CHRONICLE

BOOK TWO: CORREN

PART FOUR: REBIRTH

Chapter Thirty-One:

Hand of Fate

Present day

It was almost a disappointment to the priest- he expected ruins, like old Luminara, but instead, he found a field, overgrown with flowers.

There wasn't much left to indicate a once great and terrifying castle once stood on this high rock. Scattered cut stones lay about here and there, but most of the structure had fallen below. A few crumbling walls and cornerstones still stood, giving the priest an idea of what the layout was, at least.

Venturing onwards, he searched for more clues. Then he stumbled back with a cry as a stone gave way under his foot. A terrifically loud crackling filled the air. Falling flat on his back, he crawled backwards desperately as a whole swathe of tiled floor buckled and fell inwards, down and down and down. When the dust settled, he dared a peek over the edge.

Old lava flows glowed below, mostly cooled and hardened, but still red-hot. The stone around was warped and mutilated, all blackened and bubbled. Not by the heat, the priest realized, but by foul magic. The floor he nearly tread upon was turned spongy and soft by the same power, creating a deadly trap.

Then he saw the opening of a corridor down below. Perhaps if he could find a way underground, he might see more of the lost castle and its history. Creeping along, he searched for an entrance, and happened upon a trapdoor. It was mostly concealed in tall grass, the iron ring and hinges badly rusted. With effort, he hauled it open, the hinges squealing. Then he peered down. There was a wooden ladder, but he didn't trust that.

Perhaps if he could come back with a fresh rope...

Corren pulled back on the reins, halting his horse. The smell of ice flooded the air, and he looked up.

Snow was beginning to fall. He realized with a start that the seasons had changed over his journey- it had been nearly a half-year since the murder of his mentor.

Shivering, he pulled his cloak closer around him. For a brief moment, he remembered having seen snow before- long ago, when he was a small child living in the stone walls and gilded doorways of a castle. There had been snow then, too, slowly piling up in the garden where is mother grew roses...

His horse snorted and pawed the earth with a hoof. She wasn't appreciating the cold, either.

"Hup!" he ordered, squeezing with his calves. His horse sprang back into motion, taking a rolling canter along the winding path through the hills.

He had been riding through most of the night, and into a dreary, snowing dawn. The last village he had encountered was already overrun by zombies by the time he got there, and no one was spared. The fresh dead were starting to rise with the old, leaving him no safe place to stop. He knew he had to find a place to camp, and soon. Perhaps the snow-covered plains were a less easy place for monsters to rise.

Cresting a hill, he slowed his horse, spotting a dark opening in the hillside below. Dismounting, he led his horse at a walking pace towards the entrance. Sure enough, it was a cave, just big enough to admit him and his steed.

"Wait here," he said to the horse, pulling a few torches from the saddlebags. With the scrape of steel on flint, he lit each, carrying the light into the cave.

It was a shallow one, without any twists or turns save a sharp bend near the entrance. That would guard well against the wind, he thought. Placing the torches, he coaxed his horse into the cave. Then he put out some oats, letting her eat as he set up his camp.

A fire inside a cave wouldn't do, he decided. Torches were one thing, but a campfire would lead to so much smoke they would smother. Instead, he went back out to the entrance and lit a fire a few paces away, shielding it behind a few large stones. He pulled smaller chunks of granite free of the snow and piled them near the flames. Snow hissed as it melted and evaporated.

Before long, the stones were beautifully hot, and would remain so for some time. Carefully pulling them free, he rolled them along into the cave with a stick, cursing as he tried to kick one and felt the heat through his boot. Then he went back to the fire and scooped up the ashes, taking them back in and mounding them so that the stones were insulated. Steam rose lazily from the resulting pile, and the cave grew pleasantly warm.

His horse whuffled contentedly, and her nose drooped as she closed her eyes. Satisfied, Corren rolled up in his cloak, curling near to the warming pile. His exhaustion overtook him, and he fell asleep.

Things were falling into place at last.

Notch stood outside the cave, examining the half-concealed human and horse tracks leading inside, and the cold and buried remains of a campfire.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped out of the physical, becoming a phantom that floated into the cave. As he went, he did away with his appearance, taking on the likeness of his brother. He was careful to include every detail- the glowing eyes, tattered clothes, and ragged voice. And the scars he had seen on his brother, the last time he saw him.

In the perfect form of Herobrine, Notch stepped into Corren's sleeping mind.

The dreams were confused, filled with images of villagers of his adopted home turning zombie, as Corren desperately battled them back. His mentor was trapped halfway through the Nether portal, and a zombie pigman was poised to destroy the portal's frame.

Brother mine, if you have any conscious will left, come now. I will be your avatar.

For a moment, he felt nothing but terrifying silence. Then something stirred in his mind. A thread of familiarity, torn and weak, but there. Slowly, he felt his brother's mind brush with his own.

Well met, Notch, his brother said wearily. I hope you have your defenses up. If the Shadow catches me dallying about in dreams, the consequences will be severe.

Fear not, Notch replied. This is a safe world. Take your time.

Herobrine seemed to startle. I see you divined my desperate plan, he said. When did you figure it out?

When I watched you drag the Thing back with you. You would not ask a promise of me that I could not keep.

Herobrine was silent for a moment. Let me speak with the boy.

Of course.

"A moment, if you will," Notch said, letting Herobrine's consciousness overtake his own. The dream froze in place. Corren snapped into clarity, looking around. His confusion was plain to see on his face. Then he recognized the one standing before him.

