A/N: My last chapter of 2021... Happy New Year('s Eve) everyone! And thanks to all faves, follows, and reviews!
saku hyuuga: "Of course she had to enter beyond the Wall, because why not? Isn't she Katniss?" Truer words never spoken. XD I agree, while Katniss deserves a little peace, I feel like her adventures can't be over yet. Maybe she can save GoT's finale yet...
Enjoy!
Chapter Five: The Dead
Sunken eyes. Hollow sockets. A hole where there should be cheek. I'm seeing that girl from the tundra arena again, but it's a man – a corpse – and it's lumbering towards me.
I stumble backwards, almost losing my footing, but somehow with my trembling fingers I manage to fire a shot. It pierces his chest and ignites him, an incendiary arrow. He crumbles, withers, but he has a friend with him. Two friends, maybe more. Reaching behind me, I grab another arrow and shoot the next nearest one in the tattered head. It lets out a shriek that freezes my blood but it keeps coming.
It was a headshot. That kills even the dead in all the old horror stories, so why is it still coming?
"Katniss!" Beetee yells in my ear. "Katniss, incendiary! "
In my shock and confusion, I barely register what he's saying, but my arm reaches back again by instinct and after I grasp blindly for another arrow, I think to look at the color. As soon as I know it's yellow, I shoot it straight into this one's chest.
It lurches forward, engulfed in flame and howling like the wind. When it falls, I see more of its friends running up behind it.
I grab another incendiary arrow and prepare to fire, but as I stagger backwards, my feet betray me. Slipping on the snow, I recklessly let it fly before I hit the ground.
My arrow struck its target, I realize with grim victory as I watch the creature burn up, but the others are closing in. Five or more, in various states of rot, filling the wintry air with their unhuman cries and raspy snarls. I can hardly hear Beetee, my earpiece buried in the snow after it got knocked out of my ear in the fall, but I wonder if he can still hear me – if his speakers are echoing with other-worldly wails. Maybe he'll turn everything off so that he doesn't have to watch me being torn apart...
That's when I hear other sounds above the growls – hoofbeats racing against the snow, the rattling of a chain, and a whipping in the air like someone swinging a mace over their head. I crane my neck to see what's going on, and there's a crack of impact before more of the monsters burst into flame.
A dark figure on horseback parts the crowd of corpses, wrapped in a cloak so that I cannot see his face, though when he bashes another one, I get a better look at his weapon. Not a mace, but something that more closely resembles either a grenade on a chain or an elegant brass burner. Whatever it is, it's aflame, and each swing proves effective against the monsters. A couple are no more than walking bones, falling to pieces in the snow after a good hard whack.
Once the last one has been obliterated, the rider turns his horse toward me, and it occurs to me that I'm still gawking helplessly on the ground. A little embarrassed by my vulnerable damsel state, I force myself to stand, and curse under my breath as my legs give a damning wobble.
"Are you a long way from home, girl." His voice comes at last, muffled by the cloth that covers his nose and mouth.
"Yes," I answer quietly. Statement or question, he's guessed right. I clutch the fabric of my coat, feeling somewhat conspicuous and wanting to take the attention off of me. Quickly I go to retrieve my arrows from the bodies, if only to prove I'm not too shaken. "What were those things?"
"The dead," he replies, dismounting.
I roll my eyes. Apparently there are people who point out the obvious in any universe. "Yeah, well, where I come from, dead people usually stay that way," I mutter, and adjust my quiver on my shoulder before searching around for and discreetly picking up the earpiece.
"You're definitely not a wildling, then," he says with a chuckle. The meaning of the term eludes me, so I glance over at him, only to discover that my game bag spilled in the chaos and he is carefully putting all my gatherings back inside. He looks up, and intense grey-blue eyes find mine. "What's your name?"
"Katniss Everdeen." I feel no hesitation telling him so, only the sweet satisfaction of knowing it will mean nothing to him.
He looks past me and upwards, gives a little nod. "Is that your cat, Katniss Everdeen?"
I follow his stare to a nearby tree, where Buttercup has climbed to a high branch. Coward. "He's my sister's cat," I say, wanting no claim to him.
The man makes a clicking noise. "Here, boy," he calls, beckoning with his hand. I can't help but smirk at the sight of a mysterious cloaked rider trying to win a cat's attention.
Buttercup is not so amused. He opens his mouth in a warning hiss.
"Sorry, he hates people." I turn and fire a glare up at the branch. "I thought you weren't afraid of anything except thunder!"
