Then Aunt Meryl went to her crafting table and slammed a whole melon on it. She cut into it, revealing bright red flesh. After a couple of abrupt slices, she took out some gold nuggets and worked them into a glistering, perfect fruit.
As soon as she was done, she diced it quickly, then practically sprinted over to the brewing stand and dumped the chunks into the glass bottles. “Glistering melons can be tricky to work with and get juice all over the place. So if you don’t want an impossibly sticky mess to clean out of your inventory, you should craft them right before use. Seeds are fine. You can strain them out after the brewing is complete, if you like.”
Zetta nodded, then crafted her melon, and somehow, despite the warning, still got juice all over her clothes. Plus, her chunks were too big to fit in the mouths of the bottles, so she had to go back and cut all the pieces in half. Then, frazzled, she wiped the sweat from her forehead, leaving sticky residue on her face as well.
The golden carrots were a lot easier—no cutting them into smaller bits. Finally, she had the healing, strength, swiftness, and regeneration potions all going at the same time. Zetta double-, triple-, and quadruple-checked her notes as she worked. She couldn’t afford to mess this opportunity up.
“Now, the moment of truth…” Aunt Meryl said. “You know about adding gunpowder to make splash potions. Accuracy is important there. You can use this scoop, level off the top. No more, no less, or things can quickly get out of hand. Other options are to strengthen your potion with glowstone or lengthen its duration with redstone. A handful of each is all you need. Go ahead and experiment. Spotting the optimal consistency comes with time, and you’ll get a sense of exactly when to take the potions off the burners.”
Zetta tossed a handful of glowstone into the swiftness potion and a handful of redstone into the strength potion. The transparent liquid went cloudy in both as the dust dissolved. Flecks of glowstone caught the light, mesmerizing Zetta. But she pulled away and carefully measured out some gunpowder. She took the scoop and collected a heap, then slid her finger across the top of the scoop, knocking the excess back into the barrel. She held her breath as she dumped it into the healing potion, but as soon as she was done, she got drawn in by the glowstone flecks in the swiftness potion again. So pretty.
Maybe she was staring too hard, because she was caught off guard by the most amazing scent, like dessert. She was about to ask her aunt if she had some sweets cooking for lunch, when she realized the swiftness potion had started to caramelize, leaving the bottom of the glass bottle coated in a warm, golden goo.
“Drat!” Zetta said. It didn’t look salvageable. “I thought I had it on the lowest setting,” she said.
Aunt Meryl came over, inspected the brewing stand’s blaze powder container, its energy source, and shook her head. “This stand always used to give me trouble. It wasn’t you—just some clogged feed tubes. I’ll get this cleaned up and you can try again.”
Zetta sighed, relieved that it wasn’t her fault. She didn’t know what she’d do if she’d botched a potion like that. Still, she had the other potions left, and she had to get those right. What had she been doing?
Oh, the splash potion. Her nerves were rattled, but she shook it off and carefully measured out some gunpowder. She took the scoop and collected a heap, then slid her finger across the top of the scoop, knocking the excess back into the barrel. She held her breath as she dumped it into the healing potion, and…
The brewing stand sparked and fizzled violently. Wait, how much gunpowder had she added? Zetta had seen this before: the time she’d lost her eyebrows in her first brewing experiment. The blaze powder had ignited that time and had caused a small explosion. Now that Zetta knew more about how brewing stands worked, she could stop it. She twisted the container off and quickly emptied the blaze powder onto the workbench. The brewing stand quieted, and the powder’s sizzle began to dissipate.
The little pile of dust sent off one last spark, like a single orange firework arching through the room. Zetta’s eyes went wide as she traced its trajectory to the chest, brimming with blaze powder, the lid still open. Zetta tried to get there in time to close it, but it was too late. The spark landed in the chest, and—
Bam!
Zetta’s vision went white and her ears rang louder than Sienna Dunes’ bell tower. It took her a moment to realize that she was no longer standing upright, but instead was wedged between a crafting table and a chest. She blinked several times, and slowly the ringing faded and her vision fully returned. The entire brewing station and much of Aunt Meryl’s alchemy room had been obliterated.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Aunt Meryl rushed back into the room in a panic, and without another thought, ran to a nearby cauldron and used a bucket to scoop out water to extinguish the various small fires that had spread around the room. She doused what was left of the blaze powder chest until every last ember was soaked and no longer a threat. Aunt Meryl’s alchemy room was now a sad combination of charred and soggy.
