Search for the Shadow Key

by Wayne Thomas Batson

  “Even the paravore?”

  “Yeah, even that brute,” Nick explained. “You shoulda heard what he called you when you stuck that sword in its foot. He was spewing, he was. Would ya like to know—”

  “No, I’d rather not,” Archer replied. “What did you tell the valkaryx just now?”

  “I told ’em to wait here till we’re done. You’re on a time limit, right?”

  “Very much so,” Archer said, pointing up into the clouds. “See that?”

  “What?”

  “The old clock tower,” Archer said. “You can see it from pretty much anywhere.”

  “All I see are clouds.”

  “Oh,” Archer replied thoughtfully. He stared across the landscape. Aside from being in an airplane in the Waking World, he’d never been this high up before. The geography below was so distant that it appeared only as vague splotches of color. There were even a few low clouds drifting below. It was an odd sensation, standing above some clouds.

  “So what’s the deal with the ever-swaying tree?” Nick asked. “Am I a Dreamtreader yet?”

  “I don’t think so,” Archer said. “You don’t see the clock yet. Something’s not quite right. I think we need to climb the tree.”

  “’Kay, and then what?”

  Archer stared at his boots.

  “You don’t know, do you?” Nick slapped his knee and let out a deep roaring laugh. “Hoo, hoo! You don’t know! There, now, we’re even, right?”

  “It was in a kind of riddle,” Archer said. “But I lost the last line.” Archer recited the poem and said, “I don’t know the last line.”

  “Guess it rhymes with tree, right?” Nick concluded.

  “Yeah, but there’s a lot of things that rhyme with tree.”

  “Well, here’s the ever-swaying tree. Let’s give it a burl.” Nick showed no fear, diving for the lowest bough and shimmying up.

  Archer followed a little less skillfully. Still, his mental will made him stronger than he would have been in the Waking World. He bounded upward, scaling each crook and bough as best he could. Halfway up, it became crystal clear that the tree was indeed swaying. Archer could feel the motion in his body . . . a slow drifting . . . back and forth. It was hypnotic. It made him sleepy.

  “No!” Archer told himself. Falling asleep in a skyscraping tree would not be a good thing.

  “Hey, you all right, mate?” Nick called down. “You’re fallin’ behind a bit there.”

  “I’m okay,” Archer said. “Just tired is all.”

  “’Kay, then. Lemme know if ya need a hand.”

  Archer focused on the branches and kept his mind off the sway. Soon, he and Nick reached the highest place where they still had both a branch to stand on and a bough to hold on to. The view there was astounding. The Dream Sky was often a violet-tinged crimson, but from where Archer could see, there was a purplish blue that seemed to undulate like a tide. A light breeze even carried a vaguely familiar scent.

  Mom’s pumpkin pie, Archer thought.

  It was that nutmeg spicy-sweet smell he had always loved when he had was little, that he remembered so vividly here in the treetop. He saw his mom in that ratty old red-and-white crisscrossed apron that she refused to throw away. He saw the vapors rising from the hot pies fresh out of the oven. He saw the smile on his father’s face as his mother put a big slice of pie in front of him and then proceeded to bury it in whipped cream. He could taste the pie, even. It felt . . .

  “Whoa, Archer.”

  It was Nick, gripping the Dreamtreader’s shoulder. “You looked like you were about to doze off there.”

  “No, I’m okay, I think,” Archer said. “I just had the most vivid memories.”

  “Same here,” Nick replied, but he gave no details. “Think I’m a Dreamtreader now?”

  “I don’t think so,” Archer said. “Do you see the clock?”

  Nick craned his neck every which way. “Nope. No clock. Just really high up.”

  But Archer could see the clock. Old Jack hovered out in the distance, a little lower than usual, due to the height of their perch. The time left was not promising. Even with the swift valkaryx, getting back to Archer’s anchor before the Stroke of Reckoning would be a difficult feat.

  Archer scoured his mind. When the winding path delivers, you must climb the ever-swaying tree. Above the clouds . . . and then what? Shout out who you want to be? Stare at the clouds and you will see? No, those don’t make any sense.

