Chapter 16- Shore Seawind
Kelpie's sitting curled up in her chair, facing away from the rest of us. "Oh calm down, Kelpie; it's not the end of the world," I say.
"It is!" she says through muffled sobs. "I got the lowest score of our alliance. Now everyone will think I'm weak."
"Sit up and look at us," Glass says. Kelpie doesn't move. "I said sit up and look at me, Kelpie Agan."
Kelpie turns and looks at Glass, tears rolling down her face. "You don't like your score," Glass says. "So what are you going to do about it?"
"What?"
Glass gets up and grabs Kelpie by the shoulders, shaking her. Riptide's fingers tap out a rhythm, faster and faster. Mags looks concerned, but says nothing. "I said, what are you going to do about it? If you're just going to sit and cry because you got a 6, then I might as well give you up for dead now."
Kelpie cries even harder. "Glass-" Mags starts, but Glass rounds on her as well.
"If she wants to have even a fighting chance, then she's got to prove that she's not just a weakling from District 4. It's not our fault that she got reaped and nobody volunteered for her, just like that feckless boy in the 36th. And do you know what happened to him?" Nobody says anything. "He died in the bloodbath. Are you going to go out in the bloodbath, or are you going to fight?"
"I'm going to fight," Kelpie says quietly.
"What's that? You're going to give up right now?"
"I'm going to fight!" she says louder.
"Then you have a chance. I will not baby you, Kelpie Agan. If you want to stay in the Games, you have to fight for it. Prove that you're not just a 6; prove that the Gamemakers made a mistake in underestimating you. Do you understand me?" Glass says, louder than necessary.
"Yes," Kelpie replies, wiping her face with her hands.
"Good." Glass starts to walk out of the living room but stops. "I'm going to bed; tomorrow I'm going to coach you on your angle for the interviews. Get a good night's sleep; we start early."
"Riptide, you go ahead and sleep too," Mags says gently. The boy looks up, alarmed, at his mentor. I get the feeling that Mags never stops being a mentor once her tribute has won. "It's alright. You're safe."
"Al-alright," Riptide says, and gets up, still tapping that rhythm on his pant legs.
"Kelpie, you run along. I want to talk to Shore for a little bit," Mags says. Our stylists, Augustus and Lukos, left right after the scores were announced. Now it's just Kitty Prior, with the dyed red skin and white tattoos, who's left sitting in the living room.
"I feel rather tired myself. If you'll excuse me," she says, and leaves for her own room quickly.
"Goodnight then, Kitty," Mags calls after her. Kitty doesn't stop to return the sentiment.
Kelpie's starting towards her room when Mags stops her with a warm hug. "You'll be fine, dear. Don't worry. You'll be alright."
Kelpie nods uncertainly, then flees. Once her door shuts, Mags offers her hand to me with a smile; I take it, and follow her to the elevators.
"Where are we going?" I ask once we're inside. Mags presses the button at the very top, which has no number on it.
"The roof," she says simply.
"I didn't know we could go there."
"If you're with me, you can."
The doors open to a dark garden where the lights of the Capitol don't reach. It's overly noisy up here, with wind chimes and a strong breeze blowing. In daylight, I don't doubt that it would be beautiful up here, but the trees and plants that hang about could conceal any number of things in the dark. Ringed around the edges of the building, there is a concrete wall, which is lower than I would have thought it would be for the top of the Training Center.
"Don't they worry about someone jumping or falling off of here?" I ask Mags, who's behind me.
"Put your arm out, Shore," she says.
I reach out over seemingly empty air; I jerk back when I feel the electric shock run up my arm. Shaking it out, I ask, "What is that?"
"A forcefield. We wouldn't want a tribute to come up here and jump, as you suggested might happen. Now, my boy, how do you feel about your odds going into the Games?" Mags leans against the wall and waits for my answer.
"I got an 8; I'd say my odds are pretty good."
"The scores only help the sponsors pick who to spend money on. It says nothing about your odds. How prepared do you feel going into the arena in two days?"
I look out over the Capitol, this beautiful city that calls for my blood. "I have a solid alliance, which increases my odds of living. I'm strong from fishing all my life, and I'm capable too. More so than most of the others, in my opinion. I'd say I'm ready."
