9 things Demeter Kite was scared of
Luke Flanders
Nine's River regions were messy at the best of times. They were poor, hot, humid. Boring, the kind of land where little actually happens. Oh, sure, sleepy farming villages speckled the place and the mills were fun, but there was always that overlying threat, overlying terror that if something went wrong there'd be big issue. Plus, people lived in massive families, and when you were given the floor by the hearth because you had your parents, six siblings, aunts, uncles and the lot living under one roof and beds had to be stretched? Well, of course there'd be local issue.
Also outside issue. Brought in issue.
And who'd bring that issue but the Riverlords. The people who, when the Capitol empire had crawled up to Nine, had decided to swear their allegiance, use wealth to buy a tract of land stretching down the river on condition they allow the Capitol to host a set of families to benefit their lands. A set of people they'd be in charge of. Oh, they'd pay taxes and stuff, but for many getting to have overall authority over land? Well, before the Capitol had even reached the Sippy there was enough people willing to join if their money could be spent on ensuring their own future in the Capitol's good graces.
And those were the kind of people District Nine had overseeing them. The kind of people who'd ride a horse ten miles down the river, from a house to the edge of their domain. Just because they could. Just because they had the power to do so, and check on a farming family they hadn't visited in a couple of weeks and hadn't kept up with.
Some, she heard from the Reaping, were nice. Some rode up and asked if the crop was going according to season, if they needed an extension on their loan (because there was always loans when the costs got too high), if the family was well. Some were nice. Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for all.
And Luke Flanders, Mr. Flanders to her, was one of those who wasn't too nice. The kind of man to demand that they have the full yield ready to be inspected even when his expectation of the yield was far different. The kind of person to deny requests for extra seed when the previous lot goes bad and not give a damn about the consequences because the net loss for him wasn't too bad. Ad if the tenants needed to tighten their belt a tad, well. That wasn't quite a deep concern for him.
What was a concern was when something went wrong. Like, for example, the planted yield only counting to 15.8 acres rather than the declared 16. Mr. Kite promised no wrongdoing, promised he'd pay the tax for the full 16, but given that he'd 'tried' to cheat the Flanders family of their rightful money, their grain by right? Well, it was enough to merit a dozen lashes, deemed a light punishment given he had a family.
The wounds healed, they'd had enough food stored to avoid any issues and even only one loan was enough to get him the medicine needed to get pretty fine. But Demeter was terrified for much of the rest of her time in the homestead she called home that the whip would come for her, for her family again. That she'd have to face it.
Fire
Demeter hadn't been brought up in the immediate post-war for nothing. She knew the dangers that had been posed in the devastation of the Dark Days, the impact it had had on the District. And the most dangerous, everyone agreed, had been the wildfires that sprung up and thundered across the District in the summers. Relief hovercraft weren't coming, and in the dry grain fields the stalks went up like parchment to the fire. Many, her parents had said, burnt in the flames. The old, the young, the slow. They told her stories, and if nothing else Demeter could listen with the best of them.
So she had a healthy respect, fear for, fire. Because fire wasn't like a Peacekeeper, not in the slightest. Peacekeepers had a reason for what they did – she may not get the reason, but there was one nonetheless, and that was enough. Fire? Fire didn't give you a reason, didn't tell you why it wanted you dead or try to give you any… any chance. So Demeter had a healthy respect for the fire, and for a while at least it was expected the fire had the same healthy respect for her. Coexistence was possible, cooperation even when she started being taught a woman's duties, how to cook and clean and keep home and hearth warm and ready.
That theory lasted until she was about twelve, when the fire was burning ever so low in the brazier that home had and she'd thought it would just be a matter of putting another log on and heating the room up that tiny bit more. It was the dead of winter, and Nine winters are cold after all. So she put another log on, tossed it because there was still that worry with regards to the fire. Expected that would be the end of it, except a bit of charred wood got tossed up, still flaming, and landed on her sleeve.
It didn't take long to catch. Before long her sleeve was ablaze, attempts to beat it out only making it angrier, seeing the flame crawl further and further up a sackcloth-coated arm. Cloth filled with all manner of grain and flour and other dust that had accumulated and now only served to feed the creeping fire. She got it out, but there was from then on scarred. A lacework of it, rolling down her left arm from wrist to shoulder in pale patches. At the least it wasn't full-body.
