"Statistically," says Will over the following Monday's breakfast, "there's no way that all of us can get our asses kicked. There are eighty-two of us, and based on most of our classmates' patterns, I'm willing to bet that most of them are in the same boat that we are. At least one of us will get matched up with someone they can beat."
Christina rolls her eyes. "I don't think you can Erudite your way out of this one, Will. All the numbers in the world won't stop you from getting punched in the mouth."
"Did you just use a proper noun as a verb?"
"Okay, so not the point," says Christina.
At the same time Al laughs. "Will with the straight priorities here."
He huffs. "Can I go like five minutes without someone mocking me?"
"Don't make it so easy then." I grin at him.
"You guys really are the worst." He pouts. "I hope I get matched against one of you, then we'll see who's laughing."
It feels good to laugh at him, to smother my anxiety with a pillow made out of jokes. The fights don't start until after lunch; I have plenty of time for last minute practice. Four would never deign to admit it to me, but I know I'm getting better. I can feel it.
Eric is in the training room once again when we come back from lunch and he looks absolutely giddy with excitement.
"Maybe someone will vomit on the mat," he fake whispers to Four.
Four rolls his eyes, face remaining that flat frown it always is. "That sounds like fun to clean up."
"Your problem, not mine." Eric claps a hand on his shoulder pseudo-affectionately; Four looks like he wants to break his hand for this offense.
Everyone's names have been written on two whiteboards. Before I can even find my name, Christina elbows Tris in the ribs as she says, "Oh shit."
Tris groans in pain.
"Look," Christina points to the board, "I'm up against the tank."
I have watched Molly train this last week; I have watched everyone train this last week. She's huge and uses this to her advantage, her swings are like a wrecking ball coming at you. Christina is small, but she might be faster. She needs to be faster.
"Al," Will punches Al gently in the shoulder, "I wish you luck, buddy."
"Thanks," says Al as he rubs his shoulder. "And ow."
I find my name next to Edward's and Tris' next to Myra's. This should go great for us, up against the guy who Will says has been taking martial arts for years and his girlfriend. I watch them across the training room; Edward oozes easy confidence, Myra is looking back at us with some trepidation.
"Al and Will!" Four calls. "On the mat."
"Nothing personal." Will claps Al on the shoulder and squeezes before following Four's order.
Al follows, but looks like he's going to be sick. When Four signals for them to begin, they shuffle slowly around one another, guards raised but neither moving in for an attack. The rest of us are set to work doing other things; running laps, lifting weights, practicing for our own impending matches. I have been working on my flexibility, but really it's just an excuse to watch my boys.
When did they become your boys? asks the part of my brain that is still wary.
The practiced jabs Will and Al throw at each other remind me of the way that actors fight on stage, maybe even less natural than that.
Then Al catches Will in the jaw and with the impact all illusions of safety vanish. His head snaps horribly to the right as he grunts in pain. I find myself filled with the urge to run to him, to make sure that everything's okay.
"Will," Al gasps, pulling his hands back with undisguised horror.
Will uses the opening in his guard to swing back and Al only just manages to block it with his arm. He says, "Hey, nothing personal, remember?"
Al is strong but not fast, and Will takes full advantage of this. He ducks and weaves into Al's guard, landing one quick hit before dancing out of range again.
It drags, and both boys slow down. Four should call the fight at some point and we all know it. Will scrapes the wisps of strawberry blonde out of his face as Al backs off.
"Do you two think this is a leisure activity?!" snaps Eric. "Hurry up and fight!"
"How are we supposed to know when to stop?" Will drops his guard entirely.
"I'll call it whe–"
"When one of you is unable to continue," Eric interrupts Four.
Al furrows his brow. "Isn't that a little…extreme?"
"A brave man never concedes. You get knocked down, you get back up until you can't; got it?"
Reluctantly, Al approaches Will again. Will is defensive, Al's policy seems to be that the best defense is a good offense. One good shot would take Will down, but Al can't seem to get in that good shot. His blows glance off and Will keeps dancing.
Christina and I duck behind a pillar near the track so we can turn all of our attention to the match. Tris is across the room struggling through bicep curls but with her eyes fixed on the mat as well. We all have a perfect view of Al catching Will, tripping him up, hitting him hard in the jaw. Will's pale green eyes roll back into his head as he reels, stumbles, tries to stay on his feet, drops and doesn't get up again.
"That's enough," Four calls.
Al drops to Will's side, though he already seems to be recovering.
