They were all but running, desperate to get away from it all. Atli was alive, they had failed the rebels' second test. Mags did not regret not having killed the Scavengers but she doubted that they would be welcomed in the Citadel again, and that hurt more than she had thought it would. She felt the gnawing bite of shame tear at her insides. They had only caused more death and had solved nothing. Mags removed her gloves and wiped her stinging eyes.
They had elected to sleep in an isolated place of the sixth underground and were a third of a mile away. Hopefully they would reach it within the hour.
Fife cursed as she hit another asperity. Their single working torchlight was running out of batteries and barely providing enough light to read the map.
"Can't see a thing," she grumbled, "Can we slow down a bit?"
Mags shared a heated glance with Constantine. His lips twitched but he kept silent. He could be so infuriating. The short-haired girl being the heaviest sleeper of the three was already suspicious, but her obvious lack of experience in gloomy settings was an insult to their intelligence.
"If you're a homeless orphan, I'm a freaking mermaid," Mags said, her words tumbling out in a half-growl.
Fife started at the sudden aggressiveness. "I never said I was homeless or an orphan."
What a beautiful example of bad faith.
"You know that's what you led us to believe. You don't say anything by chance."
Fife crossed her arms defensively. "I had no reason to gush about my family except to indulge your curiosity. And don't take your temper out on me."
Mags' eyes widened. This was the first time she'd heard Fife raise her voice. She didn't answer, not because her question hadn't been valid, it had, but to prove she was quite calm and not venting at all. She tried to ignore the heat in her cheeks and the voice whispering Hunger Games in her mind.
"You're afraid we'll divulge information that would endanger your family?" Constantine said, stung.
Fife smiled thinly. "My parents haven't done anything that may warrant more than a fine or a token beating, and that's if they upset an ill-tempered peacekeeper who'd want to abuse his power."
"In the last nine years, or ever?" Mags said, realizing she already knew the answer. She had focused on Constantine's allegiances because prosperous families in Panem had to collaborate with the Capitol, but Fife's loyalties were just as obscure.
"You let the Capitol determine your every action. When they act, you react," Fife said after a tense pause, "their propensity for making our lives miserable makes you feel the need to do something. I won't spend my days hating the world I live in. It would be giving the Capitol power over every fiber of my being instead of just over a portion of my lifestyle. I am free. My family is free. You want everyone to be free. You are a better person than I am, Mags, but I at least can claim to be happy in a district where the word itself seems taboo. That is truth."
It was as if Fife had grown a foot, her dark eyes swirled with mesmerizing passion. Mags recoiled as if struck. Her anger fled, leaving only the horror of the day's events. She felt so small, like she was trying to apply naive principles to a world much too big and complex for her.
"You truly believe people like me empower the Capitol?" She whispered.
Fife stared at her in disbelief. Her eyes gained a bright sheen, as if she was about to cry. "No, Mags! That would be like saying an abused woman who doesn't accept everything from her husband deserves to be beaten. What I mean, is that nowadays many people just complain and insult peacekeepers." She looked so forlorn that Mags pulled her into a hug. "They treat people who dare act happy as traitors. How does that help?"
A wan smile graced Mags' full lips as she instinctively comforted Fife. She heard the girl's words but her heart violently rejected them. Every day spent watching the Capitol gain power unchecked was a crushing load on every rebel's shoulders. Every day kept the promises they'd made to their departed loved ones unfulfilled. While chastising Esperanza for enjoying her days would indeed be pointless and cruel and no one should forbid themselves to laugh, true happiness could only come when the Capitol was ashes. They could do little back in Four, which was why she had volunteered. She was tired of being helpless.
"You will disappoint me if you are satisfied with that answer, Mags," Constantine said, his head half-cocked as he watched them slowly pull apart. "It sounds like truth, but we still know nothing." A crooked smile split his lips. "It does matter, Fife. You all but admitted that you only trusted with mundane personal facts those you were the closest to. Each of us has to trust the other two with their survival. I need you to see us as people, not as entertaining means to an end."
Mags' eyes widened, finding the chestnut-haired boy's words quite offensive, Fife had been very helpful despite her elusiveness.
