The Search for Artemis (The Chronicles of Landon Wicker) (29 page)

Then with lightning speed, Jeremiah stepped forward, hooked one foot behind Landon’s left leg, and yanked back, pulling Landon’s foot out from under him and knocking him to the ground.

Landon scrambled to his feet and took a few steps away from Jeremiah. Embarrassed and still feeling pain in his arm and side, Landon tried to think. Jeremiah was small, agile and fast. There was no hope for Landon to beat him in close quarters because he just wouldn’t be able to keep up with his maneuvers.

He wiped his sweaty palms against his shorts and started circling the ring as Jeremiah pivoted around the center. Jeremiah cracked his knuckles and smiled again. This smile did not convey pride in his teammate, but rather,
Bring it on!

“Come on, Apollo! You can do it!” Peregrine cheered from the sidelines.

Jeremiah’s head snapped toward her voice. “What about me, Echo? You don’t want me to win?” He sounded genuinely hurt that he was not receiving Peregrine’s support.

Landon suddenly saw his opportunity. He dove headlong at Jeremiah, his hands outstretched, and managed to wrap his arms around his midsection, knocking him to the ground. They slid across the floor for a few feet, and Landon struggled to pin down Jeremiah. His judo training ran through his mind as he tried to think of the best hold to move into from his current position, but Landon couldn’t think of a single one. He just fought to maintain his grip on Jeremiah, who was wriggling and writhing around to get free. Landon tightened his arms, hoping to at least hold on. He couldn’t believe how tiring this was. He felt like he was using every muscle in his body just to hold the spry Crane brother to the ground.

He could feel his grip slipping. Jeremiah was breaking free, and he didn’t know what to do to stop him. Then, like a snake, Jeremiah slid out of Landon’s hold, wrapped his body around Landon and trapped Landon’s arm between his legs. Landon couldn’t even process it fast enough. One moment he had Jeremiah pinned down, his arms around his waist, and the next, in a confusing tumble of arms and legs, he was lying on his back with the heat of the floor tiles against his neck. Jeremiah was positioned across Landon’s shoulders. He’d pulled Landon’s left arm between his legs and was working to extend it toward his chest in a classic armbar.

Landon struggled to keep his arm bent, knowing it was the only thing stopping him from feeling the unbearable pain of an armbar. He wished he’d watched more of the mixed martial arts matches his dad had ordered on pay-per-view in their apartment. If he had, he might have known a way to get out of this situation, but instead, all he could do was hold on for as long as his muscles would allow.

Gritting his teeth, Landon tried to muster as much strength as possible to stop Jeremiah. His bicep, forearm and shoulder burned. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Finally he couldn’t hold on any longer, his muscles gave out, and his arm sank into the submission hold. The instant Jeremiah touched Landon’s hand to his chest, it felt like a hot poker was being jabbed into the crux of Landon’s elbow. The pain was all-consuming, surging through his body, clouding his mind, and blocking out anything but the searing agony. He tried not to scream. He tried to hold on. He so desperately did not want to give up. But there was nothing he could do. His arm felt moments away from breaking, and all he wanted was to make the pain stop. Defeated, Landon tapped the floor with his free right hand. Dr. Brighton rushed into the ring and stopped Jeremiah, who released Landon’s arm once he was aware Landon had given up.

Jeremiah rolled back, popped to his feet, and quickly moved to help up Landon. Landon struggled to his feet. His left arm still throbbed painfully, and he felt so embarrassed.
What was that? I bet no one’s ever done as badly as I just did.

“Good job, Apollo,” Jeremiah said as Landon finally felt sure on his feet again. “You almost had me.” He was panting slightly, which made Landon feel a bit better about his performance.

“Thanks.” Landon smiled. “I’ll get you next time.”

“Not likely.” Jeremiah smiled back at him.

Landon stumbled out of the lighted square into the shadows of the Palaestra, disheartened by his loss but still proud of himself for completing his first sparring match, and excited to see where his training would take him.

MEDICAL
IMPRISONMENT

Winter came and went, bringing spring to the valley with new, verdant growth filling the trees and covering the grounds. The frozen lake thawed, and the grey and gloom were replaced with a profusion of color. But just as everything was starting to abound with new life, Landon felt like he wanted to die.

