by Mur Lafferty
* * *
—
After every single thing he had been through, Max turned out to almost die by drowning after all.
He came to under cold water, his lungs burning, but he was grateful that nothing else was on fire. He swam to the surface and struggled toward land, finally collapsing onto warm sand, gasping. Burns covered his body and he was pretty sure his hair was gone. He could do nothing but lie there, coughing water out of his lungs, and being very aware of the sun in the bright sky overhead.
After he could breathe comfortably again, he realized the ghast had done him a favor by blowing the cursed armor off his body. He was finally free of the accursed pieces, and wore only his regular clothes, burned in several places as they were. He would have laughed in relief, but knowing the others were still in the Nether was worrying. He didn’t know if he should go back through or not. He had no armor, no weapons, nothing with which to help. But going back would answer the questions plaguing him. Had they made it past that last ghast? Could they move Nicholas?
He finally realized he should at least take in his surroundings. He painfully got to his feet and looked around. He had landed near the shoreline of a large body of water—so large that he couldn’t see anything on the other side. The portal hung over the water, and he realized the others would also have a shock coming home. It also made the problem of going back to help them much harder, but he could build a platform to the portal. It would keep his mind off things.
Despite the cold water, it was very warm here, and the trees looked unfamiliar. He took down a few with some painful punches, and built a quick platform in front of the portal. Just as he finished giving the platform a path to the shore, Alison and Nicholas collapsed through the portal onto the platform.
Max ran to their side and helped them sit up. Nicholas was badly burned. Alison was injured but conscious. She handed Max his bag and he went rooting through it for more healing potions. He found one and put it to his uncle’s lips.
“Where’s Freya?” he asked Alison.
“She wouldn’t come. She went looking for Bunny Biter,” Alison said, removing her armor with a sigh. “Things were quiet when we left, so she’ll probably be okay.” She winced, as if a thought had occurred to her. “Or she was looking for an excuse to stay in the Nether and not come back with us.”
Max shook his head firmly. “No. That’s just not her. We’ll wait for her, and then if she’s not back by tomorrow, we’ll get some stuff crafted so we can go back and look for her.”
“Back?” Alison asked.
“For Freya,” he said.
She nodded. “For Freya.”
Max handed over her pack, and she got some mushrooms out of it and ate them, sighing with relief as the food strengthened her. “We might want to let your mom know we’re okay first, though.”
“She’ll never let me go back if we do that,” he said, laughing.
“Do you know which way home is from here?” Alison asked. “Nothing looks familiar.”
Nicholas sat up suddenly. “Where’s Freya?” he demanded. He looked around. “Where are we?”
“She’s still in the Nether, and we’re home,” Max said. He looked around at the unfamiliar landscape and then added, “Sort of.”
“She’s looking for her wolf. She said she would be right behind us. And I’m not sure”—Alison looked around—“how close this is to home.”
Nicholas stood up. “This isn’t home. There is no body of water this large near our village.” He squinted in the afternoon light, looking toward the north. “That’s desert up there.”
“Desert—there’s no desert near home!” Max said. “How did we travel so far? We didn’t go that far in the Nether!”
“Distance is different there. I should have remembered,” Nicholas said. “What is one block there is several blocks here. Or the other way around. I don’t remember. Boots would know. Anyway, the maps don’t coincide.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve written it down,” Alison said, holding up her own notebook.
* * *
—
The argument ranged from how long to wait for Freya, to whether they should set out for home immediately, to the wisdom of trying to find a village where they could get a map to make sure they were going in the right direction. Alison finally said they needed to first build a small shelter for the night and then they could decide their next step tomorrow. She then got very excited when she realized they could easily make real beds in a real shelter. She went out looking for some sheep while Nicholas and Max built their lodging.
Suddenly the purple glow of the portal activating shimmered intensely and Freya stepped out, holding Bunny Biter in her arms. Everyone was relieved at seeing them both safe, and Alison ran over to hug Freya tightly.
“I’m so happy you’re safe! We were getting so worried.”
“Yeah, what took you so long?” Max teased, giving Bunny Biter a pat on her head as the wolf sniffed around their new shelter.
“Someone—” Freya said, glaring at Bunny Biter.
“Don’t you mean somewolf?” Alison asked, grinning at her.
Freya laughed, then said, “Yeah, actually, somewolf decided that ghast drops would be tasty, since skeleton drops were tasty. It turns out that wolf stomach doesn’t like ghast tears nearly as much as bones. She was behind a rock horking up everything she’d eaten in the past few days.”
She tossed her pack down on the ground. “I looted what I could, if you’re interested,” she said. “Just keep it away from the wolf.”
Alison snatched up the pack before Bunny Biter’s questing nose could find the “treats” inside.
Freya glanced around, frowning. “You live here? Where’s the village?”
