Fire and Ice

Brave

(see external link) The next morning, when I trudge into the training room, yawning, a large target stands at one end of the room, and next to the door is a table with knives strewn across it. Target practice again. Eric stands in the middle of the room, his posture so rigid it looks like someone replaced his spine with a metal rod. I approach him as the initiates walk in and he glaares at them, "What's up your ass?" I mutter as he remains silent and keeps glaring making me roll my eyes "Whatever Eric I'm just concerned" I say as he sighs "Just pissed" and I look at him chuckling "You're pissed you lost last night aren't you?" I sneer as he looks at me glaring, "You pansycake" I tease him making him glare some more. "Don't start with me, Four is always better and I could've had him. Four this, Four that. I'm sick of it" I cross my arms as I snicker as he keeps glaring, "You're right Eric Four is looking kinda good right now, maybe I should marry him huh?" That did it. He punched the wall behind me and stalked off

"Tomorrow will be the last day of stage one," Eric says. "You will resume fighting then. Today, you'll be learning how to aim. Everyone pick up three knives." His voice is deeper than usual. "And pay attention while Four demonstrates the correct technique for throwing them."

At first no one moves.

"Now!"

They all scramble for daggers and then proceed to watch Four throw. I approach Christina and Tris when they speak

"He's in a bad mood today," mumbles Christina.

"Is he ever in a good mood?" Tris murmurs back.

"Sometimes, he laughs a real laugh too when he doesn't have a stick up his ass" I say causing them to jump and look in horror at me

"We're sorry we didn't mean to offend you" Tris says as I shake my head "Don't be, he is a huge ass and I'll admit it, even if he is my husband."

But I know what she means. Judging by the poisonous look Eric gives Four when he isn't paying attention, last night's loss must have bothered Eric more than he let on. Winning capture the flag is a matter of pride, and pride is important to the Dauntless. More important than reason or sense.

I watch Tris as she watches Four's arm as he throws a knife.

Eric orders, "Line up!" They all line up and start throwing their daggers as Eric watches them like a hawk as I stay by the table while Four does the same on the opposite side.

A half hour later, Al is the only initiate who hasn't hit the target yet. His knives clatter to the floor, or bounce off the wall. While the rest of them approach the board to collect their weapons, he hunts the floor for his.

The next time he tries and misses, Eric marches toward him and demands, "How slow are you, Candor? Do you need glasses? Should I move the target closer to you?"

Al's face turns red. He throws another knife, and this one sails a few feet to the right of the target. It spins and hits the wall.

"What was that, initiate?" says Eric quietly, leaning closer to Al.

"It—it slipped," says Al.

"Well, I think you should go get it," Eric says. He scans the other initiates' faces—everyone has stopped throwing again—and says, "Did I tell you to stop?"

Knives start to hit the board. We have all seen Eric angry before, but this is different. The look in his eyes is almost rabid.

"Go get it?" Al's eyes are wide. "But everyone's still throwing."

"And?"

"And I don't want to get hit."

"I think you can trust your fellow initiates to aim better than you." Eric smiles a little, but his eyes stay cruel. "Go get your knife."

Al doesn't usually object to anything the Dauntless tells him to do. I don't think he's afraid to; he just knows that objecting is useless. This time Al sets his wide jaw. He's reached the limits of his compliance.

"No," he says.

"Why not?" Eric's beady eyes fix on Al's face. "Are you afraid?"

"Of getting stabbed by an airborne knife?" says Al. "Yes, I am!"

Honesty is his mistake. Not his refusal, which Eric might have accepted.

"Everyone stop!" Eric shouts. The knives stop, and so does all conversation. I hold my breath as I watch the events in front of me unfold.

I follow the other initiates to the edge of the room, and they inch in front of me, eager to see what makes my stomach turn: Al, facing Eric's wrath.

"Stand in front of the target," says Eric. Al's big hands shake. He walks back to the target.

"Hey, Four." Eric looks over his shoulder. "Give me a hand here, huh?"

Four scratches one of his eyebrows with a knife point and approaches Eric. He has dark circles under his eyes and a tense set to his mouth—he's as tired as they are.

"You're going to stand there as he throws those knives," Eric says to Al, "until you learn not to flinch."

"Is this really necessary?" says Four. He sounds bored, but he doesn't look bored. His face and body are tense, alert.

I squeeze my hands into fists. No matter how casual Four sounds, the question is a challenge. And Four doesn't often challenge Eric directly. At first Eric stares at Four in silence. Four stares back. Seconds pass and my fingernails bite my palms.

"I have the authority here, remember?" Eric says, so quietly I can barely hear him. "Here, and everywhere else."

Color rushes into Four's face, though his expression does not change. His grip on the knives tightens and his knuckles turn white as he turns to face Al.

Four was about to throw the knife when "Stop it" Tris yells out causing all of us to look at her in disbelief and Four glares

"Any idiot can stand in front of a target, It doesn't prove anything except that you're bullying us. Which, as I recall, is a sign of cowardice." She goes on and I smirk at her bravery.

"Then it should be easy for you," Eric says. "If you're willing to take his place." I watch everything and I notice Max in doorway motioning for me to follow him as I hold my breath "Shit" I whisper and head toward the door as I nod my head at Four to let him know he has the reigns now.