CHRONICLE

BOOK TWO: CORREN

PART FOUR: REBIRTH

Chapter Twenty-Five:

Lines In The Ashes

"Again!"

Corren's arms trembled as he lifted the weighted practice sword, raising it to ready position once again. Sweat poured off his limbs. With a wild cry, he rushed at his mentor, swinging the wooden blade.

Only for it to be smashed aside once again, throwing him off balance. He tried to do as he was taught, to recover and bring his sword up into the upper defensive position, but he was too slow, and his teacher's stave rapped his shoulder. Not hard, but enough to sting.

He dropped his practice sword in frustration.

"The pattern is wrong," he exclaimed, his voice cracking once again. But by this point, he was beyond caring. "It takes too long to get the blade around."

"Is the pattern slow, or is it you?" the mentor asked, calm as ever. Nothing fazed him.

"If you keep throwing me like that, I can't do anything with this piece of firewood," he complained, picking up a cloth hanging from the fence to dry off his face and neck. Wiping his hands, he picked up the sword again. "What am I doing wrong?"

"Do you remember what I told you about moving your feet?"

Corren groaned, knowing where this was going. "I know. Always remember where my feet go, the rest follows. I know. But I can't focus on two things at once."

The mentor's smile warned him an instant before the attack came, an overhead swing with the stave. Corren yelped, bringing his sword over his head just in time. The stave cracked into the wooden blade and forced Corren to bend his knees as he struggled to keep his balance.

"Now what do you do?" his mentor asked.

"I do this-" Corren began, trying to throw the stave off his sword so he could attack in return. His mentor was too quick- he gave him a quick tap to the top of the head for his trouble.

"No," he chuckled. "Go back. Let me show you."

Corren sighed and went back to the position he was in, holding the sword over his head, one hand on the hilt, the other holding the flat of the blade. His mentor held the stave down with a steady pressure, preventing him from moving the sword.

"Now step forward and to the side. No, other direction."

Corren did as told, moving forward and sideways, and suddenly he was able to twist around, forcing his mentor's stave to the ground with his blade on top, holding it down. His eyebrows went up and he mouthed an "Ohh..."

"Do you understand now?" his mentor asked. Corren nodded.

"Good. Now- again!"

Notch knew he could not focus all his attentions keeping his young champion safe. He was growing steadily, already in his teens and already showing glimpses of the man he would become.

But something had caught his attention in the ravaged Aether.

All the other gods were on the front, combining their powers to keep the enemy out of the Overworld and whatever else of creation they could save. They were trusting him, the only remaining creator, to find a solution to get them out of the current stalemate. He knew what he had in mind was risky.

But now there was another factor to consider.

He remembered the day he realized he had been tricked when he stripped Herobrine of his powers. His grief that day had nearly driven him from reason, and only the enemy's direct assault had snapped him out of it. That day, Terra was slain, and with her, every human being in the Overworld save his champion. Laskig, god of dreams, was also supposedly killed.

But now, he wasn't so sure. He found a trace of something in the scorched underbelly of the Aether that gave him pause.

He would have missed it if he wasn't looking for it. He was searching for how the enemy had made its way into the home of the gods, and instead he had found this- a tiny tear in reality, hastily stitched back together. He could already see where it lead- the End. He dared not follow it, and leave a fresh opening for the enemy to climb through. But he found it curious that something so small should be there, as if something smaller than the enemy had used it not to break in, but to escape.

The realization nearly threw Notch from his feet, and he flew back from the trace, fists clenched.

Laskig is alive!

The traitor responsible for it all was still at large.

Summoning his full might, Notch called to the gods.

He had a new plan, one that just might turn the tables once and for all.

Laskig knew nothing of the creator's discovery. He was far too busy avoiding the notice of the Thing at the moment.

He knew he had bitten off more than he could chew after the battle that nearly annihilated his home. The Thing was far more powerful than he had ever anticipated. He thought that if the creators could bind it away, then so could he- especially after taking in the lesser creator's power.

He had never been more wrong.

Now he surveyed what had become his new refuge, a world of eternal fires and lava. The Thing had no presence here. Perhaps it didn't know this plane existed. Perhaps it didn't care. Perhaps even, and Laskig hardly dared to hope, the Thing was unable to reach this place.

But it made more sense to think of it this way- why would even a creature as filled with hate as the Thing bother with a hell dimension?

He needed a new plan.

Fortunately, he knew better how to put a creator's powers to use. He could raise an army of his own now.

Turning his burning eyes to the bare rock, he got to work. Slowly, shapes began to bubble out of the surface. Limbs broke free- skeletal fingers, and clawed feet. Tangled golden limbs with flames within, hideous, twisted creatures suited to the climate of the Nether.

Herobrine had his army of the night- fine.

Laskig would have his army of Hell.

Good day my readers- Hunt- I mean, Raconteuse here.

Oh boy, my new readers are going to be so confused about my name change.

Let's stick with Huntress for now, with these old Minecraft stories.

So. That mystery novel that was taking up all my time? It's finished. Not drafted, not being revised- finished. I'm working on some query letters to send to some agents along with the manuscript. It's time to begin the battle to seeing this thing in print.

What this means for you? I'm free to write out the remainder of Chronicle.

Our favorite dream god that we all so love to hate is still with us and is back in action.

This is going to get interesting.

Catch you next chapter!

-Amanda Layne Raconteuse the Huntress

(hah hah hah hah... nope. That's painful to read. We're definitely staying with just Huntress from now on.)