Into the Spiders' Lair

by Mark Cheverton

  Just then, the door to the baker’s house opened. Mapper and Cleric stepped out and faced the crowd from the raised porch.

  “I heard what Cutter was saying,” Cleric said.

  “It was really me that started it,” Watcher whispered, but no one heard.

  “A small party of NPCs could find a witch in the swamp to the south.” Cleric glanced down at Watcher. “Son, will you lead this group into the swamp and get us a Notch apple?”

  “Sure,” Watcher replied with pride. “I’ll need—”

  “I’m going!” Cutter blurted out. “Blaster should be with us, as well as Planter and her awesome axe.” He flashed her a smile. “Oh . . . and Watcher, too. That should be enough.”

  “I’m going as well,” Mapper said. The old man was obviously excited about the adventure. “There will be an ice spikes biome on the way. I’ve always wanted to visit one of them.”

  “Er-Lan will go as well.” The zombie stepped forward, many of the villagers stepping back. They still weren’t accustomed to a zombie that was nonviolent. Er-Lan moved to Watcher’s side and spoke in a low voice. “There was a vision.”

  “A vision?” Watcher pulled the zombie aside and spoke in a low voice. “You saw a vision of the future?”

  The zombie nodded.

  Watcher knew about Er-Lan’s ability to see glimpses of the future. The visions had foretold events on their past adventure, and Watcher had learned to trust them. “What did you see?”

  “Watcher and his friends were in a huge forest, with trees taller than anything Er-Lan had ever seen.” The zombie glanced about. All of the villagers were staring at them, straining their ears to hear. “There was a black rain in the forest, with huge, dark raindrops falling all around.”

  “A black rain?” Watcher sounded confused. “Are you sure this was a vision of the future?”

  Er-Lan nodded. “But the strangest part was that the huge drops of rain glowed with red embers, as if burning from within.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “Er-Lan agrees, which is why this zombie must accompany the others . . . to make sure all are safe.” The zombie stared into Watcher’s blue eyes, his gaze unwavering.

  Watcher knew his friend would not take no for an answer and would likely follow them anyway, even if they tried to refuse.

  “Very well.” The boy raised his voice. “Er-Lan goes with us.”

  “There you go, a party of six.” Cutter sounded proud.

  “Seven . . . it will be a party of seven,” a voice said from the back. Saddler stepped forward.

  Many of the villagers murmured to each other; clearly, they were shocked that Fencer’s mother would leave the village and join the new group on their mission. Saddler pushed through the crowd until she was standing at Watcher’s side. She stared up at Cleric defiantly.

  “I’m going as well,” she said.

  “You can’t go out there,” one of the villagers said. “There will be monsters out there. You might need to fight for—”

  “My daughter is fighting, right now, for her life. I’m not gonna hide behind our walls while these visitors go out to help her.” Saddler turned and glared at the other NPCs. “I don’t like violence any more than the next villager.” She lowered her voice to a whisper and cast her gaze to the ground as if she were ashamed. “But this is my daughter we’re talking about, my little Fencer.” Slowly, Saddler raised her head and cast her gaze across her neighbors’ faces. She stood tall, her chin held high as she spoke in a loud, clear voice. “I don’t care what any of you think about me. If it’s necessary, I’ll take up the sword and face a thousand monsters if that’s what it takes to save my little girl.”

  Many of the villagers shook their heads in shock at the declaration, but Saddler held firm, refusing to be shamed into backing down.

  “We’ll need supplies,” Watcher said, speaking to Saddler.

  “Don’t worry; I’ll get you whatever you need,” she replied.

  “There’s something I need that I don’t think you can get.” Blaster ran his fingers through his dark, curly hair, trying to wrangle the disobedient locks into line. It didn’t work.

  Saddler glanced at his crazy hair and smiled. “What is it?”

  Blaster glanced at Watcher. “You remember that wand you used to duplicate all those Frost Walker boots before we battled the skeleton warlord?”

