Dreamtreaders

  “Do you have any idea what happens to the human mind when you are trapped in the Dream?” the Lurker asked. “It becomes fused, sealed off from the Temporal forever. It means . . . it becomes stronger.”

  “I don’t have enough left in the tank,” Mesmeera whispered, her eyes just quivering slits now. “I cannot free myself.”

  “Nor I,” Duncan hissed back as he slumped. “I can barely keep my eyes open.”

  “I have lost all functioning there,” the Lurker went on. “But the brain does not die. It rewires itself for its new environment. And unlike you Dreamtreaders, whose minds are split between worlds, I am completely immersed in the Dream. Every cell of my brain has become supercharged for power here.”

  “But you are trapped,” Mesmeera said. “You cannot go home.”

  “This is my home now.”

  “I am sorry for your fate,” Duncan said. “If there were anything I could do to change it, I would. I would spend my life’s strength to set you free from this. But you’re making a mistake if you keep us here.”

  “This will only lead to more innocents caught in his net, like you,” Mesmeera said. “For the sake of the man you once were, do not do this.”

  “You are right,” the Lurker said, covering his eyes with his bony, gnarled hand.

  “We are?” Duncan whispered. He paused. “That went better than I thought.”

  “Shh!” Mesmeera cautioned. She lifted her voice for the Lurker to hear. “You’ll release us?” she asked. “You’ll let us go, then?”

  When the Lurker lowered his hand, his bulging eyes were bloodshot with tears. But his expression showed no remorse. No sorrow. His grin was maniacal, but it was a grin nonetheless.

  “No,” the Lurker said, “I will not be letting you go, not until my better comes to claim you. But you are right about one thing: my capturing you will lead to many more reckless souls being snared in the Dream. But they will not be innocent victims, no. They will be guilty, just as I was guilty. They will drink from the same cup of madness, and they will share eternal anguish with me. Misery loves company.”

  Duncan summoned all of his remaining will, but he could do nothing to impact the chains and manacles that bound him and Mesmeera. And that, Duncan thought, was a terrible shame. Without their hands free, they could not cover their ears. No, they were captives, at the mercy of the Lurker and his insufferable laughter. It was a pulsing, shrieking laughter, and it pierced the Dreamtreaders to the very soul.

  ELEVEN

  MASTER GABRIEL’S SECOND VISIT

  “HEADED TO BED SO EARLY?” ARCHER’S DAD ASKED.

  “Rough day at school,” Archer said from halfway up the stairs. “Had to bang out a Chemistry lab during lunch. I’m toast.”

  “That Dr. Pallazzo is a real stickler, isn’t he?”

  Archer nodded. He was glad to find his father more clear minded and friendly. “It was a huge chunk of my grade. I shouldn’t have waited until the last minute, but I think I still did pretty well.”

  “Well, I guess the good news is that it’s almost over. Summer is on the way.” Archer’s father gave his usual smile, a bit of teeth through the salt-and-pepper goatee, the only smile he’d been able to manage for seven years. Then he turned back to the cable sports show on TV. “Summer,” he said once more, the word sounding flat.

  Archer lingered on the stairs a few moments. He doubted his father was thinking much about the show. It seemed more a distraction than anything entertaining. White noise.

  “Can you look in on Kaylie?” he asked. “Tuck her in, maybe?”

  “Sure, Dad,” Archer said. “I got you.”

  Kaylie was not in her room. Patches and her pink blanket were missing as well.

  Archer checked the blue bathroom and found it empty. He ducked around the door frame of his little brother’s room. “Hey, Buster, have you seen Kaylie?”

  “Naw,” Buster said, his eyes never leaving the game on his tablet computer. “Whoa! Almost a wipeout.”

  Archer frowned and called up the hallway, “Kaylie, where are you?”

  “In here, Archer,” she called. Her tiny voice sounded bright and pixyish. Dad’s room or mine, he thought. Knowing Kaylie, probably mine.

  He was right. She and Patches and her pink blanket were snuggled up on Archer’s bed.

  “Dad says it’s time for you to go to bed,” he told her. “And aren’t you a little too old to be sucking your thumb?

  She popped her thumb out of her mouth and said, “It’s an acquired taste.”

  “Right.”

