The Search for Artemis (The Chronicles of Landon Wicker) (17 page)

“Welcome to Wonderland,” Landon said to himself.

“What was that?” Dr. Brighton asked.

“This place . . . Have we gone down the rabbit hole or something? This place is like Wonderland.”

Dr. Brighton laughed slightly and then said, “Yes, it is a wondrous place, hidden away for only those who know where to find it. An escape for when the world becomes too much to handle.”

Landon realized the importance this place had for Dr. Brighton. He looked at him with a sense of understanding. This was Dr. Brighton’s Library, his fortress of solitude, as books were Landon’s. This place was personal and private, and he had let Landon into his sanctuary.

They crossed the garden slowly; Landon took in every detail of the place. Once at the pagoda, Dr. Brighton ushered Landon into the structure, but not without having him remove his shoes before entering. The inside surprised Landon, for it looked like an empty room. The walls were made of wood and there were numerous windows bathing the interior in natural light, but there wasn’t a single bit of furniture. It was just a large, bamboo-floored, empty room with a staircase in the back corner.

“So let us get started. Please sit down,” Dr. Brighton said as he slid the shoji-screen closed behind him. Landon dropped to the floor, sitting with his legs crossed. “I noticed something the other day when you were swimming in the lake that I hadn’t seen since you arrived.”

Landon looked at him, a bit unnerved. Had Celia’s lie not been enough to convince Dr. Brighton?

“When you were playing with Celia Jackson, you were smiling.”

“Excuse me, sir?” Landon asked, confused.

“Yes, you were smiling. For the first time since you arrived here, you looked happy, and”—Landon’s eyes followed the professor as he paced around the room—“I noticed something else. . . . You were using your body.”

Landon cocked his head to the side, even more confused.

“I think I know what we can do to unlock that power that’s bottled up within, Landon. Orison Marden said that, ‘Deep within man dwell those slumbering powers; powers that would astonish him, that he never dreamed of possessing; forces that would revolutionize his life if aroused and put into action.’ We’re going to awaken those ‘slumbering powers.’” Dr. Brighton stopped, walked over to Landon and sat down in front of him. He looked at Landon with excitement in his eyes but didn’t continue to speak.

“Can you elaborate?” Landon asked after they sat looking at each other without talking for a few minutes.

“Of course. First, the smiling. You have made progress since you arrived, but your abilities aren’t the problem—it’s you. Something’s holding you back, and I believe that when you were playing in the lake, for the first time since your apocratusis, you completely let go. You were having fun.

“If we can figure out what that thing is, that thing that’s blocking you, I think your natural instincts will take root and your problems will wash away. It is just a theory, but I think it will be a good one to explore.

“Second, the body. Now, I have been at the Gymnasium for nearly thirty years, first as a student and then as a teacher. In that time, I have seen many students work to control their gifts. In teaching, they say there are different learning styles. Some are visual learners; they must see it to understand it. Others learn audibly, and some even learn through touch, by doing. I think the same holds true for telekinesis and our abilities. Let me explain.

“Some people are naturals. They possess . . . a clarity of mind. It is rare. They simply command the world around them as if it were their own arms and legs. Now, this clarity can be learned over time, but the ones who possess this skill initially tend to have less strength. Historically, with increased strength, our abilities become more volatile and difficult to control. They are temperamental and overwhelming, requiring intense training to master . . . so logically those weaker in their abilities can find it easier to control them.

“Others are vocal. I cannot tell you how many people I’ve watched who can only use their telekinetic abilities if they blatantly say what they need to happen. Some of them are even in your training session, but I wonder if you’ve heard them over your huffs and puffs.” Dr. Brighton took a brief pause and smiled at Landon. “They eventually move to whispering their commands, but even still, they have to say it for it to happen.

“And then there’s the third kind, the ones who need to feel it. In these cases, the person uses their body in tandem with their brain to achieve the desired effect. There’s something about connecting the mind and body, the physical activity of the body driving telekinetic activity around them. Oddly, students of this type tend to be the most powerful lifters. And after what I saw on Thursday, I think you’re of this type.”

