The Voyage: An Official Minecraft Novel

by Jason Fry

  Hejira clasped his shoulder. “Your path is marked by kindness, Stax, and it does you credit. But I welcome this test. I have crossed the Endless Dunes many times, when I felt my code demanded it. If we make good time today, by sunset we should be in a more kindly country. And in another day, I believe, we should reach the abode of your Champion.”

  Stax felt his breath catch, barely able to believe that he was so close to meeting the man who could bring Fouge Tempro to justice. That thought sustained him during the day, and he almost kept up with Hejira for long stretches of the afternoon.

  The sun was low in the sky when Stax spotted a cluster of dark orange buildings to the north and pointed them out to Hejira.

  “That is the village of Patannos,” he said. “They are a strange folk. Not bad people, but they prefer their own company to that of outsiders. Let us push on, Stax. In another hour we should reach the eastern edge of the dunes.”

  Hejira was correct, of course, and just before sunset he climbed up into the boughs of an oak tree as Stax finished hollowing out a shelter in the side of a hill bearded with fragrant grass. In the morning Hejira looked much refreshed, with only a single length of bone and a purple spider’s eye for his night’s efforts.

  Stax found this new green country beautiful and welcoming, from its carpets of flowers to the sheep and cows cropping grass in the shadows of the trees. Other people apparently thought so too, as they began passing fences surrounding trim little farms, and walked through several small villages.

  Around noon Hejira pointed to the north and said he could just see the shapes of the Graypeaks. Stax saw nothing, to his frustration, but an hour later they were visible to him too—only a gray blur in the distance, but definitely there. By evening they loomed over the meadows and forests, and the setting sun turned them a brilliant pinkish-orange.

  “It has been a privilege to guide you here, Stax,” Hejira said, as they sat by a fire and gnawed on mutton. “But the next step of this journey is yours to take, alone.”

  “You mean you’re leaving too?” Stax asked, his chest suddenly tight with worry.

  “No,” Hejira said. “I will accompany you back to the savanna near Tumbles Harbor, if that is your wish, or to Karamhés or River House. Or elsewhere, if our paths intersect. But you must meet the Champion on your own. I sense this moment is key to your destiny. And by my code, I must not interfere.”

  “You see, this is the kind of thing I don’t understand,” Stax said. “You’ve helped me, and Ramoa, and many others. But how do you decide when to help and when to step aside, because you shouldn’t interfere with someone’s destiny?”

  “This is a question I have asked myself as well, and I cannot promise that the answer I give you today is the same one I will give you tomorrow. You are discovering what you are, Stax Stonecutter, and what your place is in the world. I cannot walk that path with you.”

  “And if someone’s found their path but strayed from it? You keep telling me I’m more of a warrior than I think, and you helped me learn how to use a sword. Isn’t that walking with me?”

  “It is your path,” Hejira said. “Pointing the way back to it is not the same as walking it with you.”

  “But…you know what, never mind,” Stax said, too tired to ponder the puzzles of Hejira’s philosophy.

  “Very well,” Hejira said. “I saw a most excellent sleeping tree. We can continue this conversation in the morning.”

  But when morning came, Hejira had several trophies to show Stax, including a golden helmet, apparently very old, that had been on the head of a zombie who made the mistake of growling in his ear just before dawn.

  Hejira was so cheerful about this gleaming headgear that Stax didn’t have the heart to bring up his puzzling code again. He was also a little worried that Hejira might decide he’d already been interfering with Stax’s destiny and depart.

  Hejira showed Stax the road that led up away from the meadows to the top of the Graypeaks and the Champion’s house. It was a stone road and well built, rising gently and switching back and forth across the face of the mountain.

  Stax took a deep breath and started climbing.

  * * *

  —

  As he neared the top of the mountain, Stax worried, once again, that he hadn’t brought his chests of wealth with him. He’d debated going back to the savanna first, but decided it was too far away. If he went back, Hejira Tenboots would probably decide some aspect of his code dictated that he couldn’t accompany him. And anyway, if the stories he’d heard were correct, the Champion routinely struck bargains with people who came seeking his aid. Surely some of those people arrived without chests of goods, negotiating and then returning with the Champion’s price. He could find out what the Champion wanted in exchange for his help and return with whatever wealth that required. Or at least Stax hoped that would be the case.

