There aren't many of us left now, we of the Factions. Now we're just stories in history books. A by-gone era of Factions, of divisions by choices that we make. All just some experiment by people who thought we were broken.
For a long time, I thought I was.
I walk the streets and people nod at me and smile as I go by out of respect. The cold wind nips at me, but the loneliness bites deeper. These streets-this town holds so many memories. There is the tower where Marlene fell. Across town is where Lynne died, and where Will became another victim of this experiment. But there is also the Candor home of my childhood and all the love that I found there. There is the Dauntless trains and the long jump down into my new home. There is the echo of the chasm, the place where I fought for my choices, and where I tasted the best cake.
I remember the tables were filled and it was never truly quiet and never truly safe. It was the edge, where we could all flirt with danger. I remember the faces at each table and room. Eric who taught us, who betrayed us in the end-Al who was too weak. Edward who lost an eye, and fought so hard to unite us all, Molly and Drew who bullied and failed and Peter who lead them, Myra who loved Edward enough to leave, Tori who came so close to finding her Georgie and who gave us our tattoos, and Uriah who always smiled despite all the things he lost, Lauren smirking in the corner while Zeke smiles and teases Shauna as she stands there, Marlene and Lynn standing together whispering, Will smiling at me-only me...And there is Tris, the ravens in flight standing out along her collarbone, her bright eyes shining up at me promising never to leave me again, and clutching Four's hand as if he was the only thing holding her here.
Gone, every single one of them except Peter and I.
He doesn't remember initiation, the terrible things he did, or the good. Sixteen years of his life faded away. And for all the terrible, terrible things he did-I wish he could remember how he saved Tris-how he did have some good in him. But he did the brave thing, erasing his memories and letting himself disappear so that maybe he could be good this time-so no one else would have to suffer under him.
So in a way, I am the last Dauntless left now-at least of the ones we knew.
When I reach the train platform, there are half a dozen people standing in Dauntless Black like I am. I greet them all, and each of them touch the urn cradled in my arm and say proud words to him.
"He was kind and brave."
"He was a great instructor."
"He did so much good in Government, he gave us a chance at happiness."
"He was almost fearless."
"He never let you down."
"He saved my life."
Cara comes up to me, and her eyes are sparkling as she leans on her cane. "I can't believe Four is gone," her voice is soft, and it brings back the memories of her telling us what Tris had done in her halting words. Tris who died to save us all from having our entire minds and existence erased-sometimes, at night I cry wishing that the pain had been erased and the memories. If they had, even if I didn't remember, my best friend would still be alive.
Somehow, someway she would have found me again-she would have loved Four all over again. I can't help but think how stupid my fears were from the simulation, how pale in comparison they were to the stark reality of what happened-of all the people I cared for and lost.
Cara loops my arm, and touches the urn for a moment saying something in that same soft voice
that would have made Four happy to hear, "He was never his father."
I feel the tears sting my eyes, "He can be with Tris now."
We board the stopped train, an old cargo train without seats. Most everyone seems a bit uncomfortable with it, except us Dauntless. But the train picks up speed, and I find my feet teetering on the edge as I hang out the side of the car with Four's urn. I relish the wind in my hair, think back to the day we spread Tris' ashes when Four hung out of the car like this. How happy he would be, how happy Tris would be-the true Dauntless thrill of flying.
We pass the Hancock building, and something pulls in me reminding me of the by-gone days of soaring from the top to the bottom-of spreading Tris' ashes there when Four braved his fears for her.
I think of her like that, flying and blowing in the breeze-finally free. Imagine that she is there in every gust of wind that blows through the town, that it's her fingers reaching out and touching me when I'm alone.
But I'm not alone, she's always there-kept alive in memories, of the stories that Four and I had shared over and over again. Over time, the memories had softened and blurred-not so painful, not so cruel to me anymore.
Peter touches my arm, and I turn to him seeing a kind of sadness on his face. "I read about our initiations, Christina." He is old, and tired. "I read about the things that a boy named Peter did, and-
"It wasn't you," I say it gently.
"But it's my name. I hurt that boy Edward, I almost killed Tris." His eyes are filled with hurt.
"That was another lifetime, it wasn't you Peter."
"But-"
"No," I say it firmly, remembering how Four had watched him disappear, had watched him begin again-how he had wanted to do the same to stop hurting. But in the end, knowing was better. Knowing Tris even if it hurt was better. "Listen Peter, the only thing that matters is who you are now. That person in Initiation wasn't you. Don't let it change who you are now." I pause, "And you saved Tris once too. You saved her. Remember that."
It seems so short a time before we glide to a stop at the old fairgrounds and the wind dies down. I get down heavily, my limbs stiff and aching reminding me that I am old. I see that the place is covered with people-people who remember Four as Tobias, who did great things in government-the man who was selfless, who was kind-who had a purer heart than any stupid gene test could say.
Four died the day Tris did, in a way. The man who feared becoming his father, the man who felt that he was broken when they told him he wasn't Divergent-like we all felt when we were told we weren't pure.
