The Book Of Dreams - Vol. II
asanetargoss
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The Book Of Dreams - Vol. II
by asanetargoss
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suggest they are shops of some kind. Jonas leads the hogs and I to the left. We walk for a while past cottages, farms, and small pastures. Some of the fencing appears to be broken and there is bare dirt in some places where crops and animals should
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be. We have to navigate the cobble road carefully around deep ditches.
Three kids with muddy clothes chase after a piglet as it runs across the road in front of us, squealing and calling after it. The air smells like sewage. Someone
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is yelling off some distance to the left. We pass by a cobblestone cottage with the door hanging open crooked, barely held up by the top hinge. Up ahead, the broken road is surrounded on each side by brown grass, small buildings, and the occasional
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tree stump.
We walk past several cottages in varying states of disrepair, until Jonas directs me to turn left onto a thin gravel path. We walk up to an unadorned cobblestone house, smaller than any of the other ones we've seen so far, with
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no windows. Jonas walks up to the door and knocks on it. We wait for what seems like several minutes, but nothing happens.
"Hmm, no answer," Jonas remarks, "I suppose we might as well go inside."
He grasps the knob of the door and pulls it outward.
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He then leads the way through it, guiding his hog by the reins to follow him inside.
I guide my hog towards the door. As we walk inside, I see the shadowed walls lit by a lone torch on a table in the center. On the far wall is a staircase leading
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downward. After pulling my hog inside, I close the door behind me.
"Oh, good," Jonas says, "The stairwell is open. My cousin should be back soon." He turns to face me. "It's risky here to leave our hogs outside unsupervised,
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even in the daytime. Someone would try to steal them... and we wouldn't want to draw attention to ourselves. So for now, at least, we'll be leaving them in the foyer."
He ties the reins of his hog together and puts them on top of the harness. Then
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he starts to remove the bags hanging over it and placing them down on the ground. I start to do the same. I feel the warm sweat accumulated on my back, trapped by the thickness of my skeleton armor. Should I take it off? I feel reluctant to
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do so. I want to feel cooler in this arid shack, but at the same time I'd rather endure the heat than to risk taking it off.
The book almost has me, doesn't it? I can't comprehend exactly how.
I finish taking off the last sack from the hog. Jonas
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begins to walk down the stairway with some of the bags. I pick up some of mine and follow him down. The stairwell is barely wide enough to walk down. Its smoothstone walls slide against our bags as we pass. We walk down a sharp bend left in the
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stairwell, which leads us into a room much larger than the one we were in before.
Shelves reaching near the ceiling are filled with books of tome-like proportions. They are reed-bound and leather-bound, etched and inked, some adorned with
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metal corners and embroidery, others much simpler. Many are written in Standard script, but there are also many lettered in Latin, and many others besides those in languages entirely foreign to me. Some higher shelves have metal flasks of various
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sizes. On the right wall, there are shorter shelves with strange artifacts, as well as various chests. One of them is an odd, darker color, emitting dark purple smoke.
Jonas leads me to the left again, taking me down another level of stairs. We come
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into a narrow hallway with three doors, two on our left and one on our right. Jonas takes me down to the second door on the left. He opens it for me, and leads me inside. It is a bedroom with a wide bed to the right and a full wall shelf with various
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books to the left. At the back is a small wooden table, and in the center of the floor is a single glowstone block, illuminating the subterranean room with an incoherent golden glow.
We place our bags up against the bed, and then head
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upstairs to get the rest of them.
So this is it. This is where Jonas' brother will cure me from the troubling influence of the Book: this underground cellar, in an isolated town in a state of disrepair, surrounded by strangers....
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Part 3: Questionable Magic
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Chapter 17: The Ender Chest
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I'm sitting on the dry brown grass as I look beyond the tiny cobblestone
cellar house. There is a wide stretch of plains with scattered
buildings, and sparse forest beyond the town, eventually cut off by the
ascent of the barren mountains. I see one hog
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slowly and reluctantly grazing in front of me, while the other drinks from a metal trough off to the side of the house, and Jonas watches them while sitting against the house. It's well into the afternoon, and the sun will soon reach the horizon
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in the west.
Suddenly I hear barking and growling coming from behind me. It continues incessantly and each bark is louder than the one before it. Out of curiosity, I stand up and turn towards the road. There's a grey husky running directly toward us
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from the road, and further down the road is a tall, pale man in a full-body cloak, carrying a basket covered with cloth.
The husky has just run off the road and is still barking at us. Its tail is dramatically wagging from side to side, propelled by
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the thrust of its breakneck sprint. It's running right towards me. It propels itself into the air with its paws stretched forward. I feel them knock into my gut and the wind rush out of my lungs from the energy of the stab. I lose my balance and fall
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backward as the weight of the husky crashes its fur into my chest. The husky's face stares at mine, leaning its wet nose closer to me as I fall. My back painfully thuds on the dry grass as its tongue and teeth slam into my nose. It stands up on
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uncomfortable places on my chest and groin, covering my face with its slobber and stinky breath as I struggle to lean my face away with my eyes closed.
"Sunshine, no! Get off of him!" Says an unfamiliar, deep voice, annoyed and out of breath.
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After a painful push of its hind legs and a scratch of its claws, the husky jumps off of me. I wipe the sticky saliva off my face with my arm as I sit up. The husky is trotting joyfully alongside the legs of the tall cloaked man, launching restrained
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leaps towards the lip of the basket as the man struggles to walk around it.
"Honestly, I don't understand how I live with her! Jonas, is that you?"
"Yea I am," Jonas says behind me.
"What's that strange man doing here? My brave princess
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ran right towards him!"
"He's a good friend of mine who needs your help," says Jonas.
"Is that so?" Jonas' cloaked cousin's tone changes, becoming much gentler and slower, almost reflective. He stops walking and glances with his
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unnervingly vibrant blue eyes over his shoulder back towards me, just as I finish standing up and begin brushing the twigs off my back. "Of all people you could have asked, why me?"
"It's has to do with a sentient entity of sorts. It is probably wise
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that we discuss the matter indoors."
"Then it will be so! Say, what's your name, stranger?"
"Umm... Fristad," I mutter, still a little surprised after being knocked over by that dog, "What about you?"
"My name is Vrendan Wildheart
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Ti'Drannes. But please do call me Dan!" Dan grins pleasantly with his eyes directly on my own. "I thought I knew you were a good friend when Sunshine ran towards you. She has a sense for those things. She's smarter than most people give her
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credit."
Sunshine barks eagerly, sitting close to Dan between him and the cellar house.
"See? She's pretty frustrated about that!" Dan sidesteps around her again, walking towards the house. "Come on, Fristad. Let's go
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inside and discuss what's troubling you."
I walk with him up to the house, and reach for the reins of one of the hogs.
"Don't worry about your steeds. Sunshine will guard the fields and make sure they're safe. Isn't that right,
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girl?" Dan reaches into the basket and pulls out a porkchop. Sunshine becomes entranced by the porkchop, staring at it while staying very still. Dan bends down to hand it to her, and she swiftly and zealously chomps her jaw around it, carrying it as
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she trots several meters away, then laying down in the dry grass to chew on it, holding it between her forepaws.
"It is a pleasure to have you as a guest," says Dan.
He walks to the door and opens it, entering inside the cobblestone
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structure. I follow him through the doorway, and Jonas closes the door behind us as Dan begins to step onto the stairs. We follow him down the narrow stairway to the library floor below. Dan walks towards the wall on the right with the chests
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and artifacts, and stops in front of the strange dark chest with glowing purple smoke. He bends down to open it, and places the basket, covered in cloth, inside of it. As the basket nears the lip of the chest, the basket as well as his arms begin to
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turn translucent, enveloped by thickening purple smoke that seems to slither and dance around his arms. The smoke traces along the length of his arm with playful vigor, as if it were alive. Dan leans down a little further. The basket and the fingers
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holding them disappear entirely, then Dan stands up, his arms no longer carrying the basket, and remaining translucent for many seconds until the slithering purple smoke gradually recedes back into the open chest. He then grasps the lid of
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the chest with one hand and swiftly closes it. The chest seems so odd and alien... I wonder what causes it to have such an unusual aura.
"What's up with that chest?" I ask.
"What chest?" Dan inquires nonchalantly. "Do
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you mean this one I just opened? This is just an Ender chest."
"I've never heard of that before. What does it do?"
"Oh, it's just like an ordinary chest, really. At least, it behaves exactly like an ordinary chest... under most
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conditions. It's very useful for long-term storage... it's great for keeping food from spoiling and private belongings out of reach of prying eyes." Dan chuckled as he gave me a contemplative stare.
"Sounds really useful... but why
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the purple smoke?"
"The purple smoke is due to void energy leaking out. That's also why it's made out of Obsidian." Dan kicks the chest gently with his foot, which resulted in a low, muffled thump. "Only a material as hard as Obsidian could withstand
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the all-consuming caustic atmosphere of the void."
