The Wither King

by Mark Cheverton

  “Well, I can’t send you back now with monsters running around.” Watcher sighed.

  “I knew you’d want me here.” She smiled, then spun around and ran to her horse. Pulling on the reins, she brought the animal back to Watcher. “You don’t need to worry. I brought enough food for both of us. I’ll take care of you the way you should be taken care of.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I know how important you really are.”

  And with that, she ran to the others with her horse in tow, leaving Watcher standing there, frustrated.

  What am I supposed to do? Watcher thought. I can’t send Fencer home at night with monsters around. She’ll have to stay with us. But I don’t think Planter’s gonna be very happy about it.

  “Maybe I can keep the peace between everyone while we’re chasing Krael,” Watcher whispered to himself, but he didn’t feel very hopeful. He knew this problem was only going to get worse.

  Glancing down at his arms, Watcher pondered if his magic ability could help somehow.

  Magic should only be used on other NPCs with great care. The mystical voice came from the Flail of Regrets, but it did not frighten him. Watcher had come to terms with the fact that some kind of living entity resided inside the weapon … and he could talk to it.

  Then how do I solve this problem? Watcher asked the enchanted relic.

  By being a true wizard.

  Sometimes—like now—the thoughts from the Flail made no sense.

  Watcher sighed. He could hear the rest of the party getting mounted, the horses’ hooves stomping the ground impatiently. Turning, he headed back to his companions, his thoughts focused again on the battles to come.

  Krael smiled at the eastern horizon as a blood-red stain spread across the sky in anticipation of the sun emerging from its long evening nap. Sadly, the crimson only remained for an instant before fading to a bright orange. The warm dawn light coated the sands of the desert with colorful hues, but neither the king of the withers nor the Broken Eight appreciated the spectacular show.

  They’d left the forest just before sunrise and were now moving with great haste across the parched sands. Even here, the angry magic embedded in the monsters’ golden boots still damaged the ground, leaving a trail of charred footsteps in the sand to show where the zombies had stepped. Behind the group, the tall, snowy peak that held the Eternal Prison was still visible, though it was mixed in with the haze of Minecraft, making the frozen peak and the jail difficult to see.

  “Ya-Sik is glad to see that frozen mountain fading from view.” The zombie commander glared over his shoulder at the peak as if it were a fierce enemy. The direwolf loping next to him growled in agreement. “The Broken Eight spent too many centuries in those prison cells.”

  “All the more reason to seek out revenge upon the wizards,” the right skull on Krael’s broad shoulders said.

  “It was not just wizards who trapped the Eight in those cells.” The zombie’s rage was barely contained. “Others helped.”

  Many of the zombie warriors nodded their scarred heads, each glaring back at the distant jail. Krael could feel the anger frothing up from within the monsters and wolves, their thirst for vengeance growing every second.

  “I understand your suffering, my friends,” Center said.

  “How could the wither understand?” Vu-Sik asked. The zombie faced the wither, its blaze-shaped helmet pointing toward him.

  The king of the withers grew silent for a moment. He veered around a cactus, the sharp spines sparkling in the morning light, but the zombies ignored it; they just walked over the prickly plant, their enchanted golden armor protecting them from its sharp thorns.

  “They took my wife,” Krael hissed in a low voice.

  “What?” Ya-Sik moved up next to the wither.

  “I said they took my wife.” Center looked down at the zombie, its dark eyes filled with hate. “The NPC wizards constructed the Cave of Slumber and lured the withers into it, my wife, Kora, included. When I uncovered their plot, I was able to flee, but none of the other withers escaped. The wizards used some kind of magical artifact to lure the withers into the cave, and before they knew it, they were asleep and trapped … forever.” Another cactus loomed near. Instead of veering around this one, Krael launched a flaming skull at it, blasting the green plant to dust and leaving a crater as the cactus’s tombstone. The king of the withers hoped the act would lessen his rage and pain, but it had no effect. “I barely escaped the trap and swore to release my kin and my wife from their unjust imprisonment.” The three skulls glared down at the zombies. “We will lay waste to the Far Lands when my brothers and sisters … and Kora … are free.”

