The Jungle Temple Oracle

by Mark Cheverton

  Smiling, Herobrine stepped forward and allowed the XP to flow into him for the first time in a long time. Slowly, a pale white glow enveloped his body as the XP was integrated into his own computer code. This triggered his body to transform, slowly morphing from his previous appearance to that of his newest victim. He changed from the dark shadow-crafter wearing a midnight black smock, to a shorter, stockier NPC wearing a dark brown smock, a dusty black apron hanging from his neck. It all happened just as Herobrine expected.

  He could feel the mind of the blacksmith struggle within his own brain, the captured computer code in a state of panic. They always fought back at first, but surrendered to Herobrine once they realized their fate was sealed, giving up all of their thoughts and memories.

  Herobrine scanned the mind of the newly acquired blacksmith. It turned out he knew nothing about the whereabouts of the User-that-is-not-a-user.

  An explosion rocked the ground; one of the creepers had detonated somewhere outside the village. Moving to the edge of the building, he glanced at the battlements. He could see all of the villagers clustered on one side. Apparently those idiotic spiders had focused their attacks on only one side . . . the fools.

  They’ll have to just fend for themselves for a little bit, he thought. I need to find out where my enemy is hiding . . . that’s more important than destroying this village.

  And then a thought came to his mind . . . not one of Herobrine’s thoughts, but one of the newly consumed blacksmith’s. The thought consisted of a single word, but it rang with desperate truth.

  Crafter.

  Of course, I’ll question their crafter.

  Looking across the village square, he could see the crafter on the fortified wall. He was directing the archers to concentrate their shots on strategic targets, making their defense a coordinated effort. Teleporting to him, Herobrine materialized at his side. Surprised, the crafter turned toward him.

  “Blacky, what are you doing here?” the crafter said. “You are supposed to be watching the south wall.”

  Grabbing him by the shirt, Herobrine brought out his sword and attacked the crafter with all his might. Before any of the other NPCs could react, he consumed the crafter’s HP. Disappearing with the faintest of sounds, the crafter left behind all of his crafting tools and three balls of XP. Stepping forward, Herobrine could feel the XP flow into him, filling him with knowledge and power. His body then began to glow with an eerie, menacing radiance as his body flowed into something else, his form momentarily indistinct. Some of the other villagers saw the attack and yelled out, but none were brave enough to approach.

  As the transforming glow faded, the villagers saw their crafter standing there, looking unharmed, and they were confused. Herobrine’s eyes glowed with excitement as the crafter’s thoughts flowed into his mind. But with startling certainty, Herobrine realized that this crafter knew nothing. In fact, this whole village knew nothing about the whereabouts of the User-that-is-not-a-user . . . and this made him angry, terribly angry.

  As his eyes glowed with hatred, he disappeared from the fortified wall and appeared next to a creeper. Laying his hand on the creeper’s shoulder, he disappeared again and reappeared within the village, the creeper teleporting with him. Moving the green-spotted monster next to the fortified wall, he gave the creature a command . . . the only command these dumb creatures really understood.

  “Detonate,” he ordered.

  Instantly, the creeper glowed bright, slowly expanding as the ignition sequence began. Stepping back, Herobrine watched with glee as the creeper exploded, tearing a massive hole in the fortified wall.

  “Come forward, my children, and obey the Maker!” Herobrine yelled to the spiders and creepers.

  At the sound of his voice, thirty spiders flowed through the break in the wall like a shadowy flood. Then the creepers scuttled into the village, their little pig-like feet moving in a blur, looking for targets to destroy.

  Smiling a satisfied smile, Herobrine teleported out of the village and back to the grassy knoll. Looking down on the scene with glee, Herobrine’s eyes glowed bright with evil joy as the sounds of shouts and screams reached his ears. This village would be erased from the surface of Minecraft and the inhabitants forgotten.

  Glancing down at his new clothing, he could see that he was still garbed in the traditional clothing of a village crafter; he wore a black smock with a gray stripe running down the center. An expected side effect I could use to my advantage, he thought.