Fife's face crumpled. Her shock was swiftly molded into a mildly hurt expression but Mags knew Constantine's cruel words had struck deep. Mags was tired of feeling that she had to prove herself to get consideration from Constantine. She had never met anyone with both so much potential for greatness and such an unsympathetic attitude towards those he considered weak. And he actually seemed to like Fife. She glared at him, squeezing Fife's shoulder to convey her disagreement.
"I don't…"
"Then it shouldn't matter, Fife. Just tell us about the twenty-four hours before the reapings," Constantine said, as if speaking to a cowed child, "trust us."
A frightened light had entered Fife's eyes, so at odds with her earlier fire. She was just a five foot three teen in a hostile environment, backed into revealing her secrets. Mags' heart reached out to her and she slipped her hand into hers.
"Okay," Fife finally said, wariness mixed with a stranger emotion, almost akin to longing, in her voice. She squeezed Mags' hand, a ghost of a smile lighting her face. They slowed their pace as Fife's voice filled the silent tunnels.
Fife's POV
Eve of the Reapings
A triumphant gasp burst from the seventeen year old's lips as she gave a last twist to her body and climbed out of the narrow crack between the collapsed rotting beams. Fife blinked, her eyes rapidly adapting to the shadows. Cat was right behind her, just as silent but more timid in her movements.
Flexing her sinewy arms to relieve the burning strain, Fife turned towards her friend, glee lighting her face, and gestured at the heaps of collapsed wood, moldy grain and rusty metal cluttering the abandoned old warehouse. "This is a treasure trove, Cat! Look at all the machinery buried under here."
The Capitol had to rub in its victory over them every day like a petulant five-year old, so farmers who broke their tractors had to pay astronomical sums for repairs. It was convenient though: what farmers so desperately needed, the brunette could find and sell to them for fairer sums. For years, blisters had covered her stomach and arms while she had hid on the rough thatched roofs instead of hanging out with the other teens, but the discomfort had been nothing compared to the prize: now peacekeeper watch schedules were forever etched in her memory. They would never catch her.
Some of the derelict warehouses destroyed during the rebellion were under tight surveillance, but most of the peacekeeper presence around them was pure show. You'd have thought people would have tried to come there earlier, to unearth the wealth Nine let go to waste, instead they seemed to prefer to complain about the new tesserae system. Few people acted anymore. Oh, sure, peacekeepers foolish enough to get ambushed got roughhoused every day, but constructive action seemed to have died with the rebellion. On the practical side, it meant all the more spare parts for Fife to scrounge. Most of her old acquaintances would be appalled to discover that she was wealthier than anything they could ever achieve with their back-breaking, Capitol approved, tiresome jobs.
Cat hesitated in the gloom. "Dad's going to smell the rotting grain on my clothes. He's going to know I was somewhere wrong again. He'll be angry."
Fife's smile withered and died. Unfortunately, Cat's words were hardly a surprise. Seeing her fear and guilt sap the joy out of every moment was slowly driving the shorter girl insane.
"Let me adopt you, Cat. Seriously, we're almost adults, it's not like my parents would have to raise you. You'll be welcome at home for the next few years until you find a solid job far away from your old man."
"He loves me, Fife; he doesn't really beat me. He just doesn't want me to break the rules."
Fife could hear her own teeth grinding. There was one adverb too many in that sentence. She knew Cat hated to be a constant disappointment to her bitter, maimed father and that she suffered more from that knowledge than the occasional hard slap. Cold fury stirred in Fife's insides like a venomous adder coiled to strike.
"His rules. He wants you to be a rebel. A useless rebel, because there is no other kind. He wants you to be miserable and hateful because he lost the rebellion," she ground out without raising her voice. That was what people refused to see. Misplaced rebellious thoughts had been wreaking as much destruction as their heartless overlords.
"They believed in a better world, Fife! They poured their hopes, heart and soul in the rebellion and now he's lost everything but me," Cat said, stubborn as always when it came to her father.
And that was why Fife had treasured her company ever since that chance meeting before the reapings. Where other people encountered obstacles, the silver-tongued brunette seldom failed to avoid conflicts. Fife's demands were seldom outrageous but she was also rarely challenged. People were weak, so easily swayed and quick to forget their principles when sung sweet songs. Cat never was, she argued to the end.
