The Jungle Temple Oracle

by Mark Cheverton

  I’ll find you yet, Gameknight999!

  Walking down the sandy hill that led toward the desert village, he swerved around the tall green cacti that dotted this desert biome. Far out in the distance, he could see where a savannah biome met the desert. The strange, jagged acacia trees leaned this way and that above the pale green grass that stretched into the distance. In the other direction, the sandy desert stretched until it met the horizon, green cacti decorating the landscape. He preferred the desert biomes where there were fewer trees, for that meant safety for Herobrine; the old hag had a more difficult time sensing him.

  Increasing his pace, Herobrine started to run toward the village. He had to show the proper amount of desperation as he approached. Sprinting forward, he could hear an alarm being sounded, the Watcher in the tall watchtower banging on a piece of armor with the flat of their sword. Armored heads instantly popped up along the fortified sandstone wall, cautious eyes surveying their surroundings.

  “Open the gates!” someone shouted.

  Herobrine smiled.

  As the metal doors creaked open, his face showed the right amount of happiness and relief. Lone villagers like himself typically had little chance of survival out in the open, so Herobrine knew that he had to look relieved. And he was . . . not because he was finally safe, for no creature in Minecraft could truly harm him. No, he was relieved because of all the information he’d be able squeeze out of these fools.

  One of the NPCs approached him; it was the village crafter. He wore the normal clothing: black smock with a gray stripe running down the center. This one was not as old as he would have expected. With a full head of dark hair and the faintest wisps of gray encroaching near the edges, this NPC seemed to be just barely out of adolescence.

  “Are you Lost?” the crafter asked.

  The Lost were villagers who no longer had a village crafter. When a village’s crafter died or was killed unexpectedly, crafting powers were often not transferred to another NPC, and the village had trouble staying together. When this happened, the villagers usually left the village to strike out in random directions across the Overworld until they found a new home. Most did not survive this trek.

  “That’s right,” Herobrine lied, trying to sound meek. “Our crafter was taken from us by a group of spiders. I headed out as all of the NPCs were required, looking for a new village and a new crafter.”

  “Well, you found a new village and are welcome with us,” the crafter replied. “Come, let me bond you to me.” Crafters used their powers to establish a connection between themselves and new villagers.

  “Please, not out here in the open,” Herobrine said. “Let us go somewhere private.”

  The crafter nodded and led Herobrine through the village. They walked across the open square, past the village’s well and their fields of crops. Moving past the tall sandstone tower that sat at the center of the community, Herobrine looked up and thought how wonderful it would be to see that tower destroyed. As these images flitted through his mind, he could feel his eyes starting to glow, and instantly pushed the thoughts away.

  I have to be careful! he reminded himself.

  Looking away from the tower, he stared at the back of the crafter as they moved between the buildings, his smock brushing the sandstone walls. It looked as if they were heading for the blacksmith’s shop; he could see the line of furnaces on the stone porch. Moving directly to the front door, the crafter opened the door and stepped inside. As the NPC stepped to the back of the room, Herobrine went in and closed the door behind him.

  Taking a few steps forward, Herobrine positioned himself between the two windows that were set into one wall and waited. Turning, the crafter looked up at Herobrine, then stepped forward and rested his hand on the newcomer’s shoulder. As the NPC gathered his crafting powers, Herobrine drew his diamond sword. His eyes wide with confusion, the crafter tried to ask a question, but the diamond blade came down on the NPC with vicious efficiency. In just a few hits, the crafter was gone, the floor littered with his possessions: multiple crafting benches, tools, an iron blade, some bread . . . and three glowing balls of XP.

  Stepping forward, Herobrine let the items flow into his inventory. Looking down, he watched the spheres of XP slowly seep into his feet. In that instant, a panicked voice filled his mind, the voice of the village’s crafter.

  What’s going on . . . what happened . . . am I . . .

