by Jerome ASF
“Um … uh …” Brian stammered. “I’m really more of a smelter, actually. Not so into crafting breastplates.”
“That’s what I thought,” said Bacca with a grin.
There was a rustling sound a few feet away. Bacca and Brian turned to see that Dug had crept down into the valley and was inspecting the pile of undead bodies. Several of the zombies had worn armor, but most of it was rusty and not very good. Bacca wondered if the zombies might have won if they’d had a crafter like Dug to supply them with better equipment. Wait a second, Bacca reminded himself, shaking his furry head. The point of his mission was to stop the fighting!
Bacca decided to think along different lines.
Dug picked up a severed zombie arm that still clutched an iron sword.
“Was it anybody that you knew?” Brian asked.
Bacca frowned, thinking that his question was rather insensitive, considering the circumstances.
“mmmmGravehome,” Dug moaned.
“That zombie’s name was ‘Gravehome’?” Brian asked. “How can you tell from just an arm?”
“Gravehome’s not a zombie; it’s a place,” Bacca corrected him. “It’s a mountain fortress in the middle of an ice plains spikes biome. It’s way up north. To get there, you have to cross a bunch of packed ice and snow. Then you suddenly see this mountain covered in graves. I’ve only been there once. Apparently, some sort of zombie king lives inside. I’ve never met him.”
Bacca turned to Dug, who was still inspecting the arm.
“Dug, are you saying that these zombies came from Gravehome?”
Dug slowly nodded yes. He pointed to a distinct engraving on the iron sword’s blade.
“mmmmGravehome sword,” Dug said.
“I wonder why zombies would come all the way from Gravehome to fight skeletons out here,” Bacca said.
The young zombie shrugged.
“I’ve heard that the zombies in Gravehome serve a kind of zombie king,” Bacca continued. “Is that true, Dug?”
“mmmmYes,” Dug said. “All zombies serve him.”
“Then this didn’t happen by accident,” Bacca said. “The Zombie King must have ordered this army to fight the skeletons.”
“But why would they fight here?” Brian asked. “My little valley isn’t important to anyone but me. Why would zombies want it? Or skeletons, for that matter?”
“I’m wondering the same thing,” Bacca told him.
Dug put down the zombie arm and began sifting through some nearby skeleton bones. They were obviously not familiar to him. He held the glistening white objects up to the sunlight, studying them, trying to learn anything he could.
“What about the skeletons?” Brian called. “Do they have a king?”
“Actually, they do,” Bacca said. “But I’ve never met him, either.”
“Somebody should go talk to them,” Brian said, nervously wringing his hands. “Find out why they’re so mad at each other.”
Bacca smiled.
“That’s not a bad idea,” Bacca said.
Dug waded back up out of the morass of dead zombies and skeletons.
“What do you think?” Bacca said to him. “Should we go have a few words with your king?”
Dug nodded.
“And tell that Zombie King that next time his zombies have a battle, it’s shouldn’t be in my valley,” added Brian. “My beautiful view is ruined!”
“I’ll be sure to pass that along,” Bacca said, rolling his eyes.
Dug and Bacca left the valley and turned north. They walked through many different biomes until they reached one that was full of ice and snow. The rivers running through this biome froze solid. The ground was covered with snow and had packed ice underneath. The trees were also covered with snow. Before long, the packed ice began jutting up out of the ground, forming giant spikes.
“See those?” Bacca said, pointing to the spikes. “It means we’re getting close.”
“Mmmm,” agreed Dug. “Also getting cold.”
Bacca reflected on the benefits of his having a natural fur coat at all times. It could be unpleasant in the heat of a desert, but in an icy landscape it certainly came in handy.
In the far distance, the outline of a mountain became visible. It was so tall that it seemed to touch the clouds. Protruding from the surface of the mountain were thousands and thousands of small constructions. As Bacca and Dug got closer, they could see these constructions for what they really were. Headstones. Grave markers. The mountain was completely covered with them.
