Chaos.
The Rift.
How many will die? Archer shook away the thought. Kaylie needed him. Needed him now . . . if it wasn’t too late.
He felt his will practically bursting from his veins, and then he leaped into the air and soared above the trees.
He’d been to Gatlinburg General Hospital many, many times, but most of those had been when his mom was sick, eight years ago. He knew the general route but had to descend to street level to watch for blue signs with the big white H.
Not far now, Archer thought, breathing heavily. The Rift had happened, he knew. He could feel the increase in his mental energy, his will. He could fly . . . in the Waking World. Or whatever it’s called now.
Archer flew over trembling suburban neighborhoods, warping strip malls, schools, and office buildings, and over a lake that seemed to be burning. Thankfully, at this time of night, he knew most people were settling down for bed or already asleep. They might not discover the massive changes until the morning. But when they did . . .
Archer shook his head and soared toward the hospital. The Rift and all its consequences would have to wait. He had to go to Kaylie. He had to find out.
The building stood at the elbow of a boomerang-shaped road. An ambulance with flashers pulled into the emergency entrance, even as Archer landed in the parking lot. There were a lot of people there, running around in terrified circles. Some stopped to attend to the ambulance. Others ran away from it, screaming.
Archer sprinted inside, passing scrub-clad doctors and nurses. He rounded the corner and found a directory. The pediatric department was on the third floor. Archer glanced at the elevator. “No,” he muttered. “Stairs will be faster.” He plowed through the door and literally flew up the stairs.
He found the floor frantic with activity and raced ahead, weaving between medical personnel and security. He counted rooms as he went, all on the left side. Odd numbers.
Room 9, Room 11, Room 13, Room 15.
Archer didn’t need to search anymore. A massive slab of granite, otherworldly and out of place in the sterile hospital hallway, stood as an impenetrable guard in front of Kaylie’s room.
A shadow came rushing toward Archer, tackled him, and slammed him against the wall. “Archer, son! Oh, God, thank you!”
“Dad?” Archer whispered. “Dad, you . . . you’re here.”
“Something changed, didn’t it, son?” Mr. Keaton said, pulling back. “I was in the dark forever, but there was this Australian guy . . . and Kaylie was there, but everything went nuts. The sky split open, and suddenly I was back here. I thought . . . well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. Son, son, I’m so glad to see you. But something’s wrong. The doctors told me Kaylie was still in her hospital room. It doesn’t make sense. I just saw her. But . . . nothing makes sense. And there’s this!” He pointed at the wall. “We can’t get inside Kaylie’s room.”
Mr. Keaton dragged Archer toward the granite. “They’ve got a crew coming,” Mr. Keaton said, his voice getting frantic and breathy. “But her signals . . . they’ve all gone flatline.”
“Stand back, Dad!” Archer yelled.
His father blinked at him, not comprehending.
“Stand back, please, Dad. I’ll get us in.”
“How can . . .”
Archer put his hand up to the granite wall. It was solid, horribly so. Maybe a thunder-stomp or thunder-kick would get through, but then Archer might send shards of granite into the room.
Archer ducked into the room next door to Kaylie’s and found it blessedly empty. He went to the adjoining wall and used his will to harden his hand. Then he thrust his hand through the drywall and began tearing at the studs. Soon he had enough torn away to see. Rigby stood at the side of the bed, but his back was turned, and Archer couldn’t see anything beyond.
“Rigby!” Archer called. “Tell me you didn’t do it! Tell me . . . you didn’t do it!”
There was no reply, and Archer wasn’t waiting. He tore chunks at a time and flung them away. The hole grew wider. Archer saw the edge of Kaylie’s bed. “Kaylie!” he yelled. “Kaylie!”
Finally, enough of the wall gave that Archer could push himself through. He stepped into the room behind Rigby, but Rigby didn’t turn around. Archer heard a strange sound . . . a wheezing or choking.
Archer grabbed Rigby and tried to spin him around, but it was like he was caught in a vise grip.
“Hello, Archer,” came a female voice, but it wasn’t Kaylie. “You know, for the record, Rigby did pull the plug. It just wasn’t Kaylie in the bed.”
Rigby seemed to hover to the side. There, with a gloved hand around Rigby’s throat . . . was Kara Windchil. “You aren’t the only one who can play the disguise game, Archer,” she said. “It was your brilliant ploy with the fake Master Gabriel that gave me the idea.”
Archer’s mouth barely worked. He mouthed, “Kaylie?”
“She’s safe,” Kara said. “In another room down the hall. Probably wide awake right now and wanting ice cream. Of course, she could just will up the biggest ice cream sundae in the world . . . if she wanted. She is very strong.”