  You are mine, Herobrine thought, then gave a maniacal laugh. Allowing his eyes to glow for an instant, he let the newly absorbed mind see his true self.

  Oh no . . . moaned the crafter from within Herobrine’s mind . . . it can’t be.

  Herobrine laughed again, then started to sift through the new memories in his mind. Pushing the crafter’s personality aside, he buried the fabric of the NPC’s personality deep within his subconscious and allowed him to wallow in the darkness with the other beings Herobrine had absorbed over the centuries.

  And then he found it!

  Here was the memory that he was looking for.

  “I was out hunting for food,” a hunter said to the crafter, “and I saw an entire community of NPCs leaving their village. They were following what looked like a user wearing diamond armor, but the armor was cracked and damaged. It looked like he had been in some kind of terrible battle. Anyway, I noticed that the user didn’t have a server thread . . . Was that the User-that-is-not-a . . .”

  “Quiet!” the crafter said, then glanced around to see if anyone was listening.

  Pulling the hunter by the sleeve, he moved into the nearest building; it was the baker’s house. Stepping into the home, he found the baker at the back of the room, tending to the furnaces that were cooking loaves of bread for the community.

  “Can you please give us some privacy, Baker?” the crafter said. “I must talk with Hunter for a moment.”

  The baker bowed to his crafter then moved outside. The hunter watched the baker walk across the room, his smock covered with flour, and move outside. Reaching out, he pulled the door shut, his long sandy-blond hair swished across his face as he turned to face his crafter.

  “Now tell me everything,” the crafter commanded, a serious look to his square face.

  “Well, I saw all the people leaving their village, the User-that-is . . . ah . . . you know . . . leading them into the forest. There was a young boy next to him, but he was dressed as you are, in the clothing of a crafter. I was confused. They couldn’t have a crafter that was only a child . . . anyway, I watched them go into the forest, moving quietly as if they didn’t want to be noticed. The last person I saw leave the village was another hunter like me, but this one was a woman, and she had long curly red hair. I thought this was all kinda strange and came back to tell you right away.”

  “You did the right thing, Hunter,” the crafter said as he placed a reassuring hand on his strong shoulder. “But you must not tell this to anyone. We must take this information to our graves if necessary . . . do you understand?”

  The hunter nodded, his blond hair bouncing up and down.

  “Good.”

  “So, you found him for me,” Herobrine said quietly to no one.

  He could hear the screams from the crafter deep within his mind, but ignored the voice. The crafter would give up soon enough. They always did.

  Stepping out of the blacksmith’s house, Herobrine moved back to the open square at the center of the village and scanned the faces of those milling about. He saw builders, weavers, milkers, diggers . . . and then he saw him. The hunter was standing on top of the fortified wall that surrounded the village, his bow in his hand, arrow notched.

  Closing his eyes, he teleported to the NPC and appeared right behind him. As he turned, Herobrine reached out and tore the bow from his hand. Throwing the weapon aside, he could hear the screams of shock from the other NPCs, but Herobrine was not concerned; the time for stealth was over.

  Drawing his sword, he brought it down on the defenseless NPC, tearing into his HP until it wa
s extinguished. The hunter disappeared with a pop!, leaving behind a scattering of items and three glowing balls of XP. As he stepped forward to retrieve the XP, Herobrine could hear the alarm sounding from atop the watchtower, but again he didn’t care. These pitiful beings could not hurt him.

  Turning to glare down at the villagers, Herobrine let his eyes glow bright, then he disappeared, teleporting to the nearest nest of spiders. As he reappeared, his eyes were still glowing bright, giving notice to any spiders nearby. One of the large, black monsters failed to notice the eyes and reached out to attack what looked like a defenseless villager. Herobrine disappeared just as the wicked black claws reached out for his flesh. He materialized right behind the monster, his sword already moving. The diamond blade crashed down on the creature before it knew what was happening. Swinging it with all his might, he slashed at the spider over and over, carving away at the creature’s HP. After three well-timed hits, the spider vanished, leaving behind a ball of silk and three small shimmering spheres.

