The Academy Defenders

by T. J. Robinson

  After dinner, Milo sat in front of the fireplace, grumbling about the upcoming homework he was sure to be assigned. Kennedy rolled her eyes and reminded him that last year he and Sean had persuaded a group of recruits from Jamus to do their homework for them. “Yeah, but that took a lot of work,” complained Milo. “I hope they don’t think they’re off the hook just because last year’s over.”

  That night, Lincoln lay in his bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep no matter what he tried. He couldn’t help but worry that he would somehow screw everything up during tomorrow’s training and be shipped back home, losing his new identity as swiftly as he had found it. When he did finally doze off, his sleep was restless and full of nightmares.

  Morning finally came. Lincoln met Skylar and Jack in the great room and the three of them walked to Roemick Tower together, getting to class just before the Atlas bells chimed.

  They had three classes before lunch, which were history, math, and biology. Since it was the first day, the teachers spent the morning introducing themselves, getting to know the recruits, and giving a brief outline of what they would cover in their subjects. Unfortunately, Milo was correct in that the teachers all assigned homework. It would take Lincoln a couple of hours to finish.

  Lincoln, Skylar, and Jack were now in the cafeteria, finishing their lunches with some of their second-year friends.

  “So, Milo,” said Jack, “any advice for combat training?”

  “Yep,” answered Milo, his mouth full of food. “Make sure you stay on Miss Grimes’s good side. You do not want to see her angry.”

  “Milo and Sean know all about that,” interjected Kennedy snidely.

  “You know it wasn’t our fault,” groaned Sean.

  “Yeah,” replied Kennedy. “Who would have guessed Miss Grimes wouldn’t like hot sauce in her orange juice?”

  “That juice was meant for Jane,” protested Sean. He turned toward the first-years. “Jane’s a third-year Amelia recruit who thinks she’s the queen of England. We,” Sean nodded at Milo, “want to help her realize she’s not.”

  “I like her,” Kennedy said.

  “Of course you do,” replied Sean. He was about to say something else, but closed his mouth as Milo gave him a warning look.

  The bells chimed. Lincoln tossed what remained of his lunch into the garbage can and walked with Jack and Skylar to the Combat Training Center.

  A woman stood in the middle of the center. She was short and muscular with a slender face and high cheekbones. Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and her deep brown eyes scanned the gathering crowd as she paced back and forth.

  The bells chimed again, and the woman stopped pacing and turned to face the crowd. “Good afternoon, recruits. My name is Addison Grimes, and as your combat training instructor, it is my responsibility to help you maximize the physical abilities that come with your new powers. I will do whatever it takes to make sure this happens.” She spoke in a swift, businesslike manner, used to giving orders and having those orders followed. Milo’s advice had been spot on. You don’t mess with Miss Grimes.

  She approached a giant bin next to the wall, reached in, and pulled out two wooden staffs. “Now I’d like to see what type of recruits we have this year. Any volunteers for a brief demonstration?”

  Several recruits raised their hands, including Jack and Skylar. Miss Grimes scanned the crowd, her gaze pausing on Lincoln, whose hands remained at his sides. “You,” she said, pointing at Lincoln.

  “Me?” asked Lincoln, as everyone looked at him. The other recruits seemed to tower over him.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Lincoln Thomas, ma’am,” answered Lincoln.

  Miss Grimes nodded. “I thought so. You have your grandfather’s eyes. I heard his grandson was here. And if I heard correctly, you were also the last of the recruits to arrive at the academy?” Lincoln hadn’t really thought about it, but now that he did, he realized she was right. He nodded again.

  “Well, then,” continued Miss Grimes, “don’t be surprised if you start out slightly behind the others. It takes time for our bodies to adapt to our new powers. Over the next few weeks, your abilities will increase significantly.”

  She turned and addressed the rest of the recruits. “Combat training has a few simple rules. First, you are not allowed to use any of the eight rites during your training with me. Rite control will be taught in the RTC by Mr. Spencer, not here with me. Second, no jewelry will be worn, and this includes watches.” Skylar and several other recruits undid their watches and slipped them into their pockets.

