Confronting the Dragon

by Mark Cheverton

  “Where are they?” the ghast boomed.

  “Ahead,” the dark monster replied. “At the foot of that rocky peak ahead.”

  The enderman pointed with one of his long black arms at the mountain that loomed ahead, its tall jagged peak dwarfing the trees that stood at its base. The mountain had a peculiar, diseased look to it; nothing alive decorated its surface. There was no grass, no flowers . . . nothing. The only thing that stood out were the leafless shapes of trees that looked decrepit and dead, their empty branches extended out at crooked angles into the air.

  “That mountain?” Malacoda asked.

  The enderman nodded. “The strange shadow-crafter said for you to go to the mountain and into the large tunnel that is cut into the base.”

  “Just as I thought,” the King of the Nether added.

  Fool, Erebus thought as he chuckled to himself.

  “Where is the rest of your kind?” Malacoda asked the enderman.

  “They have teleported ahead to secure the area.”

  “Excellent,” Malacoda replied. “At least there is one enderman here with some brains.”

  Erebus just smiled.

  Malacoda turned and floated high up into the air, facing his army.

  “Ahead is our destination,” he boomed, his voice carrying across the landscape like thunder. “Soon our secret allies will add to our numbers until this army is the biggest force ever seen in Minecraft.” The monsters cheered as they marched, many of them holding their weapons in the air. “And when we are ready, we will swoop down on the inhabitants of this server and destroy them, leaving the Source unprotected. Soon, brothers and sisters, the monsters of Minecraft will destroy the Source and then take over the physical world. The age of the monsters is about to begin and woe to those that resist us.”

  More cheers.

  Moving closer to the ground, the King of the Nether floated near Erebus.

  “Enderman, after we get a report from the spider-jockeys, I want you to send some of your Overworld monsters out to find and harass the User-that-is-not-a-user. Send some of my zombie-pigmen as well; we need some real warriors there. I want him to remember that we’re still here . . . understood?”

  Erebus nodded.

  “Where is my zombie-pigman general,” Malacoda bellowed.

  A zombie-pigman clothed in golden armor stepped forward, a razor sharp sword in his outstretched hand. Both the blade and armor shimmered with magical power casting an iridescent blue glow on the surroundings. Erebus noticed that this monster was bigger and taller than the rest of the Nether creatures. He moved with a fluid grace that was unexpected for a zombie, his motions like that of a predatory cat; careful, measured, dangerous.

  I need to watch this creature, Erebus thought. He could be a threat.

  “General,” Malacoda said. “Find my enemy and give him a message with that golden sword of yours that he will remember forever.”

  The zombie gave his commander an eerie, toothy smile, then grunted acknowledgement and moved back to his own troops.

  Erebus then teleported to his own wither commanders. Quickly, he explained what Malacoda wanted, then returned to the King of the Nether’s side.

  “My warriors will do as you ask,” Erebus said as he watched the monsters of the Overworld slowly peel away from the rest of the army.

  “Excellent,” he said softly, then raised his voice to his normal bombastic level. “Now, my friends, forward, double time, to our destiny.”

  The army surged forward toward the rocky peak, the sound of Malacoda’s catlike cries of malicious joy filling the air.

  CHAPTER 5

  HERDER

  The army slowly lumbered across the rolling, grass-covered hills like a mighty leviathan, the speed of the NPCs limited by the weakest and oldest. Frustration built up inside Gameknight as he yearned to move faster, for in battle, speed meant life, but he knew that they had no choice. Recently, when they’d faced Malacoda in his burning domain, battling for the Nether itself, it had been speed and stealth that had let them win the battle. Now, with this slow moving collection of warriors and civilians, they were neither fast nor inconspicuous. The only thing that kept his frustration in check was what he had learned since getting pulled into Minecraft—never leave someone behind. That was why they were here, not only to stop the monsters of the Overworld and the Nether, but to also save their friend who had been captured by their enemies, Malacoda and Erebus. He just hoped that Hunter still lived.

