+ Thanks to Dancing-Souls and melliemoo for the great reviews! Bit more of an in-depth look into one of the Panemese religions in this chapter, as well as the darker side of District 5 and a man who will play a big part down the road.

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"You what?"

Blaze looked at me like I'd eaten toxic mushrooms. I, for one, thought my request was straightforward: Make me up and dress me like any old worker and help me get into one of the seediest places in the district. It seemed perfectly logical to me.

My friend – friend? Coworker? – only laughed. "Listen, Terra. Redhammer's not a place to go sightseeing. There's a reason it's called what it is. People are hard there, and plenty of them die. Sometimes bloodily."

"That's not why it's called that."

"Yeah, well, it's a good story. And sorta true."

"I don't need to be there all day. Just long enough to drop something off."

"What exactly is 'something?'"

"Nothing. Look, I'll just do it myself if you're scared of going there."

I didn't know why I was feeling so bold. Even with Pavo's fate sealed, I had no reason to trust Arrian. The man had connections clearly, but without knowing his intentions, I didn't know what he'd do: Frame me? Kill me? Yet while doubts ate away at my resolve, curiosity built my strength back up. Even if I didn't know what was coming next from the mysterious stranger, I wanted to find out.

Besides, his words still tempted me: "I can give you that. For a price." I still didn't believe him, but my skepticism was fighting a tough battle to hold on. Could I pass up the chance, no matter how small, at a leg up towards saving tributes – my tributes – in the Hunger Games? Curiosity was turning the fight into a slugfest. I couldn't let my questions go unanswered.

I'd won over Blaze, at least. "Fine," he said with a roll of his eyes. "It's not like you need to get fancy for the tunnels. No makeup or whatever you do in the Capitol."

That was a stretch. Twenty minutes later, I barely recognized the girl in my bathroom mirror. Using only the makeup products my stylists had left behind from before the Tour, Blaze had turned me into a dirt-covered, tangled-haired, scarred girl who had seen better days. A nasty brown line dug a gorge from just under my eye to my jawline, and what looked like an open sore dotted my chin. A wild mane of brown, dust-strewn hair replaced my usual ponytail, and dark circles of sleep deprivation underlined my eyes. Gone was any semblance of Capitol clothing, or even merchant-style garb: Blaze had draped a gray cloak with two ratty holes in it over my head, the hood hanging just below my hairline. It was an impressive makeover. With my work clothes covering up the rest of me from the neck to the ankle, I felt I could have concealed all sorts of dangerous things.

According to Blaze, that was the point.

"Can't do anything about your eyes, but hey, blue's kinda normal," he said. "Just go for it. Good luck, hey?"

"You're not coming?" I asked. I frowned, lowered my head, and did my best acting to look as downbeat as I could.

He sighed. "I didn't….ugh, fine. You're looking at me like that on purpose."

"What look?"

"Yeah. That gave it away."

The tunnels that cut through the towering canyon walls ran all over the district, but Blaze and I were headed to the outskirts. Redhammer and most of the housing for the poorest workers lay just inside District 5's security perimeter. We had no electric fence or wall such as those I'd seen in District 12 and 11; instead, an array of black pyramids fitted with sensors kept track of disturbances and fed camera feeds back at the Peacekeeper garrison overlooking the dam. Anyone trying to escape the district could easily walk out. It was staying on the run that was impossible – if the Peacekeepers even cared enough to follow. Dehydration and heat stroke could kill as easily as a hovercraft in the desert.

It was a hike from the Victor's Village. Despite leaving before noon, the sun had already retreated behind the canyon's top by the time we reached the outskirts. Here, rickety wooden and mud brick buildings threatened to topple into the river. Multiple families could live inside each one, walling off rooms with furniture and rocks to save money on housing. It was a far cry from the merchant quarter, or even the sectors that housed the well-paid workers who tended to the dam or the algae biofuel farms. Here the men were hard and the woman strong, built up from toiling in the geothermal plants and coal burners, but it wasn't the kind of place to raise children in.

Blaze stopped me in front of a gaping hole in the canyon wall, wide enough to fit five men abreast and lined with flickering yellow lights. "Where exactly are we going in Redhammer? This place is big, Terra. You can get lost if you don't know your way around. Hells, I can get lost sometimes."

I took a deep breath. I could trust him, yeah? "I'm going to see the high priest of the church. Guy named Pyre York."

Blaze's eyes bulged. "Do you even go to church?"

"No. So?"

"Terra, they call him 'The Torch.' Y'know, 'The Flame defies the Darkness' and all that stuff about the good gods versus the bad gods. He has his fingers all in the black market. Where you're from the church is just kind of quaint, but it's serious business out here. It's the only thing linking everyone together – belief."

I paused. "So you're saying he's a zealot?"

"No, it's just…gah, this isn't gonna stop you, I guess. Make up your own ideas when you meet him. He's not some nice church preacher who talks about how we need to have faith in the Light and keep an eye out for the Shadow. Not at all like that."

Fair enough. "You're right. I'll make up my own ideas."

