“Kaylie!” Archer thundered, and then felt terrible because he saw Kaylie jump and then shrivel. And feeling guilty just made him angrier. “I said, go check on the meerkats!”
“Okay . . . ,” she mumbled through quivering lips. And then she was gone.
Archer turned back to Rigby. “So your uncle was a Lucid Walker. And now you are. I should have figured it out. When Guzzy attacked you . . . with the knife, you did something, something with the . . . Did you make the knife turn into flowers?”
Rigby laughed acidly. “Yeah, I was wondering if you’d come back to that.” He shook his head angrily. “I don’t know how that happened. I mean, I can do all kinds of things in the Dream, but not here. That was a first. I was so upset, so scared, it felt like something in my mind slipped. And boom, the knife turned into flowers.”
“You’re messing with things you don’t understand,” Archer muttered. “Breaking into the Dream is dangerous.”
“I don’t break into dreams,” Rigby said. “It’s lucid dreaming, same as what you do.”
“Not the same,” Archer said.
“Oh, that’s right. Dreamtreaders are chosen.” Rigby glared. “You’re not better than me, Archer.”
“I never said I was.”
“No?” Rigby coughed into his hand. “Well, mostly it’s implied by your kind, isn’t it? Dreamtreaders are the chosen guides, the mediators, and the justice. I saw you there, Archer. I know what you’re capable of.”
“But do you know what you’re capable of?” Archer fired back. “You Lucid Walkers are ripping holes in the dream fabric.”
“You lying—” Rigby’s voice fell to a low snarl. He took a step toward Archer.
“It’s not a lie,” Archer said, watching Rigby’s hands. Better than getting a flat-hand strike to the throat. Archer knew how quick Rigby could attack.
“You Dreamtreaders just want to have the Dreamscape to yourselves,” Rigby contended.
“You Lucid Walkers just want to go where you don’t belong. Look at your poor uncle. He stayed too long in the Dream, didn’t he?” Rigby didn’t answer at first. “Didn’t he?”
“Past his eleven hours,” he whispered and then was silent for several moments. The life support machines continued their faint beeps. The respirator filled and emptied. Rigby went on, “The first time it happened, he came back. It was maybe just a little more than twelve hours, that’s all. But he was acting a bit strange . . . kind of aggressive. We didn’t think much of it. My mum thought it was an old age thing, but Uncle Scovy, I think he knew something had gone wrong. The next time he went in . . . he never came back out. He slipped into a deep coma. It destroyed me. Uncle Scovy . . . well, he was like a father to me.”
“I can imagine.”
“Can you?” Rigby asked, the words sizzling contempt.
“My mother died of cancer when I was seven,” Archer said quietly.
Rigby’s mouth hung open for several heartbeats. “Maybe you can imagine, then,” he said. “Rough.”
“You said your dad was overseas, right?”
“Oh, yeah, yeah, he’s overseas, all right. And not coming back. He was never happy with the move to the States . . . or us.”
“I’m sorry,” Archer said. “That’s a lot to have to endure.”
“All of it, yeah,” Rigby said. “But see, I’m going to do something about it. I’m going to bring Uncle Scovy back.”
“I . . . I don’t think you can,” Archer said. “I’ve been reading The Dreamtreader’s Creed, and I don’t see any way to do it.”
“There is a way,” Rigby said. “Kill the Nightmare Lord. He’s behind all the death and misery that comes out of the Dream. We knock him off, it’ll free up the Dream for good. We’ll have the power then to bring Uncle Scovy back.”
“We?” Archer said.
“You’re a Dreamtreader,” Rigby said. “And the Nightmare Lord is your enemy?”
“Right on both counts.”
“Then, we’re fighting the same battle. There are three Dreamtreaders, aren’t there? With all three of you, with all your experience, we could—”
“The other two Dreamtreaders are missing,” Archer said, his tone flat.
“No . . . way.” He shook his head and stared at his uncle’s still form.
“I don’t know what happened to them, Duncan and Mesmeera. They were my friends. Strong, smart, fierce . . . I can only imagine what could take them down.”
“That’s horrible news, mate,” Rigby said quietly. “But it explains a lot. Things are getting dicey in the Dream. You’ve seen it too, right?”