  Watcher nodded. He reached into his inventory and pulled out the magical relic and held it in front of him. It looked like a stick, crooked and bent, but near the end, it split into two identical pieces, each capped with gold, forming the shape of a “Y.”

  “What’s that?” Saddler asked.

  “It’s a relic from the Great War,” Watcher explained. “I don’t know what it’s called, but it—”

  “It’s the Wand of Cloning,” Mapper said as he approached. “I read about it in one of the ancient books of magic for the old days.”

  “The Wand of Cloning?” Saddler seemed confused. “What does it do?”

  “I think we should do this out of sight from the other villagers.” Blaster walked toward the wall that ringed the community. It was far from any of the other NPCs. Reaching into his inventory, he pulled out his last block of TNT and placed it onto the ground. “My dad always told me, ‘When you start something, begin it prepared, as if you plan on being successful.’ TNT has a way of being the key that opens many locks. I wouldn’t want to go hunting witches without any explosives with us.”

  “We aren’t hunting,” Watcher said warily. “We’re searching for them, and then asking them to help us.”

  “And if they don’t agree to help us, then we force them . . . right?” Blaster smiled.

  “Well . . . I guess—” Watcher began.

  “Exactly,” Cutter interrupted.

  “Who knows what we’re going to bump into out there.” Blaster pulled out a piece of melon and some cooked chicken. “We need the TNT.”

  Watcher sighed. “Very well. Get ready with the food.”

  “What’s going on?” Saddler asked, confused.

  “Just step back and trust us.” Planter pulled her back, away from the block of TNT that sat on the ground.

  Watcher gripped the Wand of Cloning tight in his hand. He was hesitant to use it, as he knew what it would cost: pain, a lot of pain. But it also cost something else: part of his identity. Am I really a wizard, like the zombie warlord and skeleton warlord both accused me of being? Even the King of the Withers thinks I’m a wizard, but I don’t feel like one. I’m just Watcher. I don’t want to be a wizard—I just want to be me.

  All the attention and looks of surprise when he used these magical artifacts made him feel disconnected, as if he were no longer one of them. If he was a wizard, then he was something different, forever removed from his peers.

  Watcher knew what it felt like to be singled out and separated from the main group. In his old village, he was never part of the crowd, but always an outsider; the NPC who was too small, too skinny, too weak . . . He’d always felt that barrier between him and everyone else. Slowly, that barrier had worn away, but now, it felt as if it was growing again.

  He sighed, but knew he had no choice; they had to have this TNT.

  With the Wand of Cloning over his head, he swung it around in a circle. The purple glow around the relic was faint at first, but then grew bright. At the same time, Watcher grunted as the wand stabbed at his health, drawing upon his life force to power its magical enchantment. He flicked the wand at the TNT. A sparkling mist appeared on the ground. When it cleared, there were two blocks of TNT instead of just one.

  “How did that happen?” Now Saddler was really confused.

  Watcher did it again and again, his body flashing red over and over as the enchanted wand tore into his HP, converting his health into magical energy. Finally, with his skin as pale as the bones of a skeleton, he stopped, his body completely exhausted.

  Blaster caught him just as he was about to fall. He quickly s
tuffed the melon into his mouth. Watcher dropped the wand and gobbled down the fruit, then took the cooked chicken and devoured it as well. Slowly, color returned to his face as his HP regenerated.

  Bending over, Watcher retrieved the wand and put it back into his inventory.

  “That was incredible. You have any other surprises I need to know about?” Saddler’s eyes were wide with surprise.

  “Show her the bow,” Planter said.

  Watcher reached into his inventory and pulled out a large white bow made from bone. “This was the bow of the skeleton warlord.”

  “We took it from him,” Cutter added.

  Watcher wanted to correct him—I took it from him, you mean—but he kept his comment to himself. “It’s called the Fossil Bow of Destruction, and it’s another ancient artifact from the Great War.”

  “What does it do?” she asked.

