Survivor: Definitely Not Minecraft

In the morning, as usual, there was no sign of the mobs, phantoms or otherwise. Bill was not waiting for me in the remaining shadows. If he was getting smarter, he’d probably realized that his jump scare hadn’t worked the first time and would be even less effective now that I was on the lookout for him trying something like that again. At this rate, I was going to have to worry about him picking up an ax and hacking his way into my shelter at night.

On the bright side, however, my basket had trapped a fish. It was a couple of pounds at least; silver, slippery, and not corrupted by space zombies at all, as far as I could tell. Gutting it and scraping the scales was not my idea of a good time, but I was so excited to have meat that it didn’t matter.

Fish is not my favorite, but it was the most satisfying early lunch that I have ever had. It was hot, half scorched, unseasoned, and gone all too soon. While waiting for it to cook, I’d done some more perimeter checks and knocked down the remaining trees that were within fifty paces of my shelter.

There were thicker woods a mile to the north, and I had to look at any shaded area as being a potential hiding spot for leftover monsters. When I went harvesting, I was going to have to be more mindful of my surroundings than I had been in the past.

Having fish as a protein source was fantastic, but hunger wasn’t as big of an issue as I would have thought it would be. Working would get my stomach growling, but half a biscuit, a few nuts, and I was full.

There were shamblers in the cells. They didn’t seem to be able to force their way through fencing, so using fences as ersatz cell bars made it much easier to get at them with my sword. They pressed themselves against the bars, gnashing their teeth and stretching their tentacles, which I could lop off at leisure.

Dead shamblers smelled bad, but I had gone nose-blind to it. That suggested something unpleasant about my own aroma, so after coming topside and checking my fish trap the next morning, I jumped in the river and scrubbed myself with sand until my skin was raw. It wasn’t the first time in my life that I’d slacked in the personal hygiene department, and now that I was interacting with other humans, I needed to monitor that sort of thing.

Self-care is an important yardstick for mental health. Either too much or too little, and you know something is wrong. Too little and you're depressed. Too much and you're a narcissist or have an anxiety disorder or OCD or something. If Erihseht was open to trade, I might get my hands on some soap.

As I got out of the water, I saw two riders coming upriver and rushed to get my zombie pants back on. The bank of the river was overrun with tall grasses, most of which had sprung up since my arrival, which effectively preserved my modesty. Not that they hadn’t already seen me naked.

“Hail,” Gastard said. He didn’t look pleased to see me, which I took as a sign he was only here as an escort for Esmelda. They both dismounted, and she took a keen look at my shelter.

“You built this in a day?” She asked.

“That’s my superpower,” I said. “It’s not telekinesis, but I’ll take it.”

She frowned. “Telekinesis? I’m not familiar with that word.”

“It’s being able to move stuff with your mind,” I said. How much of the English language had been translated into this world, anyway? If the source was only Kevin and other transmigrators like us, there were probably a lot of words and concepts that wouldn’t be part of the vernacular.

“If you could do that,” she said, “you would be a demon. So I am glad you cannot.”

“Demon?” I imagined a red guy with a pitchfork. “Do you have to deal with a lot of those?”

She shook her head. “Thankfully not. They are powerful servants of the Shadow. I know of them only from their mention in the Shui. But it is written that they are sorcerers who can manipulate objects with a gesture or a word.”

Noted. “Well, I’ll stick to cutting down trees, then. Did Gastard tell you about the monsters appearing at night? What did the mayor have to say about me staying here?”

“I told them everything,” Gastard said, as if it was an indictment.

Esmelda nodded. “My father and Pastor Tipple have discussed it, and they agree you can remain here, but we ask that you do not enter the village unaccompanied, or come any closer than this point after night falls.”

“So they believe me?”

“For now,” Gastard said. “You are still a stranger.”

“I’m fine with that,” I said. “I’m still figuring out how to deal with the monsters myself, and I don’t want to put you in any danger. It’s not just the zombies anymore. There is a flying thing. Not that big, but it was loud. They were screaming all night.”

Gastard’s hand went to the hilt of his sword, and Esmelda’s eyes widened.

“Kilahoro,” she said. “Is that all you have seen? Gastard said it was only the koroshai that attacked the night he stayed with you.”

“That’s all,” I said. “I didn’t catch one, so I can’t tell you much about them. Do you know what they are? Or why these things keep appearing? Are there other monsters I should be worried about?”

“There are other monsters,” Esmelda said, pensive. “You have a power like that of the Dark Lord, and the beasts of Bedlam are said to multiply around him as well. No one like you has come to us since the lillits left Dargoth.” She bit her lip. “I don’t know how we can help you, or why you are here. What did the goddess tell you?”

