Chapter 19
Books Make the World Bigger

My second expedition into the mineshaft ended almost as quickly as it started. I must have been down there for only a few minutes before I found another one of those minecarts. You don't need to hear about the couple of zombies on the way. Moan, chop, poof—you get it.

What matters is what I found in the minecart's chest. And I don't mean the few pinches of redstone, or the loaf of bread that still tasted fresh after, what, a thousand years?

What sent me racing back up to the surface were the two collections of seeds. Neither looked anything like the standard, bright green wheat seeds I'd gotten so used to. The first bunch were small and black, while the seeds in the other bunch were lighter and just a little bit bigger.

In no time I was back at my garden, digging out whole new rows and scraping off the first square with my hoe. No sooner had they both gone in than I saw how different they'd be.

Wheat, even carrots, both came up in multiple shoots. Not these. Both had just one thick, green seedling.

It almost made me laugh to think that, a few months ago, I would have spent days just watching and waiting. Not now. Not with my stockpile of skeleton bone meal.

I sprinkled three pinches on the first one and watched the little sprout rise into a brownish-green, waist-high plant. It didn't have any leaves, or fruit, or anything that I could harvest. And so, since I had two more seeds in reserve, I tried harvesting the stem itself.

Maybe this is some whole new kind of food, I thought. Something that isn't just a squarish version of what I found in my world. Or maybe it is something I would recognize, but only after I—

My musings ended when a couple punches completely obliterated the root.

"Bing-bang-boom," I said sarcastically, and began the process of replanting and refertilizing the next handful of seeds.

This time, however, I waited patiently. I paced a little, checked on the other garden crops, harvested some wheat and carrots, and then came back to the same, stubborn little plant.

"Okay, fine," I told it. "I'm gonna go repair my armor or something. And when I get back, maybe I'll bring Moo and see if you look good to her."

As if to answer, the shrub or vine or whatever it was suddenly bent on its side, burdened with a giant, square, light-and-dark-green-striped fruit. "Now, that's a little more like it," I said, punching up the suspiciously familiar cube.

As soon as it was in my hand, the fruit separated into six slices. Inside its thick, green crust was a crunchy, pink, instantly recognizable flesh. If you've never had watermelon before, you do not know what you're missing.

"Mm-mm-mm," I groaned between bites, psyched to have yet another addition to my growing banquet.

"How about you?" I asked the other mystery vine between bites. "Whatchoo got?"

What I got, at least for the moment, was nothing. "Suit yourself," I told it. "We'll talk when I get back."

Before returning to the mineshaft, I replanted the other watermelon seeds. Leaving a long row of four vines and one row of the yet-to-be-identified stem, I headed back down with dreams of new discoveries.

This time, however, my findings weren't completely positive.

I was heading down the tunnel past the second looted minecart when three more arrows slammed into my hip.

"Again!?" I yelped, turning to confront another trio of skeletons. This time, instead of trying to ambush my attackers, I pulled back around the corner and sealed up the space between support beams with extra cobblestone.

"We're not done," I said, hatching a new plan.

Since mining had become second nature, I thought about digging around to the other side, breaking out behind them, and using the element of surprise to snag another load of clacking fertilizer.

It turned out to be a total surprise, but not for them. I didn't get very far before breaking through into a cobblestone chamber and coming face-to-fleshless-face with another pair of skeletons. There was no time for well-rehearsed sword-and-shield combat, no time to do anything except rush right past my attackers and seal the room's proper entrance before their three buddies could arrive. Taking a few not-so-fun arrows in the back, I threw down some torches, then threw down with the clicking killers.

Gathering up their remains, I gawked at the bizarre chamber I'd stumbled into. A strange little fire, encased in a strange little cage, burned in the center of the room. It threw no light or heat, and if I hadn't been so distracted by the storage chests behind it, I might have noticed the little object twirling within the flames.

But I went to the chests first and, uttering an exultant "Score," I reached out to open them. "OW!" I belted, as an arrow struck me between the shoulder blades.

Swinging as I spun, I caught a skeleton standing right behind me. "What the…" I began, wondering how one could have followed me through my tunnel. How else could one have gotten in, right?

No sooner had I raised my shield than an arrow THOCKED off its surface, and then, to my happy astonishment, ricocheted into the skeleton's chest.

