The Prince's Trap

by Griffith, P. D.

  Landon smiled back, then made his way to the tent. He stuck to the edge of the playing field, only a few inches away from the student stands, hoping to draw as little attention as possible. He noticed some students giving him measured glances, no doubt sizing him up and weighing his chances to beat his opponent. He couldn’t see him, but he was sure Sam Willards was still collecting bets up and down the stands.

  Feeling the pressure of their eyes, Landon’s nerves began to rise up in him. He had told himself a while back that if he made it to the tournament he’d do his best to win, but if he lost it would be no big deal; however, he had never considered how many would be banking on his success. He knew there were a lot of students in the Gymnasium, but it wasn’t until they were all gathered together in one place, as they were in the Atrium after the examinations, that the sheer number of psychokinetics became a reality. If he lost, he wouldn’t only be disappointing Riley and Katie Leigh, but countless others who’d placed bets on him. He hated pressure like that.

  But there was another pressure looming over him. What would he do about fighting Celia in the first round? Should he let her beat him? Or was it in his best interest to try and win the tournament? There were two potential upsides to letting Celia win: putting their relationship right and getting her on the Pantheon. A tournament victory for Landon wouldn’t accomplish much other than feeding his unhealthy competitiveness, so he initially believed letting Celia win was the best option; however, Celia had only been awake from her coma for a few days. There was no way she was at full strength and physically ready to make it through the more competitive and arduous rounds that were sure to come after the preliminary stage. If she couldn’t win the entire thing, then letting her beat him might do more harm than good. What if she moved on but was severely injured in the next round? What if she went too far and hurt herself? Landon couldn’t risk it. Determining that the timing of Celia’s awakening was just too recent, making their plan too dangerous for them to go ahead with it, Landon decided he’d have to beat her and remove her from the games.

  When he reached the white tent, he decided he would do his best to win. With his new resolve, he pulled back a flap and entered. Just before he stepped inside, he noticed a small platform behind the faculty stands. A staff member and a bell he recognized from the First Frost Frenzy were stationed atop it—the starting bell, Landon figured.

  Landon was immediately greeted by the musty smell of mildew and sweat. The heat was wet and suffocating. As Riley had suspected, everyone else was already there. Joshua and Jeremiah bickered with each other as usual in the back of the tent as Cortland and Brock spoke quietly, but when Brock saw Landon he stopped listening to Cortland for a moment to give Landon a deadly stare. The rest of the contestants sat scattered among a series of benches. Some chatted with each other, excited they’d made it, while others just stared at the floor nervously, dreading their time in the arena. Xavier Alcantar sat alone on a bench, no one within five feet of him, a serious, brooding expression on his face.

  At Landon’s entrance, Professor Clemens walked purposefully down the narrow aisle to the entrance while checking something off on a tablet computer. He never said a word to Landon as he maneuvered around him and exited the tent.

  Landon then noticed Celia on a bench in the back. She leaned against one of the steel poles holding up the white tarp. She had a serious grimace on her face, and sat with her arms and legs tightly crossed—completely closed off. Every time he saw her, a sadness pricked at his heart. Unrelenting guilt over what he now knew he’d done to her tormented him. It hadn’t been long since she’d woken up from her coma, but because they weren’t speaking, it seemed like a lifetime to Landon. Whether it was a smart decision or folly, Landon went and sat beside her, similarly crossing his arms as he leaned against the taut white tarp. She behaved as if he wasn’t there.

  The awkwardness pressed on Landon, giving him an almost queasy feeling in his gut and numbness in his head. Deciding the silence was too much to bear, Landon leaned in slightly and said quietly so that no one else would hear, “Tell me what I need to do so you’ll talk to me again.” Even though he’d decided moments earlier to try and win the tournament, if she said it would make things normal again, he would unquestionably let her beat him and do all he could to help her win the whole tournament.

  Without pause, Celia unfurled her limbs, rose from the bench and stormed away, leaving Landon alone with his head dropped in sadness and shame. He didn’t know what he needed to do to get her to forgive him, but he wasn’t going to stop until she was his friend again.

