Kaylie made a fist, and a wide rectangular keep arose in the section of the wall closest to the street that ran in front of Rigby’s home. She punched her left fist three times into the air. Three circular towers arose. She bounced her right fist, and a series of smaller towers, each with a crayon-tip roof, suddenly protruded from the facade’s right flank. Then, as if her silent symphony were coming to a dramatic end, she bent her knees, clapped her hands together, and then leaped into the air. From within the double wall, a massive square fortress grew. It was a mighty structure, an enormous rook, and it completely engulfed Scoville Manor.
Then, even though the sun was setting, a stark rainbow climbed from the distant woods and formed an arch over their new castle fortress. At the front gate, a white unicorn reared and released a proud neigh, followed by a mischievous nicker.
“There,” Kaylie said, snatching Patches back from Rigby. “All done.”
“Really? A unicorn and a rainbow?”
“What?” Kaylie asked innocently. “Everyone loves unicorns and rainbows.”
Rigby frowned. “Not everyone.”
“Don’t be so negative,” Kaylie said, batting her eyelashes. “You said to impress you, so there it is. I based my design off Corvin Castle in Romania. It’s mostly Gothic architecture, but I borrowed a little Romanesque for the interior: arches, barrel vaults, columns, and such.”
Rigby stared. “Sometimes, I forget ’ow much of a genius you are.”
“That’s okay,” Kaylie said. “I’ll remind you.”
Rigby rolled his eyes and said, “C’mon, squirt, let us make ’aste to the inner bailey, for we ’ave an army to create.”
“Why, yes, sir knight,” Kaylie giggled, playing along. “Verily!”
Doctor Scoville heard the ruckus going on outside. It was next to impossible to ignore the forty-foot walls, eighty-foot towers, and half of a million tons of stone going up. Doc Scoville wasn’t about to be distracted, though. Not now. Not when he was so close.
Back and forth, he ran the simulation showing the earth’s magnetic field a few weeks before the Rift, during the Rift, and now a few days after the Rift. He watched the rings, the digital representation of the earth’s magnetic fields, as they were buffeted by an unseen force. Soon, they were in motion, shifting violently as the Rift tore out the barrier between the Dream and the Waking World. And, in the days following, the rings continued to sway . . . back and forth. It was like a struck tuning fork, the metal tines vibrating so quickly and creating the loudest sound, but then the vibrations slowed. Just as they’d predicted.
While the magnetic field was still in motion, their team could reverse the Rift. If they could create their own magnetic tidal wave, it would send those rings back to their proper spot. But if they could not do so in time, and the waves ceased, the Rift—and all its consequences—would become permanent.
There were also those periodic burst-anomalies. “What are these things?” Doc Scoville muttered. He’d recorded the location of each. Just a few sites, really: Glasgow, Scotland, was the first; then Nice, France; a couple nearby in Maryland; and then one in Queensland, Australia.
Doc Scoville stopped typing and laughed at his own ignorance. “Of course!” he said aloud, slapping his knee. The anomalies, he thought, could be nothing else but the Dreamtreaders’ bopping in and out of the Dream. Duncan, Mesmeera, Archer, Kaylie, and Nick—powerful magnetic signatures indeed. Maybe they would be enough to reverse the Rift.
Maybe.
“Who or what is Bezeal?” Amy asked as they passed by Archer’s neighborhood and continued walking toward Scoville Manor.
“That’s a little hard to explain.”
“Try me.”
Archer sighed. “He’s some kind of being from the Dream Realm. He’s been around forever. Everything he does—everything he influences others to do—it all turns to misery. Put it this way, he’s messed me up more than once.”
“Okay, so this Bezeal is no good,” Amy said, thinking aloud. “And he was somehow with Kara when she was little?”
Archer clenched his fists. “I’m not certain what it means,” he said. “But it’s not good.” He stopped in the middle of the street and gazed into the western sky. “Oh, no,” he whispered.
“What?”
“Old Jack,” he said. “We’ve only got two and a half days left.”
“Old Jack?” Amy threw her hands up. “You realize, of course, I have no idea what you mean.”