  Looking down, Gameknight saw Stitcher, Hunter’s sister, walking nearby. She was talking to an older woman, the gray hair of the adult standing out in stark contrast to Stitcher’s glowing red curls. By the look of her clothing, the old woman must have been a weaver in her past life; the pale blue smock with the smoky green strip marking her past occupation. Now, she was likely serving as cook or seamstress for the army; everyone doing their part to help save Minecraft.

  As he watched the pair, Gameknight caught Stitcher’s eye. She gave him a warm smile and started to walk to him. Looking down from his mount, he felt bad that he was riding alone when all the other riders had a second and sometimes third passenger on their horses with them. But Mason and Crafter had insisted that the User-that-is-not-a-user ride alone.

  “It would be inappropriate for someone as important as Gameknight999 to give someone else a ride,” Crafter had said. “You must be seen by everyone as their leader riding confidently toward your foe. It will give the others courage . . . and hope.”

  Gameknight had tried to object, but Crafter was as stubborn as he was wise.

  “You look lost in thought,” Stitcher said as she approached.

  This brought Gameknight back to the present.

  “Just thinking,” he replied.

  She smiled, and the warm glow about her face reminded him of his own sister. He missed her. Looking across the landscape, Gameknight reveled in the colorful scenery. The green rolling hills stood out against the blue sky. Colorful flowers dotted the green hills like candied sprinkles on scoops of emerald ice cream. Huge boxy clouds drifted overhead, always from east to west; that was how Gameknight could easily tell which direction they were heading. Even with the pale red sun adding a pinkish hue to everything, it was still beautiful. The white clouds and deep blue sky were like the frosting on this colorful cake, all the shades and hues adding up to a banquet of color that even the most serious person would appreciate. His sister would have loved to see this. With her love of art and color and creativity, she would have been at home here . . . and likely fast friends with Stitcher.

  Though I’m glad you aren’t here, li’l sis’, he thought to himself.

  He wouldn’t want her to have to take up a sword and fight monsters to save her life. Gameknight would not allow that to happen . . . ever.

  Turning to look back across their army, he caught sight of Herder. The strange little boy seemed to continually attract teasing and abuse from some of the warriors. Right now, the lanky youth was helping an old man with a bundle of wood, lifting the stack of blocks that had been dropped and putting it in his own inventory to lessen the old man’s burden. Gameknight saw Herder smile as the thankful old man gave the boy a hug in gratitude for his help. The boy then moved to another NPC, this time a warrior that was struggling with too many blocks of wool. Without thought for himself, Herder offered to help, taking many stacks of the wool into his inventory so that the warrior would have an easier time.

  Stitcher looked up at Gameknight999 and saw where he was looking and smiled, then looked back at the young boy. After being thanked again, Herder turned toward another that needed help. As he offered assistance to another stranger, his piercing voice could be heard cutting through the many shuffling feet.

  “Gameknight will save . . . save us,” said the voice.

  Quickly, Gameknight turned away as he heard him approach.

  “Herder, over here,” Stitcher shouted.

  “Shhh . . . what are you doing?” Gameknight said in a low voi
ce, his words only meant for the young girl. “He’ll hear you and come over here.”

  “Stitcher . . . Stitcher,” the boy said excitedly.

  Gameknight sighed.

  “User-that-is-not-a-user,” Herder exclaimed. “I found . . . found you.”

  “Yeah . . . ahhh . . . here I am.”

  “I was . . . I was looking for you,” the boy said excitedly.

  “Hurray,” Gameknight said sarcastically.

  Stitcher punched him in the leg and scowled at him.

  Yep, just like my li’l sis’.

  “Be nice,” she snapped in a soft voice.

  Even though Gameknight wished the boy didn’t follow him around, he was an interesting character. With a knack for taming animals, Herder was a natural at his job, his name reflecting his purpose in Minecraft. He could seemingly tame any creature he came across and then be able to get them to do his bidding, but the task of herding all of the army’s livestock was a huge undertaking. It was too much for just one boy; so Herder went out and found help. Combing the countryside at every opportunity, he befriended packs of wolves, taming them with skeleton bones. The pack helped him to control the animals and protect them at night; all of the wolves were completely devoted to the boy. Now he had twelve in the pack and it was growing every day.

