From the fight I had yesterday and my conversation with Tori yesterday, I knew I needed to get my name above the red line to keep myself safe for the meantime, no one can know. No one.
Quietly, slipping out of my bed, I grabbed my boots and silently ran out of the room. Wearing a revealing white tank top and combat trousers, I ran out of the district into the town. It was still dark with some lights gleaming. I started running around the path we had taken from the day before.
Across the street the factionless were asleep in their insulated sheets, the city was almost deserted and only the thumps from my feet were to be heard. My breathing got deeper as I struggled to maintain a pace. I wasn't use to running but, I needed to be. Sometimes I forget that I'm not only up against initiates, I'm up against Dauntless born, and all of us equally want to be above the line.
Coming back before seven I walked into the training arena. I stared at the orange bags as I tied my hair back. I made an attempt to lightly hit the bag. A burning sensation filled my knuckles, I can already feel the raw bruises beginning to form. I was tired, but i kept telling myself to keep going. Tori's words echoed in the room. They can't find out about me, I need to blend in, I need to be tough and if being tough means to keep fighting and punching until I scar then I will have to do that.
My arm rose up to brush the sweat off my forehead as I continued to punch the bag. My wandering thoughts stopped as faint steps stormed behind me. Whoever had walked in they didn't stop me from punching the bag again.
Later in the day when the remaining members awoke from their sleep and into the room with mats and punching bags, Eric and Four gathered us round and explained that in the morning we will stick to training and, in the afternoon, we will resume with the fights. Everyone then branched off to their own place and began practicing, working on what they learnt from the day before.
Four wanders through the crowd of initiates, watching us as we go through the movements again. I was back at the orange punching bag from earlier that morning. I notice him from the corner of my eye as he slowly walks down the room and he stops in front of me, my insides twist like someone's stirring them with a fork. He stares at me, his eyes following my body from my head to my feet, not lingering anywhere—a practical, scientific gaze.
I hit the bag twice out of frustration as my hands are bruised purple.
"You're weak. You don't have much muscle," he says. I try to ignore him by continuing with the punches, but he walks over to the other side of me.
"Don't you think I'm aware that I'm not the strongest?" I bluntly spoke, keeping my eyes on the punching bag.
"You're never going to win. Not like that." He states, focussing on my movements.
"Well, that's good to know."
"You're better off using your knees and elbows. You can put more power behind them."
Suddenly he presses a hand to my stomach. His fingers are so long that, though the heel of his hand touches one side of my rib cage, his fingertips still touch the other side. My heart pounds so hard my chest hurts, and I stare at him, wide-eyed.
"Never forget to keep tension here," he says in a quiet voice.
"Okay." I breathed out.
"You're fast, so you could win if you attack first." He stops, looking at me, as I avoid eye contact, "You get inside, you jab to the throat."
"Four!" Eric calls out.
"Keep working." He tells me.
Four lifts his hand and keeps walking. I feel the pressure of his palm even after he's gone, although his touch left a permanent mark on me. It's strange, but I stop and breathe for a few seconds before I keep practicing again.
We were once again called to the middle of the room after some time.
"Since there are an odd number of you, one of you won't be fighting today," says Four, stepping away from the board in the training room. He gives me a look. The space next to my name is blank.
The knot in my stomach unravels. A reprieve.
"This isn't good," says Sarai, nudging me with her elbow. Her elbow prods one of my sore muscles—I have more sore muscles than not-sore muscles, this morning—and I wince.
"Ow."
"Sorry," she says. "But look. I'm up against the Tank."
Sarai and I sat together at breakfast, and earlier she shielded me from the rest of the dormitory as I changed. I haven't had a friend like her before.
I guess I haven't really had a friend, period. It's impossible to have real friendship when everyone else believed that they were a waste of time. That won't happen here. I already know more about Sarai than I ever knew about anyone else.
"The Tank?" I find Sarai's name on the board. Written next to it is "Molly."
"Yeah, Peter's slightly more feminine-looking minion," she says, nodding toward the cluster of people on the other side of the room. Molly is tall like Sarai, but that's where the similarities end. She has broad shoulders, bronze skin, and a bulbous nose.
"Those three"—Sarai points at Peter, Drew, and Molly in turn— "have been inseparable since they crawled out of the womb, practically. I hate them."
Will and Al stand across from each other in the arena. They put their hands up by their faces to protect themselves, as Four taught us, and shuffle in a circle around each other. Al is half a foot taller than will, and twice as broad. As I stare at him, I realize that even his facial features are big—big nose, big lips, big eyes. This fight won't last long.
I glance at Peter and his friends. Drew is shorter than both Peter and Molly, but he's built like a boulder, and his shoulders are always hunched. His hair is orange red, the colour of an old carrot.
"What's wrong with them?" I ask.
"Peter is pure evil. When we were kids, he would pick fights with people from other factions and then, when an adult came to break it up, he'd cry and make up some story about how the other kid started it. And of course, they believed him, because we were Candor and we couldn't lie. Ha ha."