As his training progressed, he found himself in a perpetual state of muscle fatigue. And he never had time to do anything for himself. He couldn’t go swim in the lake with the other students or play video games in the Rec Center with Riley. Instead, he’d been ordered to spend every available hour in the Palaestra getting trained in the art of war and the full spectrum of violence and espionage.

He had marksmanship and weapons training every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Every Tuesday and Thursday, he attended combat training and stealth maneuvering between his Thought Reception class and dinner, and then once he’d shoveled a meal down his throat, he was required to be present at Professor Clemens’ military history class in the Forge. Which meant that nearly those entire afternoons were spent in the company of the most deadpan and monotonous instructor in the Gymnasium. Landon often had to slap himself in the face or pinch himself to stay awake after the exhausting day he had already had.

He was also expected to get up early every morning and spend at least two hours before breakfast working to improve his fitness levels. That meant cardio, like rowing on an ergometer and running on the treadmill, as well as weight training and plyometrics. Tactical psychokinetic and field training were reserved for the team sessions on Saturdays. It was grueling, and Landon was having difficulty acclimating to all that was now being expected of him. He felt overworked, unbalanced and exhausted every day. He couldn’t understand why he was having such a hard time with the training. Everyone else seemed to manage it just fine.

It wasn’t like this was his first time training for something. He had done it many times before; it was inevitable given the countless sports his mother had encouraged him to try while growing up, and those sports were on top of his other extracurricular activities and his regular schoolwork. But he’d never done anything to the extent the Pantheon required; the pain and exhaustion then was cake compared to what he was experiencing now. Every inch of his body was tender to the touch, and felt like a team of mixed martial artists had punched and kicked him until he was bruised from head to foot. The aches were deep down to the bone, making it difficult for him to even walk, let alone take the stairs.

But the pain was nothing compared to how difficult it was to keep the Pantheon secret. Landon had no difficulty keeping secrets. His ability to keep the truth behind his apocratusis unknown was a testament to that, but to constantly work on diverting conversation to topics that now seemed absolutely pointless was exhausting. It didn’t help that Landon couldn’t always keep hidden the black-and-blue welts and bruises he’d incurred from combat training. Dealing with Riley was the worst. He grew ever the more curious as Landon’s absences grew more frequent and lengthy. Now he couldn’t be around Riley without being interrogated as to his whereabouts, which had resulted in Landon attempting to avoid him most of the time.

There was one person, however, aside from the professors, who now knew the truth of his debut. Right around the holidays, Landon found solace in Celia. Their friendship really began on Christmas day.

Landon was sitting in the Library reading Dickens’
A Christmas Carol—
something his mother and he read together—when Celia happened into his usual alcove. He was surprised, because he expected her, like all the other students at the Gymnasium, to be spending the holiday with her immediate family members, who had arrived that morning via a caravan of helicopters.

Upon his arrival at the Gymnasium, Landon was told that the majority of students had a rather low-key debut. After their apocratusis, Sofia appeared on their doorsteps and told the family about the student’s special gifts and the existence of the Gymnasium. The parents then had to decide whether or not to send their child to the facility, but there was one stipulation: if they said yes, they had to accept that their child would be cut off from all communications while in training.

When Landon first heard all of this, he thought it sounded extreme. Who would agree to allow their kid to go to some secret facility with no means of communicating with them? But he was then told that Sofia would explain the real security risk involved should someone hear about their abilities or the Gymnasium. If their existence or their location were ever discovered, there was no telling what horrible thing some government, military, extremist group or private citizen would do to the students. Cutting the psychokinetics off from the world was a radical decision, but it was also a necessary one.

Christmas, however, was one of the two times a year when parents and siblings were allowed to visit. To maintain the security and safety of the facility, the Pallas Corporation chartered a platoon of blacked-out helicopters to shuttle relatives from an undisclosed location to the Gymnasium. This was after they were told to board predetermined, chartered flights with no knowledge of its destination, followed by a multiple hour journey in yet another blacked-out utility vehicle. Even with the hassle, the families accepted the complicated protocols and arrived in droves, ecstatic to be given the opportunity to see their son, daughter, sister or brother.

