“YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME,” ARCHER SAID. HE STOOD at the base of the forest, an uneven border strewn with eight-foot-tall dark feathery ferns, thick tree trunks that forked again and again and again, and a massive tangle of thorns. Archer reached out to one of the glistening five-inch spikes and tested its point. “Ouch!” He shook his hand. “These things are no joke. How are we supposed to get in?”
Archer summoned a bit of will, and a wickedly edged three-foot machete appeared in his hand. He shrugged and lifted the tool, preparing a mighty hack.
“I wouldn’t,” Razz said.
Archer froze and looked back at the tangled forest. A pair of platter-sized eyes opened in the darkness, and a warm breeze washed over Archer. “Oh,” he said. “Oh, there’s something alive here. Heh, heh . . .” He stepped backward hastily.
A bubbling growl sounded from the trees.
“What is that?” Archer asked.
“A galoot,” Razz said. “What else would live in a thatch of life-threatening thorns?”
“Uhm . . . right.” Archer shook his head. “So, hacking into the forest is no good. Can we fly over and drop in? It’ll take a bit of my will, but—”
“Not worth it,” Razz said. “We’d get caught in the webs.”
“What webs?”
“The Silver Orb Weavers,” Razz said. “Their webs are everywhere.”
Archer shuddered. “Not a big fan of spiders. So, can’t walk in or fly in. How do you get in, Razz?”
“I go POOF!” Razz vanished in a double puff of purple smoke. Then she reappeared a moment later. “See?”
The galoot in the woods laughed. It was a sound like rustling leaves and distant thunder.
Archer glared at the woods. “Great, so now the forest monsters are laughing at me.” He turned back to Razz. “Look, Dreamtreaders can do a lot of crazy stuff, but we can’t go POOF. Is there any other way into the Silentwood?”
Razz spun in the air once, removed her acorn hat, and scratched thoughtfully at her scalp. “Well, maybe the tunnels.”
“Tunnels? There are tunnels into the forest.”
“Technically, they are under the forest, but yepperdoodle, you can get in that way.”
“Show me.”
Razz clapped and sped off to the west. They rounded a particularly nasty snarl of thorny vines and came to a swift stop at a tree stump. “Here’s one,” Razz said, pointing at the stump.
“Uh, that doesn’t look much like a tunnel.”
“Silly,” Razz muttered. She landed on the stump and her tail twitched. “No, not this. The tunnel is underneath. Just give the stump a smack.”
As if that was the most obvious thing. Archer leaned over and slapped the stump. It made a hollow clicking sound, and then flung upward with such velocity that it shot Razz into the forest.
“Razz!” Archer bounded to the woods, skidding to a stop with a thorn just inches from his eyes. “Razz, are you okay?”
Archer heard some rustling around and a strange muffled cry. “Razz, what’s wrong? Razz, are you there?”
There came a wet SPLUT from the woods, and then Razz said, “Big ugly galoot, trying to eat me, were you? I’ll fix you!”
Archer winced at the bluster of noise, smacks, and crashes that splurted out of the woods. They ended with a series of deep whiny squeals, like a dog whimpering after being whacked with a newspaper. Razz reappeared moments later.
Her clothing was stained dark, and her fur was matted. “Don’t ask,” she grumbled. “Anyway, there’s the tunnel.”
Beneath the upturned stump, an earthen stair led down beneath the surface. It was as dark as pitch down there, but Archer had no fear of the dark. The Dreamtreader stepped down and held up a hand. A miner’s hat appeared on his head and flooded the tunnel with LED light.
The walls of the tunnel were half-packed clay and half-rugged stone. The path beneath Archer’s feet was as smooth as sanded wood, with nary a root or splinter. “I’ve been Dreamtreading here for eight years,” he said, “and I had no idea you could actually dig tunnels in the soil. Are there more?”
“Oh, yes,” Razz said, buzzing by Archer’s ear. “They’re all over.”
“Who dug the tunnels?”
“Dunno,” she replied. “Some say the Nightmare Lord. Some say the Lurker.”
“That’s not especially encouraging,” Archer muttered. “Wouldn’t be surprised if the tunnel dropped us into a pit of spears or a vat of boiling lava.”
“Nope, this tunnel comes out in a patch of viscer flowers. They aren’t as bad.”
