The Search for Artemis

Chapter TEN

SAND AND STONES


Landon turned his late night attentions away from the comfort of fiction and literature and moved to the Folklore and Mythology section of the Library, scouring the shelves for anything that stood out. If the Gymnasium hadn’t blocked the Internet, he would have just searched for her on his laptop, but since that wasn’t an option, he took to the books.

Thanks to his mother, he already knew who Artemis was in the mythological sense. But at his core, he expected to find something in the texts that would stand out—some reference or clue that would prove there was more to Artemis in this situation than just being an ancient Greek goddess.

He started with Apollodorus’ Library and checked the entries on Artemis, then reread all the stories in Ovid’s Metamorphoses that referenced Diana, Artemis’ Roman name. He reviewed Hesiod’s Theogony, and then by chance, while searching the other mythology books, happened upon a work by Callimachus, Hymn III to Artemis. With every book, Landon jotted notes in one of his course notebooks, writing everything he thought might be important.

What he’d found was that Artemis was the goddess of the moon, the hunt, wild animals and wilderness, the patron of virgins, and midwife to the gods. She was the bringer and reliever of disease in women. After she was born on the island of Delos, she sat on her father Zeus’ lap and made a few wishes. First, she asked to always remain chaste; second, to have more names than her twin brother; and third, she desired a bow and arrows fashioned by the forgers of Olympus, the Cyclopes. She then asked for a hunting tunic, a number of young maidens, all chaste, and things to keep her revered by all. Zeus obliged all of her requests.

She was a woman dedicated to her godly duties and the hunt, and took vengeance on anyone who dishonored or disappointed her. Artemis turned a man, Acteon, into a stag for accidentally stumbling across her bathing in a lake. She killed Adonis by sending a wild boar after him after he boasted he was a better hunter. She turned one of her maids, Callisto, into a bear for breaking her vow of chastity, even though she was raped. She even killed the seven daughters of Niobe because their mother had said she was better than her own, but these were only a few of the victims who felt the sting of her divine retribution.

After a month of scouring the shelves of his beloved Library, Landon’s search for clues had gone cold. He felt he’d learned everything there was to know about the goddess, but hadn’t seen a single thing in the numerous texts that gave him any clue to what had sparked Brock’s sudden interest in the subject. Also, nothing jumped out at him that would support his theory that Artemis and the thief were somehow linked. It didn’t help that apart from Artemis, he had no idea for what he was looking.

Defeated, Landon left the Library around two in the morning and headed back to the dormitories through the Administrative Tower. The hallways were dark and empty. He could hear his footsteps as the sound of his shoes against the hardwood reverberated off the walls.

Landon enjoyed that walk. It provided a much needed moment for him to think and reflect. In recent weeks, it allowed him to contemplate his new findings and try to develop or adjust his standing theories on how every odd thing was related.

After a quick thought on the metaphorical implications of Artemis in correlation to the Gymnasium, Landon turned the corner and found, to his surprise, a light breaking the darkness of the hallway, coming from Dr. Brighton’s office. The door was cracked, and the light streamed from a narrow opening and fanned out from the slender beam until it faded into the darkness.

Unsure if he was inside, Landon softened his step and crept down the hall to avoid alerting his professor, who apparently was working late. In all the times Landon had taken this walk to the dormitories in the dark hours of the night, there had never been anyone still in the offices. Suddenly, a shadow briefly broke the light as Landon neared the door. Someone was definitely inside. In an instant, Landon had a realization. Could it not be his professor, but instead the thief returned to steal something else from the Gymnasium?

The mere thought of catching the girl forced Landon to freeze in place. If he was to have any success in trapping her, he’d need to do it by surprise. Stealth was no longer a good idea, but a necessity.

As daintily as he could, Landon proceeded toward the cracked doorway, inching closer and closer with silent steps. Once near, he pressed his body close to the wall and made sure not to break the beam of light—something like that could catch in the periphery of a person’s eye.

He slowed his breathing and subtly leaned over to peek at what was going on inside. Rather than finding the mysterious intruder, he saw Dr. Brighton slouched over in his chair, staring at some large wooden object resting on his desk. The light that had drawn Landon in was coming from a desk lamp turned to shed as much light as possible on the wooden box.

