“IS HE . . . IS HE DEAD?” KAYLIE ASKED, ON THE VERGE OF tears.
“No, he’s in a coma,” Rigby said. He pushed past Archer and Kaylie into the room. He wandered over to a bank of monitors, clicked a mouse a few times, and said, “He’s doing about as well today as he has for the last five years, but some of ’is major organs are beginning to wear out.”
Archer walked into the room. Seeing Rigby’s uncle up close was not a pleasant experience. In the sterile fluorescent light, his flesh had a greenish quality as if it might begin to peel away from the bone. “What . . . what happened to him?”
Rigby sighed. “He stayed too long.”
Archer frowned. Stayed . . . too long. The Laws Nine. When the reality finally hit him, it was like a thunderclap. “He was a Walker,” Archer whispered.
“A what?” Rigby asked, squinting.
“A Lucid Walker,” Archer explained. “Your uncle studied dream science, didn’t he? He figured it out, how to have Lucid Dreams?”
“Listen, Archer,” Rigby said. “Are we going to beat around the bush here, or are we going to lay all the cards on the table?”
“Huh?”
“You are a Dreamtreader, aren’t you?”
“I . . . How do you know that term—”
“Don’t try to deny it,” Rigby said. “I know that you are. I was there, in the Kurdan Marketplace . . . at the Reliquary. You were looking for Bezeal, remember?” Rigby’s face seemed to change, his eyes darkening. When he spoke again, his voice had changed, “He’s fresh meat, ain’t he?”
Archer felt the blood drain from his face. “That . . . that Scarecrow person was you?”
“Well, in disguise, anyway,” he said. “Easy to do, in the Dream.”
“Archer,” Kaylie said, her voice thin . . . worried, “what is Rigby talking about?”
“I’ll explain it later,” Archer said.
“But why did Rigby say his uncle was dead if he was just comatose? There’s a difference. Why?”
“Something I mean to find out,” Archer said. “Now, go look in on the meerkats. Rigby and I need to talk.”
“But why did Rigby call you a Dreamtreader?” she persisted. “A treader is one who treads or travels. Who walks on a dream?”
“Kaylie!” Archer thundered, and then felt terrible because he saw Kaylie jump and then shrivel. And feeling guilty just made him angrier. “I said, go check on the meerkats!”
“Okay . . . ,” she mumbled through quivering lips. And then she was gone.
Archer turned back to Rigby. “So your uncle was a Lucid Walker. And now you are. I should have figured it out. When Guzzy attacked you . . . with the knife, you did something, something with the . . . Did you make the knife turn into flowers?”
Rigby laughed acidly. “Yeah, I was wondering if you’d come back to that.” He shook his head angrily. “I don’t know how that happened. I mean, I can do all kinds of things in the Dream, but not here. That was a first. I was so upset, so scared, it felt like something in my mind slipped. And boom, the knife turned into flowers.”
“You’re messing with things you don’t understand,” Archer muttered. “Breaking into the Dream is dangerous.”
“I don’t break into dreams,” Rigby said. “It’s lucid dreaming, same as what you do.”
“Not the same,” Archer said.
“Oh, that’s right. Dreamtreaders are chosen.” Rigby glared. “You’re not better than me, Archer.”
“I never said I was.”
“No?” Rigby coughed into his hand. “Well, mostly it’s implied by your kind, isn’t it? Dreamtreaders are the chosen guides, the mediators, and the justice. I saw you there, Archer. I know what you’re capable of.”
“But do you know what you’re capable of?” Archer fired back. “You Lucid Walkers are ripping holes in the dream fabric.”
“You lying—” Rigby’s voice fell to a low snarl. He took a step toward Archer.
“It’s not a lie,” Archer said, watching Rigby’s hands. Better than getting a flat-hand strike to the throat. Archer knew how quick Rigby could attack.
“You Dreamtreaders just want to have the Dreamscape to yourselves,” Rigby contended.