"And inside? That is just the outside portion of being prepared," Mags says, coming to stand beside me. "Is your mind ready to enter the arena?"
"I don't understand."
"Shore, there will be a shift in your thinking when you stand in the Launch Room before the Games start."
"How so?"
"You will truly realize your own mortality," Mags says. "I did. I remember when I came here for the first time, at sixteen years old. I was younger than you, as you recall me saying. It was beautiful to me, but I was frightened. I will admit that. But I didn't truly understand how it would feel to stand ready to go into the arena."
"What do you mean, realize my own mortality?" I ask. She wouldn't have asked me to come up here if this talk wasn't important, but I'm not quite understanding what she's getting at. Yes, I could die in the arena. But I won't. So she shouldn't worry about it. As a mentor, I suppose her job is to worry, though.
"In the moments before that metal plate rises, you will be forced to confront the possibility of your own death. Those are the last moments that are truly your own; after that, your life is in the hands of yourself, your allies, and the Gamemakers."
"I could die, but I'm not going to. What are you asking me to do?"
Mags smiles. "When the time comes, push the thoughts of dying away, and live. But don't forget this, Shore: your allies want to live as well. And they will kill you to go home. They are not your friends; they are your allies as long as they can be useful to you."
"It seems a bit cruel to use them like that," I say.
"Oh, it is. That's why the Gamemakers want you to. It's all part of the show, Shore. Give them their show and you'll live."
"And what about Kelpie?"
Mags is silent, hands still on the concrete barrier between garden and sky. "She shouldn't be here," she says finally.
"Aria Combstar was supposed to volunteer."
"Yes, and by not volunteering she has condemned the poor girl to death."
"You don't think she has a chance?" I ask. Mags hesitates, weighing her words before she says them.
"She is too timid; too afraid. Afraid tributes never become victors, Shore. When the time comes, I hope you ensure her end is as painless as possible. For her, and for her poor family at home."
"I'm not going to kill her, Mags." Just the thought of driving a trident or a spear through Kelpie makes my stomach turn. I know she's not going to make it out, because for me to win she has to die, but to hear Mags say she has no chance- it makes it more real. I can't help but feel sorry for my district partner.
"I'm not asking you to. But make sure she retains some dignity in death." Mags' voice turns downward as she speaks of Kelpie's inevitable demise. "She's a sweet girl. Don't let her suffer."
"And what about me? I believe I can win; do you?" Sometimes I feel that Mags has all the confidence in the world in me, other times she doubts me. She shouldn't doubt me; they elected me volunteer for a reason. If I wasn't capable of winning, I wouldn't be standing here. Kelpie was just a fluke; Aria would be having a much better go at it than the poor crying girl downstairs. That's why they choose the volunteers; to give the tributes the best chance of surviving.
Mags looks sharply over at me. "Yes. I do believe it. But remember, my boy, as I said on the train: overconfident tributes die just as easily as fearful ones. Believe you can win and let that sustain you throughout the Games. But don't let your confidence overrule reason."
She pats me on the shoulder. "I believe you will be my champion; I really do. But do keep your head about you, won't you Shore?"
"Of course I will."
"Good. You're a sensible lad. Let's go back down before they miss us, shall we?"
The ride down the elevator is quiet, as both Mags and I think about what she told me. Regardless of what she says, I'm not going to think about dying in the arena. Isn't that counterproductive? I'm going in there to live, not to die.
As if she can read my thoughts, Mags says, "Things will look different within the arena." I nod. I don't quite agree with her, but I'll let the matter lie.
The elevator doors open onto our floor. Mags pats my shoulder warmly. "You sleep now too. It's going to be a long day tomorrow, and you'll want to be wide awake for it."
"Yes ma'am."
"Shore. I'm old, but I'm not old enough to be a ma'am. Always Mags."
I look at my mentor, who, despite what she says, is not old. She could even be considered beautiful. I wish I could have known her better, and longer, back home; Thalassa would like her. Da would respect her. Mags is wise, and even though she talks a lot about dying, I could learn a lot from her.
These are the things I want to tell her, my mentor who wants me to live, so I can mentor by her side. But I don't. Instead, I nod and say, "Mags."
"That's better. Goodnight," she says, and walks away.