The Wither King

by Mark Cheverton

“That’s great, just great, Watcher,” Blaster said in a loud voice, “but you need to listen to me now!”

  “Fine … what is it?”

  “Look at your hands.”

  Watcher held his hands before his face. A soft purple glow wrapped around his fingers, then slowly spread to his palms.

  “What does it mean?” Blaster asked.

  Watcher shrugged. “I don’t know, and I don’t care. We aren’t gonna just rely on any magic I might have inside me. Instead, we’re gonna focus on solving any obstacle we face by using all our skills.”

  The glow grew brighter, now spreading from his hands to his forearms.

  “Look at the Flail.” Planter pointed at the weapon in Watcher’s hand.

  The ancient artifact pulsed with magic power again, casting a purple luminescence around the chamber and giving the black-and-white walls a refreshing, colorful hue.

  “This isn’t important,” Watcher replied. He was about to set the weapon aside when it spoke to him.

  The mirror, the Flail whispered. Speak the truth before the mirror.

  Watcher’s eyes grew wide with surprise. Turning, he glanced at the mirror. His image was still there, but now it was the true image of Watcher—not a famous wizard, not a pathetic, deflated villager, but Watcher as he really was.

  He moved closer to the mirror and stared at his reflection, then glanced up at the sign on the wall.

  “Only a true wizard can escape the Labyrinth,” Watcher read.

  “What’d you say?” Mapper asked. The old man moved to his side.

  “I read the sign up there.” Watcher pointed to the letters above the mirror.

  “There aren’t any signs up there,” the old man said. “What are you talking about?”

  “You can’t see those signs?”

  Mapper shook his head.

  Speak the truth … The words from the Flail echoed in his mind.

  Squaring his shoulders, Watcher moved until he was almost nose to nose with his reflection. His nervous breath fogged the mirror, obscuring the image. Taking a deep breath, he spoke in a loud and clear voice.

  “I used the magic within me to feed my pride. I used it for fame instead of just helping other people. My overinflated ego caused me to hurt people I care about and let down my comrades when they needed me most.” Someone gasped behind him, but Watcher ignored the sound. “Because of my selfishness and desire for fame and popularity, I trapped my friends in the Labyrinth. My failure should not sentence them to death; it should only sentence me.” More gasps. Someone said something to him, but Watcher didn’t hear. A tingling sensation covered his body as if a million little pins were poking his skin. He tried to look past his reflection to see those behind him, but the mirror had fogged up even more, and there was a strange-colored haze across the shiny surface. “I am not a powerful and all-knowing wizard. I’m just me, Watcher, and all I care about now is the safety of my friends. I ask the Labyrinth to save them, and I’ll pay the price for my many failures.”

  He waited for something to happen, but nothing did. Turning, he glanced at Mapper, but the old man had stepped away from the boy, a look of astonishment on his wrinkled face.

  “What is it?” Watcher asked. He moved away from the mirror and closer to the old man. “What’s wrong?”

  “Look in the mirror now!” Mapper pointed at the silver wall.

  Watcher turned and gasped, shocked by what he saw.

  His hands, arms and chest were aflame with a luminous purple glow. The sparkling field flowed around his upper body as if it were alive, wrapping around his chest, then flowing to his shoulders, then jumping from arm to arm. In his hand, the Flail of Regrets was brighter than a lavender beacon; the light from the spiked ball was nearly blinding.

  “What’s happening?” Watcher asked.

  You spoke the truth, the Flail said. The Labyrinth heard you. Touch the mirror.

  “What?” he said out loud.

  Touch the mirror!

  Watcher stepped forward and put his glowing palm on the mirror. Suddenly, the silvery surface disappeared in a blast of bright light. He jumped back, startled, the Flail held ready for combat, but nothing happened. When the harsh light faded, Watcher could see into a new corridor, a set of stone steps leading upward in a sloping passage lit with redstone lanterns.

  “Well, look what we have here?” Blaster moved forward and put a hand on Watcher’s glowing shoulders. “It seems we needed a wizard—a true wizard—after all.” Blaster drew his two curved knives and disappeared into the passage.