Bacca and Dug headed straight for it.
Inside of Gravehome, the Zombie King tried to relax.
Located deep within the mountain, his throne room had been carved out of blocks of stone and coated in a layer of dirt. There were blocks of grass too, but instead of covering the floor, they were hanging down from the ceiling so the king could look up at them—much as a zombie waiting to pop out of the ground might anticipate the grassy lawn above him. It was also very dark. The overall effect of the architecture was profoundly grave-ey. This pleased the zombies very much.
Arrayed in front of the Zombie King were various members of his court. Important zombie statesmen, generals, and diplomats were seated at tables. His most trusted advisors were positioned directly next to his throne. The throne itself was very impressive looking; made entirely of the darkest blocks of obsidian, and with a tall back that rose several feet above the king’s head.
The Zombie King anxiously drummed the three remaining fingers of his right hand on the armrest. Despite the finery around him, the king was uneasy. He had a problem. A very big problem. One that he hoped would be solved soon.
The king perked up when a zombie messenger shuffled into the throne room. All heads (slowly) turned to see what he had to say. The Zombie King’s remaining eyebrow lifted expectantly.
While zombies have difficulty turning their moans into speech that can be understood by humans, they can communicate quite quickly via moans when talking to other zombies. The zombie moan vocabulary is full of interesting words with complicated meanings. (Some cultures had twenty different words for ‘snow.’ Zombies had twenty moans for rotten flesh, and about fifty for iron swords and pumpkins.) Unfortunately for humans, only other zombies can understand this rich and varied language.
What is the news? the Zombie King asked with a moan. Are our armies victorious? Have we retrieved that which the skeletons have taken? Please tell me!
No, my liege, the messenger moaned back. I have other information. A hairy crafter named ‘Bacca’ is here to see you. He says it’s important.
The king sat back, disappointed.
I don’t have time for hairy crafters, the king moaned. Especially not when my kingdom is in crisis. Send him away.
My liege, he is not alone, the messenger continued. There is a young zombie with him.
A zombie prisoner, you say? asked the king, suddenly outraged. I do not negotiate with kidnappers! Give me a sword! I will defeat him in battle myself, and free this zombie.
No, said the messenger. Nothing like that. The zombie is not a prisoner. The zombie is also a crafter. The hairy one is apparently his … teacher.
This is very strange, the king moaned thoughtfully. Very well. I will receive them.
The Zombie King watched the messenger hurry out of the throne room to fetch the visitors.
These were very strange times, the king thought to himself. His people at war. A national crisis looming. Pressure on the throne from every direction.
In strange times, you never knew what was going to make the difference between success or failure. A hairy crafter and a zombie crafter might not be important … but on the other hand, they might be very important. Either way, it felt too unusual to ignore.
Be careful my liege.
This voice came from Drooler, the king’s most-trusted advisor. Drooler sat closest to the king’s throne. He was an ancient zombie who wore the only complete set of diamond armor in Gravehome.
These two could be assassins, sent by the skeletons, warned Drooler. We don’t know them. For your own safety, let me and some guards deal with them instead.
Just because we are in an emergency, does not mean we should be afraid of every little thing, the Zombie King replied. I appreciate your concern for my safety, Drooler. However, as the king of my people, I shouldn’t hide behind others. I should lead and be brave.
Drooler opened his mouth to object again, but it was too late. Loud footsteps sounded just outside the throne room. At least one set of them sounded like hairy footsteps. The king prepared to receive his mystery guests.
Bacca had never seen so many zombies before. And that included the valley full of dead ones he’d just left behind.
Gravehome was filled with zombies. There were zombies of every size and shape. Tall ones and short ones. Fat ones and thin ones. Some could have almost passed for living crafters, while some were so decrepit that they were little more than skeletons themselves. All of them were turning (or had already turned) some variety of dark green. They looked at Bacca and Dug with great suspicion as the pair hurried past, following their zombie guide.