  At night, Herder slept with the animals; it seemed to calm them and keep the animals from wandering away. The warriors had taken to calling him Pig-boy because of this. Some called him Dog-boy because of the wolf-pack that seemed to almost always be nearby, while others just called him Animal. Herder tried to ignore them, but the more the warriors picked on him, the more he seemed to mutter and stammer.

  “How is the herd?” Stitcher asked.

  “The herd is good . . . is good,” he answered.

  Looking up at Gameknight he smiled, giving the User-that-is-not-a-user a big toothy grin. Some of the soldiers nearby saw the smile aimed at Gameknight and laughed, sending a few sarcastic comments his way. Stitcher turned and scowled at the NPCs but they continued to snicker; Gameknight said nothing. Turning her head angrily, she looked back at the young boy.

  “Herder,” she said softly so that others would not hear, “what happened last night with those soldiers taking your stuff and putting it up in the tree? Had that kind of thing happened before?”

  Herder snatched a glance at the cluster of soldiers nearby. One of them waved and gave Herder a mean, threateningly toothy grin. Clearly they knew each other.

  “Do you know him?” Gameknight asked.

  “Wood Cutter was from my . . . my village,” he answered, turning away from the bully and looking back at Stitcher.

  He sighed as painful memories replayed themselves through his mind.

  “Yes,” Herder answered softly, “those kind . . . kind of things had happened . . . had happened before.”

  “Can you tell us about it?” she asked.

  “Well . . . ahhh . . . some of the boys in our village were gonna play a . . . play a game of spleef, you know, knocking away blocks of snow from under another person . . . person. If you can knock away the blocks of snow from under the other players and be the last person . . . last person standing—you win. Well . . . ahhh . . . for the first time, I was invited to play.” His voice sounded excited as if he were reliving the memory. “I was so excited . . . excited to be included. The other boys never . . . never ask me to . . . to play, and finally they did. I couldn’t wait to be included . . . be included and finally have some . . . some friends. So we started . . . started the game, and I got another kid right away.”

  He turned and glanced up at Gameknight, a look of pride on the boy’s face. “I made him fall through the . . . the snow and down to the . . . to the ground that was three blocks below, but then the other . . . other kids all started to gang up . . . gang up on me.”

  Herder paused to look at the collection of soldiers again, glancing quickly at Wood Cutter, then back to Gameknight and Stitcher. His voice took on a pained distant sound, like the memory was somehow hurting him again. “They chased me . . . chased me into a corner of the spleef arena they’d constructed, then . . . then closed in. I got two of them before they got . . . got me, but when they knocked the block of snow out from under me, I fell . . . I fell into a two-block deep hole lined with . . . ahhh . . . cobblestone. I was stuck . . . was stuck and the wooden shovel I had couldn’t dig me out. I was trapped . . . trapped there. These kids, these bullies, all laughed . . . laughed and called me names.”

  Herder’s unibrow became creased with anger as his voice filled with rage. “They called me Pig-boy for the first time and then a bunch of other . . . other names, then they just left me there all . . . all night. They piled blocks of snow around my head so that nobody would see me. I stood there all night long listening to the monsters . . . the monsters that were prowling about in the darkness. I could hear spiders and zombies walking near . . . nearby, but they couldn’t see me. I was so . . . so scared. In the morning, my dad came to get . . . get me; one of them must have . . . must have told him where I was. The look of disappointment . . . disappointment on his face was worse . . . worse than being trapped there all night.”

  His voice took on an almost wounded sound. He paused to sniffle and wipe away a tear from his eye, then continued, his voice growing angry.

  “‘I told you, Herder, you shouldn’t play with the other kids,’ he said to me as he pulled me . . . pulled me out of the hole. ‘Because you’re different, they are going to do things to you like this. You need to stick with your animals . . . those you can trust. Stay away from the other kids.’