Consumed with curiosity, Landon gingerly opened the door and leaned his head inside.

“Professor,” he whispered, “it’s Landon. Uh, what’re you doing up this late?”

“I should ask you the same question,” Dr. Brighton returned without turning his head away from the object before him. “Please come in. Perhaps you can help me with something.”

The office looked like Dr. Brighton’s classroom—eclectic—but on steriods. Reams of uncolated papers, books, small trinkets and creepy, articulated animal skeletons were stacked up on every surface, around filing cabinets, lining the walls, and covering large portions of the floor. The air smelled stale and musky from the old books and papers, and Landon could see little flecks of dust floating about. The single-filament light emitted a pale, yellow glow and cast sinister shadows against the contours and edges of the hodgepodge office. If Dr. Brighton weren’t sitting behind his desk, Landon would have thought the place had been ransacked. It was the antithesis of what Landon understood about his methodical and particular mentor. Shutting the door behind him, Landon entered the office and sat in the wooden chair opposite the desk.

Dr. Brighton still never took his eyes off the wooden box that sat on the only clean surface in the room, and his complete focus on it drew Landon in. Then, in the silence, Landon heard a soft but steady ticking. It was a clock, or maybe a ticking time-bomb, but Landon leaned toward the former.

“So, Landon,” Dr. Brighton said, still not diverting his focus away from the contraption. “Truthfully, what causes a student to be up at this hour? Surely you weren’t working on something course related.”

“No,” Landon replied. “Nothing to do with classes. It’s just I’ve been trying to figure something out, and I get so caught up in it that I totally lose track of time.”

“Understandable. Must be something terribly important to warrant such dedication. Most students I know wouldn’t dream of doing anything that cut into their valuable sleep time.” Dr. Brighton paused for a moment as his face contorted and he peculiarly glared at the clock. “But as Leo Tolstoy said, ‘The two most powerful forces are patience and time.’ If you accept that, I’m confident you will eventually find your answer.”

“Thank you, sir,” Landon returned with trepidation. He felt a bit awkward having a conversation with someone who was so obviously focused on something else altogether, and that in turn, was making him nervous. “I’m sure I will.”

“Anyways, to get to the reason I allowed you to come in. You see this clock here. Something is wrong with it, and I cannot figure out what exactly. Perhaps you can help me diagnose and correct the problem.”

“Well, back home whenever the television or anything wasn’t working right, we’d just whack it until it got better.”

Dr. Brighton let out a small laugh. “Ah, if only that would work here. I’m afraid this contraption would only get worse were I to ‘whack it.’ Clocks are very temperamental pieces of equipment.”

“Well, what do you know is wrong with it so far?” Landon asked.

“What? You don’t hear it?” Dr. Brighton returned quickly. “Listen.”

Landon closed his eyes and tried to focus on whatever Dr. Brighton was hearing. Apart from the gentle hum of his breath and the almost inaudible electrical hissing of the lamp, all Landon could hear was the steady ticking of the gears turning in the clock.

“What am I supposed to be hearing?” Landon asked hesitantly. He’d hope to impress his teacher with his natural ability to discern clock abnormalities via auditory stimulus, but not so much.

“The ticking. This clock is a fraction of a second out of sync.”

“Oh, of course,” Landon replied matter-of-factly. “The clock’s out of sync. I heard that, but I was thinking you were talking about some other problem with it. Is a fraction of a second something to worry over? That’s such a small amount.”

“Were you not listening to what I said? ‘The two most powerful forces are patience and time.’ Time is so important that you must ensure it is precise and accurate. Unless this clock is fixed, it is useless. We must fix the problem now before it grows and throws everything off. If we allow this clock to continue, its inaccuracy will compound and eventually be a full second off, and then a minute and so on and so forth. Any ideas?”

“Umm . . . ”

“Try using your abilities. Maybe by searching it, you’ll see something I haven’t that might be causing the problem.”