  “Third,” continued Miss Grimes, “combat training will only occur here in the Combat Training Center under close supervision. The center was given safeguards by the Founders, protecting recruits from death or serious injury while training. You can be hurt here in the center, but none of those injuries will be life threatening. A few weeks in the Trauma Center and you’ll be as good as new. And finally, no firearms are permitted at the academy. They’re useless against a trained Guardian anyway.” Lincoln nodded, remembering what his mom had done to the bullet. “And we don’t want to chance some reckless recruit accidentally injuring someone. We use paintball guns instead. These rules will be followed at all times. Any questions?”

  No one said anything. Miss Grimes raised one of the staffs she was holding high above her head. “We will begin our training with the most basic of weapons, the staff. It may be simple, but when used correctly, the staff is still a powerful weapon.”

  She pointed at Lincoln. “Lincoln, come to the front. Recruits, form a circle around us, but give us plenty of space.” This took several minutes, as Miss Grimes had to keep moving the recruits into a larger circle until finally she was satisfied with its size.

  “Now tell me, Lincoln,” began Miss Grimes, “have you trained in martial arts?” Lincoln shook his head.

  “What about sports, you play any?”

  “Not really,” admitted Lincoln.

  Miss Grimes frowned. From her expression, Lincoln could see she was questioning her decision to use Lincoln as her volunteer. “Catch!” She tossed Lincoln one of the wooden staffs. He caught it awkwardly, nearly dropping it.

  Miss Grimes frowned again, shifted her grip on the other staff, and crouched into a fighting position.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  Lincoln gulped and nodded. Before he even finished nodding, Miss Grimes attacked. She jumped forward, slashing through the air with her staff. Lincoln backpedaled and managed to somehow fend off her first two attacks, though his movements were clumsy and slow.

  Slam! Lincoln’s head hit the floor as he fell backward, upended by Miss Grimes’s staff. He stood up and shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs before the battle resumed.

  The second round was even shorter. Miss Grimes feigned an attack at Lincoln’s knees, and as he moved to block her blow, she jabbed him right in the nose. He fell back to the ground. Dazed and bleeding, Lincoln rolled to his back while he waited for the pain to subside.

  “So have you had enough?” grunted Lincoln after his head finally stopped spinning. He sat up. “Sorry if I hurt you.” Several recruits laughed, appreciating Lincoln’s joke at his own expense.

  Miss Grimes smiled and helped him to his feet. “I think I’ll survive. Okay, everyone line up. It’s time for some basic technique.”

  For the next hour, Miss Grimes taught the recruits several basic moves with a staff. She would demonstrate a maneuver and then have the recruits repeat it. As they practiced, she walked around the room, evaluating each recruit’s technique. Each time a recruit executed a maneuver correctly, she nodded her head in satisfaction, but if a recruit made a mistake, she shook her head, clicking her tongue furiously as she did so. It didn’t take long before Lincoln knew he would soon hate that sound.

  Next, Miss Grimes split the recruits into pairs and had them practice the techniques on one another. Lincoln’s muscles burned as he and his partner, a tall boy f
rom Australia, battled back and forth. They took a short break, and Lincoln glanced around the room. Most of the recruits looked how he felt, exhausted. Miss Grimes whistled and ordered everyone to gather around.

  “Before we finish,” she began. A recruit in the back groaned. Miss Grimes’s eyes darted in the direction of the groan, and the room suddenly became silent.

  “Before we finish,” she repeated, “I would like to have another demonstration. Will Skylar McKinley and Jack James please come to the front?”

  Skylar and Jack walked to the front of the class.

  “These two have shown particular promise today, and I’d like the rest of you to see them in a sparring session.” Miss Grimes looked at Skylar and Jack. “Don’t hold back. I want to see what you can do. Remember, you’re safe from serious injury.”

  The other recruits spread outward as Jack and Skylar came together, circling one another cautiously. Jack seemed hesitant, and Skylar attacked first, swinging her staff forcefully at Jack’s right shoulder. Bam! The staff hit Jack in the shoulder and then bounced against his neck, hard enough to leave a bruise. Skylar continued her attacks, moving with mind-boggling speed. The blow to Jack’s shoulder, however, seemed to awaken the competitor inside of him. Lincoln watched in awe as Jack moved just as quickly as Skylar, blocking her attacks while adding attacks of his own.