“No, actually,” Alison said. “We are going to need to find our way home. We didn’t know distances were different in the Nether and here.”
Nicholas sighed. “I thought my challenge in coming back to the Overworld was going to be making amends with my family, rebuilding a tree house, and relieving a brother-in-law from doing my job. It looks like we have to find home first.”
“You’re going to make up with Mom and Dad?” Max asked.
“I’m going to try,” Nicholas said. “I need to make up for a lot of mistakes. And I need to find someone to train me in enchanting, if I’m going to keep doing it. No more self-teaching.” He smiled at Alison. “I owe Boots that much.”
“And rebuilding a tree house?” Alison said. “Do you mean mine?” She glanced over at Freya, then said, “I mean ours.”
Freya grinned.
“It’s the least I could do,” he said, before walking over to Alison. “And I also wanted to give you this.” Nicholas reached into his pack, rummaging around for a moment before pulling out a small, tattered journal. He hesitated before handing it to her. “You remind me of your Grandma Boots. You’re strong enough to tell me when I’m making questionable decisions instead of just going along with it for fear of speaking up. I’m glad you’re Max’s friend. So…here.”
“What is this?” Alison took the journal, flipping it open to the first page. She immediately recognized the neat, almost stern handwriting.
“It is the journal your Grandma Dia used to chronicle our very first adventure together. She was much bolder in those days, young and brash as we were, and I wanted to share that with you.” He smiled at Alison as she stared fixedly at the writing. “You really are so much like her at that age. I hope you find wisdom in its pages. And you”—he turned toward Max—“I hope you also learn something from my past mistakes!”
“Like don’t use fermented spider eyes?” Max asked.
Nicholas let out a booming laugh. “Among many other things, yes.” He looked at the sky, where the sun was rapidly sliding toward the horizon. “I love enchanting, but I have to learn the right way. When we get
back, I’m going to find someone to teach me. Would you like to join me?”
A large grin split Max’s face. “Yeah! Of course!”
Nodding, Nicholas said, “Wonderful! We’ll get started as soon as we get back. For now, I think it’s best that we all head inside and get some rest. It’s going to be a long journey home.”
* * *
—
Loud snores resounded off the walls as Nicholas slept. The kids stood at the window of their shelter, watching the mobs wander outside. To Max’s eyes, they seemed tame compared to the other creatures they’d fought.
“I did miss green,” Freya said. “Thanks for bringing me home.”
Alison smiled and put her arm around Freya’s shoulders.
“You know,” Max said thoughtfully. “We could always go back, take apart the portal, backtrack to Freya’s fortress, and rebuild it there. That might be a faster way to get home. Closer, at least. And who knows who we’ll find along the way?”
“No!” the other two shouted in unison.
EPILOGUE,
OR WHEN WE KNOW THE STORY ISN’T OVER
Click here to view a transcript of this text
For Fiona, Blaze, Alex, and all the turtles
BY MUR LAFFERTY
Playing for Keeps
Nanovor: Hacked
The Shambling Guide to New York City
Ghost Train to New Orleans
Six Wakes
Solo: A Star Wars Story
Minecraft: The Lost Journals
MUR LAFFERTY is an award-winning author and Hall of Fame podcaster. She’s the author of the Nebula- and Hugo-nominated Best Novel finalist Six Wakes, the Shambling Guides series, and Solo: A Star Wars Story, and host of the popular Ditch Diggers and I Should Be Writing podcasts. She also coedits the Hugo-nominated podcast magazine Escape Pod.
She lives with her husband, daughter, and two dogs in Durham, North Carolina, where she runs, plays computer and board games, and bakes bread.
murverse.com
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From the lost journal of N**********
Today I nurse the considerable burns I received when encountering ********** And I barely made it out alive. It was a yellow monstrosity, a cube surrounded by **********
I foolishly thought that my shirt would be good enough, thinking this was just a scouting mission. The promise of strong ***** and other riches are too tempting to ignore.
But wool armor is not a thing that exists, despite what ********** insisted. My shirt protected me from nothing. I'll have to tell ********** that they were wasting their time.
And I'm sorry for the lost wool.
And the lost sheep.
I did find something of interest: ********** but it was guarded by those fire things. I will have to get more data before I face them again.
Now to sneak to the village to see if someone will trade a healing potion with me. I hope I don't run across **********
I couldn't face them right now.
I think I have perfected building the portal. Almost nothing went wrong this time. I did have the problem of zombies on this side, and on the other side there were more of those terrible fire creatures. But hey, when life gives you mushrooms, you make mushroom soup. I made a small platform and brought a great deal of cobblestone through to build a safe area.
I think I am making progress.
Why write things down if you don't intend anyone to read them? And yet I hope no one reads this. I've been attacked by more creatures on the other side, and barely escaped with my life. If I can't find a safe place to live there, I will certainly die. But living on this side is no longer an option.