“Breaches everywhere . . . If something doesn’t change soon, a rift will occur.”
“Rift?” Rigby’s eyes narrowed. He seemed to be looking inward. “What are you talking about?”
“A rift is like a gigantic breach, only worse, it spreads, and if it can’t be closed up, the Dream and the Temporal will mix. That could be the end of . . . well, everything.”
“Temporal?” he asked. “You mean this world too?”
Archer nodded. “Can you imagine if people could no longer tell whether they were dreaming or awake?”
Rigby’s expression flattened and became unreadable. “Yeah, I can imagine it. All the more reason we should join forces. I got friends, Archer, friends from GIFT . . . and a few from Dresden ’igh. We’ve been training for a while.”
“What? More Lucid Dreamers?”
“Yeah, yeah, and we’re good. We can use what the Dream gives us. We can take the fight to the Nightmare Lord, but to ’ave you join us? Well, you might just be the difference in this fight.”
Archer thought about the wisdom he’d learned from Bezeal. “I need to talk to someone first.”
“This can’t wait long,” Rigby said. His eyes narrowed. “Wait, you listen to me, Archer. You’re not planning on ratting me out to your superiors, right? You . . . just can’t do that. My uncle . . . I have to try this, for him.”
“There’s just one superior,” Archer said. “And I have to tell him. The last time I kept something from him . . . it didn’t work out so well.”
“Put in a good word, then,” Rigby said. “You tell him we can all fight the Nightmare Lord. We might even be able to help you find the other two Dreamtreaders.”
“I’ll tell him that,” Archer said. But Master Gabriel doesn’t like to negotiate.
TWENTY-FIVE
MASTER GABRIEL’S FOURTH VISIT
ARCHER WAS READY TO EXPLODE. OF ALL THE NIGHTS for his father to want to talk. Ordinarily, it would have been the best thing to happen. Archer wanted to talk to his dad. He missed talking to his dad. But on this night, there were forces at work that needed to be addressed.
“I miss her, Archer,” his father said.
“I know, Dad,” he said. “I miss her too.”
“You know, it’ll be seven years in August.”
August. A memory came unbidden. His mom had been suffering so much, and so often she’d complained of the summer heat. Archer had gone to the well. He’d weighted the pail so it would drop all the way to the bottom of the well. He got his mom a bucket of the purest, coldest well water. He’d been thrilled to give it to her, but when he came upstairs, he heard sobbing. And baby Kaylie was screaming. Archer brought the cold well water for his mother. But he was too late. She was gone.
“Yeah, Dad,” he said. “I remember.”
“It’s just these . . . these dreams,” his father said. “I’ve never had dreams like these. Never! They’re so vivid. It’s like every night, I’m getting my heart broken all over again.”
“Dad, look, I’m really sorry. But I just can’t go there tonight, okay?”
“Son?”
“No, I can’t. I’m going upstairs. I’m going to bed.”
“But . . . Archer?”
As he turned the corner and ascended the stairs, Archer felt like a piece had torn free from his soul. His father wanted to talk. He needed to talk. But Archer swallowed down the guil
t and went to his room.
Archer sat on the bed and opened The Dreamtreader’s Creed. He took out the white summoning feather and tossed it into the air.
“I was coming tonight anyway,” Master Gabriel said. His Incandescent Armor was brighter than Archer had ever seen it, and it flared as he spoke. His face appeared more fierce as well. “Things in the Dream are reaching a boiling point.”
“It doesn’t seem to matter which way I’m looking,” Archer said, breathing heavily. “You always appear somewhere else.”
“Enough small talk, Archer. Your news first.”
Archer wasn’t sure where to begin. “Okay, I went to Kurdan, like you said I should. I gave Bezeal the Karakurian Chamber.”
“And what did you gain in return?”
Archer explained about the thrones and the two trees. He told Master Gabriel everything Bezeal had said.
When Archer was finished, Master Gabriel stroked his beard once and said, “I have known the Creeds from the beginning,” he said. “And I recall nothing about the thrones and trees. But . . . the Tokens of Doom, the leaves twain . . . that could be a connection. Perhaps it is not the doom of the Dreamtreaders after all, but rather the Nightmare Lord himself. Perhaps. It is something to consider. Something to ponder deeply.”