So from that day on it wasn't just a healthy respect of fire, but a full on terror. Because fire was what had laced up her arm, what had given her more reason to wear the long dress expected of a Nine girl. After all, if you weren't wearing long sleeves and skirts, then you were like a One, or a Five. Inviting immodesty and all manner of awful things. And if there's one thing everyone in Nine, from southeast to northwest knows, it's that you don't want to invite awful things else they're more than likely to take up the invitation.
The Reaping
Who wouldn't be scared of the Reaping? Two children taken as Tribute to the Games, two children told it was their destiny to die before the swords of One, the spears of Two, the sickles of Eleven.
At twelve it was just four slips. Her, a parent, an aunt and her own Tesserae. Not as many as others, she knew some kids had over a hundred because of some issues. They'd taken far, far more Tesserae than she had. So really, four wasn't that bad a number. The needle prick hurt but wasn't too bad, the walk to the train was doable, and she even got to wait an hour in Starwalk for the train to arrive, because the Capitol may have provided transportation but they wouldn't run it early for the handful of Nines who'd turned up before the hour specified. And she wasn't Reaped. Instead it was Yara Ashemont and Daniel Taylor, and given she knew neither of those names? There was nothing to worry about!
At thirteen she was a tad more apprehensive. Nine slips, the ones from the year previous doubled and one for her brother's aging out. So, for the moment, that was that. She had nine, she got her finger pricked, got the names called. Carolyn Hawke and Millet Fry, and again she knew neither of those names. Sure, it may have been a twelve year old girl who stumbled up, that could have been her last year, but it wasn't like it was her, or any of hers. So it was fine. They even got Millet back, into the bargain, and that was great!
At fourteen, Demeter was calmer. She had a younger sibling, little Barleigh, on his first ever Reaping, and she'd promised Mama and Papa she'd be brave for Bar. And she was. She took Bar into town, and they may have taken a little longer than normal to walk in but it was worth it to see the look that came from visiting anything bigger than the farmstead on Bar's face. They took the train, hot cramped grain cars that didn't offer much in the way of comfort save for some clearly added benches. But it was more than she'd had before, and she had Bar to talk to rather than a load of kids from regional farms shivering on the metal floor, so it was pretty much luxury. It was Elise Whittman and Bri Taylor that year, and that wasn't names she recognized.
At fifteen, Demeter was worried. She knew Bar had had to take out Tesserae, she had eighteen slips now and he had eight. It wasn't good odds, even if you considered they were out of hundreds of thousands, and yet neither of them were Reaped. Safe, instead. They managed to stay out, and Ciabette Milner and Alexander Starrlin were dragged in to the Capitol, and Demeter was safe enough. Even took Bar 'round Felleston for an hour to look at the city, until the time drew near and they had to hurry to the train.
When she was sixteen, Demeter Kite was Reaped. And that was a name she recognized.
The girl from Five
She never learnt her name. That was the worst part, Demeter never learnt her name. But from the beginning, it was in her head that Five was the real enemy, the real challenge.
It started on the train, because Demeter got shown the other Reapings by Rye. The boy besides her was sniffling, and that was distracting enough, but that didn't exactly distract her from the heart of the matter – that this was competition. This was her enemies. These were the people she'd be fighting, these were the people who'd have to die for her to come back.
And the girl from Five was a realistic enemy. She wasn't built like a tank, like One or Two's Volunteer boys. She didn't have the predatory gleam on her lips One's girl seemed to have, a gleam that promised danger and hate and a million other things. There was none of the cool determination of the Sevens, the outright anger of Eleven, the something that floated around Twelve as an aura of menace. No, Five was pretty ordinary, but introduced herself with a bit more flair than expected of a Reaped child and told the audience who'd gathered to watch the Reaping that she was going home.
That was what Demeter kept replaying, because there was no nebulous ideals about it. Five had said, promised her District she was coming home. And that may have been a nice promise, but it provided something tangible to worry about. Someone to challenge, someone to hate, someone to mistrust and worry about and in all truth fear.
The girl made a similar impression at Training. Seven wasn't a bad score, and considering that even when Dem had asked the Tens what Five had done none of them had seemed to know? Well, all of a sudden there was a wrench in the plans for Victory that wasn't there previously, a wrench that Dem would have to work around. An enemy Dem would have to face, solidified when at the interviews Lucky was reassured once again by Five that she was coming home.