“Not a lot,” I said, “but I have this.”

I tapped my elder sign, and Gastard took a step back as the blue screen appeared. Esmelda was less wary, and she came closer to examine the display. I switched the screen over to the tab that included my only official quest.

“Kevin,” she read. “That is all you have?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty silly. But given the context, I guess I’m here to do something about your Dark Lord.”

“Then you truly are one of her heroes,” she said. “Neither the Dark Lord nor his demons have attacked the Free Kingdoms in a century, at least. When I dreamed of fire and shadow, I thought it meant he was coming, but we found you instead, and I know the goddess would not send you to us without a reason.”

“I’m not sure how much help I would be right now,” I said. “I can barely deal with my own monsters.”

She looked past me to the tree farm. There were already hickory sprouts shooting up in a row. “I think there is more to you than that. We have seeds, if you still need them.”

“Yes, please.”

She handed me a sack filled with small, individual packets of seeds.

“What are these?”

“Wheat, cabbage, carrots, and beats.” Except for the cabbage, those were all standard Minecraft vegetables.

“That’s fantastic. I can get these planted today. Is there anything I can do for you in return?”

“I’ll have to think about that,” she said, smiling slightly. “For now, keep an eye on the east. Dargoth is on the other side of those mountains, and if the Dark Lord moves, it will be from there.”

“I will,” I said, “thank you.”

“Is there anything else you need?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Rocks. Are there any big ones around here, or do I need to walk to the mountains?”

“Rocks?” She blinked. “What are you going to do with rocks?”

I gestured to the shelter. “Everything I have is made of grass and wood. I can craft rocks the same way I do those, but I don’t have a good supply right now, and I want to upgrade my tools.”

“Can you show me?”

“Take care,” Gastard said, stepping closer. His hand was still on his sword hilt, and I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, unless it was a warning for Esmelda not to get too friendly with me.

I brought them over to my table and sorted through the coins in my pack until I had what I needed for a new pick.

“So this is what I do.” I took the handful, three logs and two sticks, lined them up in the crafting grid, and pulled the lever. The pick appeared, and Esmelda gasped.

“A miracle,” she said.

Gastard grunted. “A simple tool.”

“Yeah, well, that’s how it works. I pick stuff up and it turns into coins, and then I can combine them into stuff. That’s how I made everything I have. I’d like to upgrade to stone, because the wooden stuff breaks too easily.”

“There is no quarry near Erihseht,” Esmelda said, “but I can take you to a stone.”

I glanced up at the sun. There was still plenty of time before we would have to worry about spawns. “Is it near here?”

“Perhaps a mile,” she said, still looking at the worktable. “A boulder. Will you be able to break it down?”

“Should be.”

“We will show you,” Gastard said, “and then we will part ways.”

“Works for me.”

“Could I try to do what you did?” Esmelda asked.

It took me a moment to realize what she meant. Could other people use my worktable to fabricate goods in my absence? If they could, it would be a manufacturing revolution, to be sure.

“You can try,” I said, sorting out a few more coins. You could never have too many picks.

Esmelda approached the worktable warily, glancing underneath as if she was looking for the machinery that made it function.

“All you do is pull the lever?” She asked.

Gastard grumbled in disapproval. “Better to leave magic to the sorcerers,” he said.

Esmelda tugged on the lever, and there was a click as it turned down, but there was no transformation, and the coins remained in their slots. Her face dropped in disappointment, but Gastard looked relieved.

“Sorry,” I said, “I guess it's a hero thing.”

********

I grabbed my pick and my hoe, and was soon trotting alongside the horses as Gastard and Esmelda led me to the promised supply of rock. Not that I planned on doing any gardening, but the hoe was my only stone tool, and I was proud of it.

"You should be careful around here," I said. “A zombie surprised me yesterday. He was hiding in the shadows beside my house. They can stick around if the sunlight doesn't hit them directly."

"Pastor Tipple said that might happen," Esmelda's long brown hair was pulled back from her face, held in place by a silver comb and a ribbon. The comb was obviously valuable. Being the mayor's daughter would come with having nice things, assuming Erihseht was prosperous. Her relationship to Boffin was likely also why she was the one coming out here as a liaison. "The creatures of Bedlam cannot stand the touch of light. But the village watch has been informed that there may be koroshai lurking in the region."