  “Hey Archer, how come you got ashes on your table?”

  “Ashes?” he said. “I don’t have any—”

  “Right here,” she said, pointing with Patches’s dolly hand. “See.”

  Archer did see. There were four distinct irregularly shaped piles of gray-white ash. The Tokens of Doom, he thought, have turned to ash? He swallowed. It seemed ominous, but what it meant exactly, Archer had no idea.

  “Umm, no, I didn’t know that,” he said. “What are you doing in my room?”

  “Nuffin,” she replied, popping her thumb back into her mouth.

  “Uh-huh,” Archer said, scanning the room. “What did you do?”

  “Nuffin.”

  Archer spotted his cell phone sitting at an angle on his dresser. “Awww, Kaylie, not my phone again,” he said, turning on her. “You didn’t reprogram my phone with some goofy ringtones . . . did you?”

  She shrugged and backed up defensively under his covers. Archer pursued. “You know what I’m going to do to you?” He held up both hands and wiggled his fingers.

  Kaylie’s eyes widened until they looked like big blue planets. “You wouldn’t!”

  “I would,” Archer said, nodding fiercely. Then, he commenced tickling her. He poked at her belly, and she cackled and tried to guard. But as soon as she managed to block her stomach, Archer went after her feet. Even through her footy pajamas, it was too much. Kaylie laughed and squealed and eventually could scarcely catch her breath.

  Archer withdrew his dangerous fingers and said, “See what happens when you awaken my wrath?”

  She looked up at him, a broad grin and a little rose in her cheeks. “You really ought to have better encryption on your phone,” she said.

  “What is it going to cost me? Candy?”

  She shook her head.

  “What? No candy?”

  “A story.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Dad wanted me to tuck you in anyway. Come on back to your room. One story coming up.”

  “Mission accomplished,” Archer whispered as he shut his bedroom door. Kaylie had fallen sound asleep before he’d even gotten a third of the way through the story. “Now, to wait for Gabriel.” He double-checked the calendar to make sure. “Yup, May 7.” In five years, ever since his very first appearance, Gabriel had not missed the seventh day of any month.

  And, given all the crazy developments in the Dream, Archer didn’t think Master Gabriel would go AWOL on this night. He went to his closet, unlocked the case, and took out The Dreamtreader’s Creed.

  A few minutes later, the blue glow around his bedroom door alerted Archer that his guest had indeed arrived.

  “You are studying the Creeds,” Master Gabriel said, his voice arriving a moment before he materialized in front of the closet.

  “Yup.”

  “Tell me, Archer, have you mastered the forty-second Conceptus?”

  “Uh . . .” Archer looked down at the Creeds. “I’ve read it but not mastered it.”

  Gabriel harrumphed. “Tell me, then, of the three districts within the Dream—”

  “Forms, Pattern, and Verse,” Archer blurted out.

  “Yes, yes, yes,” Master Gabriel grumbled. “You would have known that by the fifth Conceptus. That is not what I was asking. What I wish to know from you, based on your familiarity with the Creeds, is this: Why were you chosen for the Forms District?”

  Archer combed his memory. He’d read about
the three districts, of course. He knew where they were in the Dream. He knew the climate of each, most of the towns and kingdoms as well. Forms was the most physically demanding district; the Dreamscape there difficult, even arduous. But why me? He didn’t know. But he wasn’t about to admit it. “I wasn’t chosen for Forms,” he said, giving his best guess. “When Atticus died, Forms was left open, so I got it.”

  “It was simply coincidence, then, was it?” Gabriel asked rhetorically. “Clearly you have not read carefully enough. And more troubling still, you do not seem to be aware of your own strengths and limitations. A better answer would have been simply, ‘I do not know.’ ”

  Archer closed the Creeds and laid it on the bed next to him. “I am trying,” he said.

  “Very well,” Master Gabriel said with a dismissive wave of the hand. “Tell me about your findings. The breaches?”

  “More than I’ve ever seen before,” Archer said. “More than forty most nights, and not just on the outskirts either. They’ve appeared in the middle of cities.”

  “The Nightmare Lord is drunk on his recent success, growing more brazen.”