"Herobrine!" he snapped.

The god smiled. "You are halfway right."

"What do you mean?" Corren demanded, raising his sword between him and the fallen god.

"I am the shadow of Herobrine," he replied. "What remains of me is divided between my enemies." He strolled down the alley between two houses, examining the explosions frozen in place. A wall was stopped halfway between resting and getting blown off into the street by a force within. "You are very close to your goal, young prince."

Corren narrowed his eyes. "I'm coming for you," he warned.

Herobrine nodded. "As you were raised to, no doubt." He paused, his gaze lingering on the sword Corren held. "But there is something you should know." His fingertips reached up, brushing the flat of the blade.

Corren swung wildly, trying to decapitate Herobrine. But to his surprise, there was nothing there. He felt a hard blow to his back, one that knocked him clean off his feet.

"You must do better," Herobrine admonished. "I will not be easy to kill."

Corren rolled onto his back, and saw Herobrine approaching him with a fireball in hand. The god smiled as he flicked the fireball at him.

With a cry, Corren rolled away, and the ground exploded where he was, knocking the breath out of him. Flipping to his feet, he charged, thrusting for Herobrine's chest.

But the god simply sidestepped, and his foot swept into Corren's ankles, bringing him down.

But Corren was quicker this time. He drove his sword into Herobrine's leg as he fell- but the blade passed easily through nothing. Herobrine chuckled.

"Better," he said. "Perhaps there is hope for you."

Grasping Corren's collar, he hauled the young man to his feet, looking him in the eye.

"Do not give me the chance to hit you with magic," he said. "I have but a few weaknesses. When you get the chance," He grabbed Corren's sword by the blade, placing the tip over his chest, "do not hesitate. That will cost you your life."

Then he released the boy, turning away and walking back out of the dream-village.

"Wait!" Corren called, running after him. "Why are you here?"

Herobrine turned around, and sighed. "Because it is not me you will face in that castle, boy." His glowing eyes flashed murderously. "It may be my body, but your battle will be against the one who stole my soul from me."

With a bow, he began to disintegrate, vanishing from the dream.

"Notch's blessings are on you," he said in farewell. "Once you have done the deed, do not linger. The gods have business to finish afterwards."

Corren awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright. The stones and ashes had gone cold, and the torches had cone out. His horse had come to lay down behind him, sharing in the warmth. A reddish light filled the cave- the sunset, reflected in by the snow outside.

Struggling out of his cloak, Corren shivered as the cold air hit his bare arms. He pulled his sword from its sheath, examining the glittering diamond blade. He could still hear Herobrine in his head, and almost see the glowing eyes in the reflection.

It is not me you will face in that castle, boy.

He wondered suddenly what that meant for his past. He was taught simply that Herobrine was the enemy, the one destroying the world. But what if it wasn't so simple? What if there were more factors to it?

Heart aching, Corren longed to speak with his late mentor. Perhaps he would have known the answer to this riddle.

The moon was high when he rode out, to the edge of the snowy plain to where the snow melted and gave way to a plain of ash. The air grew smoky and warm, and overhead, the sky faded from dark and star-studded to a malignant red. The moon shone down, haloed in fiery hues.

It wasn't long before he saw the castle on the horizon, standing atop a craggy rock rising from a lake of lava. A single bridge led inside, built of obsidian and stone bricks. The footing looked uncertain, he decided. Dismounting, he led his horse by the reins, picking his way around piles of broken stone and volcanic glass. When he peered over the edge, roiling heat baked his face from the molten rock below.

Then his horse shied, pulling back and yanking at his arm. He quickly backpedaled, trusting the animal's instincts.

The bridge shuddered.

Dropping the reins, Corren drew his sword, looking for the source of the disturbance. Then he saw one of the piles of obsidian shuddering and rising, pulling free of the bridge.

Glowing lava eyes glared down at him as the golem rose to full height. Gripping his sword hilt, he weighed his options. If he tried to bolt across, there was a small chance he could make it to the other side.

Or, he could fight.

The golem's fist rose in the air, and Corren darted to the side, climbing up a broken support. Obsidian thundered on stone, and he heard the bridge buckle. Hooves rang as his horse fled to safety.

Good girl, he thought, watching for his chance. When the golem began to turn its head, he leaped, landing on the creature's shoulder. The heat from its eyes was miserable, making sweat spring up along his skin. Shielding his eyes, he dodged its hand that tried to brush him off and kept moving.

Clinging to the golem's nose, he swung his sword. The diamond blade cleaved into the obsidian, sending chunks flying off and lava draining out of the golem's eye socket. It roared, deafening Corren, and began to shake its head wildly.

Corren lost his grip, and landed hard down on the bridge, jarring his legs and falling into a roll.

The golem, blinded and enraged, swung at empty air and spun itself awry, stomping out into the lava lake. Panting, Corren dragged himself to his feet. Putting his fingers to his mouth, he whistled sharply. His horse trotted up, whinnying with fear.

Swinging himself up, he urged her into a gallop, heedless of the dangers of the bridge.

He would face Herobrine before the moon set.

Huntress here-

This is the first update since my summer job ended- I was working at a camp, where access to the internet is basically nonexistant. We are within a handful of chapters of the ending of Chronicle. My outlines say three, but it will likelier be a few more, depending on how the prose goes.

This story has been years in the making, and it is at last coming to a close. Just reading back over the early chapters is a journey- I've changed as a writer since then.

Let me know your thoughts.

Huntress Out.