"Get up," says Eric, his voice void of sympathy. He puts one hand on Al's shoulder. "And you, good job."
Al looks disgusted and does not thank him. He helps Will over to the edge of the room to sit down, and Four does not chastise us when we all move toward him. There is a cooler of ice packs near the door that Tris swipes from before following us.
"Hey," Christina takes his hand, "you did well."
Will just grunts in response as Four circles Al's name on the board before calling up the next pair. Will presses the ice pack to his face, but when Al sits down beside him looking miserable, he tries at a smile and leans his head on his shoulder.
"No hard feelings, right, bud?"
"Right," said Al, not looking like he believes Will even a little bit.
Will is allowed to rest for just ten minutes before one of the assistant trainers – Gideon, who is the hardest on us aside from Four – calls him out for not working. The only thing that keeps me from snapping at him is Will putting his hand on my shoulder and guiding me toward the weights. It's not fair and it's not right, and we both know it; everyone here knows it. But the definitions of 'fair' and 'right' are different in Dauntless; I'm just not sure what they are yet.
I am called forty-five minutes later knowing full well that I'm not going to win this fight. From what I've seen, Edward's blows are powerful and he moves with the grace that only comes from years of training. But I can be proud of myself for not trembling as I take off my shoes and step onto the map. Edward offers me a smile, and I am so used to faking the same expression that doing it now is the most natural anything has felt so far.
We are staring at each other for a small infinity. His eyes are a saturated blue and his face is relaxed as he rushes me. I feel a spike of panic as I jump from his path, but he is so much lighter on his feet than his size would suggest. Four taught us how to block last Tuesday, but nothing could prepare me for the sheer force of his fist making contact with my arm.
The part of my brain that is still an animal on a distant savanna, the base part whose only goal is survival, tells me to just run. He is stronger than me, and he is faster than me, and he is going to hurt me.
But I don't run. I don't run because I learned a long time ago that if you panic then you've already lost, and I am a viciously sore loser. I don't run because I've never backed down from a challenge before. I don't run because I chose Dauntless and I am going to be brave because that's all I can be now.
But it hurts, of course it hurts, and I find myself forgetting the form I was taught to hold. The hits that I manage to land don't have nearly the impact I was hoping for and Edward never falters once. He moves like he already knows what I'm going to do and is not impressed.
According to Four, we're supposed to be better under pressure and I remember thinking he was wrong at the time. I know he is wrong now. I know that I've lost when he manages to grab me and then everything is lurching. I am staring at my blood dripping onto the off-white mat, remembering the white of the Choosing Hall's stage. Distantly, I think that I should get up, but my legs don't agree.
"Hey." A shape crouches in front of me; tall, and broad, and blond. "Hey, Ice Queen."
At least my mouth still works well enough to say, "Shut up."
"Ah, she lives." I can make out a smile splitting his face and his blue eyes crinkling. "How do you feel?"
I make a 'blarg' sound that I think gets my point across.
"Fair enough, fair enough."
"Off the mat, both of you," says someone in the distance, underwater. My eyes focus just enough to make out glimmering piercings and badly dyed blonde hair.
I am being hoisted off the ground from under my arms as slowly my thoughts begin to trickle in. Not fast enough to keep myself upright though and I find everything listing heavily to the left.
"Eyup." The arm tightens around me and Edward says, "Yikes."
"Initiate infirmary's out the door to the left, first hallway branching off. There's a sign, you can't miss it," says Four.
"To the infirmary we go then." Edward helps me stumble away as the next pair takes their positions.
The hallway is darker and quieter, making focusing on my steps easier.
"So why does Four call you Ice Queen anyways?" Edward wonders aloud.
"Because he sucks."
He snorts with laughter. There is a bruise starting to bloom on the side of his face; when did that happen?
"You got me good," he says when he notices me staring, "I'll give you that."
"I didn't win."
He shrugs, carrying my arm with the motion. "But you got me."
I'm not used to Erudite, or former Erudite, doing anything but relishing their wins. Maybe Casey would offer some small comfort to an opponent, but most people wouldn't. I'm not even sure I could.
Edward throws open a door to reveal a small row of beds and a woman sitting at a computer. Her face is lined with age, but her hair is a vibrant red and aqua. She smiles at us, but there's a tiredness to it.
"Oh, already then?" She stands and helps Edward guide me to the first of the beds, which I fall onto like all of my bones have melted away. "Suppose it's too much to think that we'd make it through even the first day of fights without Four sending me a couple little gifts. Come here, darlings, let's see what the damage is."