“There’s something else,” Archer said. “Bezeal has developed a patch.”
“A what?”
“He’s concocted some kind of chemical or herbal, well, I’m not sure what it is. But it’s a kind of pasty liquid patch that will temporarily seal up breaches. The patches let some plasma through, and they won’t last forever. But it’ll slow down the breaches from widening and give me a chance to weave. Bezeal has even developed kits that villagers . . . the everyday folk of the Dream can use to help us stem the plague of breaches.”
“That is news, indeed,” Master Gabriel replied. “Though it is unlike Bezeal to do something helpful.”
“Well, he’s made a fortune on it.”
“That certainly sounds more like him. This may provide a critical cushion of time. But we must remember, as you say, it is temporary. Any news on the other Dreamtreaders?”
“Bezeal thinks they missed their eleven-hour deadline,” Archer said. “But he didn’t explain it. I don’t know anything else.”
“That is grave news, but not completely unexpected,” Master Gabriel said. “It could not have come at a worse moment. The Dream is unstable. And while this patch of Bezeal’s may hinder the Nightmare Lord, time is ultimately running out. If we do not take more direct action against the enemy, I am afraid a rift is inevitable.”
“Funny you should say that.”
“There is nothing funny here, Archer.”
“Figure of speech.” Archer shifted his weight and stared at his bedroom window. “I met a Walker.”
“A Lucid Walker?” Master Gabriel’s armor flared.
“Yes, but he’s a friend. He’s on our side.”
“No Lucid Walker is on our side, Archer. The very act of them entering and exiting the Dream causes new breaches.”
“But this one wants to throw down the Nightmare Lord too. He’s been training other Lucid Walkers.”
Gabriel’s hand flew to the hilt of his sword. “He has an army?”
“Well, no, I don’t think he has an army. More like a team. But they know how to operate within the Dream, and they all want to take out the Nightmare Lord.”
“At what cost, Archer? At . . . what . . . cost? The very act of ushering Lucid Walkers into the Dream could trigger the very cataclysm we are struggling to avoid!”
“They know,” Archer contended. “Or, at least their leader knows. But he said he’d help us find Duncan and Mesmeera, if we’ll fight together against the Nightmare Lord.”
“I fear Duncan and Mesmeera may be . . . beyond finding.”
“Dead?” Archer gasped. “No!”
“I am not certain,” Master Gabriel replied quietly. “But they have been missing for so long . . . well, it is possible that death might be a mercy.”
“I don’t understand,” Archer said. But then he did. It hit him, and it was as if the gravity in the room had increased exponentially. If Duncan and Mesmeera had missed their Personal Midnights . . . they’d be trapped forever in the Dream. Rigby’s Uncle Scoville, wasting away strapped to the table . . . the image was difficult to bear.
Then Archer remembered what Rigby had said. “Master Gabriel, the Lucid Walker I met . . . he’s researched this quite a bit. He’s convinced that the Nightmare Lord is the source of the . . . that is, he’s what’s keeping people stuck in the Dream. If we destroy him, we might . . . well, we might be able to bring people back.”
“A curious notion,” Master Gabriel said. “But the Creeds speak nothing of anyone coming back. Ever.”
“Okay, maybe not,” Archer said. “But we still have to try, right? You said yourself that we need to take direct action.”
Master Gabriel opened his mouth to speak, but Archer cut him off. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve overstepped again. You’d think I’d have learned by now. I will abide by whatever you decide.”
Master Gabriel remained silent for a long time. His armor flared intermittently as he paced Archer’s room. At last, he pounded a fist into his palm and said, “So be it, Archer. You cannot do this alone. Take up with these Lucid Walkers, but be wary of them. The opening of the imagination, the expansion of the brain’s capabilities, can often lead to trouble.”
“Should we go tonight?”
“No,” Gabriel said. “Not tonight. Tonight, make plans, organize, and prepare. Go tomorrow night. And may Shadowkeep fall to your attack!”
“Master Gabriel,” Archer said. “There’s something I’ve wondered for a very long time. But, honestly, I’ve been afraid to ask you.”
