The Obsidian Cube, Book 1: An Unknown Past

by Mark Mulle

water bucket and poured it out on the block next to him. The bucket had been a useful device he had come up with out of a few extra pieces of iron. With it, he could scoop up and carry a water source block. Since water keeps flowing out from its source until it finds level ground or some kind of barrier, he could use it as a kind of portable ladder to descend safely into the gloom, which he now did, placing torches along the wall as he went.

  Upon reaching the bottom, he found that he really needn’t have been so concerned; there was already a pool that would have broken his fall. He climbed out and began to walk along the cavern floor, which the light of the torches revealed to be much the same as the tunnel he had just come from; stone, dirt, and gravel sloping gently downward.

  He went on this way, moving toward the pillar of lava that flowed down at the other end of the cavern, which he felt strangely drawn to. As he approached, he noticed that there was something in front of it, and partially silhouetted by it. He realized that he must have seen this shape from the ledge, but hadn’t registered it since it was so far away. Now, however, he saw what it was, and as soon as he realized it, he stopped abruptly.

  It was a simple structure; a vertical stack of five blocks with a horizontal arm of three extending from the second from the top. It was yellow, and made of what Steve guessed could only be sandstone, which he didn’t remember seeing anywhere near the village or anywhere in the caverns. But that was a moot point, for this was obviously a man-made structure. Not only that; it was a sign. It was pointing at the left wall of the ravine.

  Cautiously, Steve examined that wall. It seemed perfectly normal; just flat gray stone. He started carving into it. One layer back, it was still nothing but stone. Two layers back, same thing.

  Three layers back, and he struck wooden planks.

  Steve felt an electric shock run up and down his spine. Here were answers alright; someone was working down here, or had been at some point. Wood planks didn’t just appear, and certainly not deep underground like this. He wondered what might happen if he started to hack at them with his ax, then decided that he needed to get a better picture of the structure first. Digging down, he discovered that the planks were only a kind of arch or support braces against the roof of a straight, square tunnel, dimly lit by a few feeble torches hung against the planks.

  Something told Steve that he would not be wise to add to the light.

  Taking out his sword, he crept forward into the gloom, listening hard. At first, all seemed to be quiet. Then he began to hear the telltale moans of zombies echoing down the passageways, mixed in with the clatter of picks and shovels.

  Following the sounds, Steve went softly down the corridors, expecting at every corner to run into a skeleton or Creeper or something even worse; perhaps one of those purple-eyed people Alex hadn’t wanted to talk about.

  Or…Him.

  The corridors, he found, were partially lined with rails, as if for mine carts. Down one of them, he even found a cart standing by the wall with a chest inside it. Checking to make sure there was no one around, Steve lifted the lid. Inside, he found a few loaves of bread, a couple of pale blue jewels, and, oddly enough, a saddle. Deciding he probably could find use for them, he took them all and continued.

  The sound of digging led him to a kind of wide-open four-way junction, where four pillars of wood supported the ceiling. The ways forward and to the left were pitch black, but light and, what was more, voices, were coming from the right hand passage. Pressing himself against the wall, sword in hand, Steve leaned around the corner.

  Three zombies, bearing picks, were carving a two-by-three tunnel through the rock at a slow, but steady pace. Two skeletons, both in rusting iron helmets, watched them work, leaning on their bows.

  “Bloody zombies are so slow!” the first skeleton groaned. “Why can’t we just use the Creepers to blast our way through?”

  “Don’t want to damage anything,” the second answered.

  “Damage anything?” asked the first incredulously. “I thought this cube thing was made of obsidian; Creepers can’t damage obsidian!”

  “Don’t want to damage anything else, idiot,” said the second. “What happens if there’s a vein of diamonds right behind the next layer? Eh? You want to go tell Draugr that we blew up a cache of diamonds because you were impatient to be on?”

  The first skeleton made a dismissive gesture.

  “With all the stuff he’s got, what would he care? He’s got full diamond everything, doesn’t he?”

  “That doesn’t mean we can just waste any. You can never have enough diamonds.”

  There was a pause as they watched the zombies toil.

  “Well, look at that,” said the first skeleton. “There weren’t no diamonds after all. Guess we could’ve used the Creepers.”

  “Oh, quit your whining!” snapped the second. “Where’ve you got to be?”

  “We could be having some fun with the village, couldn’t we?”

  “No, we couldn’t.”

  “What? Why not? We’re not afraid of them are we? All they got is a few cheap swords and bows and a bit of a wall. A few Creepers could take that thing down in seconds.”

  “I told you before, the village is off limits for a while; he wants to leave it alone for a bit.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he doesn’t want the zombies getting carried away and eating everyone.”

  “What does he care?”

  The second skeleton sighed, as if he had hoped he wouldn’t have to get into this.

  “Near as I can tell, he’s saving them for something.”

  “What?”

  “Like…like test subjects. Or sacrifices. Or something like that. Heck if I know.”

  That was exactly what Steve had been hoping – and dreading – to hear. Now it was probably time to get out of here and warn Alex and Remin about the danger they were in, which was greater than even she had suspected. Very cautiously, Steve stepped back away from the corner, turned around…

  And something big and hairy dropped from the ceiling onto his back. He buckled under the sudden weight as sharp fangs scrapped against his armor and endless legs filled his vision. Twisting and yelling, Steve flung the creature off of himself even as he swung his sword.

  The spider was considerably smaller than the monster that Draugr had been riding, but it was still the size of a large housecat. It was a dark blue-green in color, and its many eyes gleamed with malicious intent. He slashed it once, causing it to skitter and twitch back in pain, but before he could finish the beast, a second one sprang at him from around one of the wood pillars. This one he caught on his blade, but even as it died, venom squirted from its fangs and spattered his breastplate.

  As the dead spider dissolved into piles of silk and discarded eyes, Steve stabbed at his first attacker, plunging his sword deep into the cluster of glittering red eyes. The spider flopped over, vanishing into a pile of silk and discarded eyes.

  Gasping, Steve turned to flee…and found himself staring into three bows held by bony hands and drawn back to their full extent. Zombies regarded him with dead, hungry eyes, and the stalk like Creepers watched him with fixed faces.

  He turned back and found more Mobs waiting for him that way; the slave zombies bearing picks, and the two skeletons with their rusted iron helmets, both of whom were pointing iron swords at him.

  “Hello,” said the lead skeleton, in a voice that sizzled with menace. “And who are you supposed to be?”