  Suddenly, Jack dropped to the ground and kicked, knocking Skylar off her feet. She landed on her back. Jack raised his staff to strike. As he swung downward, Skylar rolled to her left and then somersaulted forward, ending up behind him. She jumped to her feet and jabbed at Jack with her staff.

  He was too quick. Jack leaped into the air, back-flipping high above Skylar’s head. He landed behind her and swung his staff. The blow caught Skylar across the back. She stumbled forward and her staff flew into the air. Jack swept his staff at Skylar’s knees, knocking her legs out from under her. She landed face-down on the mat. She grunted, rolled over, and picked herself up, ignoring Jack’s extended hand.

  Miss Grimes quickly stepped between them, clapping her hands together. “Well done. I hope this helps everyone see what can be accomplished with a little work. Good work today. I suggest you get a good night’s sleep. Your bodies will need the chance to recover.”

  The recruits returned their staffs to the bin. Lincoln put his away and then jogged to catch up with Skylar and Jack as they made their way to the exit. Skylar had a dark bruise forming on the back of her knees, and Jack had a welt on his neck just below his left ear. Lincoln grinned. At least he wouldn’t be the only one of his friends with some sore areas.

  “Hey,” shouted someone from behind. Lincoln turned to see Banks and six of his friends approaching. They circled Lincoln, Jack, and Skylar, surrounding them. Everyone else had already left the training center. To make matters worse, Lincoln and his friends were weaponless, while Banks and each of his friends still held their staffs from the training session.

  Since the incident his first morning at the academy, Lincoln had only seen Banks a handful of times. Each time, Banks had glared angrily in Lincoln’s direction and then left the room.

  “Listen, Banks,” Lincoln told him. “I’m sorry about what happened. Can’t you just let it go?”

  “Sure,” sneered Banks. “Right after I teach you what happens when you mess with me.”

  “You ... or your six friends?” Jack asked.

  Banks didn’t answer, he just glared at Jack. He nodded at his friends, and the seven of them slowly closed in on Lincoln, Jack, and Skylar.

  Banks reached them first. He came straight for Lincoln and swung his staff, aiming low. Lincoln jumped over the swinging staff, and for a moment the two of them stared at one another.

  Then chaos erupted.

  Banks’s six friends attacked simultaneously. Skylar narrowly avoided a staff aimed for her chest. Jack went on the offensive, flying into the air and striking one of the attackers in the face with a vicious punch. He crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Jack grabbed two more attackers and tackled them to the ground. One of the others jumped on top of the pile, and the four of them rolled across the floor, a tangled blur of flying arms and legs. Banks’s two remaining friends ganged up on Skylar, leaving Lincoln to face Banks one-on-one.

  Banks attacked again, this time jabbing his staff at Lincoln’s head. The staff clipped Lincoln’s ear as he dodged to the side and punched Banks square in the nose. Lincoln heard a sickening crack and felt his attacker’s nose break beneath his fist. Blood burst from Banks’s nose, covering his mouth and chin.

  “Now you’re gonna pay!” he shouted as he pounced at Lincoln. Lincoln stumbled backward, dodging another blow. The next swing of the staff caught Lincoln on the shoulder, knocking him sideways. Time was running out. Lincoln might dodge a few more blows, but without a weapon he stood no chance of winning the fight. In desperation, he jumped at Banks, kicking. Banks knocked Lincoln’s leg out of the way with his staff and then swung again. Lincoln took the blow in his chest and fell to the ground.

  “That’s what I thought,” Banks bragged with a twisted grin as he watched Lincoln writhe in pain on the floor. Banks raised his staff. “It’s too bad we’re in the combat center, so this won’t hurt as bad as it should. Still, I think it will help you get the message. Don’t ever mess with me again.” Banks swung his staff downward as hard as he could.