He growls unhappily in response, his ear and a half tucking back against his head.
"He is wary of the dead," the man remarks. I hear him lower the hood of his cloak, and he must be unwrapping the cloth from his mouth because his voice sounds less muffled. "He wants to keep his distance from them. He is being wise."
"He's a fraidy-cat," I counter. There are no excuses for him. He practically begged to come with me, so I'm going to give him a hard time about this.
But when I turn back to the man, my breath stalls in my throat.
If it weren't for his pallor, he would look like a man from the Seam, with his long dark hair and grey-blue eyes. Except he is not olive-toned, just pale, deathly pale. The cold gives no color to his cheeks. His skin, almost a sickly grey, is pocked with something worse than frostbite. A chill runs up my spine as I wonder just how long he's been out here.
Soon enough, I realize that I'm staring. In my defense, he is too – though ironically, he's being more warm and friendly about it. To save face, I accept my game bag from him and try on a smile. "Um, thanks for the help. You know, with the bag, and the, uh… dead things."
"You're skilled with a bow. You almost didn't need my help back there," he points out with a light chuckle. It fades, and his expression wars between curious and stern before he turns back to his horse. "It is a good thing your arrows burst into flame. Fire's the only thing that kills them. That and dragonglass."
"Dragonglass?" I ask. He pulls something out of a knapsack and holds it out to me. It's a sharp blade, made of a shiny black material I recognize. "Looks like obsidian."
"That's what the maesters call it," he confirms, putting it away again while giving me a sidelong glance. "I don't suppose I might ask what a girl with self-burning arrows is doing beyond the Wall?"
I give a feeble shrug. "It's just where I ended up, I guess…" And then, in an attempt to ward off confusing follow-up questions, I swing it back at him. "What about you, what are you doing here?"
"I'm a man of the Night's Watch," he tells me, as if I should know what that means. "It's dangerous for anyone, being north of the Wall. But it's always been my job to make sure the wildlings and white walkers stay on this side of it."
With that, he swings himself back onto the saddle and steadies his horse by the reins.
"You're not a wildling," he continues matter-of-factly. "If you were, you'd be heading south, like you ought to be."
"South?" I ask, squinting in that direction before turning back to him.
"As long as the Wall stands, the dead cannot pass beyond it." His horse grows restless, so he lets it trot and circle in place. "Go south until you reach the Wall. There are three manned castles that guard it. If you go straight south, the Shadow Tower will be the closest to the west, and Castle Black the same distance to the east." He considers me for a moment. "The Night's Watch doesn't normally host young girls. Go to Castle Black, tell them Benjen Stark sent you. Ask for my nephew, Jon. He's a good lad, he'll keep you safe there."
"Well, why aren't you heading south then?" I press, noting the direction he's steering his horse. If he has a nephew waiting for him…
Benjen offers a wan smile. "It's as I said," he responds. "The dead cannot pass."
His confirmation of what I already suspected still infuses an icy chill into my veins. He is not like those things, and I am grateful, but I have been saved by a dead man. The fact that he reminds me of my father makes it that much more unsettling.
"You must feel like you've seen a ghost," he says lightly. "To tell you the truth, when I first saw you, so did I."
He turns his horse to leave, then thinks better of it and pauses with a glance over his shoulder.
"When you speak to Jon... I want him to know that I'm still out here, fighting," Benjen says, sounding just as grim as he looks while he wraps his face with the cloth once more. "But do not tell him what I've become. He mustn't go looking for me."
On that note, he urges his horse into a gallop and heads back towards the thicker parts of the forest.
"Wait!" I yell after him. "How will I know when I've reached the Wall?"
"You'll know!" he calls without looking back, and his laughter carries on the wind.
I watch him for a while, sort of expecting him to vanish into thin air. When the distance shrouds him completely, I put my earpiece back in place.
"Beetee, did you get all that?" I ask, more calmly than one might expect after a run-in with death.
"A ghostly encounter…" Beetee marvels softly. But then his tone grows concerned. "Are you sure you're alright, Katniss? If it's too dangerous, I can start looking for an exit point—"
"An exit point?" I tilt my head in confusion, though he can't see me.
"A way to retrieve you, to bring you home—"
"Didn't you hear?" I ask, exhaling my words in a puff of mist. "I have a Wall to get to."
Turning around, I pick up my pack and head south, clicking aggressively at Buttercup as I pass his tree. I'm not done with this world yet.
A/N: See you all in 2022!