been blessed before taking it.
I lose track of time as she goes on to describe the different ceremonies and rituals her people practice for everything from fertility and birth to healing and death and the passage to the realm of the dead. A lot of them sound eerily similar to those of my ancestors, strange yet fascinating, even if most of them are based on nothing more than superstition.
Daylight is starting to fade, and with our packs full, we head back to the cave, but along a different path than whence we came. I'm trying to memorize as much as I can, but after a while, all the trees and rocks start to look the same.
We pause as she stops at a tree trunk and rips a couple of strips of bark from the trunk. "For the fire and new pouches," she says, tucking them into her belt.
The remainder of the dwindling afternoon we spend sorting and processing our haul. Katniss lays out some of the plants and berries to dry, while I'm on shelling duty with the nuts. When I tell her about the dehydrated rations, explaining how all you have to do is add a little water and the food comes back to its original freshness, she stops me immediately so I can show her. The simplest yet most palatable of the rations is the bread, and she watches, eyes wide with astonishment as the thin white slices expand and fluff up.
"Wait a minute," I say, scooting over to the glowing embers of the dying fire so I can lightly toast each side. When they reach a light golden brown, I hold a piece out to cool and reach for another packet, a simulated nut spread that everyone on the ship seems to like. I'm personally not a fan of the stuff—too sweet for me—but I have a feeling she'll love it. When I turn back around though, I find her on all fours, already taking a bite of the toast right out of my hand. A heated blush creeps up my neck, and when she moans her approval, I can't stop staring at her mouth.
She's about to go in for another bite when she glances up at my face and freezes. "I am sorry, is what I did wrong? Is that not how you eat it?"
"No, no, no, it's fine," I say, but she doesn't seem convinced. "It's just that…onboard my ship, one of the rituals my people still practice is a marriage ceremony called a toasting."
"What is marriage?"
"Uh, when two people come together and unite, forming a bond."
Katniss nods her head. "Mating."
"Well, I mean, yeah that's involved but it's more than just sex. It's a union, a contract so to speak, stating that a couple will support each other and stay true to one another and one day raise a family together."
"Ah, I understand. You mean coupling."
I'm almost certain my face is flaming red right now, but I force myself to forge on. "Yeah, you could call it that. And a toasting is when a couple heats bread over a fire and then feed it to each other to signify their union."
I glance down at the piece of toast in my hand, focusing a little too hard on where her mouth left a perfect little bite mark, before dragging my gaze back up to hers. I can't seem to look away from those endless pools of grey, drawn to them like a magnetic pull. But then understanding suddenly dawns on her and before I know it, she's blushing too. Then she looks away, and the brief yet heated moment between us is gone in an instant.
It's a little ironic that that's the exact moment the last of the glowing embers decide to fizzle out in a wisp of smoke. "I should restart that," she murmurs, but I'm not sure why she's whispering; it's only the two of us.
She crawls away, and I take a moment to exhale deeply, but she's not gone long, returning to the fire pit with a small bow and a stick. Kneeling down and using the bow, she begins to spin the stick against a piece of bark she's placed in the center of the pit.
We're both quiet while she works, but now I'm a little curious about the marriage rituals of her people and after a solid minute of hemming and hawing, I finally ask.
"In my herd," she starts to explain, her attention focused on her task, "if a male is interested in taking a mate, he presents her with a gift. If she accepts, then they are paired."
A few curls of smoke begin to rise from the bark, my eyes trained on the spinning stick as it starts to glow a bright orange. "That simple, huh?"
"Simple?" She snorts, then bends down lower to gently blow and coax the tiny flames. My eyes have a mind of their own as they drift over to Katniss's backside, the fringed hem of her dress teasing the bare backs of her thighs. Oblivious to my wandering gaze, she sits back on her knees and plants her fists on her hips. "I would like to see you start a fire on the first try."