Landon never went outside, unlike the other students, to watch the first helicopter arrive. Instead, he made a beeline for the Library. He knew that watching the happy, joyous faces of countless parents and siblings as they stepped out of the aircrafts would destroy him. That Christmas was one of the worst in his life, as it solidified in his mind what he felt he destroyed. Thanksgiving hinted at it, but his first Christmas at the Gymnasium made him realize that he had lost everything. His parents, his home, his old life—it was all gone forever.

Landon had just finished reading the end of
Stave II
,
The First of the Three Spirits
, when Celia walked into the room. She apologized for interrupting, obviously expecting, as Landon had, to have the Library to herself. Why would anyone choose to be cooped up there while the festivities commenced in other parts of the Gymnasium?

“I think there’s plenty of room for the two of us,” Landon said, trying to assure her that her arrival was not as much of an offense as she seemed to think, but Landon couldn’t help but feel a bit curious as to why she was there at all. “But why aren’t you with the others, having breakfast with your parents?”

Landon watched as Celia dropped her gaze. He immediately regretted asking her. It was obvious now that her parents weren’t coming. Landon looked down at the book, searching for something to say that would break the sorrowful atmosphere, but what could he say that would make her feel better? He had never seen anything on Celia’s face other than confidence and a smile.

“Mine aren’t coming either.” He tried to say it as if his parents were just too busy to take the time to come for the holiday.

She looked back up at Landon through tear-filled eyes and gave him a gentle smile. “I’m sorry,” she said as she wiped away a tear with the heel of her hand. “Christmas is always a bit hard for me. My parents died when I was seven, right around this time of year. Ever since, I like to be alone on Christmas. Think about the good times, you know? But every year it gets harder to remember their faces.”

“Oh . . . I can get out of here if you want to be alone,” Landon replied. By looking at her, he never would have guessed that she had been orphaned as a child, but her story resonated with him to the core. It drew out images of his mother cooking dinner for him and her joyous smile during their spontaneous vacations. Would he forget those things as the years passed? Would the image of his mother fade into nonexistence? He could feel the mass of sadness and doubt build up and form a lump in the base of his throat. “My parents died, too.” The words left his mouth before he even realized he was speaking. “It was my fault. My debut, it—”

“I know, Landon,” she interrupted. Landon looked at her, paralyzed by fear and confusion. “I know what happened to your parents on your debut. I’m sure you hear it a lot, but it wasn’t your fault. There was nothing you could have done.”

“How? How could you know that?” Landon asked pointedly.

“You had nightmares for a long time, right? The fire? The woman screaming? The woman’s your mom, isn’t it?”

Landon felt sick. “I never told anyone about them, not even Dr. Brighton. How do you know about my dream?”

“This is going to sound crazy, but for the first few months here, I kept having a nightmare of a fire in an empty room. And there was always a woman screaming. I figured it was just a nightmare, but when I had the same one the next night and the next, I knew something was weird. I don’t know why I didn’t notice it before, but I realized I wasn’t the person in the dream. It was you. I spent quite a while trying to make sense of it, you know? Why was I having nightmares, and why was I you? But then I realized it wasn’t my nightmare I was having . . . it was yours. I can’t explain it, but for some reason I can’t seem to stay out of your head. It happens the most when I’m sleeping, but even sometimes in class I can hear what you’re thinking.”

The worn copy of
A Christmas Carol
slid off Landon’s lap and fell to the floor with a loud thud. He didn’t even notice. His mind was too preoccupied with processing what he was hearing. What Celia was talking about was supposed to be impossible. Thought reception was limited, restricted to only hearing outwardly projected thoughts. How could he focus when Celia was repeating things he had never told another person?
Dreams can’t be outwardly projected, can they
?
What else does she know?

“But don’t worry,” Celia said. She had been standing silently, watching as Landon worked through the bomb she had just dropped on him. “It doesn’t happen that often anymore.”

“How do you do it?” Landon asked, his voice quivering slightly.