Power to the People: The Thirty-ninth Hunger Games

Chapter 4

Maris Calder POV

Everyone in Four liked the sea, so when I went to the salt lake behind our village, it was like my own private ocean. I'd gotten up extra early, or more accurately I hadn't been able to sleep any longer. I knew I was capable, but there were always doubts in a Game with such long odds. It felt good to do something I was certain I could do, like catch fish. They tasted better when they were fresh and caught with my own hands. With each fish I reeled in, I imagined another opponent falling before me, until I was the only one left. I cleaned my catches and took them home for breakfast.

My mother finished frying the last of the fish while my father said a word over the meal. The next few minutes were quiet as we savored the first bites. Then my father had to go and ruin it.

"Another Reaping Day. Someone out there is going to lose a daughter. I can't imagine that kind of pain," he said. It wasn't what he said so much as how he said it. He looked at me pointedly, not fearfully. It wasn't a lament. It was an accusation.

"Yeah, it would sure be hard for you if I died. Lucky I won't be affected, you selfish tyrant!" I burst. Normally I tried to keep things civil, but he'd crossed a line. We never dicussed the Games in front of my little brother Toby. He wasn't supposed to know about that yet. It also galled me that he would mention pain. He didn't even want me. My mother had to beg for years before he agreed to have children.

"Maris!" my mother scolded. I threw open the door and ran out of the house onto our porch. I heard scuffling and dishes rattling inside.

"She trained for this. She's a sadistic brat," my father said, not bothering to lower his voice. My mother said something unclear as she tried to soothe him. Someone opened the door behind me as I pulled on my boots for the Reaping. I tensed, but it was just Toby.

"Bye, Maris. When you come back can we go out in the boat?" he asked. He hugged me while I was still kneeling with my boot and kissed my cheek. I hugged him back absentmindedly.

"Sure," I said. I didn't really have to be nervous. My name was only on six slips and there were plenty of better students in the Academy.

My casual goodbye came back to haunt me while my mother was crying over me. My name was only in there six times. There were other students. So why didn't they volunteer? Did they think I could win? Or did they just chicken out. I couldn't believe I was holding a wooden fish on a slender string, and I couldn't believe it was my father who gave it to me.

"I got this when I was twelve," he said. "In case I ever got Reaped." He was as cold as ever. He shook my hand and walked away.

"Why didn't you bring Toby?" I asked my mother. I wanted to give him a real goodbye, not a brushoff.

"I didn't want to scare him. I didn't want to think about what might happen," she managed to say. I wanted to cry along with her, but I knew she was right. She told me they were going to visit my grandparents for a while, and I was glad he'd be distracted for what was coming.

My mother was only crying gently. She was trying to hold it together for me. Once she got home, everything was going to fall apart. I could cry after she was gone, but until then, I had to be there for her. I couldn't be scared or unconfident. I had to make her think I'd win.

"I love you," she said over and over again. I responded every time in even tones, even though I wanted to grab her and never let go. When the door shut between us, we both fell apart.

Floki Grimm POV

At first, my parents didn't want to let me train. I had to tell them that it was because of everything we believed in. We knew that life was fleeting but valor was forever. Entry to Valhalla is limited to those who die in battle, and I was ready to take my place at that table. Of course I intended to win, but doing that would also earn me my spot. After that they were proud to see me grow stronger. The night before the Reaping came, and we prepared the ritual.

We chose to do the ritual outside, under the stars and in the sight of Odin. We walked in single file to a silent stretch of beach, carrying torches to light our way. My father etched runes in the sand with his finger while my mother washed out a bowl with salt water and dipped a slender dagger into it. My brother Bjorn began to prepare his mind for battle. He tensed his muscles until he began to vibrate. The veins in his eyes filled with blood and liquid trailed from his mouth.

"Odin. Odin. Odin," he chanted. I echoed him and felt Hermór's spirit welling inside me, calling me into battle. I felt like Bjorn and I were one- even though he couldn't fight with me in flesh, his spirit would be beside me. The mushrooms we'd eaten before we left took effect, and my mind cleared of everything but the war before me. My fingers locked into fists and I bared my teeth and foam flecked my lips. I was a feral animal, looking only for something to kill. If Eir had not hovered around me, reminding me that the figures in front of me were my parents, I would have torn them apart. My father completed the runes and began to read them out loud. My mother held the knife to the stars, presenting it to Odin and the Valkyries.

"Ródi hreda, Rodi hjarta. Vallow blót agh snida partt. Svirirota Odin, Svirirota Freya. Kürga, Vaalra, Hána, Auki. Brog üllr til sinn fatir. Valkyrja, ver freista ek. Her vessa Floki Asgersun. Greita hann til tvêir hana. Ekki Fólkvangr. Reita hánn Válhalla. Válhalla!" he called. His normally soft voice filtered through my frenzy, and it was guttural and harsh. The berserker rage spiked with his final shout and faded as I prepared for the rest of the ritual.

Ready battle, ready heart. Wallow in blood and tear the enemy. Bless us Odin, Bless us Freya. Courage, valor, honor, victory. Bring us glory to our ancestors. Valkyries, bless us. Here is Floki Asgersun. Grant him your reward. Not Falkvangr. Grant him Valhalla. Valhalla!

My mother had been motionless through all this. She lowered her arm slowly in a stiff arc, echoing the movement of a eviscerating stroke. She stood over the bowl and held the knife to her pale arm. She drew the blade across the skin.

"Blót ef motir," she said as the blood began to flow. It ran down her arm and spattered into the white clay bowl, staining its surface.

She walked to my father, carrying the bowl, and set it down next to him. He stretched out his arm and she repeated the motion. "Blót ef fatir."

Bjorn was the third. His blood added to the tiny pool and it deepened. "Blót ef brotir."

Finally, she came to me, and I felt my soul stirring with purpose. The bloodstained blade dug into my arm and I thrilled at its sharp pain. This was what I was made for. My mother stirred the blood with her hand and it held the bowl over her head.

"Blót ef rauta, reita hreda." Blood of family, grant us battle. She tilted the bowl and threw the blood on my face. I felt its warmth as it ran down my skin and I exalted in it. I faced the stars and presented myself to the gods. The battle spirit burst within me and I yearned to bring them sacrifice. Nótt regarded me in the darkness, and I knew they approved of me.

For Floki's ceremony, I used all the Norse words I could find. The rest are made up words that are mostly just harsher spellings of the English words, so have fun picking those out. The diacritical marks are correct where I could find them, and the rest are scattered around to make it look cooler.