“Let . . . let—ugh—me—go!” Rigby struggled, but it was obviously no good. Kara walked him over to the hospital room window. Holding Rigby up with one arm, she didn’t look like she was even breaking a sweat. Archer had always thought Rigby the more powerful of the two.
“What . . . what are you going to do?” Archer asked.
Urgent voices came from behind Archer. “Archer! What are you doing?”
“Oh, we can’t really have visitors right now,” Kara said. “It’s after hours.” She waved her free hand. There was a violent rush of wind, and the wall bricked itself up.
Archer blinked. “That was a pretty neat trick,” he mumbled.
“No trick,” she said. “That was real. That’s what ‘real’ is now. I gotta hand it to you, Archer. You have helped me so much all along. I mean from the very beginning. Getting all jealous of Rigby? That gave me such an in. He was so eager to share his uncle’s Lucid Dreaming secrets with me.”
Archer felt a rapid chill forming on his neck.
“Of course, I’d already been Lucid Dreaming for years,” Kara went on. Rigby hissed and spat and continued to struggle.
Archer raised a hand and took a tentative step toward Rigby.
“Oh, don’t tell me you’re worried about Rigby,” Kara said, smiling sadly. “I’m not going to kill him. I’m not as cold-blooded as he is. No, I’m going to let the Scath have him. They were so angry at him for not keeping his promise of freedom . . . when I locked them up. I figure, I’ll just lock Rigby in the Inner Sanctum with the Scath . . . and see what shakes loose.”
“You—you locked up the Scath?”
“C’mon, Archer,” she said. “Connect the dots. Maybe this will help.” Kara reached into the long pocket of her jacket and pulled out a dark piece of metal: the Shadow Key. “Like I said, you have helped me so much, you and Kaylie. Without the two of you, I’d have never gotten this. The Rift would have happened, and I would have lost control of . . . well, everything. But you put the Shadow Key right in my hand and basically delivered Rigby to me on a platter.” She laughed.
“I gave the Shadow Key to the Windmaiden,” Archer muttered. “You . . . you’re the Windmaiden?”
“Poor Archer,” she said. “You never had a clue, did you? Not even from my last name? Really? No? Well, now you know. It has been a good ride, Archer. A brilliant game of chess. But this is checkmate. Good-bye, Archer Keaton.”
Kara thrust her free hand forward. The window and the wall bowed outward and appeared to melt into a hollow. Archer ducked as the wind picked up. Furniture from the hospital room flew through the opening and vanished.
Kara slung Rigby toward the pulsing portal, but hesitated and said, “There will never be another Nightmare Lord, Archer, be sure of that. No king will sit on that throne. But there will be a queen.”
She started to turn, but Ar
cher lifted his foot and slammed it to the hospital room floor. The shockwave battered Kara, and she nearly dropped her captive.
“This isn’t checkmate!” Archer shouted, will-infused thunder-clapping with each pause in his words. “You won’t be a queen. You’ll only be a nightmare. And I know just what to do with nightmares!”
Kara sneered. Her eyes widened, and Archer saw the same spidery red lightning dancing there that he’d seen in Rigby’s gaze. Archer knew then that Kara had been reading the Masters’ Bindings. She was changing. But into what?
Archer gathered all of his will, but before he could strike, Kara stepped into the portal and drew Rigby in with her.
Eerie, warbling wind moaned and shrieked as they vanished. Just before the portal closed completely, Archer could have sworn that he saw Bezeal’s star-point eyes and Cheshire Cat grin.
But Archer didn’t have time to dwell on what he’d just seen.
“Archer!”
There came a crackling, and bits of granite fell away, until a full door appeared in the barrier Rigby had created. Archer’s father stood there . . . and Kaylie. They raced forward. Archer lost himself in their embrace.
Sirens howled outside, sounding eerily like hounds. People were screaming in the hospital. Archer’s father said, “Everything’s gone crazy.”
But Archer just held his family tighter. Things were broken, but he knew they could be repaired.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I, WAYNE THOMAS BATSON, DO HEREBY ACKNOWLEDGE that the following remarkable people invested great love, energy, sacrifice, and kindnesses in ways that I will never be able to repay. Search for the Shadow Key, like all my novels, couldn’t have happened without your support and presence in my life. To you, I offer these simple thanks:
Mary Lu Batson: gorgeous wife, best friend, co-dreamer, and life-mate—to you I offer the greatest human thanks. You committed your life to me, a rare thing these days, and extraordinarily precious to me. Navigating life with four teenagers, teaching, and trying to be a writer would be absolutely impossible without your fantastic support.
Daughter Kayla: Your passion and initiative, dreams and drive to help others are nothing short of inspiring. Love you, K-doodle!