  Stax also wondered what he would find atop the mountain. An army in brilliantly polished armor, perhaps, or a dragon with hypnotic eyes and wings that glittered with every color in the spectrum?

  Neither awaited him, however.

  Instead, the stone road led to the edge of a green valley between two hills, cordoned off by a fence of iron. Stax could see animal pens beyond the fence, and rows of crops. In fact, the Champion’s estate looked so much like his own home that he felt his breath catch and hitch in his chest.

  The road was blocked by a gate of deep brown oak, nearly black. There was no sign, but looking more closely he saw a button by the gate.

  So Stax pushed it.

  “Hello?” he asked.

  Nothing happened. Stax pushed the button several more times, said hello even though he was pretty sure no one could hear him, and haltingly explained who he was and where he’d come from. There was no answer—no sound at all except the distant mooing of cattle—and after a few minutes Stax sat down with his back against the fence.

  The breeze was cool on his face after the long climb up the mountain. Stax took the compass out of his pocket and looked down at it, wondering if his father’s travels had ever brought him to the Rain-Jungles of Jagga-Tel, or the Endless Dunes, or the village of Patannos. He wished he’d thought to ask him, to have him explain what all those flags on the maps were, and tell Stax stories about the places he’d been and the people he’d met there.

  In the distance, he heard the slow clop-clop of a horse’s hooves. He scrambled to his feet and saw a horse and rider moving down the stone road that cut through the Champion’s estate, making their unhurried way to the gate.

  The horse was a handsome palomino, chestnut and cream. The man sitting astride it was tall and thin, with white hair and a steady gaze.

  “It’s an honor to meet you, Champion,” Stax said, wondering belatedly if the proper address was actually something like Mr. Champion or Sir Champion. “My name is Stax Stonecutter, and I’ve come a long way to see you and tell you why I need your help.”

  The Champion at work * Lunch in luxurious surroundings * A warrior’s misgivings

  “You address me improperly, sir,” the white-haired man said gravely.

  Stax wanted to kick himself. He knew he should have said Mr. Champion.

  “I am not the Champion, Mr. Stonecutter,” the man added. “I am his butler, and my name is Troyens.”

  “Oh. Um, hello, Mr. Troyens. It’s good to meet you. So…is the Champion here?”

  “I believe he’s working in the back garden,” Troyens said. “Is he expecting you?”

  “No,” Stax admitted. “I’ve never asked a champion for help before. I didn’t know it involved appointments.”

  “I’ll take you to him,” Troyens said, and swung down from the horse to open the gate. He closed it behind Stax and climbed back on the horse. Stax walked beside him up the stone road, past the animal pens and the fields, a fish pond and a formal garden with a gazebo. />
  “What a lovely place,” Stax said, thinking again of his home. He wondered suddenly if the Champion had any cats, but decided not to ask, as Troyens didn’t seem like he entirely approved of Stax having simply shown up at the gate.

  Troyens said nothing more and Stax walked along in silence, listening to the palomino’s hooves clip-clopping on the stone.

  The house was set on a rise at the back of the valley, looking west. It was made of gray stone—andesite, Stax thought—with accents of pink granite. Turrets rose from either end, with the sunlight reflecting off their windows. Troyens led Stax around to the back of the house, from which stairs descended to a carefully tended garden. There, he tied up the horse at a fence post.

  “This way, sir,” he said.

  Stax followed him through an arbor of immaculately pruned rose bushes and past rows of tulips in a riot of colors. At the back of the garden, under a cluster of oaks, a man was standing in the middle of a lawn, facing away from them with his arms folded. He reached forward and snipped a stray tuft of grass with a pair of shears.

  “Sir,” Troyens said. “You have a caller. A Mr. Stonecutter to see you.”

  “Eh?” said the man, turning. He was two or three decades older than Stax, with chiseled features, piercing blue eyes, and long, powerful arms. He was wearing a luxurious-looking teal dressing gown.