  A huge hand slapped him on the back, almost knocking him over.

  “Good goin’, Watcher,” Cutter said. “I knew you could figure this out. I always had faith in you.”

  “We all had faith in you.” Mapper laid a wrinkled hand on Watcher’s glowing shoulder. “I knew you’d realize that what you have inside is more important than any material item. Stuff is just stuff and can always be replaced, but who you are, and what you can do, is always more important. Just stay true to yourself, and we’ll be okay.”

  Before Watcher could respond, the old man moved into the passage. Planter moved past silently and followed the old man, her body tense.

  “Er-Lan knew Watcher would find himself, eventually,” the zombie said softly at his side. “This zombie never stopped believing in Watcher, whether there is magic or not.”

  “Thank you, Er-Lan, that means a lot.”

  The zombie started walking away, but Watcher placed a hand on his shoulder. “Er-Lan, I saw something strange in that mirror.”

  The zombie stopped and faced his friend.

  “It showed me Blaster’s inner self: a courageous warrior, yet also someone funny. It represented Cutter as a proud, legendary soldier who was afraid of nothing.”

  Er-Lan nodded.

  “But it also showed me you.” The memory of Er-Lan’s image appeared in Watcher’s mind. Leaning forward, he lowered his voice. “You looked like a warlock.”

  “What?”

  “You wore a fancy cape and had golden chain mail armor with gemstones attached to it, and you glowed purple, you know, like this.” He held up a hand. “What do you think that means?”

  “Er-Lan is unsure.” The zombie seemed equally puzzled.

  “I think it’s best if we keep this between us and not tell anyone.”

  “Isn’t the truth a better course?” Er-Lan asked.

  Watcher shrugged. “Perhaps, but if the other villagers get the wrong idea, they might become afraid of you.”

  The zombie nodded. “Yes, Er-Lan understands that. It may be best for now.”

  “Okay, agreed … now, let’s get out of here.”

  Watcher patted his friend on the back, then the two companions strode up the stairs in lockstep, both thankful to be leaving the Labyrinth.

  Krael floated away from the Creeper’s Teeth, the ancient zombie warriors jumping from block to block behind him as they descended the steep slopes. Many of the Broken Eight had new scratches and cracks in their armor, and a few were limping or holding aching arms. The fighting had been tough, with monsters never before seen in Minecraft inhabiting the caves that peppered the slopes of the blunt mountains.

  The sun was crawling up from the eastern horizon, throwing long shadows across the steep sides of the Creeper’s Teeth. The sunshine was a relief; climbing the mountains and fighting the monsters in the dark had not been easy on the Broken Eight, but the king of the withers had known the zombies would prevail.

  The zombies ran down the final slope with their direwolves at their sides, leaving the Teeth behind. Krael could see the sense of relief in their bodies; they had fought through some difficult battles to overcome this obstacle.

  The ancient wizards had wanted to stop anyone from ever getting past the Teeth and making it to the Cave of Slumber, so they put every ounce of their magic into creating the most vicious monsters possible to guard the slopes. But the NPC wizards had not planned on the Broken Eight and their wolves
assaulting the guards of the mountain. Frequently, the monsters of the Teeth had outnumbered the ancient zombie warriors and wolves, but what the zombies and their animals lacked in numbers they made up for in sheer viciousness and disregard for life. The Eight hacked through the horrific monsters with smiles on their scarred faces, their direwolves howling with delight as they tore through countless opponents while they climbed and then descended the mountains.

  “What is this land up ahead?” Ya-Sik asked.

  “This, my friend, is called the Wasteland.” Krael smiled at the zombie, then floated up into the air. “It’s what’s left after one of the biggest battles in the Great War. The NPC wizards and monster warlocks battled across these biomes using magic more powerful than anything ever seen before. Their spells laid waste to the landscape, leaving it torn and lifeless.”

  The zombie leader nodded, looking ahead.