"I'm sorry," I said. "I wish I knew how to stop it." Actually, there might be a way. Fire kept them from spawning in a small area. If I could figure out how much of a radius my curse encompassed, I could potentially light the entire space and stop the spawns completely.

"I know I'm asking you for a lot," I said, "but do you think you could bring me some coal?"

"Does your wood not burn?" Gastard said, acidly.

"I think I can use it to make torches," I said. "They might work better than the firepit I use now to discourage spawns."

"Coal for torches?" Esmelda said. "That is a strange request."

"Yeah, it has to do with my Sys—my gift. The combinations I use to make tools don't always make sense, but they work." In theory, I could get as much charcoal as I wanted after crafting a furnace with all this wonderful granite. But I wouldn't be sure until I tried, and it didn't hurt to ask.

"I'm sure there is a bag we could spare at the manor."

We veered off from the river about a half mile from base and headed for the trees. The earth was soft beneath my boots, and the fresh scents of the woods were a pleasant change of pace from the dank smell that lingered around my shelter. Esmelda was riding between me and Gastard, and everyone kept an eye out for stray monsters as we entered the canopy.

Though there were shadows, there were no stretches of darkness around us that could have hid an errant zombie. In the early morning or late evening, a mob might have avoided the sun here. But with the sun high and streaming through the leaves, they would have had to have been curled up under a bush to avoid being fried. Squirrels chattered among the boughs, and birds sang. If there had been leftover monsters, I doubted the local fauna would be so relaxed

“There,” Gastard said, though it was hardly necessary. An outcropping of rock the size of a house rose like a frozen wave among the trees ahead of us. Moss hung in a curtain from the lip of the stone, and the darkness was thick beneath.

“There might be something under there,” I said, and Gastard drew his sword. The forest was quieter here.

He rode forward and slashed through the moss, allowing light to encroach on the domain of the shadow. As if on cue, two shapes winged out of the space, banking to either side of the warrior. His sword cut through the air, narrowly missing a fleshy wing.

They did look like manta rays, only with more complicated mouth parts and bony ridges along their wings. The way they moved seemed more like swimming than flying, and it was accompanied by an eerie whistle.

They arced around Gastard, their flight curving in a path that would end on Esmelda. I moved, intending to pull her down off of her pony, but she was already getting off. Her riding dress had a slit on one side that allowed her to sit astride her mount. She lifted one leg over her saddle and hopped down in what would have been a smooth motion, except that I had put myself in her way, so she fell into my arms.

The phantoms swooped overhead, steam already rising from their gray-blue skin as the light punished them. Esmelda and I looked into each other's eyes, equally flummoxed by the turn of events. I had caught her reflexively, and for a bare second, I felt her lithe form pressed against mine before I let her go.

“Sorry,” I said. Fortunately, we were too busy being attacked by monsters to address it any further. My tools were at my hips, suspended by a rope belt, and I grabbed the stone hoe to face off with the phantoms as they banked back around.

Their flights took them on mirrored paths, and Gastard kicked his horse into a canter to meet one of them. The phantoms had no trouble navigating the trees, spinning and flipping as it suited them, completely unaware of the limitations of aerodynamics.

They rose past the canopy, which proved to be a mistake. The sunlight battered them with the weight of a waterfall, and forced them to dive. The whistling rose to a shriek, and Gastard caught the first with his sword, slicing it open from its multi-part mouth to its thin, whiplike tail.

The other came for me. I raised my hoe over my head and brought it down on the thing's eyeless face as it swam within reach. The stone bit into its flesh, and it slammed into my chest, taking me off of my feet. The shaft of my tool smacked me in the chin, knocked out of my hands. It stung, but only cost me half a heart.

The phantom’s wings wrapped around me, and its tail stabbed down into the earth beside my leg. My arms were free, and I grabbed its tail as it whipped up toward my neck. The appendage ended on a bone spike, which hovered inches from my skin. I was strong enough to hold it back, but couldn’t do much else.

Then it burst into flames. White-gold fire, warm, but not painful. Or at least, not painful to me. The phantom wasn’t enjoying the experience. It released me, floating up off of my body. But I still had its tail. Rolling onto my side, I held on with both hands and refused to let go. It was like flying a nightmare kite.

It jerked back and forth, still on fire, and swiftly weakening. A few seconds later, it floated to the ground like a dead leaf and shriveled into ashes. I stood up, looking at the ash in my hands that had been its tail. The flakes continued to break down, evaporating into a gray mist, and then nothing.

Esmelda and Gastard were watching me with their mouths open. A knife hung loosely in her hand.

“So anyway,” I said, “you guys want to see me harvest some rock?”