  A minute later, Professor Clemens returned, still carrying his tablet.

  “Students,” he called out to gain everyone’s attention, “the tournament is about to begin. Dr. Wells is addressing the crowd now,”—Landon turned his attention away from Professor Clemens to hear the faint mumbling through the thick fabric—“and upon the bell being struck three times, the first match, between Michael Wolfort and Stephanie Tans, will begin. Remember, you must either get your opponent to submit, or knock them out of the ring to win. Let’s try and keep this clean and everyone will have a great time today. Mike and Stephanie, if you would please join me up here and await the bell.”

  Michael Wolfort, a sturdy, muscular seventeen-year-old with short brown hair and a deep tan, rose from the bench across the room and walked up to Professor Clemens. His stocky build and confident strut reminded Landon of the baseball players at his high school. Mike was joined by Stephanie Tans, a petite Asian girl with straight, jet-black hair cut in a severe line at her shoulders. Landon was surprised she had made it into the tournament. She was meek and soft, not someone he’d expect would beat out everyone else for a spot in the tournament.

  The tent was silent as they waited for Dr. Wells’ incoherent mumblings to cease and the bell to ring. He had been speaking for a while. Even though they couldn’t hear what exactly he was saying, they knew he was attempting to thrill and excite the audience with his eloquent and theatric words.

  Blurrung! Blurrung! Blurrung! The heavy bell chimed with a deep resonance, inciting the crowd to erupt in cheers and screams.

  At the sound, Professor Clemens gave Mike and Stephanie a light shove, ushering them out of the tent and into the playing field. The second they emerged into the open, the noise of the crowd escalated, sounding like a packed arena. The bell chimed again a minute later, commencing the starting bout even though the crowd was still noisily screaming.

  Landon shut his eyes, trying to imagine what was going on outside from the muted sounds he could hear. Although still cheering, the crowd turned down the volume as, with bated breath, they watched Mike and Stephanie square off. Unexpectedly, to Landon anyway, the bell rang out, signaling the end of the match. Landon opened his eyes and looked around the room for someone to explain what had happened. The match had lasted for only a minute.

  The crowd was screaming again, congratulating the victor with their applause. Then Michael Wolfort re-entered the tent, opening the flap with a prideful flourish. Landon wondered how he’d won so quickly, and he waited for Stephanie Tans to walk in after him, but she never did. Without a beat, Professor Clemens called for the next two: “Joshua Crane and Andrea Jenkins.”

  Joshua sprang from the bench and slapped his brother on the back before prancing over to Professor Clemens. He obviously didn’t take the tournament too seriously. His opponent, however, was not as excited and carefree. Noticeably nervous about her fight with Joshua, Andrea Jenkins rose and walked up to Professor Clemens with hesitant steps. It didn’t seem fair that they were paired. Joshua was a trained agent of the Pantheon, and Andrea was just a lanky popular girl who was liked by everyone but had no well-known psychokinetic talents. As they exited the tent, Landon caught Andrea’s dark brown eyes for a split second. She was scared, but knowing it was part of the Qualifiers, she left the tent nonetheless, her thin hands shaking fro
m her nerves.

  Their match was even shorter than Mike and Stephanie’s. Literally a second after the bell tolled to start the match, it was chiming again to signal its end. To no one’s surprise, Joshua Crane strolled back into the tent and high-fived his brother before he plopped down next to him on the bench.

  “All right, this is progressing more quickly than I’d imagined,” Professor Clemens said as he checked his tablet. “Next up is Landon Wicker and Celia Jackson.”

  Landon jolted up with surprise. He had forgotten he was the third match, and the first two had passed so quickly. Rising off the bench, his nerves writhed around in his stomach like a nest of snakes. What was going to happen? How was he going to face her? How am I going to do this? he thought. He hoped he’d made the right decision, to beat her, and that Celia’s anger didn’t result in things getting out of hand and one, or both of them, getting badly injured.

  As he joined Professor Clemens and Celia at the tent’s exit, he felt sweat trickle down his back. Feeling his nerves take hold, he looked back and caught Cortland’s eye. Cortland silently mouthed, “Good luck,” before Professor Clemens shoved Landon out of the tent.