  “The news concerning Duncan and Mesmeera isn’t good,” Archer said. He explained everything he’d learned from Lady Kasia and almost everything he’d learned from Bezeal.

  “Two moons?” Gabriel echoed reflectively. “It’s worse than I feared.”

  “Master Gabriel, if Duncan and Mesmeera have gone missing, who’s repairing the breaches in their districts?”

  The Dreammaster did not reply.

  “Master Gabriel?”

  Gabriel’s dark eyes sparked to life. “There have not been any breaches in the districts of Pattern or Verse for two moons.”

  “Since they disappeared.”

  “The timing seemed significant to me as well.”

  “But it’s a perfect time for the Nightmare Lord,” Archer said. “Why wouldn’t he take advantage? Why wouldn’t he open up a ton of breaches in Patterns and Verse?”

  “I wonder,” he said. “What about Bezeal? I want to know more about your interactions with him.”

  Somehow, Archer knew the conversation would circle back around to the crafty merchant. “Bezeal told me something else . . . about Duncan and Mesmeera.”

  “Something else? Heavens, lad, tell me.”

  “Bezeal claimed that Duncan and Mesmeera sought out the Lurker.”

  “Nonsense,” Master Gabriel said. “Bezeal is lying. Why would seasoned Dreamtreaders do something so foolish?”

  “They were after a relic, some kind of silvery puzzle box.”

  Gabriel’s armor flared. “What on earth would they want with a puzzle box?”

  “I don’t think Duncan and Mesmeera wanted it for themselves.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think they went after it for Bezeal.”

  “They—Well, what would possess them to . . . Wait! They made a deal with Bezeal, didn’t they? I wonder what he offered them.”

  Archer thought he knew but said nothing about it. “Bezeal told me I’d find Duncan and Mesmeera if I find the relic. I’m going to try.”

  “You will do no such thing,” Master Gabriel said.

  “But—”

  “End of discussion,” Master Gabriel thundered. “Duncan and Mesmeera went after it and have not yet returned. Do you really believe you could succeed if they failed?”

  “I don’t know,” Archer said. “Probably not. But I kind of have to.”

  “Kind of . . . ,” Master Gabriel echoed, “. . . have to?”

  “Well,” Archer said, “it was part of our deal.”

  “Treader’s oath, lad! You made a deal with that hooded menace too?”

  “We made a blood pact.”

  Master Gabriel’s eyebrows shot up so far they nearly left his face. “You did what?”

  “He held out his hand,” Archer stammered. “I didn’t know! He had some kind of blade, and it cut me. Him too, I guess.”

  “Did your blood mingle?” Gabriel demanded.

  “I . . . I guess,” he said. “There were . . . Well, it kind of smeared on his hand. I . . . yeah, I’m pretty sure it did.”

  “A blood pact? I told you to beware of Bezeal, did I not? I told you to be discreet. A blood pact is not discreet!”

  “So now I have to go, right?” Archer asked. “The blood pact means I have to go. It’s in the Creeds.”

  “I know very well it is in the Creeds, Archer,” Master Gabriel said, his voice quiet but simmering. “Let me investigate this issue. For now, absolutely do not go anywhere near the Lurker.”

  “But what—”

  “Do not try my patience, Archer. I forbid you to go.”

  TWELVE

  A CHALLENGE

  BY THE TIME ARCHER MADE IT TO LUNCH WEDNESDAY, HE was already exhausted. The meeting with Master Gabriel the night before had rattled him to the point where sleep had come in fitful, unproductive spurts. And almost every time he hit even a little REM sleep, the kind of sleep needed for Dreamtreading, Kaylie had woken him up screaming from nightmares. Each time he’d rushed bleary eyed to her room to comfort her until she’d drifted off again. The Nightmare Lord had apparently declared war on Archer and his family.

  “If I could only get that relic,” Archer seethed under his breath, “then I’d get your secret, and then we’d see.”

  The Nightmare Lord had certainly won the first couple of rounds. As a result, Archer had nodded off during American Lit and made a ridiculous calculation error (on screen for the entire class to ridicule) in Math. A tired mind was bound to lead to mistakes, Archer knew, but it galled him.

