by Maggie Marks
“Here, hold this,” said Luna, handing the llamas’ lead rope to Mason.
He took it hesitantly, remembering how he had scared the animals the last time he’d seen them. “It’s okay,” he crooned, keeping his voice steady. “I won’t hurt you.”
The brown llama bleated in response.
As Luna crouched beside the black and white cat, she held out her hand. “Hey, buddy,” she said gently. “May I say hello?”
The cat wouldn’t so much as sniff her hand. In fact, it wouldn’t even look at Luna. Its green eyes were fixated on something behind her.
“What is it?” Luna asked, whirling around as if a hostile mob might be standing there.
The cat arched its back and hissed.
Asher tiptoed slowly toward the cat. “I think it sees someone!” he said.
The cat’s green eyes slid left to right and then back again, as if following an invisible piece of string. It reminded Mason of the guardian in the ocean monument, the mob with the single eye that followed his every move.
Then he remembered something. “Potion of invisibility!” he said, turning toward Luna. “You told us that cats could see people who had taken potion of invisibility.”
She nodded slowly. “Give me my pack,” she said, reaching for the backpack slung over Mason’s shoulder.
When he did, she fished out a bottle of milk.
Really? thought Mason. You’re thirsty—at a time like this?
But Luna didn’t drink the milk. Instead, she uncorked the bottle and gently shook it, dribbling white liquid onto the cobblestone street in front of the black cat.
“What are you doing?” asked Asher, his eyes wide.
“Just watch,” Luna whispered.
Mason held his breath as images began to appear: A blue swirly robe. The glint of golden trim. A grizzly red beard.
For just a moment, Mason felt as if he were back in the ocean monument, as if the ghostly image of the wandering trader were hovering before him.
Only this time, the man was real.
CHAPTER 13
“It’s you!” Mason cried, stepping toward the mysterious trader.
The man jumped in surprise, which startled his llamas too. The cream-colored animal reared backward, and something wet smacked against Mason’s cheek.
Asher burst out laughing. “Ew! He spit at you!”
Mason quickly wiped off the grassy glob. Then he held up his hands to stop the trader from running away again. “It’s alright!” he said. “We don’t want to hurt you. We just want to talk to you.” And to see your face, he thought, his heart squeezing.
He was so close to the trader now. The man’s hood was pulled tight, casting dark shadows over his face. Only his red beard poked through.
But any second now, Mason would know. Was the man standing in front of him actually Uncle Bart?
When the man reached for the lead rope, Mason tightened his grip. “We just want to talk to you,” he said again, more softly this time. “It’s me, Mason.”
Luna shot him a puzzled glance. “Have you met the trader before?” she asked.
Mason licked his dry lips. “I think so,” he said.
The man hesitated. He released his grip on the lead and stepped back. As he pushed his hood away from his face, Mason’s heart pounded in his chest.
The robe fell backward, revealing kind green eyes. Ruddy cheeks. And a long red beard.
But in the light of day, Mason knew in an instant.
It wasn’t Uncle Bart.
Disappointment fell like rain, washing the smile from Mason’s face. He stepped backward, away from the stranger, and nearly tripped over the cobblestone.
“What’s wrong?” Asher asked, reaching out to steady his brother.
Mason just shook his head. Everyone was staring at him now, but he couldn’t speak. He was relieved when the door to a nearby shop flung open.
A woman poked her head out and glanced down the street, her eyes wary. “Is it safe?” she asked. “Is the raid over?”
Luna nodded. “You can come out now!” she said with a grin.
Slowly, other doors opened.
“You’re our heroes!” cried the butcher as he rushed out to greet them. “The heroes of the village!” He waved a rag in the air like a victory flag.
More villagers spilled into the streets. A farmer pushed his wheelbarrow through the crowd, handing out cookies. A baby villager presented Luna with a poppy and a kiss. Everywhere Mason looked, people were smiling and laughing.
Everyone except me, he realized with a sigh.
While his friends celebrated, Mason turned away. He couldn’t celebrate. His heart was too heavy, as if he’d just lost Uncle Bart all over again.