Fife threw her hands in the air, her friend's words assailing her ears like an off-key note. It had been nine years ago! "They are wallowing in self-pity instead of trying to make the best of what is left. They let the mere sight of peacekeepers ruin their day and then do nothing. What's the point to that?"
"If people were unhappy enough they'd rebel again."
Fife repressed a snort as she pushes the last of the pierced grain sacks off a rusty truck. People were unhappy enough.
"They'd die by the hundreds and lose again," Fife said, "maybe one day we will have a chance against them, but being willingly miserable until then is ridiculous."
She pulled out a metal case from her large clothes and started to dismantle the tractor's engine. Her tanned arms trembled with effort as the rusty parts screeched under the strain.
"It's a question of principle," Cat said, her own arms stubbornly crossed as she walked up to where the shorter girl was standing. She started as half a dozen fat rats scurry out of the nest she has inadvertently kicked.
An indulgent smile split Fife's thin lips. "Over half of Nine agrees with you, yet you're crawling in vermin-infested half-collapsed warehouses with me."
Cat grinned back. "You don't complain. You're curious, you make life seem bright."
"It is. You just don't want it bright; you want it fair. So what if we have to work harder than any Capitolite to make a decent living? Just enjoy working hard instead of being envious."
"There will never be another rebellion if people think like you."
"There won't be another generation if people keep thinking like your father. People will get themselves executed before having an occasion to reproduce." Fife's modulated voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "And next time you consider cutting yourself, I'll make sure there isn't a knife in a ten miles radius of where you live."
Cat froze, now staring at the other in wide-eyed shock. As if Fife would not notice.
Fife's lips twisted in anger, a singular passion infusing her words as weeks of worry came crashing down. "Damn it, Cat! You're my only friend. You're not selfish enough to allow yourself to be happy without feeling guilty but you're selfish enough to die on me?"
"Not dying…" Cat mumbled. She gulped as Fife's eyes burned into hers.
"Dad said he'd pay a peacekeeper to trail me if I kept hiding things from him," Cat said, her voice breaking. "Can you imagine Dad even being polite to a peacekeeper, Fife? To him they're all carbon copies of the guy who shot Mum. But he'll do it for me because he's so sure I'm wasting my life! I don't want to cause him even more pain." The blue-eyed girl lowered her gaze. "I don't want you to get in trouble because of me."
A spike of fury shot through Fife. How dare that man make his daughter feel responsible for him! Where had he been when Cat had cried in her arms, too distraught to speak of her nightmares? Where had he been when Cat's brother had been executed for having stolen a peacekeeper's hand gun? It was high time Cat stopped having to deal with that kind of crap. Cat should never have insisted on so much secrecy in the first place. It wouldn't have been that difficult to feed her father a harmless lie years ago. Fife felt guilty for not having seen it earlier.
"Let's introduce me to your dear daddy then," Fife said with forced cheer.
Cat was the exception to the girl's rule. She was the only person outside her family who saw her, Fife Chican, con artist extraordinaire, instead of the masks. Fife always had a reason when she interacted with a stranger, but bonding was never it. Cat's father was just another former rebel who died in all but name when the Capitol had won. Nauseating. But this time, Fife had a reason. She couldn't let Cat hurt herself anymore.
"But you can't! You… you'll lie. Of course you will." Cat said with a small smile.
"As little as I can," Fife promised seriously. Too many lies were dangerous and lost their strength. It was the first lesson her parents had taught her. A lesson Fife had been too cocky not to learn the hard way.
The two teenagers soon slipped into the crowd of beaten-down workers dragging their feet on their way home. There Fife was just an anonymous shadow. Every aspect of her was carefully calculated, from her dim lowered gaze to the nondescript large clothes she wore, her withdrawn posture and the uneven dark-brown hair falling messily below her ears and all around her face. She thrived on being invisible, on being dismissed as a harmless stupid street kid, until she had something to offer. Her line of work was a dangerous one, filled with lies and deceit. She was never the same person twice and worked hard at erasing her tracks. She couldn't afford to matter to people. She couldn't be remembered. Others were not trustworthy.
The red sun was nearing the horizon when the two teenagers finally reached their destination. Cat's house had survived the rebellion with little damage, but what damage had been done had been conserved like a testament of valor. Fife minutely shook her head, wondering how a man could possibly feel greater pride on having cracked windows than by offering his only daughter a warm hearth.