Fighting back a smirk, I can't help but rise up to the challenge. Reaching for my pack, I fish out my kinetic lighter and shoo her away. When I snuff out her flame, though, she huffs and makes a grab for my hand. Her mouth opens to protest, but I hold up a finger. Striking the lighter against my thigh five times in quick succession, I flip open the cap and press the glowing red tip to the piece of bark she was just using. Within a few seconds, it's curling in on itself, the edges glowing bright orange.
"How is that possible?"
"Not magic, in case you were wondering." Grinning, I flip the cap closed and toss the lighter in her lap. I've never seen a person move so quick as she scampers away, hissing and scowling as if I've just tried to light her up. "And when I said simple, I meant the pairing of your people, not the fire."
"Hmm?" Too busy inspecting the lighter, it takes a moment for my words to register. "Oh, yes. Is it more complicated with your people?"
"I guess you could say so." Settling back down as the fire catches to the surrounding tipi of sticks, I lean back on my elbows and watch as she mimics my earlier motions, striking the lighter against her thigh. "There's the whole initial meeting, then courting, then meeting the parents, an engagement, and then finally a toasting, signifying the couple's commitment to each other. The whole thing can go on for years sometimes."
Finally tearing her eyes away from her newfound toy, she gapes at me. "Years?" I nod and she shakes her head. "That is a waste of time."
Shrugging, I can't seem to argue. I stare into the flames, thinking back to life aboard the ship. I deliberately left out the part about how, with the marriage restriction currently in place, things are even more difficult. Only those who can prove themselves physically and mentally capable through a series of tests are given the chance to select a partner. I have to admit, I've spent a few sleepless nights wondering if it'd be worth all the hassle. Jumping through all the hoops to be matched with someone when there was no guarantee it would be a love match. Would it be worth it? Maybe I'm just a romantic at heart, but I like to think that when it comes to marriage, it's a union based on mutual love and respect, not the ability to produce superior offspring. And when it comes to love, there's no questioning it; you can't force it. It's something that just happens, and when it does, you just know.
And what I know for fact right now is that I'm going to be sick.
During my musings, Katniss decided to see to the rabbit-like animals she brought in earlier. Using a blade, she makes a slit near the head and then with a swift round of tugs, rips the fur and skin straight from the body. After handling the rest of the carcasses in the same manner, she sets to slicing the meat from the bones and piling it on a wooden plank. The bones and innards go into another pile, and I'm actually a little impressed at how she's even collecting the blood, making the whole process a lot less messy than I expected. When I ask if she wants me to take away the scrap pile, she says no, informing me that nothing goes to waste.
Onboard the ship, one of the few nutritional sources of protein we have is rabbit. Being easy to care for and of course, made easily abundant, I've never really put much thought into what went into preparing the meat. Now I'm glad I was never a part of it.
I have to turn my head every once in a while to keep from gagging, but the coppery scent of blood and raw flesh is starting to become overwhelming. Before I can make an excuse to escape and get some fresh air, she asks me to place a few of the larger smooth stones into the fire. Taking a quick inhale of smoke to combat the stench, I'm thankful to see that she's done with the meat and has moved on to set up some sort of tripod. Using some sticks that are bound at the top, she positions them near the fire and then turns her attention to cleaning up the mess.
A bag dangles in the middle of the tripod and when I kneel down for a closer inspection, I run my finger along the edge and ask, "What is this made of?"
"The stomach of a wisent." When I cock an eyebrow she picks up a stick and draws a four-legged animal with short blunt horns. I'd say it looks somewhat like the extinct buffalo that used to roam the North American plains back on Earth. I always did have a passion for history, and now I'm glad what my brothers used to call the recollection of useless facts and information is actually coming in handy.
With the less appealing parts of the animals out of sight, Katniss sets to work on a few of the root vegetables. Starchy tubers of a kind of water plant that she says she's named after and something called tipsin is roughly chopped into chunks and she tears up some leaves and the watercress I collected from the stream. If I didn't know any better, I'd say stew is on tonight's menu.
