The Dragon: An Official Minecraft Novel

by Nicky Drayden

  She scoured the mountain, but the huge trees all looked the same, and the terrain was often impassable. Zetta couldn’t see any signs of her aunt or her home. After a while, Zetta had to admit that she might not ever find her, and that this mission was a waste of time. She sat down and started to sob. Big warm tears ran down her cheeks, so many more than had ever come from her eyes. They were even running down her arms, neck…forehead?

  Zetta touched her brow, then looked up into the sky. It was rain! Actual rain! She’d never seen such a thing. She jumped to her feet and twirled around with her mouth open, catching drops on her tongue. This was such an amazing feeling. Zetta watched the leaves jump each time drops landed upon them. Little puddles formed under her feet. In the desert, water was life, and here there was just so much of it. This was worth it. Even if she never found her aunt’s home, Zetta would remember this moment forever.

  When the clouds parted and the sun struck through the canopy, Zetta caught a glimpse of something. A house! That had to be it. It was quaint, but tidy, made of dark wood and cobblestone, with window boxes full of flowers and a small garden brimming with carrots, sugarcane, and melons! Rabbits roamed behind the gated fence, and under a raised porch in front of the house, nether wart grew in dark sand.

  “Aunty Meryl!” Zetta yelled. Her aunt probably wasn’t used to visitors, and Zetta wanted to make sure she didn’t end up getting a potion of poison lobbed at her for trespassing. “Aunt Meryl, it’s me, Zetta. Carl’s daughter.”

  Nothing happened.

  The rabbits scrambled away from her as she got closer. She caught a whiff of fermented spider eye coming from the house. Zetta looked up into a cobweb-filled window and could make out a set of four brewing stands bubbling together. Each potion was a different color, and storage chests were piled up along the walls, labeled with signs: blaze powder, phantom membranes, magma cream.

  Zetta could hardly contain her excitement. There was so much to learn! She was about to reach into her pack to pull out the notebook, but a firm hand slammed down on her shoulder and spun her around with great force. She looked up into the face of her aunt, the brown of her skin deeper than that of Zetta and her father, hair in a giant white puff with a few remaining strands of black here and there. The resemblance to Zetta’s father was uncanny, even though she was nearly fifteen years older. Apparently, the genes in her family were strong.

  Zetta hoped the familial bonds were strong, too, because if she got poofed by her own aunt, Zetta would be awfully cross. And awfully dead.

  Her aunt said nothing—her angry scowl did all the talking. She wore a long gray dress that looked like it had once been blue or purple, but those colors had long ago been washed out of existence. Chunks of glowstone hung from a gold chain around her neck. She smelled…natural, was the closest Zetta could come to thinking of it. Like dirt and wet leaves and moss.

  “Aunty Meryl? I’m—”

  “I heard who you said you were. You found your way up here, so I’m assuming you’re capable of finding your way back down. Better hurry before night catches you.” Aunt Meryl let go of Zetta’s shoulder, but Zetta could still feel the pressure of her handprint and the bruise blooming. Aunt Meryl turned her back to Zetta, the long hem of her rough dress brushing against the earth.

  “You can’t send me away,” Zetta said desperately. “I need you to teach me about potioning! Our town was attacked by a huge mob of illagers. Dozens of them. And you know raids come back bigger and stronger. If I knew more about how brewing worked, I could give us the advantage we need to drive them away for good.”

  Aunt Meryl turned around slowly. “Illagers…” she mumbled.

  Zetta nodded so hard, she thought her head would fall off. She had to do whatever she could to get her aunt on her side. “I’ve been practicing! I’m not a total noob. But there’s so much I don’t know. I’ve been getting things wrong. A lot. But one of my potions saved our mayor from getting run down by this huge beast with horns.”

  “A ravager,” Aunt Meryl said. Her voice was ragged, like she barely ever used it. “That’s bold of the illagers to attack a town of that size. They usually stick to small villages filled with people who they know won’t fight back. The right potions could help fend them off, but unless your father has had a miraculous change of heart, he would never be okay with such a thing. He’d rather cut off his own nose than to have another alchemist in his house. I take it he doesn’t know you’re here.”

