Rue's coffin is small, almost miniature. A simple, polished wood box with carrying rails on either side. Myself, Marek, and two young boys who were friends of Rue's carry it off the train. Marek and I hold it at waist level for the two kids. No one attended on the ride from the Capitol and I suspect that Rue's body was carelessly placed in the coffin since it lists to one side. My fears are confirmed when I discover that it was sealed to prevent opening. The Gamemakers won't even give our family the dignity of saying goodbye. Her body was sent back a scant twelve hours after Rue's death.
Hannah and Meyla follow with the Amaranth children as the coffin leads a silent procession through town, heading out to a cemetery where some volunteers dug a grave. Someone even donated enough money for a headstone. I hope it's tasteful.
Hundreds of people follow solemnly behind us, more than any other tribute's funeral has attracted, in my memory. Many are here because they knew Rue or they know the family. Others are here because attendance will serve in their minds to honor this girl whom the Capitol tried to disgrace. They didn't know her, but they experience the sort of life she endured. They couldn't know that she toiled under it so gracefully, and no matter, since that's not the point. Mockingjay pins are everywhere; their symbolic reference has exploded in popularity. Even a few of the Peacekeepers who oversee the plodding procession have adorned themselves with the metal birds.
My eyes burn. I let salty tears drip down my face. Twelve years old! Not a needless death at all; a death that was sought by hateful men. Not a tragedy but a travesty. She didn't need to die! Nothing was wrong with her! Nothing in Rue threatened the Capitol, not even in some foolish, convoluted logic, foreign to good sense. Rue is dead because the Capitol is populated by animals, wild beasts that live such extravagant lives they've forgotten what it means to hurt, to experience guilt or discomfort. And sequestered from the moral obligations of human sense, they have stolen all decency from every sequestered section of the nation, taking with them our produce.
Nothing can be worse than this! What potentially chaotic insurrection could be more depraved than twenty-three children being ground against stone, for the crimson scintillation of wicked men's ghastly minds? Why must we wait any longer?
The sun beats down mercilessly upon us. Summer is running later than usual, baking the fall, even as leaves begin to change. The streets are lined with people who remove their hats as we pass, some nodding their solidarity our way. Every now and then, someone runs out and sets a flower into the growing pile on top of the coffin. The plants glow in the sunlight. Most of the tangled stalks boast dainty, yellow or white rue, the flower for which my niece was named.
Behind the family, feet tread the streets, their combined force a gentle rumble through the pavement. Breck chirps every now and then. He's too young to understand what's going on. Even these two quiet boys, who assist Marek and me, are too adolescent for this. I'm sure of it. Can they understand the outrage of Rue's death? Or the beauty that Katniss provided her at the end?
Of course they understand, Kippen. They're old enough to be in the reaping too. Old enough to see that Rue's final moments were far gentler than every other tribute's demise. What about the crippled boy killed by Thresh? What about the girls bloated into unrecognizable form by tracker jacker venom? What about those killed at the bloodbath, already forgotten?
Businesses give way to homes and the homes give way to apartment complexes just outside of Three Corners. After that, the fields stretch wide and full. Songs drift to us weakly over the sound of the breeze swishing through plant life. The district mourns today as they mourned yesterday. And we'll weep again if Thresh falls, though I don't believe anyone can easily take him down. The songs are wistful and bittersweet. It's meant to send Rue off with a pleasant tune but my ears convert every passage into a cry for mercy. For those who matter, ears too deaf to hear. For those who hear, hearers too bound to move.
I remember Mason's funeral. While attended by far fewer people, it was large enough to pay decent respect to my son. It was plagued by Volente Covas' premature decision. I never said goodbye to Mason because I just couldn't let him go without resolution. And now Rue will haunt me too. Her gazing eyes will bore through me day in and day out, begging me to be brave and stand up. So that her abusers will not remain unchallenged.
We arrive at the cemetery. I see the hole that the men dug is far too large. They were expecting a full sized casket. Not the undersized box that we bring in gingerly. As we set down Rue's coffin beside the pit, my memory jumps back to yesterday, the conversation Meyla struck up. Hannah had asked me to say the eulogy before the Amaranth family went home to grieve. Meyla asked, "What are you going to say?"
"I'm not sure." I had been sitting at the kitchen table for nearly an hour buried in thought, almost not moving. No string of praises for my little niece seemed appropriate and proper.
