Search for the Shadow Key

  “I don’t want t’talk terms right now,” he said. “I prefer t’have a civil meal first. Won’t you put aside your haste for just a moment? Share a bite with me first, and then maybe we can make some sort of arrangement.”

  “Oooh,” Kaylie grumbled, kicking at the wall of her oubliette. It glowed in the spot she’d struck but didn’t flex more than an inch. “What good would any kind of arrangement do anyway? Everything’s all messed up already. I missed my Stroke of Reckoning. I’m trapped here.”

  “Like me,” the Lurker said. “Trapped away from home and family. You must be so very sad.”

  Kaylie screamed and lashed out with her will, throwing massive whirling bolts of destruction at the translucent membrane that contained her. But it didn’t budge. Her willed energy dissipated in harmless puffs of smoke.

  “You won’t git out of the oubliette that way,” he said calmly. He put down his brownie and leaned forward. His wispy white hair flowed around his head and face as if underwater and his eyes blazed. “You aren’t the only genius in the room, you understand.”

  “It . . .” Kaylie growled, continuing to push and punch and stretch the oubliette. “It feels like being trapped in bubble gum.”

  The Lurker laughed quietly. “Bubble gum. That’s cute. Far more complex than that, though. I’ve been here long enough to study the Dream fabric. Did you know it has mathematical properties? It does, of course. And, as you’ve demonstrated yourself, the Dream fabric is quite malleable. I’ve recently learned to create the Dream fabric equivalent to a Penrose triangle. Use your mind. Play with the oubliette all you want; you’ll find it has no end. An infinite loop, and I am the only genius in the room smart enough to get you out.”

  Kaylie’s face flushed angry red. She trembled furiously a moment. The tears came, fresh and hot, rolling down her cheeks and between her fingers, even dripping from her chin.

  “Awww, this is too much for you,” the Lurker said. “I know. I know. It really is, but don’t worry. We can fix things.”

  “How?” she sobbed.

  “First, dine with me,” he said, sliding the platter of brownies toward Kaylie’s side of the table.

  She eyed the brownies hungrily. They were so dark and rich looking, almost totally black. “How can I . . . if I’m stuck in here?”

  The Lurker grinned, yellowed teeth appearing for a moment. He nodded, and a small divot appeared on the surface of the oubliette. It enlarged, becoming an orange-sized hole in Kaylie’s enclosure.

  “I can reach through?” she asked, her hand hovering at the opening.

  He nodded.

  Kaylie took a brownie and eyed it suspiciously, as if, at any moment, the Lurker might make it disappear.

  “No tricks,” the Lurker said. “It’s all yours.”

  Kaylie took a massive bite of the brownie and chewed thoughtfully while the Lurker looked on. He watched her swallow and said, “There now. I think we can be friends.”

  Kaylie nodded and took another bite. “Delicious,” she said, though her words sounded like echoes from far away.

  “We won’t be needing the oubliette any longer,” the Lurker said, gesturing his left hand in a circular motion. Kaylie’s enclosure became awash with brighter colors, but threads began to pull away . . . spiraling round and round until the oubliette was threadbare and then . . . gone.

  “You . . . you’re letting me go?” Kaylie asked.

  “Now that we’ve broken bread together, I see no reason to hold you back.” He gestured at the platter of brownies. “Gort brownies are my favorite.”

  “I like them very much,” Kaylie said. “Thank you.”

  “Oh, you’re welcome,” the Lurker said. “Of course, now you’ll do whatever I ask, won’t you, Kaylie?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I will serve only you.”

  “Good,” the Lurker said. “First, forget what you saw in my subbasement. And then I need your help with something.”

  “What?”

  “My nephew, I’m afraid, has made a very foolish mistake. I need you to fix it.”

  When Archer awoke, he locked the Pitsitakas’ guest room door and went straight to his suitcase. He removed the summoning feather and tossed it into the air.

  Master Gabriel appeared in a flash. No unusual clothing. No Incandescent Armor. Just a plain brown robe.

  “I’ve never seen you wear that before,” Archer mumbled.

  “No . . . I rarely need it. It is a Restoration Robe. I wear it when I am very weary. Now, what have you to report? What of the Shadow Key?”