"Where were you?" A gravelly male voice called as the splintered wooden door creaked open.
"We need to talk, Dad," Cat said, swiftly removing her shoes and wiping her dirty hands on a rag next to the door. Fife flashed the blonde a fond smile, touched that the other felt so confident in her ability to make her father see the light.
Chow Emmerson had once been a very handsome man, but grief and bitterness had twisted his features beyond recognition. He lay sprawled on the couch, a rough beard aging him twenty years, his crutch discarded on the floor. His hollow eyes barely glance at Fife.
"Picked up a beggar, Girl? We've got nothing; the Capitol took everything we had."
Because you let it take away your hope, because you give the Capitol more power than it actually has.
Nothing in her demeanor conveyed how self-satisfied Fife felt. A beggar. Exactly what the average idiot saw. So much for the paranoia of old veterans…. The old man was in for a shock.
"Peacekeepers would hate to learn what we've been doing. I didn't let Sickle tell you, I thought you'd want us to take dangerous risks." It felt weird to use Cat's real name, almost insulting.
The man finally focused on the unremarkable androgynous teen before him. Fife straightened, graceful as a wildcat, neither concealing her self-assurance nor the intelligence blazing in her dark eyes any longer. Emmerson's hand twitched at the change, danger registering on his features. Fife suppressed a smirk. There was no greater satisfaction than having people cringe when they glimpsed the person behind the innocuous mask. Or at least whatever sliver of truth she deigned to feed them.
"Peacekeepers must think us harmless. They mustn't look at us twice," Fife said, her face alight with schooled zeal.
Fife lived for the power she had over others. In a world in which everyone's destiny was set in stone from birth, she made her own rules. Discipline was the master word; neither her nor her family would degrade themselves by abandoning their principles to satisfy base cravings. She was no criminal unmindful of the misery of others. She was a survivor. As had been her intent, Emmerson believed he had met a rebel kin. He narrowed his eyes in interest, a fanatic note entering his voice.
"You were afraid I'd ask to join you? That I'd ruin your outings with my big mouth and bad leg?" Emmerson said, with a harsh self-deprecating laugh.
Fife let her gaze drop and guilt flash on her face. Cat's father had to come to his own conclusions. She would not utter a single lie. His oblivious mind would do the work for her.
The rugged man barked another laugh. "You're probably right too." His expression grew softer, and sadder. "You don't think I trust you, Sickle?"
"I do, Dad," Cat hurriedly replied, shooting Fife a fearful look "It's just…."
The short-haired girl put a reassuring hand on her best friend's shoulder and infused thick emotion in her voice. "Every child is afraid to fail, especially when they have parents that have done so much for a cause. As long as you are ignorant, you are safer. She cannot lose you too, Mr. Emmerson. You're the last of her family."
People were like music instruments: there were many different types and most required talent and dedication to master, but once mastered, the strings to pull were always the same. Fife played on Emmerson's love of his daughter, on his all-consuming hatred of the Capitol and on his desperate wish for revenge. It was so simple to subtly make him come to the conclusion that he was too old and damaged to be more than a liability. The girl had never had to use the words; the man's self-loathing had spoken for her.
While Fife grieved for Cat, who would never have the family she deserved, she felt no guilt at her guile. It was quite the opposite, elation coursed through her veins as she savored the moment like a child tasting winter's first snowflake. By the time night had fallen, Emmerson was more joyful than he'd been in years, now convinced that Cat would succeed where he had failed, setting the ground for a new rebellion.
Fife was almost skipping as she left the house, her short dark brown hair bouncing around her face. She shut the door behind her, leaving Cat alone with her father.
She leisurely walked back to the crooked and cozy house she called home.
A fit boy was in her arms before Fife even had the chance to remove her finds from her large pockets. Her face broke into a smile. Her little brother was much too kind and emotional to ever follow her steps. He kept their secrets but was happy to attract attention and be known. Tabor was popular and flirtatious. Sometimes Fife felt betrayed, because he was the one person she should have been able to count on to run the streets with her. Other times she was just happy for him, because it meant he wouldn't ever have to be as strong as she was.