Meyla doesn't offer any advice, opting for a warning. "Be careful what you say, Kippen." She wraps her arms down my chest and holds me from behind, whispering into my ear. "There's still five more we have to think about." Her fingers drift up onto my neck and scratch the grain of my stubble. Meyla's cheek presses against mine. I speculate whether the sensations I felt last night are going to re-emerge. They don't though and as we breathe she can feel that I'm gone again, numbed to her in this sea of bitterness.
People gather around crowding the gradual hillside, perhaps as many as a thousand, waiting to hear me speak and I still have no idea what to tell them. 'Here lies a darling little girl who was cast into a pit of wolves for fun. Let us all remember this girl as she was to the people who placed her there, mere biological scrap. We ought to be proud that she went this way. The Treaty tells us is it the right method to keep things peaceful. Perhaps she ought to have killed herself. '
The long line stops shuffling in so I banish sarcasm from my thoughts and begin, speaking from the heart. "Rue Amaranth was my niece." Absolute silence. Even the mockingjays and the wind have settled to leave Rue a moment of tranquility. "She always made us smile. She was a fantastic joy in our lives. Many of you know how she loved to sing and... Man, how we loved to hear her sing.
"I hope we never took her for granted, because she never took anyone for granted. When Rue used to visit with her family, she would bring my wife bunches of wildflowers. Meyla, my wife, would put them in a vase and then pick the prettiest one and braid it into Rue's hair. It's those sweet little moments we are going to miss. The truth is; she was too precious to put into words and she..." My voice quivers so I pause to steady myself. Sunlight glints off the water in my eyes. "she was taken away from us too early."
A murmur of agreement slips through the crowd. Some of the Peacekeepers glance at each other. Even this is edgy territory. My chest grinds with my breaking heart and I can't stop the flood that erupts from within.
"Rue was worth so much more than what she was given. She deserved a chance at a full life, without having to go hungry so her brothers and sisters could eat. A life where she wouldn't be put into a lottery where the winners must kill or die." Way over the line now. For fear of being the one Peacekeeper who didn't report my eulogy, certainly every single enlistee present would have do so and those numbers will create a stir. So be it. Its time we began to take a stand!
"Rue was smart and gifted even more than any of us knew. She was wonderfully generous and remarkably mature. Let us remember those best things about her, those things that made her dearest. Let's remember the friendship she shared with everyone who got to know her. Let's remember her covered in flowers! Let's remember what should have been! Let's remember her here with us, even now!"
Mouths hang open in surprise. I did everything but condemn the Hunger Games outright. The Peacekeepers whisper to each other. I shrug inside myself, not caring. They can arrest me for saying what needed to be said. That's fine. Meyla and the Amaranths had nothing to do with my words. None of them could be linked with the underground through me. Whether that would stop Covas is beyond of my control. I move aside and a quartet of little girls, including Lilja, steps forward and begin to sing, the song Katniss sang to Rue as she died. Adrenalin races, heartbeat stomps at my temples.
The underground is a fading hope. If the stir caused by Katniss Everdeen, even bringing the Gamemakers to change the rules, isn't enough to get a full scale revolution under way then... then what? I can't start a rebellion by myself. The support network built up by the underground is crucial so that each district will time its effort to a coordinated plan. If only there was a clear trigger!
The girls sing every line beautifully and after they finish subdued applause drifts through the attendees. Here too, mockingjays pick up the tune, though not as forcefully as they had in the arena. As the service ends, Meyla and I mill about with the family.
Peacekeepers are meandering back toward Three Corners. I have spoken honestly in public twice now without immediate result. Maybe Scipio's agents have held back Covas for now, but retribution is sure to be screaming down the track soon. A few dozen hugs are exchanged among the attendees and the Amaranths. The necessity to work every day disperses the crowd rapidly. People can't spare too much time out of their day, under this system.
Meyla and I walk the Amaranths back to their apartment complex a few miles outside of Three Corners. We brought along enough food and money to help them get through the next few weeks, materially. My wife will be there for them although I lack confidence that I will be as physically available, much less emotionally.
My wife's eyes tell me that she knows what I have done. I am past the point of no return. Soon, action must come, either from the Peacekeepers or from the underground. I determine to make full use of my own willingness. The family doesn't understand, but Meyla doesn't object when I excuse myself from the group.