  Zetta shrugged. “I left him a note that I’d be back when I was ready to help our town out however I could. I didn’t tell him I was coming here.”

  “Oh, he’ll figure it out. Last thing I need is my brother showing up on my porch demanding I stop corrupting his daughter with magical nonsense.” Aunt Meryl shuddered, her face still stern, but Zetta could tell by the slight slope in her shoulders that something in her heart had gone soft. “You can stay one night. I won’t teach you about potions, but I will brew you some to take back with you. If your father asks where you got them from, say you made them yourself. Never speak my name. For both our sakes.”

  Zetta uttered a noncommittal “Okay,” still unsure what all the fuss was about. Some sort of sibling feud that thirteen years of separation hadn’t resolved. She got the feeling that thirteen more years wouldn’t help the situation much either.

  Zetta followed her aunt inside her quaint home. Every corner of it was stacked with old chests, and the scent of fermented spider eyes was ever present, though the dried flowers hanging all around covered the scent up some. Several cauldrons were filled with murky-looking water, and cobwebs had settled in the nooks and crannies between the many odds and ends that probably hadn’t been dusted in over a decade.

  “Don’t touch anything,” Aunt Meryl commanded.

  Zetta practically folded into herself, trying to become smaller so that she wouldn’t accidentally brush against a barrel or knock over a chest filled with glass bottles. Her eyes were wide. She’d never seen such a collection of items from all over the world. In the desert, it was all sand and sandstone. And cactus. Always cactus.

  The little bit of color the people had in Sienna Dunes came from cactus dye. Green clothes, green leather armor, green beds, green glass. Green fireworks during holiday celebrations. Once, as a prank, Rift had even dyed all the sheep on Nana and Papa’s farm green. Zetta’s grandparents weren’t amused. Neither were the sheep.

  But here, everything was a different color of the rainbow. Zetta could never have even dreamed of a place so beautiful and charming. The wooden floor planks were the most stunning shade of teal blue. In the middle of the room, the four brewing stands sat on a workbench made of lavender-colored blocks etched with smaller squares. Behind them, lining the far wall, was a stretch of black blocks dripping a glowing purple ooze. It almost looked like the blocks were crying. Creepy. But also pretty, in a weird sort of way. On top of them sat two large chests.

  Aunt Meryl opened the chest on the left. It creaked wearily before spilling out a golden light that lit up the entire room. Zetta dared to get closer, and when she peeked inside, she saw the chest was filled to the brim with blaze powder. She could feel the heat radiating off it.

  The powder spat and sizzled angrily as Aunt Meryl took a big scoopful and set it carefully on her workbench. She then stacked a pile of sugar next to it, along with some glistering melons that made Zetta’s mouth water. She knew better than to eat them, since they’d been crafted with a bunch of gold nuggets, but they looked so sweet and juicy.

  Zetta stayed as close to her aunt as she could without risking tripping over her or interrupting her process as she continued to gather up ingredients stored in various places. When Aunt Meryl approached an old barrel sitting under a cobweb-covered window, she shot Zetta a warning glare not to come any closer. This only stoked Zetta’s curiosity. She wanted to know what was in that barrel more than anything. With a very del
icate touch, Aunt Meryl reached in and pulled out a small tear-shaped object. It shone like a jewel.

  Only when she had laid it carefully on a workbench all of its own did Aunt Meryl dare to breathe again.

  “What is that?” Zetta whispered.

  “Ghast tear,” Aunt Meryl said. “Very difficult to collect. Very fragile as well, but I can make you a few splash regeneration potions that you can use if you get in a pinch.”

  Zetta was speechless. This was going so well. Beyond her wildest imagination. Then she watched as her aunt began to brew. In no time the room became humid, as the four bubbling brewing stands puffed steam into the air, each working on a separate set of potions. Healing, strength, swiftness, and regeneration. Zetta took out her notebook and began jotting down what Aunt Meryl was doing, trying to estimate measurements and timings.

  So many questions ran through Zetta’s head, but she didn’t have the nerve to ask them. She could spend a year here, just watching her aunt work like this. The way she moved was almost like she was making music, and Zetta didn’t want to throw off her rhythm, but finally, the words just shot out. “How do you know how to do all of this?”