  The crowd erupted in cheers and yelps of excitement as Landon and Celia emerged through the opening of the white tent. Landon looked around in disbelief. He felt like a gladiator entering the Colosseum, the masses waiting for a spectacle. Suddenly, Landon felt an arm on his shoulder and pressure pushing him onto the playing field. When he glanced back, he saw Dr. Brighton smiling pleasantly as the crowd continued to cheer. Landon allowed his professor to guide him to his starting spot as if he were a well-trained dog. It was impossible for him to resist Brighton’s control, or to even think, for that matter. About ten feet into the playing field, Dr. Brighton stopped and told Celia to stand on a small white circle painted on the ground. Looking ahead, Landon saw a second circle waiting for him.

  As he and Dr. Brighton walked another ten feet to his spot, Landon searched the stands for Riley and Katie Leigh, thinking they might impart a bit of reassurance before Celia was set loose on him, but they were camouflaged in a forest of faces and waving arms, invisible to Landon’s eye.

  Dr. Brighton, realizing that Landon wasn’t paying attention, grabbed his shoulders and maneuvered him onto his starting circle. “Landon!” He manually turned Landon’s head to face him; a serious expression was on his face. “I don’t know what you did, but she looks like she wants to kill you!” He had to shout to be heard over the screams. Landon nodded his head automatically while his eyes continued to dart up and down the stands in search of his friends. “Landon, get your head in the game!”

  Dr. Brighton’s sternness shocked Landon back into the situation. He focused his wide eyes and attention on his professor. “Listen, she looks like an enraged bull ready to charge, so be ready.” Landon glanced over to Celia, and his heart fluttered at the sight of her. Her head was down, her eyebrows furrowed, and she looked at him with focused aggression. “Turn her rage against her. When people fight with blind aggression, they open themselves up to a lot of weaknesses. Look for the weakness and exploit it!” Landon nodded in acknowledgement as Dr. Brighton patted him on the shoulder and said, “Good luck.” Dr. Brighton walked back to the tent, stationed to escort the next participants.

  Once he was alone, Landon tried to focus and put aside his nerves. He closed his eyes for a second, mentally blocked out the noise of the crowd, and steadied his breathing. He could feel his heartbeat slowing in his chest and the force of his abilities flowing through him with tingling warmth. Opening his eyes, he looked at Celia with a new sense of purpose, his competitive spirit rising up. If she wanted to win, she’d have to earn it. They’d had three altercations before: The first was when Landon found Celia in the Library in the middle of the night and she pinned him to the golden doors of the southern entrance to the Gymnasium; the second was at Metis Labs when she tried to stop Landon and Cortland from getting the Project Herakles research on the forty-seventh floor of the compound; and the third time was only days ago when a rage-filled Celia telekinetically held him against the medical room wall. Celia had gotten the better of Landon in two of those bouts—each one when she had caught Landon unawares and unprepared. Just like in Metis Labs, this time he was ready for her.

  Landon assumed a fighting stance, widening his legs, grinding the balls of his feet into the dry dirt to secure his footing, and raising his hands. Then the bell chimed.

  But Celia didn’t charge as he, and everyone else, expected. Instead, she leapt backward into a back handspring and landed with her foot just inside the line. She crouched down in a runner’s starting position with her eyes continuously focused on Landon. What was she doing? Landon stared at her, confused. This wasn’t track and field, so what was she planning? The arena fell nearly silent with anticipation; only the faint mumbling of confused whispers was audible. Celia raised her backside into the air like a sprinter waiting for the starting gun, her legs and torso bent at perfect right angles, her head raised with eyes on Landon. Then she took off, running toward him at top speed, her feet flashing under her in rapid succession. Landon prepared himself, but the most unexpected thing happened.

  After a few steps, Celia’s torso turned slightly and she drew her arms backward. Then she threw them forward and up in a circular motion. The instant her hands passed her hips, a cloud of dust and debris exploded off the playing field floor as if a depth charge had detonated beneath the earth, startling Landon and hiding her behind a thick veil of dirt.