She gives Edward some ice for his bruises, then sends him on his way. For me she wipes the blood that had been flowing down my face away.
"You can call me Phyllis. What's your name?"
"Um…" I blink slowly; it still feels like I'm trying to think through molasses. "Mimi Malachite."
"Well, Mimi, I'll take a look at you to make sure the damage isn't too severe, get you some ice and some painkillers, and you'll be back out there right as rain."
She talks to me as I pull myself together again, telling me about how she saw us all jumping down and how excited she is to meet us, though hopes we won't get scraped too badly. She laughs when I tell her Four won't let us make it out any other way.
"Oh that boy is…interesting," she says with a fond smile that tells me our definitions of the word are not the same. "You know, he only took over last year after…after the whole business with Amar. No, you're a transfer, of course you don't know. He's a good kid though, trying his best. These new standards on the other hand…" Her eyes flicker away as she sighs. "But never mind that; how are you doing?"
"Better." The ice is blessedly cool against my throbbing head and the painkillers should kick in soon. "Definitely better."
"Then you should be good to go. Come back if something is wrong, there's always someone here or there's the larger medical wing in Section J. Did Four hand out the maps?"
"Maps?" I repeat.
She sighs through teeth. "Oh of course. Of course!" She flutters her hands around. "Sorry, love, everyone's a bit scatterbrained these days. There was supposed to be a welcome pack and…You know what, don't worry about it. You just go back."
I return just in time to catch the end of Tris and Myra's fight. It's close, maybe closer than anyone would have expected out of Tris. Neither of them are very strong, but Myra has had Edward to practice with and that is what wins her the fight. Still she extends a hand up to Tris after the fight is called. Tris still looks at it like it's going to bite her.
"You would think all of that pent up energy from being Abnegation would have helped," says Will when Tris has made her way back to us.
"Oh shut up." She gives him a light shove.
The fight between Peter and Drew is quick and brutal. Christina had said they're friends, but I never would have guessed from the way that Peter comes at him.
"He used to pick fights with kids at school," Christina tells me. "Kids that no one would care if they got pushed around and when they told someone he would lie and get away with it because, you know, Candor." She frowns at the floor. "Don't know how no one ever snapped and hit him back."
"Maybe they will now."
She looks back to the floor with intensity. "Hope so."
"That," Eric claps a hand on Peter's shoulder when Drew falls and doesn't get up again, "is how you do it."
At least I'm not the only one who looks disgusted.
Will squeezes Christina's shoulders when Four calls for her. The five of us have been clustered around the weights for the last thirty minutes, pretending to workout whenever Four or one of the assistants would glance in our direction.
"You're going to do great," he says.
"We'll cheer if you want us to," Al adds.
Christina gives a wavering smile as she stands. "Thanks, but I'll pass." Her hands shake as she wraps them and all I want is to take them in my own.
Molly is waiting for her with vicious glee. Christina is quick, but her hits seem to do nothing even though the form she holds is exactly what Four taught us. When her foot connects with Molly's side, I half expect the other girl to snarl. Some of her choppily cut brown hair falls into her eyes, but then she dives for Christina's middle and they crash to the ground in a heap. Christina thrashes and scrambles to get away, but Molly uses her size to her advantage.
She holds Christina down as her fist meets her face over and over again. I keep waiting for Four to call the match, but he doesn't. Will is holding my hand again, Tris is clinging to Al, who looks nauseous. All of the other initiates have stopped to watch the horror show and I am praying that Christina will just pass out so that it can be over.
Instead she drags herself away like someone would if they were pinned under a large rock. I see long marks where Molly's nails tried to find purchase on her arm. She doesn't get up, she barely breathes. But then Molly gets up and kicks her hard, sending her sprawling once again.
I am going to be sick. I am either going to be sick or do something very stupid. Not sure which yet.
Christina is sobbing at this point but manages to get out a strangled, "Stop!" She holds her hands up to clumsily protect her face, every part of her shaking. "Stop, stop! I'm done!"
A satisfied smile curls across Molly's face as she steps away. Immediately I am running to Christina and I hear the sound of the others behind me. But then Eric steps onto the mat and fixes us with a look that stops me dead.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?" He looks down at Christina. "You're done?"
"I'm done," she repeats after a violent cough.
"That's not for you to decide. Four and I call the fights."
"Eric," says Four, sounding exasperated, "give it a rest."
"Quiet," he snaps back. "I said no concessions. They go until one of them is unable to continue."