  Aunt Meryl was silent for a long time, as the smoke from the healing potion wafted toward Zetta. Finally, looking satisfied, she turned the burners off and set the potions to the side so they could cool. “Curiosity, mostly. Observation. Patience.”

  Zetta waited for her aunt to elaborate, but she didn’t. The regeneration potions finished next—such a curious shade of purple. Then the strength potion—thick and dark, like blood. The swiftness potion came off the burners last, which caught Zetta by surprise. Then again, maybe that made sense. Speed took time. She jotted that down in her notebook.

  Not that any of this really mattered. Her father had taken her brewing stand. Their town was in shambles. Any free time she had would be spent picking up the pieces from the raid. Zetta loved Sienna Dunes. She loved her community, but a small pit of anger prickled in her heart like cactus quills. If she hadn’t used that potion on the mayor, things would have been a lot, lot worse. And no one wanted to admit it. Especially not her father.

  “Why does Dad distrust magic so much?” Zetta squeaked out as her aunt was putting the corks in the potion bottles.

  Aunt Meryl’s hard demeanor softened significantly and suddenly. She sighed, then patted a spot on her workbench. Zetta walked over and scrambled up and sat on it, her legs dangling like she was a kid.

  “You remind me of myself when I was your age. You said you saved the mayor with a potion? Tell me about it.”

  Zetta’s eyebrows arched. No one had ever shown much interest in her potions. Rift and Rayne tolerated her rantings out of kindness, but she always felt she had to rein in the true extent of her passion so she wouldn’t bore them to tears. But now, she saw how her aunt was ready to listen. Really listen. And everything she’d been holding back tumbled out of her mouth.

  “It was a splash invisibility potion. But I didn’t know how much redstone to use, and I think I added too much, and my golden carrot wasn’t the freshest, and I got distracted and left it on the burner too long.” Zetta came up for a breath, then continued, describing what had happened during the raid, and how she’d turned the mayor mostly invisible, except her torso and arms, and how the sight had freaked the ravager out.

  Aunt Meryl nodded kindly throughout the entire retelling, then looked Zetta right in her eyes, so deeply, Zetta could feel it in her soul. “Alchemy is an art, but it’s also a science. It requires both creativity and rigor. And if there’s one thing you can’t be, it’s distracted. Seconds can separate a perfect potion from a disaster.”

  Zetta went to write that down in her notebook, but Meryl shook her head. “You haven’t found any written records of potion recipes because they are not something that can be written down. Magic doesn’t want to be completely known, and it changes over time. Our world changes over time, bringing with it new opportunities for discovery if you keep an open mind. There weren’t always invisibility potions, you know. There weren’t always pillager raids, for that matter. It is our job to learn and adapt. To discover new blocks, new biomes, new ways of looking at the world. The magic is out there waiting. You just have to find it. That’s where the art comes in. Listening, observing…”

  “Patience,” Zetta said, though she was pretty sure she didn’t even have an ounce of it. But she’d definitely noticed that her aunt had changed the subject away from her father and his distaste for magic. “Well then, how do I learn the art?” Zetta asked. She already knew the answer to this. And Aunt Meryl knew that she knew—that was written clearly in the hesitation on her aunt’s face.

  “An apprenticeship,” Aunt Meryl muttered.

  Zetta perked up. “Does this mean you will—”

  “No,” Aunt Meryl said, cutting her off. “I can’t. Your father would never forgive me. But perhaps if I went around the house, muttering things here and there about alchemy…and if you happened to be behind me listening…Well, there’s not much for him to be mad about in that, is there?”

  Zetta nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly. “I’d like that. I’d like it a lot!”

  “It’s only for a couple days. He’ll be heading this way sooner or later, and we’ll need to have you gone before that happens. I can’t promise you’ll learn much, but I can at least get you pointed in the right direction. We’ll do what we can to protect your home.” The way the word “home” came out of Aunt Meryl’s mouth made it sound like such an abstract concept, like she’d distanced herself from Sienna Dunes for so long, she’d never be able to return. Whatever rift there was between Father and Aunt Meryl, Zetta hoped they’d be able to heal it eventually.