  “Mr. Champion, sir, it’s an honor to meet you,” Stax said. “I’m Stax Stonecutter, and…well, I’ve made a long journey to explain why I need your help.”

  “Oh goodness me, don’t call me that, Stax,” the man said, nodding at Troyens, who bowed his head and glided away. “You can call me Abel.”

  “I see, um, Abel. Your estate is lovely.”

  “Thank you,” said the Champion—who, Stax reminded himself, would rather be called Abel. “Been having some problems with the new garden plot, where the peonies are going to go. Dirt goes missing overnight. I suspect it’s endermen, up to their usual mischief. Strange creatures. All the treasures of the Overworld, and they’re fascinated by dirt?”

  “Right,” Stax said. “That happened to me back home too. In fact, my home is the reason I came to see you.”

  “Ah,” said Abel, and wiped his brow. “Warm out here today. Let’s discuss this in the dining room. I’ll ask Troyens to prepare a light lunch.”

  “Um, okay,” said Stax, who’d been about to start telling his story. “That sounds nice. Thank you, Cham…sir…Abel.”

  Abel led him up a flight of polished stone steps to a porch overlooking the gardens. Troyens, hearing his request, bowed his head and quietly withdrew.

  “Polished andesite?” Stax asked, running a hand over the wall. “It’s very fine work. My family used to cut and polish stone like this.”

  “Let me give you a tour,” Abel said, and before Stax could object that it wasn’t necessary, the Champion had ushered his guest into the house.

  The Champion’s living room was broad and airy, with walls of polished stone lit by lanterns set into the ceiling. Bright paintings adorned the walls above bookshelves crowned with flowerpots. A variety of fascinating objects had been mounted as trophies: a creeper head next to an iron helmet creased by a dent, a finely wrought bow beside a small golden idol, a compass set in a frame near a map of a coastline marked with a red X.

  Abel looked around the room, as if seeing it through Stax’s eyes.

  “A lot of memories in here,” he said, and for a moment he looked tired. But then some recollection made his eyes brighten. “That helmet belonged to Dark Ulric, before I ended his reign of terror. The idol was a gift from the people of Klatsorro Island after I drove off the Fispolu buccaneers. And that map shows the location of the Lost Horde of Ubnar, which I discovered after besieging that fortress.”

  Abel smiled, his mind clearly far away. Stax stopped before a stand displaying a full suit of diamond armor: helmet, chestplate, leggings, and boots. The armor seemed to glimmer and coruscate, a telltale sign that it was enchanted.

  “Made for me by Philedon the Elder, the best enchanter of Tumbles Harbor,” said Abel. “Nearly impenetrable. And enchanted against a host of perils, of course.”

  Unable to resist, Stax ran his finger over the helm as Abel said something about the Siege of Ubnar. He looked at his finger and saw it was coated with dust.

  Abel opened a chest in the corner of the room. Over his shoulder, Stax saw the chest was heaped high with diamonds and lapis. Abel turned, holding a sword of diamond.

  “This is Keen Justice,” he said. “Do you know swords, Stax? Give it a try. You’ll find it’s perfectly balanced in the hand.”

  Abel reversed his grip on the sword and offered it hilt-first to Stax. Dumbfounded, Stax took the weapon. The sword was not just balanced but also surprisingly light. Stax made an experimental slash through the air with it and the sword seemed to hum, all but radiating power and purpose.

  Stax carefully handed Keen Justice back to its owner, who studied the sword for a moment, a faint smile on his face, and then returned it to the chest full of diamonds.

  “Ah, here’s Troyens,” he said, looking past Stax. “Let us dine.”

  Abel led Stax into a dining room paneled with stripes of different woods. The floor was glass and below it Stax saw brightly colored fish swimming among spikes of purple, blue, and pink coral, lit by softly glowing blocks of stone.

  “Have you seen the tropical reefs of the Great Eastern Sea?” Abel asked. “Re-creating them was a project of mine. A little indulgent, maybe, but I enjoy sitting here after dinner and watching the fish.”