By the time Archer finished explaining Old Jack and the time remaining to reverse the Rift to Amy, they’d arrived at Scoville Manor, and it was night. The glowering, overcast sky reflected enough ambient light for them to see that the place had . . . changed.
“It’s . . . it’s a big castle now,” Amy said breathlessly. “One big, big castle. Yep.”
Archer saw the rainbow and then the unicorn. “I know Kaylie’s work when I see it.”
They came to the main gatehouse, and within twenty yards of the entrance, a swarm of red dots swam over them. “Get behind me!” Archer shouted.
Amy blinked. “What? Why?”
Too late. A beam of blue light flashed out of one of the gatehouse’s many arrow slits and struck Amy right in the forehead. She started to fall, but Archer caught her. She was out cold, but still breathing. More than that, she had the goofiest look on her face that Archer had ever seen.
“Oh, crud,” Archer muttered. “Sorry, Amy. You’ve been happified.”
FORTY-ONE
AN EVENING AT THE SYMPHONY
ONCE INSIDE THE CASTLE GATES, ARCHER FOUND AN alcove, and with the aid of a spray bottle of water, he managed to wake Amy up. Even so, she was wobbly on her feet for the next several hours and smiling like a maniac.
Just then, soldiers—on the alcove high above—turned, leveled crossbows, and took aim. Like some kind of electric measles, the telltale red dots of laser sights popped up all over him and Amy.
“Wait, wait, wait!” he cried out. “Don’t shoot! It’s me, Archer Keaton! And . . . and . . . Amy’s a friend!”
In slightly staggered time, the knights stowed their crossbows and fell back into the alcoves. “Wow,” Archer said. “Kaylie and Rigby have been busy.”
“Y’know, Archer,” Amy mumbled, blinking in a kind of sleepy slow motion, “I don’t think your plan is going to work.”
“What?” Archer asked. “What plan?”
“Plansies, plansies,” Amy replied. “But I know you’ll try hard. You’ll fight for what’s right. That’s what’s so great about you, Archer, you’re brave. Brave . . . and cute.”
Face burning, Archer coughed. “O-okay, Amy,” he said, leading her ahead. “Try not to talk so much.”
“Okey-dokey.”
Moments later, after walking through a warren of passages, stairs, and semihidden doors, Archer led Amy into a huge courtyard, at the center of which stood the massive square bulwark they had seen from outside.
The courtyard surrounded the immense building, which Archer assumed, contained the original Scoville Manor—pets and Doc Scoville included. There were odd sounds coming from the structure’s left side. Archer and Amy ran to investigate, and when they turned the corner, they arrived just in time to hear Rigby say, “Okay, squirt, now it’s your turn!”
Archer and Amy skidded to a halt and could do nothing for several minutes but stare. Completely decked out in maestro garb fit for symphony conductors, Rigby and Kaylie stood on a raised circular platform. Kaylie had stepped upon a footstool before a narrow lectern. She cleared her throat and tapped a slim, white baton on the edge of the lectern. She waved her baton hand, and the music began. Archer didn’t know where the music was coming from, but it sounded like an orchestra the size of a football field.
With each beat of Kaylie’s hand, something new appeared in the courtyard. The first to materialize was hundreds of giant Patches doll soldiers, followed by camouflaged commandos, too many ninjas to count . . . and, suddenly, there were three frog soldiers wiel
ding light sabers, a marshmallow warrior, and—finally—a dozen or more gleaming silver knights riding the ultra-fluffy, giant Siberian huskies.
The music rose in pitch. Rigby helped Kaylie down from the step stool, and then took his place at the lectern. He gently placed his top hat upside down on the lectern, lifted his baton, and gave a sudden sweeping gesture with both hands. A battalion of electric guitars instantly joined the symphony, not out of place, but rather in perfect melody and rhythm. Rigby certainly seemed to enjoy it. He began to move his head back and forth to the music, gently at first, but then with a powerful movement matching the beat.
“Is . . . is Rigby headbanging?” Archer asked.
Amy said, “Yep.”
Rigby wasn’t just getting into the music; he too was creating, albeit his creations were a little less adorable. In front of the ninjas and commandos, a team of warriors appeared. They wore spiked black armor with red visors on their helms, and they rode furry spider steeds as big as tanks. The arachnid creatures turned in unison, crouched low, and raised their bulbous abdomens in a threatening posture.