  “I was so mad . . . mad at him, not because he was so disappointed in . . . in me, I always seemed to disappoint him. No, I was mad at . . . at him because I knew . . . knew he was right. But it wasn’t fair . . . wasn’t fair, I should be able to have friends, but instead . . . but instead all I had were my . . . my animals, my pigs and cows. So I punished my dad . . . my dad by not talking to him and giving him the silent treatment. I didn’t talk to him . . . to him for the next two days, but tried to be as noisy . . . noisy as I could at home, dropping things and slamming doors. I took my anger . . . my anger out on him when really I was mad . . . was mad at myself for trying to fit in . . . in with the other kids instead of just staying alone. He always told me . . . told me that I was different from the . . . the other kids and that . . . that I shouldn’t try to fit in, but I wanted to have some friends . . . some friends so bad and just be a normal . . . normal kid. So I punished my dad by ignoring him. But I never got the chance to . . . chance to apologize for being so angry with him. The mobs came . . . mobs came to our village on the third day. He was killed . . . killed by a . . . a blaze and I was . . . I was taken to the Nether fortress to work.”

  Herder sniffled as more tears started to dampen his square cheeks. He looked away so that his idol, the User-that-is-not-a-user, would not see. Gameknight turned away as well, giving the boy a little bit of privacy.

  “What’s wrong, pig-boy, got somethin’ in your eye?” one of the warriors nearby shouted.

  This brought the curious stares from many of the NPC warriors. Gameknight could hear chuckles and mocking whispers as blocky heads turned toward the boy.

  A guttural growl came from Gameknight as if it had a life of its own. He could remember this kind of thing happening to him, the mocking, embarrassing comments from the bullies on the playground, the accidental shoves and tripping feet in the aisle ways. It made him angry, but also made him want to hide and disappear as he always did when these things were happening to him.

  Bullies, why can’t they think about how their actions make others feel? Gameknight thought, and then he remembered how he used to treat other users in Minecraft, back when he’d been a griefer. He’d been no better than these bullies; just another thug trying to make himself feel better at another’s expense.

  More chuckles and comments came to their ears. Clearly they were aimed at Herder and meant to be hear
d. This caused a burning flame of anger started to blossom within Gameknight. He hated unfair treatment . . . he hated bullies. And then he remembered something that Crafter had taught him on the last server. “Accepting the idea that success is a real possibility, even though it may still be difficult to achieve, is the first step toward victory.” Accepting the possibility . . . that was the key. Maybe he could be successful at having the courage to stand up against these bullies; maybe he could help Herder, and in turn help himself. He just had to accept that it was possible. And then an idea suddenly popped into his head.

  “Herder,” Gameknight said softly, an angry tone to his voice. “Don’t let them see you get sad. Don’t give them the satisfaction . . . that’s what they want.” He paused for a moment, then whispered to the lanky boy. “Let’s show these bullies how important you really are.”

  Herder looked up at Gameknight, a confused look on his face. Then Gameknight spoke in a loud, commanding voice, “Herder, come up here with me.”

  Extending his arm down, he opened his hand to pull the youth up onto the horse.

  “What . . . what?” Herder said as he looked at the open hand, the stubby square fingers extended out wide, then looked up at Gameknight.

  “I said you’re riding up here with me, now take my hand.”

  Then Gameknight scowled down at the skinny lad.

  “The User-that-is-not-a-user commands it!”

  Herder looked again at the outstretched hand then back up to Gameknight.

  “But I have to check the herd . . . I have to . . .”

  “We will check the herd,” Gameknight said, his voice firm. “Now get up here right now.”

  Herder gave him an apprehensive look, then smiled and took Gameknight’s hand. Pulling him up sharply, Gameknight swung him onto his horse so that he was right behind him. A pair of long skinny arms then wrapped around Gameknight’s chest as Herder held on, more for emotional support than for balance. Instantly, the snickering and comments stopped as the warriors were shocked at what had just happened.

  “The User-that-is-not-a-user just . . .” one of the warriors said.