"Aw, will ya look at that," I said, realizing I now had a new combat tactic. If you've never tried a Bonehead Bounce, as I now call it, know that it takes a lot of skill. First, you've gotta get real close. Second, you've gotta aim your shield just right. But when you do, there's nothing more fun than watching a shooter shoot itself. I completely forgot to wonder how the poor sap had appeared in the room with me.

Because that's exactly what happened. It just appeared. I was still ping-ponging arrows back to the first archer—and coming up with all kinds of witty comments after each shot, I might add—when suddenly a second archer poofed right into existence next to it.

And that's when things got serious. Bonehead Bounces only work with one shooter, as I quickly, and painfully, learned. Taking arrows in the shoulder, chest, and leg, I lowered my shield long enough for Flash's diamond blade to claim two of its three victims.

The battle's third and final kill was the spawner. That's what I call the caged fire sitting in the middle of the room.

I should have suspected that this weird little device was a monster factory. I should have noticed that the thing spinning in the flames was a miniature skeleton. "Idiot," I said aloud, trying not to beat up on myself. Don't dwell on your mistakes, learn from them.

Unfortunately in this scenario, what I'd now learned made me feel even worse. I had a new threat to deal with, a curveball that totally demolished my ironclad theory of mobs only spawning in darkness. If there were more of these monster factories around, churning out skeletons and zombies and squads of silent, explosive creepers…

It was enough to make me want to seal up the room, the mineshaft, and turn my back on this whole new underground realm.

Right after I loot these last two chests.

At first I found a gray, thin disc about the size of my hand. Too bad there's nothing to play it on, I thought, opening the second chest.

"A book!"

And not just any book, a manual. A technical instruction guide!

Up until that moment, my self-education had crawled like a snail. Observation, experimentation, and lucky, or sometimes dangerous, accidents, had been my process. No more. Within those delicate pages I found ready-made teachings just waiting to be absorbed. Opening the leather-bound volume felt like trying on a pair of wings, and reading its contents made my mind soar!

Without questioning why the words were written in my language—or, for that matter, what my language actually was—I flew back up to the surface, into my house, and into this new tome's teachings.

"I found a book!" I shouted to my friends, stepping out onto the front porch of my house. I read aloud from The Book of Music and taught my animal pals how to make both a jukebox to play the record I'd found, and note blocks to compose original tunes.

Okay, so maybe it wasn't the most useful information. The music didn't really deserve the name. I don't know what my tastes were back home, but this sterile, repetitive noise was about as pleasing as zombie flesh.

And as far as constructing note blocks, well, guess I could have turned my old bunker into a studio. But why do that now when there might be other books, with more useful knowledge, just waiting for me down there?

That's why I made another beeline for the mineshaft, my steps giddy with dreams of mental wealth. Given my first three forays, I think I expected to just trip over a library. That didn't happen, of course, but after exploring a few new tunnels, I turned a corner and let out a long, echoing "whoa…"

The shaft opened onto a cavern that made the first natural canyon seem like a ditch. It wasn't only vast, it was developed! Mineshafts led everywhere, with wooden bridges crisscrossing the open air. I could hear the rush of several waterfalls and see the glimmer of a few distant torches, as well as the glow of a faraway lava pond.

I could also see another light, which turned out to be a pair of thin purple eyes. The creature was tall, at least twice my height, and so black I almost missed it. It was down at the bottom of the canyon, above the bridge. Not the easiest shot to make, but with gravity on my side…

I drew my bow, lined up my shot, then paused.

Just because someone looks like you doesn't automatically make them a friend.

Remembering that old lesson mirrored a new one.

And just because someone doesn't look like you doesn't automatically make them an enemy.

For all I knew, this place was this creature's home, and it might have more answers than all the books I might find.

"Risk and reward," I said, lowering my bow and starting down to the bottom of the chasm. Ironically, that's when I found another chest, with a new book entitled Wildlife. I didn't read it right then, although I really wish I had.

Shoving the volume into my pack, I crept to within a dozen blocks of the tall dark stranger. I thought I was being safe, since I was far enough away to get off a few arrows before it reached me. I also thought, since it hadn't yet turned in my direction like a regular mob, that maybe it didn't see me as a threat.