Sarai wrinkles her nose and adds, "Drew is just his sidekick. I doubt he has an independent thought in his brain. And Molly...she's the kind of person who fries ants with a magnifying glass just to watch them flail around."
In the arena, Al punches Will hard in the jaw. I wince. Across the room, Eric smirks at Al, and turns one of the rings in his eyebrow.
Will stumbles to the side, one hand pressed to his face, and blocks Al's next punch with his free hand. Judging by his grimace, blocking the punch is as painful as a blow would have been. Al is slow, but powerful.
Peter, Drew, and Molly cast furtive looks in our direction and then pull their heads together, whispering.
"I think they know we're talking about them," I say.
"So? They already know I hate them."
"They do? How?"
Sarai fakes a smile at them and waves. I look down.
Will hooks a foot around one of Al's legs and yanks back, knocking Al to the ground. Al scrambles to his feet.
"Because I've told them, "she says, through the gritted teeth of her smile. Her teeth are straight on top and crooked on the bottom. She looks at me. "We try to be honest about our feelings in Candor. Plenty of people have told me that they don't like me. And plenty of people haven't. Who cares?"
"We just...weren't supposed to speak to people," I say.
"I like to think I'm helping them by hating them," she says. "I'm reminding them that they aren't God's gift to humankind."
I laugh a little at that and focus on the arena again. Will and Al face each other for a few more seconds, more hesitant than they were before. Will flicks his pale hair from his eyes. They glance at Four like they're waiting for him to call the fight off, but he stands with his arms folded, giving no response. A few feet away from him, Eric checks his watch. It's evident that Will doesn't stand a chance against Al, why are they allowing them to continue? What are with these new rules?
After a few seconds of circling, Eric shouts, "Do you think this is a leisure activity? Should we break for naptime? Fight each other!"
"But..." Al straightens, letting his hands down, and says, "Is it scored or something? When does the fight end?"
"It ends when one of you is unable to continue," says Eric.
"According to Dauntless rules," Four says, "one of you could also concede."
Eric narrows his eyes at Four. "According to the old rules," he says. "In the new rules, no one concedes."
"A brave man acknowledges the strength of others," Four replies.
"A brave man never surrenders."
Four and Eric stare at each other for a few seconds. I feel like I am looking at two different kinds of Dauntless—the honourable kind, and the ruthless kind. But even I know that in this room, it's Eric, the youngest leader of the Dauntless, who has the authority.
Beads of sweat dot Al's forehead; he wipes them with the back of his hand.
"This is ridiculous," Al says, shaking his head. "What's the point of beating him up? We're in the same faction!"
"Oh, you think it's going to be that easy?" Will asks, grinning. "Go on. Try to hit me, slowpoke."
Will puts his hands up again. I see determination in Will's eyes that wasn't there before. Does he really believe he can win? One hard shot to the head and Al will knock him out cold.
That is, if he can actually hit Will. Al tries a punch, and Will ducks, the back of his neck shining with sweat. He dodges another punch, slipping around Al and kicking him hard in the back. Al lurches forward and turns.
When I was younger, I read a book about grizzly bears. There was a picture of one standing on its hind legs with its paws outstretched, roaring. That is how Al looks now. He charges at Will, grabbing his arm so he can't slip away, and punches him hard in the jaw.
I watch the light leave Will's eyes, which are pale green, like celery. They roll back into his head, and all the tension falls from his body. He slips from Al's grasp, dead weight, and crumples to the floor. Cold rushes down my back and fills my chest.
Al's eyes widen, and he crouches next to Will, tapping his cheek with one hand. The room falls silent as we wait for Will to respond. For a few seconds, he doesn't, just lies on the ground with an arm bent beneath him. Then he blinks, clearly dazed.
"Get him up," Eric says. He stares with greedy eyes at Will's fallen body, like the sight is a meal and he hasn't eaten in weeks. The curl of his lip is cruel.
Four turns to the chalkboard and circles Al's name. Victory.
"Next up—Molly and Sarai!" shouts Eric. Al pulls Will's arm across his shoulders and drags him out of the arena.
Sarai cracks her knuckles. I would wish her luck, but I don't know what good that would do. Sarai isn't weak, but she's much narrower than Molly. Hopefully her height will help her.
Across the room, Four supports Will from the waist and leads him out. Al stands for a moment by the door, watching them go.
Four leaving makes me nervous. Leaving us with Eric is like hiring a babysitter who spends his time sharpening knives.
Sarai tucks her hair behind her ears. It is chin-length, black, and pinned back with silver clips. She cracks another knuckle. She looks nervous, and no wonder—who wouldn't be nervous after watching Will collapse like a rag doll?
If conflict in Dauntless ends with only one person standing, I am unsure of what this part of initiation will do to me. Will I be Al, standing over a man's body, knowing I'm the one who put him on the ground, or will I be Will, lying in a helpless heap? And is it logical of me to crave victory, or is it brave? I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants.