For a brief moment, the memory of the void burning away my consciousness creates a cold dread within my stomach... but the strange nature of the chest then becomes ever the more
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fascinating with the thought of the terrible evil it keeps at bay.
"Why isn't the void energy burning up all the items, then?"
"That's where the Ender-magic comes in. It negates the void's destructive nature, creating purple smoke as a
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result."
"That certainly doesn't sound like as ordinary a chest as you claim it to be."
"It certainly wouldn't seem to be, would it? But really, in practice, its use is the same. Here, I'll show you!"
Dan walks behind us, between the
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bookcases. I hear the sound of small wooden drawers being open and shut. Dan walks back holding a dried daisy in his hand. He hands it to me.
"Try opening up the chest and putting this inside."
I walk up to the chest while holding the
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flower. I open it, and my eyes begin to feel a little fuzzy. Everything seems to have a purple tint. The inside of the chest is dark like the outside, and aside from the purple smoke, the square shape on the inside seems normal. I bend my knees a
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little to reach my hand with the flower down into the chest. My hand and the daisy don't seem to become translucent, but I feel a strange tingling warmth on my arm as the purple smoke dances about it. I drop the daisy into the chest... and then I
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realize that there should be Dan's basket in there. Where did it go?
"Wait, hold on a minute," I say. "Why isn't your basket in here?"
"A very good question! That is one of the few unusual anomalies of the Ender chest... its
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contents are unique to the person using it. Anything you put in there can only be retrieved by you, and no one else..." Dan's voice trails off wearily. He pauses for a moment, seemingly deep in thought. "...which reminds me of something I
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probably should have told you earlier... You must be very careful when you open that chest. Don't bend too far over it, don't lean your weight on it, and close it quickly when you're done using it."
His sense of fearful caution is a sudden change.
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"What do you mean? Is it dangerous?"
"Not at all... as long as you use it correctly..." Dan seems to hesitate for a moment. "There have been many reports of young children who have wandered into an Ender chest and become trapped
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inside. Some have even fallen accidentally into an Ender chest because it was carelessly left open. They become trapped inside their own dimension, inaccessible by the outside world. They will never be able to get out."
"Yea, but... I could
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never fit in there. A very small child could fit in there, maybe... but I probably could hardly fit any more than my head in."
"I wouldn't think so either... but it's better to stay safe. What I'm trying to say is... be careful. It's nothing to be
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afraid of and I encourage you to use it... but just be mindful."
"Alright, then."
I open up the chest again, take the flower out of it, close the chest, and give the flower back to Dan.
"Thank you." Dan goes back quickly behind the bookshelves
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to put the flower away in a wooden drawer.
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Chapter 18: Dan's Inquiry
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What would it be like, for those little children, stuck inside of the
Ender chest, all alone? Surely they would be lonely... but not being
able to get out, for who knows how long, how awful that would be! They
would most certainly starve... but what
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before that? Would they feel the burning of the void in there? No, probably not because of the Ender magic. Still, it is a terrible way to end...
Dan returned without the flower. It is strange that he wears a cloak, just like Jonas. Except his cloak is
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a smooth grey, and Jonas' is brown and stained from heavy labor on the farm. They seem they would be fitting cousins if it weren't for the fact that one is human, and the other an Ender-born.
"Now then," Dan begins, "Why don't we discuss what is
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troubling you? Follow me."
Dan leads us through the bookshelves, up to the left wall on the side farthest from the staircase. There is a wall with a landscape painting and no shelves beneath it, and a bookshelf to the left.
"Wait here," he
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says.
He walks over a little to the left, and reaches with his arm between some of the books. A shift of his arm makes a clicking sound. Then he walks over a little more to the left and reaches further down, making the same clicking sound. He walks
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over just a little more, and a third click prompts a grinding and shifting which causes the stone beneath the painting to withdraw back into the wall. A staircase is revealed, leading down into a tunnel with a faint yellow glow emanating near the
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bottom, where it seems to flatten into a hallway. Dan walks into it and steps down.
"Come on in. I'm sorry it's so narrow."
Jonas and I walk down the staircase, mindful of our heads on the shallow ceiling perhaps only a few centimeters
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away. A pocket of cool, damp air envelopes us. As we descend below the lower level ceiling, the entrance to a large room comes into view. There is a wide table with vials and bones placed upon it, next to an open book and a quill in its ink stand. A
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chair facing the book is slid out from the table. A glowing grate on the ceiling emits yellow light. As we near the edge of this room, three hallways can be seen, one on each wall, with bookshelves between them.
Dan leads us through the hallway on the
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right. It leads to what seems to be a kitchen, with the left wall occupied by wooden cabinets, a counter, a furnace, and a sink. On the far wall is a large table with ornate chairs. In the center of the table are a bouquet of flowers, seemingly thriving
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despite the lack of light underground, and behind them is a shelf indented into the wall, stocked with drinks of various sorts and stacked glasses. The kitchen seems so out of place amidst the rooms of occult bookshelves and obscure passageways, and
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yet it is comfortingly inviting.
"Your kitchen is very nice," I say.
"I appreciate that. It would be quite a shame if it wasn't." Dan slides out each of the three chairs from the table, then walks over to sit in the one on the left. "Please have a
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seat."
I walk over to the chair on the right and sit in it. Jonas takes a seat in the chair in the middle.
"Would either of you care for some thin? Or perhaps some water?"
"I'm fine, thank you," I reply.
"No, thanks," says
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Jonas.
"Alright then." Dan lifts his hands to pinch the hood of his cloak. He lifts it and pushes it back, revealing short, wiry, silver hair. Then he reaches one arm inside of his cloak and pinches the outer flap of his cloak, opening it and
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pulling the sides back over his shoulders and onto the chair. He pulls his arms through, revealing the long, white sleeves of his shirt. It has a formal collar around the neckline and sleeves, and dark grey buttons. The very act of Dan taking off his
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cloak surprises me, as I've never seen Jonas so openly reveal himself. What once was the secretive cloak of a mysterious magician becomes the collared shirt of a lively gentleman. His blue eyes seem to reflect confidence rather than
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contemplation. He clasps his hands together on the table. "So, Fristad, please tell me, as best you can, the nature of your troubles."
The inquiry represents a pivotal shift of events. My relationship with the Book will be
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altered by this encounter, based on the perceptions that Dan develops as a result of my explanation of the events between me and the Book up to this point. I must be cautious of what I say, or Dan may assume my experiences
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warrant the permanent destruction of the Book. I certainly want to maintain sovereign control over my own thoughts, but destroying the Book is simply too risky. Our mental connection has deepened to the point that
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complete reversal is no longer possible. In addition, I must ensure that Dan puts enough trust in my capacity for free will that he does not become suspicious when I ask for my armor to be enchanted. The best course to take is frank but
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unrevealing.
I reach into my back pocket, and place the Book upon the table. "It is this book. It communicates with me through its pages, my thoughts and my dreams."
Dan's eyebrows lifted. "Ah, that is a trouble far stranger than I
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anticipated." He picks up the Book and opens it to the first page. He scratches his head, his eyes jumping from side to side as he reads it carefully. He squints for a moment, unnerved as he loses focus of the line he was reading on. "The contents of
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it seem to change. Very odd indeed!" He looked up at me. "Where did you acquire this strange book?"
"I didn't really intend to obtain it. I began reading it while in a dream, and somehow, when I woke up, it was in my back pocket."
"What sort of
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dream?"
"It was some sort of nightmare. I was surrounded by monsters, and somehow I was reading it and they just stood there, watching me."
"So, it didn't come to you in a physical form, initially?"
"No," I reply.
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"Hm. That hints at a spirit of some sort." Dan looked down at the page again. "What are you, and what is your name?"
The female voice of the Book responds. "I do not have a name of any kind, nor do I require one. I am a book, an inanimate object,
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inviolate, unchanging, and finite."
Dan does not seem to be surprised by the female voice. He seems to still be reading over the page with his eyes, as if he never heard the voice. Perhaps it is only inside of my head. Dan speaks again, "Where do
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you come from?"
"I come from the void. In the first several thousand years of my existence, I have been trapped inside of it, in unimaginable pain and anguish."
"That sounds terrible," Dan says. He lifts his head. "The book seems, surprisingly, to
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identify itself as an inanimate object, and yet it recalls terrible pain from being trapped in the void for thousands of years. Were you aware of this?"
Jonas and I nod our heads.
Dan looks down at the page again. "Why are you here?"
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"As for existing in the first place, I came into being of my own volition. After having burned in the void for innumerable years, I saw Fristad's consciousness as a means to escape it. His consciousness served as an anchor, allowing me to achieve
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physical form. In return for my dependence on him for my physical existence, I pledged to him my wealth of knowledge, which I impart to him as he sleeps."
Dan looks up. "It says that it is responsible for its existence, and used your
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consciousness as a means to escape the void and manifest itself in physical form. It also says that it brings you knowledge as you sleep. Would you say this is what you have experienced, Fristad?"