  “Well . . . it will shoot an arrow that can kill anything with one hit. The arrow tracks the target, and will pass through just about anything to reach it.” Watcher could still remember the pain the weapon had inflicted on him the last time he’d experimented with it. He was hesitant ever to use it again. “It extracts a price, though, just as the Wand does. It’s one of the reasons why I don’t like using these things unless we have to.” He put the bow away. “For now, I have my own bow.” He drew an enchanted bow from his inventory. “It has served me through many adventures.”

  “Maybe you could use that enchanted chainmail we took from the zombie warlord,” Blaster asked. “You remember, it was called . . .”

  “The Mantle of Command.” Mapper gave them a satisfied grin.

  “Right . . . I knew that . . . the Mantle of Command.” Blaster smiled back at the old man. “Maybe you could use that armor to find a witch. It would make this little trip a lot shorter.”

  Watcher pulled the magical chainmail from his inventory and held it far from his body, as if it were poisonous. It sparkled with an iridescent light, pulsing with power as if it were alive. He could feel the enchantment reaching out to him, seeking to use his HP as a source of power. The last time he’d put on this armor, he’d been able to see the hiding place of the skeleton warlord as well as some spiders and the wither king, but it had come at a terrible price. The Mantle had almost killed him. . . . He had no desire to try that again.

  “It’s too dangerous.” Planter put her hand on Watcher’s, then pushed it down toward the ground, forcing him to put away the Mantle. “We all know what it did to him before . . . we aren’t trying that unless it’s absolutely necessary.” The finality in the tone of her voice made everyone wary of challenging her decision.

  “I’m not a fan of weapons, as you all know.” Saddler moved to Watcher and Cutter. “But if we must have weapons with us,” she glanced at the young boy, “I’d rather have the best ones.”

  “Now you’re talking our language.” Blaster nodded and smiled.

  “I’ll get the supplies we need, then we’ll leave.” Saddler turned to Mapper. “How about you come and help?”

  Mapper nodded and the two rushed off to the supply shed.

  “Watcher, you think it’ll be hard to find a witch?” his father asked.

  The boy shook his head. “All we need to do is find the witch’s hut, and the witch should be inside, brewing potions. My understanding is they only leave their huts when it’s absolutely necessary. We should find one soon enough.”

  “You be careful,” Cleric said. “Your sister and I will keep everyone in the village out of trouble while you’re gone.”

  His sister, Winger, smiled, then stood next to their father.

  “I see Saddler and Mapper by the front gates.” Planter pulled out her golden axe and red shield. Both items glowed with magical enchantments. “Let’s go.”

  They all ran to the gates, leaving Watcher to stand there, staring at his father and sister. For some reason, he felt as if everything was about to change. A feeling of dread seemed to wash through his soul, as if it were some kind of warning sent to him from the distant past. Full of trepidation, he turned and followed his friends out of the village and into the savannah.

  “Do you think they’ve found the witch yet?” Winger’s voice sounded concerned. “I’m worried about my little brother.”

  “I’m sure Watcher’s okay.” Cleric glanced down at his daughter. “Winger, you don’t need to worry about Watcher. He’s a smart boy and I’m sure he’ll be careful.” He put his arm around her and hugged her tight. “By the way, don’t think I forgot . . . Happy birthday!”

  She smiled. “What did you get me?”

  “Well, with our village crushed and burned to the ground, and having just survived a huge battle with the skeleton warlord and his forces, I didn’t really get you anything, other than a cake. Baker will be pulling it out of the furnace soon.”

  Winger sighed, then smiled at her father. “A cake will be good. Besides, I’m just glad we survived those terrible battles and that adventure.”

  Cleric smiled and gave his daughter a hug.

  Just then, more NPCs emerged from their homes. The shadow from the looming wall around the community slowly shrank as the morning sun drifted higher into the eastern sky. The village was waking from its long evening slumber, its activity slowly building. “How long do you think the members of this savannah village will let us stay here?”

  Cleric shrugged. “I don’t know. We told them our village was burned to the ground by the skeleton warlord and his minions. There’s really no place else for us to go, but they also know we’ve been battling with zombies and skeletons. They don’t approve of our fighting.”