  I must look as awful as I feel, he thought with a sad chuckle. Grandma Cho had been extra generous with portions. His tray looked like an otherworldly landscape: a mountain of tater tots, a forest of broccoli, a vast lake of cheese sauce, an avalanche of chicken nuggets, and rolling hills made of, well . . . rolls.

  He munched a cheese-dipped nugget and grumbled, I am a Dreamtreader. I am supposed to go where the danger is. I’m supposed to solve problems in the Dream. There’s something serious going on here, and I can’t do anything about it? That’s just . . . well, it’s just stupid.

  Archer had been in his third season of Dreamtreader service when he first caught wind of the legendary Lurker. But he had never taken the stories seriously. They had always been ominous rumors. Tales of bogeymen, spooks, or other assorted horrors. But Archaia was in Duncan’s district, and the fiery red-beard never said much about it. And yet, Archer thought, Duncan and Mesmeera had apparently gone hunting for the relic in Archaia, right to the Lurker’s door.

  What was the relic, anyway? A puzzle box? What good would that be? If Master Gabriel had known something about it, he sure didn’t share. Whatever it was, Duncan and Mesmeera clearly thought it was worth the risk of tromping around the Lurker’s backyard. And Bezeal wanted it so fiercely that he would give up the secret to bringing down the Nightmare Lord.

  Could Bezeal be trusted? Not likely. But if there is a chance, even an infinitesimally small chance, to put away the Nightmare Lord for good, don’t I have to take it? No, apparently not. Master Gabriel had, in fact, forbidden it.

  Ten tater tots later, Archer had worked himself into a frustrated state, but the bell rang: time to head to Chemistry. He scarfed down a substantial portion of the tray’s contents and reluctantly dumped the rest. As he slid the tray into the drop-off window, he watched a crowd pass by. It was Rigby, of course. And in his train, Kara Windchil . . . and even Amy Pitsitakas.

  Archer shook his head and trudged out of the cafeteria. But once in the hall, he noticed that someone else was watching Rigby Thames’s procession. Guzzy Gorvalec stood in the shadows next to a bank of lockers. It was hard to see the features of his face . . . except for his eyes. Guzzy’s eyes glistened with venom. It was then that Archer felt a pang of responsibility. Being new at Dresden High, Rigby had no clue what might be coming his way.

  I’d better tell
him, Archer thought. Maybe during lab in Chem. Maybe.

  Dr. Pallazzo held a book-sized, orange-brown rock up over his glistening bald head and snapped it in half. “Is this unnamed compound most likely ionic or covalent?”

  Archer swallowed. He vaguely remembered reading something about one of the compounds being pretty brittle. “Uhm . . . co—”

  “Do not guess, Mr. Keaton,” the teacher said. “At this point you should know. Mr. Thames, can you tell me?”

  Rigby didn’t sit up straight. In fact, he seemed distracted by something outside the classroom window. Without looking directly at the teacher, he said, “It’s ionic.”

  “Correct,” Dr. Pallazzo said. “And how do you know this?”

  Rigby didn’t hesitate, nor did he look particularly interested. “Most crystals are ionic compounds,” he said. “It’s because the ions stack into crystal lattices, right? In addition, you snapped the thing in ’alf with your ’ands. Ionic compounds tend to be rigid and brittle, so there it is. Besides, I recognized the compound as zinc sulphide, which is, of course, ionic.”

  “Now that, Mr. Thames,” the teacher said with a sideways glance at Archer, “is what I call a confident answer. Correct!”

  Archer sank down in his chair and fumed. It was the third time in the block Rigby had shown off his (admittedly stunning) intellect. By the time the lab started, Archer was so sick of Rigby that he completely forgot about Guzzy and his stooges.

  Of course, Kara was paired up with Rigby. Everyone seemed to find partners right away, leaving Archer gazing around the classroom like some abandoned puppy in a pet shop window.

  “Ready to get started?” Amy said, tugging on Archer’s black lab apron. “C’mon, this is an easy one, yep.”

  Archer sighed in relief. Amy to the rescue. “Nothing’s easy in here, Amy,” he said. “But thanks all the same.”

  “Sure it is,” she said, gesturing for him to join her at the microscope. “See, look at the crystalline structures, the little boxy shapes. That means it’s ionic.” She went on to explain more key differences between ionic and covalent compounds.