I snap to attention when Sarai kicks Molly in the side. Molly gasps and grits her teeth like she's about to growl through them. A lock of stringy black hair falls across her face, but she doesn't brush it away.
Al stands next to me, but I'm too focused on the new fight to look at him, or congratulate him on winning, assuming that's what he wants. I am not sure.
Molly smirks at Sarai, and without warning, dives, hands outstretched, at Sarai's midsection. She hits her hard, knocking her down, and pins her to the ground. Sarai thrashes, but Molly is heavy and doesn't budge.
She punches, and Sarai moves her head out of the way, but Molly just punches again, and again, until her fist hits Sarai's jaw, her nose, her mouth. Without thinking, I grab Al's arm and squeeze it as tightly as I can. I just need something to hold on to. Blood runs down the side of Sarai's face and splatters on the ground next to her cheek. This is the first time I have ever prayed for someone to fall unconscious.
But she doesn't. Sarai screams and drags one of her arms free. She punches Molly in the ear, knocking her off-balance, and wriggles free. She comes to her knees, holding her face with one hand. The blood streaming from her nose is thick and dark and covers her fingers in seconds. She screams again and crawls away from Molly. I can tell by the heaving of her shoulders that she's sobbing, but I can barely hear her over the throbbing in my ears.
Please go unconscious.
Molly kicks Sarai's side, sending her sprawling on her back. I stood there blank; I was becoming the cold cruel person that was expected.
"Stop!" wails Sarai as Molly pulls her foot back to kick again. She holds out a hand. "Stop! I'm..." She coughs. "I'm done."
Molly smiles, and I sigh. Al sighs too, his rib cage lifting and falling.
Eric walks toward the centre of the arena, his movements slow, and stands over Sarai with his arms folded. He says quietly, "I'm sorry, what did you say? You're done?"
Sarai pushes herself to her knees. When she takes her hand from the ground, it leaves a red handprint behind. She pinches her nose to stop the bleeding and nods.
"Get up," he says. His voice quiet and his words precise. He grabs Sarai's arm, yanks her to her feet, and drags her out the door.
"Follow me," he says to the rest of us.
And we do.
I feel the roar of the river in my chest.
We stand near the railing. The Pit is almost empty; it is the middle of the afternoon, though it feels like it's been night for days.
If there were people around, I doubt any of them would help Sarai. We are with Eric, for one thing, and for another, the Dauntless have different rules—rules that brutality does not violate.
Eric shoves Sarai against the railing. She screams but Eric catches her before she falls.
"Woah! Oh!" Sarai lets out.
"Grab onto the rail." Eric orders, "Or don't."
The railing is narrow and made of metal. The spray from the river coats it, making it slippery and cold. Even if Sarai is brave enough to hang from the railing, she may not be able to hold on.
When I close my eyes, I imagine her falling onto the jagged rocks below and shudder.
"You got three options. Hang there and I'll forget your cowardness, fall and die or give up." He speaks while crouching down. But if you give up, you're out.
Next to me, Al sets his watch.
For the first minute and a half, Sarai is fine. Her hands stay firm around the railing and her arms don't shake. I start to think she might make it and show Eric how foolish he was to doubt her.
But then the river hits the wall, and white-water sprays against Sarai's back. Her face strikes the barrier, and she cries out. Her hands slip so she's just holding on by her fingertips. She tries to get a better grip, but now her hands are wet.
As far as I know, Sarai hasn't cried since we got here, but now her face crumples and she lets out a sob that is louder than the river. Another wave hits the wall, and the spray coats her body. One of the droplets hits my cheek. Her hands slip again, and this time, one of them falls from the railing, so she's hanging by four fingertips.
"Come on, Sarai," says Al, his low voice surprisingly loud. Eric stares back at him.
Sarai swings her arm, fumbling for the railing. Al attempts to silently encourage her but I just stare at her and wonder how long I have been this disgustingly selfish.
I stare at Al's watch. Four minutes have passed. He elbows me hard in the shoulder.
Sarai's other hand finds the railing again. Her arms shake so hard I wonder if the earth is quaking beneath me, jiggling my vision, and I just didn't notice.
Al's watch reads 5:00.
"Five minutes are up," he says, almost spitting the words at Eric.
Eric checks his own watch. Taking his time, tilting his wrist.
"Time!" Eric exclaims.
Al walks toward the railing.
Eric doesn't respond. Al reaches over the railing, and he's so tall that he can reach Sarai's wrist. She grabs his forearm. Al pulls her up, his face red with frustration, and I run forward to help. I grip Sarai under the shoulder once she's high enough, and Al and I haul her over the barrier. She drops to the ground, her face still blood-smeared from the fight, her back soaking wet, her body quivering.
"Dauntless never gives up!"
~~~~~
Hey everyone, for all of you reading my fanfic - thank you so much! You don't have to but voting on my chapters would mean so much- no pressure though! This chapter was very long, I'm not sure what way is best but it would be great to know if you prefer them longer or shorter!