The Ghostly Guardian

by Maggie Marks

  “How about some fruit, boys?” called Mrs. Diaz. She was handing the farmer some emeralds, and her sack bulged with apples and melons.

  Mason’s mouth watered at the thought of a sweet ripe apple. He rolled up his map and hurried toward the fruit stand.

  Asher was already biting into a slice of melon. He spit out a seed, nearly hitting Mason’s shoe.

  “Hey!” cried Mason. “Watch out.” As he sidestepped the seed, he kicked a shiny silver bucket. Water sloshed over its side.

  “May I help you?” asked the farmer. He reached down to steady the bucket. “Would you like some tropical fish?”

  “What? Um, no.” Mason glanced back at the bucket, which was filled to the brim with rainbow-colored fish. “There are plenty of those where I live.” He smiled—and then did a double take. The silver bucket was engraved with a single initial.

  A loopy letter B.

  CHAPTER 3

  “What? Mason, what it is it?” asked Luna. She waved her hand in front of his face.

  All he could do was point to the engraving on the bucket. When Luna saw the letter B, she cocked her head. “You think that was your uncle Bart’s?”

  Mason shrugged. He couldn’t say for sure, but the engraving looked so familiar that it made his knees weak.

  Behind him, Savannah sucked in her breath—and sprang into action. “Where did you get that bucket?” she asked the farmer. “Is it yours?”

  The farmer wiped his hands on his brown robe and shook his head. “I just traded for it, from the villager with the llamas.”

  The wandering trader! Mason jerked his head up and scanned the market. He looked left, past the villagers peddling wagons and barrels filled with wares. Then he looked right, all the way to the village well. But the mysterious trader—and his llamas—were gone.

  Mason slumped down on an overturned barrel and sighed. “It probably wasn’t Uncle Bart’s anyway,” he said. “I’ve never seen that bucket before.”

  Luna nodded. “Probably not,” she said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

  But Savannah started to pace. “You don’t know for sure,” she said. “Which way did the trader head out of town?” she asked the farmer.

  He pointed. “North, I think.”

  Savannah glanced north, past the swamp hills toward the Taiga. “Should we follow him?” she asked. Her eyes flashed with determination, like a wolf dog going after a bone.

  Before Mason could answer, a bell sounded. He jumped up from the barrel and slapped his hands over his ears. “What is that?”

  “A raid?” asked Asher, who had already drawn his crossbow. “Are the pillagers coming?”

  Savannah laughed out loud. “No,” she said. “The bell just means the sun is setting. Time to close down the market. See?”

  While Mason watched, the farmer quickly took down his sign and rolled his leftover apples into a wheelbarrow. The librarian nearby stacked up her books. Everywhere Mason looked, villagers were packing up their wares and scurrying home, trying to beat the darkness that would soon fall—and bring hostile mobs with it.

  “Time to go,” said Mrs. Diaz. “Let’s hurry now.”

  As Mason followed her toward the gravel road that led south out of town, he glanced over his shoulder. Was the wandering trader heading the other way, toward the taiga? He squinted, searching the horizon. But he saw nothing.

  * * *

  Mason was still gazing north the next morning, as he, Luna, and Asher set off in a small rowboat.

  “Gold treasure, here we come,” said Asher. He stroked the water with his oar.

  “We’re looking for sponges,” Mason reminded him. “To help the Diazes dry out their boat.” He glanced back down at the ocean explorer map spread out on his lap.

  “Yeah, yeah,” said Asher. “Sponges too.”

  Luna shook her head. “Sometimes it’s hard to believe you two are brothers,” she said. The corner of her mouth curved up into a smile.

  She’s right about that, thought Mason. Asher is all about finding treasure, just like Uncle Bart. He glanced northward one more time, thinking of the wandering trader who had a bucket engraved with a B. Does he know something about our uncle? Mason wondered again. I guess we’ll never know.

  He sighed—and then got back to business. “Head west,” he said, studying the map. “We’re getting closer to the monument.”

  The aqua-blue ocean monument appeared tiny on the map, but Mason had seen monuments up close before—and there was nothing tiny about them.