  “I’m coming for you, Gameknight999,” he said aloud to no one . . . to everyone. “Let’s see if you recognize me now.”

  With an evil laugh, Herobrine disappeared.

  CHAPTER 4

  SURPRISE ATTACK

  Gameknight walked through the forest with his sister at his side, his shimmering diamond sword in his hand. Turning his head from side to side, he looked for monsters that could be prowling about. The other NPCs seemed at ease, for the sun was up. But in this roofed forest biome, the interlocked branches high overhead cast an almost continuous covering of shade throughout the forest . . . and that meant the zombies could attack at any time.

  Looking to Monet, he could see that she had her bow out and was practicing shooting arrows at trees, Stitcher at her side. The young NPC had taken it upon herself to teach Monet113 how to shoot, and Gameknight’s sister had picked it up quickly, showing that she was actually a pretty good archer. Behind his sister walked Tiller, the NPC who had adopted Monet as her own daughter. During the first battle for Minecraft, when Erebus and the monsters of the Overworld had fallen upon their village, Tiller’s daughter had perished during the fighting. The old woman had never fully recovered from the loss until Monet’s arrival. Now she doted on her at every opportunity, making sure she was fed and warm, and focused all of her attention on Monet like a tireless, dedicated parent.

  “Nice shot, dear,” Tiller said.

  Monet turned and looked at the old woman, then smiled as she drew another arrow from her inventory.

  Tiller was a field worker; her job was to prepare the fields for planting. She wore a dark brown smock with a light brown stripe down the center, like all did in her trade. As she walked behind Monet, her shoulder-length salt-and-pepper gray hair, now mostly salt, bobbed up and down, framing her smiling face and warm hazel eyes.

  All of the villagers had taken to Monet instantly, partially because she was the sister of the User-that-is-not-a-user, but also because she was a free spirit who saw beauty in everything she encountered . . . the color of the sky at sunset, the texture of zombie skin when bathed in moonlight, the sparkling of the morning dew on spiderwebs . . . Anything and everything was beautiful to her eye, and her appreciation for their surroundings was contagious even though they were in constant peril.

  Monet had entered the game just a few days ago, and she basically had no items in her inventory other than the clothes on her back. Many of the villagers gave her things that she needed: a crafting bench, a pickaxe, a shovel, an ax, a sword . . . Everyone was quick to give her something. But the thing she loved the most was the gift from the blacksmith. Smithy had been able to scrounge up enough iron to make her a full suit of armor. She had been so excited to have her own armor that she tried it on right away. Of course, the first thing she did was paint it, wiping splashes of bright yellow across the front, then adding streaks of green and red, a blushing of pink down the arms and legs, blue across the waist. She was a walking rainbow who brought a smile from every NPC who looked upon her. It was as if she’d made this work of art for them, to bring a little bit of beauty into this perilous adventure, and they all appreciated it.

  Looking down at her now, Gameknight was confused. His sister did not seem the least bit afraid of their current situation. They were being chased by the most terrible and evil monster in Minecraft . . . Herobrine. In fact, she seemed completely unaware of the danger. Maybe Monet was incredibly brave, or maybe she was just a kid and didn’t understand what was at stake. Gameknight wa
sn’t sure.

  Ahead of them, Gameknight could see that the roofed forest was ending and they were moving out into the open plains.

  “The trees have provided good cover,” Gameknight said, “but I will like getting out of all this shade.”

  “Do we have to go this way?” Monet asked.

  “We have to go the way the Eyes of Ender tell us,” Gameknight explained. “That’s the way to the hidden stronghold.”

  At the head of the column, Gameknight could see Crafter and Digger. They were throwing Eyes of Ender into the air and following the direction they flew, Digger doing the throwing with his massive arms, and Crafter doing the spotting. They threw one every hundred blocks or so, trying to conserve their supply so they wouldn’t run out. The glowing orbs continued to point the party toward the rising sun, always to the east.

  As they moved out of the forest and onto the rolling plains, Gameknight had the strange feeling that they were being watched. He kept glancing to the rear of the column.