* * *
“What did you get?” Asher asked Chase. “From the villagers, I mean.”
The villagers had held a celebration dinner in the courtyard and bestowed their “heroes” with gifts—everything from redstone and lapis lazuli to weapons and arrows, plus all the baked goods they could eat. Mason could still see remnants of pumpkin pie on Asher’s shirt.
“I got this.” Chase held a golden axe up to the sunlight. The gold was so dazzling, Asher couldn’t seem to stop staring at it.
“It’s not about what we got,” Mason scolded his brother. “It’s about doing the right thing. We helped those villagers, right?”
Asher nodded, but he didn’t seem to have heard a word. “Luna got the best prize of all,” he said, shifting his gaze to her.
She sat on a low courtyard wall, humming while she polished up her new leather saddle. “I’m going to tame a horse. I’m going to learn to ride someday,” she announced, as if her dream had now become a reality.
“Well, we might need a horse to get all of this loot back to the ship,” Mason grumbled.
It’s not that he wasn’t grateful. But I didn’t get the one thing I wanted, he kept thinking. Uncle Bart isn’t coming home with us. We’re still on our own.
The villagers had begun clearing out of the courtyard, heading back to their homes and businesses. But out of the corner of his eye, Mason saw the wandering trader linger behind. When he approached Luna, Mason held his breath. What could the trader possibly want with her?
“Excuse me,” said the man in a tiny, timid voice. He tapped Luna’s shoulder and then quickly pulled his hand back. “Would you like to learn how to ride?” He gestured toward the llamas he had tied to the courtyard gate.
Luna’s jaw fell open. “Really?” she asked. “I can ride your llamas?”
He nodded. “I mean, if you feed them some wheat seeds, they’ll probably let you,” he added quickly.
Luna was on her feet in seconds. He offered her seeds from a small colorful sack, and she held them out to the brown llama. “Her name is Cocoa. She’s gentle,” the trader assured Luna.
As the llama nibbled the seeds from Luna’s hand, Mason fought down a wave of envy. You can feed them too, he told himself. But that would require approaching the trader, and Mason didn’t want to. He was done chasing the wandering trader all around the Overworld. Right now, he didn’t even want to look at him.
“Baahhh!” The cream-colored llama butted its head against Luna’s arm, eager for a treat of his own. “Down, Golem,” the trader scolded. “It’s not your turn.”
Luna laughed out loud. “Golem?” she said. “Why do you call him that?”
The trader uttered a nervous little laugh. “Well, because he protects me.”
“From what?” asked Asher.
“From hostile m-mobs, of course.” At the very mention of hostile mobs, the trader’s voice wobbled. Mason wondered if he might suddenly pull out his potion of invisibility and disappear again.
He’s nothing like Uncle Bart, thought Mason, kicking the toe of his shoe into the dirt. Uncle Bart was much braver.
“Golem does protect you,” said Asher. “He’s the one that spit at Mason!”
When the others burst into laughter, Mason scowled and turned away
.
“Should I use my new saddle to ride Cocoa?” asked Luna.
“No, no,” said the trader. “You won’t need one. Just climb up here onto her blanket.”
Moments later, Mason heard the llama clomping across the courtyard. When he glanced up, he saw that Luna wasn’t riding with reins—the trader was leading the llama with the rope, and all Luna had to do was hang on. Even still, she puffed up with pride.
Everyone is getting what they wanted. Asher fought his pillagers. Luna is riding a critter. But not me. I didn’t get what I wanted, Mason thought again. He slumped down onto the cobblestone wall.
Suddenly, the trader sat down beside him, just a few feet away. He smoothed out his robes and cast a furtive glance in Mason’s direction.
“Wait, who’s … ?” Mason looked up and saw that Savannah was now leading Luna’s llama in a wide circle.
The trader laughed nervously. Then he cleared his throat. “I’ve been wanting to ask …” he said tentatively. “That is, it appeared as if you thought I were someone else—when we first met, I mean.”
Mason swallowed hard. Should he talk to the trader? The man was staring at him now, his eyes curious but kind.
