Chapter 3- Terra Coppersmith

My fingers can't hold me much longer; the wind is too strong and threatening to pull me away from the rock face. I can feel the warm blood snaking down my arms from my hands that are cut and ragged from the rocks.

"Fletcher! Help me!" I scream, but I can't see him through the storm. My face is so cold, so cold it hurts. I can't feel my feet or my hands anymore, but the blood doesn't stop. "Fletcher!"

"Terra!" There, I heard him! I can just catch a glimpse of him through the storm. "Win for me!"

"Fletcher! Help me!"

"I love you!" Before I can reply, the giant bear mutt rears up behind him, tearing his head off before disintegrating. The cannon fires and I scream; I'm falling backwards and Calypso's above me with her knife and ruined face, and she strikes down…

I sit up, screaming. It quickly becomes apparent that I'm not in the storm, and there is no mutt, no Calypso, and no Fletcher.

Fletcher is dead, and so is Calypso.

I run my hands through my hair and start to go through my mental list that helps ground me. I am Terra Coppersmith. I am twenty-one years old. I won the 36th Hunger Games five years ago. I lost two fingers, and both my legs after winning. I'm okay now. I fell in love with Fletcher Wellrock, but he died for me in the arena and is buried in the District 8 graveyard. I'm okay; I am safe.

Iry bursts in the door, wearing her new white nightgown, and climbs onto the bed with me. "Bad dream again?" she asks, wrapping me up in a hug. It used to be me who took care of my little sister, but now she's thirteen it seems to be the other way around.

"Yeah," I say. "Fletcher as usual."

"It's okay, Terra. You're safe," she says soothingly. I haven't had a nightmare in two nights, but I know what's brought tonight's on. It's Reaping day today.

"I know I'm safe, I'm with you," I say, leaning into my little sister. She's grown up so much over the years, it's hard to believe. When I came back from the Capitol, she was just a little girl. Now she's almost as tall as me, with a sense of humor that's all her own. She has two names in the bowl today; the odds of her being picked are slim, but they're still there.

"Want me to make some tea? Shuttle said she'd be over this morning to help us get ready. She knows how you are on Reaping day," Iry says, not taking her arms from around me.

"Sure, that would be nice."

"Are you going to go visit Fletcher before we go to the square? I know you like to go talk to him before anything big happens."

I shake my head. "I'll let him sleep in this year," I say.

"Alright, I'll go put the kettle on," Iry says, sliding off the bed and going out the door. Our house here in Victor's Village is huge; I still miss our old home on Engineering Road, where I grew up, and where I used to live before I became victor.

It's just Iry and me here, since my father and mother are both dead and buried in the cemetery a few rows over from Fletcher. Shuttle and Woven, my old mentors, have taken the place of our family. And I'm an honorary auntie to my best friend Deecey's four-month-old baby, Eli. She got married last year to a really nice guy, and I was more than happy to fund the wedding. I have more money than I know what to do with.

After a few minutes, Iry brings a cup of tea up to my room and hands it to me.

"Thanks," I say, blowing the steam away and taking a sip. "What are you going to wear today?"

"The blue plaid skirt with the white blouse," Iry says, wrapping a braid around and around her finger. "I think that will look nice."

"I think so too," I say, taking another sip.

Our cat, Ribbons, jumps up onto the bed then, rubbing her face against my cup and nearly spilling the liquid inside on me.

"Ribbons!" Iry says, grabbing the cat away from me and squeezing her tight.

Distantly, I can hear a knocking coming from downstairs. Iry's face lights up; "That's probably Shuttle," she says, taking off out of my room and down the stairs, still holding the cat. Shuttle's become a sort of aunt to Iry over the past five years, along with Woven. They kept me alive in the arena, and now they're family. I don't know the third District 8 victor very well, a man in his forties named Woof. He keeps to himself.

"Terra! Are you getting up today?" Shuttle calls from downstairs.

"Coming!" I wrap a shawl around me before going downstairs. Even in the heat of July, I hate to be cold.

Shuttle's slicing bread in the kitchen when I get down there, while Iry sits on the table swinging her legs. The bread is still warm, judging by the steam rising from its insides.

"I brought breakfast," Shuttle says, smiling at me. "How'd you sleep?"

"The usual," I say, grabbing a slice of bread before Shuttle can toast it. I'm still getting used to the gadgets provided by the Capitol; before we got the toaster, we used to put the bread over a fire and toast it the old-fashioned way. Here in Victor's Village, we're spoiled.

