7 – Training
The lights of the Capitol reflect off the long channel of decorative water below us. My thoughts blur from the wine served at dinner. I couldn't help but notice that Haymitch had kept filling my glass, met with many disapproving glances from Effie. Threads of songs interrupt my thoughts, and I follow them back home, to the woods, the meadow, the lake that my father used to take me to. I remember being no older than ten, seeing the crystalline water, clearer than any water I had ever seen in District 12, and placing my palm onto its surface as if to test its validity, soft ripples playing at my skin. I can feel the water around me now as I drift on the surface of the water further out, further away from the district perimeter, the sun warming my face from the breathless sky above me, water muffling the sound of the Capitol.
"Katniss." It's Gale. He's been here for a while, standing at the door as I hug my knees to my chest above the still folded silk. He's using my real name.
I turn to him, and my smile is readier than usual. I really am glad to see him. He's carrying a bottle of something. He sits down beside me, a crease appearing between his eyes as he hands me the bottle. The colour of the liquid is difficult to determine in the limited light, but it looks like the type that Haymitch carries conspicuously in his hip flask. I press my lips to the rim and tip the bottle. The liquid burns my throat as I swallow, but the warming sensation is soothing and I take another gulp. Gale takes it from me before I can have any more.
"They don't have any idea, do they?" Gale is looking intently at the crowds of people in the streets below. His voice is not angry. "It's not that they wouldn't care, but they don't know they should."
I don't want to talk about the Hunger Games. My unexplained contentedness evaporates, and I look angrily at Gale.
"You ruined everything," I choke.
He turns to me questioningly, the lights of the Capitol reflected in his eyes.
"If it was just me here, I could have tried to win…"
"You could still try to win," Gale points out absently.
"We can't go home without each other," I remind Gale. "It wouldn't be…I thought we agreed."
I realize how much I am saying and stop talking abruptly. Searching his face, hoping that he did not hear my candour, I see something register. The crease between his eyes deepens, and he looks at me.
"Of course, Katniss," he agrees haltingly. "Neither of us will go home."
"Cannons together," I mumble, feeling suddenly drowsy, my eyelids drooping, a heaviness in my head. Gale tucks the covers over me and brushes a strand of hair off my face. Everything is warm; the sheets, his touch. His silhouette pauses on his way out of the room, as though he is about to say something. My eyes close for a moment, and when they are open again, he is gone, the door sliding soundlessly shut.
IIIIIIIIII
I have never been so comfortable. As the sun begins to rise over the mountains, the buildings are glazed with light. I can feel it warming my skin as I lie in the silk and fur, unmoving. Soon I begin to feel stiff and sit up slowly. Someone has laid out a training outfit, and I eye it as I pad over the cold floor to the bathroom. The water is cooler than before, as though to help wake me up. When I am clean, I am alert, despite a dull ache in my head. Climbing into my training outfit, which consists of one skin-tight suit labelled '12', I leave my room to find Effie, Gale and Haymitch sitting at the table.
"Nice sleep?" Effie asks me.
I do not reply. These kinds of conversations are pointless to me, especially when I have very few conversations left anyway.
"What are you saying?" I ask Haymitch as I sit, not wanting to miss anything important. He looks at me with exasperation and takes a swig of his hip flask. I pour a glass of juice as I wait for him to continue talking.
"I was just saying to Gale here that you should keep your main skills as a surprise. Don't practice them today, wait for the scoring tomorrow. What can you do?"
"Arrows," I tell him through my croissant-filled mouth.
Haymitch laughed. "Seriously?"
"Katniss and I hunt to stay alive," Gale tells him pointedly. "We've been shooting and snaring game for years."
I wonder why he is telling them about our continued crimes, and then realise that this is helping to raise us in Haymitch's esteem.
"Alright then," Haymitch says finally. "All the tributes will be down there at nine. And whatever you do, don't make yourselves look weak."
IIIIIIIIII
The large training area, all metal and stone, lies below the training centre building. I had heard Gale hold his breath as the elevator descended below ground level, and knew it reminded him of our trips to the mines in District 12. Stations have been set up throughout it, some for survival skills, others for combat training. Gale and I are on separate rotations. I know how to identify edible plants from the days when we were unlucky in the woods, and am relatively good at snares from what I've learned from Gale. I only half-listen to this tutorial, instead looking around at the other tributes. A few register prominently in my memory. The careers from District 2 are often the object of admiration; the boy, strongly-built and almost as tall as Gale wields a sword, slashing expertly at dummies' heads, while the girl, slight and much younger, flicks knifes frivolously at targets. Each one lands not at the chest, but the centre of the face. My attention is caught again when a woman comes forward to speak. Her muscles almost rip out of a tight shirt.
"As you all know from previous years, although many of you will die from injuries sustained by others, the majority of you will die of natural causes; 30% from infection, 20% from dehydration and 10% from starvation."
The tributes from District 2 don't seem to be paying attention. The girl is trying to carve into the stone floor with a knife. Opposite her, a girl who must be no older than twelve is listening intently to the woman's advice, her eyes wide and mouth slightly open. For some reason, I am immediately reminded of Prim.
Everyone is standing up and I follow, not having heard our instructions. Gale is doing sword practice a short distance away, and I begin to head over. Before I can reach him, however, the boy from District 2 has approached him. I pretend to be choosing a sword from the glass rack, surveying the numerous lengths, feeling the smooth or serrated edges.
"Cato," the boy holds out his hand to Gale, who ignores it. He is still taller, and well-built, but this boy has been trained his whole life for the Hunger Games, and it shows.