“Hmmm,” he said. “Perhaps it is better left unasked. Those kinds of questions can be very dangerous.”
He turned to leave, but Archer grabbed his arm. “At this point,” Archer said, “it seems worth the risk.”
“What, then? Speak, Archer. Ask your question.”
Archer took a deep breath and said, “Well, Master Gabriel, what I want to know is . . . why don’t you ever come to the Dream with us, with the Dreamtreaders, I mean? You are obviously very powerful. I feel like there are battles we lost . . . that we might have won if you’d been with us.”
Master Gabriel’s armor flared white hot.
“I mean, I know you have your reasons,” Archer added quickly. “You’ve said again and again that not all the phenomena we witness will have a reason . . . at least, not a reason that will make sense. But this time? This time won’t you come? This is the ultimate battle, and the Nightmare Lord is strong. Won’t you come?”
Master Gabriel stood as still as a statue. His armor dimmed. With his eyes hooded and thoughtful, he said, “No, Archer, I will not accompany you, not even this time. This is a Dreamtreader War, and you must be the one to fight it.”
“But the Nightmare Lord—”
“The Nightmare Lord is not my opposite number,” Master Gabriel said. “Yes, I oversee the Dreamtreaders to shepherd the Dream and keep the Nightmare Lord in check. But, Archer, he is not my task to defeat. His master is my charge.”
Archer swallowed hard, the concept of something more hideous than the Nightmare Lord . . . too difficult to entertain. “The Nightmare Lord . . . has a master?”
“Yes, and he is truly a thing of horrors,” Master Gabriel said. “Now, never you mind about that. You have enough to consume your thinking without bearing my burdens also. Anchor first.”
Archer swallowed and replied, “Anchor deep.”
DREAMTREADERS CREED, CONCEPTUS 5
Forms, Pattern, and Verse.
These are the three districts of the Dream. They are so named for the mental operation performed to gain access to each, for the Dreamscape itself is built in the architecture of the mind. The Dreamtreader will come to know them in that order, but the Cr
eeds reveal them based on another measure.
The Verse District is the realm of creation. Of the three, Verse is the most connected to the Ethereal, the true home and blessed destination. The Dreamscape sun rises in Verse with a radiance unsurpassed, casting golden light upon its kingdoms, making poetry of meandering mountains, towering trees, rushing waters, and rolling hills. Beauty sings from every leaf, twig, and blossom. Nowhere is a breach more of a travesty than in Verse. The Dreamtreader of this realm must see to it that it is left untainted. Not even the most minute defect can be permitted. It is perfect balance, perfect peace, and perfect beauty. The Dreamtreader of Verse must be pure of heart and of motive. Beware that you do not ferry evil into Verse, for its surface will not suffer the stain for long. The land itself will rise up against the infection and cast it out.
The Patterns District is the realm of change. It lies in the heart of the Dream because it is the living heart of the Dream. In the Pattern District the only constant is change. It is the kaleidoscope terrain where nothing is the same from one day to the next. Its kingdoms are always in motion, changing boundaries and staking new claims each season. The Dreamtreader of Pattern must also learn to adapt, for such an ever-changing and multifaceted landscape presents special challenges. The Intrusions there are mercurial and can be devastating if not dampened by the skillful mind.
The Forms District is the realm of action, force, and peril. It claims kinship with the Waking Realm, the Dim Plane, the Temporal. The Dreamscape sun sets in Forms, leaving all in twilight, shadow, and night. Fell creatures and grim deeds await the Dreamtreader of Forms, and so this one must carry the mind of an army: its cunning, its tactics, and initiative. But the Dreamtreader of Forms must bear the weight of the deepest anchor, and learn to stem the tide of darkness.
TWENTY-SIX
DREAMSCAPE WAR
ARCHER RODE THE CRIMSON VORTEX THROUGH THE SKY, glanced at the ancient face of Old Jack, and gave careful thought to his equipment. This would not be a battle of temperance or restraint. He would have to use every ounce of his creative energies, every advantage, and every weapon he could imagine. He would spend his mental stores to do what he had to do, even if that meant spending it all.