Never assume anything. But I did.

"Hello," I called, hands resting on my bow. It didn't turn. I could see something in its long, thin arms: a block of stone?

"Hello?" I called again. No response.

I was about to step closer when the creature just happened to turn in my direction. Our eyes met.

"GHAAA!"

A chilling rasp. Blinding speed. And I really mean blinding! One minute it was far away and the next, WHOOSH, right in my face, knocking me back, bending armor and cracking ribs.

The breath rushed out of my lungs and my bow flew from my hand.

"GHAAA!" it rasped again with another near-fatal blow.

There wasn't time to do anything but bolt. I tore across the chasm floor, aiming for the nearest light. A torch at a nearby mineshaft.

Another blow, another raspy scream, and I was through. Nearly dead, and shaken to the core, but saved by the ceiling crossbeam that wouldn't let the tall super-beast enter.

Dazed and confounded, I asked, "What did I say? What did I do?"

"GHAAA," the being answered, butting up against the beam.

"This?" I asked, holding up the book. "Did I steal your book?"

"GHAAAA!"

"Here," I said, dropping the book as close to it as I could. "Take it!"

But it didn't take the book, or calm down.

"What then?" I asked, stretching out to retrieve the manual. "What's the problem?" And as I backed away, I asked, "What are you?"

"They're called Endermen," I told Moo when I made it back up to the surface, holding up the Wildlife guide. "But it doesn't explain much," I continued. "Except that they're neutral."

"Moo," replied Moo, supping on grass while I snacked on a pumpkin pie. Oh yeah, I found another book on the way back up, and this one was entitled Food. Turns out the mystery vine produced pumpkins, and the third book showed me what to do with them.

"I'm not s'posed to look them in the eye," I continued between bites of sweet pumpkiny goodness. "That's apparently what set it off. Some kind of custom that I didn't follow, maybe? And what I thought was it running real fast was actually teleporting."

Reading on, I said, "There's more here I don't understand about endermites and enderpearls, whatever those are, and some really cryptic stuff about Endermen building the world. Don't ask because I don't know, but it must have had something to do with the block of stone it was holding."

Setting the book down, I mused, "They couldn't have made the mineshafts for themselves because that one couldn't fit, and they couldn't have written this book because the book refers to them as 'they' instead of 'us.' But then why…"

There was that accursed word again. Why?

"Doesn't matter," I said dismissively, avoiding my confusion and discomfort. "I know what I need to know: don't look 'em in the eye, don't mess with 'em, and they won't mess with you. Moving on."

Skipping to the more familiar chapters, I said, "Lotta animals in this world." Then, catching myself, I added, "Or at least there used to be before the continent sank into the ocean."

"Baa," scoffed Cloud, failing to dent my denial.

"Yeah, it is sad," I said, reading on. "All those ocelots and wolves I'll never see. The armor I found was for horses, by the way, and pigs. You know you used to be able to ride a pig in this world? Steering with a carrot on a fishing rod. Go figure."

After another page, I said, "You can catch fish in any body of water." I glanced at the nearby chickens and, ignoring the stab of regret in my chest, said, "Not that I'll ever need to."

I browsed the parts about mobs, breezing through all the usual suspects. Turns out the crabupines are actually called "silverfish," like that makes any sense.

"You can actually make wool from a bunch of collected spiderwebs," I said, then to the sheep, added with a laugh, "not that I'll ever need to." I assumed I already knew what there was to know about most mobs. And so when it came to cave spiders, I assumed they were just a smaller, less dangerous version of the big kind.

Never assume anything.

I know now, though I didn't at the time, that I was reading selectively. Any section that made me feel safer, smarter, or more powerful, I read. Anything that brought up scary questions, I ignored. I guess, looking back, I wasn't much different from so many other people in my world, the kind who wouldn't read some books, or cut out certain parts, or even burned them, because of how the words inside made them feel. I didn't want to admit how I felt reading about new lands and creatures that might very well exist beyond my narrow horizon. It brought me back to the memory of pulling those old leather boots out of the ocean, and how I'd suddenly felt a whole lot smaller. That's why, for all my supposed celebration, I still couldn't ingest the true value of my discovery:

Books make the world bigger.