by Nancy Osa
Some of the others giggled again, and an elderly woman pushed through the crowd to speak with Frida. “Every girl in our clan passes the test,” she said. “Just by staying alive to age fourteen.”
“Did—did you do it, too, Xanto?”
The sage, whose shiny, dark hair nearly touched the ground, nodded. “And, although you fell short of perfection just now, you have passed where I was at your age.”
That seemed impossible. The length of Xanto’s hair indicated that she had already lived without respawning for longer than anyone else in the clan. “How so?” Frida asked.
“I never left the jungle.” She pushed aside some well-placed leaves to indicate the jungle edge boundary. “You just did.”
Frida received her apple tattoo, a small bundle of supplies, and a chaperone party to guide her to her new coordinates. There, she was freed from the protection of her family to make her way through the Overworld as she wished. She would only see them again periodically, when invited to the secret family rallies where they would connect, share wisdom and stories, and, finally, reassert their independence.
She would never forget that first step she took away from her people—and she wanted nothing more than to live until they next met.
*
That feeling washed over Frida now, as she made ready to hit the trail with her cavalry mates. Throwing in with this group went against all of her mother’s teachings, all of Xanto’s wisdom, and all of her own personal experience. But she recalled the assaults she’d suffered at the hands of Dr. Dirt, Lady Craven, and their griefer gang and sloughed off the guilt. As Jools had once said, if they didn’t take a stand to save the Overworld from their domination now, there might not be a next time to try. Pulling a few jobs would help the battalion recover from their setback on Zombie Hill and allow them to live to fight another day.
Frida helped Kim ready the horses for travel, tossing them hay, checking their feet, and grooming them a bit too cozy them to the idea of carrying riders. Kim had evaluated and ridden the new animals and pronounced three of them up to the task. She would match them according to temperament and experience with those who had signed on to make the trip around the cold and snowy biomes. She deemed the short, stocky buckskin too rough for long-distance travel but ideal as a packhorse.
Frida wouldn’t trade Ocelot on a bet, but she liked the new mare and stallion, a couple of thoroughbred crosses that Kim said could run and jump a derby and come home to plow the garden on the same day. The dapple-gray mare had soft-looking eyes with white eyelashes. Frida had suggested naming her Velvet, which seemed to fit. The stallion was a copper-colored chestnut with a wide blaze, a white belly spot, and three long stockings—Rob had said they’d been called “high white” back on his home range. After seeing him move, Rob dubbed him Roadrunner.
The mule, however, was too smart for her own good, as most mules are. She knew she didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to do, so Kim had been especially liberal with the scratches and treats. Chocolate brown with a light tan muzzle, the mule appeared pleasant enough. One dark spot beneath a nostril resembled a human beauty mark, earning her the name Norma Jean, after a famous actress. If a mule could be elegant, this one was, in sharp contrast to the packhorse they’d named Rat.
Turner had procured three saddles in town, and Frida helped Kim tack up the animals and attach lead ropes for the trip back to Spike City. There, they’d be handed over to the new “recruits,” as Stormie was calling the tourists.
Inventories stuffed as full as possible from a night of mining and crafting, Battalion Zero set out on their new mission. Stormie had been reunited with Armor, the black and white paint that enjoyed leading the mounted file. Frida fell in next on Ocelot, with Turner behind them on Duff. Jools guided his palomino, Beckett, next in line, followed by tiny Kim on towering Nightwind. Rob, a restored Saber, and little Rat brought up the rear so the captain could keep an eagle eye on the squadrons before them.
They left the mega taiga behind and rode into a light snowfall upon entering the cold taiga. Frida, who was leading Velvet, noted how softly the white flakes fell on the new horse’s nose, resting there gently for a moment before melting away. The survivalist had encountered snow a few times, but she’d never really appreciated its silent persistence before. It was truly beautiful, she thought.
Once underway, Captain Rob ordered the two squadrons to ride boot-to-boot, by twos, and then called for a battalion report. “Turner? Weapons and ammo?”
