skull on fire: A skulduggery pleasant/ hunger games crossover fanfic

Chapter Nineteen: The First Deaths

Chapter Nineteen: The First Deaths.

I cradle Aura to my chest as she coughs up more blood, staining my white jumpsuit. Rye stares in mute horror, his five year old brain struggling to understand. But Aura is dying. She brings her lips closer to my ear and exhales shakily. She begins to speak in a weak, shaky voice.

"Valkyrie," she whispers, "Are you there?"

"I'm here Aura. Everything will be okay, I promise." I lie, even though I know she is dying.

"Valkyrie," she speaks again, "Rye. Look after him, please."

I nod my head, "I promise. He's safe with me."

The action continues around us, almost slow motion in my eyes as Aura breathes her last breath. Rye looks at me pleadingly as I lay Aura down on the ground behind the pedestal. There is nothing I can do for her now. I stand up and push Rye behind me, my eyes on the few fighting tributes that are left. I see Rosaline standing on top of the Cornucopia, shooting arrows at a tribute who is attempting to kill a fallen Fionn. She hits him in the back and he falls with a scream, an arc of crimson bursting from his back. Fionn struggles to sit up, but I can see he has been injured.

Skulduggery has killed the man he was fighting earlier and is running towards me, the sword I gave him large in his skeletal hands. He sees Aura's body and a look of understanding flickers over his skull. He picks up Rye silently, handing me his sword as he swings the small child on to his shoulder. We walk over to Fionn and are joined by a scared looking Rosaline who fusses over his leg wound. He was hit in the calf with a knife and will have difficulty walking. It is a huge inconvenience in this Arena, where hiding is difficult.

We are the only tributes left alive at the Cornucopia and I wonder briefly where the others went as I stare at the barren landscape. My guess is that they are hiding behind rocks, flitting from one to another as the head in the direction of the faraway mountain. It seems the likely choice, since I have not noticed any signs of a water source since I have been here.

We start by pulling Fionn to the back of the Cornucopia where he should be safe, and also sheltered from the constantly increasing heat of the sun. Then we search the pile of resources stacked in front, finding any food and drink and bringing it in from the sun before it perishes. We have, in total, seven loaves of soda bread, two packets of dry crackers, a box of apples, six chocolate bars, two bags of flour, three cartons of long life milk, a huge slab of butter and a single plastic barrel of water. It is a good start, but we won't survive past two weeks even if we ration it closely.

I hear a shout from Rosaline and look up from my sorting. She calls me over to where she is standing, over the sad corpse of a young boy.

"We should move them," she says, slowly, "I don't like them being here, they make me feel uneasy."

I agree, even though I know the hovercrafts will soon arrive to take the bodies away, I still don't like the feeling of them lying around us. None of us have counted how many died in the initial bloodbath, how many each of us killed. At the moment, the thought is unbearable.

We pull the bodies away from the cornucopia, laying each one on the ground a few feet away. Aura's is the last to be moved, and I fold her arms over her grisly wound and close her eyelids to give the pretence of sleep. Fionn is still sitting at the back of the cornucopia, holding Rye on his unharmed knee and murmuring words of comfort to the poor child. Skulduggery walks among the corpses, thinking or mourning, I'm not sure.

Me and Rosaline busy ourselves with the weapons, of which there is an abundance. Bows and knives and maces, everything is here in multiple. I even found a pair of small slingshots near the back of the pile. I decide to put them aside for Rye, after all we will need to teach him to defend himself if he will ever stand a chance.

About twenty minutes later, while me and Rosaline have just finished sorting the weapons, the hovercrafts appear, wheeling like birds of prey in the sky. It is only as they extend long metal claws to collect the fallen corpses that I change my mind, they are vultures, scavengers, birds of carrion, not prey. The comparison seems more fitting, as their black shapes disappear over the horizon.

The cannons go off next, one after the other. Ten in total, some killed by us, most by the other tributes, the ones who ran as soon as they had grabbed some food or weapons. That means there are still fourteen of the original twenty four tributes left. The Games have well and truly begun.

The sky is beginning to turn dark, although it seems too early for night. But then again the light, like everything else here, is artificial. The heat disappears with the sun and I finally understand the abundance of foil lined blankets at the mouth of the Cornucopia. Boiling days and freezing cold nights will make this Arena a challenge for the most experienced survivor. The lack of water contributing to a slow death for anyone with less resources than us. I see what a wise move we made in taking the Cornucopia, we would never have survived out there in the desert.

Although the night is artificial, we decide to bed down, leaving Skulduggery on first watch. He promises to wake me in three hours, and I lay my head down on the cold sand. The insulated blanket protecting me from the cold as Rye lies down by my side, sandwiched between me and an already snoring Rosaline. It takes me mere moments to fall asleep.

My dreams are filled with fire and death, heads rolling and blood spouting as Aura's last words echo in my ears. It is a relief when I am finally woken from the ever spiralling nightmares by a worn out Skulduggery. I take my seat at the entrance to the Cornucopia, surprised when Skulduggery does not lie down to meditate. Instead sitting by my side as I stare into the black wasteland of this arena. I lean on his shoulder and murmur, the words more of a statement than a question.

"Can't sleep."

Skulduggery puts his arm lightly around my shoulder before replying.

"There's something bothering me," he says, quietly, "My magic is hard to reach here, I can barely light a match. And you're the same, I saw you. And yet I can feel so much magic around us, strange magic. Like the magic in the corner of the training centre. In the room with the forcefield."

"I know," I whisper in return, "I feel it too. It must be some sort of magic that restricts the magic we use, drains our power."

"And the room near the training centre was some sort of test run?" Skulduggery echoes my thoughts.

"Or the person doing this magic is being held there against their will. That would explain the amount of protection on the door."

"True. Whatever the case, our best advantage has left us."

"We always knew that might be the case," I murmur, "After all, the President wouldn't want us to have an unfair advantage would he?"

Skulduggery scoffs, "As if he has any conception of 'unfair.'"

I agree, before leaning my head on his shoulder and drifting off once more. He shouldn't let me, its my watch after all, but he sits and keeps guard for me. A skeletal hand on my shoulder as his unblinking skull keeps watch over this barren wasteland of death.

A/N: What do you think? Please vote and comment if you enjoyed, I love everyone who does. And remember,

"Invisible things are the only realities."
-Edgar Allen Poe