  Landon could hear the gasp of surprise from the audience as he tried to see Celia through squinted eyes. Then the dust cloud blasted into his face with the power of a gale force wind. Landon hid his face into the crook of his arm, shielding his eyes from the dirt, small sticks, and leaf bits, doing what he could to protect himself. He was helpless.

  Celia crashed into him with the force of a charging bull. Her shoulder connected with Landon’s abdomen, and she wrapped her arms around him, tackling him to the ground. The impact forced the wind out of him.

  He tried to break free, wiggling and writhing in every direction. But he couldn’t break Celia’s powerful hold, and he couldn’t find a footing. With the dust cloud cleared, the students exploded with raucous cheers.

  Her feet, moving with the power and rhythm of train pistons, dug into the ground as she shoved Landon across the grass. She inched him closer and closer to the edge of the playing field. She was going to win in a matter of seconds by forcing him out of bounds, and Landon couldn’t think of a way to stop her.

  But just before they reached the white border and Landon’s embarrassing defeat, Celia relaxed her grip and stopped her forward progress. She rolled off of him and bounced to her feet with a flourish. Then, using her telekinetic abilities, she grabbed hold of Landon and pulled him away from the line, tossing him back into the center of the arena. The students, beside themselves with excitement, roared even louder. Celia had prolonged the match even though her victory was just about guaranteed, providing the audience with a spectacle beyond their wildest dreams.

  Landon gasped for breath as he staggered back onto his feet. Dirt and grime coated his face and arms as twigs and leaves stuck out of his tangled hair. Blood dripped down the back of his forearms, leaking from cuts and scrapes that ran up from his elbows to his shoulders. Turned toward Celia, Landon held himself up with hands gripping the tops of his thighs. Panting for air, he readied himself for her next attack.

  Inside, Landon was reeling from Celia’s aggression. He knew he had wronged her, but her ferocity was beyond what he thought rightful retribution. She wanted to hurt him, severely. And she wanted to shame him.

  Celia started toward Landon, again in a dead sprint, but Landon thought quickly, and using his gifts, attempted to trip her with a low telekinetic wave. When the wave connected, Celia fell forward, but with impressive agility, rolled and regained her
footing, continuing toward Landon with unwavering determination.

  Seeing no other option, he raised his hands and created a telekinetic wall to shield him from the full brunt of her impact. But Landon wasn’t aware that with Celia’s approach, she was also propelling a telekinetic field. The collision of the two shook and expanded the air, releasing a deafening clap like thunder and kicking up a spray of dirt from the ground. There were screams of surprise from the stands.

  Landon and Celia’s hands were clenched. Each of them was using every ounce of strength they had to try and overpower the other and force them into submission. But neither would give way. Locked in a stalemate, they moved back and forth between the borders of the arena. The rage in Celia’s eyes was unrelenting and scared Landon. He needed to figure out another way to win . . . fast.

  He began looking around, searching for some object or hidden strategy he could use to beat her. Dr. Brighton’s words, “She’s like an enraged bull,” echoed through his mind, and he realized something. In bullfighting, the matador allowed the bull to charge, but moved aside when the bull was upon him. The sheer momentum of the bull propelled it to the other side of the ring and they continued that dance until the matador was able to defeat the bull with a thrust of his sword.

  Landon slowly conserved his strength, allowing Celia to push him backward, moving him closer and closer to the white line adjacent to the tent. The crowd screamed with excitement as they watched Celia gain the upper hand. “The two most powerful forces are patience and time.” Landon repeated Tolstoy’s words in his head, waiting for the right moment. Soon he was butted up against the boundary. He reengaged his strength and stopped Celia from moving him any farther. The crowd fell silent again in anticipation, wondering if this was the end to the match. Landon prepared to pull himself to the side and let Celia fall out of the ring, but before he could, a flash of light caught his eye. When he glanced over to the source, he saw it was the sun reflecting off the glasses of none other than Washington Sykes, who was staring at him from the second row of the staff and faculty bleachers. He wasn’t shouting or cheering or showing any expression at all. He just stared at Landon.