  Something stung his right palm, and he pulled his hand away from the branch. There was no blood, no recent injury, but that reddish blotch on his palm looked redder still. Staring at the ruddy scar sent him back into his thoughts. When the winding path delivers, you must climb the ever-swaying tree. Above the clouds . . . there had been a letter t. It might be the beginning of any word, but Archer felt an idea forming in his mind. Above the clouds . . .

  Wait. It wasn’t a letter t. It was a letter f. It came in a sizzling rush: Above the clouds, face your fears, die to live, and take the faithful leap.

  Leap? Leap out of the tree? That seemed crazy. Archer didn’t recall much about his own awakening, but it didn’t seem possible that he could forget something so dramatic as leaping from a ridiculous height.

  But it made sense in an odd sort of way. Archer pondered this while absently itching the mark on his palm. “I think I’ve got it,” Archer said.

  “Ace!” Nick exclaimed. “Lay it on me.”

  “You’re not going to like it.”

  “You never promised me this was going to be a rage. What do I need to do?”

  Archer glanced down through the crisscrossing tree branches. “I think you need to leap out of this tree.”

  Nick’s mouth dropped open. In fact, his entire face seemed to grow a foot longer. “You’re funning me, aren’t ya, mate?”

  “No,” Archer said. “I think I’ve remembered the last line of the scroll. ‘When the winding path delivers, you must climb the ever-swaying tree. Above the clouds, face your fears; die to live, and take the faithful leap.’ ”

  “Well, I suppose it rhymes,” Nick said. “More of a slant rhyme, really. But, ah . . . that’s not much to hang a hat on if it means I jump from this tree.”

  “I’m sorry, Nick,” Archer said. “I wish I knew better.”

  “Well,” Nick said, turning round to face the open air, “we are in a Dream, right? What could it hurt? I’ll give it a burl. Hoorooo!”

  Archer cried out, “Wait!”

  But it was too late. Nick leaped from the branch. It wasn’t just a raw jump. He actually did a swan dive. The moment the Australian was in the air and out of reach, Archer had second thoughts. The poem’s final verse suddenly didn’t make any sense at all.

  Archer leaped. He used what little will he had left and soared down. He had to catch Nick before he hit bottom. Sudden death in the Dream wouldn’t awaken Nick to Dreamtreading. It would probably keep him from ever becoming a Dreamtreader, though. Archer had a chilling fear that it might do even worse.

  Archer dodged branches, trying to keep Nick’s plummeting form in sight. But it was becoming more and more clear to Archer that he was too late. Nick disappeared from view. Archer poured on the speed and rocketed toward the mountain’s peak. Archer heard a sudden cry and gave a choked yell.

  When Archer slowed his descent and dropped to the mountain-top at last, there was no sign of Nick. The Dreamtreader gasped. He had just enough will left to gasp for air and fear the worst. Careless mistakes, bull-headed stubbornness, and reckless, spur-of-the-moment ideas—the past came back in a rush. His old Dreamtreading partners, Duncan and Mesmeera . . . and flames.

  “Well, that was a closey!”

  Archer lifted his eyes, and there, seated on the back of the long-maned valkaryx, was Nick.

  “You didn’t fall?” Archer yelled.

  “Well, yeah, I fell a bit,” Nick explained. “But halfway down I got to thinking it was about the dumbest thing I’d ever done, so I called
for ol’ Rocky here.”

  “You have no idea how relieved this makes me,” Archer said. He turned. “Do you see the clock by any chance?”

  Nick shook his head.

  “I’ll just have to talk to my superior.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “He is called Master Gabriel,” Archer said. “I’m guessing you’ll meet him soon enough. But I need to get back to my anchor. Can the valkaryx get me back to Garnet Province.”

  “That where the Libraries are?”

  Archer nodded.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Nick said. “We go there all the time.” He spoke a few words and sounds to the valkaryx. The short-maned creature nuzzled Archer’s shoulder.

  “Oh, she wants ya to climb on,” Nick explained. “No sense carryin’ ya like before.”

  The journey back to Garnet Province was smooth and swift. The valkaryx were majestic flyers, but there was no questioning their athletic prowess. They flew tirelessly and at a great height, giving Archer and Nick a panoramic view of the Dream landscape.

