I have just reached my decision when I start to wonder why the train hasn't left by now. Usually the gamemakers urge that the tributes depart as swiftly as possible, gone with the faintest whispers in the wind. I guess a lot of people wanted to see Mykael, I think bitterly, even though I know it's not fair to do so. But just as I am starting to develop such thoughts, someone pushes through the door and I have to blink several times and adjust my eyesight to wonder if I might be asleep.
But no, it's her.
"Dayta." She rushes up to me and throws her arms around my neck, which shocks me so much that I fall back. When she pulls away, her green eyes look fierce to me, not something that I have ever used to describe Mag before.
"What are you doing here?" I realize that the question must sound rude but we only have so much time and I want answers.
"Listen to me, there isn't much time but you need to hear this," she tells me urgently and I have to bite my tongue to keep from screaming at her to get on with it. "It's the water."
I stare at her, unblinking, and try to figure out her cryptic comment. "What about it?"
"You have to find it."
"Of course I do. It's my life source." I know that Mag obviously thinks that this information is important or she wouldn't have come, but I can't help feeling irritated. Does she think that I'm an idiot? I know that I need to stay hydrated.
She shakes her head quickly and continues, her words slurred together so that she can get them out there before the clock ticks away our time together. "No! That's not what I meant. You have to follow the rivers. Please just tell me that you'll follow the rivers!"
If not for the desperation in her voice for me to understand, I would have yelled at her to leave. How dare she mock me? But I know that there's something crucial that I'm missing. I swim in circles, searching for the invisible truth, but when I come up for air, it's still lost beneath the murky surface.
"It's the only way, Dayta! Just remember District 13." I don't have time to ask her what she meant about District 13 or why I need to think about them or what she meant about the rivers because the peacekeepers have already led her out the door and when I hear it shut, it feels like a punch to the face.
I wanted advice, not to be left with more questions.
Biting my lip until I taste blood, I lean back against the single chair in the dark, depressing room. I close my eyes and hope that when I open them, this nightmare will be over.
***
My room on the train is unnaturally luxurious and like nothing I have ever seen before. The sheets are softer than a swan's feathers and my wardrobe is full of satins, silks, and other exotic fabrics that not even Mag owns back at the orphanage. The showers are like no other with different switches and levers that spray you from all around and in places that I never particularly needed to be targeted. Everything is designed for comfort and beauty. It's absolutely incredible. If this were a hotel like they used to have back in the olden days, it would be a five star.
I feel like a fish out of water.
Every single feature in here is foreign to me. For my entire life, I've grown used to cotton and denim. I've never even known that a toilet that sprays and washes my bum after I use it exists, let alone used one. If anyone had informed me that I would be treated as well as the president upon being reaped for the Hunger Games, I would have laughed in their face and called them a fool.
And yet here I am.
I trace my fingers along the silky sheets of my bed and close my eyes. I know that everything here is a distraction, a strategic move on the Capitol's part. They wish to throw us into luxury and remove our focus from the real issues, especially targeting the poorer districts. Just when we've become used to being treated like kings and queens, they'll toss us into the arena like we're dolls that they're sick of playing with. Once we're caught off balance, all the more bloodshed.
I clench my fist and fight down my anger. I've never been great at containing my rage; I'm known for the occasional spat. The women who run the orphanage insist that it is my youth. I know they're wrong. It's years of labour and grief that has hardened me into who I am: a spiteful teen sitting on her deathbed. I'm sure it is only to get worse and worse.
I'm interrupted by a light tap on my door. Without waiting for my invitation, the person on the other side opens the door and peeks in. I notice the pale pink hair before I can even think to wonder who it is.
"Dayta, your mentor is waiting to meet you in the dining car," she informs me, stifling a yawn. Even with such little to say, her voice still sounds meek, as though it is taking all of her strength to say it. It occurs to me that no matter how old Lydia is, it shouldn't take such a toll on her to speak simple sentences. If she can walk she can talk, so what's she hiding?
Probably nothing, I think. Just Capitol pettiness.
Lydia's responsible for touring us around everywhere and making sure we're on time, but right now I can't see it happening. I have a feeling that Mykael and I will be carrying ourselves for the next couple of weeks. That is, unless our mentor really does want to help us out. It's hard to tell. I've heard that mentors in the past have been cruel and uninterested or damaged. Perhaps ours will be the same.
Reluctantly, I softly pad out the door and follow Lydia like she is leading me to my destiny. I have to admit that I really don't know where I'm going yet. It's crazy how big the train is. We're preparing for our deaths, not our coronation.
Of course, to the Capitol, they're equally as exciting.
When I step into the room, I am aware of Mykael seated at the table, his back to me. His head is turned down. By now I've learned to recognize his emotions. But he isn't sad, as I had expected he would be. He's angry and it will only be so long before he snaps, the feelings he's brewing boiling over like a pot overflowing.
I'm vaguely surprised by the person across from him. Not because the boy looks strange, but because he is just that: a boy. I was expecting someone older with scars and a hardened face. Someone intimidating. The person I observe is only three, maybe four, years older than me. When he turns to face me my throat catches.