"Well, reaping's at noon, and the mayor wants us to be early this year. No repeats of last year," Shuttle says. Last year Woof barely made it in time to sit on the stage, which did not sit well with the officials.

"Who's the escort? Please Shuttle, please tell me it's not-"

"It's Postumius," Shuttle sighs. I groan and rub my forehead. He's been District 8's escort for the last seven years, and he gets more useless every year, I swear. Typically dressed in orange suits with a champagne glass in his hand, he's almost worse than no escort. You can't expect him to get the tributes anywhere on time.

In the five years since I won, District 8 has sent ten tributes to the Capitol. None of them have come back alive. Shuttle, Woven, and Woof say very little about their failures; so far, I've been spared the life of a mentor, thanks to Shuttle and Woven's influence, but I know the Capitol will call me one of these days and demand I come to the Games as well. I just have to postpone that as long as possible.

"You'd think we'd be able to be rid of him," I say, leaning against the counter.

"Nobody else wants him. He's stuck in District 8, and we're stuck with him," Shuttle says sadly. We've wanted Postumius fired for years, but our wishes have never come true.

The toaster pops; Shuttle hands me a piece of toast with jam on a plate and the other to Iry. "Eat up," she says, "It's going to be a long day."

After breakfast, Iry and I go upstairs to shower and change, while Shuttle goes home to do the same. I can't help but think of the two poor kids who are doomed to head to the Capitol this year, whoever they're going to be.

I've dressed myself in black pants and a light purple top today, and I think I look very nice. I usually wear long pants, to hide the prosthetics I gained in the Games. They don't bother me as much as they used to, but I don't like to display them.

Iry jumps down the stairs in her white blouse and plaid skirt. "How do I look?" she asks, spinning in a circle.

"Beautiful!" I tell her. "What shoes are you going to wear?"

"The black ones with blue flowers on them," Iry says, running back upstairs to get them. That's one thing about winning the Games that I've always felt happy about: being able to give my sister everything she needs or wants. It almost makes up for the nightmares that come every night.

"Ready?" I ask once she's downstairs again with her shoes on. She nods. "We'll go by Deecey's; you can walk to the square with her. I need to go up with the other victors."

"Terra?"

"Yeah?"

"I'll be alright today, won't I?" She says it nonchalantly, but I know she's scared.

"You'll be fine," I say to her, grabbing her hand. "You only have two names in the bowl, and you don't have any tesserae. There's a lot of other kids who have more at twelve."

"Sure about it?"

"Positive. Come on, we have to get going."

People are already starting to move towards the square, most towing children behind them. There's a sort of solemnity that makes it feel like we're all going to a funeral; in a sense, that's not wrong. Deecey lives about a ten minute walk away, with her husband and baby Eli. Iry's been walking to the square with them for years, ever since I was eligible to be reaped, but back then she would walk with Mrs. Underfall, Deecey's mother. She is like my own mother to me, and she lives nearby Engineering Road, where Iry and I used to live.

Deecey's looking through the window already, smiling and waving to us on the street. The door opens and she calls, "Ready for drop-off?"

"Like every year! Where's the baby?" I ask. Alex, her husband, comes up to the door holding baby Eli, who crows and babbles when he sees me.

"I swear you only come to see him," Deecey says, but she's smiling.

"I tolerate you for him," I tease, tickling Eli's feet and making him laugh. "I'd love to stay and play, but I've got to get to the square early. You're alright taking Iry?"

"'Course. Just like every year," Deecey says, giving me a hug. Alex gives me a friendly smile, then takes Eli back inside the house.

"Alright, I'll see you after the reapings. Stay safe," I tell Iry, kiss her forehead, then walk with the other people headed to the square.

I go straight up to the stage that's been erected in front of the Justice Building, passing by the Peacekeepers that guard the doors. They don't bother to check for identification anymore; they know me well enough after five years. One nods his head to me.

"Ms. Coppersmith."

"Terrence," I say back, nodding to him as well. He's an alright Peacekeeper; I talk to him every year.

I take my seat on the stage, next to Woof who's already here. Better than last year, when he was almost late. Woof doesn't smile when he sees me, but he nods. District 8's only male victor, he's usually polite, but quiet. I don't know much about him, really. The first time I met him was before my Victory Tour, and he showed me his own missing finger. That's as far as our bonding ever went.

Woven, a woman in her forties with short dark hair, arrives then, coming to sit next to me. "Long time no see," she says.