  The land was dry and parched, with tiny cracks between the blocks of lifeless soil. Gritty dust blew through the air, the tiny grains biting at exposed skin and stinging just a bit. All around them, the empty husks of dead trees lay strewn upon the ground. Their outer bark remained, but their interiors had rotted away long ago, leaving hollow reminders of the great trees like cemetery gravestones marking their past lives. No green grass or green leaves were visible nearby; everything was pale and dead as far as the eye could see. It was a landscape out of a nightmare, and it stretched as far as the eye could see … the wither king loved it!

  “There is very little left of the original biomes,” Krael said. “Most is warped and distorted, with the life sucked out of the land. In some places, plants might still live, but it is very rare. The Creeper’s Teeth were meant not only to keep others from the Cave of Slumber, but also to contain the damage done to the Overworld here.”

  “It seems the wizards were just as destructive as the warlocks,” Tu-Sik said, his creeper-head helmet scratched and dented from the recent battles.

  “Perhaps, but not destructive enough, or we wouldn’t be here,” Right skull said.

  The zombie nodded in agreement.

  “What is Krael’s plan?” Ya-Sik asked.

  The zombie moved closer to the ground, but still out of reach of the zombie’s sword, just to be cautious. “We’ll continue north to the Cave of Slumber. There we will release my army of withers and then destroy the Far Lands and every plane of existence in the pyramid of servers.”

  “So Krael knows the location of the Cave now?” Ya-Sik asked.

  “Well … I’ll feel its effects when we are near.”

  The zombie leader scowled.

  “Trust me, my friend,” Krael said. “The wizards made sure all withers feel the pull of the Cave. It will sense my presence first, then reach out and try to draw me in. Have no fear; we will find the Cave of Slumber.”

  “What of the boy-wizard?” Ur-Sik asked, the legs on his spider helmet bent from battle damage.

  “The boy-wizard will never leave the Labyrinth,” Krael said. “He has no idea of its secret, and he’s too arrogant ever to figure it out. That wizard and his friends will experience a slow and painful death by starvation; we will never see him again.”

  “Krael is incorrect,” Ya-Sik said, his voice filled with certainty.

  “You challenge us?” Left demanded.

  The zombie leader ignored the skull and focused his attention on Center. “This zombie felt a magical presence emerge into this world while the Eight were descending the Creeper’s Teeth. At first, Ya-Sik thought it was some of the monsters protecting the Creeper’s Teeth, but none challenged us with the kind of magical power that was felt.” Ya-Sik stared up at Krael. “It must have been the wizard.”

  “Impossible!” Krael’s voice dripped with venomous anger.

  “Perhaps … but this zombie felt something.” Ya-Sik glanced at the direwolves, then back to the wither king and smiled.

  “You have an idea?” Krael asked.

  Ya-Sik nodded. He glanced at the other zombies. “Ra-Sik, come forward.” The zombie with a helmet in the shape of an enderman’s head moved to his commander’s side. “Ra-Sik battled the wizard and his company at the Compass. Direwolves, gather the scent of our enemy from Ra-Sik.”

  The direwolves growled, then moved to the zombie. Each sniffed his golden armor, moving from hand to hand and even smelling his shimmering sword and shield. They covered every inch of the zombie’s body until one of the animals sniffed the zombie’s right forearm and howled. The other animals went to the spot and took in the scent, then howled as well, adding their voices to the majestic, terrifying chorus.

  “They found the scent.” Ya-Sik smiled, then patted his wolf on the side. “Direwolves, follow that scent until you find the boy-wizard. Destroy everyone in the wizard’s company, then destroy the wizard. Leave none alive.”

  The wolves barked and howled, their voices filled with hungry excitement.

  “Attack the wizard and his companions when they are vulnerable. Now go!”

  The creatures took off, running across the landscape like furry white missiles tracking a distant target, their padded feet moving noiselessly across the wasteland.

  “The wizard will never even hear the wolves coming.” Ya-Sik laughed, the other zombies chuckling with excitement.

  “Come, then,” Krael said. “Let us find the Cave of Slumber. Nothing can stop us now.”

  The king of the withers floated up into the air and headed for the distant cave, excited thoughts of how he would destroy the Far Lands playing through his evil mind.