It was good luck that Five was placed besides her on the podium, standing there and looking around with the same shocked look at the arena that stretched into the distance. It was dark, and terrifying, and all the things that an Arena wasn't expected to be. There were no trees, and the weight of a flashlight in her pocket was the only offered reassurance. Demeter could only see either side of her. That was enough.
Five wasn't looking as she made the run to a torchlit Cornucopia, the kids scrambling for batteries and matches, tarpaulins and a million other things offered in the bounty the Capitol had provided to them. There was no direct killing, but Dem had a knife and surprise. Soon enough Five was screaming from a stab to the leg, and Dem could snatch up a bag and run, run, run.
She wasn't surprised to see Five's face sitting in the sky that night, smiling a smile that almost made it seem as if she hadn't broken her promise.
The Dark
The Dark was the scariest part of the Arena. Demeter learnt that from Day One, from the hour she ran into the twelve year-old boy from Three, the one who'd protested throughout the entirety of training that he wasn't meant to be there. At first, it was a relatively amiable partnership – they herd rustling in the darkness, squirrels and such most probably, because this wasn't exactly a dangerous place. Just a stretch of plains stretching off into the distance, the occasional scraggly tree lit in the distance by flashlight. It was cool, but not cold, and so it was really just a nice walk through flat plains and the occasional small tree.
More like a run, but it was nicer than dying on the floor like Five. Like Three's District Partner, as it turned out.
But then he needed to go, had some business he needed to handle because they'd drunk a lot and not sweated too much in the fields. It had been a couple of days, enough for them to get to know each other. For him to hear about her extended family, for her to hear about his mother and sister. Father gone, cousins as well. There wasn't much.
He handed her his flashlight, told her to keep the light off him. Because, after all, it would have been inappropriate, impolite even to show him in that state, and he wanted some privacy. Only a couple of minutes.
Only a couple of minutes.
They came like a river, flowing in the black darkness. She heard his first yell, because the horror and shock and fear of it all reminded her of what would be were Bar in the Games. "Something bit me! A kind of bug or something, or."
She never knew quite what he was intending to say next, whether he had anything at all to say. Because next she knew, he was screaming like the hordes of hell themselves were upon him
They were. She turned the flashlight on him as soon as she could, already too late. He was on the floor, bloody and bruised and torn. There was bite wounds, missing flesh, hands and feet torn and face even worse. It wasn't pretty, to say the least, wasn't clean or nice or a million other things. She could hear running in the background, four legged, and the howls of somethings you wouldn't want to fight.
It wasn't pretty, or clean. It wasn't fair, as he breathed his last, face torn too badly even to get the words out. To apologize, beg mercy, do anything except lie there torn.
The Boy from Two
The one who chased her, hunted her, swore he'd kill her. But he was the one person she'd never think about. She wouldn't give the satisfaction of her fear.
Her Parents
She got home quick enough, wanted to go home because she was done. Was allowed to go home because she'd won. The train to Felleston took nine hours, to Starwalk another three and from there it was a short horse ride, only a hour or so, to home.
Mama, Papa, all the rest were happy to come live with her. Her immediate family got permission to live in the Victor's Village, the rest were oked to live in apartments rented on her own money in Felleston City. And for a while, it was all fine. They'd mingle with the higher-ups, Capitolites and District elite alike, and Demeter could spend her time at home and relax. Catch up on Capitol TV she couldn't now live without, commit to the occasional public engagement because Nine was so proud of a third Victor. All the usual.
But then it started. It started when a family who worked in the towers in some kind of management role brought their son 'round, ostensibly because 'they were round for tea' but realistically because Papa wanted Demeter to marry. It was how it was out in the Rivers, after all, your parents would arrange the marriage and pay off the dowry because you wouldn't exactly have much to start a new life.
Except it was Demeter's money that was funding this whole lifestyle thing. It was Demeter's money that was carrying them around, that got them to the parties.
And yet it never seemed to get through Pa's head that maybe he should be grateful to his daughter. No, instead it was the constant parade of children of high birth. Various riverlord kids, including the son of Luke Flanders (now among her father's closest friends when the time was taken to ride up to Felleston), and sons of various staff within the stunning towers that dotted the city skyline. One boys who were handling tourism, even the occasional girl when he thought that if his daughter wasn't into the boys then clearly she must have preferred the girls.
