He was Gameknight’s best friend in Minecraft, Crafter. He was the village’s leader before Gameknight came into the game through the use of his father’s invention, the digitizer. This device had transferred every aspect of his being from his physical body and completely transported into Minecraft. Here, within the game that was so much more than a game, he was now the User-that-is-not-a-user. His user name floated above his head, like all users, but he lacked the shining server thread that extended from the player’s head and stretched up into the sky, connecting them to the servers. Gameknight999 had no server thread and was not connected to the servers because he was inside the server. He looked like a user, but without the server thread, he was not a user; he was something else . . .
“What was that name, User-that-is-not-a-user?” Crafter asked again.
“She called herself Shaikulud,” Gameknight answered.
Crafter’s face turned pale.
“You want to tell us what it means?” Hunter asked.
Even though Crafter looked like a child, he was actually one of the oldest NPCs (non-playable characters) in Minecraft. In Gameknight’s first adventure as the User-that-is-not-a-user, he and Crafter had faced off against a massive army of monsters, their own army of users at their backs. During that battle, Crafter, in his old gray-haired form, had been killed in defense of Minecraft. But because he’d accumulated enough XP (experience points), he had been able to respawn into the next higher server plane, materializing in the child’s body that they saw before them. Being the oldest NPC in Minecraft meant that he knew the most about its history and lore.
“The name Shaikulud comes to us from very far back in Minecraft’s history,” Crafter explained.
“What?” another voice asked. It was Gameknight’s sister, Monet113.
She was climbing down a ladder that led up to the treetops, a bow in her hand. In the orange glow of sunrise, her midnight blue made her look like a shadow as she moved down from the leafy canopy. The bands of pale blue across her front mixed with speckles of white splattered across her chest and back were the only clue that she was not some kind of dark apparition from a dream. Her bright green eyes looked as though they were glowing in the pale morning light. She looked down on her brother with affection. But the most striking thing about her appearance was her hair; fluorescent blue locks spilled down her shoulder and back, standing out in stark contrast against her dark skin. Monet’s love of color was evident in every aspect of her appearance, though the colors did little to hide her from prying eyes.
“Shhh,” Gameknight said as he turned to his sister then turned back to Crafter. “Please continue.”
“I was saying, the name Shaikulud comes to us from far back in Minecraft’s history. My Great-Great-Aunt Brewer told us of an ancient creature that prowled the jungles of Minecraft, guarding some ancient secret.”
“What kind of secret was she guarding?” Monet asked as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
“No one knows,” Crafter replied. “The only things I remember Brewer telling me were that Shaikulud was crafted by some kind of evil being and that she was guarding the most ancient secret in Minecraft.”
“Sounds exciting,” Monet said, drawing an angry glare from Hunter. “What?”
“We need to stay focused and not go off on any unnecessary adventures,” Hunter said, knowing just how impulsive Monet could be.
Just then, the sound of howling wolves filled the air. They had noticed an unusual number of wolves about, but they had not been attacking, just staying out of sight in the forest. One of the NPCs with them, Herder, tried to go out and bring the wolves back. As the keeper of the animals, Herder was anxious to find any stray animal and bring them under his protection, but wolves hardly needed any protection. In fact, after Herder befriended them, the wolves acted as sentries for the NPCs, guarding their perimeter and watching for monsters.
Now, Herder streaked by, running toward the howling sounds. Leaping up onto the wooden barricade the villagers had built around their camp before going to sleep, Herder shot out into the forest, hoping to find the illusive animals.
Someone laughed.
“There goes the Wolfman again,” one of the NPCs said.
“I hope he can bring some back this time,” another added.
Wolfman was the new name many of the NPCs had taken to calling him. They used to pick on the boy, calling him names like pig-boy, his differences drawing abuse from the bullies. But after he saved the day on the steps of the Source by arriving to the battle with a massive pack of wolves, the villagers had recognized that his differences from the other NPCs should not be mocked, but embraced. Now he was a favorite of the village, his wolves prized by all.
“Crafter, get back to your story,” Hunter snapped.
“Oh yeah,” the NPC continued, “anyway, this Shaikulud was an extremely dangerous creature. Great-Great-Aunt Brewer said that this Shaikulud, whatever kind of monster she was, was incredibly strong and vicious. It would be best if we could avoid tangling with her.”
“We don’t want to tangle with any monsters, if we can avoid it,” Stitcher, Hunter’s younger sister, added as she walked up to the group.
Gameknight turned and saw her approaching. She was much shorter than Hunter, but had the same curly red hair, the coiled ruby springs bouncing as she walked. But she had a look in her eyes that was very different from her sister’s. Monsters had destroyed their village and killed their parents during the war to destroy Minecraft. Stitcher had been captured and taken to work as a slave in the Nether. Gameknight had been able to save the younger sister, but an angry rage still simmered within the older. Hunter had a burning desire for revenge against the monsters of Minecraft, wanting to pay them back for the suffering they’d caused to her sister and village. It was something that threatened to consume her, and it worried both Gameknight and Stitcher.