“Good news and bad news,” the sergeant said. “We have more raw materials than finished weaponry. But that’s okay. I’ma spend the whole night crafting before tomorrow’s train job. Sticks, saplings: check. Cobblestone, flint: check. Short on iron, short on gold, void on feathers. That’s bad. Anybody see a chicken, you know what to do.”
The cavalry unit had just one long bow, the rustlers’ crossbows, two stone swords, six axes, and three remaining pickaxes among them, and one of those was the diamond tool that Crash had anted up the day before. They would need to upgrade and add to their stores, either crafting a ton of arrows or avoiding skeletons at all costs.
“Stormie? Do we have any artillery or trap components at all?” Rob asked.
“Negatory, Captain,” she replied. “But I do plan to get some. The creeper that blew back in camp didn’t drop any gunpowder, so mining into a dungeon for some should be a top priority. Sand, too, to form TNT—but we ain’t gonna find any here on the cold taiga or the ice plains. I asked around in Spike City, and we can hit a mesa plateau to the west or a cold beach to the east for a sand source.”
“Meaning, we could also build sand traps,” Frida pointed out.
“It’d be nice if we had more spider string for trip wires to augment any traps or explosives,” Stormie finished.
“Excellent,” Rob said. “I can tell you’re on it.” He steered Saber around a one-block chunk instead of hopping it, to keep from reinjuring the horse’s leg. “Jools? Potions? Supplies?”
Jools had kept a strict watch on the supply chest ever since Turner had helped himself to certain ingredients without permission. “Same as Turner’s weapons report,” he replied. “We have some brewing ingredients from Colonel M—plenty of Nether wart and some redstone and glowstone dust. Ditto on Stormie’s dungeon request; I’ll need some gunpowder to make splash potions. Everyone be on the lookout for more sugar, rabbits, or anything a spider might drop.”
“Thank you, Quartermaster. How about our food stores?”
“Won’t last long.” Jools looked worried.
“We’ll use some of our advance payments to trade for bread and other vittles in town,” Rob said. “Everybody keep an axe handy, and let’s hunt down whatever crosses our path.”
This suggestion fell flat. No one mentioned the absence of edible wildlife in the snowy biomes, or the presence of predatory wolves.
“We’ll be camping west of town in a mountainous region of the cold taiga, en route to our payday rendezvous in the extreme hills,” Rob announced. “Vanguard, I’d like a scouting report, then. It will influence our next move with regard to the tourists.”
“I believe recruits is the more respectful term, sir,” Stormie said, only half-joking. “If we make them feel part of the unit, they’re more likely to show loyalty if, and when, we need it.”
Rob grinned. “Agreed,” he said. “And Kim? I’ll ask you for a full rundown on the horses once we get the new . . . recruits mounted.”
Although nowhere near solid, their position had definitely improved. Hearing this sent a thin but reassuring ray of hope shining down on Frida through the snow-filled sky. She silently renewed her commitment to the group . . . for now.
*
They greeted their motley crew of new recruits at the town well, as arranged.
Judge Tome brightened at the sight of Norma Jean, the mule that Kim was leading. “Now, there’s a beautiful female,” the gray-haired man said. “I do favor the strong, silent type.” Norma Jean le
t out an open-mouthed bray that caused her to fart and left everyone a little deaf for a moment. “I stand corrected,” Judge Tome said, rubbing his ears and waving at the air.
Kim could see the instant attraction, though, and helped him into the mule’s saddle, his cloak draping elegantly over the cantle.
De Vries, a tall, stocky player with straight blond hair that hung in his eyes slightly, stood waiting with a bulky inventory bursting with building supplies. He carried so many trapdoors, glass panes, ladders, pistons, and the like that he had no room for weapons or food, Frida noticed.
His sister, Crash, had the same physical substance as De Vries, but less height. Her blonde hair was tamed with a yellow leather cap that sported a tiny redstone lamp on the front. “For mining,” De Vries said pointedly when he saw Turner staring jealously at it. Crash’s inventory was nearly full of raw blocks of every kind. As they stood around making introductions, Frida and Stormie watched Crash nervously chopping away at the packed ice at her feet and idly adding blocks to her stash. In fact, the ground all around the new recruit had been hacked to a ragged mess.