“If you think it’ll help.” Landon leaned forward in his chair and stared at the back of the clock. With a deep breath, he tapped into his abilities and became fuzzily aware of everything around him, including the wooden timekeeper sitting before him. “I just see the clock.”

“Look deeper, Landon.”

With another breath he attempted to focus his feeling solely on the clock. As he reached in deeper, he began to sense the gears and pieces that made up the mechanism inside, but they were hidden within a foggy haze. Landon still hadn’t garnered the sensitivity in his abilities that allowed him to see clearly through his gifts. “I don’t feel anything odd, but I really don’t know what I’m looking for.”

“That does make it difficult,” Dr. Brighton said pensively as he stroked his chin. “Clocks are complex machines—gears, cogs, pins, dials, crystals, weights, needles and keys—understanding them is like understanding fate. Like every event in our lives, one affects the other until it results in the foreseen end.”

Suddenly, Dr. Brighton’s eyes opened wide and gleamed with excitement. He then leaned away from the desk and raised his right hand, palm upward. The clock lifted off the desk and rose into the air until it was two feet above the tabletop.

Following the clock on its upward path, Landon’s eyes moved up in their sockets as his head tilted backward. The clock hung there, suspended above their heads, and then in an instant, as if a silent bomb had exploded, the clock burst apart.

To avoid the onslaught of debris and shrapnel, Landon instinctively shut his eyes and turned away, shielding himself, but nothing hit him. He waited a few moments, still unsure if it was safe to lower his guard, but the dead silence made him curious. He cracked his eyelids and looked around, but he never expected what he saw.

The clock itself was nowhere to be seen, but its individual parts were scattered throughout the office. Each component suspended in the air, floating peacefully. Landon rose slowly from his chair to get a better look around. The gears, cogs, pins and crystals were everywhere around him, but seemingly undamaged. Landon looked over to Dr. Brighton, who had also risen to his feet and was walking around his desk. His head moved as he took in each piece of the clock hanging around him.

As he reached out to touch a small gear, he began to speak. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? Man has no control over time. It merely passes us by and drives us to our inevitable deaths, yet we fight so hard to capture it.” Dr. Brighton continued to saunter around the office as he looked at the parts with a sense of wonderment in his eyes. “It takes every one of these parts, perfectly calibrated, to bottle just the measurement of time. People fight for power, for riches. They build guns and weapons believing those are what makes them invincible, yet none of them realize they are slaves to time. . . . Ah ha!”

Dr. Brighton stopped dead in his tracks. Landon intently watched him, waiting to understand what his professor had seen. Delicately, Dr. Brighton extended his hand into the air and pinched an empty space above him. Landon found himself questioning the sanity of his teacher. After the tips of Dr. Brighton’s index finger and thumb closed around the invisible object, he pulled his hand to his chest, walked back to his seat, and sat down.

Then, looking to fall asleep, Dr. Brighton shut his eyes before raising his head slightly as if he was concentrating on something. Landon watched as all the components of the clock—the dial, the gears, the pins, the needles, even the wooden boards of its frame—pulled in toward an invisible point on the desk. It reminded Landon of stars and planets being drawn into a black hole, but rather than disappearing into a massive circle of darkness, the pieces clinked and clanked until the clock, fully reformed, laid on Dr. Brighton’s desk. The subtle ticking of the working timepiece could be heard again.

Landon sat in awe, his mouth hanging open as he stared in wonderment at the clock.

“That was amazing!” he shouted excitedly.

“Thank you, but I’m more excited that I found the source of the problem.” Dr. Brighton held up his hand, his fingers still pinched together.

“What is it?”

“It’s actually just a speck of sand.” Dr. Brighton shook his head slightly. “It still baffles me that something so trivial can completely throw off the entire system.” The professor released his fingers. Landon watched for the sand to fall onto the tabletop, but it was too small for him to see. “Well, I’m exhausted,” Dr. Brighton continued, sounding spent. “I’ve been at this for hours. I believe it’s time for bed. You should do the same, Landon.”

Dr. Brighton stood up and telekinetically pulled the clock into his arms. Landon followed suit and stood up, waiting to leave the office with his professor.