  “It seems Krael has good reason to hate this boy-wizard,” the zombie commander said, nodding in understanding.

  “He has interrupted my plans too many times and will not get another chance. When we find the—”

  Just then, the sounds of activity floated across the desert, silencing the wither king.

  Krael lowered himself to the ground and approached a large sand dune that loomed up ahead.

  “The sounds are coming from the other side of the dune,” Right whispered, her melodic voice soothing some of Center’s rage.

  “It’s the villager I was looking for.” Center gave the other skulls a satisfied smile.

  “What is it the king of the withers is searching for?” one of the zombie warriors asked, this one wearing a helmet shaped like a creeper’s head.

  “The wizards hid the Cave of Slumber on a different plane of existence. These planes are all part of the Pyramid of Servers that holds together all of Minecraft. The Cave of Slumber lies in one of these planes.”

  “How does one travel from this plane to another?” Ya-Sik asked.

  “The wizards built something called the Hall of Planes.” Center’s voice was barely a whisper. “In that hall, we will find countless portals, each going to a different plane of existence. It is there that we will find the right portal.”

  “But surely this Hall is guarded?” Ra-Sik asked, his enderman-shaped helmet staring at the wither.

  “And the portals are likely locked, to restrict access,” another zombie said.

  Krael nodded. “Both are true, but what the wizards don’t know is that the overpowered magic spells used to create the Broken Eight will allow us to enter the Hall of Planes. All we need do is find the entrance to the Hall and force our way in; the door will yield to the Broken Eight. Once we’re in the Hall, I’ll be able to feel which portal leads to the Cave of Slumber.” Center smiled an evil toothy smile. “You will be the keys that will open these doorways and allow us to destroy all the fools in the Far Lands.”

  Ya-Sik smiled.

  “Then why has the wither stopped here, in this desert?” Wi-Sik asked, his helmet, shaped like the head of a ghast, staring defiantly at Krael.

  The wither king wanted to knock those stupid helmets off the zombies; they gave him the creeps. But he knew they were part of the key that would unlock the magical doorways in the Hall of Planes.

  “Ancient writings said the door to the Hall of Planes was hidden under a well near the Eternal Prison. The first village we destroyed had no doorway, but there is a village on the other side of these dunes.” Krael cast his gaze upon Ya-Sik. “I thought, perhaps the Broken Eight would be so kind as to annihilate this village, and then I’ll destroy the well and see what’s hidden underneath.”

  Ya-Sik’s smile grew even bigger. He nodded, then glanced at his zombies; their eyes all lit up with excitement, their direwolves pacing back and forth, anxious for battle as well.

  “Go, my friends … feast on their XP.” Krael’s voice boomed across the dry landscape.

  The ancient zombie warriors sprinted over the sand dune, a charred trail of footprints following each. Their direwolves ran next to them, the huge animals howling with angry glee.

  They fell upon the unsuspecting village like a storm of razor-sharp swords and pointed teeth; the NPCs were helpless against them. A
nd all the while, Krael just floated up into the air to watch … and laugh.

  Watcher ached with a deep weariness, not just of body, but of spirit as well. Fencer and Planter had been glaring at each other all through the night, and his girlfriend’s glances toward him clearly suggested he had to do something … but what?

  I can’t send Fencer back to their village without sending a couple of soldiers with her, he thought. But keeping her here doesn’t seem like a good idea, either.

  Watcher had no idea what to do.

  He looked around wearily and took in his surroundings. They’d ridden hard all night, and everyone was exhausted. The villagers had made it through the forest until they came across their enemy’s tracks. Now, they’d followed them through the quiet woods and into afternoon, the sun already past its zenith.

  “Watcher … look out!”