Son Tommy: You are a tender warrior, my son. I love the joy you find in God’s creation, everything from noticing the gold light before dusk or the smell of wood smoke on a chill evening. You are a constant reminder to me that God’s richest blessings are never ending.
Son Bryce: You are the quiet strength, my son. I love the way you become a student of what inspires you, learning every facet and detail, and then explode into action. You are committed to excellence. May God use you to do great things.
Daughter Rachel: Upon you, God has also placed His creative touch. You are a teacher and a storyteller, a singer and a songwriter. I am thankful for the bubbly life you inject into every day. You have a heart full of love to give, and I’m grateful to shepherd you . . . for a little while.
Mom & Dad Batson: I don’t know how else to thank you. You gave up forty-five-plus years of your life to directly or indirectly help me be a better son, friend, man, employee, writer, and husband. Thank you!
Mom & Dad Dovel: You gave me your daughter and much love besides. Thank you!
Leslie, Jeff, Brian, Edward, Andy, Diana, your spouses, significant others, families, and friends—thank you for creating a landscape of adventure. It is no small thing to be able to raise a sword with such as you.
Doug & Chris, Dave & Heather, Chris H. & Dawn, Dan & Tracey, Warren & Marilyn, Todd W., Alex & Noelle, Alaina & Greg, and all friends past and present: I can’t thank you enough for the camaraderie and adventures. May there be many, many more.
Folly Quarter Dreamers: Erin, Kirsten, Julie, Regina, Barb, Sherrie, Dreia, Lindsay, Susan—you are one amazing group of teachers! Verily, to you I cry out in a loud voice: Deer!
Students present and past: You have no idea what precious blessings you are to me and the world. Pip-pip, cheerio!
Sir Gregg of Wooding: Agent and friend. Thanks for being among the first to believe in my stories. It is an honor to know you, my friend.
Steele Filipek: Well met, sirrah! Seriously, you are an amazing editor. Thanks for chipping away the chaff so this series could emerge.
Thomas Nelson / HarperCollins: You opened the door for me back in 2004. Thank you for the long and incredible ride.
Christopher Hopper: The disciples told Jesus, “We have left all to follow you. What shall we have?” The Lord replied, “Truly I tell you, no one who has left home or wife or brothers or sisters or parents or children for the sake of the kingdom of God will fail to receive many times as much in this age, and in the age to come eternal life.” God is true to His word. He linked us in friendship, and I’m grateful. How many zero-dark-thirty writing sessions have we shared? How many laughs? Thanks for your friendship, bro. Through airships, flatulent barrister gnomes, spiders, and much more—it has been an honor to ride together. Right.
The fantastic staffs of G. L. Shacks, Glory Days, O’Llordan’s, Ramshead Tavern, and other haunts for putting up with me writing there at all times of day . . . or night. Special thanks to Oscar’s in Eldersburg for being the authentic “Cheers” for me and my family. Ralph, you are Da Man!
MY ARMY OF FAITHFUL ONLINE READER FRIENDS
Laura Mary Firemel · Aaron Russell · Ryan Paige Howard · Andrew Bergk · JT Wilt · Gracie Wilt · Tom Wilt · Kaysie Wilt · Mimi Lincicome Wilt · Cameron Strauss and family · Elizabeth Liberty Lewis · Kaleb Kramer · Ethan Park · Nikita Maves · LoriAnn Weldon · Kathleen Fleeger Edwards · Noah Cutting · Josh Vallance · Kaye Whitney · Addy Buxton · Brian McBride · Rachel O’Malley Brown · Brent Bourgoin · Chris Deanne · Rachel Herriman · Ashton Poole · Lindsay Renea · Brent Ammann · Morgan Babbage · Elizabeth Hornberger · Jadi Verdin · Jay Goebel · Declan Ross (You know who you are!)
THE “I BEAT THE AUTHOR” SCROLL OF HONOR
During the crafting of this novel, the following writer/warriors did engage me in battle and exceed my efforts and production. Their friendly competition didst verily inspire mine own writing in countless ways. They are to be commended and showered with gifts and affection.
Petra Hurley • Josiah Boss • Imogen Elvis • Sarah Spradlin
First and last: I offer thanks to you, Lord Jesus. You ransomed me; you lifted my chin; you gave me a mission and the means to complete that mission. In short, you made my dreams come true. Let the words of this story ring the bells of Glory for you throughout the heavens and the earth.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
WAYNE THOMAS BATSON IS THE AUTHOR OF SEVERAL bestselling novels, including The Door Within trilogy, The Isle series, and The Berinfell series. A middle school reading teacher in Maryland for 22 years, Wayne tailors his stories to meet the needs of the young people he cares so deeply about. Wayne writes meaningful adventures set in imaginative locales because he believes that on a deep level, we all dream of doing something that matters and that we all long for another world.
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