"Unable to continue?" says Christina and then much more loudly, "Unable to continue?! I'm – I'm fucking bleeding! I can't breathe! 'Unable to continue'; what is wrong with you?!"
The tension in the room is thick enough to cut. No one moves, no one speaks; Eric just stares at Christina.
At last he says very softly, "Get up."
Dauntless are loud. Dauntless are explosive, at least that's what I've always heard. Angry Dauntless yell and fight. The quiet anger is when you know the worst is yet to come. It's the tone that my mother takes when someone makes a snide comment about one of my siblings or I, that soft "What did you say?". Seeing it now, on Eric, makes me very afraid.
The next pair starts toward the mat when Christina picks herself up on shaking legs, but Eric holds up a hand for them to stop.
"Follow me." Eric looks back at the rest of us. "All of you."
"What are you doing?" Four moves toward him.
"I'm teaching her a lesson."
Christina, suddenly aware of how bad things are about to get, starts to back away but Eric grips her arm like a vice and he begins to drag her toward the door.
"Hold on–" Four starts but Eric doesn't listen. Of course I am running after them and I can hear others behind me. Christina is stumbling, but Eric doesn't seem to care.
The sound of the Chasm echoes all around me as Eric leads Christina to the bridge, then looks back at us in a way that we all understand to mean that if we join them, if we move at all, we'll regret it.
Panting, Christina opens her mouth to ask a question, but in a burst of violence Eric shoves her hard against the metal railing. She screams, grabbing desperately onto the metal.
"Climb over it," he orders.
"What?" she replies after finding her footing again.
"Eric!" Four exclaims. "What are you doing?!"
"I already said." Eric barely spares him a glance. "I'm teaching her a lesson. Christina, you have three choices here: you can hang off this bridge for five minutes and I will forgive your cowardice, you can fall and die, or you can give up. But if you do, you'll be factionless."
"That's insane!" exclaims one initiate.
"Can he actually…?" Will hisses at me.
"That can't be legal," says someone else.
More dissent starts to spread among us, some moving toward them. But Eric roars, "Quiet! I have the authority here! Here and everywhere else! And if you all don't shut up, you'll join her."
Heads turn to Four, waiting for him to stop this, but instead he walks away. Eric seems pleased by this and he turns back to Christina. "Go on."
Christina grits her teeth. "Fine." As she says this, a spray of water brushes her feet and the bottom of the bridge.
The whole crowd seems to hold our breath as she climbs over the bars, knuckles turning pale with how hard she grips the top rung. Al sets his watch and so does Eric.
For the first minute, everything is fine. Well, as fine as they can be. Christina doesn't spare Eric a glance. Instead, she looks at all of us. We should be helping her; we should be standing up to Eric, that would be real bravery. But we don't; I don't, and I hate myself for it.
But then the river comes up to crash against her, soaking her body and the bridge, slamming her head against the metal. She screams louder than the roar. A fresh wound opens on her forehead, dripping blood into her eyes. She holds on with everything she has, but now her hands are wet. My mind is flooded with images of her plummeting, screaming, being shattered on the rocks below.
Another wave and one hand falters, slipping off and she doesn't seem to have the energy to bring it back up.
"You can do it!" Al calls. "Come on, two more minutes, Chris! You've got this!"
Will joins him, and I do too, then other people until we are all shouting for her to pull through. Even Drew starts to say something before Peter elbows her in the ribs. Just one more minute. Just hang on a little longer; it's almost over.
Christina swings her free arm up again, looking away from us for just a moment. I can't tell what is her tears and what is the river's water.
At fifteen seconds to time, Four returns with three people in tow: Phyllis and two other people dressed in medical uniforms. I want to scream at him so badly for walking away from us, for leaving Christina to handle Eric's cruelty without defense.
But then Al's watch beeps and he calls, "Done!"
Eric takes his time looking at his own watch, then down at Christina. I am already in motion toward them. Eric holds up his hand to stop me, "Let her get back up herself."
"That wasn't the deal!" I snarl, fury and fear making me sound a little hysterical. "She did what you said; leave her alone!" I take a deep breath, at some point Al, Will, and Tris came up behind me. I look Eric dead in the eyes as I say, "Get. Out. Of. My. Way."
Eric stares back at me for a long time; I don't care. Al and Will are bending to reach for Christina, and Tris and I join them when we can reach. The four of us drag her back to safety and her knees give out from under her on the bridge. We lower her to the ground as she buries her face into her hands and sobs. We four fold in on her like human shields, holding her as one.