When she asks me to pour some water into the primitive cooking pot, I know I'm right. By now the stones in the fire are red-hot, and she expertly scoops them up with a forked stick and drops them one by one into the sack, the water hissing and sizzling the moment they hit the surface. It doesn't take long for the water to come to a boil, and then she dumps in the prepared meat and vegetables and adds some herbs from her collection of bark containers.
Leaning in, I take a sniff of the strange concoction and I have to admit, despite being cooked in an old animal stomach with some stones, the stuff smells pretty damn good.
As we sit and wait, I offer to make up another dehydrated ration to go with dinner. She asks if there's any more of the bread, and she's in luck; there's one more left. As I toast the slices over the fire, I jump back into my line of questioning, starting with determining if there are any other races inhabiting this planet that I should know about.
"Are there any other herds besides yours?"
"Yes, there are more. Elders from other herds will visit our village once every few years, but beyond that, the herds tend to keep to themselves."
"And are they like you?"
"What do you mean?"
"They have crowns too?"
Frowning, she gives me a funny look. "Yes, of course."
"What about beyond the snow desert? Does anyone live out there?"
She hesitates, her lips pressing together in a thin, firm line. "Those who enter Tundar do not return."
Thinking back to the image from the HOLO when I first landed, I try to recall what the terrain looked like and if the signal picked up the other mountain range or not. I don't think it did, and based on Katniss's ominous description, it has to be a considerable journey across the dead zone, and not an easy one. Setting that thought aside, I find myself wanting to know more about her. Why is she here, living alone in a cave? Does she have a family? Do they know she's here?
"Can I ask you something personal?" I eventually ask. She studies me for a long moment with that guarded look that I'm becoming quite accustomed to, then gives a short nod. "Have you always lived here? By yourself?"
"No," she answers, looking away towards the fire. "Not always."
When she doesn't continue right away, I lean in a bit closer, crossing my arms over my knees. "What happened?"
"It is a long story."
Making a production of shifting to a more comfortable position, I stretch out onto my side and prop my head upon my hand. "I've got time."
With a heavy sigh, Katniss settles cross-legged by the fire. She takes a stick and stirs the contents of the pot, which has now reduced to a lower simmer, sending a waft of the stew my way. "It is said," she starts, setting the stick down next to her, "that during the Dark Days, these woods were once bountiful with many magical creatures. One of these was the jabberjay, a favorite of the Spirits, for they were gifted with the ability to speak. In exchange for food and protection, the Spirits used the jabberjays to carry messages to my people from the heavens.
"Little did my ancestors know that the jabberjays were also spies, reporting back the behavior of my people to the Spirits. If the Spirits were unhappy, they would stop the rains or send forth powerful winds that could destroy a village in a blink of an eye. To appease the jabberjays, my ancestors traveled across the Great Sea to find a suitable mate for them and gain favor with the jabberjays.
"They brought back with them the mockingbird," she continues, "a rather plain bird, but they had the most beautiful song of all the creatures. Pleased, the jabberjays mated with the mockingbirds, and their offspring began to fill the woods. The mockingjays, as my ancestors called them, bore the best qualities of their parents: the beautiful blue and white plumage of the jabberjay and the docile temperament of the mockingbird, as well as the ability to replicate any melody they heard.
"But soon the jabberjays refused to carry messages back to the Spirits, angering them. Once again, my ancestors found themselves in a predicament. The elders decided that in order to give thanks and appease the Spirits, a sacrifice had to be made. The life of one to feed the many, and so at each harvest feast, a mockingjay was given as an offering to the Spirits. This pleased them, and my ancestors lived with abundance and favor in the eyes of the Spirits for many, many years."
"Sounds a lot like how my leaders view society," I say, thinking bitterly of the draft. "Sacrifice one for the greater good of humanity."