“She’s a spider,” Gameknight said, his voice shaking ever so slightly with fear. “The queen of the spiders, and I think she knows we’re here.”
“Why is it that all the monster royalty are after you?” Hunter asked playfully. “First it was the King of the Endermen, then the King of the Nether, then the Zombie King . . . now it’s the Spider Queen. What is it with you that attracts all these creatures?”
“Must be my sparkling personality,” he answered, then laughed an uneasy, nervous laugh.
“Anyway,” Crafter continued, “we will try to avoid this Shaikulud whenever possible. Now are we ready to break camp?”
“Yes,” boomed Digger’s deep voice from behind.
Turning, Gameknight saw the hulking form of Digger approaching. His broad shoulders and thick arms were the results of his many hours digging in the mines for the village, and that strength had served them through the many battles they’d had over the past few days.
“Then let’s get moving,” Hunter added.
“But where are we going?” Gameknight asked. “Crafter, you told us about the Oracle in the jungle temple somewhere on this server, but where is she? How do we find her?”
“I’ve been giving that some thought, and I’ve come to the conclusion that we need more information in order to find the Oracle’s temple.”
“Where are we going to get more information . . . Google?” Monet asked.
“What’s a Google?” Stitcher replied.
Gameknight and Monet laughed.
“What?” the young NPC asked.
“Nothing,” Gameknight explained. “It’s just something that we use in the physical world to get information. It’s like all the books in the world stored online.”
“That’s what we need,” Stitcher replied.
“We have something like that here in Minecraft,” Crafter said, drawing all eyes to him. “It’s the library.”
“You have a library in Minecraft?” Gameknight asked.
“Yes, in fact, you’ve been in it before . . . remember?”
“Of course, the stronghold,” Gameknight said.
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br /> “Exactly.”
“A stronghold . . . what’s a stronghold?” Monet asked.
“There are three strongholds on every server,” Crafter explained. “They are well hidden so that only those with the correct items and knowledge can enter. Last time, we had the Iron Rose to point us to the stronghold’s location, but we do not have that with us now. We must find the stronghold, somehow, on our own.”
“Eyes of Ender,” Gameknight said.
“What are you talking about?” Hunter asked.
“We need the Eyes of Ender; they will lead us to the stronghold.”
Crafter looked at his friend, a look of curiosity and confusion on his face.
“Crafter, you don’t know what the Eyes of Ender are?” Gameknight asked.
The young NPC with the old blue eyes just shook his head.
Smiling, the User-that-is-not-a-user stood a little taller as he realized that he knew something about Minecraft that Crafter did not.
“Well,” Hunter asked as she punched Gameknight playfully in the arm, “are you going to tell us, or just stand there smiling like an idiot?”
“If you throw an Eye of Ender, it will fly toward the stronghold. And when you get over the stronghold, the Eye will fly straight down toward the ground. All we need is a bunch of Eyes of Ender and we can easily find the stronghold.”
“Do you happen to have some Eyes of Ender with you?” Hunter asked.
“Well . . . no.”
She sighed, then rolled her eyes.
“But you have some here,” Monet113 added. All eyes turned to her in surprise. “What? I’ve been studying Minecraft and learning what I could about the game before I started to play. I know a thing or two. You have a villager here that I bet has some. Is there a priest villager here?”
“Of course,” Crafter answered. “Every village has a priest NPC.”
“You can trade emeralds for Eyes of Ender . . . he has them,” Monet explained. “We can also craft some of them as well. Just combine some blaze powder with an ender pearl. I bet after the Last Battle on the stairs leading to the Source, you have a bunch of both?”
Crafter reached into his inventory and withdrew two ender pearls. The pale blue orbs had a dark center that looked like the pupil at the center of a cerulean eye. They looked spooky, and Gameknight shivered ever so slightly when he remembered how they’d been obtained—battling an enderman. Putting it back into his inventory, Crafter glanced at the other NPCs. They all looked at Monet, then to Gameknight, curious as to how she could know so much.
“I wrote down some notes about our last adventures and she found them . . . OK?” Gameknight said, trying to defend himself.
The NPCs glared at him, then all laughed as the guilty look on Gameknight’s face grew.
“Well, you heard Monet113, the Sister-to-the-User-that-is-not-a-user . . . let’s get to work,” Crafter ordered.
And at once, everyone started to move, looking for the priest and gathering the necessary crafting items.
Gameknight moved next to his sister and beamed with pride; her knowledge was exactly the right thing they needed. Putting an arm around her, he looked down at her.
“I’m still mad that you for using Dad’s digitizer and coming into Minecraft,” he said to her.
Monet’s self-satisfied smile faded a bit.
“I’m glad you’re here now,” he added, and her smile returned. “But you have to remember this isn’t a game. The monsters here all want to destroy you, and I don’t know what will happen to us if they are successful.”
“You really know how to calm people’s fears, brother,” she said.
“Be serious,” he snapped. “I’m responsible for you until we get out of Minecraft, so that means that you listen to me and do what I tell you . . . understand?”