Eventually, the guide stopped in front of a high archway made entirely of thick blocks of bedrock. Bacca could see that on the other side was a room full of important-looking zombies. Oddly, the room had a ceiling made entirely of grass.
“mmmmThrone room,” the zombie attendant managed. “King’s in here.”
Then, the zombie moaned just to Dug: I don’t know what you and your hairy friend are up to, but you better not waste the king’s time.
Dug didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded. Then they passed through the archway and entered the room.
There were many zombies inside, but it was easy to locate the king. He was sitting on a high-backed throne and wore a crown of mummified flesh. He appeared to be chatting with a zombie in glistening diamond armor.
The zombies stood up and watched as Bacca and Dug slowly approached the king. Some of the zombies held weapons. Clearly, they were ready to protect the king if he was threatened.
“Hello,” said Bacca.
The Zombie King moaned in greeting.
“I’m Bacca, and this is my friend Dug,” he continued confidently. “We’re here because … well, the other crafters and I, we’ve been seeing great big zombie armies marching around. This concerns us because these armies have been destroying a lot of our carefully crafted creations. They’ve been knocking over buildings. Trampling topiary. Mucking-up landscaping. You name it, it’s being demolished.”
The king looked back and forth between Bacca and Dug. He did not seem to grasp the seriousness of the problem.
“So, we were wondering,” Bacca continued. “Is there any chance that this could, you know, stop? And soon?”
The zombie king began to moan a reply.
“mmmmBacca. Yes. Come to think of it, I have heard of you. Powerful crafter, they say.”
“Yeah, I can do some stuff,” Bacca said with a wry smile.
“mmmmYou will make a zombie crafter?” the king asked, gesturing to Dug.
“He’s more or less already made,” Bacca answered. “The first day at my workshop he was doing things that many crafters need a lifetime to learn. The kid’s a natural. He’s born to do it. Born … or, you know … whatever zombies are.”
The king looked guarded and cautious.
“mmmmNot sure that I agree with zombies crafting,” he said. “I think it is a controversial idea.”
“You and half the crafters on the Overworld,” Bacca replied with a chuckle. “Some people don’t want zombies to try new things. But I say if a zombie wants to be a crafter, he should go for it!”
The king nodded to say he appreciated Bacca’s point of view, even if he didn’t agree with it.
“mmmmBut as to your request,” the Zombie King said, “that, I cannot grant. For we are at war.”
“I kinda guessed that much,” Bacca said. “But why are you at war with the skeletons? What’d they do?”
The king and his advisors exchanged an uneasy glance. Then they began moaning. It was a series of long, high-pitched moans—that seemed to both pose and answer questions. Bacca realized it was a conversion. One that left him out on purpose.
“Pssst, what’s going on?” he whispered to Dug.
“mmmmArguing,” Dug whispered back.
“Over what?”
“mmmmOver whether they should trust us,” Dug said.
No sooner were these words out of Dug’s mouth, than the Zombie King slammed his fist down hard on the armrest of his throne. The blow was so powerful that one of his dried-up fingertips broke off and skittered across the floor, landing at Bacca’s foot. The moaning fell silent. The king had clearly made his decision.
Bacca looked down at the fingertip, then back up at the king, wondering if it would be polite to pick it up and return it.
“mmmmMy trusted counselor Drooler disagrees, but I think you are worthy of the truth,” the king said slowly.
The zombie in the diamond armor shook his head. He obviously thought the king was making a bad decision.
“mmmmOur armies are at war with the skeletons because they have stolen the Bonesword,” the king said.
Bacca heard Dug gasp. (Having several holes in different parts of his undead chest, this made Dug sound a little bit like a dropped accordion.)
Bacca knew of the Bonesword, but only vaguely. He’d heard it was a ceremonial item zombies used when there was a new king or queen. It supposedly wasn’t magic—or even particularly sharp—but its sentimental meaning was apparently enormous. It was engraved with important scenes from zombie history. There were also weird, old prophecies surrounding it. But Bacca’s ancient zombie history wasn’t what it used to be (and to be clear, practically all zombie history was ancient), and he frowned, straining to remember more details.