So Mason took a deep breath and told him the truth. “I thought you were my uncle Bart. He, um … he looked like you.” There were so many reasons why I thought you were him, Mason wanted to say. But what were they? For a moment, he couldn’t remember.
Then he sat up straight. “You had his bucket!” He pointed his finger at the trader. “You had a bucket engraved with the letter B.”
The trader shrank backward, as if Mason’s finger were a sword. “Yes!” he quickly confessed. “Engraved with a B for m-my name,” he stammered. “B-Benjamin.”
Mason slumped back down again. “Oh.”
As they sat in silence, Mason couldn’t think of a single thing to say. He hoped the man would just go away.
But he didn’t. The trader sat quietly, wringing his hands. Then he asked, “Did your uncle really look like me?”
Mason shrugged and nodded. “He had the same red hair and green eyes. The same red beard.”
“Uh-huh. I see.” The trader tugged on his beard, as if working out a problem. “When did you last see him?”
“Months ago now,” said Mason, swallowing the lump in his throat. “We were on his ship, in a storm. He, um … he fell overboard.” The words still hurt to say aloud. “But Savannah says he could have swum to shore. He could be traveling along the coast, just like you.”
He waited for the man to say something. He doesn’t believe me, thought Mason. He thinks my mind is playing tricks on me—that I’ll never see Uncle Bart again.
But when the trader leaned sideways and finally spoke, his words went straight to Mason’s heart.
“I may have seen your uncle,” the trader whispered, his eyes darting over his shoulder and then back again. “I may know where he is.”
CHAPTER 14
Mason leaped up off the wall. “Where is he?” he cried. “Where’s Uncle Bart?”
Everyone froze, including the llama that Luna was riding. She stared at Mason with dark, worried eyes. She thinks I’m losing my mind, he thought. But now he knew he wasn’t. The wandering trader had seen Uncle Bart!
“Where is he?” Mason cried again.
The trader raised his finger to his lips. “Shh!” he pleaded. “I d-don’t know for sure.”
But now Asher had rushed over and was in his face too. “You saw our uncle?” he asked. “Where?” Chase stood behind Asher, backing him up.
Savannah pushed hardest of all. “Tell us where you saw him,” she demanded. “Or take us there. Now!” As she towered over the trader, he glanced down, as if he wanted to melt right into the wall he was sitting on.
“Baaahhh!” Golem snorted and spit, protecting his master. The globs of green grass only narrowly missed Mason’s leg, splattering against the wall.
“It’s alright,” said Luna. She slid off Cocoa to reach for Golem. “It’s okay.”
When the trader pulled something from his pocket, Mason’s heart lurched. “No!” he cried. “Don’t you dare drink that.”
The man froze, his potion of invisibility in hand. Then he sighed and lowered the bottle. When he began to speak, his voice wobbled. “I w-wandered past an outpost a few days ago,” he said.
“A pillager outpost?” Asher interrupted, startling the man.
“What? Oh, yes—a pillager outpost.”
“Where?” asked Asher.
“Let the man speak,” said Mason. He raised his arm to hold Asher back.
The trader cleared his throat. “I saw a wooden cage with a mob inside, pacing.” The trader stood up and began pacing now, too, taking tiny steps back and forth in front of the cobblestone wall. “I wouldn’t have been anywhere near the outpost,” he said quickly, “except that Cocoa wandered off—probably to snack on those pumpkins, naughty girl.” He cast her a pointed look.
“Yeah, and then what?” asked Chase, throwing his arms wide. “What happened next?”
The trader plunked back down on the wall. “I got close enough to see,” he whispered.
“Was it a golem?” asked Mason. He’d been biting his tongue, but now he had to know. “Was it an iron golem in that cage?”
The trader shook his head sadly. “No, it was not. It was a man.”
Mason’s stomach squeezed. Had Uncle Bart been captured by the pillagers? “Where?” he blurted. “Which outpost?”
The trader waved in the direction of the spruce forest. “Somewhere south of here,” he said wearily. “Just north of a swamp, near the mouth of a river.”