He snickered as we headed into the tunnels, but his words hung around in my mind. Daud was a believer, and I knew little about his background. Had he grown up in a place like this? It'd explain his personality, but I shuddered to think about the kind of scars growing up in the town's worst tunnels would leave. People bustled around us, not even glancing my way as they bumped shoulders and hurried through the narrow corridors. It was dark and claustrophobic down here, and strange, glowing white mushrooms poked through the ground here and there. Most people wore clothes with hoods that cast shadows over the faces. The color drained away from the world in the flickering light. I'd imagined Redhammer as deafening, mirroring the din of the Mudder. I was met with something far different: It was a strange sort of loud in here, noisy not like a bar but like an anthill, drowning my thoughts in the brown cacophony of scuffling feet and brushing shoulders.

District 5 didn't seem so well-off all of the sudden. A girl like me could go a lifetime without stepping foot in here. For these people, this was routine.

After what seemed like a dozen switches and turns in the tunnels, we stepped out into a large, bright cavern. Jagged chunks of brown and gray rock jutted out from the walls, and beneath them, more than two dozen wooden stands ringed the cave. Upon them, vendors hawked wares from dry, pasty nuts and spiny cactus fronds to ratty woolen shirts and pigskin shoes pocked with holes. Everything was cheap, and everything was on sale.

"Got any money?" Blaze asked as we cut through the crowd.

I snorted. "Are you running errands?"

"Not for here. For later. But hey, if you're giving money away…"

People filled this place, their dirt-stained, rugged faces milling about from wall to wall. Many of them were young, a stark contrast from their surroundings. This cavern looked ancient, as if some prehistoric man had carved it out and let it age like wine over the years, letting water that dripped here and there from stalactites build out the place with the slow, methodical hammer of time.

"I'm surprised they let this place exist," I said, keeping my voice low. The last thing I needed was to give away that I was a newcomer.

Blaze nodded at a far wall. "Two off-duty Peacekeepers over there. They partake, too. They just have to be a little more careful about it, since the garrison commander minds it a little more when it's her men who are mucking about."

"That just doesn't make sense."

"How much fun do you really think being a Peacekeeper probably is, Terra?" Blaze scoffed. "If I had to wear armor and parade about like an idiot and watch over everyone with the sun beating down all day, I'd want to blow off steam, too. They don't have anything else to spend their pay on."

Fair enough. We walked in silence as we slipped back into the tunnels. It was less crowded here deeper into the rock, and the tunnels were much thinner: Blaze and I shoulder-to-shoulder left little room for someone to walk past us. The lights were dimmer, yellower, and the rock seemed more imposing the more it closed in.

"Got that money? If so, give it to me," said Blaze.

"Why?"

"Bribe."

"Who for?" I asked, handing him a small leather bag filled with copper sols and silver talents.

He didn't need to say. A pair of burly men leaned up against the wall in front of a splintered wooden door. It didn't look well-fitted: Gaps extended at odd angles in between the door's edges and the rock, and if the entrance had hinges, I couldn't see them. Something queasy stirred inside me as the first man glanced up at us, growled, and reached for his belt.

"Uh-uh," Blaze said, holding out the money pouch in one hand and keeping his other where the men could see. "Just need to see the preacher man."

"Why?" the guard grunted. His companion loomed up behind him, his fists as large as grapefruits.

"She's got a message for him. No worries, man. I'll just wait out here."

The guard took the pouch, shook it, and motioned me forward. I didn't say a word as he ran his hands down my body, feeling for weapons or other danger. Given where he was putting his hands, I think he was feeling for more than that. Still, I didn't say anything. I didn't want to come off as weak. Not here, not where that kind of thing must mean more.

The man smirked at Blaze, nodded at me, and said, "A'ight. Go in."

He pushed me through the door into a room out of place with the shadowy, rocky tunnel. Inside, red carpeting ran down the middle of a long, low-ceilinged room, flanked on either side by rickety wooden bunches. Soft yellow flames flickered from tallow candles placed in hewn holes in the walls, filling the space with an earthly glow. At the front of the room, a wooden stand glistened with a fresh coat of varnish, flanked by a large woolen banner adorned with the sign of the Church – the Sun, Moon, and Flame arranged in a triangle, a red circle in the middle of them.

A door behind me squeaked open, and I jumped.

A soft voice, almost a whisper, spoke, "Coming in through the side door?"

I spun around. A middle-aged man, probably no older than forty, walked up behind me, carrying a lit wooden torch in his hand. His short-cropped brown hair, dull brown eyes, and loose gray trousers that bunched up around his ankles made him look unremarkable at best, but well-suited for this homely abode. His steps were short, measured, and slow, as if he feared missing something as he walked.

"I, um," I stuttered, pulling out Arrian's envelope. What had I been expecting? Someone in charge? "I have a message for Pyre York."

"I'll take it. That's my name," the man – Pyre – said. "Who gave you this?"

"Um – a mutual friend."

