The Search for Artemis (The Chronicles of Landon Wicker) (28 page)

“God, I don’t know if I could ever do that.”

“You never will with that attitude. . . . And who knows? This place has a way of proving that nothing’s impossible. You might surprise yourself.”

• • • • •

“Apollo!” Dr. Brighton shouted from behind him. He had to repeat himself a few times before Landon could hear him over the throbbing in his ears. Landon turned and faced his professor, who gestured for him to come to his side. “How are you doing?” he asked.

Landon was panting heavily, and he stood with his hands against his hips. His hair was sticking to his head in sweaty tendrils, and his damp shirt was now a significantly darker shade of grey. His arms and legs tingled from exertion, and his heart was pounding so violently he could feel his pulse in his shins.

It had only been an hour since Cortland and Landon returned to the Palaestra floor, but Cortland had put him through the wringer in that hour. Wind sprints, push-ups, crunches, lunges, squats, arm presses, suicides . . . and that was just what Landon could remember. According to Cortland, the day had just begun. It was circuit training from hell, and Landon could only suspect that Cortland’s merciless drilling was at the whispered behest of his new commander, Dr. Brighton.

Landon fought a wave of nausea, choking back the vomit he felt lingering at the back of his throat, and answered, “I’m super . . . sir.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Dr. Brighton replied, unafffected. “I hope you’ve realized that this training will not be easy. This will be harder than anything you’ve ever done in your life. Today is nothing compared to what you’re in store for. Your body and abilities will be stretched to their absolute breaking point. Today is just physical. Tomorrow you will start weapons and combat training, stealth maneuvering, mission tactics, strategy, military history, tech training, specialized telekinetics, field training, and teamwork. You must be strong physically and mentally to succeed here as an operative, and it’s my job to make sure you’re ready. You’re no longer responsible for only your life; now you have the lives of your teammates and countless civilians to consider.”

“Professor?” Landon began timidly. His decision to join the Pantheon was suddenly forced into perspective. He had accepted the offer so willingly; it was a means of redemption, a way to find answers. He was now afraid his actions had been too rash. Dr. Brighton had tried to warn him by making him weigh the potential consequences, but he was blinded by the grandness of the opportunity. Had he made a mistake? Was he strong enough to withstand the training? The danger?

“Zeus,” Dr. Brighton corrected. “Please call me Zeus when in the Olympic Tower.”

“Sorry, I . . . uh . . . haven’t gotten used to that yet,” Landon apologized. “I was just wondering, is it worth it?”

“Is
what
worth it, Apollo?”

“All of this—the training, the mission, risking your life—is it worth it?”

“Unequivocally, yes,” Dr. Brighton reassured him, abandoning his stern demeanor and looking at Landon through his deep green eyes like a father would regard his worried son. “The gratification that comes from keeping the country safe makes all the pain and danger worth it.”

The sound of the lift descending into the Palaestra suddenly echoed through the room. Landon, Dr. Brighton, and the other members of the Pantheon broke from their respective activities and turned to see who was entering the training center. Dr. Wells was standing with his chest raised and his arm around a short girl beside him. Landon recognized her immediately: cropped blonde hair, pale but luminous skin, and deep violet eyes.

“Peregrine?” he blurted out.

Dr. Wells began his introduction just as he had when Landon stood at his side a short while ago. “Pantheon! Gather around, please! I must introduce you to your newest teammate!”

Everyone headed toward the lift, but as Brock and the Cranes passed by Landon, he decided there was no better time to handle something that’d been weighing on his mind since Dr. Wells introduced him to his teammates.

“Brock!” Landon shouted. Brock and the Cranes stopped and turned on the spot, but after a nod from Brock, the Cranes continued on without him. Landon caught up to Brock and continued, “About everything that’s happened—I hope that we can put it behind us. We’re on the same team now, and the snowball fight was just a game.” Brock offered no reply. He stood with his arms crossed in front of his chest without saying a word. “I just hope that there’s no bad blood between us now that we’re going to be working together.”

Brock slowly uncrossed his arms and moved closer to Landon. He extended his right arm, waiting for Landon to shake his hand. Landon stared at him, momentarily bewildered by his reaction, and then grabbed Brock’s hand with his own.