“Well, that’s something, I guess.”
Perhaps a hundred paces later, the tunnel sloped upward and became illuminated with a very faint green light. After a slight curve, an arched opening appeared, crisscrossed with vines and broad leafy foliage. A hint of lavender and melon scented the air as Archer pushed through the vines. He found himself in a dark glade overhung with twisted black tree boughs, a thousand loops of vine, and a never-ending canopy of wide leaves. Huge, felty, five-petaled blooms of dark pink or yellow grinned up at Archer from either side of an obvious path.
“Viscer flowers!” Razz warned. “Not too close!”
“Why?” Archer said, reaching slowly for a blossom. “Just a big, pretty—”
A sharp hiss shot from the bloom and, in the same instant, a fleshy tongue snapped toward Archer’s hand like a whip. He couldn’t move his hand fast enough. But he could think.
The speed of thought was the Dreamtreader’s advantage in all situations. If you had the mental energy in the tank, you could create in an instant. Archer’s move was a reaction, a reflex that summoned a medieval shield. The flower’s attack clanged off the metal once, whipped forward a second time and a third, but couldn’t pierce the shield. As the tonguelike appendage retreated back into the bloom, Archer saw the teeth on the end of it, a full set of vampire jaws.
“Snot rockets!” Archer exclaimed. “That would have left a mark.”
“Is anything really as it seems here?” Razz chided. “Duh.”
Archer exhaled and proceeded a little more carefully through the viscer flower stalks. As they picked their way through the shrubs and trees, Archer recited from the scroll Master Gabriel had given him: “In the Silentwood just south of Garnet, seek the Hunter’s Stone.”
“I’ve never heard of the Hunter’s Stone,” Razz said.
“Anything it could be? Any strange rocks or stony formations?”
Razz circled Archer’s head. “Hmmm . . . it might be . . . maybe the pikes.”
“Pikes?”
“In the middle of the forest, there are these rocky towers,” she said. “They jut up from the pine needles. They look like tall stacks of stone coins. I guess if you could climb one, it would be a good place for a hunter to wait for prey.”
“Take me there,” Archer said. Razz flittered away, and he followed. As Archer ran, the Silentwood proved itself to be anything but mute. Chirps, buzzes, neek-breeks, gorkles, riddips, snorts, chirps, howls, and growls filled the night. More than once, Archer spotted eyes glistening within the shadows and foliage. The footing was awkward for him, but he still kept up with airborne Razz.
Once, in a particularly tense moment, a shadow passed overhead. Archer skidded to a stop, dropped to a knee, and looked up. He only saw the silhouette of a pair of spindly legs as a gigantic spider disappeared into the trees high above. Archer shuddered and ran on.
The thickening forest overcame the recognizable path, and Archer found himself leaping roots, swinging from low boughs, and bouncing off the large smooth rocks that began to complicate his passage. Soon the single stones became clumps of stone, too tall to leap with ease, and eventually, a few stone towers began to rise up high in the canopy.
Razz landed on Archer’s shoulders. “This is the place,” she whispered.
“Why are you whispering?” he asked.
“I dunno,” she said. “It just feels like I should be quieter here.”
Archer said nothing more. He too felt the urge to be silent. Hunter’s Stone, he thought, moving stealthily through the tall turrets of rock. Gotta be one of the highest towers.
Scanning the tower tops, he continued deeper into the shadowy dell. Finally, he came to the tallest stone formations. “Razz,” he whispered. “Buzz on up there. Tell me if you see anyone.”
“Right, boss.” And she was gone.
While she was away, it was so quiet that Archer could hear his heartbeat. It wasn’t utterly still, though. Thank goodness. There were still a few chirps, neek-breeks, and riddips, but they were far less enthusiastic than before, and there were no more howls or growls.
Slipping from darkness to moonlit patches to the rippling shadows of the stone towers, Archer mentally recited the parchment. In the Silentwood just south of Garnet, seek the Hunter’s Stone. Beware the law of tooth and claw and the dell where shadows roam.
Uh-oh.
Archer stopped. He stood now in a dell. There were shadows everywhere. But what was the law of tooth and claw? Try not to get eaten or mauled? By what?
“Pssst!” Razz, suddenly appearing at his side, whispered. “I found him. I think.”