"Are they taking a nap?" She said, pointing to the corridor leading to her parents' bedroom.
Tabor nodded before flashing her a rueful grin. "Come, I'm cooking tonight. I was hoping you wouldn't be long."
"What are you making?" She could have eaten just about anything.
"I don't know, but the water has just started to boil," he said with an angelic smile, not quite batting his thick eyelashes.
Fife tousled his artfully unkempt hair, a knowing smirk on her lips. "Fine, I'll cook."
"Fife is right, Darling. Tabor is awfully spoiled."
Fife flashed her parents a warm grin, still amazed after all these years at how silent they could be. She hadn't heard them arrive. They were always out at odd hours, catching sleep when they could. But the wrinkles on their weathered faces were marks of laughter as much as hardship and that was what gave the teenager hope in the future.
"My baby is just good at getting his way. It's genetic," her mother replied gaily, stealing a kiss from her husband.
Fife rolled her eyes, her smile still in place. If she could have half of what her parents shared when she was their age, her life would be bliss. Utterly unabashed, Tabor winked at his sister and pulled a chair out. He sat down with a content sigh before jerking his thumb at the bubbling pot. Fife didn't even pretend to be annoyed. Tabor's grateful smile rendered the effort trivial.
Dinner was always entertaining. Outstanding liars made brilliant storytellers. Her parents dealt in secrets more than in wares and were gifted with the ability to spin the most mundane events into fascinating tales.
Fife woke up at the crack of dawn. She tiptoed to the living room, where her mother greeted her with an impish grin. Typical.
"I've never stopped you from dolling me up on Reaping Day," Fife said with a fond smile.
"Girly clothes are flashy but they're so much fun!"
"People should dress in their work clothes. The Capitol would hate it."
"Probably, but people like dressing up and feeling attractive, even if there is little to rejoice about. Now be quiet and vain for a few minutes."
The woman's enthusiasm didn't completely conceal her apprehension. It was instinctive, Fife told herself. Even if the chance was tiny, parents couldn't help contemplating their children's death. Rationalizing it didn't erase the sensation that gelid water had replaced the blood in Fife's veins. The girl shivered as her mother's expert hands began to untangle her hair and arrange it into something respectable.
The flowing amber dress caressed her calves as Fife admired herself in the mirror. Amazing how make-up could turn a boring face into something striking. She probably wouldn't make boys drool, but for once, Fife felt pretty.
"Can breasts grow during the night or is it just the fabric that's cleverly cut?" Tabor said as he came in, an impish grin lighting his sleepy features.
His elder sister's eyes narrowed. She loved her boyish body. She would never have been who she was had she had a drool-worthy curvy figure, yet some primal part of her was stung by the comment. A flirtatious smirk birthed on her lips as she walked up to the fourteen year old, letting her hips sway suggestively.
Tabor blushed, awkwardly turning away.
"Little brother dearest, I do not use my femininity as a weapon because it's the best way to make sure a man remembers my face, at least for a while, but it doesn't mean I can't."
"Fife, stop flustering your brother. He's biologically programmed not to think of you as a sexual being. Tabor, don't challenge your sister, she'll win," their mother intervened. Her voice sounded stern but Fife could see that she was inwardly howling with laughter.
"He asked for it," the girl said with a smug smile.
"There is more to being womanly than boobs, Treasure."
Tabor flushed even redder "Mu-um!"
The woman's smirk mirrored her daughter's. "Suit up; I'll go shake your father awake."
The four hopped onto one of the crowded buses, careful not to be separated. It was amazing how otherwise non-existent public transport worked wonderfully well when it was to take teenagers to the Reaping Square. It was always in the main farm town; farm towns were much prettier on TV. It was also always surreal, having scores of over-dressed teenagers and their families crammed into the big buses and speaking in hushed whispers, as if any loud noise would tip the odds in their disfavor.
A dozen armed peacekeepers formed a semi-circle near the bus' doors as soon as they stopped. Fife and the others knew the gig: potential tributes to the right, families to the left and no shouting or rude gestures at the uniformed men.
The last rule seemed beyond some people. Holding Tabor firmly by the arm, Fife expertly squeezed her way through the crowd to be among the first registered and avoid a potential stampede. Wild profanity filled the air. Fife chanced a look back. Mud was splattered all over the clothes of a group of murderous looking young teens.