Seeing the women’s expressions, De Vries explained, “Crash never really stops mining. She’s a bit of a knor.”
“What’s that?” Stormie asked.
Jools heard them and was familiar with the term. “A type of social misfit,” he translated. “In this case, I believe, an ore nerd. It’s an honorable obsession. Pleased to make your acquaintance, you two.”
Kim took Velvet from Frida and walked the mare and Roadrunner over. De Vries sized them up. “Sort of small, compared to our usual Friesian horses. But they’ll do. I like this gray one.” He put a foot in Velvet’s stirrup and pulled himself into the saddle like a pro. “What say you, sis?”
Crash eyed Roadrunner from under her mining cap. She nodded and got up on the big chestnut, no problem.
All three recruits were experienced riders, so as soon as Turner, Rob, and Jools made a quick trade stop, they all filed up the torch-lined main street and exited at the far end of town.
*
C Squadron, as Rob had dubbed the newbies, was sandwiched between the other two squads as they rode three abreast on horseback. By virtue of his advanced age, Judge Tome was christened a corporal and put in charge of the unit, to which the others agreed. Then Captain Rob repeated their mission and stated the travel rules the cavalry team had drafted.
“Given that we have to act as a unit in case of threat, we’ll consider you ad hoc members of Battalion Zero,” he said.
The judge turned to Rob, who rode on his right. “I see you’ve studied your Latin, Captain. We’ll appreciate the alliance with a learned commander.”
Frida was struck by how easy it was for some people to adapt to a group. She glanced over at Crash on the new stallion. The young woman seemed to exist in her own world. Reins in one hand, she never stopped swinging the diamond pickaxe she carried in the other. Her beefy arm had to be its own deadly weapon. I wouldn’t want to meet her in a dark roofed forest, Frida thought.
Rob was talking to the new travelers about their communal stores. “Now, we can’t force you to contribute to the war effort, but anything you do want to share we’ll gladly put toward our next campaign on behalf of the United Biomes. In the meantime, we expect you to turn over all foodstuffs and any necessaries for shelter and protection to Quartermaster Jools.”
“Will we get a receipt of some kind?” asked De Vries in his musical voice as he guided Velvet up front in between Armor and Beckett.
“The battalion inventory is computerized on a spreadsheet,” Jools said, put out by the allusion that he might be less than honest. “I’ll expect you to sign out anything that you remove.”
Okay, so maybe group dynamics aren’t built in a day, Frida thought with a smile.
“Corporal Kim will delegate housekeeping and horse-keeping duties, while Turner heads up weapons crafting,” Rob continued, not even noticing the ruffled feathers of those at the front of the line. “Everyone must do his or her part.”
The conversation paused as the travelers arrived at the north fork of the frozen river, and the riders urged their horses across. Beckett balked a bit, but the first six horses soon stepped onto the iced-over stream, their shod hooves preventing them from sliding. Then Duff and Saber followed Ocelot and Nightwind’s lead . . . but Norma Jean would not.
Judge Tome clucked to her and squeezed at her sides with his legs. This urging just made her more uncooperative, her front legs bracing at the snowy edge of the river and her muzzle pooched forward over it, as though to mark the boundary of her good will. Turner and Rob circled Duff and Saber back around, chirruping to the molly mule with no effect but a raised tail and an emission of gas. She stood her ground with a gleam in her eye that said, Try me. The others had stopped in the middle of the frozen stream to watch. “This is a case for the bronc whisperer!” Stormie remarked, using the nickname that Kim had earned back when the battalion was first trying to tame wild horses.
Now Kim circled Nightwind, fell even with Norma Jean, and looked her over. “I know what she needs.” Kim pulled a carrot from her saddlebag and hung the vegetable from a small length of spider string she’d been saving. Then she handed it to Crash. “If you wouldn’t mind tying that onto your pickaxe, I’m sure she’ll follow Roadrunner across.”
This was no sooner said than done.