  Two plates heaped with melon and cake sat on a long table, at opposite ends. Abel pulled out Stax’s chair, then took his own seat. The melon was fresh, and Stax closed his eyes with pleasure at its taste, simultaneously tart and sweet. He eyed the cake with happy anticipation, then paused. He was sure it would be delicious, and it was a pleasure to eat fine food amid the comforts of a beautiful house. But that wasn’t why he’d come all this way, was it?

  “Thank you for seeing me, sir,” he told Abel, who looked up from watching his fish, seeming almost startled. “I first heard about you in Tumbles Harbor—heard about you and all that you’d done for people who needed help. People like the farmers who bring you bread, and the kidnapped prince and princess.”

  Abel shook his head and muttered something.

  “I’m sorry, sir?” Stax said. “I missed that.”

  “Brats, the both of them,” Abel said. “The princess set my horse’s tail on fire, and the prince spat out everything I offered him to eat.”

  “Oh,” said Stax. “Still, they didn’t deserve to be kidnapped. That must have been terrifying for them. You helped them, and the people of their kingdom. Just like I’m hoping you can help me.”

  Abel leaned back in his chair, which Stax took as permission to keep talking. And so he did, starting with Fouge Tempro stepping off his boat at the Stonecutter dock and ending with Stax’s time in Tumbles Harbor.

  “That’s terrible,” Abel said, and for a moment Stax saw indignation flare in his eyes. But then he settled back in his chair, fingers steepled on the table in front of him. “But these days, Stax, I’m more of a gentleman farmer than a warrior.”

  “I know a lot of people must come to see you, and a lot of them are more deserving than me,” Stax said. “I’ve done a lot of mining, back at Tumbles Harbor. I have gems, and ore. Surely you could use wealth like that to help somebody.”

  Though as Stax said it, he looked around the room—at the sleek paneled wood, and down at the undersea world re-created beneath the glass floor—and thought that the Champion had spent several fortunes to construct this room alone. And how did eating lunch on top of a giant fish tank help anyone struggling elsewhere in the Overworld?

  “Last time I left here, brigands ambushed me on horseback,” Abel said. “I almost
lost Keen Justice, and my armor was bashed and dented. Had to replace my helmet and shield, as they were too badly damaged for further use.”

  “And so you replaced them?” Stax asked.

  “Well, of course I did.”

  “And the brigands?”

  “I chased them off,” Abel said.

  “And because of that you’ve stopped helping people?” Stax asked. “I don’t understand. The worst thing that’s happened to you is your diamond armor was damaged, and so now you’re going to stay home? When so many people need you? When there’s so much injustice in the Overworld?”

  “You’re right. You don’t understand,” said Abel. “I can’t rid the Overworld of ugliness. I’ve tried, and it hasn’t made any difference that I can see. Here, at least, I’m creating a little beauty. You can see the wisdom of that, can’t you?”

  Stax shook his head. “I’ve seen a lot of the Overworld in the last couple of months. It’s got plenty of beauty. Beaches and jungles, deserts and meadows. It’s got so much beauty your heart wants to burst. It doesn’t need more beauty, sir. It needs less injustice.”

  “But you can’t get rid of injustice,” Abel said with a sigh. “Just yesterday, a band of pillagers threatened the house. Came right up to the fence. I ran them off, but there will be more. Getting rid of injustice? That’s like pouring water into a bucket with a hole in it.”

  “So fix the bucket,” Stax said. “I thought that’s what you were doing, with these quests of yours.”

  Abel looked at Stax like he didn’t understand—or didn’t want to understand. Stax felt anger begin to burn in his chest.

  “What he did to me, Fouge Tempro will do to others,” Stax said. “Innocent people. Maybe you don’t think I’m worth fighting for, but surely some of the other people he’ll hurt are. If you don’t want to help me, think of stopping Fouge as helping them.”

  “I know people like this Foulge or Fourge or whatever you said his name was,” Abel said with a sigh. “People who are vicious and cruel. Sometimes I wonder what made them this way. I’ve never found an answer.”