Asher stomped his foot. “I told you!” he cried. “We saw that outpost, but you guys wouldn’t let me fight. Uncle Bart was there. We could have saved him!”
This time, Mason let Asher rant, because he was right. We saw the man in the cage, Mason remembered. But we thought it was a mob. We sailed right by Uncle Bart, and we didn’t help him at all!
The thought filled him with horror. Suddenly, his feet were moving. “We have to go back for him,” he told the others. “Now!”
* * *
“Ouch!” As Mason pushed his way through the bushes, the prickly branches tore at his skin.
“Here, let me lead,” said Chase. He raised his golden axe and took a whack at the bushes, carving out a wider path.
They’d been traveling all day, west through the woods, back toward the Diazes’ ship. And they were bringing two llamas with them, loaded down with meat, fish, bread, and other gifts from the villagers. One of the llamas carried Luna’s saddle too.
Mason glanced over his shoulder at the trader, who had promised to help them get back to the ship. He hadn’t pulled any more disappearing stunts with his potion of invisibility. At least not yet, thought Mason. He kept a watchful eye on the man.
When the ship finally came into view, Mason blew out a breath of relief. But Chase only sighed. “Dad is going to be so mad,” he said.
Savannah shook her head. “We left to help Asher,” she said. “Remember?”
Mason could barely remember the night before, when his brother had snuck off after the pillagers. It seemed so long ago! He hoped Mr. and Mrs. Diaz would understand why they had left the ship. But he hoped even more that they would agree to help him rescue Uncle Bart. We need all the help we can get, he thought, his throat tight.
As Luna and Savannah started unloading the loot from the llamas, Mason hurried toward the ship, eager to speak with Mr. and Mrs. Diaz. But Savannah suddenly shouted in surprise. “Hey!” she cried. “Where are they going?”
Mason spun around just as the llamas trotted away from her, the lead rope slipping from Savannah’s outstretched hand. But where was the trader?
Gone, Mason realized. He got us safely to the ship, and now he’s out of here—thanks to his potion of invisibility.
“Come back!” Luna cried.
Savannah chased after the animals. But as they trotted pas
t Mason, he didn’t reach out to stop them. He stepped backward, giving them room to pass. And when he did, he felt someone press something into his hand.
Mason glanced down and saw that he was holding a glass bottle half-filled with clear liquid. He recognized it immediately—potion of invisibility. And he smiled.
“Good luck,” he heard the trader call as he raced onward, leading his llamas away.
Mason raised a hand and waved. Then he tucked the potion into his sack and headed toward the ship. We’ve wasted enough time, he realized. Uncle Bart needs us. He’s waiting.
* * *
After so much time sailing north, it felt strange for Mason to see land on the port side of the ship—on the left instead of on the right. Thanks to a brisk wind, the ship cut through the water quickly. They were nearly out of the Taiga now, the spruce trees changing back to short, squat oaks.
As night fell, Mr. Diaz kept going. “There’ll be no docking tonight,” he said gravely.
Mason felt a warm wave of gratitude. The Diazes were going to help him save Uncle Bart. They were going to help him and Asher fight the pillagers. And we have to win, he knew. Uncle Bart’s life depends on it!
While the others went down to their cabins to sleep, Mason stayed on deck, with no one but Hiss for company. The parrot sat on his shoulder, glancing at Mason every now and then with its beady eyes.
“We’re passing the mushroom fields now,” Mason told the bird. He could barely make out the towering structures in the darkness. They stood like iron golems, keeping watch, as the boat sailed swiftly south. “I wish we had an iron golem to help us fight the pillagers,” he murmured.
The bird hissed in response, and then began grooming its feathers.
Lulled by the rocking ship, Mason drifted to sleep. He dreamed of an iron golem, covered in vines, trapped in a cage. Mason was using an axe to chop through the wooden bars. He was fighting to free the golem.
But as his axe broke through and the golem stepped forward, Mason saw that it wasn’t a golem at all. It was Uncle Bart.
He woke suddenly, surprised to see the flat, grassy shoreline lit up by sunshine. “Are we there?” he cried out.