  Watcher emerged from the passage and stared up into the sky. The pale sun was in the east, having risen while they were exiting the Labyrinth. After the darkness underground, its harsh rays were a shock to their eyes, with many of the villagers having to hold a hand up to block the light until their eyes adjusted. It wasn’t clear how many days they’d been underground, but they were definitely glad to be out of those tunnels.

  The landscape here was bleak, with the gray blades of grass like skeletons of their former green selves, the hollow trunks of trees sad reminders of their magnificent stature, and the dried-up shrubs like a collection of discarded stickmen, forgotten and useless. When Watcher came out of the tunnel, leaving the Labyrinth behind, he thought the worst was over, but then he beheld the terrible scenery, and it made him and all of his comrades sad.

  “What happened here?” Planter reached down and tried to scoop up a handful of grass, but the normally soft and pliant blades just crumbled to dust, staining her fingers with an ashen smear.

  “I’m not sure,” Mapper said. “Maybe some kind of disease that attacked the plants or—”

  “Look at the soil.” Blaster brushed aside the crumbling grass to reveal the dirt underneath. Instead of the block being a speckled combination of different brown and tan hues, it was a lifeless gray upon gray.

  “Even the soil was damaged.” Mapper shook his head sadly, then glanced at Watcher. “Any ideas?”

  Before Watcher could speak, Er-Lan stepped forward.

  “There was a great battle between the wizards and the warlocks,” the zombie said. “Er-Lan can still feel the echoes of power that clashed together here.” The zombie put his hand on the ground, then closed his eyes, and his face contorted as if in pain. When he opened them, a lone tear tumbled down his scarred face.

  “Watcher … put a hand on the ground and listen.” The zombie moved to his friend’s side, then grabbed his hand and pressed it to the dusty surface. Others followed Er-Lan’s lead, Planter included, each pressing a hand to the ground and closing their eyes.

  Watcher wiped away a patch of grass and pressed his palm to the lifeless ground, then closed his eyes and listened. At first, all he heard was the beat of his heart and his raspy breath going in … and out … and in … and—

  Then he heard it.

  There were screams of terror followed by great blasts of power, like a million suns torching the surface of Minecraft. The searing heat and blistering wind
s and great balls of lightning all tore mercilessly into the ground as the NPC wizards battled with the monster warlocks. Watcher could feel the hopeless fears of the wizards in their magical attacks, but there was also terrified desperation in the monsters’ responses, as if this was their last chance for survival. Sorrow and despair rained across the land like a plague, crushing the hopes of all whom the battle touched. Something terrible had indeed happened here, but not just in this place; it had encompassed much of this world.

  Watcher wiped away a tear as he stood, the terrified emotions he’d sensed almost too much to bear. He glanced at the villagers to see if any of them had felt the same thing, but they only looked unconcerned, except for Planter. She too had a tear in her eyes, but she quickly wiped it off her cheek as she turned away.

  “I felt it,” Watcher said to the zombie in a sad voice.

  “Er-Lan is sorry. It was hoped only Er-Lan could feel the destruction in that battle, but it seems Watcher’s powers allow for this.” The zombie placed a gentle hand on Watcher’s shoulder, consoling his friend.

  “I think we need to get moving.” Watcher turned to Mapper, anxious to leave this place behind. “Does the map show the location of the Cave of Slumber?”

  The old man pulled out the map, then moved next to the boy.

  “Touch it while you’re thinking about our destination.” Mapper extended the map toward Watcher.

  He reached out and placed his hand on the map while closing his eyes and focusing his thoughts on the Cave. Watcher had no idea what it looked like, but, somehow, a strong image of it came into his mind. It was a spherical cave, with hundreds upon hundreds of withers floating in the air, each motionless and apparently asleep. It looked as if they had all been flying in the same direction when they fell asleep, as if the horde of monsters had been trying to get to something bright and golden sitting on a ledge at the far side of the chamber.

  “You did it,” Mapper said.

  The old man pulled the map away as Watcher opened his eyes.

  “Look … there it is, to the north and a little to the west.” Mapper pointed with a wrinkled finger.