“Oh, just because I’m curious,” Dr. Brighton started again as he stepped around the desk. “This extracurricular project you’re working on, what’s it about?”

“Oh, I’ve just been researching Artemis. You know, the Greek goddess?”

Dr. Brighton straightened suddenly and turned on his heels. He looked Landon dead in the eyes while he tightly clutched the clock in his hands.

“Where did you hear that name?” he asked sternly.

Landon felt a chill roll down his spine as a wave of awkward energy passed through him. He instantly regreted telling Dr. Brighton the truth.

“I overheard someone in the hallway. Why?” he replied nervously. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Of course not.” Landon watched as Dr. Brighton appeared to relax a bit. “But if you want my opinion, I think you should be spending your nights in bed, resting, not holed up in the Library studying things that aren’t even a part of the curriculum.” Dr. Brighton moved to the door, opened it, and turned to Landon, ushering him to exit into the hallway. “Come on.”

Landon stepped into the hall and watched as his professor turned off his office light and shut the door.

“Good night, sir,” Landon said as he turned to go to his dorm room.

“Good night, Landon, and I hope you’re ready for our session this Saturday. Don’t think because it’s the week before Thanksgiving that I’m going to go easy on you.” Dr. Brighton smiled.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, professor,” Landon returned before continuing back to his room on the fourth floor.

Landon’s mind reeled; he couldn’t shake his professor’s unexpected reaction moments earlier. Dr. Brighton had confirmed Landon’s suspicions—Artemis was important. But why? And it was obvious to him now that continuing his search would be dangerous. Dr. Brighton’s reaction was one Landon had seen in movies and television shows. It was the one the character got when they learned they were looking into something they shouldn’t.

Once he was in bed and about to drift off to sleep, he hoped he’d convinced Dr. Brighton that his search was innocent. Just like those characters in the movies, Landon needed him to believe that it was just natural curiosity, and not the truth that he was searching for.

• • • • •

“Landon, I’m going to apologize now for what I’m planning on doing to you today,” Dr. Brighton said as they walked under their usual training arbor in the Secret Garden. The morning was cold and gloomy. A cold front had rolled in during the night, covering the sky in dark rain clouds. Streaks of blue light cracked across the sky. The stone under Landon’s bare feet felt cold and hard.

“What do you mean?” Landon asked, concerned.

“Well, it’s going to be painful, but I think that by the end of this session, we may uncover the root of your issues. Until you’ve confronted whatever it is that’s holding you back, I don’t think these sessions will move beyond what we’ve already accomplished.”

“I’ve tried, but I don’t know what the problem is,” Landon replied, desperately attempting to convince his professor not to cancel their sessions in the garden. He needed them. It was the one place he’d seen improvement in his abilities. If Dr. Brighton ended them, Landon was sure he’d be kicked out of the Gymnasium in no time.

“You see, that’s what I was afraid of,” Dr. Brighton said as he pulled off his coat and move to the edge of the creek.

Dr. Brighton raised his right arm, and out of the creek a group of small, smooth river stones floated into the air and began to hover above his outstretched hand. He looked menacing, and Landon was stricken with a paralyzing fear of what was to come next.

“I’m going to try something a bit unorthodox, but the concept is simple. All you have to do is stop the stone before it hits you,” Dr. Brighton said. “You stop them, the exercise is over and we move on with your training. If you don’t . . . then I hope you have a high tolerance for pain.”

Without warning, one of the stones orbiting above Dr. Brighton’s fingers bolted across the training ground and collided with Landon’s rib. The pain seared through his body, forcing out a guttural groan, but Landon became determined to prove himself to his mentor. I’ve done this before, he told himself. He’d stopped the books Brock threw at him in the Library. He’d only done it once, but . . . I’ve done this before.

He widened his stance, elongated his back and stretched out his hand, intent on stopping the next stone before it rocketed into his body.

Before he could blink, another rock flew through the air and blasted him in the stomach. Landon held firm. The impact made his entire body constrict as the pain surged through him, but he remained strong and unmoved.