It changed him.
He put away his gun, and he used his words. He showed us all that we didn't have to be defined by factions-that any one of us could be brave, selfless, truthful, intelligent, and peaceful because Tris didn't.
Most of these people here don't know her, don't know her as anything short of some "rebel who died." They didn't know the reasons she did it, to save each of them-to show that no one was damaged or impure. That's why Tobias spent a lifetime practicing and teaching those things-to honour her because no one would know her story.
Cara and I were the last ones who were there-who could remember her for all of the things she did. It's a shame that the details of her last great sacrifice will die with us.
Peter and the other Dauntless come to the feet of the mighty steel beast-eight of us. Peter opens a flask and takes a sip before passing it to me, and to the others. "I remembered this part," he smiles.
"Of course you would," I laugh.
I call to Cara and she joins us with the flask, and bottles are passed around to others. Cara tells me that she had it done, she knew it was the Dauntless way. People are confused with this kind of mourning, it's not the typical way.
I take another chug from a bottle and place the urn in the bag that Cara gives me. I climb the ladder in the middle of the ferris wheel, remembering how Four told me how fearless Tris had been to climb. In some ways, I imagine she's just ahead calling me to move faster.
My joints ache as I reach the old platform, but when I stand there for a moment on it I can see the old battle for the flag as if ghostly members are running across the field. I feel the pulse of triumph of grabbing the flag, and the ache of shame of taking it away from Tris.
This place meant something to Four, that's why he wanted his ashes spread here. It meant something to them. He had only ever loved her. He had changed, he had become something with his life-but he had never really moved on from her just as I had never moved on from Will. Fifty years gone, and still in love with him as much as back then. And I'd loved him an even shorter time than Four and Tris had had.
I pull the megaphone from the bag and I shout out from the barrier as the wind whips around me, "Quiet down, everyone!" The same words that Eric had said so long ago. "Today, we mourn the loss of Tobias Eaton. He made laws to help us and to protect us. He helped run this town, helped us learn to be more than the Factions we were. He taught me that I could be the Candor of my birth and the Dauntless of my choosing. Anyone that knew Tobias Eaton knew him for his selflessness, for his peacefulness. He came from a world of Factions, from Abgenation. He chose to be Dauntless, he chose to overcome his fears-that's why we Dauntless called him Four. He had Four fears. But he put those things aside. Dauntless became not what defined him, but an adjective for what he is-was. There are many things that he was."
I pause, feeling the tears starting to roll down my face. "He was Abnegation. He was was a Friend. He was a Fighter. He was a Pacifist. He was a Son. He was a Politician. He was a Lover. He was Four." I stop, "Those are some of the words to describe him. But what you best know him for is for Beatrice's Law. He made it, under that law-a crime to punish someone for so called blood impurities or Factions or Groupings. The law protected people from being judged by their ancestors or pre-conceived notions of inferiorities and embraced an individual's right to embrace their heritage.
"And so I know that he would not mind that we stand here and honour him in an ancient Dauntless tradition. So lift your bottles!" I shout it louder and watch as people lift their bottles. "Today we toast Tobias Eaton! Four has taken the last train home. He has gone on before us, on a path that one day we all will tread. We will not cry for him and mourn him with bitter tears! We will not be sad or angry that Four has gone on. We will celebrate his life! We will drink to his courage, to his memory that will last forever!"
I hear the shouts of Four echoing at the base of the Ferris Wheel. The sound of it catches and grows louder and louder as more voices take it up. The thrum of it fills my chest and hums in my ears like the water in the chasm of our old home. It fills my being all the way to my fingertips until every part of me feels more alive than ever before-for one fleeting moment, it's as though everyone is here and the wind is whipping and howling. I touch my finger to ravens in flight along the inside of my forearm-each inscribed with a name.
Will.
Marlene.
Tris.
Uriah.
Zeke.
Shauna.
Four.
I drink the toast and stand up there waiting for the sun to go down. The crowd trickles away, though some still stay. At sundown though, Peter and Cara come to join me.
They make the long climb to the top, and somehow we all squeeze together on the platform. I take out the urn and hold it for a moment. "This is it," the heat in my chest spreads and my eyes sting.
Cara takes off the top and reaches her hand in to the urn. She grabs a fistful of ashes in her hands, then I do, then Peter. Each of us hold our hands out palm up.
"Now," Cara says and we each open our hands. The fine ash drifts through our fingers and dances on the wind. Somewhere out there maybe his and Tris' ashes are mingling.
I take the rest of the urn and shake the contents in the air, letting it blow away. Four is finally free.
"Do you think…" Peter pauses, "Do you think that he'll find her?"
Cara shrugs, "We don't know what's out there...what's after."
"Yes," I say gently. "He'll find her." I'll find you too, Will. "This is their happily ever after. This is the part that doesn't suck." Peter grips my elbow lightly, and Cara's fingers find mine. It's those small actions that mean everything.