The Lost Journals: An Official Minecraft Novel

by Mur Lafferty

  “I could be a sheep too, you know,” he said. “You don’t know. You might be a spider.”

  “That would be my luck,” she said, laughing a little. Her steps slowed a bit as she looked around. “Where are we going?”

  The valley stretched out in front of them, cliffs on both sides, and ahead it bent toward the right.

  “I wish we could get on top of those cliffs, but they don’t look climbable,” Max said. “We keep running…there.” He pointed to where the valley curved, and put on a burst of speed.

  When they rounded the corner, they saw that the valley stopped in a dead end, sheer cliffs on three sides, and the only way out was blocked by the approaching mob.

  Clucks and grunts echoed off the cliffs, bouncing back and forth, creating a disorienting madhouse of sound.

  Running in this direction was not the first bad decision Max had made today, but it was definitely the worst.

  So far.

  TO A WOLF, IT’S ALL JUST A GAME

  A dead end. Max had led them to a dead end. The cliffs ahead of them were sheer except for a small hilly area at the far end of the valley. They might be able to scramble to slightly higher ground. She wasn’t sure how high chickens could jump. It was worth a try, at least.

  Gouts of fire burst from the netherrack around them, forcing them to dodge or slow down as they rushed for the hill. As they neared it, despair started to replace the panic clutching her chest. The hill wouldn’t save them. Nothing but sheer bedrock and netherrack surrounded them. Still they scrambled to get atop the hill and stood, panting, looking around for any escape option.

  The chicken jockeys came around the corner, and there were even more than Alison had expected. Not every chicken had a childlike zombie pigman atop its back; others carried full-sized zombie pigmen, their twisted, odd faces focused on Max and Alison. The chicken mounts all moved at about twice the speed of the pint-sized mobs Max and Alison had seen in the Overworld, letting them easily gain on Max and Alison. Twenty chickens and their riders rounded the corner, and then twenty more, and then more, until Alison lost count.

  “There’s nowhere to go,” she whispered.

  * * *

  —

  “We’re going to d—” Alison started to say, but stopped when an arrow sailed into the group advancing on them, and pierced both a zombie pigman and his chicken. The monsters fell to the ground, leaving nothing but an egg and a few feathers behind.

  “Who’s shooting at us? Are we now dealing with skeletons? What’s happening?” Max asked, looking for the source of the arrow.

  Alison, too, expected to see the jerky white bones firing arrows at them, but now another jockey went down, falling off its chicken and thrashing around on the ground before it popped out of existence.

  More went down, and a war cry sounded above their heads. A body fell in front of them and landed in a crouch. Max and Alison both jumped back, and a girl about their own age stood up and turned to them. She grinned and said, “Here, take these.”

  Then Alison’s hands were full of two bows and two quivers. The girl stepped to the side to give herself some room, and then shot another jockey off its chicken.

  The girl wore leather armor and had a bow that glowed slightly in the low light. Her hair and skin were light brown. She was followed by a white wolf with a purple kerchief around its neck. The wolf leaped into the group of monsters, snatched a small zombie pigman from a chicken’s back, and whipped its head back and forth, the creature in its jaws flailing ineffectually. The wolf tossed it aside and went for another one.

  The girl let fly arrow after arrow into the crowd, hitting their attackers with amazing accuracy, spearing others, kicking some zombie pigmen away when they got too close, then shooting them once there was enough space to draw her bow.

  The wolf tore through the mob, barking excitedly as if it had never had so much fun. Alison had just thought she was going to die, and the wolf was treating the situation as a game.

  “Ali, shoot them!” Max said, grabbing a bow and quiver from her. “She can’t get them all!”

  Alison wasn’t so sure this girl couldn’t take down the entire horde herself, but the mobs were converging on her, and she couldn’t kill them fast enough to keep free of them. One reached out and grabbed the girl’s arm, slashing at her, and she leaped aside, off-balance for a moment.

