Dauntless
Call me Dauntless.
Stupid and arrogant, I know, but it's better than the ridiculous name I gave myself back when I was an overzealous, puffed-up youth, newly Chosen and eager to prove myself. Back then, I was convinced it would make me seem tougher, more masculine, but now I just feel my insides shrivel with embarrassment whenever anyone refers to me by that name.
Though, I suppose I'm still overzealous and puffed-up: titling myself by my occupation leaves me deeply ashamed, especially when hearing it spat my way with such hatred and disgust, but I guess I've made my choice. I'm no different than the ones who insist upon it, as a designation of forced respect, as a way to hold themselves above those they watch over.
I trained up for a few years after my Choosing before being transferred to Amity on a twelve-year contract. My friends, whom I'd known for years, the ones I'd sparred and celebrated and commiserated with, the ones who had beaten their comrades to a pulp, or worse, to "toughen each other up," had laughed themselves hoarse when they heard the news of my assignment. How poor was my assessment that I had to be sent off to guard a bunch of farmers like a common sheepdog? I laughed with them, but I couldn't help feeling secretly relieved at the prospect of standing watch in a field instead of patrolling the Wall or clearing factionless from Erudite premises like some.
During our last night in Dauntless territory, we stayed up late drinking, playing cards, and sharing stories. Underneath the raucous laughter and bravado, there was an undercurrent, the knowledge that this may very well be our last night in our faction, with our family and friends. It's easy for Erudite, for Candor and Abnegation: growing older usually comes with higher knowledge, more outspoken opinions, more fervent religiosity. For us, it's different. When my people can't keep up, we're made factionless. If we even make it that far.
We left at dawn the next day, falling into the new ranks being barked at us by the Leads. The ones who stayed were responsible for training the fresh blood. The rest of our group nodded our final goodbyes to each other before heading to our new faction territories. I was one of three Dauntless on the truck to Amity; the only new recruit.
I arrived at my new destination, received my new uniform and bunk number, and then I found myself standing alone in an empty dormitory, a new member of Amity. I looked around hesitantly, unsure of where to report next.
"Good luck, rookie." I turned to find a Lead Dauntless smirking at me as he walked past my door. "We're every Dauntless for himself out here. Try to fit in somewhere and make it look like you know what you're doing."
I glanced down at the red-and-brown flannel replacing my usual black jacket. "Aren't we part of Amity until we transfer back to Dauntless?"
His laugh echoed down the corridor. "Sure. That's how they'll see it. The others are going to eat you alive. I'm surprised they haven't beaten it out of you yet."
"They tried," I said to myself as I looked out of the dormitory window, at the rows of boundless fields unfolding under a hazy sky. I thought of my friends, some of whom were likely guarding Candor bureaucrats so they might enjoy their afternoon in peace, safe from the dangerously low-class factionless infringing upon their picnics. My stomach clenched, and I prayed I hadn't been sent here on the same assignment. The Dauntless man had long gone, but his message still echoed through the empty dorm, until, in an attempt to shake his words, I turned and left.
My early time in Amity proved to be uneventful. Until it wasn't.
We had been guarding a large group of field workers while they prepped the soil for planting. My colleague had decided that one of them was working too slowly, and had kicked him hard enough that the Amity man fell over. I quickly bent to help him up—an automatic, thoughtless movement—and the worker standing next to him turned sharply, holding his shovel straight out against his arm, inches from my throat. Another automatic movement. We stared at each other, eyes wide, my hands slightly raised, before he slowly lowered the shovel. My colleague appeared out of nowhere, slamming the butt of his rifle against the man's skull, knocking him unconscious.
"You have to be on your guard around these ones. You never know what they'll do."
"What are you talking about? You started this!"
My fury grew the longer I looked at the Dauntless leering at me. Finally, I snarled, "You touch him again, and I'll kill you myself."
But he merely scoffed, and said over his shoulder as he walked back to the edge of the field, "We'll see."
We were called up in front of the Heads that evening. My colleague and I were escorted into the room by two Dauntless holding sleek, powerful guns, so different from our simple hunting rifles.
The two Amity men had been given time to wash and don clean clothes, and were now sat across from us, heads down, hands bound ("for the safety of their fellow faction members").
I started to speak, but was interrupted by the Heads banging their gavel. "Please let it be known," the Heads began, peering over their glasses at the document in their hands, "That member Basil, faction Amity, threatened a fellow faction member, Army, a Dauntless guard."
I listened incredulously as the Heads went on with their report. At the end, they looked over their glasses at the man. "Do you deny any of these allegations?" The man shook his head.
The Heads raised their gavel, and I blurted out, "That isn't what happened." The Amity man—Basil—quickly looked at me, a look of warning, before looking back down at the ground.
I took a deep breath. "Our Venerated Heads, this was our fault. My colleague, he—he tripped this man." I gestured towards the man sitting next to Basil on the bench. "It was an accident, and he fell. When I went to help him up, member Basil thought I was going to hurt him and defended him, rightfully so. It was all a misunderstanding; no one is at fault here.
"These men are innocent," I finished, pointing to the bench without looking at either of the Amity men sitting there, instead imploring the Heads looking down at all of us from their raised podium.