  “What’s wrong?” Monet asked.

  “I don’t know . . . this just feels funny,” Gameknight replied. “I want you to stay close to Stitcher; I’m going to the back of the army.”

  “I want to go with you,” she complained.

  “No . . . just do what I say,” Gameknight snapped. “This isn’t a game, and I have to make sure that everyone here is safe. They’re all here because of me, so I have to be certain there’s no danger.”

  “Come on dear,” Tiller said, a cautious tone to her voice. “Let’s get up to the front where it will be safer.”

  Monet113 looked at Tiller and smiled, then turned and gave Gameknight a pouty, disappointed look.

  Ignoring her attempts at getting him to reconsider, the User-that-is-not-a-user turned and ran to the back of their formation. He could hear Stitcher giving commands to some of the other warriors, instructing them to follow. They all did as Stitcher commanded partially because of the respect the soldiers had for her prowess with her bow, but also because they all feared Hunter, her older sister. In a few seconds, one of the soldiers rode up to Gameknight with a horse for him. Without asking, the User-that-is-not-a-user leapt up into the saddle and pointed the horse to the rear. As he rode, he noticed that more and more of the cavalry were following him. He stopped his mount at the edge of the forest and waited until all the villagers were out of the forest, then slowly he followed the slowest of the villagers, making sure they were well protected.

  As they moved away from the tree line, he heard a sound and spun his horse around. On the treetops, he could see dark figures sunken down amidst the leaves, the leafy foliage hiding their bodies but their multiple red eyes gave away their presence . . . Spiders, and lots of them.

  “We’re under attack, everyone run!” Gameknight shouted.

  The villagers, battle hardened from the constant attacks on their village and the attacks in the forest, did not yell or scream; they just drew their weapons and waited for commands.

  “Keep moving away from the trees!” he yelled. “They aren’t attacking yet, but they will soon.”

  Crafter and Digger came running up, with Hunter close behind.

  “What’s happening?” Crafter asked.

  Gameknight pointed at the treetops.

  “They’re probably waiting for more spiders, or instructions from their leader,” Crafter explained. “Spiders are solitary animals and do not like working together. They only do it when they are forced, so if the order hasn’t been given yet, they won’t move.”

  “We need to take advantage of this,” Digger said in his deep voice. “Ahead is a hill, with rivers on either side. It would be a good, defensible position.”

  Turning, Gameknight looked at the terrain and understood what Digger meant. Ahead, the ground slowly sloped upward, forming a large mound around which two rivers flowed, then met behind the hill, forming a watery V that protected their rear. That would be a good place to set up a defense.

  “Digger, I need you to get the people moving as fast as you can.” He then dismounted and drew his sword. “Warriors, get off your horses and give them to the elderly and weak. We will be the rear guard while the rest of the village gets on that hill.”

  Without questioning the order, the soldiers jumped off their horses and found another to ride them. They then returned with weapons drawn to stand at Gameknight’s side.

  “Digger . . . go!”

  The big NPC turned and ran off, shouting instructions to everyone else. Before Crafter could leave, Gameknight grabbed his sleeve.

  “Crafter, you remember the little surprise we had for the monsters during the battle at the Bridge to Nowhere, after we had retrieved the Iron Rose?” Gameknight999 asked.

  Smiling, Crafter nodded his head.

  “Great-Uncle Weaver would like you,” the young NPC replied, then turned and ran off, yelling commands of his own.

  “What . . . what?” Monet asked, she had just gotten to Gameknight’s side. “Who’s Great-Uncle Weaver?”

  “He was Crafter’s Great-Uncle, and he said once, ‘Many problems with monsters can be solved with some creativity and a little TNT,’” Gameknight said. “Crafter is going to prepare a little surprise for these spiders.” And then he gave his sister an angry glare. “What are you doing here? You should be heading up the hill to safety.”

  Glancing back up the hill, he could see Tiller waving and running toward her.