  Alison slid down the hill, aimed, and took a deep breath. Now she was ready.

  The bow wasn’t well made. She guessed it had been dropped by a monster. Still, better than nothing. It would shoot an arrow, and that’s all she needed. She quickly drew and let fly an arrow at a chicken and its rider that had pushed the girl to the ground and were threatening to overwhelm her. The zombie pigman fell, and Alison took another one down. The wolf came to the rescue then, barreling through and knocking jockeys and chickens aside to reach its mistress. The girl got to her feet with a grateful nod toward Alison, and nocked another arrow.

  Alison took a quick survey of the scene. She didn’t want to hit the girl or the wolf, so she went for some of the straggling beasts bringing up the rear. Her first shot went wide, but her second struck home. Where was Max? She hadn’t seen any of his arrows going into the monsters, but she didn’t dare turn around and look for her friend.

  Another guttural cry, and Max appeared in the middle of the melee, swinging a golden sword. (A golden sword? Where did he get that?) He wasn’t very good; he hadn’t had a lot of practice, and Alison had refused all his requests to spar with the swords she created. But sometimes all you needed was a sharp weapon and an enemy in front of you, and then gravity and inertia did the rest.

  After that, the tide turned. Max and the wolf took care of the mobs from the middle of the fight while Alison and the other girl attacked from the fringes.

  In a few short minutes, it was over. They were surrounded by dropped weapons, arrows, eggs, rotten flesh, and gold nuggets. Alison and Max panted and leaned on each other, but the girl looked positively triumphant.

  “Did we win?” Max asked, looking around at the loot, Alison, and the strange girl who had saved them.

  “I think so,” Alison said, nodding. The other girl looked satisfied watching her wolf run around, gobbling up rotten flesh. “Hey, thanks for saving us. Where did you come from, anyway?”

  The girl pushed her long brown hair out of her face and inspected a bright red burn on her arm. Then she put her hands on her hips and looked at Alison. “What were you doing running straight into an ambush? They herded you here! Didn’t you realize that?” She grinned at Alison, taking some of the sting from her words.

  “We got lost,” Alison said. “And then we were running for our lives. We didn’t really think.”

  The girl looked them over, appraising. “That’s how you die real fast around here. Another way to die here is to visit looking like that.” She pointed at their clothes. “Where’s your portal? We’ll get you back safely. You won’t survive half a day here without weapons and armor.”

  “It’s that way,” Alison said, pointing to the left.

  “No it isn’t, it’s definitely that way,” Max said, pointing to the right.

  “It was right near that spire of glowstone,” Alison said. “Back that way.”

  “Which spire of glowstone? Those things are all over,” the girl said.

  “We—ran a long way. I’m not sure where we started. We’ll have to go look for it. It’s not like it’s going anywhere.”

  “A creeper blew up and put out the portal as we came through. We weren’t prepared to relight it.”

  “We weren’t prepared for anything,” Alison said.

  Max stuck his hand out. “I’m Max. She’s Alison.”

  “Freya,” the girl said, shaking it. She shook Alison’s hand too. “And that’s a mess. Come on, I live just up here.” She pointed to the top of the cliff.


  * * *

  —

  Max had too many questions to know which one to ask first. How had three kids and a wolf demolished a huge mob of chicken jockeys? Who was the amazing girl who had rescued them? How did she get that burn on her arm? Who had built the secret tunnel in the canyon wall that led up to her fortress—and how did she have a fortress?!

  But honestly, the biggest thing on his mind was the glorious sword at his belt.

  One of the zombie pigmen had dropped it after Freya had shot it with an arrow. It fell, twitching, and before it disappeared from the world, it dropped the sword with a clang.

  His basic understanding of enchantment told him there was something special about the sword that went beyond the golden beauty of its crafting. He’d have to give it to Alison for her to check out and make sure it wasn’t damaged or about to break or anything, but he wanted to answer the biggest question: What was it enchanted with?