About forty minutes worth of walking north-westerly brings me to the woods with the old shack. Scipio is present with another underground member that I know, named Keva Thos. Scipio stands up, instantly animated. "What are you doing here? I told you if you get tagged you can't come here!"
"I haven't noticed anything, yet." I close the door and brush my hand off.
"Of course not! You're not going to be told you're under investigation. That would defeat the purpose, you see."
"Well, make it go away." Even as sarcasm pours from my mouth, I know it's stupid. My eulogy for Rue was as near to apparent rebellion as can be without using the actual words.
"The investigation is being organized by the Capitol, not by the local Peacekeepers. The locals are just following orders, Kippen." Scipio withdraws a stack of papers, rifles through them and hands a page to Keva.
My voice bites at the omnipresent gloom of the cabin. "What about the Capitol then? Anyone there willing to help?"
Scipio jabs a finger my way. "You cool it down, Kip. It's that temper that's got you in such hot water. You never should have said the things you did out in public!"
"You tell me what I'm supposed to tell a thousand people at a little girl's funeral then, Scipio! I've been listening to you talk for eight months now and all I've heard is terror. You're terrified of moving lest you rattle the chains the Capitol has on us!"
"Funeral? Rue's funeral?" Scipio's face morphs into horror. "Oh, what did you do now, Kippen? I was talking about that dinner you had with Covas."
I move forward toward the table. "Oh. I guess you'll hear about the eulogy soon enough." I pick up a paper from the table and glimpse at it.
"Kippen, Kippen. Why are you letting yourself be controlled?" Scipio snatches the page away. That's just as well. It's a shipping manifest from cargo trains. Anyone can get a copy of these from businessmen in Three Corners.
"I'm not. You want me to be who you want me to be and the Capitol wants me to be their dutiful servant." I glare at Scipio leaning over the table. "But I'm someone else entirely."
"I mean, why do you let yourself be controlled by your rage? Why can't you act sensibly?"
"Why can't you act?" I shout!
Keva bursts out, "How do you not get this? We're up against the Capitol, Silvernale! Precision and timing is everythi-"
"The time is now!" I yell back slamming a fist against table.
"Keva," Scipio drops a reassuring hand on the younger man's shoulder while he addresses me. "The time is soon but not quite yet."
"It's been soon for months and never quite yet." I growl slowly. My hand waves over the table, "And what is all this? Some sort of elaborate scheme for ripping off the shipments of goods? Just where does your funding come from, Scipio?"
The grizzled man stares at me, his face contorted into a frown obvious even behind that grey beard of his. "You think we're stealing food?"
I don't think that. I think Scipio is dragging his feet because he's too afraid to get a revolt moving. I think he's wasting time looking at the details of a system, rather than manipulating what he knows are its pressure points. But I'm trying to get a rise out of him, trying to get information out of him. I shrug my shoulders as if I can't think of any other reason for the manifests. Actually, theft is all I can think.
"Kip, they don't just ship business materiel on the trains. They ship munitions and armaments for the Peacekeepers." He points to the papers laid out. "It's always hidden somewhere in the manifests so the train operators can't know what they are carrying. We just have to uncover what doesn't match the orders."
"You're stealing munitions?"
"We've been stockpiling for three years now. So when the proper time comes, and believe me, Kip, it is coming, we will be prepared for it."
I pause. A single thought flares through my mind, "Do you have any explosives?"
Scipio folds his arms. "We may. What's it to you?"
I try to disarm my expression and calm my voice down. Scipio will never listen to what I have to say if it comes from my passion. He wants a cold, calculating Kippen that doesn't exist, can't exist. "With properly placed explosives, I can bring down the Main Office. Or at least part of it."
Scipio looks back down at the manifests and bills of lading. "We may take you up on that when the time comes. For now, you've got yourself on the radar screen like a bolt of lightning. You need to get yourself under control! You've gotta get a hold of this rage and manage it. Stop letting it direct you." He waves toward the door, not even looking at me. "We'll contact you if we need you. Until then, don't even try making contact with us."
"Look, tell me who you have working in the Main Office and I'll coordinate with them to smooth things out with the investigation."
"Are you kidding? Given what a loose cannon you are, the less you know, the better! Now, leave." My teeth clench together beneath my lips and I turn to open the door.
Scipio calls over my shoulder. "And Kip?" I look back straight into his controlled eyes. "If I have to, I'll sacrifice a man for the cause... If you come back here, you won't be leaving again."