“Brilliant!” cheered Jools. “I’d heard about that carrot and stick thing, but I’d never seen it in action.”
As they moved off the ice plains toward a mountainous cold taiga, Rob asked Frida to relay their immediate travel plans to the newcomers. “As vanguard,” he explained, “Frida is our eyes and ears on the trail. You can trust her with your lives.”
Frida blushed a darker shade of green. “Thank you, Captain. Since this is an exploratory mission with work obligations, we’ll move in a spiral, starting from Spike City and hitting numerous biomes on this side of the extreme hills. We feel fairly confident that they are free from Lady Craven’s mobs.”
The newbies mumbled at mention of the notorious griefer queen.
“We’ll make camp nightly at a site scouted by me that fills our needs as best it can. Don’t have much of a choice tonight, though. Sorry.”
“Cold taiga it is,” said the judge cheerily.
Frida continued, “You all will hole up in camp or move on to a rendezvous point while one of our squadrons performs whatever job we’ve secured. Then we’ll meet up and move on. Until such time as you folks pick a destination.”
“Perhaps ad infinitum. . . .” murmured Judge Tome.
“We don’t have forever,” Rob said. “We intend to travel, take paid work, replenish our inventories, and eventually get back to cavalry business. Anything to add, Vanguard?”
“De Vries and Crash, here, are wanting to homestead. Our next couple of stops will bring us to comfier biomes,” Frida assured them. “Stormie, you’ll have a chance to mine sand. Turner, you should get a shot at chickens, cows, sheep, and other critters. Everything else, we’ll pick up in Spike City—we’ll circle around to that village as needed.”
The band had begun climbing up snowy blocks as they gained altitude on the taiga. The snowfall had stopped, and all was quiet and still, save for the nine riders, their mounts, and the packhorse that trailed behind Saber.
As their ranks swung around a stand of spruce trees, an animal wail suddenly rang out, answered by several more howls.
“Wolves!” Jools cried, pointing to a pack coming their way. Without thinking, he pulled some dirt blocks from his inventory and threw them at the knot of wild dogs. This set them to snapping their jaws and slouching forward across the snow.
“What’d you do that for?” Kim said. “Now they’re hostile!”
The wolves started running, red eyes narrowed, teeth bared, low snarls escaping their throats.
Beckett began to jig, and his fear set Velvet on edge. Stormie put up a hand and reined brave Armor to a stop,
but the horses behind her danced and snorted. “What should we do, Captain?” Stormie called.
He cast a glance at Kim, their expert on animal-related matters. “What do you think?”
For once, she was at a loss. The wolves had raced to within a dozen blocks. An attack was coming, and none of the horses wanted to be the victim.
Just then, the two new recruits Crash and De Vries kicked out of their stirrups and jumped down from their tall thoroughbreds. Right before everyone’s eyes, their forms began to waver and shift. Their skins darkened, and their clothing slipped to the ground.
Am I seeing this? Frida thought wildly.
The two players had lost their human qualities, and now, right in front of the riders, they each showed four legs, a tail, and triangular ears that stood upright.
CHAPTER 5
SHAPE SHIFTERS! FRIDA MENTALLY KICKED HERSELF for not deducing this important fact about the brother-and-sister team before signing them on. She could identify them by the distinctive black diamonds on their foreheads. Now, the question was this: Would they defend the riders or turn on them?
The players’ true motives might not determine their next move. Four hostile wolves faced off with the shape shifters, tails rigid. Frida knew that angry wolves could enlist tame ones to do battle. It was all she could do to hold Ocelot steady as the petrified mare tried to rise on her hind legs and free up her front hooves to strike out.
“Captain!” Turner shouted. He had dropped Duff’s reins and grasped an axe in either hand. Duff began backing rapidly away from the danger.
Rob, sweating profusely, tried to keep a clear head. He held up a palm, alerting Turner to hold off on an attack. Two axes would not protect them from six wolves.
The next moment, the canines struck. Riders struggled with their horses, watching as the shape shifters hurled themselves at the hostiles, tearing at their throats: one, two, three, four wolves taken out, bloodied, and—then—gone.