by Jerome ASF
Very unusual.
Yet Flappy was not one to second-guess his trio of bosses. If they wanted something done, they probably had a good reason for it. (Like most people, Flappy had long since given up on trying to tell the witches apart. He now thought of them as purely interchangeable. It saved time, and freed up more energy to look for ingredients.)
Nearing his destination, Flappy looked down at the strange item the witches had placed in his claws. It didn’t look like something that needed to be delivered to a whole other biome at the edge of the sea. No, not at all. It looked like something that needed to be thrown away. It was just an old bone. Sure, somebody—probably a crazy person, Flappy thought—had whittled it down so that one edge was very sharp. And then another person—probably even crazier—had carved all these intricate designs into it (designs that, now that Flappy looked closer, seemed to resemble zombies). But all the same. A bone was a bone was a bone, right? And why should anybody want to deliver a bone?
Flappy flew up a coastline of imposing cliffs and enormous waterfalls that sent rivers crashing down into the sea. Whenever Flappy saw another creature—whatever it was—he kept his distance. The witches had insisted that this delivery was “top secret” and “high priority.” Flappy knew that when they used these words, it meant he should stay out of sight and not talk to anybody. Still, Flappy thought, how could an old bone be important enough that he needed to hide it? That was a mystery. Then again, when you were a bat, it was a mystery why anybody did anything other than snack on delicious insects under fruit trees all day. Mysteries, Flappy had decided, were better left to others.
Flappy rose high above the cliffs. The headwinds off the sea were very strong, and it was difficult to maintain airspeed. The bone—which was almost as big as Flappy himself—grew heavy in his grasp. The longer he flew, the worse this would get. If he wasn’t careful, he might eventually drop it. Maybe into the sea. If this happened, the witches would be very upset indeed.
It was as this alarming thought began to percolate in Flappy’s brain that he finally saw what he was looking for. On the horizon was a high, prominent cliff. It was different from the others around it. It jutted out like a crooked tooth sticking out of someone’s mouth. As he got closer, Flappy saw that a crafter had carved something into the face of the cliff. As the bat drew nearer still, making swoops in the air to get a better view, he saw that it was a face. More precisely, a skull.
Just like the witches had said.
Flappy carefully made his way to the top of the cliff, preparing to land. As he flew closer, Flappy began to feel uneasy. Something about this place did not sit well with him—above and beyond the fact that it contained no tasty insects to munch on. Something about the skull carving was spooky. Scary. As if the empty eye sockets were looking right at him, watching him as he flew. It would be best to get this delivery over with as soon as possible, Flappy thought.
The tiny bat reached the top of the skull. He looked down and saw that the roof of the cliff—where the witches had said to leave the bone—was not solid. Instead, it was a crisscrossing pattern of iron bars. Flappy wondered if the witches intended that he should drop the bone through one of the holes between the bars.
Puzzled, and slightly frustrated that he wasn’t given more specific instructions, Flappy swooped down to look for a place to land and think it over.
Before he knew what was happening, a long skeletal hand reached out from between the iron bars below. The fingers were wiggling and moving, as though the skeleton was alive. With a single swift movement, the hand snatched the bone right out from between Flappy’s claws. Its grip was so strong! Flappy couldn’t have held on if he’d wanted to. In a flash, the bone was gone, and the skeletal hand along with it.
Flappy had seen enough. Unburdened of his load, he soared high above the cliff, pointed himself in the opposite direction, and headed for home. He did not relax until the strange skeletal face was far in the distance.
Even though he had survived this encounter, Flappy decided that his delivery days were over. Familiar or not, Flappy resolved to tell the witches that, from now on, he was going to stick to gathering ingredients.
CHAPTER NINE
“MmmmFortress of Confusion?”
It was a question.
“I’ve never heard of it,,” said Bacca. “And I’ve heard of most things. Heck, I’ve done most things. I’m Bacca, after all. But this one is a mystery. I guess there might be a handful of places on this server plane that I don’t know about. This ‘Fortress of Confusion’ must be one of them. Hmph. I wonder what’s so confusing about it.”
“mmmmMaybe it’s confusing because you find yourself wondering why you haven’t heard of it yet?” Dug said.
Bacca liked this roundabout logic. He and Dug had left the witches’ hut behind some hours ago, and were now making their way across the Overworld in the direction of this strange new fortress.
“mmmmI have to say, I didn’t enjoy hearing the way those witches were laughing,” Dug added.
“Neither did I,” Bacca replied. “It really creeped me out. It’s like they know something we don’t. Something bad.”
“mmmmAre we heading straight for the stone beach biome—the place where the witches said this fortress would be?”
“Sort of,” said Bacca. “We’re going to make one stop along the way. I want to talk to the Skeleton King again. The jungle biome where the skeletons live is very close.”
“mmmmWhy him?” asked Dug.
“The point of all of this is to keep the zombies and skeletons from destroying everything under the sun—including each other,” said Bacca. “We don’t have much time left in the ceasefire. I don’t know how long it will take us to get the Bonesword once we’re inside this fortress, if we even succeed at all. So I’m hoping to convince Skeleton King to keep his soldiers home just a little longer.”