If you do find this journal, don't follow my lead. The danger is high and the risks are many. The only treasure I've gotten is a block of material that burns me when I touch it. Nothing valuable is on the other side.
Right now, I seek only freedom.
Back to text
From the lost journal of N
The merchants in the village are nothing but cheats. The woman said I could have fermented spiders' eyes at a discount, but now I can't find anything useful to put them in. I'm determined to find the value of these things, as they must have one. Otherwise why would someone go through the trouble of fermenting the disgusting things?
So far, these potions do NOT work with fermented spiders' eyes:
—Potion of Health
—Regeneration
—Night Vision
—Swiftness
—Strength
—Water Breathing
I will keep trying, though. There's got to be something.
(It will take some time to get started again because the Potion of Swiftness with the spider's eye seems to do the opposite, and it's taken me a full day to write this entry.)
Quit. I quit.
I know what my true path is, and I'm going to walk it. Let the others do the mundane work. I'm meant for higher things. Someday they'll be begging for my potions and enchantments. And of course, I will give it to them because I am not cruel.
But they'll know. And I'll know.
Back to text
Dear Freya—
Don't follow me. I appreciate your kindness when you rescued me, and I'm sorry I left you without saying goodbye. But I'm a cursed man, hurting everyone I come across. I came to the Nether because I was responsible for my nephew's death. I don't deserve anyone's kindness. I can never make up for it so I'm taking my exile as far away as I can. So don't follow me farther, it's just going to get more dangerous.
Nicholas
P.S. Also, I worked hard to build this house, and was pained to discover it immediately got infested with spawning mobs. So, don't come inside, there are endermen and skeletons likely wandering the house.
Back to text
From the lost journal of N**********
I think we can communicate with the endermen. They want the same things we do: they want to be left alone, have no one look at them, and to teleport anywhere they like. (Note: They are actually able to teleport, while at this point it's only something humans want.)
I have tried to communicate while not looking at them. I offer food, blocks, useful tools. I try to speak, or grunt, or scream, but they don't seem to care about me until I look at them, and then things get ugly again.
I've tried to watch the endermen together, to see how they interact, but their lives seem to be relatively solitary, yet often with companions.
I hear the endermen come from a place called the End, and that it's harder to get to than even the Nether. I will go there someday, but I must finish my excursions to the Nether first. Boots always said to be thorough.
Put in another bookcase today. It turns out that enchanting is easier with more bookcases around. Almost as if the books are drawn to the enchantment. Which makes sense, since you need books to enchant.
Have discovered that it's harder to enchant things with just any book. I used the popular novel My Heart Is Square to enchant a helmet, and now I have an iron helmet I can't take off. In the woods that's fine. In the village I tend to stick out.
The book was pretty good, though.
Back to text
I know he watches me while I'm enchanting items, and I know his mother doesn't know. I've seen the boy follow me, he is so sure of his stealth! I would laugh except then he would know I had uncovered his secret.
The feelings are complex when I sense his presence at the window. My heart swells with pride when I think that perhaps he wants to follow in my footsteps as an enchanter, and not the rest of the family's legacy as architects. But he will have se
en my mistakes, so many of them, and then I wonder what he must think of me!
I know what his parents think. Rose has told me time and again to not encourage any interest that he may show in my "hobbies," as she calls them. They want me to do nothing more than show him the skills I have as an architect, and leave him to a life of boredom. But they haven't seen the boy build yet; he lacks the family skill. Oh, he's competent enough, he can build a sturdy wall, floor, or bridge, but the boy has no vision when it comes to architecture. His houses will keep people warm, but their visual appeal will be negligent.
But enchanting! His eyes light up when he thinks he's seeing a magical item, and his hands visibly itch, he's so eager to get ahold of the item. I've seen him pore over books, not understanding half of what he was reading but being entranced by all of it.
Next week I plan on telling Max I know he's been spying, and I will train him in secret. With his enthusiasm and my tutelage, he may become the best enchanter this world has ever known!
If we are careful, Rose need never know.
I can't even read my previous entries, as I know they drip with pride and confidence. This failing of mine, this pursuit of such a dangerous vocation, has killed my nephew, and it is more damning that I knew he was watching me work, that I didn't stop him, or at least let him watch where I could see him and we could talk about the dangers of enchanting.
He broke into my cabin and took a helmet I had attempted to enchant with a water breathing spell, but had failed. His complete faith in his uncle had him drown, and when I heard, I ran, my sister's cries of anguish behind me that I had killed her boy.
I had such dreams for him; having no child of my own, I had wanted to give my nephew my world, my legacy, my knowledge. I had hoped to take him with me to the Nether and show him it isn't the hellscape of legend, that it can be a fascinating place to visit. Now I exile myself there alone, with nothing left in this world but pain.