Eventually, enough became enough. Eventually, Demeter grew tired, and told them that while she'd help them (she did, enough Capitol approved money to get them home and fixing said home into a nice brick homestead was a gift from her to them), she wouldn't have them in her house any longer. It took a shouted argument, a call to the Peacekeepers, shouting and gesticulating and all that before he stormed out, half-carried, and her mother and family went with them. Of course. It wasn't like there was anything else to do.
She didn't quite know what had happened to them. She could guess, thought they'd spent her money and then settled down. Even rode past a couple of times, when she was doing some travelling or had an engagement at a farm who'd invited her down knowing she'd accept. Still never visited, never wanted to visit.
And that was how it stayed.
The District
But the District didn't forget she was the one who'd made it home where others had died. The District didn't forget that she reaped the benefits, that she was given special privilege like, like… survival. Like not having to take Tesserae, because it wasn't like that was an option afforded the rest of Nine. Like being allowed to go to the Capitol of her own free will and returning with toys and gifts and health. A million things only her family got, while the rest of Nine suffered and wished that past her year of food their Victor would deign to provide Nine with anything.
They got nothing. And that made them angry.
It meant that she could only trade and socialize, buy from the merchants. Not because she wasn't willing to buy straight from the farmers if they'd offered, but every letter sent off came without response and every inquiry saw noses upturned and disdain in their eyes at this girl who came around trying to negotiate with them as if they were in any ways equal.
It meant that she couldn't go outside home without knowing what she was doing. The towers of Felleston were safe enough, and many of the outlying farmlands around the city were friendly enough, but one wrong turn in the city, not being careful enough in which of the tiny farms she rides out, not remembering to ensure they're all by the by? Well, that could be fatal.
Still, three years in she's near-sure that the District has at least learnt to tolerate her, learnt that she wanted this no more than they did and wasn't the Capitol's lapdog but a girl who'd been thrown in over her head, a girl who'd not wanted this but had come out.
And then the 25th came. And then she and Rye got to watch as his daughter and her little brother were the frontrunners. After all, they were Victors. They took money from the Capitol, visited the Capitol and thus were the most visible symbols of the Capitol. Others were voted for as well, troublemakers and the rest, but when it came to the end result the numbers didn't lie. Barleigh Kite and Lilia Clemens were sent in.
Neither came back.
Dying (the second time)
She was scared. The Games were one thing, right? That was the agreement. She'd won, she'd finished the Games and got out and sure she'd killed but she'd had to. She'd had to. It wasn't like there was any other way, not when only one was getting out of the Arena alive.
Not when it had been her. She'd wanted it the most, she'd worked for it the most because she'd be damned if she'd give up. She'd known that in the Arena, and that's why even when people had called her out, especially at home, for being a coward? Being a traitor, being a cheat, being all kinds of horrible names? Well, Demeter was happy to let it was off her like water from a duck's back.
But now she was going back in. Shoved onto a train because she was the only female Victor Nine had left, told that it was her duty to go into the Games one last time and not make a fool of herself or Nine. As if that were possible. She wasn't even the oldest – Millet, Woof, stars above Mags was coming back. They were all off to die for the whims of the Capitol, as if they hadn't already sacrificed enough for the painted city.
She didn't go down to training – that was for the young ones, the ones who thought they had a chance and weren't afraid to let it be known. Demeter Kite wasn't coming back to Nine, she'd known that from the moment Snow had announced the Quell. Instead, she spent her time writing letters.
To Cali, apologizing for what her Victor aunt had brought. To Dannel and Petra, promising that she'd think of them before the end. To the other Victors, apologizing and begging forgiveness. Goodbyes a hundred times over.
She doesn't engage Caesar too well at the interviews, just as well – after Cecelia and Woof even Caesar has a tear in his eye, is content to provide a quick chat and then hand over to her goodbyes. It's only fair, after all. Only fair.
Demeter doesn't want to fight. These are friends, colleagues, people she knew and trusted. The others are already rushing for the pedestals while she considers the situation, looks around and waits for the others to be far enough nobody can lifeguard their way to her.
So she slips off her life jacket. Lets it fall to the ground, and sinks into the water. It's warm, sterile, clean. It's the kind of water that she'd always wanted to swim in, like she'd imagine it is on the beaches of Four. She doesn't fight it, doesn't tread or struggle. She's an old woman. Tired of fighting, tired of winning. Tired of trying
She just sinks.
Author's Note
Heya crew, sorry for the slightly shorter chapter and later posting - I got engaged last night, so it's been a busy week!