  As the boat drifted over a wing of the monument, he could only look down and gape at the enormous structure. Made entirely of prismarine and sea lanterns, the monument seemed to glow. Down, down, down it stretched, over twenty blocks from the top to the bottom.

  From the center of the monument, a long narrow entryway stretched forward, beckoning passersby to enter. Mason knew that pillar-lined entrance would lead to a maze of prismarine chambers. They’d have to wind their way up through floor after floor before finding what they were seeking. And we’ll probably run into a fierce guardian or two along the way, he thought, picturing the ugly fish-like mobs that protected the monument.

  He tapped the map with his finger and said, “Maybe we can mine our way in through the top. The sponge room will be somewhere in the center.”

  “So will the treasure chamber,” said Asher.

  When Mason flashed him a look, Asher shrugged. “Just sayin’ …”

  Luna sighed. “You’re both right, okay?” she said. “But if we mine our way in through the top, we have to watch out for elder guardians.” She threw the anchor over the side of the boat. “If they attack us with mining fatigue, we’ll be done for. I only have so much milk antidote to go around.”

  Asher patted his newly enchanted crossbow. “If an elder guardian comes my way, it will be done for,” he boasted.

  “Yeah, yeah. Just drink your potions,” said Luna, offering the boys two squat bottles. Mason took a quick swig of each: potions of water breathing and night vision. Then he grabbed his pickaxe and jumped, welcoming the cool rush of water that surrounded him.

  It felt good to be weightless again—to swim instead of walk. Mason had grown up on dry land, but somewhere along the way, the ocean had become home. He inhaled the saltwater into his lungs, grateful for Luna’s potion, and then dove low toward the roof made of solid prismarine.

  He mined quickly, scanning the water for guardians after every swing. Asher was suddenly beside him, swinging his pickaxe too. And when Luna joined in, the blocks began to fall—one after another, creating an entryway into the monument below.

  Mason leaned low, checking the room for hostile mobs. When he saw that the coast was clear, he waved over his shoulder, beckoning Asher and Luna to follow him in.

  But Asher was already worming his way through the hole. As soon as he’d cleared it, he took off, on a mission to find gold.

  Asher, wait! Mason wanted to call. All he could do was stay close behind, ready to fight if his brother ran into trouble.

  They swam through a long rectangular room lined with pillars, and then into a hallway lit by sea lanterns. Asher swam faster and faster, as if lured on by the promise of treasure ahead. He paused near each doorway, quickly checking the contents of the underwater rooms.

  When Asher hesitated beside a door, Mason hurried to catch up. Had his brother found gold? No—Asher gestured into the room as if to show Mason something, but he didn’t go in. Instead, he swam farther down the hall.

  As Mason entered the doorway, he immediately saw the wet, bloated blocks hanging from the ceiling. Sponges! A trickle of excitement ran down his spine. The yellow blocks hung like giant cocoa pods, threatening to drop at any moment.

  He reached again for his pickaxe, ready to do some mining. But the thought of Asher swimming off on his own stopped him. With a sigh, Mason headed back into the hall and flagged down Luna.

  Her face brightened when she saw the sponges, but Mason shook his head. Go with
Asher, he tried to tell her, pointing down the hall. I’ll stay here.

  Luna gave him a thumbs-up. With the kick of her feet, she swam around a corner and disappeared.

  Okay, time to mine! thought Mason. He’d have to hurry, before his potion of water breathing ran out. He swam toward the ceiling, where the sponges were attached to the blue-green prismarine blocks. Using his pickaxe, he whacked at the squishiest sponge he could find.

  It swayed left and then right, threatening to knock Mason backward. Then it fell.

  Instead of collecting the sponge, Mason headed toward the next one. The Diazes’ ship was massive—they would need a lot of sponges to soak up the flooded rooms below deck.

  But as Mason swam toward the sponge, he realized it wasn’t a sponge at all.

  A dark mass hovered near the ceiling of the room. In the shadows, Mason could make out sharp spikes extending from its sides. A long, strong tail. And a single eye, staring directly at him.

  It’s an elder guardian! he realized—a moment too late.