  They started early the next morning, as Aunt Meryl set a bowl of stew in front of Zetta.

  “First rule of alchemy: Never brew on an empty stomach,” Aunt Meryl said, stirring her own steaming bowl.

  Zetta gulped, looking at the murky liquid and the colorful flecks bobbing on its surface. It looked a little…suspicious. “Ummm…do you have anything else to eat?” Zetta asked sheepishly. Aunt Meryl sighed, then fetched a pumpkin pie from a chest and dropped it in front of Zetta. Zetta’s eyes lit up, and she stuffed the whole thing into her mouth. Crust crumbs tumbled out either side.

  “We should do cake for lunch,” Zetta said with a smile.

  Aunt Meryl frowned. “Cake will sit on your stomach for a few minutes and then you’re hungry again. Pumpkin pie, yes—the sugar just gives a little energy boost, but the pumpkin will keep you full for a while, plus it’s full of vitamins and minerals.”

  Zetta met eyes with her aunt, certain she would burst out laughing at any moment. Pie, good for breakfast. But she seemed serious. And it was definitely tastier than her grandfather’s obsession—baked potatoes for breakfast, lunch, and dinner—and more appetizing than that suspicious stew, so Zetta wasn’t about to complain.

  Aunt Meryl grabbed a pack and went outside. Zetta swallowed what she had in her mouth, then ran after her, watching as her aunt pulled carrots from the small gated garden behind the house. The rabbits all came running, and Aunt Meryl tossed the larger carrots to them.

  “It’s always better to grow your own ingredients when you can so you can be assured of the freshness. Carrots, for example, need to be picked while they’re still tender. After a season, they get tough and start to lose their potency. You can pick them a few days ahead of when you need them. Just be sure to store them without their green tops so they don’t lose all their moisture.”

  Zetta nodded, then pulled a carrot and held it up to the brown plump rabbit milling around, confused by her presence. She moved the carrot a little closer, and the rabbit inched a few steps toward her, its nose twitching nervously. Finally it took the carrot, looking pleased with itself.

  “Do they have names?” Zetta said. She reached out to give the brown rabbit
a good scritching behind the ears, but it startled and took off to the other side of the garden with its loot.

  “No. Don’t get too attached…” Aunt Meryl said. “We won’t have time for leaping potions, but, well, yeah…”

  “Oh,” Zetta said, remembering that the primary ingredient for leaping potions was a rabbit’s foot. “Yeah.” Having spent so much time on her grandparents’ farm, Zetta knew better than to grow too fond of the animals. Sooner or later, they’d be on someone’s dinner plate.

  “On the other hand, fermented spider eyes—those last forever. In fact, the older they are, the better. I’ve had some of them for longer than you’ve been alive.” Meryl’s hard demeanor cracked along the edges as she became lost in thought. Zetta remembered her aunt only barely, but knew they’d once spent lots of time together when her parents were both off at work.

  Aunt Meryl gathered other various items from around the garden—melons and sugarcane and mushrooms—and stuck them in her pack, then headed back to the house. Before going up the stairs, she peeked under the porch at the nether wart growing quietly in the dark. Maybe not so quietly—Zetta could swear she heard whispers. The hairs on the back of her neck rose. It took every single nerve she had not to bolt while she watched her aunt reach out among the red, warty growths, probing each gently with the tip of her index finger before stuffing a few in her bag.

  “Is there anything to do about the smell of the nether wart?” Zetta asked, hoping there was a little magic to be had there. Some sort of potion that could make her sense of smell disappear, maybe.

  “Just keep flowers about. Dried. Fresh-cut. Potpourri. In pots. Sooner or later, you get used to it.” Aunt Meryl frowned. “Mostly. The older stuff will definitely curl your nose hairs, so you want to keep your nether wart as fresh as possible. That means you need your own farm. I can give you a couple blocks of soul sand to take back with you, but you need to make sure to keep it somewhere secure, because soul sand in the wrong hands can cause some serious problems. Your nether wart farm needs to be somewhere you frequent, probably close to your house. You don’t want it left unattended for too long, especially around animals. Or impressionable people. But also keep it at least ten blocks away from where you sleep at night.”