"That girl you're with," Cato continues unabashed, and I feel his eyes on the back of my neck. "You related?"
I can understand why he might think this, as most people from the Seam look similar, but it seems to irritate him.
"No."
"But you knew each other before?"
Gale nods, a little reluctantly.
"You should probably leave her while you've got the chance. Any…" he pauses as if he doesn't use the word often, "emotional attachments can be the difference between winning and dying. Not that I blame you, she's h-"
Cato's speech is cut short by Gale's fist. It meets Cato's face with a thud, and I see blood spray from his nose. I'm about to laugh when I remember the reason for Gale's outburst. Cato walks away, dabbing at his bleeding nose with his sleeve, looking at Gale resentfully.
"I was going offer you a place in our alliance," Cato calls. "But it seems you've just become the first on my list to hunt down."
IIIIIIIIII
Caesar Flickerman is the best-known Hunger Games presenter in Panem, all because of this one night. Standing behind the platform, second from last, I can feel my heart thudding in my chest. Gale's breath cools the back of my neck, but we do not speak. We haven't spoken properly since the night before. Gale and I have never needed to talk too much to make our purpose clear, but I am unsure how long this will last. After all, in this hunt, we are the prey.
The loud music subsides, and Caesar, his hair a deep blue and his smile painted white, calls to the audience.
"And do you want to meet our first tribute?"
The audience erupts with screaming, and I shiver.
"Alright then, ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce, from District 1…Glimmer!"
A blonde girl in an almost transparent dress walks onto the stage, waving at the crowd with a smile. I won't be able to do that. I won't know what to say, how to say it to get sponsors. Just as I turn to look around, I see Cinna approaching.
"I don't know what to do," I whisper when we are out of earshot. He's fixing a device to my dress, and looks up at me as I speak. "I'm not very good at…getting people to like me."
"I like you," he offers, weaving a wire through the folds of my dress. It hangs loosely on my shoulders, but the amount of detail should weigh much more than it feels. I feel grateful to Cinna. "Just be yourself. They shouldn't be able to take that away from you. Just make sure they remember you."
I want to thank him, but I am being ushered back into line. Cato is on the stage now, and I can see from the large screen on the wall that he is enjoying his interview, choosing to leave some crusted blood below his nose.
"How did this happen?" Caesar exclaims. "We're not in the arena yet…"
Cato laughs, and the audience follows suit. "Well, let's just say I got on the wrong side of that District 12 guy."
"You mean Gale Hawthorne?" Caesar asks, more to the audience than Cato, and they scream in agreement.
"Yeah, I think he was offended because I was admiring his girl."
"You mean Katniss Everdeen? The volunteer?" Caesar confirms, and his manner is staged.
Cato shrugs. "All I can say is, he should be afraid of what I can do when I'm angry. A broken nose is all you got?" he punches his fist with a smile.
Each person filters through. A girl with a face like a fox, whose name I don't remember, speaks quickly and quietly, and I remember her as the girl from the poisonous vegetation station whose hands were moving so fast they were a blur. I can see that her weapon is intelligence. Caesar seems only mildly enthusiastic about her. When the small girl from 11 walks on stage, the audience coos. I feel myself grow nauseous. Gale was right. They just have no idea. They don't link the fact that they are fawning over the girl they have sentenced to death. The girl, whose name turns out to be Rue, has a pair of wings attached to her back, and the effect, contrasting with her dark skin and hair, makes her look vulnerable. She holds her own as she sits down, answering Caesar's questions politely and smiling as she leaves the stage, waving a little at the audience. The boy from 11 is much older, stocky and a similar height to Gale. I don't know why I don't recognise him. As Caesar begins to speak I realise he was not in the training session. His name is Thresh, and he answers only monosyllabically, but not out of stupidity. I admire his resolve, and begin to panic as I realise I'm next. My breath catches in my throat as I'm told to go out. The sound of screaming echoes in my ears as the lights find me, hot and blinding. I do not wave, and wonder if I should. Caesar shakes my clammy hand, smiling reassuringly as I sit down on a simple metal stool.
"So, Katniss," he says with emphasis, looking at the audience, who loves his conspiratory tone. "What's this about Gale Hawthorne?"
I clear my throat a little. I don't know what I should say, what Gale would want me to say. Finally I settle for the truth.
"We're old friends," I tell Caesar, my voice a little hoarse.
"That all?" he asks, and the audience calls out in agreement.
"That's all," I confirm, looking at him with the expression that quelled the peacekeepers on reaping day. Only two days ago. They must be watching this at home, my face projected on the wooden wall, glaring at Caesar Flickerman.
"I think," he changes tact, appearing to choose his words carefully, "that we were all very moved when you volunteered for your sister at the reaping."
"Were you?" I ask, and my tone is a little sarcastic.
"Why did you do it?"
"She's my sister," I say, as though it's obvious. I can feel anger rising in my chest, and a muffling in my ears that only comes before I cry, in the night, when no one can see me.
"You'd be prepared to die for her."
"I couldn't live if I let her go."
The audience is silent. I've given something for her to think about.
"Well you sure are passionate!" Caesar exclaims after a pause. "Now those flames! The ones at the parade! They were fantastic!"
The audience, faces darkened in the shadow of the lights, begins to scream again, and I know my cue. Standing up, I begin to spin. The synthetic flames engulf the bottom of my scarlet dress, and the audience gasps.
"Katniss Everdeen!" Caesar grasps my hand and I stop as he holds it to the air, "The girl on fire!"