  “Rigby told me he threw it into the volcano in Xander’s Fortune.”

  “It should have been named Xander’s Folly,” Master Gabriel said, his shoulders slumping. “That turbulent, volcanic mount. If Rigby threw the Shadow Key into the pit, it’s gone. We will have to find some other way to neutralize the Scath.”

  “The key didn’t burn up,” Archer said. “It landed on a ledge just above the destructive . . . lava or whatever it is.”

  “Who told you of this? Bezeal? I suspect he would like nothing more than to have the remaining two Dreamtreaders clambering the precarious edges of Xander’s Fortune.”

  “The Windmaiden.”

  “Her.” Master Gabriel stiffened and paced the room. His robe made warbling shoosh sounds with each step. “The woman’s voice you’ve heard but seldomly?”

  “Yes,” Archer replied. “She’s helped me before, saved my skin more than once.”

  “But . . . you have never met her? Never seen her?”

  Archer shook his head. “No . . . I haven’t. But she’s never steered me wrong before.”

  Master Gabriel pulled at the fringes of his beard. “What interest does she have in the Shadow Key?”

  “She doesn’t want the Scath loose either. She doesn’t want the Dream fabric to fail.”

  “She seems to have extraordinary power,” Master Gabriel said. “Why doesn’t she simply retrieve the key herself?”

  “She told me her power isn’t enough for that. She said the forces inside Xander’s Fortune would unmake her.”

  “She’s likely right,” Master Gabriel said. “It would unmake you, also. Tell me, Archer, have you seen anything else like Xander’s Fortune in the three districts of the Dream?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know what that mountain is?”

  “I know the stories about the lightning stone . . . the stairway, but no, I guess I don’t really know what it is.”

  “The later creeds speak of it, but, even so, it is complex.” Master Gabriel wandered around the guest room, then paused and gestured to an oil painting of the seashore. “What do you see here?”

  “The beach.”

  “Yes, yes, the ocean and the sand. It is beautiful, part of creation. But you realize that, over time, the wind and the rain are eroding that beach, eating away at it.”

  “Erosion, right,” Archer said. “Last year this weird line of storms called a derecho came blasting through. It tore up the Ocean City shore so badly they needed to dredge up more sand.”

  “Quite right,” Master Gabriel replied. “The worse the storms, over time, the worse the damage. The Dream has a similar phenomenon. Every time breaches form and the Dream fabric frays, there are by-products—matter from the Waking World leaks in while Dream matter leaks out. That matter is corrupted.”

  “Okay, that makes sense. What does it have to do with Xander’s Fortune?”

  “The storms in the Dream—the massive, never-ending tempests that cause the crimson vortices you ride into the Dream—those storms act as a kind of living filter. They collect any stray matter that leaked in from the Waking World, what we call Temporal matter, and funnel it up into the heart of the storm.”

  “The lightning,” Archer said. “Oh, oh, I get it. The Temporal matter causes the lightning that set off the chain reaction in Xander’s Fortune.”

  “Not quite,” Master Gabriel corrected. “The Temporal matter doesn’t cause the lightnin
g. It is the lightning. That’s how dangerous it is. And that cauldron is stewing with a thousand centuries of that power.”

  Archer warded off a wave of shivers. “But if the Shadow Key is there, don’t we have to try? The Windmaiden said that someone with enough power could possibly—”

  “Possibly get you killed,” Master Gabriel said. “Or worse. Hear me on this, Archer. Neither you nor Nick have the kind of power to attempt Xander’s Fortune.”

  Archer crossed his arms and stared at the bedroom window and the darkness beyond.

  “I have seen that look before, Archer,” Master Gabriel said.

  Archer shook his head, tentatively at first, but then with more and more conviction. “No,” he said, “I won’t go to Xander’s Fortune. I confess I am tempted, but I trust your wisdom.”

  Master Gabriel eyed the young Dreamtreader shrewdly. “I feel as though you have something else in mind.”

  “Well, actually I was thinking that you could get the Shadow Key.”

  Master Gabriel stepped backward, bumping the desk and rattling the lamp. “I told you before, Archer,” he said, “I cannot intervene in this way.”