Katniss goes quiet but then picks up her stirring stick again, eyes focused on the simmering surface of the stew. "But then came a day when it became harder and harder to track down a mockingjay, for their songs no longer filled the woods. The elders at the time grew panicked. Without a suitable offering, they would fall out of favor with the Spirits once again. They had grown too complacent during their years of abundance. They no longer stored more than they needed, so it was a harsh realization when they were only able to fill the food huts with enough to last them to the next harvest.
"The elders deliberated for many months until they agreed that the Spirits would require an even greater sacrifice than the mockingjays. So as it still is to this day, it was decreed that each year after the harvest, an innocent would be reaped. Only those in their thirteenth year are eligible, for if they are any older—"
"Wait, wait, wait...what?" But then the answer is settling in the pit of my stomach before I ask the question. "You mean to say your people sacrifice children?" She replies with a nod, quick and sharp.
She can't be serious. She's fooling me like she did with her father's fur. But there's no mischief in her eyes, just a hollow dead look that sends my stomach rolling. What kind of a messed up place is this?
"Yes, a blood sacrifice must be made. That is the way it has been for many, many years. My sister…" Katniss pauses and looks away, but it's not hard to miss the wetness gathering at the corners of her eyes. "She was chosen."
I'm up on my knees, the need to take her in my arms and comfort her in any way that I possibly can is so strong that I'm already reaching out to her. But I catch myself. A stranger like me is probably the last person she wants to be comforted by, so I sink back onto my knees and settle for words I know aren't any consolation. "I'm so sorry, Katniss."
With a jerking nod, Katniss tosses down the stick and runs the back of her hand across her nose, grief lingering in her expression. "We are taught from fawns that it is an honor, but when I saw the fear in my sister's eyes, I could not let her go. I was given a choice: take her place on the altar, or return with a more suitable offering."
I swallow thickly, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end as her words continue to swirl in my mind, all the pieces finally fitting together. Oh hell no. "Am—am I your sacrifice?"
"No! You believe I am preparing you as an offering?" With her brows low on her face, she's clearly not happy with my assumption.
Breathing out slowly, I try to inject some calmness into my voice. "Can you blame me?" She stares at me for a moment longer before clicking her tongue in disgust. "So then I take it you don't share the same viewpoints as the rest of your people?"
"If I did, I would not be here."
There's a nervous tension in the air now, setting us both on edge. She locates one of her arrows, and with a small stone, starts chipping away at the end to sharpen it. When the silence between us drags on, her hands still and she levels me with a hard look.
"I am not a savage," she says between clenched teeth. "Besides, your kind are valuable." Her lips twitch and there's something in her eyes that I can't quite decipher, setting me on edge once again. But before I can ask her to elaborate, she continues with her story.
"Three years ago my sister was chosen, but because I was too old to be an innocent at that time, I was given one moon phase to produce a suitable replacement." Focusing back on her arrow, her silence speaks volumes.
"But you couldn't?" I finally ask, my voice softer.
"No, I could not. My sister was sacrificed for my failure. Not long after, my mother was struck with the crying sickness. She did not last more than a few months." Tossing the arrow and stone to the side, Katniss heaves a heavy sigh, a distant look in her eyes.
"When I was younger," she says, staring into the fire, "I used to worry my mother. She said I was too curious, that I asked too many questions about the reaping, the food shortages, and the Spirits themselves. She said no good could come from asking such questions and that one day my curiosity would bring harm to us all. I learned to hold my tongue and hide my true feelings about the laws set forth by the elders. But little good it did, especially after my father never returned after a hunting trip. With nothing left for me at my village after my mother and sister passed, the elders thought it best that I leave the village for all the trouble I had caused."
"They banished you?" I ask, not even bothering to hide the disgust in my voice. "For taking a stand against them and their barbaric ritual? Sounds to me like your elders have an issue with defiance and the right of free will."