“mmmmI see from your expression that you understand how grave a situation this is,” the Zombie King said.
“Sort of,” Bacca answered. “I know you use the Bonesword to swear-in new zombie kings and queens, right? And there’s supposed to be old prophecies about it. I think one says that if it’s lost, the king or queen in power has to step down. Is that correct? I can see how that would be a problem for you.”
The zombie on the throne gave an almost imperceptible nod.
“But you’re still king, right?” Bacca pressed.
“mmmmIt is our custom that if the Bonesword were to be lost, the ruler must leave the throne,” said the king. “That much is correct. But what is ‘lost?’ Our experts on zombie scripture tell me that the Bonesword is not truly lost if we know where it is. And we know where it is.”
“You do?” asked Bacca.
The king nodded.
Suddenly, Drooler, the king’s counselor, began to speak. His voice was high pitched and squeaky, and not nearly as pleasant as the king’s.
“mmmmOf course we know where it is,” Drooler said aggressively. “The skeletons have it. They have taken it to their temple in the jungle biome!”
The king nodded.
“mmmmAnd as long as we know where it is, it is not truly lost,” added the Zombie King. “I am assured that I have the authority to remain king during its … mmmmtemporary absence. But we must have it back as soon as possible.”
“I still have a lot of questions,” Bacca said. “When did they take it? Why would they want it? With all respect, the Bonesword isn’t magic or anything, right? It’s just a long, sharp bone.”
“mmmmWe saw them take it,” the king said. “Drooler was an eyewitness.”
The zombie in the diamond armor nodded proudly.
“mmmmThe Bonesword is kept on a polished granite platform surrounded by blocks of gold and blocks of emerald—deep inside a special ceremonial chamber,” explained Drooler. “Torches light it beautifully from below. Pressure plates surround it f
or security purposes. Armored zombies stand watch all day and night.”
“Sounds pretty safe to me,” Bacca said, wondering how the sword could have been taken under such close watch.
“mmmmTwo weeks ago, I went to the ceremonial chamber late at night to check on it. Only the guards had disappeared, and a big group of skeletons was inside. They tied me up and took the Bonesword. Then they crawled out through the ceiling using a rope, and pulled the rope up after them. I tried to moan for help, but they also tied my mouth shut. It was hours before anyone found me.”
“Gee, that sounds like some professional skeleton crooks,” Bacca said cautiously. He was not sure he believed Drooler’s story.
“mmmmAs to the question of why they would want it, I can answer that,” said the Zombie King. “Skeletons have always been envious of zombies. It shouldn’t be surprising if you think about it. We can wear armor. We use weapons other than bows. We have flesh left on our bones—at least most of us do. And we emit loud, awesome-sounding moans. Why wouldn’t they be jealous? Why wouldn’t they want to steal our favorite things?”
“So they took the Bonesword out of jealously?” said Bacca. Secretly, he was not convinced; so far, the zombies’ story was not really adding up.
Skeletons were not any brighter than zombies, but Bacca knew that even they should have seen that taking the Bonesword would start a war. It didn’t make any sense. There had to be some important information still missing.
“mmmmSo you see,” continued the Zombie King, “we must march into skeleton territory, defeat them, and take back the Bonesword. It will be returned to its rightful place, and I will remain king.”
“There’s nothing I can say to convince you to stop fighting?” Bacca asked.
“mmmmNo!” Drooler barked loudly. “We will muster bigger and bigger armies. We will fight the skeletons wherever we find them, until the sword is ours. If some silly crafters have their creations destroyed in the process, then so what?”
Bacca thought carefully about what to say next. Tensions were high. There had to be a way to keep this from escalating. If Bacca did nothing, much of the Overworld could be destroyed by the skeletons and zombies fighting. The crafters had come to Bacca for help, and the war was only two weeks old. What would the Overworld look like if this lasted for months? Or years?