  “Do they approve of the skeletons destroying our village?” Winger asked.

  “Well . . . I’m sure they—”

  “Do they approve of the zombies attacking us and taking everyone prisoner?” Her voice was growing louder

  “I doubt they—”

  “Do they approve of the zombies killing all the old and sick NPCs from countless villages?” Winger’s anger was still building.

  Cleric put a calming hand on her shoulder. “Listen, daughter, these NPCs have their own beliefs, and we need to respect them. There are only fifty members of our village still alive, but there are about a hundred of the savannah villagers. We need to respect their wishes and be good community members. In this village, we are the minority.”

  She sighed. “I know . . . I just get frustrated.”

  “We are guests here in their village, and we need to be respectful.”

  “Yes, father.” She rolled her eyes.

  The constant east-to-west breeze grew warmer as the morning progressed. It carried with it the smell of dry grass and the tangy smell of the acacia trees. Winger took in a huge breath and let the aromas flow into her body. It was fantastic.

  But just then, a strange noise floated in on the wind. The sound reminded Winger of the cobbler at their old villager, carefully hammering nails into the soles of a shoe. But instead of one cobbler, it was as if there were a thousand of them, all tapping on their nails as fast as they could. Winger glanced at her father, confused, and the expression on Cleric’s face made her worry. The old man wasn’t just curious about the sound; he was scared by it.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Spiders,” he whispered. “Go around and wake up all of our villagers. Make sure they’re all armed and wearing their armor.”

  She nodded and sprinted through the village, pounding on doors to wake up the members of their villager army. After she woke a few, Winger sent out others to wake the rest as she sprinted back to Cleric.

  She found her father surrounded by a group of concerned villagers. The clicking was louder, as if it was just outside of the walls.

  “Dad, I think they are on the other side of the wall.” Winger reached into her inventory for her bow, but Cleric put a restraining hand on her arm and shook his head.

  “We know spiders are out there.” The village leader, an old NPC named Miner, st
ood atop a slab of cobblestone and stared down at Cleric and the other visitors. “But we won’t use weapons. If we just leave them alone, they’ll leave us alone. That’s why we built this wall.”

  “But you don’t understand about spiders,” Winger said. “They can just—”

  “If you are to live here, you must accept our rules.” Miner glared at Winger as if she were a petulant child, then turned his back on her.

  “This is bad,” she whispered to her father. “Spiders right outside the wall . . . this is very bad.”

  “I know you’re frustrated, daughter. Just be patient.”

  She sighed and said nothing.

  Suddenly, a spider crested the top of the wall. It was a large, black, fuzzy thing, with eight bright red eyes and wicked-looking curved claws at the end of each leg. Like a black fog, more of the dark nightmares crested the top of the barricade; their eyes were glowing embers of hate. The villagers moved away from the wall as more of the monsters scaled the barricade and stared down at them from the top. One by one, the spiders lowered themselves down on thin strands of spider’s silk, settling noiselessly into the courtyard.

  Miner stepped forward and confronted the terrifying beasts.

  “The ssspider warlord hasss given commandsss for thisss village,” the largest of the spiders said.

  “We want no part in anyone’s war. We will offer aid to all creatures who need it, but we will not be pulled into someone else’s war.” Miner stood tall, seemingly unafraid.

  “You dare challenge the ssspider warlord, Ssshakaar?” The monster took a step closer, the other spiders spreading out, keeping their hateful eyes on the villagers. Miner stood his ground, standing calmly before the horde, his arms held behind his back.

  “We mean no harm to spiders nor any other creatures of the Far Lands,” the village leader said.

  “Then you will tell usss where the boy-wizard isss hiding?” The spider’s eyes grew bright, its mandibles clicking together impatiently. Some of the other spiders clicked their mandibles together, the sound echoing off the tall stone walls.

  Winger glanced at her father, her hand moving to her inventory. He shook his head ever so slightly.