I sit up onto my knees again and slowly shuffle closer. The tormented twist of her features causes my chest to constrict, I can't bear to see her suffer under such guilt, especially when none of it was her fault. I'm half surprised, but pleasantly so, that she doesn't shrink away when my thumb smooths over her knuckles. "Listen, none of what happened to your sister or your mother is your fault. That blame lands squarely on the shoulders of those scared and ignorant elders. You understand?" When I squeeze her hand, she finally looks up at me. "You did nothing wrong."
"It no longer matters." Katniss shakes her head. "I am not an Avox, if that is what you are thinking. They did not banish me, in the end, it was my choice to go."
Looking around, I start to see the cave in a new light. "So you found this place."
"My father brought me here once when I was just a fawn. Told me to hide here if I was ever faced with trouble." With a sad smile, she glances back at me. "I never thought this would become my home."
And I never once thought I'd be selected for the draft, forced to leave everyone and everything behind for the unknown. Though we may be worlds apart on many levels, we seem to have found some common ground.
"My father told me something once," I say, studying the way her hand fits in mine. "When you least expect it, something great will come along. Something better than you ever planned for."
Neither one of us speaks for a long while, both stuck in our own heads as we stare into the fire. Naturally, my thoughts turn to my father, my brothers…hell, even my mother. What are they doing right now? Do they miss me? Is my father lonely now that I'm gone? My mother's probably celebrating, reveling in the extra credits that no doubt have already made it to their account. For most parents, it's a feeble attempt at compensation for having one of your children taken away from you, but for my mother, a perk.
"When I found you," Katniss eventually says, derailing my train of thought, "I thought I heard a mockingjay."
She pulls her hand away, and the loss of that little bit of warmth leaves me cold all over. "I thought you said they were extinct?"
"In all the years I have been living in these woods, not once have I come across one. I was setting my snares, singing to myself when I heard it. I could not believe my ears at first, but when I whistled the call my father and I once used, I was certain I heard it repeated back to me." Puckering her lips, she whistles a four-note tune that causes an eerie shiver to run up my spine. "I kept whistling and following the sound until…it led me to you."
I'm a little lost for words at the strange coincidence, but I guess stranger things have happened. There are other questions I want to ask, about the reaping especially, but I fear I've already pushed her enough for one night.
We eat our stew and nibble on toast in relative silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts. What are my people going to think once they learn the natives of this planet sacrifice their own children to appease some god they think controls the weather? Add in the fact that they're still in the very early stages of technological advancement, I can't help but worry that if my ships arrive, Katniss's people won't stand a chance.
Katniss offers me the rest of the stew and when we're done, I offer to clean out the bowls. I'm tempted to ask if she really believes in these Spirits she's always talking about, hoping for her own sake that she's smarter than the rest of her people. Something tells me she is, but after being punished for her rebellious actions, I wouldn't be surprised if she's chosen to keep silent on her true feelings. Instead, I try to lighten the mood and ask her to tell me a bedtime story.
Her mood indeed seems to lighten at my request, so I quickly shuck off my suit and crawl into my sleeping bag wearing just my shirt, and after some creative maneuvering, shimmy my way back into my underwear. It's way more comfortable out of my suit and being next to the fire all night, I'm more than warm enough.
I feel like a little kid again as I wait, lying back on my pillow with my hands linked behind my head. But when I catch a glimpse of Katniss out of the corner of my eye, her back to me as she unlaces her dress, my mind is far from innocent. The moment her dress is inches from falling past her naked backside, I decide to take a long hard look at the fire.
After a few more moments of rustling about, I chance a second glance and find her staring at me, her dark hair fanned out over her pillow. Damn, she's beautiful. Sucking in a sharp breath, I have to shift the position of my legs beneath my sleeping bag unless I want to be tenting it right out here in the open. Clearing my throat, I give her a hesitant smile. "Whenever you're ready."
"We are the descendants of the Wood Spirit," she begins, her voice fluid and sure, as if she's told this story a hundred times before. "It is said when she birthed our world, the streams formed from her tears, and the valleys and hills were forged from her screams. The trees took root from the shavings of fingernails, the birds of the air from her eyelashes, and the creatures of the land from her hair.