He catches sight of me and his eyes are illuminated from the light breaking through the train windows, emeralds shining. He stands up when I walk forward slowly, revealing his tall stance and toned body. I blush despite myself, my cheeks turning to the colour of roses, and look away, hoping he didn't see. Unfortunately, his smug expression tells otherwise. When he grins, dimples appear on his cheeks.
Despite his blatant attractiveness, I can already tell that he's absolutely self-centred and despicable. "Nice of you to join us... Dayta?" he says, tilting his head slightly, his voice dripping sarcasm. I can tell he's mocking me, but I'm not sure why.
I nod and Lydia takes the lead, although clearly bored. If I were counting my days, I wouldn't want to be discussing battle strategies. Then I realize the irony of it; I am counting my days. "Meet Aaryn Digit, your mentor. I'm sure you remember his games two years ago. It was a great triumph for District 3 -- he was only sixteen." I'm sure Lydia is being paid to say this. Judging from the fluttering of her eyelids, she looks as though she's only half awake.
"Thanks Lydia," he directs at the woman, faking appreciation. "But my focus is you two. I need to figure out how to keep both of you alive."
I meet his gaze, fire beneath my eyes, with the feeling that he picked his words out of cruelty. "One of us."
Aaryn lifts an eyebrow quizzically and motions for me to continue, pretending not to understand what I mean. "You mean one of us, not both," I repeat. "There's only one winner and you're going to decide who you want that to be." I lean back and cross my arms, my lips tight. "So do it. Just pick instead of dragging it on."
Our mentor regards me with a new interest and he seems to be pondering something, like someone facing an obstacle they hadn't anticipated. I can't read his expression but curiosity gnaws at me like a hungry animal is living in my soul. With a sigh, he runs a hand through his brown hair and looks up at me again, addressing me this time.
"Winning is not the same thing as surviving."
I feel a flame ignite inside of me. When did my life become a puzzle where none of the pieces seem to fit? Follow the rivers. Remember District 13. Winning is not the same as surviving. How many more vague statements am I going to get before it's too late to learn their meaning?
To my surprise, Mykael speaks for the first time since I came out here. "How the hell is that supposed to help us?"
Infuriatingly, Aaryn shrugs, but when I look, he's staring at me, as if to say "you should know what it means". "That's for you to figure out."
And so the pot boiled over. Mykael slams his hands on the table and stands up, his chair screeching like nails on a chalkboard. "Bullshit! You're supposed to help us. I bet you want us to die!"
Judging from the look on Aaryn's face, one more hit and he will explode. He's a can of gas just waiting to be lit. I can't let Michael be his target. Somehow, I have to steal the show before the spotlight falls on him.
"Look Aaryn, I don't know what your past is like, or what horrible things you've done, but can you stop moping over all the kids you killed and start saying something helpful for once?" I fix my gaze on his and make sure that it is pure ice, but what I see makes the shards melt and I feel myself starting to shake as he rises from his chair, slowly towering over me like a skyscraper.
He leans forward so his face is right in front of mine and my blood freezes in my veins, stopping my heart. "Listen, kid. If you ever say something like that to me again, I promise I will make sure that you never make it out of that arena alive. I will personally see to it that your death is extra gruesome." He puts his head beside mine, his breath tickling my ear as he whispers to me. "You want me to choose who I'm going to help? Well, you can bet that it won't be you."
By now, I am full out trembling like an earthquake has passed beneath us. Aaryn is still staring me down, but it doesn't last long. With one rough shove, Mykael has pushed Aaryn away from me. When I look at my friend his eyes emit pure hatred, filling the whole room with intensity. No, I think. Don't. Although I know that Aaryn can't physically hurt us before the games, he can make sure that our lives are living hell. He can make sure that neither of us will win and that we will leave the earth in the worst way possible.
"Don't talk to her like that," Mykael says slowly, a threat beneath his steady tone.
"Mykael!" I run up to him. "Stop."
"No, he can't just push us around." Mykael is set with determination and I know that there is only one way to shut him down.
"You don't need to protect me any more, okay? You can't. This is the Hunger Games. We're done, Mykael. There's only going to be one winner. Maybe you should start thinking about yourself before it's too late."
I know that my words hit home when I see his face. He looks like I just removed a piece of his soul. I can't meet his eyes to avoid turning into a puddle for Aaryn to step on again. Instead, I turn away and struggle against the tornado in my mind. It's to help him, I remind myself. I have to cut ties with Mykael if he's going to live.
I almost forget that our mentor is still there until he speaks. "Leave, both of you." His words are spoken quietly, but I know it's not because he's calm or forgiving. Hidden beneath his charming demeanour, he's a viper waiting to strike. Who ever said that silence wasn't deadly?
Of course, Mykael objects and I wince. "But--"
"Leave!" he shouts and springs at Mykael.
Fearing the outcome if we don't obey, we back out the door and into the hallway. Lydia, who'd been observing the show silently, follows along like a puppy. I turn around to see Aaryn sitting down with his head in his hands. When he lifts his head, I see something in his eyes that I didn't notice before. Disguised by his cruel charm is a definite sadness. In fact, it's more than that. When I look closer, I can tell that it is the look of someone who is constantly tortured by their past.
What I see is regret.
For once, I wonder if what I had originally thought of as saving Michael from Aaryn's wrath was really an innocent thing. The more I think, the more I believe that I just opened wounds that had long since healed for the blood to pour out again, fresher than ever.