  His hand kept going to the hilt resting against his hip, and then he would let it go. It wasn’t time to think about this. He had to figure out what was going on and, more importantly, how to get home. Once they found what they were looking for, of course.

  Alison had the job of “ask the girl all the questions” well in control. Freya led them up the tunnel, casually packing away the loot she had gathered. Alison followed her closely, gathering information even as she looked with amazement at the tunnel around them, glistening with redstone and the occasional glowstone.

  “So, you live here?” she asked. “How is that possible? I thought all the buildings here were infested with”—she waved her hand vaguely behind them—“those mobs.”

  “Oh, blazes infested the place when I moved in. They still do,” Freya said. “Skeletons too, sometimes. That’s why I built the tunnel. There’s usually nothing in the canyon. The mobs are stupid and don’t think that a building can have a back door. I cleared out most of the mobs when I took the place over, but there are always more outside. I had to go out the front door to get to you, though, since the tunnel takes more time.” She indicated her burned arm. “That’s how I got this.”

  She turned and winked at Alison. “But the best part is, the mobs outside also guard it from anything or anyone else trying to get inside. They don’t realize that they actually serve as my guardians. Although the kind of guardian that will kill you, too, if they get a chance, so they’re not perfect.” She turned and continued walking. The tunnel was now spiraling upward at a sharper angle.

  “So, there aren’t any of those things inside?” Alison asked.

  “Who knows?” Freya shrugged as if Alison was asking about vermin, not deadly creatures. “It’s a big fortress, after all. They could spawn anywhere. I keep the rooms lit, and my wolf patrols as best she can. I mainly live in just a few rooms, and keep the rest closed off unless I need something. There’s mad loot in these fortresses, and I haven’t explored all of this one.”

  “Why not?” Max asked, forgetting about his sword once he had the hint that there might be more elsewhere.

  “I have everything I need,” Freya said. “I’ve got mushrooms for food, mob hunting for entertainment, and this mutt for companionship.” She looked back at them and smiled, but her eyes looked sunken and dark, as if she hadn’t slept well in months.

  Alison frowned at Freya. Max recognized that look; she gave it to him all the time. It was the I know you’re not telling me everything look.

  “Where’s your family?” Alison asked when they reached a door.

  Freya didn’t turn around, but she stopped briefly. “We’ll have to see if I have enough potions to fix our wounds,” she said, as if Alison hadn’t spoken. “And we can take inventory and get something to eat. That mob dropped a lot of choice loot.”

  Freya swung open the door, and Alison’s stomach gurgled when she saw it was a well-stocked storeroom. “Come on in.”

  TO THE VICTOR GOES THE SPOILED MEAT

  Alison was famished. Max had cooked for them, proudly showing off his new skills with the furnace, and she had never eaten anything as good as the chicken that dropped from the mobs. She tried not to think that she had recently looked this chicken in the eye—but then again, that chicken and its jockey had tried to kill her, so she had every right to defend herself and eat the spoils of war.

  Freya had cooked some rotten meat for her wolf, over by the window so that the smell wouldn’t permeate the room. She tossed several charred green pieces to the happy pet as she told her story.

  “This is Bunny Biter. I’ve had her since she was a pup. She was deathly afraid of rabbits.” Freya laughed. “She’ll bite the head off a baby zombie, but show her a long-eared hopping thing and she runs away. I named her Bunny Biter hoping it would give her some confidence, but it didn’t help. Then we found out that there aren’t any rabbits here anyway. But the name stuck.” She tossed the last bit of meat to Bunny Biter and wiped her hands on her pants. “So, are you two brother and sister?”

  Max and Alison shared a glance, and then Alison said, “No, not exactly. I moved in with Max’s family when mine—well, I’m on my own now.” Her throat suddenly felt swollen, and no more words would force themselves out.

  Freya frowned and sat down next to Alison at the table. “What do you mean?” she asked.

  Alison didn’t answer. Max looked at her, and then back at Freya. “Creeper attack. Blew up her whole house. Wiped out her family. She’s the only survivor.”