  “I remember what you said,” Archer replied. “But I thought, well . . . I thought since you are the keeper of the Master’s Keys now that maybe you could go get the one key that’s missing. No one has power like you have.”

  The master Dreamtreader sighed but didn’t seem angry. But the wrinkles and creases on his careworn face seemed to deepen. “Archer, I would help . . . if I could,” he said. “But even if my duties permitted me, I could not do this thing.”

  “Why?”

  “If a Master draws near to that place, the presence of his power would cause Xander’s Fortune to erupt. It would be as if a Rift formed, and there would be chaos. I would never get to the Shadow Key.”

  Archer shook his head. “So, we just leave the key there?”

  Master Gabriel stared at the floor. Archer had never seen him look so worn down. “There is one who might attempt it,” he whispered.

  “Kaylie?”

  Master Gabriel looked up, eyes dreadfully wide. “You know?”

  Archer nodded. “The Windmaiden suggested Kaylie might be able to do it. Could she?”

  “Have you found her, Archer?” Master Gabriel asked. “Do you know who caused Kaylie to miss her Stroke of Reckoning?”

  “It’s Rigby’s fault,” Archer said, anger simmering on each syllable. “I think he has her locked up somewhere. And Rigby’s gotten stronger, some kind of red electricity stuff.”

  “He’s been reading the Masters’ Bindings,” Master Gabriel said. “Poor fool. He doesn’t understand the power he’s playing with. And Kaylie? Oh, I am so very sorry, Archer.” When he spoke, his otherworldly glow seemed to dim. “I should never have pushed her so hard. She just wasn’t ready.”

  Stunned, Archer took a tentative step closer. “Last year, after what happened to Duncan and Mesmeera, you told me something about tragedies. You said, ‘Poor choices aside, there is a very real enemy who lives to cause nightmares. He is the root.’ ”

  Gabriel seemed to inflate a little, seemed to glow a little brighter. “But, Archer, that enemy is not to blame. He is no more.”

  “There’s a new Nightmare Lord, remember?” Archer said. “Maybe not as full-fledged and ancient as the original, but Rigby Thames is making up for it with pure hate. It’s his fault the Inner Sanctum’s vault is stuck open. It’s his fault the breaches are multiplying. His fault that people I care about are being taken, and his fault that Kaylie missed her deadline. His, not yours.”

  Master Gabriel put a hand on Archer’s shoulder. “Thank you, Archer,” he said. The room became brighter once more as the master Dreamtreader’s Incandescent Armor appeared in place of the plain robe. “You give mercy when you could spite. And your hard-won wisdom will not abandon you.”

  Archer smiled, but it was forced, and it occurred to him quickly that it was the same sort of smile his father had barely managed all these years after the death of his wife. “What do we do now?” Archer asked.

  “We do not despair,” Gabriel said, “for that is a tool of nightmare. We are Dreamtreaders, and we deal in hope. Your kindness provides me some relief from stifling guilt. At the very least, I can return the favor by reminding you of our hope and our purpose.”

  “Our purpose?” Archer echoed. “You mean, what the Creeds say?”

  Gabriel nodded. “Archer, listen to me. There’s a very real danger that a Dreamtreader will dutifully do his—or her—job night after night, and do it well and yet lose sight of why.”

  “I haven’t lost track of why, Master Gabriel. I was born with this ability, the ability to do things in dreams, things that help people. That’s why I do it.”

  “That is part of it, Archer,” Master Gabriel said. “But you do not Dreamtread simply because you can. There are many around the world who can or could, but many are unwilling to answer the call. Make no mistake, Archer; you have been called to this journey to fulfill the Creeds and turn aside darkness so that mankind may have hope and truth. There is a third realm, you know.”

  “The Ethereal,” Archer whispered.

  Master Gabriel’s increased glow lit up the room. “Yes, yes, the Ethereal. It waits for mankind as a gift from the Maker of All Dreams, but mankind will not receive it without hope or without truth.”

  Archer flexed his neck and shoulders, feeling strangely empowered. “I guess I never thought about it that way before.”