  CHAPTER 4

  For a few seconds, time stood still. Mason froze, his heart thudding in his ears. Had the elder guardian seen him?

  Don’t move! he willed himself. Every muscle in his body tensed up, wanting to flee. But if he did, the mob might attack—fire a laser at Mason that would take him down.

  And if he didn’t move, the guardian would surely inflict him with mining fatigue. Would Luna be close enough to help him with her milk antidote? Or would the elder guardian attack her too?

  Mason turned his head slightly, just enough to check for Luna in the entrance to the room. But the prismarine doorway was empty. In the moment it took to turn back to the guardian, he saw the flash of light.

  The bluish-purple ray lit up the shadowy room. Mason swung himself sideways, trying to dodge the laser. But when it turned a fierce yellow, he felt the blast.

  It knocked him backward, straight into a sponge. As he lost his grip on his pickaxe, he fumbled for his trident. Where was the elder guardian now? He couldn’t see—couldn’t push his way past the bloated hanging sponges.

  Find the mob! Mason told himself. Find it now! The elder guardian would be recharging—swimming away with its spikes retracted. If Mason didn’t strike now, he’d miss his chance. The beast would come back. And it’ll finish me, Mason knew.

  He pushed his way through the thick yellow sponges, tunneling farther and farther into the room. Then he caught a flicker of movement—a barbed tail swimming in the opposite direction.

  With every ounce of energy he could muster, Mason pushed off from a sponge and tore after the elder guardian. But the beast saw him coming. It whirled around, thrashing its tail and growling a warning.

  Keep going, thought Mason. Don’t stop. He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t fail. Because there was no one here to save him.

  He kicked his legs furiously and swung his trident, clipping the end of the guardian’s tail.

  It rolled sideways, tumbling off course, and then screeched with rage. As it swung around, preparing to charge, Mason gripped his trident and counted. One, two, three … He swung with everything he had—and missed.

  As Mason spun in a circle, carried by the momentum of his weapon, another elder guardian flitted past. The image was blurry, as if in a dream. Was the ghostly guardian real?

  An eerie growl rang out. As the sound bounced off the walls, Mason’s limbs suddenly weakened. He drifted downward. Something had caught hold of him—something more powerful than the guardian’s laser. More powerful than Luna’s potions. Mining fatigue! he realized with horror.

  When Mason hit the bottom of the prismarine chamber, his legs crumpled beneath him. His limbs moved slow as lava now. He couldn’t mine. He couldn’t fight. And there was only one remedy.

  “Milk,” he said out loud, the word bubbling from his mouth. He needed milk. But Luna and her bag of potions and remedies were much too far away.

  When a light glowed overhead, Mason’s eyes drifted upward. Would he find himself face to face with another ghostly guardian? He held his breath.

  But the guardians were gone. Something else had drifted into the room—or someone else.

  A man in a robe hovered above Mason, his red beard curly and wet. The gold trim on his sleeves and hood glittered like treasure in the swirling water.

  Mason’s fear began to slip away—replaced with curiosity. I know that man, he thought. But from where?

  He waded through the memories in his mind, feeling as if he were slogging through mud. Horses, he thought. No, llamas—the man rode llamas. At the market!

  Mason slowly pushed himself up from the prismarine floor. Ask him about the bucket, he reminded himself. Ask him about Uncle Bart! But how could he say or ask anything, trapped here underwater?

  As the wandering trader floated above, Mason stared into his kind, familiar eyes. He had green eyes, just like Asher’s.

  Mason’s stomach twisted. He knew those eyes. But they didn’t belong to his brother. They belonged to …

  … Uncle Bart.

  Mason’s heart exploded in his chest. Are you really here? he wanted to cry out. He reached out to touch his uncle’s face, but Uncle Bart was too far away.

  As the room darkened, tiny black dots danced across his vision. My potion of night vision is fading, he realized. And his uncle was too.

  No! Mason reached again, trying to grab Uncle Bart’s robes and hold on. Don’t go! Stay! Please help me!

  But his hand grasped only water.