  “I’m going to help you fight,” she answered. “You saw how good I’m shooting now with my bow.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Monet, this is going to be dangerous. War is not for kids.”

  “But you’re a kid.”

  “Not in Minecraft,” Gameknight snapped. “Here, I’m the User-that-is-not-a-user, a seasoned warrior and you’re still just a kid. Now get back there where it’s safe.”

  “NO!”

  Gameknight sighed, then motioned for the blacksmith to come near.

  “Smithy, please escort my sister to the hill with the rest of the villagers,” Gameknight instructed. “If she refuses, then pick her up and carry her. She can’t stay here. I . . . ahh . . . need her to help set up the defenses . . .” He leaned forward and stared into the eyes of the big blacksmith. “Do you understand? I can’t focus on protecting my kid sister while an army of spiders is about to attack.”

  Smithy nodded, then grabbed Monet’s hand and started walking quickly toward the hill. Monet sighed, then turned and followed the big NPC, a look of disappointment on her face.

  Grinning a satisfied smile, Gameknight could hear Tiller lecture his sister on the dangers of monsters, while Monet objected to her mistreatment. He was glad that Tiller was there; it made it a little easier to focus on keeping everyone safe from the monsters of Minecraft. Turning, he faced the forest and peered into its shadowy depths. As he drew his sword from his inventory, a voice spoke to him.

  “You could have been a little nicer about that.”

  Turning, he found Stitcher next to him, scowling up at him, her unibrow furled with anger.

  “What do you mean,” Gameknight replied. “She can’t be down here, she’s just a kid.”

  “I’m just a kid,” she replied. “Should I go back with the old women and hide?”

  “Of course not, Stitcher, I need you here. Besides, that’s different. You’re not a kid . . . you’re Stitcher. We’ve fought side-by-side through a hundred battles, and I know you can take care of yourself. But Monet is too young and not experienced enough yet. I can’t trust her to be smart out here on the battlefield.”

  “Something’s happening!” one of the warriors yelled.

  Turning back to the tree line, Gameknight could see more spiders on the treetops. As their numbers swelled, their agitated clicking grew in volume, the sound resembling a swarm of a million angry crickets. Through the leaves, the growing number of bright red eyes glared at them with a burning hatred that seemed so intense that Gameknight could almost feel the heat from their stares.
This shocked him. These spiders hated the NPCs with such a passion that it was almost consuming their ability to think.

  What would cause these monsters to hate NPCs so much? he thought.

  “Everyone start backing up,” Gameknight commanded. “Draw your bows and get ready. Form two ranks and spread out. We can’t let the spiders get past us, no matter what. The warriors behind us need more time.”

  The warriors cheered, then put away their blades and pulled out their bows. Fitting arrows to bowstrings, the warriors continued to move backward, arrows pointed at the monsters in the distance. Through the trees, Gameknight could see movement. Something green and spotted was moving between the tall oaks, creatures scurrying along on tiny little feet. As they moved to the edge of the trees, Gameknight could see what they were . . . creepers.

  Great, more monsters.

  Stepping forward, Gameknight turned and faced the warriors. Looking into their scared faces, he saw pride in their eyes, but also terror. They could see they were completely outnumbered, and fighting a horde of spiders out in the open was never a very good idea. But with all that going through their minds, they looked to Gameknight with hope and the expectation that he would save them.

  Their lives are in my hands . . . They’re relying on me for their survival.

  Whether he wanted to or not, he was the User-that-is-not-a-user, and he needed to figure out a way for these NPCs to survive the upcoming battle. And as he glanced at the spiders that were gathering on the treetops, Gameknight could feel there was a solution there that would save his friends’ lives. And then he had an idea . . . the creepers, of course. In his mind, he moved the green spotted monsters out onto the battlefield like they were pieces on a chess board. He imagined the other pieces: the spiders, the villagers standing at his side, the villagers on the hill behind him . . . they slowly came together into a strategy that just might save their lives.

  “OK, here’s what we’re going to do,” Gameknight yelled. “When the monsters charge, front rank will . . .” and he explained his plan to nodding heads.