"Yes, last night was so long ago," I say back; Shuttle had us over to her house last night for supper. Woof declined to come, of course.

"Iry with Deecey?"

I nod. Shuttle comes up the stairs then, more serious than she was earlier this morning. She's only six years older than I am, and has a great deal more responsibility. Odds are, she and Woven will mentor the girl chosen and Woof will mentor the boy this year. I get to stay home and watch as much as I can stomach on our private television.

"Ready?" I whisper. "The orange menace will be appearing soon." Shuttle cracks a smile, then goes serious again. I turn my attention to the crowds of kids pouring into the square, and the Peacekeepers who push them into age groups.

The younger kids usually stand near the stage, because they're typically shorter, while the eighteen-year olds stand at the back of the crowd. The families stand on the outside and try to fight down their terror. I can see Iry amongst the other thirteen year olds; she gives me a little wave.

"Welcome, District 8, to the 41st Hunger Games," the mayor says coming out. She's dressed neatly but not extravagantly, unlike anyone in the Capitol. I genuinely like our mayor, because I know how much she hates reading the Treaty of Treason every year, like she is right now. Once she finishes that, she introduces the district's past victors: us.

"Woven Stonewood, victor of the 14th Hunger Games; Woof Fuller, victor of the 17th Hunger Games; Shuttle Caries, victor of the 31st Hunger Games, and Terra Coppersmith, victor of the 36th Hunger Games."

The audience applauds for us, and we victors acknowledge them with nods and smiles. Four tributes have come back in a forty-one-year period; it's just sad.

"Let me introduce to you your Capitol escort: Postumius Opiter," the mayor continues, backing away from the microphone.

There was a time when I though Postumius was amusing, but that time has long gone. As the idiot bounces out on stage, I notice that his hair has grown longer, and it does nothing for him. He's wearing orange as usual, with purple stripes incorporated into the suit's design. Absolutely hideous.

"Hello District 8!" he says, and he actually sounds fairly sober. He was close to being flat out drunk last year, so it's an improvement on his part. "Let's get the ball rolling, shall we? Shall we start with the ladies or the gentlemen this year do you think?"

Just shut up and get on with it already.

"Ladies first!" he finally decides, walking over to the reaping bowl with a bit of pep in his step. I hate him so, so much.

Postumius pulls out a slip of paper that condemns someone in the crowd, then walks back to the microphone, whips it open, and says, "Iry Coppersmith!"

Woven grabs my arm because I'm about to fall off my chair. No. NO! Not Iry, not Iry! Every bit of breath has been knocked out of me, and I'm fighting against Woven to get to my little sister. Woof grabs my arm on the other side and forces me back down.

"Don't make it worse, Terra," he growls at me. I'm speechless as Iry walks up the stairs to the stage; her hands are shaking when she stands next to Postumius, but she holds it together.

"Do we have a volunteer for Iry?" Postumius calls out. I beg the crowd in my mind, somebody, please, volunteer for her! Volunteer!

But just like nobody volunteered for me, nobody volunteers for Iry. She steps back like she's supposed to, and it takes everything I have to not run up to her and grab her in a hug. My sister, my little sister!

No!

I almost miss who her district partner is, only getting a good look at him when he comes up and stands next to Postumius. A sullen giant of a boy, Azlon Loombow is eighteen and may actually have a fighting chance this year. But Iry has to win, she has to!

I grip Woven's arm in my hand and hiss into her ear, "I'm going to be mentor this year, and nothing you can do or say is going to stop me."

Iry Coppersmith

Terra promised me I wouldn't be the tribute, but here I am standing on the stage, trying to hold back tears. Azlon, the boy who was just chosen to be my partner, refuses to look at me, or at the crowd. He looks at his feet instead.

"Let's hear it for this year's tributes, Iry Coppersmith and Azlon Loombow!" Postumius Opiter shouts, making Azlon and me shake hands. Azlon still doesn't look at me.

As we're being taken into the Justice Building, I see Terra, looking as terrified as I'm feeling right now, and she's trying to get to me.

"Iry!" she shrieks, but the other victors are holding her back. I don't even get to scream for her before I'm hustled inside and taken to a pretty and luxurious room.

I bury my face in my hands, trying to ward off the tears. What about my room at home, with the canopy and the soft rug by my bed? What about Ribbons? Who's going to take care of her when I don't come back? I'm only thirteen; nobody has won that young, ever. Where's Terra?