  “The only survivor,” Freya said quietly. She took a breath, and it caught in her throat. “I’m—I’m really sorry.”

  She got up and turned her back to them, breathing deeply.

  Alison cleared her throat and took a deep breath. “Max’s family took me in. They live nearby. Nearby my old house, I mean, not nearby here. Nothing is nearby here.” Freya still didn’t turn around. Alison looked at Max, who shrugged. “But you knew that. Right. Our families were friends, and they let me live with them,” she finished, wishing she hadn’t gone on that tangent.

  “Are you okay?” Max asked, looking at Freya.

  She didn’t turn around.

  “Um, Freya?” he said.

  “Yeah?” she said brightly, and turned around. Her cheeks were red and her eyes were wide. Alison studied her, tilting her head.

  “Are you okay?” he repeated.

  “Oh, I thought you were talking to Alison.” She frowned. “Are you okay?”

  “Uh, yeah, I think I will be, anyway,” Alison said. “Thanks.”

  “That was good of you,” Freya said to Max. She was talking faster than normal. “It’s good to have friends.” She had a faraway, sad look in her eyes.

  “What about you? How did you end up alone here?” Alison asked.

  Freya blinked, and snapped back to the present. “Right. Well, my family were travelers, they liked wandering around and exploring. We’d arrive in an area, build a basic house there, learn about the area, visit the villages, whatever, and then move on.” She chuckled. “My mom always said we were planting cabins like other people plant trees.”

  Alison wondered if Freya was attached somehow to the Enchanter, but if she was, Max would have been far more interested in her. Now he stared out the window at the patrolling mobs far below the cliff.

  “Anyway, my dad said we had explored all the biomes in the Overworld and got it in his head that we needed to explore the Nether. He got obsidian from this dealer who lives near a lava flow, and got plans for a portal—he spent our entire savings to do so—and we came here.”

  “Where’s your portal?” Max asked eagerly.

  Freya shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s probably still around somewhere. But we got here a while ago. Mom mapped out our path so we could get back, but then we found a bunch of blazes. Or they found us. Same thing that happened to you.” She chewed on her lip for a moment. “I…made it out alive. The
map was on Mom when she”—Freya cleared her throat, and then continued—“and I had to run. I had Bunny Biter, and my bow, and my armor. And that apple,” she added, pointing to an apple sitting atop a stone table in the corner that Alison hadn’t noticed yet.

  “I’m so sorry,” Alison said. “I know how you feel.”

  Freya kept staring at the apple, a friendly bright red that stood out against all the dark red-gray around them. “So…you haven’t eaten it yet?” Max asked, frowning.

  Alison stared at him. “That’s what you think is important? Really?”

  He shrugged. “If it’s the only fruit around here, then yeah, maybe.”

  “It reminds me of them,” Freya said defensively.

  Alison had a necklace of her mother’s and some old letters of her father’s. She hadn’t thought of saving food. But she hadn’t had to.

  “I’d think you’d want to eat any food you can in a place like this,” Max continued.

  “And I’d think you wouldn’t come through a portal without being fully prepared to deal with the Nether, but we all make weird decisions in our lives,” Freya snapped.

  “What do you do for water?” Alison asked, trying to defuse the growing tension. “It doesn’t spawn here naturally, right?”

  Freya laughed and wiped at her cheeks. “Oh yeah, there’s no water here. I was in charge of carrying all our water. When I took over this place, I found a few cauldrons of water and made some more. I store them in a side room.” She pointed to a door on the wall opposite the secret tunnel. “If I meet another traveler, I figure I could try to barter with them for more water. It’s worked before.”

  “Why haven’t you gone home?” Max said quietly. “You said your portal is still out there. Aren’t you even trying to find it?”

  Freya looked down at Bunny Biter, who looked up hopefully to see if she had found any more zombie pigman bits to feed her. “This is home now,” she said. “I have Bunny Biter, I have a house, I have a mushroom farm.”