"The Wood Spirit loved her child very much, nurturing it day and night until the trees grew strong and tall and the land filled with beasts and the waters teemed with fish. Then one day, a star fell from the sky, but the moment he crashed into the ground, four of his points turned into arms and legs and the fifth a head. Lost and alone, the star took shelter in the woods, and the Wood Spirit took pity on him. She provided for him: food and water and creatures for companionship. Over time, she grew to love him, so much so that she forsake her heavenly duties and took on her worldly form to be with him. And with him she stayed, until the day his life light burnt out.
"With her friend and lover gone, she ascended back up to the heavens where she fell into a pit of despair, wallowing in her own misery and neglecting her child. The land turned wild, her anger transforming the hills into jagged mountains and her tears of sorrow caused the streams to swell into raging rivers and bottomless lakes. But soon the Wood Spirit discovered she was with child once again and returned to the land, making it once again habitable. That is how the first of my people came into being, born from the union of the Wood Spirit and the Fallen Star."
Knowing that behind all mythology is a hint of truth, I come to the conclusion that at some point humans must have traveled here long ago. That they had something to do with the forming of this planet, which would explain why Katniss's people speak my language. It's a lot of information to process, and so I stare up at the ceiling in silence, letting it all soak in.
The longer I allow my mind to drift, though, it keeps coming back to the same thing. What will happen when—I mean, if—the rest of my people actually get here? What will become of Katniss's people? It'd be naïve to think that with our advanced society and technology it wouldn't take much to overtake this planet. It's a harsh but brutal reality, and if the rumors of President Snow and his plans for complete domination all in the name of the survival of our people are true, then I honestly fear for Katniss's people.
No matter how I spin the situation in my head, it always comes up with the losing hand. The eradication of one race for the survival of another. Damn, this is all shades of messed up, and it makes my stomach turn knowing that I'm somehow playing a part in all of this, whether I want to or not. Wait, what's that tugging at the back of my conscience? Right, guilt.
I cover my eyes with my forearm and sigh. It's then I realize I haven't said a single word since Katniss finished her story. Tugging my sleeping bag up under my chin, I turn towards the fire and find those curious grey eyes watching me. Always watching me.
"Thank you for sharing that with me," I say, forcing a smile. "Good night, Katniss."
"Sleep well, my Peeta." She turns over, wiggles around under her furs, and then sighs.
I'm still staring at the back of her head long after her breathing has slowed, but all I can think about is what the hell am I going to do? It feels wrong to continue with this charade; withholding the truth is just as bad as flat-out lying. Damn, this sucks.
It's no wonder I sleep like shit that night.
Author's Note: Sorry it took a bit longer than I expected to post this second chapter. What can I say, real life has a way of creeping up on me. Like before, here are a few fun facts from this chapter:
- Keeping with one of my favorite fanon creations, Peeta's middle brother is Rye (short for Ryan in this case) and his eldest brother is Emmer (short of Emmerson). Keeping with the bread theme, Emmer is actually a type of wheat also known as farro that grows in the mountainous regions of Europe and Asia.
- Tipsin, also known as Prairie Turnip or Indian Breadroot, was a popular wild plant that Native Americans foraged. To prepare it, they would peel it and then fry it up. The nutritional composition is similar to a potato but the taste and texture are different. If dried, the tubers can be stored indefinitely, making it a great pantry staple.
Many many thanks to two wonderful ladies, court81981 and titaniasfics (formerly ct522), who make up my beta team for this story, and loving-mellark for pre-reading. Their support and comments kept me going through the writing process and a big thanks to those who read and reviewed the first chapter. It's always nerve-wracking when you post a new story and wait to see how it's received. So thank you for the wonderful feedback so far and support!
As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts and thanks for taking a chance on my writing!
You can find me anytime over on tumblr: pookieh