“Where?”
“Tallest rock tower,” she said. “It’s about four back and three over from here. At first I thought it was a big bird nest or a clump of branches. Then it moved, and I saw a really sharp arrowhead sticking out of it.”
“That’s gotta be him. Let’s go.” Razz led the way, and they came at last to a stone tower so high that Archer couldn’t see the top of it. “Up there?”
Razz nodded. “You’ll have to fly. No way you’ll climb this.”
“I’m already half-spent,” Archer muttered. He searched above for Old Jack’s clock face. “But we’re running out of time.”
Archer summoned his will. He’d flown many times before, and that made it easier to get started, but flying always drained the mental batteries. Archer flexed his will, the forest floor fell away, and he soared upward.
He followed the contour of the tower. It really did look like some giant banker had stacked the stones like coins. The ridges between the disks of rock were defined, each stone slightly askew from the one below it. Near the top, the stones increased in diameter, ending with a fairly wide platform at the top. Upon that stone, as Razz had described, was a very irregular clump. Leaves, branches, bracken, vines, and roots were tangled into a lumpy snarl that, as Archer squinted, took on the irregular shape of a person.
“Nick Bushman?” Archer whispered. “Is that you in there?”
A grumbling, gritty growl spilled out of the clump in reply.
“He’s in there,” Razz said, buzzing around the tower.
“Nick Bushman,” Archer repeated. “We need to talk.”
“Beat it, ya’ ankle biter!” the gritty voice commanded. “I’m fair busy.”
“I’m sorry to interrupt your dream here, Mr. Bushman,” Archer said, changing his tone. “My name is Archer Keaton and—”
The clump of leaves shifted suddenly. “Look, mate, I don’t know how you know me, but what’s all this about my dream?”
“You’re asleep, Mr. Bushman,” Archer said. “You’re dreaming right now.”
“Right, mate,” Nick replied. “I’m dreaming, and you’re mad as a cut snake.”
“What?”
“Eww!” Razz squeaked.
“Crazy,” Nick said, “an absolute nutter. I’m wide awake. Anyone can see that. Now, rack off, I’ve got work to do.”
“This is going to be harder than I thought,” Archer mumbled. How do I convince someone who thinks he’s awake that he’s really dreaming? Archer had no idea. He didn’t remember how Master Gabriel had done it all those years ago. All Archer knew was that it was absolutely essential for the Dreamtreader-to-be to recognize he was dreaming. It was the first step to controlling elements in the dream. If you don’t know you’re dreaming, then you aren’t conscious within the dream, and then you cannot harness your mental will. Archer decided to try another tactic.
“I’m a Dreamtreader, Mr. Bushman,” he said. “I patrol this world. So that makes me kind of an authority on dreams. Believe me when I tell you that you are, in fact, dreaming.”
“Dreamtreader, eh? I already told you, I’m not . . . wait . . . are you flying?” A scruffy head poked out of the pile. His skin was painted with crisscrossing stripes of black, gray, and brown, but pale blue eyes shone out from the camouflage. “You are flying,” he said. “Well, color me gobsmacked. That-that’s not possible. For your squirrel thing, maybe, but not for you.”
“Squirrel thing?” Razz blurted. “Why, I ought to—”
Archer quickly sidled in front of Razz and came to stand on Nick’s platform stone. “Flying’s just one of the things you’ll be able to do as a Dreamtreader, Nick.”
“That’s bonzer, mate,” he said. “Maybe later I’ll give it a burl, but now I’ve got to stay—”
Bang!
If someone had fired a shotgun just a few feet away, the sound wouldn’t have stunned Archer like this. Nick too. His head disappeared back into the pile of bracken. Razz darted into Archer’s jacket.
A wave of something had just blasted through the dell. It made no sound of its own but stole sound wherever it struck. Now the forest was dead silent. Nothing moved. Even in the Dream fabric, all became still and silent, the Intrusion waves flattening in an instant.
Archer couldn’t understand what was happening. He wanted to call out to Nick but couldn’t make himself do it. The physical ability to speak seemed to be there, but to say even a single word seemed too terrifying to contemplate. Instead, Archer dropped down and lay beside the clump that hid Nick Bushman.