  Quickly, he moved away from the glowing balls of XP; he didn’t want to turn into a spider . . . ever. Teleporting again, he reappeared at the center of the large cave that held this nest of spiders. Their clicking filled the space with a thousand castanets, but as soon as they saw his eyes, the mandibles stilled, bringing an eerie calm to the chamber. Moving to a nearby spider, he placed his hand on her fuzzy back and disappeared, taking the eight-legged monster with him.

  He materialized on the sandy hill that overlooked the village, the spider right next to him. The villagers below instantly saw him and his companion. The alarm sounded again, even though Herobrine could tell the village was still in a state of confusion.

  “You and your sisters are to destroy that village below,” Herobrine said to the monsters. “Do you understand?”

  “But the defensessss . . . the wall . . . we cannot get over that wall.”

  Herobrine looked down at the fortified wall and could see that the villagers had placed upside-down steps around the edge of the wall so that they jutted out around the perimeter, creating an overhang that was not scalable by the spiders. These villagers were smart . . . all the more reason to destroy them.

  “Do not concern yourself about the wall, it is insignificant.”

  Reaching out, he placed his hand on her back again, then closed his eyes. They disappeared from the hilltop and materialized between the buildings and shops in the village. Most of the NPCs were on the walls, readying their defenses . . . fools.

  As his eyes glowed brighter, Herobrine left the spider and teleported away, then reappeared with another spider. He then disappeared again and reappeared with another . . . and another . . . and another. Using his teleportation powers, Herobrine brought fifty of the sisters into the village. Their bodies pressed together in the narrow alleyway between the buildings, their mandibles kept still, avoiding detection.

  “These NPCs are planning on attacking your queen for no reason other than they hate all spiders,” Herobrine said in a low voice, his eyes glowing bright, lighting up the hunter’s face and sandy-blond hair. “Now go forth and destroy them before they kill your queen.”

  The spiders charged forward, spreading out through the village. They fell on the unsuspecting NPCs quickly, taking advantage of their element of surprise.

  The village didn’t stand a chance.

  Herobrine appeared on the sandy hilltop again and looked down on the doomed community. He could hear screams of panic and terror come from behind the fortified walls, and smiled even more, his eyes glowing like two tiny evil suns. Closing his eyes, Herobrine sorted through the memories of the hunter until he found those he needed.

  “I have found your trail, User-that-is-not-a-user,” he said in a loud, booming voice. “Soon, you will be on your knees before me, begging for mercy . . . something that you will never receive.”

  Herobrine then laughed an evil, maniacal laugh that made the nearby cacti seem to cringe. With his eyes burning bright, he disappeared from the sandy hilltop, pursuing his nemesis, his eyes the last thing to fade from view.

  CHAPTER 7

  GREAT NEPHEW BUILDER

  The village woke from another restless sleep. They had moved through the rolling hills of the grassland and entered this birch forest just before sundown. Working as quickly as they could, the NPCs had built their fortifications just before the first attack had come. It had been a small collection of zombies, about eight of the decaying monsters charging their position. The archers in the trees had easily put down the attack; none had escaped. But that was just the beginning. Monsters had harried them all night, zombies and spiders and creepers trying to sneak up on them through the darkness. The archers that Hunter had placed in the trees managed to hold the monsters at bay while the cavalry rode out to meet the threats, but it had been a constant state of alarm that kept everyone on edge. Hardly anyone managed to get any sleep.

  Gameknight was worried.

  The number of monsters attacking had not been very great, only handfuls of creatures at any one time. What worried Gameknight was that these creatures were willing to attack when outnumbered ten-to-one. They seemed to be overwhelmed with hatred for the NPCs, as if driven by some kind of external force. He could imagine Herobrine’s hand in this somehow, and as the image of those glowing eyes surfaced in the back of his mind, Gameknight shuttered.