The Heads considered for a moment, putting down the gavel and surveying me underneath their brows. I stared back, refusing to look away.
After a moment of pause, during which the Heads glanced back down at the report and looked again at me, eyebrows slightly raised, they lifted the gavel once more. "Thank you for sharing your testimony; I appreciate your Candor. However, the fact of the matter is that this man," they gestured to Basil, "threatened you as a Dauntless guard. They put their fellow faction members in harms way due to their malicious intent. In consequence thereof, they will be given an equal sentencing of retribution." I felt the air leave my lungs as the gavel hovered in the air for a moment, then fell with a resolute death toll.
The man sitting next to Basil on the bench turned to face him, and they clasped hands. "It's been a long time," I heard Basil say. "They'll be waiting for me."
I was taken by the arm by one of the Dauntless guarding us and made to walk out of the room. I protested against the constraint, twisting to face the now empty lectern. "No. Hey, no! You can't…this isn't—"
"Shut the hell up, unless you want to be next," hissed a voice in my ear.
I looked incredulously at the Dauntless guard holding my arm in a vice grip, half-dragging me to the door. "You can't be serious…" I started to say, but when I saw the expression on his face, I turned back to face the door and allowed myself to be walked out of the room.
Once my colleague and I were released into the hallway and the Dauntless guards had returned to the Trial Room, I growled to the murderous coward next to me, "Get the fuck out of my sight." He glared at me before stalking back to the dormitories, leaving me standing in an empty hallway, surrounded by nothing but the distant echoes of those who had passed through over generations.
I covered someone else's shift that night. I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep anyway, and much preferred pacing around my patrol than lying in bed, simmering with sorrow and rage.
The time had come. I had tried to put it off for as long as possible, desperately switching shifts and taking on more work from my colleagues in an effort to delay the inevitable. But today was the day, the true mark of Dauntless strength and fortitude. I was not ready.
I washed and dressed carefully, taking more time than usual, and slung my hunting rifle over my shoulder as I walked out of the dormitories. I clambered onto the back of the waiting truck, focusing my eyes on the rattling bed beneath my boots as we crossed field after field, to the edge of faction Amity. The edge of the living world.
He was already waiting for me when I arrived, guarded by one of the Dauntless from before, one with a large, shiny gun and spotless, white-grey uniform. The Dauntless nodded to me as he passed Basil to my responsibility, then turned and headed to the truck that had just dropped me off.
We stood there for a moment, in front of a field of tall, drying corn stalks. I had always enjoyed watching these fields gently sway in the wind, seeming to me like an enormous lake of burnished gold. Now, however, as I stood in front of the towering stalks, I felt they might swallow me whole and drown me in an endless, silent sea of bronze.
I turned towards Basil, ready to recite the final instructions of the Rite. Instead, I stopped short as I saw that he wasn't cowering from me in fear, but rather, appraising me with a keen eye. After a moment, he turned and started to walk into the fields, not bothering to wait for me.
"You shouldn't have spoken out against the Heads. They've been watching you, I'm sure," he called over his shoulder. My step faltered, and I quickly regained my composure as I answered, "I know."
I hadn't known, in fact. I'd figured they'd report back to Dauntless if anything like this occurred again under my watch, but I didn't realize they would be keeping such a close eye on me for my outburst.
We reached a small, circular clearing among the corn stalks, one of several meant specifically for this purpose, and turned to face each other.
He again looked at me with that searching eye. "Even so, thank you for saying something."
I tightened my grip on the rifle strap, the leather cutting into my fingers. "It didn't matter, anyway. They'd already made up their mind." My voice sounded bitter and petulant, even to myself.
He shrugged, moving away from me to run a hand over the half-dried stalks. "Even so, it's good to know that it has happened in my lifetime."
"What has happened?"
He turned to look at me. "That there are some of us who have not entirely succumbed to our condition."
I stared at him for a moment, unsure of what he meant by it, as he returned his attention to the corn stalks. "Make it quick, please. Some of your kind do not provide us that dignity when allowed retribution. Perhaps that's why you were assigned here."
I continued to stand mutely, not sure I had heard his words correctly, let alone understood them, until he half-turned, giving me an expectant look; when he saw the expression on my face, he turned to fully face me.
He nodded encouragingly, as if reassuring me that it was going to be alright, that I was going to kill this innocent man and then continue to live the rest of my life in peace, as if nothing had happened. "Make it quick," he said again.
The rifle was still on my shoulder. I didn't make a move to reach for it. "Leave," I said. "Go into the woods. Your people know how to survive in the wilderness. Leave now, I won't say anything."
He looked at me for a long time before he spoke again.
His words hung in the air between us, even after the crack of the rifle, after I walked numbly out of the fields to wait for the next truck, my head in my hands. Even now, after all these years, when I'm laying in bed, I can still hear his voice, the words he said to me.
He used to plague my dreams, but now I only see him every once in a while. I can always tell when I've seen him, even if I don't remember what I'd dreamt, because I'll spend the rest of that day groggy and irritable.
The next morning, I found that I had been transferred from field patrol to Mess Hall duty. I was livid at the penalization, but thought I might finally get the simple, straightforward work I was hoping for all of these years. Perhaps it would help me forget.