“You Lucid Walkers just want to go where you don’t belong. Look at your poor uncle. He stayed too long in the Dream, didn’t he?” Rigby didn’t answer at first. “Didn’t he?”
“Past his eleven hours,” he whispered and then was silent for several moments. The life support machines continued their faint beeps. The respirator filled and emptied. Rigby went on, “The first time it happened, he came back. It was maybe just a little more than twelve hours, that’s all. But he was acting a bit strange . . . kind of aggressive. We didn’t think much of it. My mum thought it was an old age thing, but Uncle Scovy, I think he knew something had gone wrong. The next time he went in . . . he never came back out. He slipped into a deep coma. It destroyed me. Uncle Scovy . . . well, he was like a father to me.”
“I can imagine.”
“Can you?” Rigby asked, the words sizzling contempt.
“My mother died of cancer when I was seven,” Archer said quietly.
Rigby’s mouth hung open for several heartbeats. “Maybe you can imagine, then,” he said. “Rough.”
“You said your dad was overseas, right?”
“Oh, yeah, yeah, he’s overseas, all right. And not coming back. He was never happy with the move to the States . . . or us.”
“I’m sorry,” Archer said. “That’s a lot to have to endure.”
“All of it, yeah,” Rigby said. “But see, I’m going to do something about it. I’m going to bring Uncle Scovy back.”
“I . . . I don’t think you can,” Archer said. “I’ve been reading The Dreamtreader’s Creed, and I don’t see any way to do it.”
“There is a way,” Rigby said. “Kill the Nightmare Lord. He’s behind all the death and misery that comes out of the Dream. We knock him off, it’ll free up the Dream for good. We’ll have the power then to bring Uncle Scovy back.”
“We?” Archer said.
“You’re a Dreamtreader,” Rigby said. “And the Nightmare Lord is your enemy?”
“Right on both counts.”
“Then, we’re fighting the same battle. There are three Dreamtreaders, aren’t there? With all three of you, with all your experience, we could—”
“The other two Dreamtreaders are missing,” Archer said, his tone flat.
“No . . . way.” He shook his head and stared at his uncle’s still form.
“I don’t know what happened to them, Duncan and Mesmeera. They were my friends. Strong, smart, fierce . . . I can only imagine what could take them down.”
“That’s horrible news, mate,” Rigby said quietly. “But it explains a lot. Things are getting dicey in the Dream. You’ve seen it too, right?”
“Breaches everywhere . . . If something doesn’t change soon, a rift will occur.”
“Rift?” Rigby’s eyes narrowed. He seemed to be looking inward. “What are you talking about?”
“A rift is like a gigantic breach, only worse, it spreads, and if it can’t be closed up, the Dream and the Temporal will mix. That could be the end of . . . well, everything.”
“Temporal?” he asked. “You mean this world too?”
Archer nodded. “Can you imagine if people could no longer tell whether they were dreaming or awake?”
Rigby’s expression flattened and became unreadable. “Yeah, I can imagine it. All the more reason we should join forces. I got friends, Archer, friends from GIFT . . . and a few from Dresden ’igh. We’ve been training for a while.”
“What? More Lucid Dreamers?”
“Yeah, yeah, and we’re good. We can use what the Dream gives us. We can take the fight to the Nightmare Lord, but to ’ave you join us? Well, you might just be the difference in this fight.”
Archer thought about the wisdom he’d learned from Bezeal. “I need to talk to someone first.”
“This can’t wait long,” Rigby said. His eyes narrowed. “Wait, you listen to me, Archer. You’re not planning on ratting me out to your superiors, right? You . . . just can’t do that. My uncle . . . I have to try this, for him.”
“There’s just one superior,” Archer said. “And I have to tell him. The last time I kept something from him . . . it didn’t work out so well.”
“Put in a good word, then,” Rigby said. “You tell him we can all fight the Nightmare Lord. We might even be able to help you find the other two Dreamtreaders.”
“I’ll tell him that,” Archer said. But Master Gabriel doesn’t like to negotiate.