  Feeling more confident about making it back to his anchor before the Stroke of Reckoning, Archer found that he rather enjoyed the ride. It wasn’t every day that you were able to ride a flying lion.

  But even that brief pleasure took ill when Archer blinked on his Visis Nocturne. The entire stretch of the northern Verse District was dotted with tiny breaches. No single one was problematic: too small to be a threat. But there were so many.

  Forms District was just the same. From the splintered landscape of the Cold Plateau all the way to Warhaven and Direton, especially Direton, tiny dot-to-dot diagrams of breaches appeared. And these were areas Archer knew that he and Razz had repaired breaches earlier. Sure, many of them had been patched up with Bezeal’s paste. But . . . and that’s when the cold realization hit Archer: Bezeal’s paste wasn’t holding. Archer had known all along that it was a temporary fix; it leaked Dream matter. But now, it was degrading far faster than ever.

  By the time, the valkaryx delivered Archer to his anchor in Garnet, he was consumed with his thoughts and with his anger toward Bezeal . . . and Rigby: Bezeal for making an inferior batch of breach paste, and Rigby for his bold-faced lies about the Dream being in perfect balance.

  “You all right?” Nick asked, stepping past Archer’s well and around a leaning tree trunk. “You look fit to spit.”

  “What?”

  “Aww, mate, you’re spewing mad, aren’t you? What’s eating you?”

  “Nothing,” Archer said. “Nothing I can talk about right now. Just someone I need to kill.”

  Nick barked out a laugh. “That’s a ripsnorter, Archer! Ha!” Nick stopped laughing. “Wait . . . you are kidding, aren’t you?”

  Archer considered the question a little too long. “Mostly,” he said. And then, as if a switch had flipped, Archer ran out of anger-induced energy. He slumped forward against the valkaryx’s neck. The Visis Nocturne had sapped whatever little bit of mental energy he had accumulated since the battle with the paravore.

  “Archer?” Nick said. “Archer, you with us?”

  “Huh?” Archer blinked his eyes open. “Awww, man, I am tired.”

  “This well is your anchor, is it?” Nick asked.

  “Yeah,” Archer said. “It’s the way Dreamtreaders get back to the Waking World.”

  “You probably oughtta be getting back then, eh?”

  “Yeah,” Archer said. “Almost out of time, anyway.”

  “Hey, I don’t mean to pry,” Nick said. “But why a well?”

  “It’s not just any well,” Archer explained. He explained a little bit about his mother and how important the well had been to her.

  Nick nodded along quite a bit. “I understand that completely,” he said. “Uh, each Dreamtreader needs an anchor then, right?”

  “That’s right,” Archer said. “Any idea what your anchor would be . . . I mean, for when you’re officially a Dreamtreader?”

  Nick replied without hesitation. “Yeah, I know just what I’d use. I can see it in my mind just as plainly as I see your well here.”

  “Good,” Archer said, glancing up at Old Jack. “I have to leave now. I’ll talk to Master Gabriel and explain what happened. We’ll be in touch soon.”

  Nick nodded.

  Archer put his hand to the well, and just as one world melted into another, he thought he heard a voice. It was Nick’s voice.

  He said, “Hey, I can see the clock now.”

  THIRTEEN

  THE DARKENING

  THE NEXT AFTERNOON, ARCHER AND AMY STOOD ON Rigby’s front porch. The doorbell’s chime faded slowly within the cavernous mansion.

  “I still don’t think this is a good idea,” Amy said.

  “Come on,” Archer replied. “Since when have my ideas been anything but good?”

  Amy adjusted her glasses and gave Archer an owlish glare of disdain. “You don’t want me to answer that.”

  “We’re just going to talk,” Archer said. “This can’t wait.”

  “Remember, you promised,” she said. “Nothing physical. Just words, yep?”

  Archer didn’t reply. The door opened.

  Looking tired and frowning, Rigby appeared in the doorway. “What do you want, Keaton? It’s not your day to look after the pets.”

  “Not here for the pets,” Archer said. He kept his voice low, words clipped and tight. “We need to talk.”

  “Can’t it wait?” Rigby asked. “Kara and I are working through some equipment orders for Dream Inc. We’re rather busy at the mo—”

  Archer stepped toward the door. “Has to be now.”