“So I have some kind of learning disorder?”

“No,” Dr. Brighton chuckled. “None of these are superior to the other. It’s just a matter of what works for you, and if you want to know the truth, . . . this makes you more normal. The vast majority of psychokinetics are this third type. It wasn’t until Thursday that I realized what we could start with in these sessions . . . Tai Chi.”

“Like what the old people do in the park?” Landon asked, curious if he was thinking of the same thing Dr. Brighton was suggesting.

“Landon,” Dr. Brighton replied, laughing. “Yes, it does have therapeutic benefits that are enjoyed by the
old
people in the park, but it is also a practice that is believed to help stimulate and harmonize the connection between the mind and body, one that works
with
the forces around them rather than against them. So, if you have no more questions, we should begin?”

Landon stood up and followed his professor out of the pagoda. They walked barefoot a short distance to a small arbor alongside the creek. The massive stone tiles of the arbor’s floor were cool and wet against Landon’s bare feet, but they were smooth. Patches of mossy green lichens grew out of the cracks in the floor and had begun to spread out across the ground. The creek ran right alongside the north edge of the arbor, and the water cascading down small bumps in the stream made the place feel tranquil and relaxing.

Dr. Brighton wasted no time in starting. He turned to Landon and forcefully adjusted his stance and posture until he was satisfied. Then he stood in front of him and assumed the same position.

“This is called the horse stance. It grounds you.” Dr. Brighton bounced up and down with his legs. “It is how you are always to start, and it probably already feels a bit uncomfortable. But that’s because we are working against fifteen years of your bad posture and poor habits.

“And I’ve decided we aren’t even going to attempt to use your abilities just yet. We are just going to start with the basics and work into adding telekinesis. Understand?”

“Yes, sensei,” Landon said in a jokingly serious voice.

“Pay attention,” Dr. Brighton commanded. “Do as I do.”

To Dr. Brighton’s constant criticism and verbal cues, Landon tried over and over again to correctly move through the poses.

“Parting the Wild Horses Mane to White Crane Spreads its Wings,” he called out. Landon took to the movements about as much as the names were ridiculous. “Now, brush your knee and push into Playing the Lute and Repulse the Monkey.” 

For the next five hours, he worked tirelessly to mimic his teacher’s movements to no avail.

Dr. Brighton moved with fluidity and grace, but Landon was stiff and forced—uncoordinated.

How on earth is this supposed to fix me?
Landon thought as he attempted to go down into The Snake Creeps Through the Grass for what seemed like the four hundredth time.

FLYING BOOKS

“So what do you guys do out there?” Riley asked as he and Landon paced down an aisle in the history section of the Library, searching for reference materials for their assignment on the Cold War.

“I don’t know. I just listen to Dr. Brighton and do what he says,” Landon replied.

As the weeks went by Landon developed a strong confidence in Dr. Brighton. The sessions were working. He was making progress, and he quickly found himself enjoying them. In the moment, he often questioned Dr. Brighton’s methods but always tried to follow them. It took a while,  but Landon was finally feeling comfortable with the Tai Chi movements he was taught during his first lesson. It now took less than an hour to go through the sequence, and the exercise seemed to do more for him than connect his mind and body. It actually quieted his thoughts and consternations.

Outside of the sessions, his brain never stopped. Apart from being so preoccupied with the stresses of training and keeping his true apocratusis a secret, Landon had spent over three weeks tirelessly thinking about what the thief was trying to tell him that night and trying to learn who she was. Recently though, he’d run out of plausible ideas and came to the conclusion that she must have just been trying to distract him, or make him question the Gymnasium—the one place that’d helped him figure himself out. But the sessions with Dr. Brighton were the one time when his brain would shut down and his questions would disappear.

In their sessions, Dr. Brighton quickly stopped performing the motions alongside Landon, but instead sat on a large stone beside the creek and gave minor critiques to Landon’s stance and posture. Landon immediately would try and adjust, and soon the critiques became minute—a simple alteration to the hold of his wrist or the turning in of his foot.

