Divergent Trilogy 01.1 FREE FOUR: Tobias tells the story by Veronica Roth Page A

eyes alive with that Erudite knowledge-craving.
    “I think the Stiff’s taken too many hits to the head!” Peter says. “Hey, Stiff! Remember what a knife is?”
    I don’t usually hate people, but I hate Peter. I hate that he tries to shrink people, the same way Eric does. 
    Tris doesn’t answer, just picks up a knife and throws, still with that awkward arm, but it works—I hear metal slam against board, and I smile.
    “Hey, Peter,” Tris says. “Remember what a target is?”
    I watch each of them, trying not to catch Eric’s eye as he paces like a caged animal behind them. I have to admit that Christina is good—though I don’t like giving credit to Candor smart-mouths—and so is Peter—though I don’t like giving credit to future psychopaths. Al, however, is just a walking, talking sledgehammer, all power and no finesse. 
    It’s a shame Eric also notices.
    “How slow are you, Candor? Do you need glasses? Should I move the target closer to you?” he says, his voicestrained. 
    Al the Sledgehammer has unexpectedly soft insides. The taunting pierces them. When he throws again, theknife sails into a wall.
    “What was that, initiate?” Eric says.
    “It—it slipped.” 
    “Well, I think you should go get it.”
    The initiates stop throwing.
    “Did I tell you to stop?” Eric says, his pierced eyebrows raised. 
    This is not good.
    “Go get it?” says Al. “But everyone’s still throwing.”
    “And?”
    “And I don’t want to get hit.”
    “I think you can trust your fellow initiates to aim better than you. Go get your knife.”
    “No.”
    The Sledgehammer strikes again , I think. The response is stubborn but there is no strategy in it. Still, it takes more bravery for Al to say no than for Eric to force him to get a knife to the back of the head, which is something Eric will never understand.
    “Why not? Are you afraid?”
    “Of getting stabbed by an airborne knife?” says Al.
    “Yes, I am!”
    My body gets heavy as Eric raises his voice. “Everyone stop!”
    The first time I met Eric he wore blue and his hair was parted down the side. He was trembling as he approached Amar to receive the injection of fear-landscape serum into his neck. During his fear landscape, he never moved an inch; he just stood still, screaming into clenched teeth, and somehow maneuvered his heartbeat down to an acceptable level using his breath. I didn’t know it was possible to conquer fear in your body before you did it in your mind. That was when I knew I should be wary of him.
    “Clear out of the ring,” Eric says. Then, to Al: “All except you. Stand in front of the target.” 
    Al, gulping, lumbers over to the target. I pull away from the wall. I know what Eric will do. And it will probably end with a lost eye or a pierced throat; with horror, as every fight I’ve witnessed has, each one driving me further and further from the faction I chose as a haven. 
    Without looking at me, Eric says, “Hey, Four. Give me a hand here, huh?”
    Part of me feels relief. At least I know that if I am throwing the knives instead of Eric, Al is less likely to get injured. But I also can’t be this cruel, and I can’t be the one who does Eric’s dirty work. 
    I try to act casual, scratching my eyebrow with a knifepoint, but I don’t feel casual. I feel like someone is pressing me into a mold that does not fit my body, forcing me into the wrong shape. 
    Eric says, “You’re going to stand there as he throws those knives until you learn not to flinch.”
    My chest feels tight. I want to save Al, but the more I defy Eric, the more determined he will be to put me in my place. I decide to pretend that I am bored by the whole thing.
    “Is this really necessary?”
    “I have the authority here, remember?” Eric says. “Here, and everywhere else.”
    I can feel blood creeping into my face as I stare at him, and he stares back at me. Max asked me to be a faction leader and I should have said yes; I would have, if I