ARCHER RECOGNIZED THE SHADOW STANDING JUST OUTSIDE the bars of his cell. He knew the hooded silhouette all too well. “Surprised to see me, Dreamtreader in a cage? How easily you act your age. Relax, for soon we will all turn the page.”
“Bezeal!” Archer growled. He flew to his cell door, thrust his arms through the bars, and tried to grab the new visitor. But the diminutive robed figure had quickly backed out of reach. “It was you? You’re the one who accused me of all this . . . garbage?”
From the corner of his eye, Archer saw Master Gabriel step forward.
“No,” Archer said, stepping back from the bars, “it’s okay. I’m not going to kill him.”
Bezeal’s face was invisible beneath the dark hood, but his eyes glimmered with cold light like a pair of distant stars. “Little boy, with grown-up pride, be glad your insolence I abide, you couldn’t kill me if you tried.”
And then, Master Gabriel did step in. “Careful, Bezeal. You know quite well where you are, and there are empty cells yet. What are you doing here? Visiting with the accused is strictly off-limits for a prosecutor.”
Bezeal’s eyes flashed and, for just the briefest of moments, his Cheshire cat grin appeared. “In the interests of a fair and interesting trial,” he said, “I’ve come with news that will be worth your while. Behold the motion I felt compelled to file.” Bezeal reached inside his robe, withdrew a rolled parchment, and passed it through the bars.
Archer opened the scroll. With Master Gabriel hovering over his shoulder, he began to read. Seconds later, Archer looked up. “What does this mean . . . the trial shall proceed at whim?”
“Let me see that,” Master Gabriel said, grasping the left side of the parchment to get a better look. A moment later, he began to shake his head slowly. “This is craven,” he muttered, “even for you, Bezeal.”
The hooded figure said nothing in reply, but simply left Archer’s cell and waltzed away down the hall.
“What?” Archer asked. “What’s craven? What does at whimmean?”
“It means, Archer, that Bezeal has taken the initiative. He’s collected and documented all his evidence. He can declare the trial whenever he wants. And I imagine it will be very soon.”
“I have to have time to prepare my defense,” Archer argued. “Bezeal can’t do this. Can he?”
“I am afraid he can,” Master Gabriel said. “The trial waits only for the prosecutor to collect his evidence. In most cases, that takes quite some time, but Bezeal was all too thorough.”
“What about me? What about my defense?”
“That was, of course, Bezeal’s plan,” Master Gabriel said. “He wants to take you to trial before you are ready. He wants your defense to depend upon Eternal Evidence.”
“Eternal Evidence? I don’t know what that means.”
“It means your life, Archer,” Master Gabriel replied. “Everything related to the charges, as you remember them. Eternal Evidence allows the court to review your memories and, unfortunately, your motives.”
Archer plopped down to his bunk once more. “Oh,” he said. “That might not be so great.”
“Archer,” Master Gabriel said, “you have convinced me to go to the others . . . to Nick and to Kaylie, but I could still stay to defend you. The trial could be at any moment.”
Archer raised his eyebrows. There was a part of him that wanted to take Master Gabriel up on the offer. But the more he thought about it, the more he saw restraining Master Gabriel when Kaylie and Nick needed him . . . that would be utterly selfish.
“No,” Archer said. “I need to do this alone.”
“In that case, Archer,” Master Gabriel said, “anchor first.”
“Anchor deep,” he replied.
The Master Dreamtreader stepped outside of the cell and slowly slid the door closed. It latched with a very final sounding clank of metal, and Master Gabriel vanished in a swirl of purple, blue, and bright white sparks.
Archer lay back on his bunk. He thought hard about what the Eternal Evidence would reveal. It was disconcerting to think that events of his life—as well as the attitudes of his heart—would be on display for all to see.
“What if I really am guilty?” he whispered, and the question echoed again and again in his mind. After all, there might be moments in time that he’d misremembered, like childhood stories that grew longer and more colorful in the telling over the years. Maybe, in his passion to stop Rigby from harming Kaylie, maybe he’d gone wrong. It was an icy fear.
But then, in that moment, there was another sensation: this one, oddly warming . . . and freeing. If I’m guilty,he thought, then . . . I am. And I deserve whatever sentence the judge sees fit.
There was really no use in worrying about the past. What’s done is done,he thought. I’ll just have to defend myself as best I can, and then throw myself on the mercy of the judge.
He found it peculiar he wasn’t really worried about himself, about what would happen to him personally. But he was still worried about his family, his friends, and all who called the Waking World their home. If the judge ruled that Archer was guilty and needed to be put away, that he wouldn’t be able to use his Dreamtreading talents to help—that would be hard to take.
Archer prayed that when the time came his anchor would be deep enough.