The Unlucky Ones

[22] - Knives

[Tobias]

THE NEXT MORNING, when I trudge into the training room, a large target stands at one end of the room. Next to the door is a table with knives strewn across it. Target practice again. Eric takes his place in the center of the room, his posture so rigid it looks like someone replaced his spine with a metal rod. The air in the room feels heavier, bearing down on me. At least when he was slouched against a wall, I could ignore him and pretend he wasn't here. Today, I can't pretend. The initiates all flow into the room, exhausted by last night's game.

" Tomorrow will be the last day of stage one, " Eric says. " You will resume fighting then. Today, you'll be learning how to aim. Everyone pick up three knives. "

His voice is deeper than usual.

" Pay attention while Four demonstrates the correct technique for throwing them. " He says.

No one moves at first. The initiates look at one another.

" Now! " Eric shouts.

They scramble for their daggers. They aren't as heavy as guns, but they still feel strange in my hands after all this time. They feel like I am not allowed to hold them.

Judging by the poisonous look Eric has given me since I walked into the Training room this morning, last night's loss must have bothered him more than he let on. Winning capture the flag is a matter of pride, and pride is important to the Dauntless. More important than reason or sense. I can feel the eyes of the initiates burning on me as I throw the first knife. The first one hits the target exactly where I want it to--halfway above the neckline of the silhouette. I raise another one, aiming for the same spot. I raise my arm again, inhaling sharply, then snap my hand forward. I exhale as I release the knife from my grasp, watching it hit just below the first knife.

" Line up! " Eric orders.

The initiates line up, all standing in front of their targets. I watch from afar as they start to throw. Instead if starting out like the rest of the initiates by throwing blindly, Tris stands with her knives still in her hip satchel. Instead, she air throws, spending the first few minutes practicing without a knife, finding the right stance, learning the right arm motion. Eric paces quickly behind them. Too quickly. With every stride he takes behind Tris, a pang of fear races in my mind. I'm terrified he'll grab her and try to break her neck. After all, it was her winning strategy that caused his loss. I'm scared he'll drag Christina to the chasm again and shove her off without helping her hang there. She was the one who secured the flag and his loss.

" I think the Stiff's taken too many hits to the head. " Peter says. " Hey, Stiff! Remember what a knife is? "

He throws another knife, and I hear the familiar clang of metal on concrete. Tris rolls her eyes, sighing. She practices again, this time with a knife in hand. She still doesn't release it. Finally after what feels like ages, but has really only been minutes, she throws her knife. The knife hits the board, falling to the ground. Although it didn't stick, it is the first to hit the targets. She smiles and I do too. Another one of Peter's knives hits the floor with a clang. She removed another knife from her pocket, looking down the row in his direction.

" Hey, Peter, " She says. " Remember what a target is? "

Next to her, Christina snorts, and her next knife hits the target. A half hour later, Al is the only initiate who hasn't hit the target yet. His knives clatter to the floor or bounce off the wall. While the rest of them approach the board to collect their weapons, he hunts the floor for his. Dauntless may have not been the smartest option for his safe haven. The next time, he tries and misses. Eric marches toward him, obviously upset with his performance from the previous night as well.