Monet rolled her eyes . . . kind of like how Gameknight would to his parents.
“Understand?!”
“Yeah . . . yeah.”
Gameknight tried to give her a cheerful smile, but the faint sound of a zombie moan from far away tore his eyes from her. Scanning the forest suspiciously, he could imagine all the monsters waiting for them out in the wilderness of Minecraft. The image of those terrible, hateful, purple eyes filled his mind, and a shiver of dread ran down his spine.
CHAPTER 3
HEROBRINE’S TRANSFORMATION
Herobrine materialized on a grassy knoll that overlooked a village, a dense forest behind him. It was quite a picturesque view; the village was nestled between two grass-covered hills, flowers dotting the terrain like little candies on two huge scoops of green ice cream. At the center of the village stood a tall, rocky structure that loomed high above the rest of the buildings. It was the watchtower and could be found in all villages. Atop the tall tower would be an NPC with the best eyesight. They would be the lookout who would watch for attacking monsters. Around the village was a cobblestone wall, a fortification left over from the Last Battle for Minecraft. It hugged the community close, with archer towers at the corners and battlements all along its perimeter. The barrier would keep out regular monsters, but had no chance of keeping out Herobrine.
Through the center of the village ran a slow moving river. The cool waterway cut through the fortified walls, but iron gratings had been installed to allow the water to flow through the village and exit through the opposite side. Its winding path continued on past the village and extended across the landscape until it disappeared in the distance. Anyone else would have found the scene quite beautiful, but to Herobrine, it was terrible.
“Why can’t these NPCs live underground in the dark caves and shadowy passages?” he said aloud to no one. “That’s where they should be . . . hidden away so that nobody could ever find them. Well, I’ll make sure nobody finds this village ever again.”
He smiled an evil toothy smile, then laughed a sadistic laugh that made the grass near his feet cringe with fear. Closing his eyes, he listened to the music of Minecraft and could feel the inner workings of the software that controlled everything on this server. In an instant he could feel his enemy, Gameknight999. Through his shadow-crafter powers, Herobrine could feel his prey as if he were a thorn on the stem of a flower. The User-that-is-not-a-user’s presence echoed through the music of Minecraft like the remnants of a distant storm. Though Herobrine couldn’t pinpoint his exact location, he could still feel him, and Gameknight999’s very presence filled the evil shadow-crafter with a nearly uncontrollable rage.
I see that you are still here on this server, my friend, he thought to himself. Excellent. When I feel you trying to use the Gateway of Light, I will be there and will flow into the physical world with you. Then I will take my revenge on those that imprisoned me in this game. The destruction of the Minecraft servers will come first, then the destruction of the physical world. I will turn your weapons of destruction upon you, then laugh when the users in the physical world beg for mercy and forgiveness . . . for you will get neither.
He laughed to himself and he imagined the fear that would spread, then glared down at the village.
“But first, I must find where you are hiding, Gameknight999,” he said. “Let’s see how much information I can wring from the NPCs in this pathetic village.”
Closing his eyes, he gathered his powers and reached out with his senses.
“Come, my children, I have need of your services!” he shouted.
Instantly, the clicking of spiders sounded in the dense forest, the scuttling of creeper feet adding to the cacophony. An army of giant black spiders slowly crawled down from the overhead canopy, scaling the vertical sides of the tree trunks as if they were impervious to gravity’s gentle touch.
“Go forth, my friends, and destroy the village below!” he shouted. “Let none survive!”
As the monsters flowed down the grassy knoll, he could hear an alarm sound; someone was banging on an armored chest plate with the flat of a sword. It was likely the Watcher in the tall cobblestone tower.
The dark
shadow-crafter could hear screams from the villagers below as they gathered weapons and armor to prepare for the inescapable battle that was about to descend upon their community. Closing his eyes, Herobrine teleported down into the village, materializing near the well that sat unused next to the babbling river. It was chaos in the village as NPCs ran to their defensive stations. He could see archers climbing to the top of their fortified walls, with more archers in the tall towers on the corners.
Moving to the nearest villager, he grasped him by the collar and pulled him behind one of the buildings.
“What are you doing?” the villager asked “Who are you?”
“I want to know where the User-that-is-not-a-user went, and you are going to tell me.”
“What are you talking about?” the villager answered.
In the blink of an eye, Herobrine drew his diamond sword and hit the villager with it. In an instant, the NPC lost half its health. Grabbing him by the shirt again, he drew the now terrified villager up close, his eyes glowing bright with rage.
“I will ask you one more time,” Herobrine said in a soft, yet dangerous voice. “Where is the User-that-is-not-a-user hiding?”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” stammered the NPC.
By the look of his clothing, Herobrine guessed that this was the blacksmith and probably spent most of his time near the furnaces and forges. He likely knew nothing. Swinging his blade with all his might, he hit the NPC again, rending the rest of his HP from his body. With a pop, the blacksmith disappeared, leaving behind a collection of items and three balls of XP.
“I will know what is inside your head, blacksmith, one way or another.”
The Jungle Temple Oracle Page 2
