Divergent: A Retelling

Dauntless has Many Skills

That morning, I wake with a groan. It seems to be my new morning routine. My arms, shoulders, back and legs are sore. It's hard to move. I get dressed, putting my clothes on as slowly and gently as possible. We go to the training room and the platform has been removed from the middle of the room. There is a long table with a bunch of short, silver knives on it and on the wall are faded blue and white targets with a red bullseye.

Knife throwing. I'd heard rumors about this in the pit. I'm kind of excited.

Eric stands in the middle of the room, rigid. Like his spine is made out of metal. The way he scans us makes me cringe. Today will not be an easy day. "Tomorrow will be the last day of stage one." Says Eric. "You will resume fighting then. Today, you'll learn how to aim, and throw." His voice sounds deeper and more commanding than usual "Everyone pick up three knives. Pay attention while Four demonstrates the correct technique for throwing." At first, no one moves. "Now!" We all run to the table and grab our knives. I've only ever used a knife when separating and cutting apart stocks from the amity farms and orchards. The daggers are smaller than a gun. Lighter too. As Four grabs three daggers and walks in front of a target, Eric gives him a murderous stare. He must be more upset about losing last night than he's letting on. He's not the only one. I would've preferred to be on the winning team with my friends.

To guys like Eric, it's a matter of pride. Pride is important in Dauntless. More important than reasonable.

Four throws his first knife. Planting his feet, holding the dagger loosely, yet firmly. It sinks into the middle of the target with a loud thud. He exhales every time he releases the dagger. His stance is strong and balanced. "Line up!" Eric orders. I think that we shouldn't be so hasty when carrying knives. It'll only get someone hurt. I learned that from my mother when she taught me how to shuck the corn. Sure, there are ways to speed up the process, but when you act dangerously to do so, you will hurt yourself. A pang. I miss my mom. I know the dream I had about her was unrealistic and nothing like her, but it still hurts. I pick my target and practice throwing the knife without actually holding it. Once I'm happy with my form, I practice with my knife. Eric paces behind us, making me feel uneasy. I am one of the people he will blame for losing last night. "Hey, I think the stiff had one too many hits to the head! Hey stiff, remember what a knife is?" Says Peter, taunting Tris. I glare at him. "Shut up, Peter." I say, without turning to him. "Whatever, sunshine."
He says, throwing his knife. He misses.

"Hey Peter, remember what a target is?" Says Tris loudly. I can't help but laugh. Peter glares at me. "You do it then." I hold my knife just like Four did. I bring my arm back and throw as hard as I can, keeping my form. It hits the center of the target, burying itself. I turn to him, smirking at his surprised look. "I'm only mildly impressed." He mutters. "Good job."
Says Eric, walking up to me. "If only you'd had that accuracy last night."
I bite my tongue. It'll only encourage him if I retort.

Half an hour later, Al is the only initiate who hasn't hit the target. If he hasn't hit it by now, he won't last long. As I walk to my target to grab my daggers, he hunts the floor for his. I look at him sadly. Eric is going to make it a hard day for him for sure. I watch him as I throw my knives. He throws again and misses. "How slow are you, Candor?" Says Eric, walking up to him. Oh no. I watch intently. "Do you need glasses? Should I move the target closer?" My face turns red with anger as Al's turns red with embarrassment. Al throws another knife and it sails right past the target and into the wall. "What was that, initiate?" Asks Eric in a loud, exaggerated, leaning closer to Al. I keep throwing my knives to look busy, still paying attention to Al and Eric. "It-it slipped." Al stutters. "Go get it."
Says Eric harshly. Eric looks at the rest of us, who've all stopped throwing, even Peter. "Did I tell you to stop?" We start throwing our knives again. It's hard to hear over the sound of daggers sinking into wood. "Go-go get it?" Al stutters, shocked. "But everyone's still throwing." "And?" Says Eric, raising an eyebrow. "I don't wanna get hit." Says Al. Eric clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. "I think you can trust your fellow initiates to have better aim than you." Says Eric coldly. "Go get your knife." Al usually stays quiet, not objecting to anything Eric or Four tells us to do; because he knows objecting would be useless. This time, he sets his jaw and folds his arms. He's reached his limit of compliance. "No." "Why not?" Says Eric, narrowing his eyes. "Are you afraid?" "Of getting stabbed by an airborne knife? Yes, yes I am." He says, not shifting his stance. His mistake is honesty. Eric may have accepted his refusal alone, but not now. "Everyone stop!" Shouts Eric. He says it so loudly and so suddenly that I almost drop my knife. There's belated breath as we watch Al and Eric. You could hear a pin drop. "Now. Go. Get. The knife." Says Eric, dangerously slowly. I glance nervously at Four. His arms are folded and he's watching closely. Al walks silently to the target and yanks the knife from the wall. "Stand in front of the target."
Says Eric. Al's head snaps up. My breath hitches in my throat. I knew something like this was going to happen.