"Hm," he smiled. His eyes darkened in the flickering of the flame as he hung the torch up on a wall mounting. "I don't think that's right. This paper, see how it is old and a little more yellow than the kind written on in the schools and markets around here? It's a different material. Cheaper. More often used in District 11, where this came from, if my expectations are correct. I'm guessing a Peacekeeper gave you this to take to me? You are a convenient middle-man, with one foot in their camp and one foot in this district's. That makes you a useful errand-runner."

Something clicked in the back of my head. He was wrong, of course – but had someone, a Peacekeeper even, actually intended to give me this before Arrian had intercepted them? Either way, I had to lie. "Um. Yeah."

He shoved the letter into a pocket. "You fret. You worry about being caught in a lie. Lying's not so evil if done for the right reasons, though. A small evil done for longer-term good is still a deed in the path of good, just as the opposite is true. You should know. My guards might not have recognized you through your face paint, but I do. Is this your first time before the altar, Terra?"

I froze, unsure of what to say next. How had this man known it was me? I stammered into a response, but fortunately, Pyre continued before I could bumble my answer. "That's alright. You're merchant-class. Some of your people are faithful, some of them good people. Other merchants just sleepwalk through life, barely noticing as the Shadow creeps up behind them. You're not even sixteen. You can't help how you were raised, although the future is yours to decide."

He frowned. "Plenty of evil influences where you're going to be working, I assume, but there must be good people in the Capitol. The Peacekeepers have their share of stout hearts. Poor Pavo. It must have been just after he gave you this that that harpy who commands the garrison, Evla, framed him. I saw him at services quite often. A number of the Peacekeepers believe in the faith. Twenty years in the same place and far from home, treated as outsiders and oppressors by the people you are meant to watch over, can leave the toughest of men searching for answers. How they reconcile their loyalties is up to them."

Whoops. It was funny how talking to two different people gave me two different perspectives on "poor" Pavo. He harassed my family, and I told myself that justified what Arrian had done to him. At least Pyre here didn't know my part in the Peacekeeper's demise.

"Why did you expect something from District 11?" I asked to redirect the conversation. Really I wanted to get out of here, but I also wanted to know more about this man. Curiosity gnawed at me: Blaze had made him sound respected, maybe even feared, but he didn't look the part in person.

"The Church doesn't respect the artificial boundaries our keeps put up," he said. "Long ago, back before Panem and the Capitol, our faith carried men through the darkest hours of history, when the world collapsed and survival was the arbiter of life. Maybe it was called something else, maybe it had slightly different rituals and tenants, but at the core was the same struggle of the light against the darkness. As Panem formed, the faith took root in several of the districts. 5, 8, 9, even outlying 10 and 11 all kept a grasp on the beliefs that stretched so far before our fall. Our details of belief may vary from place to place today, true, but the underlying foundation of the Church has remained solid in all five districts after nearly a hundred years since the Dark Days."

"Look up there. The Sun, the symbol of our lord that carries everything we aspire to be, goodness, light, warmth. The Moon, that which would stand as a bulwark against the darkest hour of the night, the defender, the guardian. The Flame, that conflict in us all, the greatest and the most fractured of the five lords, that which carries the power to defy the darkest corners of the world, yet also carries such potential for destruction as to render the greatest of towers to ashes."

"The Darkness against all three, and its master of illusions, its right hand, the Shadow," he went on it. "I'd think you would find solace in such symbols, Terra. You emerge from the Hunger Games, a competition inherently pitting one against the ever-present threat of death. And what awaits you? Riches, perhaps. But the Capitol awaits, as well. You know as well as I do that demons lurk there."

"Are you suggesting something?" I said.

He shrugged. "Your mentor, Daud Mosely, has found a place in our ranks. I see him often in the church near the square. This is but a private chapel, one for friends and family, dug out of a former black market storage house. The church downtown, the one with the fire and bells – you are welcome there, Terra. You search for answers even now, don't you? Why was I reaped, why was I forced to kill, why does the Capitol want me…well, perhaps faith can provide."

"Maybe I'll look into it."

He chuckled. "I can see it in your eyes. You won't. You are a skeptic, suspicious of the words of men. But I will give you time. I can wait while you find yourself."

"Now," he said, nodding towards the door I'd come in. "I must read this message – in private."

For some reason, a burst of idiotic confidence hit me. "What message are you expecting?"

"Hm. That kind of inquisitiveness may land you in hot water, Terra. This message isn't for you, and I have concerns bigger than those of new victors."

The meeting left me with more questions than answers. I said nothing to Blaze as we left. Concerns bigger than those of new victors…the priest's words sounded as if he were moving pieces beyond District 5, especially if the Church of the Triad extended into other districts. Maybe Pyre wasn't a man with a booming voice or an imposing physique, but he had insight. I was learning that that kind of thing could be dangerous.

What was in that message? Worse, why did Arrian want me to hand it in? This game of whispers and backroom deals had already ended up with me spying for the president in secret and a Peacekeeper sentenced to silent slavery. Every action I made just made me more anxious. As much as I wanted answers, how far into the abyss would I have to go to get them?