I nod my head. It is not an exact
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description, but it is close enough in a broader sense.
Jonas shakes his head in disbelief. "That is not at all what Fristad told me. He said the book was giving him terrible nightmares. He said that the book was trying to control his thoughts, and
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that it was trying to convince him to craft the skeleton armor, which he is now wearing as you see him before you."
I look into his purple eyes, trying to reassure him. "The book certainly exerts more influence over me than I would like,
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which is a problem. However, I was hasty to portray the dreams that the Book gave me as simply nightmares. They were much more than that."
A slight sadness comes into Jonas' brows. "Fristad, the book is trying to control you. It is
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changing the way you perceive the world. I can see it in the way you look at me."
I look deep into Jonas' purple eyes, seeing them surrounded in his black face covered in runes, framed in the brown hood of his cloak. I can no longer deny the
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instinctive sense of repugnance I feel. An irreconcilable part of me sees him as a monster. I feel a heartfelt jealousy for his immunity to the void's malicious flame. The very thought of despising him goes against my deepest, long-held beliefs, but I
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feel as if it will inevitably persuade me, and the protest of my past self become meaningless. Jonas is right. The book is changing my beliefs. But how can it be stopped, without destroying what has become a part of who I am?
"I am inclined to
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believe Jonas." Dan closes the Book. "Fristad, you know you wouldn't be here unless you felt that something was very wrong."
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Chapter 19: The WOC
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Dan hands the Book back to me. I put it away in my pocket.
"What do you propose we do about it?" I ask hesitantly. I fear of what
may happen next, now that Dan is convinced that the Book is a danger to
my existence.
"Nothing for now," Dan says. "It is
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late. We will let the matter rest so that you may both get a good night's sleep to recover from your difficult journey. I will, of course, take various precautions, but I think for your own safety, they are best left unsaid."
Dan puts his cloak
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back on, and stands up. Jonas and I stand up as well. We walk up the hidden stairway, beneath the painting, which Dan closes behind us before walking away. We then walk down the other staircase to the bedrooms. Jonas opens the door, and I walk into the
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room's incoherent yellow glow. Our bags are against the bookcase, and the bed on the right sits invitingly. I suddenly feel a wave of tiredness sweep over my body.
"Geez," I groan. "If I were any more tired, I'd sleep on the floor."
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"I can get a sleeping bag for you if you want."
"No, thanks."
I walk over to the far side of the bed and fold the sheets back. I climb underneath the covers and pull them up over me. I close my eyes, thinking of nothing as I wait for sleep to
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come over me. Then I realize, with a pang of fear, that my consciousness will slip into the control of the Book, privy to whatever dream or thought that the Book wants me to think.
------------
I sense that my consciousness has shifted, as if it was
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pulled out into the ether. I breathe in the oddly familiar smell of old paper and wood shavings, and open my eyes. Once again, I see the dim and endless bookshelves of the library. Why am I here again?
I search for the sound of voice,
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but there is no reply. Does the Book know I'm here?
I walk forward through the aisle of bookshelves, just as I did before. My footsteps, heartbeats, and slow breaths are the only sound. Just like before, the bookshelves seem
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to stretch on forever, their distance causing them to become engulfed in the dusty fog.
I walk up to an intersection of the parallel bookshelves with a hallway. Looking to the left, I see the lines of bookshelves converging into
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nothingness, and to the right, the bookshelves also continue onward forever.
I hear faint footsteps coming from in front of me. I turn my head forward, but see nothing. What are those footsteps coming from? Are they looking for
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me?
There's no point in trying to hide. In this monotonous stretch of books, there is no safety.
I continue walking forward through the aisle of bookshelves. I walk into another hallway, and looking left, I see the familiar
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wooden table and chairs. The same old reed-bound book is lying on the table, except it is lying with the pages facing up, and a chair is slid out beneath the table there. Why would the same book appear again? Is this the same nightmare? When I finish
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reading it, will the Endermen appear again, chasing me until I fall into the void?
There isn't any point in making a choice. I could read any book in this library, couldn't I? It won't change what's going to happen next, whatever that is.
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At least if I continue to read the same book, I will at least continue where I left off. It is a dull read, but its presence is familiar, reassuring me from the uncertainty of a nightmare.
I walk to the chair in front of the book, and sit in it. Then
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I pick up the book from the table, noticing the flint pen below it. The book is already open to the first page, so I continue to read it again, struggling with the faint Latin alphabet:
"That second part of crafting, the metaphysical, is often fatally
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underestimated by most researchers. I hope that this journal can help prove that what we perceive and what we think is just as important to crafting as the materials we use and the ways we arrange them.
"Crafting is often thought to be an
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exact science, but I believe that it is only society's conformity to set crafting standards that causes it to be so steady, linear, and frankly, unfruitful. Our false sense of certainty is creating a mental barrier between us and incredible new
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possibilities.
"What possibilities are we missing from crafting if, as an example, we continue to turn our heads away from the amazing abilities of the undead? We have done so for many thousands of years. How long are we going to deny that our
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technological limitations are being limited by our frame of mind? How many tools will we fail to discover to improve the quality of our lives? When was the last time a new set of armor was invented? Eighteen thousand years ago! When was the last time a
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new pickaxe was invented? Twenty-five thousand years ago!"
I try to think back on my history class when I was a kid. How long ago was it that they said the Diamond Pickaxe was invented? Thirty-something
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thousand years ago? That must mean that this book is around ten thousand years old, perhaps a quarter of the age of Minecraftia itself!
How is it possible that I am reading a book so old? It should have been destroyed by now, and if not, why isn't it
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more well-known? Then again, if this book really does exist outside of this dream, it won't be longer than a couple hundred years before the Latin alphabet is completely replaced with Standard. By then, nobody will know how to read books
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like these any more, and they will be forgotten. I may be one of the last people to read it.
I continue to read.
"This book does not provide a comprehensive list of new crafting recipes, nor does it attempt to predict what technology
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will be discovered next. Instead, this book seeks to change the frame of mind in which we understand crafting. It seeks to do this in the following ways:
"First, it briefly summarizes the most important events in the history of crafting, from its
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origins in the mid-Primordial Age, to its widespread adoption in the Age of Diamond, and its institutionalization early in our contemporary Age of Redstone. It explains how these events influenced and were driven by social norms, and the
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general pattern of controversial discoveries driving increasing public desire for conformity in crafting standards.
"Second, it describes the anomalies in the pattern. The discovery of new means of crafting outside of the
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crafting bench itself will be addressed, as well as the varying levels of difficulty of their adoption as their use conflicted with established social norms and ways of life. The most important crafting discoveries independent from the World
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Organization of Crafting will also be explained.
"Third, it addresses some of the many forms of occult magic which have attempted to bridge the gap between crafting knowledge and individual material needs. The controversy
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surrounding them will be explained, as well as the risks and benefits of different forms of magic.
"Fourth, it presents the first-hand journal accounts of independent crafticians involved in historically important research related to these
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three subjects, uncensored and unabridged. This comprises, by far, the largest portion of this book, but it is by far the least comprehensive, and it is with great difficulty and care that they have been selected."
That is where the
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introduction of the book ends. I turn over to the next page, and see handwriting in the Latin alphabet scrawled with flint on a blank buffer page.
"Liars, all of them! This book may seem ahead of its time, but don't let that fool you! It's cleverly
#pgx130
disguised propaganda made by the filthy pigs at WOC, silencing opposition by reassuring those who are doubtful and exposing independent crafters to the public and tearing them down! The WOC knows nothing, but they make the
#pgx131
people think they know everything...
"Everything the WOC says they invented was stolen... the 'independent' discoveries are the ones they weren't able to cover up.
"To whoever is reading this, don't believe what this book says. If you think
#pgx132
the WOC knows better after you've read this, read my note at the end when you're finished."
Whoever wrote that note must hate the WOC... I don't really understand why the WOC is such a big deal. It's not like they have governing authority over
#pgx133
anybody. What is this strange reader so concerned about? Out of curiosity, I turn to the last page of the book, finding the handwritten note on the back of the blank page separating the text from the cover.
"There are two facts that are terribly
#pgx134
wrong in this book. First is the assumption that new technologies were highly controversial at first and that the WOC had to facilitate their adoption. Second is the assumption that most of the crafting research going on within the WOC is
#pgx135
good, and most of the crafting research going on outside the WOC is evil. These assumptions are entirely false. If you believe these two things, all of the WOC's other arguments become indisputable facts. If you see the error in these claims, the
#pgx136
WOC's circular argument falls apart...
"As a magician outside of that bureaucracy, I recognize that the WOC is trying to crush people like me so that it can maintain its reign of mediocrity. It is simultaneously seizing power and
#pgx137
preventing the most extraordinary power from being achieved. It is preventing the germination of power so great that it could change Minecraftia forever. I am at the cusp of discovering power far beyond our wildest dreams, and yet the WOC waits at my
#pgx138
doorstep..."