Stones three and four made contact with Landon’s body with as much ease as the first two. With every stone, the pain became more and more unbearable. Landon’s face winced with discomfort, and his eyes welled up with tears, but he continued to grit his teeth, resolute to stop the next.

Soon Dr. Brighton started to ask Landon questions before sending the next stone toward him.

“What’s stopping you, Landon?” he yelled over the thunder.

Whack!

“I don’t know!” Landon had spent many sleepless nights trying to figure out what caused the issues with his abilities. He knew there was something, but he could never pinpoint it. He’d tried everything—every bit of advice, every technique—no matter how strange—but nothing solved his problem. It was like a monster in his closet. He knew it was there, but it stayed hidden in the darkness, frightening but undeterminable.

“Yes, you do! Why are you holding back?”

The next river rock shot across the arbor. Landon watched it in slow motion as it came closer and closer. With every fiber of his being, he tried to muster his abilities and stop it.

Thump!

“I don’t know!” Each word became more and more forced as Landon attempted to fight back the pain, but some new sensation was beginning to build up in his abdomen. It was a sort of internal heat, a burning fire at his core. It felt strange, and Landon was afraid of it. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself.

“What’s stopping you?” Dr. Brighton asked again.

Poom!

“I don’t know!” Landon screamed. With every stone, the heat in his belly became more intense; he started to feel like he was getting ready to vomit.

Dr. Brighton stood across the arbor with new rocks from the creek floating out of the water to his hand. Landon was becoming noticeably more defeated. Soon he wouldn’t have the energy to continue.

Even with Landon’s looming failure, Dr. Brighton’s militant demeanor never changed. “Why are you holding back?”

“I deserve this,” Landon whispered inaudibly before his mentor sent the next rock. He wasn’t sure where the feeling came from. It was uninhibited and unexpected—a Freudian slip—but once he heard himself say it, he knew he believed it.

“I told you, all you have to do is stop one of them and we’re finished,” Dr. Brighton said. “Now, why are you holding back?”

The next stone collided with Landon’s left rib. The force toppled him over to the ground. Rain began to pour from the sky, soaking Landon and Dr. Brighton within seconds.

“Stand up, Landon!” Dr. Brighton commanded.

“Please.” His words were barely audible.

“Stand up!” Dr. Brighton’s voice, deep and imposing, resounded over the continuous rumbles of the rain and thunder. A sadistic passion burned in the back of his eyes. He knew he was getting close.

Landon staggered to his feet but remained hunched over in pain. He made himself straighten up and raise his arm toward his professor, biting back the agony that coursed through his body.

“Why are you holding back?” Dr. Brighton asked again.

Landon didn’t even answer, but just stood as tall as he could and choked down the fiery sensation that was beginning to spread through his body.

A stone blasted into his left shoulder. Landon stumbled backward, but he was able to keep his feet and remain upright. He limply held his arm in front of him.

“Why are you holding back?”

A rock collided with Landon’s abdomen again, forcing him to collapse onto his hands and knees. Amid the pain, he could feel the internal fire raging up inside him; his powerful psychokinetic abilities were moments away from breaking out of the cage he’d unknowingly built around them. The last time he’d felt that way was during his apocratusis. Landon feared what might happen next if Dr. Brighton hit him with one more stone.

“Stop! Please! I can’t control it!” Landon screamed through the agony. He clenched his jaw hoping to stave off the force he felt building up inside of him. “I can’t control it,” he forced out.

Dr. Brighton let the stones in the air fall to the ground and bolted over to Landon’s hunched body.

“Look at me,” he requested. He put his hands on both sides of Landon’s face and forced his head to look up at his. “Landon, this is what we’ve been looking for. What can’t you control?” Dr. Brighton waited for a response but got none. “What can’t you control?” he repeated more forcefully.

“Myself,” Landon answered. “If you don’t stop, I’ll kill you . . . like her.” He dropped his head down between his shoulders. Tears flowed from his eyes and mixed with the streams of rainwater that ran down his face. It was the first time he’d ever said it out loud. “I killed her,” he sobbed.

“Landon, look at me,” Dr. Brighton pleaded. “Who? Who did you kill?” He crouched down beside Landon. This was the purpose of the torturous exercise, and Landon needed to say it in order to confront his inner demons and accept his past.