Archer and Amy gasped. There were eerie, glowing patterns in the short hair of the spiders’ abdomens, ghostly, clownish faces. These things, Archer thought, would give the Nightmare Hounds a run for their money.
But Rigby wasn’t finished creating. Beyond the spiky black knights and the ghoulish, clownish spider tanks, there appeared a phalanx of twelve-foot, flaming ogres. The music thrummed, a symphonic rock concerto, rising now to its climactic finale. Rigby thrust both hands forward. In front of the flaming ogres, appearing in ranks of twelve, came the Redcaps: sturdy, old, goblin men with red eyes, large crooked teeth, and talons for hands. Each creature held a long, gnarled-wood staff and, of course, wore a red cap.
Every single warrior or creature stomped its foot. The music came to an abrupt end. Rigby and Kaylie stepped to the edge of the platform . . . and took a bow.
Not knowing what else to do, Archer and Amy began to clap.
“Archer!” Kaylie squealed. She leaped down from the platform and sped across the courtyard to her brother and hugged him. “You’re back! Yay! How’s Dad and Buster and—hi, Amy!”
“Hiya, Kaylie!” Amy said. “That was quite a showsy, whoa-sy, concert thingy you two put on. Yep.”
“Dad, Buster, and Amy’s mom are safe,” Archer said, “still inside the vault I built. They’re still in the trance . . . or the Veil or whatever, but at least they’re safe.”
Rigby joined them. “Well, ’ello, Amy, you’re out of the Veil too, eh? Keaton wake you up?”
“Nope, nope, nopity nope,” she replied. Then she pointed at Rigby’s face. “You have a funny nose.”
“Uh-oh,” Kaylie said. “Amy got happified, didn’t she?”
Archer nodded. “She’s getting better, but not quite out of it yet.”
“So did you wake her up for a reason, Keaton?” Rigby asked.
“I didn’t wake her at all,” Archer replied. “She figured out the Veil on her own, but I’ll let her explain it to you later. For now, let’s just say we can count on her as one of our team. She’s got a pretty strong will. She even flies.”
Rigby’s eyebrows went up. “Really?” he said, as if his thoughts were far away. “That’s astounding.”
Amy blushed and shrugged.
“Where’d you get the idea for the spider tanks?” Archer asked. “Those things are ultra-creepy.”
“I dunno,” Rigby said, shrugging. “I read it in a fantasy book, I think.”
“They’d be kind of cute,” Amy said, “if it weren’t for the haunted clown faces on their abdomens and all those glassy black eyes. Not so cute at all. Nopity nope.”
“Wait,” Kaylie said. She whirled once and flung her baton hand forward. “They are a little too creepy, but this might help.”
A peculiar clicking noise filled the room, and in a heartbeat all the spiders wore dark sunglasses.
“Better?” Kaylie asked.
“Much better,” Amy said. “Yep.”
Rigby frowned. “Oh, ’ey that’s not fair.” But he laughed it off.
They all were startled when a very loud voice came over a loudspeaker high above. “Attention!” Doc Scoville announced. “Report at once to the Ready Room. I think I’ve solved the Rift problem.”
Doc Scoville had three of the huge monitors dedicated to his Rift research. The group crowded around them in the Ready Room, barely containing their excitement. Doc Scoville did not disappoint as he showed the animation of the pre-Rift, post-Rift electromagnetic field shifts. “This fluctuation,” he explained, “is what we saw the other day. It’s our hope, really. Heh-heh. Long as it’s still moving, we can push it back to its original state.”
“How?” Archer asked.
Doc Scoville said, “I’ll let Kaylie explain this part.”
“I didn’t work it all out,” Kaylie said. “We still need sources and locations.”
“Not anymore,” Doc Scoville said. “I’ve solved that problem.”
Kaylie clapped and said, “Okay, so the magnetic fields are kind of swinging back and forth. What we need to do is catch one of those waves as it’s swinging back, hit it with enough of our own, and use its forward momentum to knock it all the way back to its original position. But this isn’t guesswork; it’s absolutely precise. If our magnetic field is off by one tesla or any of our locations are wrong by a single degree of latitude or longitude, we’ll be all messed up.”