The door opens and I look up; it's not Terra, it's Deecey Underfall-Arches, Terra's best friend. I've known her for years; she's basically family.

"Come here," she says, and I run into her arms before the door even closes behind her.

"Where's Terra?" I whisper.

"I don't think victors are allowed in here. I'm pretty sure she got taken to the train station," Deecey says.

"The train station? But she doesn't go to the Capitol," I say, confused.

"I guess she is this year. Listen, you'll be fine. You've got a team of four victors behind you, and all of District 8 will be cheering you on. They'll get you out of that arena without a scratch, you just watch."

"I'm scared, Deecey."

"I know. I know," she says, rocking me back and forth. "Terra came home, and so will you. You just gotta hide, hide like Terra did, and then you'll get out okay."

"Terra lost her legs," I whisper.

"They won't throw you into a tundra, I guarantee it. The last one was only five years ago; they won't repeat themselves so soon."

Deecey lets me go and takes my face in my hands. "Listen, I expect you to be back here all in one piece in a few weeks. Enjoy the Capitol; you've always wanted to see it, haven't you? Now you can, and Terra will be with you too."

I nod.

"You're smart and funny and brave, and you'll make all those idiots in the Capitol love you, and then they'll sponsor you so you'll keep alive. You'll be just fine."

The Peacekeeper opens the door and says, "Time's up."

Deecey gives me a last hug and says, "I'll go take care of Ribbons for you while you're gone. She'll miss you, but I'm sure she'll like Eli for a little while. Stay safe, I love you."

The door shuts behind Deecey, then opens again almost immediately. It's Alex, Deecey's husband, and he's holding baby Eli. I smile and reach out for him. Alex places Eli in my arms, then leads me over to the couch. I don't know Alex as well as Deecey, but I like him a lot anyway.

Eli giggles and coos up at me; he's a really wiggly baby. I think of him sometimes as my baby brother. Squeezing him tight, I hold him close and rock Eli back and forth.

"You're a good kid, you know that Iry?" Alex says.

"Thanks." Eli snuggles up right under my chin.

"And I'm real sorry this happened to you. You'll do fine, don't you worry," Alex continues.

"Thanks. And thanks for bringing Eli," I whisper. Too soon, the Peacekeeper opens the door, and Eli and Alex have to leave.

"Good luck, kiddo," Alex says, and then the door shuts behind him too.

Aja and Carding come in next, together. My two best friends from school. Aja is crying, and Carding is barely holding it together.

"What am I going to do without you?" Aja sobs, hugging me tight. She lets go and Carding hugs me next.

"I'm going to really try to win," I tell them. "Really, really try. But if I don't come back, can you come visit me? Please?"

That sets Carding off sobbing. "I don't want you to die!"

"Me either," I say, and it's getting harder to breathe with my throat closing up. I swallow the tears back. "I'll be back, don't worry. Terra's coming to the Capitol with me."

"Time's up!"

"But they just got here!" I protest, but the Peacekeeper doesn't care.

"Let's go!"

Aja, Carding, and I group hug one last time. "I'll be back! Don't worry too much about me!" I say, and then they're gone.

Mrs. Underfall, Deecey's mother, comes last. She's tall and plump, and warm, and she's like a mother to me too. She doesn't say much; she rocks me back and forth instead.

"I've loved watching you grow up," she finally says. "You've been a joy no matter what age you are. I'm going to miss you lots."

"I'll come back," I whisper, but every time I say it, I grow more doubtful. Can I come back?

"I know you will dear. I know you will."

Then she's gone as well.

The ride to the train station is a quiet one. Postumius sits in between Azlon and me, and generally looks cheerful. I don't smile and neither does Azlon. When we pull up to the train station, there's cameras everywhere. I smile then, and wave to them. It's not really in my nature to sulk for too long.

As soon as I get onto the train, Terra grabs me and holds me tight. She's crying, and that sets me off crying too.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she says.

"There's nothing to be sorry for. It was chance," I say. Terra shakes her head.

"It was more than chance, it had to be. Relatives of victors get reaped too often for it to always be chance. They want a show, and they rigged the reapings to get it, I just know they have," she whispers.

"They can do that?"

"Iry, they can do anything they want to." Terra looks me dead in the eyes, and the sadness I see in them makes me hurt. "Don't say anything about it; the walls have ears."

I nod.

The train takes off while Terra and I stand at the windows. "You'll see it again, I promise," Terra says quietly. "I promise."

"Okay."