“My mo-th-er,” he answered between sobs. Landon was broken, beaten to the point of total submission, but the fire in his core was beginning to subside. His body writhed with pain, and his heart ached with grief.

“No, Landon. You’re wrong,” Dr. Brighton said. “You didn’t do it. You are not responsible for what happened.”

“But I couldn’t control it. . . . I couldn’t stop.”

“No, you couldn’t. What happened to your mother is terrible. It was a terrible accident—but it was an accident. You have to let her go. There was nothing you could do. It wasn’t you who did it.” Dr. Brighton screamed to be heard over the deafening sound of the rain and thunder. “I saw what happened. I saw the pictures. It’s a tragedy, but you have to honor her by conquering your abilities. Use them—control them—so that something like that never happens again. We cannot dwell in the past. We must only look to the past for guidance as we press forward.”

“I never even said goodbye,” Landon said through his tears. “I was too scared. I just ran away!”

“Do it now. . . . Say goodbye now. . . . It’s never too late. Tell her what you need to say.”

“I don’t have the strength.”

“Yes, you do! I’ve seen it! Over these past weeks, I’ve seen how strong you are. You’re stronger than anyone I know.”

Dr. Brighton’s words struck Landon like a hammer to an anvil. He forced back his tears and managed to look up into the eyes of his mentor. They were sad and compassionate, glassy with water as tears slowly built up in his eyes.

“Tell her,” he pleaded. “Tell her. It’s just you and her.”

Landon’s eyes stung as tears started to flow once again. He lowered his head onto his arms. Dr. Brighton gently placed his hand on Landon’s back, and sat up on his knees, staring off into the sky as lightning flashed and thunder cracked overhead, attempting to comfort his student while also giving him some semblance of privacy.

“Mom,” Landon began, whispering the words to her. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’m sorry. I’m sorry, mom. I couldn’t stop myself, and I don’t know why I ran away. Why didn’t I help you? Why didn’t I fight harder for you? Why couldn’t I have been stronger, mom?” Landon could barely speak through his violent sobs. “I think about you all the time, and read to you every night. I miss you so much.” The words forced their way through his cries, but his voice became stronger as he realized what he needed to do. “But Brighton is right. I have to move on. I can’t stay this angry with myself forever. I can’t! I have to accept what I did and make sure it never happens again. I’m going to make you proud, mom. I’m going to make this right. I swear I will. I’ll make you proud.”

Landon let out a few more tears before he forced himself to choke them back. He then pulled himself up from the ground and staggered to his feet. He was exhausted and drained, emotionally and physically. The pain lingered all over his body, and the cold rain made him shake incessantly, but Dr. Brighton was there to support him.

“Come on. Let’s get warmed up. We’ll stay in the pagoda until the storm blows over,” Dr. Brighton said as they moved down the path. “I’ll make us some tea.”

Dr. Brighton supported Landon’s trembling body as they made their way up to the third floor of the pagoda and he led him over to a large, fabric-covered couch, setting him down gingerly. He then wrapped Landon in a heavy woolen afghan before walking away and disappearing into a small kitchen hidden in the back of the room.

Landon sat silent, shivering uncontrollably while staring at the wall. He hadn’t spoken a word yet; his fatigue and emotional exhaustion had left him numb and unresponsive. He didn’t even attempt to comprehend where he was. Dr. Brighton soon returned carrying two mugs of steaming black tea laced with soothing vanilla. Landon took the cup with both hands and sipped it. The warmth of the liquid coursed through his body; the gentle heat seemed to emanate from his core and delicately rise until it rested just below the skin. His muscles relaxed and he sank into the couch cushions.

When Dr. Brighton took his own mug of tea away from his mouth, he looked over to find Landon fast asleep, clutching his cup loosely on his lap. Dr. Brighton grabbed the cup, which sat on the verge of spilling its contents all over his sleeping pupil, and set it delicately on the coffee table to keep from waking him. The storm continued to rage outside, as strobes of blue light lit up the room and the booming thunder shook the walls.