“mmmmAnd the Zombie King?” asked Dug.
“The Zombie King is in a harder spot,” replied Bacca. “If those guards actually go back and confess what they did—like I told them to—I think it might create enough uncertainty to make the Zombie King hesitate before he launches another offensive. That’s what I hope happens, anyway.”
“mmmmThis is a very hard and confusing time,” Dug said as they journeyed on. “Our mission—these things we are doing—they will have a great impact on many other people’s lives. Knowing this creates a sensation which is new to me. It is not altogether pleasant. It makes me feel like there is something heavy on top of both my shoulders. Blocks of iron, perhaps.”
“That’s called ‘responsibility,’” said Bacca. “And I’d be more worried if you weren’t feeling it.”
“mmmmI don’t know if I like all this ‘responsibility,’” replied Dug.
“Welcome to my world,” Bacca said with a smile.
They journeyed west for several hours more, until they once again found themselves in skeleton territory. Squads of skeleton soldiers were milling about along the roads, waiting for word that the war was back on.
Past these soldiers, Bacca and Dug reached the great, central skeleton temple. They climbed the long staircase leading up to the entrance, nodding to the armed skeleton sentries stationed along the stairs. When they arrived at the top of the temple, a pair of skeleton guards brought them deep within the heart of the temple to the lair of the Skeleton King. There, the king sat on a throne at the center of this throne room—still wearing his crown of finger bones and still stroking his long beard. All around him sat his generals and other high-ranking skeletons. Bacca couldn’t help but think how much the skeletons’ throne room looked like the zombies’ throne room in Gravehome. Maybe these two mobs had more in common than they thought.
“What is the news?” the Skeleton King asked, rising from his throne. “Is the matter taken care of?”
“We don’t have the Bonesword yet, if that’s what you mean,” Bacca answered. “But we know who took it, and I think we know where it is now.”
> Bacca told the king about his interrogation of the guards at Rotpit, the visit to the witches’ hut, and what he and Dug had heard about the Fortress of Confusion.
“Now you face quite a challenge,” the Skeleton King said. “The Fortress of Confusion is a dangerous place. You will need to be very careful.”
“I’ve never heard of this fortress before,” Bacca said. “And I’ve heard of practically every fortress around. What can you tell me about it?”
“For one, my brother lives there,” the Skeleton King explained. “Thousands of years ago, he and I were the final two candidates to become the next Skeleton King—this was after the old king died bravely fighting an Ender Dragon. Some skeletons said he shouldn’t have been shooting arrows at an Ender Dragon in the first place, but that is neither here nor there. Anyhow, after a fiercely-fought contest, I was selected to be the new king. My brother had wanted the job very much, and so he angrily stormed off to the stone beach biome and shut himself inside the Fortress of Confusion. In the many years since, he has never returned. He is a very strange man.”
“I see,” said Bacca. “What else can you tell us about the Fortress of Confusion? Why does it have that name?”
“First of all, it’s very old,” the Skeleton King said. “It predates construction of this temple by several thousand years. It is named the Fortress of Confusion because those who enter through its single door describe of a maze of confounding tricks and traps unlike any fortress the Overworld has ever seen. Very few have ventured beyond the first room. Some who have tried to solve its mysteries have never come back again. None have reached the center of the fortress and returned to tell their tale.”
“Tricks and traps?” Bacca said with a confident smile. “Sounds like my kind of place.”
“There is more,” cautioned the Skeleton King. “The Fortress of Confusion is also said to be magic. Some skeletons even believe it is somehow … aware. Those who have returned often report the sensation of being watched while inside. Some even claim the fortress moves by itself. They say that when they reenter a room, the things inside of it are changed. Over the years, it has become difficult to know what is fact and what is fiction about the place. So many conflicting stories are told. The original purpose of the fortress may be forever lost to history. The only thing that seems certain now is that something powerful and mysterious lies within.”
The Skeleton King stood up and walked to the far side of the throne room. The other skeletons moved out of his way. Against the wall was a very old dresser. Bacca saw that unlike most dressers—which were made with stacked planks and trap doors—this one had been made with bones. The Skeleton King pulled on the lid. The bony hinges creaked and the top opened. The Skeleton King looked inside.
“This is the only other aid I can give you,” the king said. He reached into the dresser and pulled something out, then strode back to Bacca and Dug. The generals and skeleton dignitaries looked in awe at what the king carried. (If they’d had eyes, they would have been bulging out of their heads.)
The king appeared to be clutching a large tablet of dark prismarine—though maybe it was just regular prismarine that had gone dark over the ages. It looked very, very, very old. The closer it got, the older it looked. It might have been the oldest material Bacca had ever seen.
“This is the Tablet of Mystery,” the Skeleton King said reverently. “It is one of our most sacred artifacts. It is believed to have been crafted by whatever race of ancient skeletons built the Fortress of Confusion. There is a legend that says the tablet holds keys for safe passage through the fortress, but no skeleton has ever been able to decipher its markings definitively. Perhaps you can, and perhaps it will aid you on your journey. Place it in your inventory and guard it well.”