  “Well, start thinking about it that way,” Master Gabriel bristled. “Your world is adrift, losing its anchors one at a time over the years. But you, Archer Percival Keaton, are kind of a shepherd of the subconscious realm. You must fight to preserve hope and truth.”

  “How?” Archer asked. “Everything’s gone wrong.”

  “Not everything,” Master Gabriel said. “Not yet. Things can get worse. They may get a lot worse, but that just means we fight harder. Archer, this is your charge: you and Nick will need to manage the breaches, and by ‘manage,’ I mean patch, paste, quick-stitch—any means to slow their progress. We cannot do business as usual now. Manage the breaches, but leave yourselves time for other tasks. You must find your family, especially Kaylie. I am not certain why, but Kaylie is the key to much of this. If you’re right about Rigby, he certainly seemed to think Kaylie was worth his attention.”

  “I will find her,” Archer whispered. “I will.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Master Gabriel said. “You must go back to the Dream tonight,”

  “I can’t,” Archer said. “The Laws Nine. It’ll have to be tomorrow.”

  “So be it,” Master Gabriel said. “But perhaps, it will be better this way. There’s something I want you to do before you Dreamtread again.”

  “What?”

  “It remains to be seen what you will think of it. But I think it will be good for you.”

  “I’ll go right now,” Archer said. “Before sun-up.”

  “I think that is for the best,” he said. “You need to go back to your home.”

  “Home?” Archer glanced at the guest room window. “But the police—”

  “Have completed their investigation and come away empty. But there is something there that only you can discover.”

  “How . . . how do you know all this?”

  “Archer, I am not unaware of things that go on in the Temporal.” Master Gabriel smiled mischievously. “Go home, Archer. And go to the basement. You’ll know it when you find it.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  THE PRICE

  “IS SOMEONE THERE?” THE MAN CALLED OUT TO THE darkness. There’d been a sound, a creaking of the gate, but not even a glint of light. There were slow footsteps, as if very cautious. Then came a low, mournful voice, not intelligible yet, merely muttering sadly.

  “Do not taunt me again!” the man called out. He jerked against his chains and growled. “I won’t be threatened, you hear me? You can’t scare me. I’
m an elementary school teacher.”

  “What happened? Am I dead?” came a weak voice from the darkness. There was shuffling movement.

  “Wait right there!” the man commanded. “Don’t come any closer!”

  “It’s so dark,” the other voice said. “Am I dead?”

  “What?” the chained man replied. “You aren’t one of them, are you?”

  “One of who?”

  “No, you aren’t,” the chained man said. “And you aren’t dead. You’re just imprisoned . . . like me.”

  “I was on my screened-in porch,” the new arrival said. “These things—shadows with eyes—they swarmed me. They threw me down . . . threw me down my well. But the well’s in the backyard. How did I get here?”

  “I was at my computer working on lesson plans,” the chained man said. “The same creatures came right out of my monitor. It’s what I get for splurging on the thirty-four-inch screen.”

  “Wait, your voice sounds familiar. Mr. Gamber?”

  “You know me?” the teacher replied. “Who are you?”

  “Brian, Brian Keaton. You taught my kids: Archer, Buster, and Kaylie, for a little while.”

  “Keaton!” The chains jangled. “Yeah, yeah, I remember you. Great kids. Kaylie—wow, talk about smart.”

  “I wish I could see your face,” Mr. Keaton said. “I don’t mind night so much, but this is different.”

  “It’s a kind of separation, isn’t it?” Mr. Gamber said. “By design, no doubt.”

  “Mr. Gamber?” Mr. Keaton asked. “Can you tell me where we are?”

  “It’s Phillip,” he said, holding out his hand. “Oh, oh, right. You can’t see my hand to shake it.”

  By feel, their hands met. “Is this real, Phillip? I mean, it can’t be, can it?”

  “I wish it weren’t,” he said. “But I was wide awake when those things came.” He laughed, a sad, sickly sort of sound. “At least, I think I was awake.”

  “How can we know?”

  “Well, what did you experience when they took you?”

  “It felt like being buried in a thousand spiders,” Mr. Keaton said, a jitter in his voice. “I heard their voices. I felt the cold air outside. No, I’ve never had a dream that real before.”