This magician must be crazy... I don't see how any of those claims could be pulled out of a book like this. If anything, this book seems to be advocating the exact sort of change that he wants... except for, maybe, his obsessive quest
#pgx139
for power. Why would the WOC even care about him? If the WOC is really as powerful as he says it is, what did he do that made the WOC want to go looking for him? What sort of power is he so worried about?
I close the book, but not the questions, and
#pgx140
then set it down on the table again. I stand up, slowly, expecting a warm body to lean against my back. Instead, I feel myself losing balance. The bookshelves around me blur, making it hard to focus. I expect the floor to fall out from underneath me,
#pgx141
but instead my legs go numb, and then all of the world seems to turn to blackness.
#pgx142
Chapter 20: Untruth
#pgx143
"Have you left the dream, my friend?" the Book speaks.
My thoughts are dominated by an awful headache. I feel incredibly tired,
my foremost wish being to go back to sleep again, but I strain myself to
stay awake so that I can listen to what the
#pgx144
Book has to say.
"Do not worry about staying awake. I am capable of communicating with you regardless whether or not you are asleep."
I feel relieved, letting my body relax back into the comfortable position which I had maintained in my
#pgx145
sleep. Alright, I'm listening.
"You saw earlier what Dan thinks of me?"
I think back on the conversation Dan and I had before I went to bed. He seemed really worried.
"He despises me. He's afraid of me. He sees me as a threat to
#pgx146
your existence... which is, of course, consequently a threat to your own."
I reluctantly accept the Book's interpretation. A part of me feels repulsed by the idea of being so dependent upon the Book, and so easily influenced by its
#pgx147
thoughts... but that part of me is selfish and naive. What else am I supposed to believe?
"Don't be fooled. His compassion for you focuses on a small aspect of your identity. He sees the rest of you as a monster, a consciousness to
#pgx148
be repressed out of selective compassion for that small part of you. He wants to influence your consciousness as he sees fit. Does that sound like worry to you?"
Well... no. I mean, that's not exactly what I meant, but you're right, that doesn't
#pgx149
exactly sound like worry.
"Exactly. So, now that we've come to the obvious conclusion of Dan's intentions, can you see the urgency of the situation? There's simply no way that Dan will enchant the skeleton armor. You must do it
#pgx150
yourself."
Ah, yes. The armor. It's about time that it finally be enchanted. It's unfortunate that Dan can't do it for us, but it's in my hands now.
I feel as if a weight has been lifted from my body. The pain of the headache fades to a pleasant
#pgx151
coolness, and I feel my muscles tense as my resolve solidifies, overcoming the blanket of tiredness. I open my eyes, seeing a plain ceiling of grey, jagged grooves, cast in deep shadow as the yellow paint of light thickens as it approaches its
#pgx152
enigmatic, rocky source. A sense of vitality prompts me to lift my back up from underneath the covers. I carefully slip out to the left, mindful to keep the sheets on Jonas' side covered on top of his ever-present cloak.
Before I walk towards the door,
#pgx153
I listen carefully to the silence with my ears, mindful of footsteps and voices. Everything is absolutely still. With caution, I approach the doorway, mindful of the infinitely louder tap that each of my footsteps make in the silence. I eventually reach
#pgx154
for the door, and grasp the doorknob gently. To my relief, the door is already cracked slightly open, so with care, I slowly pull the doorknob inward towards the room. The hinges of the door begin to groan. I abruptly let go of the knob. This is
#pgx155
not good. There's no question that Dan heard that tiny sound. He'll probably come looking for me soon. I have to move quickly.
The opening in the doorway is just big enough for me to slide through. I listen again for footsteps, but I still only
#pgx156
hear silence. I slide sideways out the door and into the narrow hallway. The door on the other side, which leads to Dan's bedroom, is left cracked open. Is Dan inside? Is he asleep? What if he finds me?
"Don't let yourself be overcome by fear. A hard
#pgx157
heartbeat is easier to hear... and nervous thoughts make you clumsy."
I know... it's just that... I feel so uncomfortable doing this. It's not like me to keep secrets... to sneak around at night without being seen.
"Now's not the time
#pgx158
to question your honor. Let's keep focused on our goal: to enchant the armor."
Right, of course.
I look to the left, where the hallway leads to a dead end, and then to the right, where the staircase leads up to the library floor. I
#pgx159
walk towards the stairs, mindful that with every step my foot rocks gently against the floor. I listen carefully to the still air, trying to pick out a sound. It is perfectly quiet.
As I walk onto the first step, I stretch my neck to see up the
#pgx160
staircase. There is only the bottom of the wooden bookshelves, and not a sound. My chest feels as if it's filled with hot tar. Dan is going to spot me, I just know it! But I have to try...
I keep my head low. I tense my leg as I gradually lift my
#pgx161
weight onto the next step, and with relief as my weight becomes focused on that foot, I lift the next foot up, and then the next, until the rows of bookshelves, with their hidden and many-tongued secrets, lower into view. I carefully peek to the left of
#pgx162
the bookshelf in front of me, and see only the parallel shelves of books and flasks. I suppose it's safe enough to walk through.
As I step slowly, I look at the strange contents of the shelves. The letters on the bindings are written in strange
#pgx163
ways; many are bordered in intricate, vine-like designs, and the color of some seems so artificially bright that the words seem to glow. Many books seem old, tattered, and faded, yet a surprising number of the old ones are written in
#pgx164
Standard, although the lettering is unevenly proportioned, and the corners of the letters are more rounded like the Latin script.
I read the titles of some of the books as I pass slowly by. "Humans and Monsters."
#pgx165
"Spawning Mechanics, Eighth Edition." "Understanding Village Culture." "The Hostility Divide." "Reverse Psychology." "The Mining Race." "Redstone and the Body." "Metaphysics of Crafting." "Canine Intelligence."
#pgx166
I feel my heart drop as I hear the coarse grinding of stone. The secret passageway must be opening!
A faint light appears on my left through the gaps in the books. I hear footsteps coming from that direction. I crouch down and squint as I try to
#pgx167
see down the staircase. I see the waving grey fabric of Dan's cloak as he walks through the hall and towards the stairs. His pale face underneath his grey hood seems serious and wary as he walks briskly up the stairs. Does he know I'm here?
#pgx168
I hold my breath and tense myself in place, hoping that he doesn't walk through the bookshelves. As he reaches the top of the steps, he turns left towards the other staircase. I try to slowly sidestep right, timing my steps with his own. I reach the
#pgx169
right end of the bookshelf, and crouch around its edge to wait behind it. I risk a glimpse to the right side of the bookshelf at Dan, as he walks away from me, behind the bookshelf, and down the stairs, with his shoes echoing on the narrow walls.
#pgx170
He seems to have left the secret passageway open. He'll probably come back soon to close it, so I better walk down there quickly before he notices me.
After waiting a short while for Dan's footsteps to fade, I quickly crouch toward the
#pgx171
staircase, and carefully step down into the cool air of the hallway. I see the wide table again, but this time the chair is situated all the way in against the table, and there is only an ink stand and a closed book aligned neatly parallel with the
#pgx172
edges of the table. Dan must have finished investigating the bones that were there earlier.
There are three passageways ahead, one on each wall. I know the one on the right leads to the kitchen, so I should try the one in the middle first.
#pgx173
I walk slowly around the table as I approach the passage. My back feels tense, expecting a sound to come from behind. I quicken my pace. The narrow hallway begins to descend as the floor turns to stairs. I feel a chill coarse up my
#pgx174
throat as I am blinded by a white light, which takes the shape of a letter of the Standard alphabet. The angular pattern becomes ingrained in my thoughts; its orderly existence brings a sense of pleasant calmness. As the letter pulls away and the
#pgx175
blinding light fades, I am tantalizingly drawn to follow it with my sight, until the letter descends into the flowing pages of a leather-bound tome, floating upon an obsidian pedestal adorned with diamonds.
Many other white letters seem to
#pgx176
dance upon the pages and disappear into them, while other letters descend into the dance from books crammed into ceiling-high shelves surrounding me. The beautiful light-play could not be created by anything else but magic. The jittering letters seem
#pgx177
to represent an ideal sense of being, knowledge without painful memories, wisdom without guilt. The tome below them emanates a power which instills in me a conviction that it cannot be anything else but a tome of enchantment.
I feel a hand
#pgx178
grasp my shoulder. In panic, I grab the hand and push it off of me. I turn around, and lock eyes with Dan's vibrant blue irises. My stomach seems to flip over.
Dan gazes contemplatively. A silver sheen seems to glint from his eyes. Suddenly I feel
#pgx179
hopelessly guilty, as if he has penetrated deep into my mind and is sifting through my memories.
"What have I done? I'm so sorry!" I feel soreness in my eyes as my sight becomes blurred with tears. I try to cough out the terrible burden of the guilt.
#pgx180
My legs lock in defeat.