  “Well, seeing as how you’re halfway in already,” Rigby said, stepping aside, “won’t you both come in?”

  Archer entered, with Amy as his shadow. Rigby went ahead toward the kitchen.

  “Remember,” Amy whispered, “be diplomatic.”

  Archer grunted in reply.

  At the kitchen table, Kara looked up. Her eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. Rigby gave a flourishing wave of the hand and said, “Keaton here has something to discuss. Oh, and Miss Pitsitakas . . . why are you here?”

  “Moral support,” she said. “Yep.”

  Rigby snickered at that. “Well then, please have a seat. I’d offer you something to drink, but I’m rather hoping you won’t be staying that long.” He sat beside Kara and asked, “So what’s this about, then?”

  Archer said, “Your computer app reeks.”

  Rigby’s bemused look morphed into confusion and then anger. “Excuse me?”

  “It doesn’t work,” Archer said, leaning forward. “It’s bugged or rigged or just plain old broken. But I’m guessing you knew that already.”

  “What are you talking about?” Rigby asked, the pitch of his voice rising.

  “Yes,” Kara said, turning to Rigby, “what is he talking about?”

  “The app you gave me,” Archer said, “the one that’s supposed to monitor the so-called balance in the Dream? It’s way off.”

  “It most certainly is not,” Rigby replied. “I’ve verified the data. I’ve explored the Dream—wait a moment.” His gaze shifted to Amy. “Does she . . . does she know?”

  “She knows enough,” Archer said. “She knows that you’re lying.”

  Rigby stood up abruptly, bumping the table. “Don’t you dare enter my home and insult me!”

  Archer stood up too. “Would you rather come outside so I can insult you there?”

  “Archer!” Amy whispered urgently.

  “Calm down, Archer,” Kara urged.

  “I’m warning you,” Rigby said. “I don’t know what’s flipped your lid so badly, but let’s get this sorted out, shall we? What’s the problem—as you see it—with the dream app?”

  “I told you,” Archer said. “It doesn’t work. I checked the app the other night before I went in. According to the data you had, the Dream realm was completely stable: lots of blues and dark blues. But when I went in, there were more breaches than tw
o Dreamtreaders together could repair in twelve hours of Dream time.”

  “That’s rubbish,” Rigby said. “You just aren’t reading the app right.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “Right then,” he said, shuffling under some papers and pulling out a tablet computer. He slapped his fingers across the touch screen and held it out for Archer. “See there? The Dream’s fine. You probably just didn’t adjust for the contrast.”

  Archer clenched his fists at his side and forced himself not to speak until he had unclenched them. “You aren’t listening,” he said. “I was there. There were breaches all over the place.”

  “I was there too, Keaton,” Rigby said smugly. “I collected data, just like I always do. The science is on my side.”

  “This isn’t science,” Archer said. “What are you hiding?”

  Rigby put down the tablet and stepped around the table.

  Kara jumped up. “Rigby, no!”

  But he was already in Archer’s face, inches away. “You get out of my house,” he said. He almost sounded calm. “You get out before I throw you out.”

  Archer didn’t back down. He matched Rigby’s glare and, in spite of Amy tugging at the back of his shirt, he inched even closer. “I’m a Dreamtreader,” Archer said. “I was chosen to protect the Waking World by watching over the Dream. I’ve learned to see the fabric, to actually see how close to a rift it’s getting. It’s all unraveling, Rigby. Do you know what that means? Do you know what will happen if a rift forms? Do you?”

  Rigby growled something feral and low. “You Dreamtreaders and your bloody creeds . . . you’re just so superior, aren’t you? As if you’re entitled. Hah! Selfish, that’s what you are, wanting to keep the Dream for yourself!”

  “What’s your solution, then? Destroy everything? Because that’s what you’re doing. Your company is tearing the Dream fabric apart. You’ve got to shut it down. If you won’t, I will.”

  Rigby shoved Archer. Archer stumbled backward, stepping awkwardly on Amy’s foot and colliding with the kitchen wall.

  “Rigby, what are you doing?” Kara shrilled. She was up and around the table in an instant.