Several of the skeletons put their bony hands to their mouths. They were stunned. The king was handing over one of their most important historical objects to an outsider.
The king, sensing this astonishment, quickly added: “And we expect it back, in one piece, when your journey is concluded!”
“Of course,” Bacca said.
He carefully took the prismarine tablet from the king. At first, he thought he must be holding it upside down, because it just looked like a bunch of jagged markings that made no sense. Then he turned it around. Then he tried another angle. And another. But no matter how Bacca held the tablet, it still remained unreadable.
The Skeleton King noticed Bacca’s frustration.
“Generations of skeletons have tried to decode the writing on it,” said the king. “Not one has ever been successful. I hope you will succeed where others have failed. From what I hear, you have a reputation for cleverness.”
Bacca shrugged and put the prismarine block into his inventory. He would give it a closer inspection later.
“Thanks,” Bacca said to the king. “I’m sure this will help. I actually came here to ask one more favor. I have no idea how long it will take us to find the Bonesword once we’re in the fortress. I’m hoping that the zombies will not immediately start fighting again once the truce is over. Can I expect the same from you skeletons?”
The Skeleton King stroked his long beard and shook his head.
“I have a responsibility to protect my people,” he said. “That is the first duty of a king, and I intend to do my duty. If we are attacked, I must order my warriors to defend themselves.”
“But you won’t, like, strike first?” Bacca pressed.
The Skeleton King was clearly not used to being challenged on his military policy. Generally, Bacca didn’t like to make people uncomfortable, but he felt like he had to in this situation. There was so much at stake.
“Fine,” the Skeleton King said reluctantly. “You have my word. We will not strike first. But I can’t I promise anything more than that. If the zombies attack us, we will fight back.”
Bacca decided this was probably the most he could hope for. He thanked the king for his help, and shook the king’s bony hand. (It felt weird, like shaking a handful of dice.)
“It is we who should thank you,” said the king. “If you retrieve the Bonesword and stop this war, many skeletons will be saved. Also, if you happen to see my brother … please, tell him no hard feelings.”
“Will do,” agreed Bacca.
The Skeleton King gave Bacca and Dug a special detachment of skeleton warriors who led them through the jungle and out to the stone beach biome. From there, it was easy to find the entrance to the Fortress of Confusion. It was at the bottom of an immense cliff, and the top of the cliff was carved into the shape of a skull.
“Good luck, fellas,” said the leader of the skeleton warriors as he turned to go. He marched his detachment back toward the jungle in a hurry. It was clear the skeletons did not like being around this place.
The entrance to the Fortress of Confusion was framed by a circle of bedrock blocks. There was no door, simply a large opening. Past the opening, a dark passageway led into unseen depths beyond.
It was a scary-looking for sure, but Bacca had seen scarier.
Then he wondered … what about his student?
“Dug, I realize this is more than you signed up for when you enrolled in a summer crafting class,” Bacca said as they peered into the dark entrance. “I don’t know exactly what we’re going to encounter inside this place, but it will probably involve risk and peril..”
“mmmmAnd confusion, judging by the name,” Dug pointed out.
“Yes,” said Bacca. “That too. Anyway, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”
“mmmmI want to,” said Dug. “Don’t forget, I’m a zombie as well as a crafter. I want this war to stop too.”
“Good,” said Bacca. “In that case, let’s go find out what’s inside!”
And they walked through the dark opening that led into the fortress.
CHAPTER TEN
Flappy cruised through the sky, coasting on a warm, pleasant zephyr. He was glad to be rid of that long sharp bone he’d been carryi
ng, and even more glad to be headed away from the scary cliff with the grabby skeleton hand. The witches might be grumpy most of the time, but at least they never snatched things out of his claws without asking. Apparently, skeleton hands could be quite rude.
The biome where the witches lived came into view. Flappy realized that he had never been so happy to return home. As the familiar witches’ hut on chicken legs appeared, a great surprise was waiting for him.
Flappy had never seen a creature so large or so magnificent. Its coat was ruffled gently by the same breeze that carried Flappy through the skies. Its eyes were like redstone, and infused with a supernatural fire. The witches had gathered at the front of their hut and were talking to the enormous wolf through their doorway. The wolf was so tall that it hardly needed to stretch to reach the door of the hut.
As Flappy drew closer, the curiosity he was feeling quickly turned to concern. Flappy saw expressions of overwhelming pleasure on the faces of the witches. This was cause for concern because the witches were usually only pleased by horrible things. Flappy had seen these same expressions before, like the time when the witches totally vaporized a cow with an especially powerful potion. Or when they made a particularly tasty stew out of a group of villagers. Or when they saw a rabbit fall into a hole where it couldn’t get out again. (Flappy had to go back later, after the witches had left, and help it escape).
The wolf was big, that much was clear, but it didn’t look dangerous, let alone particularly horrible. So why were the witches so pleased?
The grinning witches and the wolf were talking to each other (not only was this wolf particular large, but it could also speak!?), and the wolf’s answers looked like they pleased the witches immensely. Their smiles got even bigger. All of this made Flappy increasingly nervous.