  He stopped daydreaming and looked ahead; his horse was heading straight for an oak tree. He pulled on the reins at the last second, causing the animal to veer to the left, narrowly avoiding the thick trunk.

  “Maybe you should pay attention,” Cutter chided.

  Watcher could feel his cheeks turning red.

  “Well, it’s not like we need Watcher’s expert tracking skills to follow our friends’ trail.” Blaster pointed at the sandy ground, where footprints were burned into the surface of Minecraft, damaging the landscape.

  “That does make it easier,” Cutter admitted. “What do you think is making those tracks?”

  “The Eight.” Er-Lan’s quiet voice was almost like a moan, drawn out and sad. “It is the mark of the Broken Eight. All zombies have heard the stories about the terrible enchantments needed to create these warriors. The evil magic used to bring them into existence cannot be contained, even within their golden armor. It leaks out and scars the land.”

  “Great … you’re making me really excited to meet these creatures.”

  “The forest is ending up ahead.” Planter pointed with her shimmering axe, then glanced at Watcher. She neither smiled nor frowned.

  What’s that supposed to mean? Watcher was even more confused.

  As they passed from the forest to the desert biome, heat slammed into them with the force of a giant’s hammer. Instantly, sweat poured down Watcher’s face, the tiny cubes of salty moisture managing to get past his thick unibrow and seep into his eyes, stinging. He wanted to take off his armor, but knew it wasn’t a good idea; the Broken Eight or wither king could be nearby.

  They continued trudging across the rolling sand dunes, following the black footprints across the desert sand, all of them anxious to catch up to their prey, but Watcher could feel the nervousness of his comrades building. These were the most dangerous monsters in all of Minecraft; Watcher was afraid of what would happen when they finally caught them.

  “Look, it seems as if they stopped here, behind this sand dune.” Mapper leaned so far out of the saddle to stare at the footprints that he almost fell off his horse. Many of the soldiers laughed.

  “Maybe you should try to stay on your horse,” Blaster suggested with a good-natured grin.

  The old man blushed and nodded, embarrassed.

  Watcher glanced up at the sun high overhead; its heat pounded down mercilessly on the NPCs. His armor was hot to the touch, and the air burned his throat as he breathed. It was a harsh environment, but they had to follow the trail, no matter where it led.

  On the ground ahead were the remains of a cactus, its green, spiny body shattered and burned by the charred footprints.

  One of the Broken Eight must have crushed it, Watcher thought. But why would it want to do that? Maybe they—

  “There’s a village on the other side of this dune,” a forward scout shouted from atop a sandy mound. The NPC sat on a light brown horse, his leather armor a dirty white, courtesy of Blaster; wearing it, the villager and his mount blended in with the pale surroundings of the desert, making them hard to see when they stood still. “Hurry … something’s happened to them!”

  “What do you think he means by that?” Watcher asked.

  “I don’t know,” Planter said from behind him.

  He turned and smiled at her.

  “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You always do.” Fencer rode up next to him and matched his pace, guiding her horse so close to his, their legs were brushing against each other. She gave him an adoring grin.

  “Grrr …” Planter growled like a zombie, then snapped her reins and galloped up the hill, her face a visage of anger as she passed.

  “Planter seems so angry all the time,” Fencer said softly, just for Watcher’s ears. “She should be more respectful … in fact, they all should be more respectful to you. You’re a wizard, after all.” She leaned toward him, bringing her horse even closer. “I know how important you are. I’ll never mistreat you … not like the others do.”

  “Look, Fencer, you need to understand something.” Watcher paused. She had such an innocent expression on her face; he felt like he was about to do something mean and hurt her. He glanced ahead at Planter. Her blond hair shone bright against the afternoon sun; it was beautiful. He turned back to Fencer. “You see, I’m with—”

  “Oh no! Watcher, come quick!” Planter didn’t even turn to look at him, she just shouted and then rode down the other side of the dune.

  A jolt of fear surged through Watcher’s veins, and he instantly nudged his horse into a gallop, then into a sprint as he charged up the sandy mound. When he reached the top, his heart sank.