"You do that again, you're dead!" The weedy miller's boy shouted at the peacekeepers, his face red from fury as he pushed his muddy girlfriend behind him.
Fife tugged her brother forward. The fourteen year old resisted, fierce approval etched on his face as he maintained his eyes riveted on the commotion.
Fife often wondered how such a spontaneous kid had landed in their family of fabulists.
"You ever speak out like those cretins and you'd better be prepared to see Mum beaten up."
Tabor started. He jerked his head away from Fife's lips, as if it would make her harsh whisper less true. The girl felt his hand crush her arm but he finally walked up to the official drawing blood, his face carefully blank. Fife planted a kiss on his cheek before heading towards her pen. Oops, section.
Back to the present
"So how does a non-volunteer react to being reaped?" Constantine asked after a short pause.
Fife wondered if she should despair at his lack of tact. Even a volunteer with dreams of greatness could not be that disconnected from reality. She pulled her hand out of Mags', doubting if the other girl suspected how much she had been desperate for comfort. Now, with her thoughts so close to home, Fife's stomach was quieter, and the urge to crawl into a dark corner and lie there until the memories of the previous days were washed away by time had faded to almost tolerable levels.
Her tone was clipped when she answered. "She faints."
"Really?" Mags said, smothering a small smile.
A shadow crossed Fife's dark eyes.
She needed to get on that stage. She needed to catch an eventual sponsor's attention. Except she couldn't. Her whole life she had chosen what masks to wear and played people like a virtuoso, but never had she had less than a minute to decide what would fool the Capitol into valuing her life.
For the first time since her early childhood, no answers presented themselves, and the iron control she took so much pride in escaped her.
The world seemed to shift. Her grasp on reality slipped away.
"Yes, I woke up in front of the escort. Let's not speak of it."
They had the maturity not to press.
"Thanks for sharing this, Fife," Mags said.
The rush of affection Fife suddenly felt for Mags made her deeply uneasy. These were people she may have to kill. They would never have a future together, they could not be friends. Fife inwardly screamed at the injustice of it all and protected herself the only way she knew how.
She flashed Mags a wry grin, hoping her vulnerability didn't show through. "You really believe I'm not lying this time?"
Mags strained expression was hilarious. She turned away, using her dark amber curls as a curtain, and crossed her arms, perilously close to sulking. Fife's grin was truer this time. Now that they were not in immediate danger anymore, it was much easier to push away the crippling emotions that sought to incapacitate her.
"Lies reveal as much as they conceal. However truthful, it was interesting," Constantine said, revealing his perfect teeth.
Fife's lips twitched again despite the sense of unease spreading through her body. Was it the situation that had made her trust these people with information that she had only divulged after years to her best friend? It was a magnificent feeling, to have one's worth recognized, but it the threat to her lifestyle wasn't worth it. This was probably the worst moment to get close to people. She didn't believe that the Capitol had forgotten them and she didn't want her words to find a way back to District Nine. Her parents' happiness wasn't worth it. Many people would want her parents dead for the lives they led, finding it outrageous by their uptight moral codes. Moral codes that simply let to misery in a world of reluctant collaborators.
She had only been called on her lies because she often dealt with strangers, people who, unlike her annoyingly sharp allies, cared little about her and only paid attention to what concerned them directly, people who would never know what a masterful manipulator she was. In her moments of weakness and doubt, Fife had felt cheated because of that. People always dismissed her. Her efforts were known to her alone.
Fife had little experience in establishing real bonds and somehow things were getting too personal, no matter how distant she had tried to keep. She found herself wanting Mags' approval and craving Constantine's admiration. She knew the latter at least was instinctive; she had wisely never sought male attention before but now felt an urge to shine and impress the handsome boy. She had even caught herself cursing her slight childish frame and plain face, knowing that while he might appreciate her personality, she would never catch his eye as a woman. It was pathetic.
She would do what she had always done. She would balance truth and lies and make the best of her predicament. Unfortunately feelings were entering the equation and she found she really didn't want her two allies to be collateral manage, or to lose their respect.
So, has your opinion of Fife changed? Please review.
The next chapter will also be in Fife's POV.