A Circus of Eagles [An HG Fanfic]

Chase - Romily

There are no rebels here to save me now.

Walterin doesn't have a gun. There are never any guns in the arena. He's going to have to get close, which means all I have to do is stay ahead. Which means not falling. Which takes concentration. The landscape is featureless but the ground is treacherous. I get the image of a skeleton hand reaching up out of the grave and grabbing my ankle to pull me over. This doesn't help.

And behind me Walterin is still going, still going, pounding on and on, not gaining or falling behind. I'd think he was toying with me, but I don't think he's got the imagination. He doesn't look as tired as I feel. My legs protest. A stitch is starting to tear into my side. And I can look behind only in snatched glances because all of my mind is on what's under my feet, what will be under them in a moment, adjusting and skipping about, doing everything not to fall.

Then, suddenly, the ground tilts and not falling gets even harder. Each step threatens to send me tumbling forwards. No sign of Walterin yet. I throw myself behind a gravestone, jarring my shoulder in the process, to look around. I'm sure this is the right place. But I need to check.

A valley, shallow, marshy. The floor holds a thick carpet of fog. I run it through my memory and get back a ting of confirmation: this is the place I thought it was.

Walterin is making a lot of noise. Peacekeepers don't have to hide. I hear him stumble and fall, though I don't hear him cry out. The thump as he hits the ground sounds loud enough to be a cannon. Tentatively, ready to run if I have to, I peek around the stone. He's pushing his way up from the floor, one sleeve in shreds, a cut on his cheek. The blood reminds me of Rat. I'm still out of his reach, so I steady myself and call again, "Walt."

He looks around, finds me. Swallows hard; I see the apple in his neck bob. "Stop running."

"You're slow," I tease. It feels like how I imagine poking a tracker-jacker nest would be. You run, Peacekeepers follow. Haematite wisdom. "You still haven't caught me."

"I know where you are."

His voice makes my skin crawl. "I've been stealing your food, Walt." A lie. I don't even know if he's still with the Ferrous pair, though I'd guess yes. "I've been stealing food years."

"Thief."

"They've called me worse." Arsonist, is what Ri called me, when I went to see her in her cell. But I wouldn't have dropped the matches if it wasn't for her!

"Stop running," he repeats.

"You know what?" He's close enough. "I don't think I will."

My mouth tastes like blood and metal and my lungs are going to burst and there's nothing left in my legs, but I keep going, plunging down into the fog, and now my heart is fast with absolute pure terror. I can see the other gravestones like outlines. I can see Walterin, picking his way in. But can he see me?

If I talk now he might suspect a trap, with the fog all over, so I cough. The first time is fake, the second time real, the third time real too; for a moment I'm doubled over, spluttering, and when I straighten up and wipe the tears from my eyes I see Walterin in front of me. Breathing in the fog.

"Stop running," he says, again.

"Oh, get a different song." I know I sound scared now. Already I can hear it, the crackling of fire right at the edge of my hearing. It's my fault. It's coming for me.

"Stay still."

I liked the other one better. But at least this warns me that a swing is coming, and it does, the club whistling out of the fog. I duck again - this time he's ready - pain flashes white through my elbow and I bounce off a gravestone, screaming. Fog rushes into my mouth. I've never felt anything like it. It's as if my arm has exploded. I try and move my fingers and I can't and it hurts. Even the brush of my shirt against it is painful beyond words. With one hand I pull myself back to my feet and back away, one arm hanging limp and useless. It fires hot signals of pain up into my head with every movement. But I have to move, I have to get away from Walterin. Is he even breathing? He looks totally calm, totally unaffected, absolutely merciless, as he tracks me through the fog. I'm panting. Can't breathe properly. And the fire is coming. I can hear it.

I can see it, too. Behind Walterin the fog glows orange. It's not real, it's not real, it's not real! But it looks it, sounds it. Walterin just keeps coming. He'll chase me all day. He'll chase me into the fire.

My legs stop before my brain can override them. You've got to fight, except I haven't, I've just got to wait...

Just when I'm about to give up, Walterin's face crumples. He puts up his club again, but not at me, at someone out to his side, and it's not the movement of a trained Peacekeeper but a frightened child. "What are you doing here?" he asks, and I hear the fear in his voice.

He appears to be talking to the fire. It's getting closer. I'm sweating. But Walterin can't see it and it's not real. It isn't. It sounds real, it looks real, but it isn't. I have to keep repeating it to myself. Or if I focus on the awful, awful pain in my elbow. Nothing else quite feels real next to it.

"But I did," Walterin says, puzzled. "I did."

There's nobody there. I wonder who he's seeing, why they scare him so. I daren't get close in case he lashes out, not with Peacekeeper precision but with fear.

He brandishes the club. "Everything!" It's a shriek. "I did everything you told me to, everything, and I never once told Mom. I did as I was told! I was good! I was good..."

There is a darkness, I think. Who said that? Could even have been Ri. Or maybe it's a song lyric long forgotten. It never rang as truthful as it does now. My elbow throbs, just to make sure it isn't forgotten, and I squeeze the gravestone hard with my other hand as the flames lick closer, trying to see past them, trying to steel myself for what I have to do.

Except I can't.

I can't kill him.

I've got no weapon and no strength. I can't even use my right arm. And Walterin is sobbing now, actually sobbing, great fat tears streaming down his cheeks as he waves his club at someone who isn't there. He looks younger than me, even. His hands shake.

"No I didn't!" he screams. "I didn't, I didn't, I would never! You said not to say anything. And I didn't. I do as I'm told. I always did as you told me." He twitches backwards, as if someone has put their hand on his arm. "Don't ever touch me again!" I almost hear his vocal chords grating.

He doesn't look like Walterin anymore. Doesn't look like anybody I know. The flames are closing in on us, but they cast no shadows and they're not real and they have no power over me, now I've had a glimpse at the darkness in someone else's head. Rat was just screams, just running, and it all happened so fast that I didn't have time to think and I never knew what it was that he was running from. But Walterin isn't running.

"Get away from me!"

But he isn't fighting, either. All of his straight-backed sternness is gone, and with it, it seems, all of his certainty. Just melted away into the fog, as if the fire has licked it away. Gone.

My elbow brushes against my side. I have to bite my lip to stop myself screaming; it's so hard that I taste blood. It's the first thing I've had to drink in a while. Still trying to gather myself to attack the stricken Walterin, I risk a glance at my elbow and immediately wish I hadn't. It looks squishy, somehow. The angle of my arm doesn't look right. I prod where the bone should be. It falls apart under my fingers. I almost pass out from the pain.

Has anybody ever won the Games with a broken bone? I don't remember. I didn't always see them.

"Please...please..."

Walterin is backing away, but in the wrong direction, further into the fog. His face is a blubbering mess. "You shouldn't be here!" he screams. "Leave me alone!"

No. I can't do it. He's still got a weapon and he's still stronger than me and any touch could have him slashing out at me. With one arm gone, I can't risk that. I thought it would be like me and the fire, something to subdue, something to distract and alarm just long enough for me to find a good sized rock, say a quick apology to him and any family members watching in horror, and make an end of things. Like Rat, but quicker, cleaner. I wasn't expecting...this.

I step back, into the flames that can't touch me now, and leave him in the fog with his demons.