“Sorry if my hand’s sweaty,” Landon said apologetically.

Before Landon realized what was happening, Brock had pulled him close, wrapped his left arm around Landon’s shoulder and kept his right hand locked in mid-handshake, giving him a seemingly brotherly hug. Landon tensed up, unsure how to react. After a moment, he attempted to back out of the masculine embrace, but couldn’t move. Brock was holding him securely in place. Landon tried to wiggle free, but no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t break free. He couldn’t believe how strong Brock was.

“Listen here,
Apollo
,” Brock whispered into Landon’s ear. “You may have been asked to be a part of the Pantheon, but make no mistake, you don’t belong here, and I’m going to make sure you know it.” Landon shifted his eyes around the room, looking to see if anyone was aware of what was happening, but no one seemed to notice. “And here, in this place,” Brock continued, saying each word pointedly, making sure Landon heard him, “Brock doesn’t exist. I’m Ares. Call me Brock again, and you
will
regret it. There aren’t any stupid rules and restrictions here.”

“Ares! Apollo! Come, now!” Dr. Brighton commanded.

Brock released Landon from his firm grip and headed to the lift to line up with the others. Landon was momentarily frozen in place, rattled by Brock’s threats. He feared, in his attempt to bury the hatchet, that he had just made their relationship worse. Landon shook it off and followed Brock to the rest of the group.

“Wasn’t that adorable,” Cortland joked as Landon filed in next to him.

“You know, I used to think you were cool,” Landon lightheartedly said to him, “but now, after those drills, I know you’re actually Rosemary’s Baby.”

Cortland smiled, and both turned to watch Dr. Wells introduce Peregrine.

“Pantheon, I’d like you to meet Echo.”

Peregrine Mortimer stood beside the platform with a beaming smile. It reminded Landon of the one she had worn the night she helped him in the Atrium—the only other time he had ever seen her look happy. Landon didn’t know much about Peregrine’s past, but given her social standing at the Gymnasium and her condition, he wondered if she had ever been selected for something so monumental. She had probably always been picked last or left out of things altogether while growing up, so it seemed natural that she would be ecstatic about being chosen to join the Pantheon. Had she, too, been warned of the danger?

“I believe her unique talents will far surpass her shortcomings in what we typically look for in a potential agent,” Dr. Wells continued. “Echo has an unprecedented extensity, and her tactometric sensitivity is unparalleled. Both of these facts we failed to recognize until the First Frost Frenzy. Her abilities allow her to clearly sense everything going on across great distances, which will allow her to provide much-needed mission support on the ground. She is a highly sophisticated, cognitively processed radar who will be far more valuable in the field than any piece of tech Verne could dream up.”

Landon gave Peregrine a gentle nod of welcome; she smiled a bit wider in reply.

• • • • •

Two weeks later, Landon was standing in the Palaestra. Only a twelve-by-twelve square of white tiles in the center of the floor was lit up; the walls and ceilings were black, leaving the vast training room eerie and dark. He stood just outside the lighted squares, the glow from the floor casting strange shadows over his face and distorting the actions of Cortland and Brock as they fought in the sparring area.

Parker and Peregrine stood beside him, similarly transfixed by the match currently playing out. Brock swung his right arm, but Cortland was too fast and managed to duck down, avoiding the flying fist.

Landon’s heart pounded in his chest as he watched. It was only the first of the sparring matches, but his heart had been racing ever since Dr. Brighton told him that today was the day he’d have to display his progress in combat training by facing off against Jeremiah. He wasn’t sure how he could compete against people who’d been in the Pantheon for months, if not years, when he only had two weeks of instruction.

The Pantheon had adapted the United States Marine Corps martial arts program, and its physical and mental requirements fell far beyond what Landon was comfortable with. He enjoyed the Okinawan karate, judo and jujutsu. They made him think back fondly to the Tai Chi he’d done with Dr. Brighton in the Secret Garden for all those weeks before the First Frost Frenzy. It felt liberating to kick and punch the rubber dummies during his instruction, cathartic to choke the “life” out of its plastic neck or grapple it into submission, but now he’d have to fight a person—a real, breathing person. Would he remember the “appropriate use of force” when he was trying to punch, kick and subdue Jeremiah? He always felt weird when they were instructing him on appropriate use of force and how to identify and use weapons of opportunity. It made everything real. Landon didn’t think about hurting the rubber dummies, but if he didn’t heed the words of his instructors, there was a good chance he could hurt or very well kill someone.