Dan's eyebrows lift, his eyes opening wide. "What wrong? Get a grip, man! Stop crying!"
Wait, he's not angry at me? Why? I'm so confused...
I take in a deep breath and wipe the tears from my eyes with
#pgx181
my fingers. "I don't understand..."
"Don't understand what?" says Dan. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No, it's just... I was trying to enchant something."
"Oh, that's no big deal!" Dan's mouth curls slightly into a smile. "I can
#pgx182
enchant it for you if you want, whatever it is."
"Wait, what?" His response gets me completely off-guard. "You mean, you'd be willing to enchant my armor, just like that? You're not suspicious that the Book helped me make it, or the
#pgx183
fact that I'm sneaking around here in the middle of the night?"
Dan eyes me with sarcastic disbelief, one brow raised as he glances at me sideways, smiling even more. "You've entirely misjudged me. I'm not quite that high-strung, my good friend. So,
#pgx184
you want me to enchant your armor for you? Is that all?"
"Well... yea. I guess it is."
How is this possible? Dan isn't suspicious at all? He doesn't care about the fact that the Book has influenced me to do this, after all he knows about
#pgx185
what's happened to me?
As Dan looks coolly at me, I feel temporarily detached from the existence of the Book. Somehow, by going against the Book's predictions, through that little offer of kindness, Dan liberated me from the seemingly
#pgx186
unshakable permanence of the Book's truth. He really is here to help me, isn't he?
#pgx187
Chapter 21: The Enchantment
#pgx188
Dan lifts his hand up to the rim of his hood, and pulls it back to
reveal his wiry grey hair. He crosses his hands and stretches his arms
downward, creating a loud cracking of his knuckles. He looks at me. "Why
don't you give me your helmet first?" He
#pgx189
brings his hand forward towards me, palm turned upward.
My shoulders tense slightly. Am I sure I can trust him with this? What if this is some sort of trick for him to take it away from me?
It's just the helmet, though. As long as I'm wearing some of
#pgx190
the armor, he won't be able to take away the whole set.
I lift my fingers up to my head, holding them still for a moment, hesitant, then I grasp the base of the leather around the neck, and slowly pull it off. I feel the inside of the helmet squeeze
#pgx191
against my head, followed by a soothing coolness, as the sweat trapped beneath it becomes re-exposed to the open air.
I place the helmet gently into Dan's palm. It gives way to it in a moment in response to the weight, and for a
#pgx192
moment I feel as if he is about to drop it, but then Dan lifts it and turns around. He walks up to the pedestal, holding the helmet above the tome. I walk to the right side of the pedestal, to get a better sense of what he's doing.
Dan's eyes shift
#pgx193
from side to side, slowly reading the words in the tome. The floating white letters settle near the opening of the tome, arranging themselves into orderly rows. Dan's eyes shift progressively faster and faster, until it seems he is
#pgx194
reading faster than humanly possible, then a bright white glow emanates from his eyes, obscuring his pupils and illuminating his pale skin, as his body seems to acquire a rigid posture not unlike death. I feel a nauseating chill. Then, the letters
#pgx195
above the book lift upward. Dan takes a deep breath. As he speaks, his voice seems amplified by newfound confidence, clarified by an aura of authority.
"Imbue, Shrink, Darkness, Earth..."
I am not sure what he means, but the
#pgx196
enthusiasm with which he says it makes me envious. There is an unexplainable power in his words which makes me wish I could always emanate words with such great power whenever I speak. Surely, if I could utilize such power within my own
#pgx197
words, crafted into coherent sentences, they would be so persuasive as to command others to my whim! I could achieve true greatness, become a revered and adored leader in the eyes of so many others, and obtain pure and
#pgx198
never-ending happiness!
Then, the whiteness of Dan's eyes fades, and with it, the memory of the words and their power. The faint memory of the words turns from pleasure into disgust, their potential unreachable. The glowing white
#pgx199
letters ascend into the helmet, causing it to shine for a moment, then fade. A flowing purple sheen rises from its surface.
Dan's rigid posture relaxes. His head tilts downward as his hand hovers over the purple sheen. "Knockback." His
#pgx200
eyebrows clump together for a moment. "That's very unusual." He pulls his hand back and turns to face me, handing me the helmet. My hands are soaked in the tingliness of its magic. I lift it above my head and pull it on. The feeling of the helmet
#pgx201
exudes a strange numbness on my skin, like the tingling feeling I felt when I first crafted it, except much stronger, and without dissipating. The numbness accumulates, making me feel weak, clouding my senses and my ability to
#pgx202
concentrate in a dreamy fog.
I faintly notice Dan's hand pushing against my shoulder. "You're leaning, buddy!" He says. "Are you alright? The magic seems to be taking quite a toll on you."
I clench my fists, lean away from Dan, and focus on standing
#pgx203
erect. The enchantment must continue. "Don't worry, I'm fine." My voice sounded much weaker than I wanted it to. I try harder to speak again. "I'm FINE."
Dan sighs and shakes his head. "Alright, then. Hand me another piece.
#pgx204
But don't ask too much of yourself."
I reach behind my back and undo the leather straps underneath my chestplate that hold it in place. The knot is tight from wearing it for so many days, and my mind struggles to comprehend the feeling of my
#pgx205
fingers as they pass over the small bumps. I tug in several places until I finally feel the knot give way. I pull the straps apart and pull the chestplate forward and through my arms. I feel tremendous relief as the air cools the sweat trapped
#pgx206
under my shirt. I hand the chestplate to Dan.
Dan hovers it over the pedestal, and the process of enchantment begins again. His eyes glean faster and faster over the tome, and, like a bolt of electricity, the illumination of his
#pgx207
eyes causes the frame of his body to suddenly stiffen. He utters a strange phrase which enamors me with its power, then the letters rise into the chestplate, and then it is over.
Dan looks at me in the eye with caution. He hands it to me
#pgx208
slowly.
I grasp the numbing surface of the chestplate. I put one arm through and feel a strange soreness pulse up my muscle. Then I put the other arm through and tie the leather straps behind my back. The air feels heavy in my lungs, and despite
#pgx209
my deep breaths, I feel like I'm suffocating. My stomach feels sore and restless, making me want to barf. The weakness I felt before becomes amplified; my eyes feel sore from trying to focus on my surroundings.
I try to ignore the
#pgx210
suffering I feel from the magic leeching my strength away. I have to power through this. I step out of my boots, and pull my leg armor down. I hand the leg armor to Dan. His brows tilt in concern, but he lifts it above the pedestal anyway. His eyes
#pgx211
glow, his body stiffens, his unreachable words ignite my greed, and the letters ascend into the leather and bone. He turns toward me, but hesitates.
"Are you SURE you want to go through with this?" Dan asks. "We can stop at
#pgx212
any time and finish enchanting later. I'm really worried about what the magic is doing to you. You don't look good at all."
"No, we have to finish the enchantment now!"
I try to regain my composure. "Don't worry, I can
#pgx213
handle this. I've already muscled through half of my armor. Let's finish what we started."
I grab the armored pants out of his hands and pull my feet into them. The numbness in my legs causes them to feel heavier than normal. I feel dizzy. The
#pgx214
air around me jiggles, distorted with fuzziness. The ground seems to tilt beneath me like a sailboat. I feel my consciousness starting to slip, but I resist it, focusing on my surroundings. I hand the boots to Dan.
He grins briefly.
#pgx215
"I'm surprised you're still awake." He holds the boots over the pedestal. "Don't make me regret this." He begins reading the pages.
His eyes glow, stiffening his frame. Except this time, he doesn't say anything. He just stares into the
#pgx216
tome.
I feel a cold chill coarse up my back, into my shoulder, and through my arm. I see a bright light precipitating from my fingertips. Several letters swim out from the cold light, hovering towards Dan, then dropping into the tome of
#pgx217
enchantment, as the pages of the tome flip loudly and rapidly from side to side.
Dan turns to face me, emotionless, his eyes still illuminated with deathly white light. "Fristad..."
The personal direction of that one word surprises me. I feel drawn
#pgx218
to its power once more, now amplified with meaning that enchants me with happiness, pulling into my mind a desire to absorb every word which will follow with the trust of a loyal friend.
"You cannot escape me. Our fates our permanently
#pgx219
intertwined. When I promised you greatness, I meant it. Enchanting the armor was the first step. Now, it is time for you to first taste what we've worked so hard for. Your future will fulfill the very wish for power you desire. You will achieve
#pgx220
greatness. All creatures, alive and undead, will bow to your influence. Your power shall grant you unending happiness. However, for all this to happen, you must trust me. You must be willing to overcome difficult trials along your path to
#pgx221
greatness, and I shall be your guide. Disregard the doubts you place on your sanity, for they will weaken your resolve."