  Someone else was tugging Mason backward now. He struggled to break free, keeping his gaze locked on the familiar face hovering above. Uncle Bart was disappearing more quickly now, as if he had just swallowed potion of invisibility. All that remained were his kind green eyes, staring back at Mason.

  Till Mason blinked.

  And then Uncle Bart was gone.

  CHAPTER 5

  Mason forced one eyelid open and quickly closed it again. The sun overhead was blinding. He was lying back in a boat—he felt it rocking beneath him. But where was Uncle Bart?

  Mason opened his eyes again and sat straight up. “Where is he?”

  “Who?” Asher’s freckled face scrunched up in confusion.

  “Uncle Bart!”

  Asher slowly blew out his breath. Then he glanced toward Luna. “I think he needs more milk.”

  When Luna offered Mason another drink from the bottle, he pushed it away. “He was here—I saw him!”

  Luna licked her lips. “You saw him … where?” Her voice sounded sweet as sugar cane.

  Which means she doesn’t believe me, thought Mason. But I know what I saw.

  “In the sponge room,” he said slowly, trying to make her understand. “After the ghostly guardian attacked. Uncle Bart was in there with me.”

  Luna shook her head, her dark bangs spilling into her face. “That was your mind playing tricks on you, because of the mining fatigue. I was the only one in there with you. I pulled you out. You’re safe—”

  Mason cut her off. “It was Uncle Bart, and it’s not the first time we saw him. He was at the market. He was the one with the llamas!”

  As Luna and Asher exchanged another look, Mason fought back a wave of frustration. I’m on my own again, he realized. No one understands.

  “Look, we got the sponges,” said Asher, quickly changing the subject. “Luna made me leave the gold behind”—he shot her an exasperated glance—”but we got lots of sponges to help the Diazes clean up their boat. She said if we help them, maybe they’ll even let us come to the Taiga with them on their next trip. Right, Luna?”

  She shrugged. “That’d be fun, wouldn’t it?” she asked Mason.

  He nodded slowly. As he shifted his weight, he realized he was lying on a bed of wet, bloated sponges. They were so heavy, the small rowboat sat dangerously low in the water.

  As he reached overboard and let his fingers rake the cool waves, he tried to sort out the sticky web of thoughts in his mind. Maybe Luna was right.
Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him down there in the ocean monument, because of the mining fatigue. Or maybe the ghostly guardian had shown him something real.

  What if the wandering trader really is Uncle Bart? he wondered.

  Because the man did have red hair, like Uncle Bart. And he had a bucket engraved with the letter B. I didn’t imagine those things, thought Mason, setting his jaw. And if there’s any chance the trader is Uncle Bart, we have to track him down. We have to find the trader!

  He glanced north, toward the Taiga. If the wandering trader had headed that way, he had a good day’s head start. It would be hard to catch up. Unless we’re sailing, Mason thought suddenly.

  When Luna offered him the milk again, he took it. He sat up and reached for an oar. Then he said to Asher, as brightly as he could, “Let’s get these sponges back to the Diazes. The sooner we help them clean up their boat, the sooner we can set sail.”

  “Aye, aye, captain!” joked Asher. He grabbed the other oar.

  As they rowed, Mason fought the urge to say anything more about Uncle Bart. Asher and Luna don’t believe me, he knew. But maybe he could prove it to them. If the trader turns out to be Uncle Bart, they’ll see for themselves.

  The thought coursed through Mason like a potion of strength. He rowed faster, east toward the fishing village.

  But he kept his sights set north.

  * * *

  Tap, tap, tap!

  The sound vibrated throughout the walls of the ship. As Mason pulled a hot sponge from the furnace, he peeked through the porthole. Were Mr. and Mrs. Diaz almost done mending the hull?

  The ship was docked near shore. On the long narrow pier, Mason could see stacks of wooden planks—light brown oak, from the trees that grew near the village, along with a short stack of darker spruce from the Taiga. The Taiga, thought Mason with a shiver. We’ll be setting sail soon!

  He fluffed up the sponge, which was dry as bone now, and hurried back down the hall toward the stern of the boat. There, he found Asher on his hands and knees, pushing a thick, wet sponge across the floor.