Movement. Out in the moonlit forest, something caused the trees to sway. Archer stared, straining to see what had caused the movement. A trail of swaying trees formed. And each time a new patch of trees was thrust aside, there came also a peculiar, unnerving sensation.
Sight, sounds, smell, taste, and touch: Archer felt them all in the Dream just as he did in the waking world. But with the advancing threat in the trees, there came a new sense. It happened again and again, with the frequency of footsteps, a kind of pulse of suction. Each time it hit, it was as if the silence somehow became more silent, and Archer’s mental energy grew weaker. It reminded Archer unpleasantly of being caught in a strong undertow at the ocean, except that this was some kind of riptide of the mind.
“C’mon, ya shark biscuit,” Nick yelled from his camouflage pile, but his voice just scarcely pierced the silence as a faint whisper. “C’mon.”
The nearest trees parted, several snapping at the base and toppling violently into the wood. Archer understood at last: the law of tooth and claw.
Like a dark wave of scaly flesh, a mountainous shape lumbered into the dell. Its body was bulky with knotted clumps of muscle and had the rough bulbous shape of a hippopotamus. A hippopotamus the size of a resort hotel. Its four limbs were segmented and thick, each ending with an extraordinarily wide, knobby foot studded with talons. Its fore shoulders were so thick and pronounced that it seemed to have no neck at all. Its head was reptilian, but tapered, more like the head of a horse. It was bigger than a house and had interlocking saberlike tusks on both upper and lower jaws. Tiny beads of fierce red showed its tiny eyes, tucked within folds of more leathery skin.
“You’re the one!” Nick gasped. “After all these years.”
Hearing Nick speak once more broke the spell of fear over Archer. “Nick, come with me,” he begged. “Right now.”
“Sorry, mate,” Nick replied. “I’ve waited far too long to sock out of here now. I mean to kill this bitzer.”
“You don’t have to kill it,” Archer said. “I can get us out of here.”
The creature reared up on its hind limbs, opened its massive jaws and roared. Freight trains, explosions, windstorms, and car crashes—all put together—that’s what the beast sounded like to Archer. He felt the draining on his mental will once more and had a sudden inexplicable desire to close his eyes . . . to sleep.
A rough hand took hold of his shoulder and shook him. “See there,” Nick said. “See what it was doing to you, mate? That’s what it did to my little Taddy.”
“Taddy?”
“You know, mate, a wee friend and compatriot like your squirrel thing.”
“I heard that!” came a muffled objection from Archer’s coat.
“Taddy was just a cute little fella, never did anyone harm unless they earned it. That thing out there took Taddy right out of the sky and then swallowed him. So don’t you tell me I don’t have to kill it. Killing it is the only thing I have left to do in this life.”
Archer’s mind whirled. He had to awaken Nick to Dreamtreading, but Nick wouldn’t listen. And Archer had never seen this beast before or felt anything like it. How could a creature of the Dream drain away his will, the very source of his power? Archer didn’t know. And didn’t care. He needed to get Nick and get as far away from this dell as possible. That’s when the idea hit him. He didn’t know if his offer was quite true, but it was the only thing he could think of that might sway Nick.
“If you come with me right now,” Archer said, “I’ll show you power, power that will let you kill this thing any time you want.”
“You seem a decent bloke,” Nick said. “But I’ve got to do this, and I can’t wait any longer.”
Archer was out of ideas. He couldn’t take his eyes off the creature to check on Old Jack, but he knew it was getting very late. Nick wasn’t coming. The next bell to ring would be Stroke of Reckoning, Archer’s Dreamtreading deadline, and he was way too far away from his anchor to get there in time.
“Okay, okay,” Archer blurted. “We’ll kill it. We’ll kill it right now. I’ll help you. But once it’s done, you need to hear me out about Dreamtreading.”
Nick’s hand shot out of the pile. “Now, that’s an offer I can’t refuse. Shake on it.”
Archer’s heart leaped. “Deal!” He lunged and shook Nick’s hand.
“Done and done,” Nick said. “But listen, mate, don’t take this thing lightly. The paravore don’t have a soul. It don’t have pity, and it don’t have mercy. You get a chance to take it out, you do it right fast.”
“And one more thing.”
“Yeah?”
“You best keep your squirrel thing hidden away,” Nick said. “I’d hate for it to end up like my Taddy.”