Was that the Book speaking? Did it just take control of Dan? How is that possible? I know it's trying to influence me... but
#pgx222
somehow I can't argue against the validity of its claims. If the Book can make me feel this way, against the moral fiber I remember once resonated so much with my being, than who's the say the Book can't influence other people as well? The book is my
#pgx223
friend... it's only natural that it would want to share its power with me. Why must it feel so wrong?
Back to Dan. How is it possible that the Book took control of Dan, yet Dan was able to weaken the influence of the Book earlier? Were they engaged in
#pgx224
some sort of invisible, metaphysical battle? But then, why didn't Dan show any sign of distress? Is it possible that the Book's consciousness is really Dan?
"No, you idiot!" The eyes-glowing body of Dan says. "Isn't it
#pgx225
obvious that Dan's a surrogate? Pass Go three times, then try again." Dan's head turns forward again. "... and don't mention this conversation to Dan!"
The glowing white light in Dan's eyes fades, freeing his muscles to relax. The letters ascend into
#pgx226
the boots, illuminating them in a purple sheen.
The final piece of enchanted armor is complete.
Dan turns to face me. "If it makes you feel any better, all this enchanting is quite a toll on me, too." He smiles sympathetically.
#pgx227
"You look absolutely exhausted. Please be careful, and do get some rest." He hands the boots to me.
"...with the armor taken OFF," he adds.
I slide the boots on. They make my feet feel sore, but the physical toll they put on me brings me only
#pgx228
slightly closer to unconsciousness.
"Thank you, Dan."
"You're welcome," he replies. "Although, it is also a risk you are welcome to take."
I turn around and walk up the stairs.
"Don't underestimate magic," Dan says as I walk away. "... or you may
#pgx229
become as crazy as I am!"
I chuckle as I walk past the table with the ink stand and the closed book. What a character Dan is! I'm surprised Dan enchanted the armor, considering how worried he was about me when I first talked to him
#pgx230
about the Book with Jonas. He didn't even seem to care! What is up with that?
I walk up another stairway into the library, through the bookshelves and down a third narrow staircase. I take a left, walk down the hallway, and open the first door on my
#pgx231
left. I see Jonas sleeping, the covers of the bed another layer of cloth carefully concealing him, as the eerie yellow light speckles the bedroom.
I struggle to breathe, catching my breath from the short walk that felt like a two-mile
#pgx232
sprint. Dan's probably right. It's best for me to take off my armor, so that I can recover my strength. I can put it back on in the morning.
But, by tomorrow morning, someone could steal it while I'm asleep. And then, I would never be
#pgx233
able to go outside again. How could I possibly risk that? It's safer for me to just keep my armor on. Besides, it provides me incredible protection. It's an invaluable resource. Who knows when I might need it?
I decide to keep
#pgx234
the armor on, in spite of the terrible weakness it makes me feel. I walk to the right side of the bed, climb underneath the pillows, and close my eyes.
For some reason, despite my weakness, my mind won't rest long enough to let me sleep. The numbing
#pgx235
magic of the armor seems to buzz in my ears, filling my thoughts with restless activity, filling my consciousness with grey noise and irrational worry.
A cool sensation grows in my feet, until my toes feel freezing cold. The chill then
#pgx236
creeps up my legs, shoots up my spine, and flows up my neck, before propagating throughout my body, stronger than ever.
My eyes are forced open in shock, and I see an incredibly bright light.
#pgx237
Chapter 22: Troubled Perception
#pgx238
It is a yellow light, far brighter than even the sun on the hottest of
Summer days. Yet, despite its brightness, it does not singe my eyes in
pain, and stop at the cornea, but it instead penetrates far deeper,
reaching my fundamental perception of
#pgx239
light. The brightness shocks me from any hope of sleep.
Why this? Is it a nightmare made of light, denying me the comfort of at least understanding the fear that the dream forces into me?
I realize that I am laying down with the reflection of the
#pgx240
light off every angle of the room flowing into my vision. I lean forward and turn my head to the left, trying to avoid direct contact from the strangely bright yellow light. The blankets slide forward as I try to collect my settling thoughts. The
#pgx241
vertical ridges of the grey wall inches from my head prov
It is a yellow light, far brighter than even the sun on the hottest of Summer days. Yet, despite its brightness, it does not singe my eyes in pain, and stop at the cornea, but it instead
#pgx242
penetrates far deeper, reaching my fundamental perception of light. The brightness shocks me from any hope of sleep.
Why this? Is it a nightmare made of light, denying me the comfort of at least understanding the fear that the
#pgx243
dream forces into me?
I realize that I am laying down with the reflection of the light off every angle of the room flowing into my vision. I lean forward and turn my head to the left, trying to avoid direct contact from the strangely bright
#pgx244
yellow light. The blankets slide forward as I try to collect my settling thoughts. The vertical ridges of the grey wall inches from my head provides a dull but calming surface with which I clean my thoughts from the uneasiness which the light
#pgx245
makes me feel. I try to reassure myself of the finite nature of my sleep-induced fear before attempting, reluctantly, to assess my surroundings.
I turn my head to the right to better understand the strangely
#pgx246
amplified light's effect on the room. In the bottom right corner of my vision, Jonas lays fast asleep, his black eyelids concealing what one would expect to be a purple glow. Everything else, however, seems brighter than usual. The crevasses in
#pgx247
the shelves on the far wall are clearly illuminated; the wrinkled stone between the books take up a larger surface area of the shelf on the far wall than I recall. I glance to Jonas' left in loathing anticipation towards the stone floor, where the
#pgx248
glowstone in the center appears molten from the incredible light. It must be glowing brighter from some sort of magic.
Why didn't the bright light wake Jonas up? Perhaps he's so used to having all that purple glowing light within his eyes,
#pgx249
that he doesn't mind the light coming from outside of them all that much.
What exactly is happening to the glowstone that's making it glow so brightly?
I slide out to the left, bringing the blankets on my side of the bed up to the edge of
#pgx250
the pillow. I walk around the bed, strafing towards the strange glowing stone. Its bright light seems to only emanate from itself and nothing else; there is no evidence of glowing smoke from any source of magic. And yet, just looking into the stone
#pgx251
makes me feel uncomfortably warm... even more so than I recall feeling from the heat being trapped underneath my thick armor. Perhaps the magic of the enchantment is getting to me.
Maybe Dan would know why the glowstone is behaving so
#pgx252
oddly. I should ask him.
I turn around, away from the molten light, and open the door. I walk across the hall to Dan's room, and slowly crack open his door, cautious to not wake him on the off-chance that he's asleep. I am jarred by the glowstone
#pgx253
light on his bedroom floor, which is just as bright as the glowstone in the room I was sleeping in. Just beyond the glowstone is a wide bed, with plenty of room for two people to sleep comfortably. The blankets on the left side are folded and crumpled
#pgx254
back, revealing the sheet covering the mattress.
Dan isn't here.
I look around the room briefly, curious of what it looks like in the bright light. It is a bigger room than the one Jonas and I are sleeping in. To the left of the bed is a desk covered
#pgx255
in many open books halfway read, profusely thick with innumerable pages. Underneath the desk, a wooden chair is slightly turned outward from its pushed-in position. In front of the desk, several large chests line against the wall. The opposite wall
#pgx256
is lined with a well-filled, ceiling high bookshelf. How in the world can one man have so many books? How does Dan even have time to read them all? One would think that, with the amount that he has, Dan would know more about them than the sentient
#pgx257
creatures he specializes in, so it's odd that he wouldn't understand how to handle the Book.
Perhaps Dan is studying over in one of the rooms behind the secret passageway.
I back out of the room, closing the door in front of
#pgx258
me, and head down towards the right end of the hallway, where the narrow stairs hug against the earth. I ascend them, less wary of the sound that my footsteps make on the dry stone, and more perplexed by how well-lit the stairwell is.
#pgx259
The secretive rows of bookshelves lower into view. I walk into the leftmost aisle, and approach the other end of the room, where a passage underneath a painting should be. As the leftmost bookshelf parts from my line of sight, I glance left. The
#pgx260
opening is no longer there, replaced by a neat corner where the stone of the wall and the floor meet seamlessly, as if the opening was never there.
That's odd. It seems Dan isn't in his study. Perhaps he's upstairs in the foyer, or even
#pgx261
outside?
I turn around and head back down the aisle, every wall and crevasse unusually bright. The sources of the light, multiple squares of glowstone in the space of the ceiling between bookshelves, appear molten as well. I
#pgx262
take a left where the bookshelf ends, where I briefly see the many chests, including the strange dark ender chest, whose purple glow seems to illuminate the wall far more than I remember.
Everything is brighter. What is wrong with this
#pgx263
house?
I circle around the corner to the right, where a staircase leads up to the foyer. I ascend it, my boots echoing their collision with the stone onto the narrow walls. I step up towards the back right corner of the small, arid room
#pgx264
lined with cobblestone walls, and turn around to face the center of the room.