  Strewn across the sands were the remains of the village. Charred footsteps could be seen all throughout the area, as well as paw prints embedded in the sand from the vicious direwolves.

  Riding down the dune as fast as he could, he caught up with Planter, then shot past her.

  “We need to search for survivors,” Watcher shouted.

  Someone else yelled commands to the other NPCs, but Watcher wasn’t listening; he was scanning the flat, sandy plain, looking for anyone moving or crying out for help. But the village seemed completely still … like a graveyard.

  Leaping off his horse, Watcher dashed through the smoky ruins of what looked like a blacksmith’s house. Only a couple of furnaces had survived the destruction; the rest of the house lay shattered, burnt to the ground. Running up to what resembled a baker’s house, he kicked through the brittle remains, hoping to uncover someone hiding in the rubble, but there was no one. With panic rising in his soul, Watcher ran from house to house, digging through the wreckage, looking for any living thing.

  It was hopeless.

  The entire village had been erased from the surface of Minecraft, just like the one he’d seen when he used the Eye of Searching.

  “Why would they do this?” Planter asked, choking back her emotions. “I don’t understand.”

  “It is the Eight.” Er-Lan moved toward Watcher, careful to step over the charred footprints left behind by the ancient warriors. “Their hatred for everything drove the Broken Eight to do this horrible thing. There is no plan here, no strategy or goal … just devastation. That is why these ancient warriors were put in the Eternal Jail. It was the only way to stop their destruction.”

  “But these people did nothing to them.” A terrible sadness rose up from within Watcher, but mixed with it was also guilt. He should have been here to stop them. Even though he knew that to be impossible, he still felt responsible for this destruction.

  These creatures may have been made by the monster warlocks hundreds of years ago, but this wizard is gonna destroy them. Watcher’s thoughts raged with fury within his mind. He wanted to shout and scream, but it would not change what had happened.

  There may be a way, the ancient voice from the Flail of Regrets whispered.

  “What?” Watcher said.

  “I didn’t say anything,” Blaster replied.

  Watcher shook his head. What did you say? he asked the Flail with his thoughts.

  There may be a way to stop the Broken Eight, the Flail said. But it
will take some thought. We’ll likely need some friends from the old days.

  What are you talking about? Watcher asked, but the voice was gone.

  “You okay?” Blaster put a hand on Watcher’s shoulder, startling him and making him jump. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. Don’t blast me with any of your magical powers.” He smiled at Watcher.

  “Sorry, I was talking to …” he lowered his voice and glanced around to be sure nobody was listening, “the Flail.”

  “Oh, of course, you were talking to that inanimate object in your inventory.”

  “It’s really true; there’s something alive inside it. I just don’t fully understand, yet.” Watcher pulled out the weapon and stared down at it. The enchanted weapon seemed almost as if it had just been made, even though it had been constructed hundreds of years ago, during the Great War; the leather-wrapped handle was worn, as if it had seen many battles, but the chain running from the handle to the spiked cube looked brand new, with each spike still razor sharp.

  “Everyone, come over here.” Cutter’s booming voice carried across the desert with ease.

  Watcher and Blaster ran toward what would have been the center of the village. Where the community’s well had once stood was now just a huge, blackened crater. Watcher stood next to Cutter and stared down at the destruction.

  “Why would they have destroyed the well like this?” Mapper started to move down into the crater, but Planter stopped the old man, pointing. “Did any of you notice what’s at the bottom of the crater?”

  Watcher held a hand over his eyes to shield them from the afternoon sun. They slowly adjusted to the dark, being able to pick out charred blocks of sandstone, sand, and gravel … and then he saw it: there were steps leading down into the darkness.

  Soon everyone was pointing at them and talking all at once, but Watcher was instead looking at the landscape around them. On one side of the village was the large sand dune they had just crossed, but on the opposite side of the village was another one, identical in size and shape.