Landon quickly came to master the motions he’d been taught. He was gifted, so he naturally caught on and learned things, but this was different. He was trying to impress his teacher, trying to improve himself—for once in his life, he was actually trying.

By the beginning of November, Dr. Brighton added new exercises: plyometrics and strength training to build his agility and physicality; cardio for endurance; and specialized exercises to develop Landon’s telekinetic finesse. Landon was loving it; he looked forward to his morning sessions with his professor more so than any other activity at the Gymnasium.

“Could you be any more cryptic?” Riley asked. “Come on. . . . What’s his secret? I could use whatever he’s teaching you.”

“I’m not trying to be to be cryptic. I’m just doing what I’m told for once in my life, and I don’t think there
is
a secret.”

“I hate you,” Riley said as he filed away a book he thought was about their assignment, but was actually a misplaced book on food storage. “Come on! Give me something! I’ve never had a private session with a teacher.”

“I’m sorry, man. I’ve got nothing.”

Landon never spoke a word about Dr. Brighton’s Secret Garden or what happened during their training there. Telling people about their sessions seemed like he was breaking the trust he and Dr. Brighton had developed. Saturday training was an experience Landon and his teacher shared. There was no reason to tell anyone else about it.

On top of it, Landon had grown closer and closer to his instructor. Dr. Brighton was a mentor to him; he seemed like an older, more experienced version of himself—a glimpse of what Landon imagined he would become after quite a few more years. Their walks to and from the garden became a time to bond. They would discuss literature and their childhoods. Granted, Landon’s was much more recent than Dr. Brighton’s, but no matter what, the doctor seemed to have a story that made Landon feel connected to him, as if they were the same person. They both grew up being close to their mothers and both shared a maternal force pressuring them to try a plethora of sports and activities. It almost seemed like Dr. Brighton had attempted more things in his life than was humanly possible.

As an adult, the professor was a learned man. He had studied literature, science and mathematics his entire life and decided to use that knowledge to help guide those like him at the Gymnasium. Landon realized he might like to pursue the same selfless endeavor, should he have the courage to do so once he’d completed his training. However, even with their growing friendship, Dr. Brighton was a ruthless trainer. He pushed Landon far beyond his comfort zone, forcing him to improve and progress. It was what Landon needed, and he knew and accepted it.

“Ugh, what on earth could he be teaching you?” Riley sparked up the discussion again after they’d perused another shelf of books.

“Does it really matter? It’s working, isn’t it?”

“True. But—”

“Riley, I haven’t hit you with anything for weeks.” Landon leaned over and looked at Riley with a knowing expression. Humorously, he added, “Now, that’s progress.”

“I guess you’re right. So you should be done with them pretty soon, right?”

“I don’t know. I’m pretty sure I still have quite a long ways to go. And to be honest, I don’t know if I want them to end.”

Landon’s improvement was astounding. Once he managed to tap into his abilities, he could move and control items with ease. But even with his achievements, Landon still required a severe level of concentration to do anything that related to his gifts. That was the one part of his training Dr. Brighton hadn’t had an ounce of success in fixing, and the more strenuous the request, the harder time Landon had accessing his gifts. Dr. Brighton insisted that Landon had the strength within to easily perform the tasks put forth, but that it was just his mental blocks he couldn’t get past. He couldn’t develop Landon’s powers to become instinctual, as they were meant to be, rather than something to be turned on or off, like a light switch.

“What? Not want them to end?” Riley asked, shocked. “You get up at six o’clock . . .
on Saturday!
And you don’t come back until an hour or two before dinner. Then you basically sleep all Sunday. . . . Your whole weekend is shot. I don’t think I could do that forever.”

“To each his own, right?” Landon replied as he pulled a book off the shelf on Ronald Reagan and his role in the arms race during the Cold War. “It’s—”

Suddenly, a high-pitched, piercing scream echoed through the Library and interrupted Landon mid-sentence. Screaming wasn’t typical in the Gymnasium. Their abilities allowed them to sense pranks and attacks—serious or otherwise—before screams would be heard. This scream was blood curdling, and they recognized the voice—it was Katie Leigh’s.