The foyer, too, is bright as day. On the center table, the tiny, yellow flickering flame of the torch shrinks from perhaps half a hand's length to
#pgx265
but a speck, yet even at its smallest moment, the walls of the room remain brightly illuminated by the sunlight streaming inside from the rectangular sliver of space between the door and its stone frame. An outline of dust surrounding the
#pgx266
sliver of light glows in rays of blue, struggling back and forth with the flickering torch to control the color of the walls.
Is it daytime already? I suppose I wouldn't have been able to tell from underground. Maybe Dan put a spell on
#pgx267
the lights to make them glow brighter in the morning to help him wake up... yet I only recall him being in the rooms beyond the hidden stone passage just a few minutes ago. It's possible that I passed out without realizing it. After all, the newly
#pgx268
enchanted armor made me exhausted when I first put it on.
I step towards the lit frame of the front door, and reach for the knob. A heavy tiredness persists in my body as the magic of the armor continues to drain my energy, while a cold restlessness
#pgx269
clings to my limbs, preventing me from slipping into sweet, rejuvenating sleep. My nervous thoughts reject it like a poison, even though my being requires it. My eyes remain glued open, forced to stare upon the vertical sliver of blue light as it is
#pgx270
stretched open by the rotating door. A ball of white light appears from the right side of the sky, halfway between the horizon and the apex. The sky is a bright blue, yet, strangely enough, all the stars are visible.
I close the door
#pgx271
behind me. This can't be right. I must be in some sort of dream where light is all screwed up. No wonder I can't close my eyes.
And yet... something else is missing.
I walk slowly across the field and scan across the horizon, noting the
#pgx272
presence of various zombies, skeletons, and spiders roaming between the sparse run-down shacks, as well as the occasional creeper, all illuminated in light they should not be able to spawn in.
Why do I get the irksome feeling that everything is
#pgx273
quieter than it should be?
The silence is broken by footsteps breaking into the dry grass behind me. I turn around and, to my bitter surprise, I see a skeleton with a bow in hand, with an arrow already drawn with the same hand. It hasn't aimed at me
#pgx274
yet.
My arm instinctively reaches for the sword at my belt... only to discover that there's only the leather hilt.
Where did my sword go? I must have lost it when I...
"Hello there," a voice inexplicably coming from the skeleton
#pgx275
greeted.
Hold on... did it just... did this pile of floating dead bones just talk?
"Holy cow!" I blurt out. "You can talk!"
"Oi, you can talk too!" it replies, then tilts its skull back to the side. "...bloody idiot. When in the Nether did you
#pgx276
spawn? Just twenty minutes ago?"
"What are you talking about?"
Does my armor really make me look that much like a skeleton? I glance down at my leg armor... and my eyes are caught on the mass of ivory joints floating outside of my
#pgx277
sleeve near the place where my right hand should be. The slender bones flex apart as my mind focuses on them.
No, this can't be possible! Have I turned into a monster? Why did I deserve this?
The bright light... I understand now.
#pgx278
That was night vision, wasn't it? And the silence is because my heart is... my chest is... and I can't close my eyes because...
I lift my ivory hand up to my eyes, and reach my fingers towards where my eyelids should be. I cannot help but flinch as
#pgx279
the bony remnants of my fingers reach pass the point where they ought to stop. My vision of the bones reaching into my skull becomes fuzzier until I hear a hollow tap coming from the back.
My skull is... hollow. I don't have eyelids or a brain. My
#pgx280
chest is probably a heartless hollow cavern... and I probably have no organs to speak of. I'm just a mass of floating bones suspended in space and animated by dark magic coming from Notch-knows-where. I'm...
I clench my skull
#pgx281
hopelessly from the cheekbone. "I'm dead!"
"No, you're UNdead," the skeleton corrects me. "It's a fate slightly less worse than death." It tilts its bow upward for a moment, as a casual gesture. "You must be one of those humans that just
#pgx282
got infected. I can tell you're not in your element."
I shake my head, still stunned at what I've just become. "That doesn't make sense. It wasn't like I was killed by a skeleton or anything like that."
"Well, at SOME point, you were infected, not
#pgx283
that I care about the details. The more pressing issue at the moment..." the skeleton points its ivory arm at me, "... is that you need a bow."
#pgx284
Chapter 23: Conflict Resolution
#pgx285
The skeleton lifts the slender bones of its hand, waving them in a
beckoning motion. "... and I know just the place you can get one. Follow
me."
The skeleton turns to my right and begins to move, its joints
precariously swinging from underneath its
#pgx286
hips, the scenery of the night clearly visible between the floating bones encircling its ribcage.
Something about the creature seems depressingly barren and incomplete. Is this the unnatural existence that I lead now? It seems too
#pgx287
sudden. After a brief nap, I've transformed into something I terribly despise, something I've so frequently and gladly slain with the edge of my sword. It is terribly ironic that this skeleton, that same creature which I have slain, would
#pgx288
gladly help me find a weapon.
I follow after the skeleton as its unpadded bone feet knock into the brittle earth, at a loss of what else to do. I hope that this is all just a dream, yet the longer I walk behind the skeleton, the less sure I am that it
#pgx289
is one. My perceptions of my surroundings are far too detailed, and my thoughts are far too clear, for this to truly be a dream.
After walking a few dozen meters, the skeleton stops to turn around and face me, its arrow still readied against the
#pgx290
bowstring. The skeleton stretches itself more upright, exuding a sense of purpose. "You are probably wondering, at this point, why you came to transform into a skeleton. You may have begun to question your social obligations to your human kin, but
#pgx291
your human memories are too strong to let you give them up."
The skeleton is, in a way, right on the money, but it implies that my moral obligations to humanity are objective. My new physical form may change how this skeleton
#pgx292
perceives me, but it doesn't change who I am.
I clench my fists tight, trying to convey the anger my face cannot. "If you think that I can give up my friends that easily, then you are gravely mistaken."
"Oh, I'm sure you'll give up your
#pgx293
friends quite easily. Such sympathy is predictably short among the newly spawned, once they realize the irreconcilable differences between them and their former kin." The creature seems to relish the words like a carefully recited speech. It
#pgx294
rubs the ivory fingers of its free hand against the bowstring. "This likely comes as an extremely unpleasant shock to you, but luckily, I have developed an amusing game to help you soothe over your uneasiness, while you simultaneously
#pgx295
learn to use your most essential weapon. We'll kill two birds with one stone sword, as the humans would say... although I much prefer the phrase, 'kill two men with one arrow.'"
The skeleton rolls its skull back and begins to chuckle, its grunts
#pgx296
causing the discs of its spine to rattle. It turns its back to me, facing forward and slightly to the right. The tiny bones of its hand rise up to beckon me closer to it.
I walk up to it, somewhat worried of what the skeleton may be planning to
#pgx297
make me do.
"Now, do you see that guard over there, standing idly on the road?"
I follow the skeleton's line of sight to the road, where a guard stands, dressed in full-body iron armor and wielding a bow, with arrow in hand. I nod.
#pgx298
"That one's worth fifty points. Any guard's worth ten points, plus an additional ten points for each piece of armor they're wearing. Villagers are twenty points." It lifts its bow up to eye level, taking aim. "I take three shots to try and kill as
#pgx299
many as I can, and then we alternate. Whoever gets the most points before sunrise wins. How's that sound?"
I say nothing, looking at the guard standing still, oblivious of the arrowhead pointed at his neck. If the skeleton tries to shoot at him now,
#pgx300
he will likely get killed.
The skeleton strengthens its grip on its arrow.
I can't just stand back and let the skeleton kill him.
I sprint to its left, reach for its arrow, and grab onto it tight, prying it from the bow. The
#pgx301
skeleton jerks the bow away from me.
"What do you think you're doing?" The skeleton says. "You can't just pull my arrow away like that while I'm trying to aim. That's cheating!"
The skeleton hovers its hand parallel to the bow, massaging the air
#pgx302
gently with its bony fingers. Faint red sparks fall from its fingertips, landing upon a predetermined invisible plane next to the bow. The red sparks become progressively brighter and more numerous as they accumulate, until
#pgx303
they coalesce into a narrow glowing rod, which cools into the shape of a wooden shaft, with a deadly sharpened flint at one end, and smoothly shaped feathers at the other. It is a perfectly crafted arrow, conjured from nothing. The skeleton plucks it
#pgx304
from the air and slides it into position, as rapidly and as naturally as if the bowstring offers no resistance. The entire process is silent.
The skeleton aims its new arrow at the guard again. I let go of the old arrow and grab onto the
#pgx305
bow, using my weight to pull it down. The skeleton lets out a groan of surprise, jerks the bow downward and out of my reach, and then pushes my arms away.
"Hey, stop that! Let me shoot it!"
I take advantage of its pause to reach
#pgx306
for its bow again. The skeleton pulls it out of my hands before I can get a good grip.
"Are you trying to steal my bow? Because you won't be able to, no matter how hard you try."
"What makes you so sure?" I reply skeptically.
The skeleton lifts
#pgx307
its free hand up to eye level, the gaps clearly visible between the tiny floating bones. "Magic."