  Suddenly, a ray of sunlight pierced through the leafy veil overhead and brought him back to the present.

  It was sunrise!

  Turning to look at the NPCs around him, he could see them all breathe a sigh of relief as the sun’s square face peeked over the horizon. Its warm presence drove away the inborn fear they all had of the night and filled them with hope. Smiles now spread across square faces as the brightening sky drove away the scowls of fear.

  “Break camp . . . let’s get moving!” Digger yelled.

  The big NPC had taken command of the villagers, keeping them moving and focusing on the daily chores of finding food and water and a place to camp each night. He was a natural leader, his booming voice able to get people moving at a moment’s notice. Gameknight watched Digger and was envious. He seemed comfortable with the responsibility of making sure everyone was taken care of and safe. The responsibility fit him like a glove.

  He hated being the User-that-is-not-a-user, being responsible for saving all of their lives and coming up with plans to keep them safe, while at the same time figuring out how to defeat Herobrine. The responsibility was too much.

  He laughed to himself.

  He was always telling his parents that he wanted to be treated like a big kid, that he wanted to take on more responsibility and show them that he was mature and reliable. So his dad had given him some more responsibility: “Take care of your sister while I’m on my business trips,” he’d said to Tommy. “Make sure that she’s OK and safe.”

  It turned out to be too much responsibility.

  His father didn’t understand how hard it was: problems at school, problems with the neighborhood kids, and now with problems in Minecraft. It was just too much for him to do. He hated it when they treated him like a little kid, but now he realized he didn’t really like having all that responsibility either. Really, he wanted to be in-between—a kid when it was the right time . . . and responsible when it was needed. Being all grown up was too much right now.

  A flash of curly red hair flickered out of the corner of his eye. Turning, he saw Stitcher heading out into the forest, an arrow fitted to her bowstring. Trailing about ten steps behind, he saw Monet113 following.

  “Monet, where are you going?” Gameknight shouted.

  “I’m going to help Stitcher check the surroundings for any stray monsters,” she replied as she turned and faced him.

  “No, you need to stay here, where it’s safe,” he replied, an angry scowl on his face. “Stay in the camp and don’t go out into the forest . . . it’s dangerous.”

  “But Stitcher is . . .”

  “I do
n’t care, you need to stay here where it’s safe.”

  “But I can take care of . . .”

  “NO!” Gameknight snapped. He then turned to find the blacksmith amidst the sea of square faces. “Smithy, Monet will help you pack up all the tools and furnaces. Please make sure she helps you and stays in the camp. Feel free to throw her over your shoulder if needed.”

  The squat NPC that always seemed covered with ash brought his fist firmly to his chest. A cloud of dust billowed from his apron with the salute and settled to the ground, coloring the grass at his feet with a subtle gray hue.

  “Grrr,” Monet growled, her frustration showing plainly on her boxy face. “Sometimes you’re just like Mom and Dad!”

  The comment stung, but he knew he had to keep her safe, and he couldn’t do that with her running around out in the forest; she was just a kid. As everyone gathered their belongings, he considered that comment. Was he like Mom and Dad? No, he wasn’t like his dad, because his dad was never around. His dad always left Tommy with all of his responsibilities.

  The community of NPCs had become very efficient at their new nomadic life. In minutes, they had all their belongings packed and defenses dismantled and were ready to move.

  “All is set,” Digger yelled out. “Everyone move out!”

  Moving to the front of the column, Digger threw an Eye of Ender into the air as far as he could. Archers on the treetops watched it move, the glowing orb streaking off toward the rising sun.

  “Still to the east,” one of the archers shouted.

  Digger nodded, then struck out in that direction, the entire village of NPCs following close behind.

  Suddenly, Gameknight found his friend Crafter at his side. Trailing behind him were many of the villagers. They felt comfortable and safe near their crafter. Soon, Monet was at Crafter’s side. She leaned forward so she could see her brother and give him an angry scowl.