  Lincoln felt a surge of energy from somewhere within his chest, similar to when he fought Boggs. Only this time, Lincoln knew what was happening. He controlled the air in front of him, pushing it together, making it thicker, impenetrable. The staff hit the thickened air and stopped a few inches from Lincoln’s face. Banks looked at Lincoln in shock. He lifted his staff above his head and once again swung it downward. And for the second time, it stopped a few inches from Lincoln’s face. Banks dropped it, screamed in rage, and jumped forward, ready to attack with his bare hands.

  Lincoln pushed the impenetrable wall of air forward. It rushed toward Banks, hitting him like a concrete wave. He flew backward, crashing into the wall behind him before falling to the floor.

  Lincoln staggered to his feet. Jack, who was standing across the room with three unconscious recruits lying at his feet, stared at Lincoln in shock. Skylar and one of her attackers had still been fighting, but they stopped to watch Lincoln and Banks and were also staring at Lincoln. Skylar regained her senses first, grabbed the staff out of her opponent’s hands, and whacked him on the head. He slumped to the floor.

  Lincoln’s friends approached him, the shock on their faces replaced with awe and even a small amount of fear.

  “How did you do that?” Skylar asked. Lincoln shrugged his shoulders. A wave of fatigue suddenly hit him, and he nearly fell to the floor.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Jack urged. “I don’t want patrol duty.”

  “Patrol duty?” Lincoln asked.

  “Think of it as academy detention,” Jack answered. “Whenever recruits get in trouble, they get Friday or Saturday night patrol duty. You spend the entire night walking around the grounds making sure nothing suspicious is going on. It’s boring and leaves you exhausted for the next few days. Milo can tell you all about it. He’s done it a hundred times. Now let’s get out of here.”

  Lincoln took one more look at Banks slumped over by the wall and then left the training center with Skylar and Jack. They went to the cafeteria and ate their dinner, trying to act as normal as possible. Banks and his friends never showed up, which meant they were either too hurt or too embarrassed to show their faces. Lincoln didn’t care either way. If it weren’t for the shield of air he had somehow made, he would be the one lying unconscious in the training center. Banks deserved what had happened to him, didn’t he?

  Lincoln struggled to keep his eyes open as he tried to finish his dinner. All he wanted was to go to his room and collapse on his bed. He vaguely recalled Mr. Rockwell mentioning that controlling rites wore you out just like physical exercise. He wished the director would have mentio
ned just how much it wore you out. Lincoln’s muscles ached as if he had just run a marathon.

  He gave up after finishing half his plate, told everyone he was done for the night, and hurried to his dorm. As he changed into his pajamas, his eyes fell upon the mayoke he had hidden in his closet after his meeting with Mr. Rockwell. Wishing he had it during his battle with Banks, Lincoln vowed to keep it with him during training and find a better hiding spot for it the rest of the time.

  CHAPTER 8

  RITE TRAINING

  SKYLAR AND JACK WERE NOWHERE TO BE seen at breakfast the next morning. Guessing they were running a little late, Lincoln loaded his plate with a ham and cheese omelet and then spotted Milo and Kennedy sitting next to the fireplace. He headed in their direction, wincing as he accidentally banged his sore shoulder into a wooden beam.

  “Well, well,” Milo said, grinning at Lincoln as he approached, “talk about making a big splash on your first day.”

  “Huh?” Lincoln asked.

  “Don’t play dumb with me. I’ve been in trouble enough times to know when somebody’s hiding something. I heard you took care of Banks and his buddies.”

  “It wasn’t just me,” answered Lincoln. “Jack and Skylar did most of the work.”

  “I know,” said Milo. “The whole academy has heard the story. Miss Grimes found Banks and his friends where you left them. She gave them four weeks of patrol duty. What I can’t figure out is how you made an air shield with no practice.”

  Lincoln shrugged his shoulders as Kennedy chimed in. “I can’t believe Banks would do something like that. He’s such an idiot. I’m glad he ended up in the Trauma Center.”

  “The Trauma Center?” asked Lincoln.

  “You didn’t hear?” answered Kennedy, surprised. “He broke his arm. Alice fixed him up and he was released late last night.”

  Lincoln had a feeling that patrol duty wouldn’t do much to stop Banks from trying to even the score.