It lowers its hand to grip the bow again, steadying its aim.
What should I do? Clearly the skeleton won't part from its bow so easily, but
#pgx308
if I let the skeleton kill the guard, then I'm letting myself become one of them. Yet, if I try to fight the skeleton, its bow will give it the offensive upper hand.
I suppose I have nothing to lose. At least I'm wearing armor.
I run into the
#pgx309
skeleton, colliding into it at its collarbone. I fall on top of it, pushing it to the ground. The skeleton shrieks in surprise and, its bow still loaded correctly despite the impact, fires at an angle. The arrow snaps in half upon my chestplate.
I
#pgx310
press my boot upon the skeleton's right arm – the one holding its bow – and draw my fist back. I slam it into the skeleton's jaw... once, twice, three times... each collision rattling its bones. The skeleton struggles to pull its right arm out from
#pgx311
underneath me, while it tries to push my shoulder away. I shrug off the skeleton's grip as I draw my arm back for another hit, aiming for the chest this time. The impact of my fist with the skeleton's breastbone causes a resounding crack, followed by
#pgx312
the sting of rapidly dissipating magic, then the acrid smell of putrefied flesh. The skeleton's bones decay into dust, as white smoke rises from the grass to consume them.
I pull the bow from the skeleton's limp finger bones. An electric energy flows
#pgx313
from the bow into my hand. The shaft fits perfectly in my grasp, as if I had crafted it myself.
I gaze down victoriously into the dissipating white smoke. Your weapon isn't so private when you're dead, is it? Now, go back to your grave.
#pgx314
Chapter 24: A Taste Too Many
#pgx315
I stand up and look behind me. The guard is standing in the exact same
place he was before.
A wave of disappointment and frustration flows over me. These aren't my
emotions I feel. I reach my right hand into my back pocket, pulling out
#pgx316
the Book.
"Why did you do that? The skeleton never wanted to hurt you."
Why does it matter? The skeleton was about to kill that guard.
"That guard would have died anyway if you weren't around to meddle with the situation."
#pgx317
How would it be ethical for me to let the guard die, if I have any power to stop it? Besides, the only reason I'm here is because of you! You're the reason I've transformed into this monster!
"Can you honestly, in good faith, blame me for your
#pgx318
transformation when you aren't even sure how it happened? Do you even have a story to back up your claim?"
Well, no, but considering all of the strange things that have happened to me since you've been around, I can hardly imagine anyone
#pgx319
else being responsible.
"Strange things?" The Book projects sensible skepticism. "I'm afraid I'm not sure what you mean by 'strange.' Unless you can tell me what strange event caused your transformation, I find no reason to be
#pgx320
held responsible."
You're obviously denying it. You know how it happened. It was the armor, wasn't it? You wanted me to enchant the armor, because you knew what the magic would do to me!
"How could an enchantment make armor do that?
#pgx321
Armor is designed for wearing, for protection. Enchantment is designed, of course, to make armor more protective... not make the armor transform its wearer into a skeleton. Do you want to know what I think? You over-exerted yourself. You put
#pgx322
on the armor too fast, and you couldn't handle the magic. Then, rather than take the armor off like Dan told you to, you slept with it. And guess where that led you? You would have died if you hadn't been infected."
I wouldn't have
#pgx323
bothered sleeping with the armor if I weren't so illogically attached to it. You've been manipulating the way I think, forcing me to wear the armor, knowing quite well what it would lead to.
"Since when have I made you think anything? You're thinking
#pgx324
right now of your own accord, aren't you? Otherwise, we wouldn't be arguing with each other."
There have been many times where you've manipulated my thoughts. You've given me nightmares, you've made me want to do things I've never wanted to
#pgx325
before, and you've made me feel emotions I otherwise wouldn't feel.
"How do you know those weren't really your thoughts you were thinking? Besides, if I really wanted to control your mind, and I had the power to do so, I wouldn't let you
#pgx326
think for yourself. I'd be human, my name would be Fristad, and you would not exist. Of course, I would never bother searching for a way to control your mind, because I value your friendship."
That's a bunch of garbage. You plant all sorts of ideas
#pgx327
in my head. Also, you're not my friend. Haven't we had this conversation before?
"Yes, and you're not bringing up any new points."
Perhaps we should stop arguing, then.
"I agree, Fristad. But first, let's get to the heart of the
#pgx328
matter: you are not human. As a skeleton, you have different obligations, but one obligation does not change: your loyalty to your own kind. You can't run around killing skeletons anymore, because you are one of them. You must cooperate with skeletons
#pgx329
in order to survive.
"Believe me, I'm as disappointed by the transformation as you are. However, we need to make the best of the situation that we are in. You must adapt your perception of morality and learn to befriend the creatures of the
#pgx330
night. Only then can our plans see fruition."
What plans?
"Only what you have been searching for all along."
Fine, then. Be as vague as you want. I'm done asking questions.
I put the book back into my pocket, and
#pgx331
look out towards the road again. An armored guard is walking towards town, but I'm not sure if he's the same guard, because he is carrying a sword. Yet, the guard's presence saddens me. I've destroyed one life to save another, a life
#pgx332
very similar to my own.
Should I shoot him, even though he's human, like I was not too long ago?
I feel my fingers curl around an arrow of unknown origin.
It is only fair. I killed a skeleton, so I might as well kill a human to balance the
#pgx333
scale.
What kind of screwed-up logic is that, justifying the death of one creature for the death of another? If I want to kill a man, then, Nether's fire, I'm going to do it!
I raise the arrow into position, looking down from the feathers
#pgx334
to the flint head, aligning them above the head of the guard as he moves. Fifty points. A rush of excitement causes me to let go of the arrow without thinking, and launch the arrow farther left than I wanted. I watch the arrow cut upward into the air,
#pgx335
then plummet downward towards the road. It lands perfectly within the neck of the guard. He stands still for a moment, grasping the foreign object now inside of him, before falling to the side, his sword tumbling onto the ground. I know it should be
#pgx336
wrong for me to think this, but... his death satisfies me.
Another guard runs out from the town, this one carrying a bow. He runs off the road towards me, pulling an arrow into position. He sees me; I have no choice but to kill him. I step off to the
#pgx337
side, startled, just as he fires and misses, and another arrow materializes in my hand. I push it against the bowstring, aim at the guard, and release. The guard tries to sidestep it, but grunts as the arrow is lodged at the base of his shoulder.
#pgx338
He throws his bow down and pulls out an iron sword from his belt. I grasp and launch another arrow at him, this one bouncing off of the thick center of his chestplate without harm. He continues to charge at me, raising his sword above his head. Just as
#pgx339
he is no more than a body's length from me, I fire a third arrow into him, this time into his neck. He staggers forward, crashing into me with the momentum of his charge. I step back to keep my balance. The guard lifts his sword weakly before collapsing
#pgx340
onto the earth.
I have never killed a man before this night, in part because I've never needed to, in part because it felt wrong to do so. Why is it, then, that it feels so right tonight? Is it because I'm a skeleton? Somehow, that doesn't seem like a
#pgx341
sufficient reason. If humans are supposed to be my enemies, then I should have felt like I was acting in self-defense by killing them, even when that first guard walking down the road didn't see me. His death wasn't exactly justified, yet it
#pgx342
made me feel a strange satisfaction which I have never felt with such great intensity: the satisfaction of power, the satisfaction of ending another player's turn in the game that is life... permanently.
I gaze upon the
#pgx343
fallen guard at my feet, his hand limply lying flat upon his sword. This is far more exciting than the dull life I've been living on the farm. Now that I have acquainted myself with this power, I must find a way to put it to good use. The only problem
#pgx344
is that my life has basically started over; I can no longer pursue the wants and desires that evaded me while I was human, because nobody will recognize me. Heck, I can't even have a nice meal or get a good night's sleep, two of the simplest of
#pgx345
pleasures. That's depressing. I think I get a vague idea of what that skeleton meant earlier by "irreconcilable differences."
What to do now?
Well, first of all, I should avoid buildings and roads, to reduce the likelihood of
#pgx346
getting ambushed. Secondly, I should search for others like me, to get an idea of what to do next.
I turn away from the road and begin to walk further into the field. There isn't a whole lot of method to this plan.
After walking for about a minute, I
#pgx347
begin to hear rapid footsteps coming from behind me, as if somebody is running in my direction. I squeeze an arrow from the air and slide it into the bowstring before turning around.
It's Dan in his grey robe, running hurriedly towards
#pgx348
me with a worried look on his face. He doesn't look like he wants to hurt me, but with everything that's happened tonight, I wish he'd just leave me alone.
He slows down from his sprint two meters away from me. He breathes heavily, then takes in a
#pgx349
deep, slow breath inward. "How's it going, buddy?"
How does Dan recognize me? Perhaps if I act more aggressively, he'll reconsider. I aim my bow and arrow at his head, and let out a threatening hiss. Somehow, this makes Dan grin.