Twenty Four Shades of Blood [A Hunger Games Fanfic]

Stained Glass - 8

Bas pulls her attention away from the building with a poke to the ribs.

“Good place, this. Here, give me a hand,” he shouts as he tugs at one of the massive iron rings bolted to the weathered wood of the doors. She lurches into action, grabbing a side, and they pull together, their teeth gritted with the effort. There’s a painful screech as the metal plate at the base of the door slides over the stone of the top step.

The dark crack yawns at them.  For a second they bother waver on the step, then Vas steps forward.  She was a coward before, and she won’t let it happen again. 

“Come on, what’s the hold up?”

She brushes past him, squeezing through the opening.  Instantly, it's as though someone has wrapped something around her ears. The noise of the storm seems far away, the rain no longer hammering around her shoulders. She takes a deep breath; the air seems heavy and smells musty.  Bas pushes through the crack, sword hand first.  She ignores the length of shining steel as it slides past her periphery.

“What is this place?”

They’re standing in a huge room that stretches away from them into a grey sort of gloom.  The ceiling soars up and away from them, the arches and stone fluting lost in the shadows all around them. Six great pillars march down the length of the gallery, their vast girths wrapped in a rusted metal filigree of leaves and flowers. Vas runs her hand over the cold steel, feeling the cobwebs gathering under her fingers. 

The lightning flashes outside, and the room is lit, but the light that shatters across the walls and floor isn’t white – it’s a mess of reds, blues and greens, all the colours of the rainbow.  They can both see the huge window at the far end of the room; an enormous sheet of glass that covers the entire width of one wall.

“Stained glass,” Bas murmurs.  She knows what he’s thinking – she’s thinking it too.  Cracked and crumbling this place might be, but it’s still a marvel of stonework.  District Two is famous for its masonry, and their father….she stops thinking.  No place for that.  She steals a glance as Bas, and his eyes flick away, but she can read him without even trying.  She knows he’s thinking the exact same thing about her.  Neither of them could explain it but they always know.  A twin thing, some call it.

She calls it a curse, most of the time. Even her own mind isn’t safe from him.

“I think it’s what they used to call a church,” she says, a picture from one of her father’s books flashing into her mind. He always said he didn't know why he'd got it, really; it only showed old stonework. One of the books she wasn't allowed near. Isn't allowed near.

“A church?  What were they for?”

She has to think for a second.  The lightning crackles past the huge window again, scattering fragments of colour over their faces. At home, the forbidden book on her lap in the dark, reading by scattered candlelight. It had been boring, that much she remembers. A little part inside her thrills that this is something about her that Bas doesn't know.

“They were places where they used to come talk to their God, I think.”

“What’s God?”

She has to think about that one too. The book hadn't said. There had been hints, little clues, but it was like the writer had expected you to just know. It had been all about the stonework, anyway.

“Their higher power, I suppose. Fate. Destiny. Something to trust in.”

She can’t see his face, but she knows what his expression is.

“Huh. Didn’t do much good, did it?”

She’s not sure how to respond to that. Doesn't need to. Together, they make their way up the centre of the wide strip of faded scarlet cloth that covers the floor between the rows of dusty and broken wooden benches. Bas bumps against one and it crumbles to the floor with a creaking of old nails.  Little puffs of dust erupt around their feet as they make their way forward.