Landon tried to calm his nerves as he watched Cortland kick at Brock’s side. Brock blocked it with his forearm.

Landon gulped, envisioning himself in the same spot as soon as the current bout was over.

Brock landed a hard punch against Cortland’s jaw, and Landon glanced over to Peregrine. She grimaced and slammed her eyes shut. Landon wondered if she was feeling as nervous as he was. After Landon fought Jeremiah, it would be her turn against Parker.

Cortland sprung backward, pressing one hand to his face, and started shuffling around the ring. It was impossible to see the expression on Cortland’s face, but Landon could feel his determination to beat the top fighter on the Pantheon. Suddenly, Cortland lunged forward, his arms outstretched to tackle Brock, but with unbelievable speed, Brock sidestepped out of Cortland’s path like a matador and wrapped his arm around Cortland’s neck. He secured it with his other arm. Cortland was in a perfect sleeper hold, and there was no way he’d be able to escape from Brock’s super-human strength.

The seconds passed like minutes, everything transpiring in slow motion as Cortland moved toward his inevitable defeat. Brock’s arm was slowly cutting off the supply of oxygen to Cortland’s brain, and it was only a matter of time before Cortland was tapped out or passed out. Even in the dim light, Landon could see his eyes start to roll back in his head. Brock slowly guided Cortland to the floor once Cortland’s legs began to give out. Landon was afraid his legs would give out any second, too. He’d never been in a real fight before. . . . He wasn’t even sure he’d ever truly hit anyone.

A moment later, Dr. Brighton stepped into the white square and called the match. “All right, victory goes to Ares!” His voice echoed through the nearly empty Palaestra.

Brock released the chokehold, stood up, and helped Cortland to his feet, holding him up until he regained full consciousness. After they nodded to each other in respect, Cortland walked slowly and uncertainly over to Landon on the sidelines.

“You ready for this?” he asked, panting. “No one expects you to win your first match, so just do your best.”

“I’ll try.” Landon could feel bile rising in his throat. He was as ready as he’d ever be, but that didn’t reassure him in the least.

“Pollux and Apollo! The ring! Now!” Dr. Brighton ordered.

Landon took a deep breath and gingerly stepped into the brightly lit square. Jeremiah did the same from the other side of the ring. His white teeth gleamed in the light as he smiled at Landon, but it wasn’t a mean or menacing smile. He almost seemed proud, like he was excited that Landon was getting one step closer to being a full-fledged member of the Pantheon. The Pantheon was like a secret society, and the sparring matches were a sort of initiation. Landon would have to prove his worth to one day become an active agent.

“You both know the rules,” Dr. Brighton said. “Hand-to-hand combat only—no abilities, no weapons—and the match is over only when one of you submits or can’t continue.”

Landon and Jeremiah nodded to Dr. Brighton in understanding and then bowed their heads to one another. Dr. Brighton stepped out of the ring.

“Go!” he said, his voice echoing through the Palaestra.

Landon instantly raised his hands to protect his face as he’d been taught and began to circle the ring.

“You can do it, Apollo!” Peregrine yelled from the sidelines.

Hearing her cheer calmed Landon’s nerves slightly. He felt a bit of weight lift from his shoulders, knowing that someone was rooting for him to do well. He knew he wasn’t getting the same support from everyone in the Pantheon.

“Come on already!” Brock shouted impatiently.

Jeremiah narrowed his eyes and stepped toward Landon with his fists clenched. He swung hard at Landon’s face, but Landon managed to block his attempt with his arm. His forearm seared with pain. He couldn’t believe how much it hurt.

Jeremiah launched another punch with the other hand, and Landon managed to bob his head out of the way just in time. A split-second later, Jeremiah’s leg was speeding toward Landon’s side. Landon gasped and clenched his teeth as it connected. He felt his entire torso constrict as the pain surged through his body. He could feel the heat of his abilities fire in his core, but he fought to suppress them.