“What’ll happen?” Amy asked.
“Well,” Doc Scoville said, “if we aren’t pretty close to perfect, the Rift—the Harlequin Veil, Kara, and all her plans—none of it’s gonna matter anymore, ’cause we’re gonna fry the world in EM waves.”
DREAMTREADER CREED, CONCEPTUS 16
Congratulations, Dreamtreader. To ascend to this level, you must have a very powerful will indeed. As such, you must challenge yourself with new abilities. Perhaps, the most helpful of all advanced Dreamtreader skills is that of portalling.
In the Dream, distance is not measured distinctly as it is in the Waking World. All is related to time. For example, it may take you one hour of your time to reach the Markets of Kurdan from the mountains. And, as you know, an hour is no small thing. It is precious, not to be squandered.
Thus the portal.
A portal condenses time. Just as Dreamtreaders use ethereal silk to repair breaches in the Dream fabric, so may you also summon that fabric from afar. In effect, the Dreamtreader opens the fabric in one place, steps through, and exits the fabric in another place. It will save you time and, perhaps, much more.
But beware! As with all advanced Dreamtreading skills, portalling will tax your mental will fiercely. Use it sparingly and only at great need.
FORTY-TWO
BEST-LAID PLANS
“FRY THE WORLD? ” ARCHER MUTTERED MOROSELY. “THAT’S not a good thing.”
Rigby said, “You’ve got it figured out, though, Uncle?”
Doc Scoville slapped the palm of his hand to the table. “I think I do. Take a look.” He gestured to the screen and began taking the data far back before the Rift occurred. “Remember those odd bursts of EM?”
Archer nodded. “I do,” he said. “One of them popped up in Scotland, right?”
“Correct,” Doc Scoville said. “Glasgow, as a matter of fact. And here it is.”
Archer and the others watched as a small graphic explosion took place right over the UK. It was like someone had tossed a stone into a still pond, causing rings, one after the other, to surge outward.
“I went back through,” Doc Scoville explained, “and I slowed down the frequency to make it a day per second rather than a week. Turns out, there was a ton more of those little bursts. And I say ‘little’ to mean they don’t last long. But they aren’t short of power. Heh-heh, no sir!”
“So what are they?” Rigby asked.
“Well, I pinpointed the locations, and I figured it out from there. Glasgow, Scotland . . .
Nice, France . . . two separate signature bursts here in Maryland . . . and finally, Queensland, Australia. Sound familiar?”
“It’s us,” Archer muttered. “It’s Dreamtreaders, right? Coming in and out of the Dream?”
Doc Scoville clapped. “That’s right!” he said cheerily. “Lad, you’re a whole lot smarter than Rigby gives ya credit for. Heh-heh.”
Archer caught a sideways glance from Rigby but chose to ignore it.
“So we generate our own electromagnetic fields?” Kaylie asked. “I mean not like normal but great big powerful ones?”
Doc Scoville said, “That’s right.”
“But you mean Lucid Walkers too,” Rigby said. “Right?”
“Not exactly,” Doc Scoville replied, absently wiping a smudge from the tabletop with his index finger. “I’m afraid Lucid Walkers like us, well, we didn’t produce much more EM than the average person.”
“Oh.” Rigby sat back heavily in his chair.
“Hold on,” Archer said, “are you trying to tell me that all human beings produce some kind of EM fields?”
“It’s really very simple,” Doc Scoville said. “People have electromagnetic fields. If not, we’d die. It’s one of the ways our cells operate and communicate. But the thing is, Dreamtreaders like you seem to have exponentially more powerful magnetic fields. No, metal won’t stick to you, but the field is very strong.”
“That’s why you have such magnetic personalities,” Amy said, snickering.
“Ooh, that was bad,” Archer said, squinting. “I hope this happification wears off completely.”
“There’s a problem,” Kaylie said.
Doctor Scoville sat up rigidly. “What? Where? Did I mess up my calculations?”
“Not that,” Kaylie said. “It’s the theory itself, what we called the Anchor Protocol. How can we Dreamtreaders produce enough EM to move the Rift? We don’t enter or exit the Dream anymore.”