Chapter seven: The battles begin!
Chapter seven!
"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, reveling the names.
"This isn't good," I say, nudging Tris with my elbow. my elbow prods her arm, Tris winces.
"Ow."
"Sorry," I apologize.
"But look. I'm up against the Tank." Tris and I sat together at breakfast, and earlier I shielded Tris from the rest of the dormitory as she changed. She offers to do the same for me, but I don't care if people see me in my bra. I haven't had a friend like her since Sophie. I wonder how's she's doing now in Abnegation.It's impossible to have real friendship when your always honest with each other. That won't happen here. I already know more about Tris than I ever knew about Sophie, and it's only been two days.
"The Tank?" Tris asks.
"Yeah, Peter's slightly more feminine-looking minion," I say, nodding towards the cluster of people on the other side of the room. Molly is as tall as me, but I'm not as mean as her. She has broad shoulders, bronze skin, and a bulbous nose.
"Those three"—I point 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.
All 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 color of an old carrot.
"What's wrong with them?" Tris asks.
"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." I wrinkle my nose and add, "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. 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," Tris says.
"So? They already know I hate them." I mention.
"They do? How?" Tris asks. I fake a smile at them, and wave. 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," I says, through the gritted teeth of my smile. "We try to be pretty 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 hurt people," I say.
"I like to think I'm helping them by hating them," I say. "I'm reminding them that they aren't God's gift to humankind." Tris laugh a little at that and i focus on the arena again. Will and All 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 c all the fight off, but he stands with his arms folded, giving no response. A few feet away from him, Eric checks his watch. After a few seconds of circling, Eric shouts,
"Do you think this is a leisure activity? Should we break for nap-time? 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 honorable 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 All will knock hi m out cold. That is, if he can actually hit Will. All tries a punch, and Will ducks, the back of his neck shining with sweat. He dodges another punch, slipping a round All and kicking him hard in the back. All lurches forward and turns. Al 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 celery green eyes. 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 a t 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 Christina!" shouts Eric. Al pulls Will's arm across his shoulders and drags him out of the arena. I cracks my knuckles. I need to win, i can't let Molly beat me. I tuck my hair behind my ears. It is chin-length, black, and pinned back with silver clips. I crack another knuckle. I put my hands up to defend myself, and before Molly has the chance to prepare herself I kick 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.
Molly smirks at me, and without warning, dives, hands outstretched, at my midsection. She hits me hard, knocking me down, and pins me to the ground. I thrash at Molly, but Molly is heavy and doesn't budge. She punches, and I move my head out of the way, but Molly just punches again, and again, until her fist hits my jaw, nose, and mouth.
Blood runs down the side of my face and splatters on the ground next to my cheek. I scream and drag one of my arms free, and use it to punch Molly in the ear, knocking her off-balance, and I wriggle free. I come to my knees, holding my face with one hand. The blood streaming from my nose is thick and dark and covers my fingers in seconds. I scream again and crawl away from Molly.
Molly kicks my side, sending me sprawling on her back. I clench my teeth to keep from crying out. I want to continue fighting, but I can't. I clutch my rib cage.
"Stop!" I wail as Molly pulls her foot back to kick again. I holds out a hand. "Stop! I'm..." She coughs. "I'm done." Molly smiles, Eric walks toward the center of the arena, his movements slow, and stands over me with his arms folded.
He says quietly, "I'm sorry, what did you say? You're done?" I push myself to my knees. When I take my hand from the ground, it leaves a red hand print behind. I pinch my nose to stop the bleeding and nod.
"Get up," he says. If he had yelled, I might not have felt like everything inside my stomach was about to come out of it. If he had yelled, I would have known that the yelling was the worst he planned to do. But his voice is quiet and his words precise. He grabs my arm, yanks me to my feet, and drags me out the door. "Follow me," he says to the rest of the initiates. And they do.
Eric shoves me against the railing. "Climb over it," he says.
"What?" I say it, like I expects him to relent, but my wide eyes and ashen face suggest otherwise. Eric will not back down.
"Climb over the railing," Eric says again, pronouncing each word slowly. "If you can hang over the chasm for five minutes, I will forget your cowardice. If you can't, I will not allow you to continue initiation." The railing is narrow and made of metal. The spray from the river coats it, making it slippery and cold. Either I decide to be factionless, or I risk death. I'd rather be dead than factionless. I have to do it, I have to!
"Fine," I say, my voice shaking. I am tall enough to swing my leg over the railing. My foot shakes. I put my toe on the ledge as I lift my other leg over. Facing the other initiates, I wipe my hands on my pants and I hold on to the railing so hard my knuckles turn white. Then I take one foot off the ledge. And the other. I press my lips pressed together. I will do this. For the first minute and a half, I'm fine. My hands stay firm around the railing and My arms don't shake. I start to think that I will make it and show Eric how foolish he was to doubt me. But then the river hits the wall, and white water sprays against my back.
My face strikes the barrier, and I cry out. My hands slip so I'm just holding on by my fingertips. I try to get a better grip, but now my hands are wet. I haven't cried since we got here, but now my face crumples and I let out a sob that is louder than the river. Another wave hits the wall and the spray coats my body. My hands slip again, and this time, one of them falls from the railing, so I'm hanging by four fingertips.
"Come on, Christina," says Al, his low voice surprisingly loud. I look at him. He claps. "Come on, grab it again. You can do it. Grab it." I swing my arm, fumbling for the railing. No one else cheers me on, but Al brings his big hands together and shouts, his eyes holding mine. Four minutes have passed. He elbows Tris hard in the shoulder.
"Come on," I say. My voice is a whisper. I clear my throat. "One minute left," I say, louder this time.
My other hand finds the railing again. My arms shake so hard. I would really appreciate the cheers if I wasn't about to die.
"Come on, Christina," Al and Tris say, and as their voices join, I believe I might be strong enough to do this. Another wave of water splashes against my back, and I shriek as both my hands slip off the railing.
A scream launches from Tris's mouth. My fingers slide down the metal.
"Five minutes are up," Al says, almost spitting the words at Eric. Eric checks his own watch.Taking his time, tilting his wrist, all while my stomach twists and I can't breathe.
"Fine," Eric says. "You can come up, Christina." Al walks toward the railing. "No," Eric says. "She has to do it on her own."
"No, she doesn't," Al growls. "She did what you said. She's not a coward. She did what you said." Eric doesn't respond. ll reaches over the railing, and he's so tall that he can reach my wrists. I grab his forearm. Al pulls me up, his face red with frustration, and Tris run forward to help. She's too short to do much good, as I suspected, but she grips me under my shoulder once I'm high enough, All and Tris haul me over the barrier.
I drop to the ground, my face still blood-smeared from the fight, my back soaking wet, my body quivering. Tris kneels next to me. My eyes lift to hers, then shift to Al, and we all catch our breath together.