She stooped down beside Zetta. Her mouth was going a million miles a minute, but Zetta could only catch bits and pieces of what she was saying over the thudding headache. Zetta knew her aunt was very cross with her; that much was clear. What an awful mistake.
Zetta started groveling. She didn’t know what else to do. “I’m so sorry, Aunty! Please don’t tell my father. I’ll do whatever you want! Clean your house. Cook your stew. Tend your gardens. Fetch you stuff from town. Anything that doesn’t involve potions. I’ll work off the mess I’ve caused. I promise I will.”
Aunt Meryl sighed. “You’ve made a mess, for sure, but the important thing is that you’re all right. I can always craft more brewing stands. What I can’t craft is another one of you.” Aunt Meryl sighed again, looking around at all the damage. “You know, your mother and I had our share of disasters when we were first starting out. Once, I was trying to make a fire resistance potion and must have put in too much magma cream. I chugged down the bottle, then stepped into a fire to see what would happen.” Aunt Meryl leaned in and her eyes got wide.
“What happened?” Zetta asked.
“You know that weird scorch mark on the back of Nana and Papa’s barn?”
Zetta nodded.
“I lit up so bright and threw off so much heat that I singed everything within five blocks of me. Nearly burnt down the barn. Needless to say, I’ve gotten pretty quick at putting out fires.” She smiled warmly at Zetta. “And if I had a gold ingot for every time one of your mother’s contraptions nearly knocked my head off, I could build myself a four-level beacon. She started keeping meticulous notes in leather-bound journals, and after that, she stopped making so many mistakes. Accidents happen, Zetta. It’s part of the process of learning. Just next time, try not to make such an expensive one.” Meryl winced as she looked around again. The sighs just kept coming.
“The potions are all ruined, and it looks like I’m out of blaze powder. I can’t send you back empty-handed. I’ll go fetch some more. You can work on cleaning up this mess while I’m gone.”
Zetta nodded. “Anything. Thank you, Aunty.”
“And look after the animals and gardens. And please, please, don’t go anywhere near a brewing stand or the soul sand. And try not to break anything else,” Aunt Meryl said, lifting a lid on a chest on the other side of the room. She pulled out a sword. Not iron. Not diamond. It was black and sleek and looked sharp enough to slice through a sheet of paper, edgewise. Then Aunt Meryl pulled out a blue-gray cape and tied it on tight. It hung down her back, almost like the wings of a bee.
Finally, her aunt pulled a glimmering bow from her chest and arrows that looked different from the white ones Rayne used. They had colored tips, and tiny particles danced around them like dust motes. “Ummm…” Zetta said, clearing her throat. “What’s going on there? Those arrows look…magic.”
“That’s because they are. Dipped in splash
potions laced with dragon’s breath. Poison. Harming. Weakness.” She frowned. “Sadly, not a lesson we’ll get to. I’m afraid I’m done with apprentices for now.”
Zetta couldn’t argue. She’d been studying under her aunt for not even half a day, and she’d already nearly summoned a wither and destroyed much of her aunt’s livelihood. Her aunt had every right to be disappointed. Zetta watched as her aunt kept pulling more and more items from the chest and storing them away in her inventory. It seemed a bit excessive for a quick trip.
“Wait, how long will you be gone exactly?” Zetta asked, setting one of the busted brewing stands upright. Blaze powder had fused to the inside casing, beyond useless now. Zetta knew the closest town was quite a hike, but it wouldn’t require more than an overnight stay…maybe two, if Aunt Meryl wanted to enjoy the sights.
“One week, two weeks max,” Aunt Meryl said. “I have to make a run to the nether. I’ll pick up some other ingredients while I’m there. I’m running a little low on ghast tears anyway.” She said this so casually, it was like she was about to go out back to pull some carrots. Like going to the nether was just an everyday activity, not crossing over into a lava-plagued underworld.
“Wait…ghasts are actually real?”
“Where did you think ghast tears came from?” Aunt Meryl asked.
“I don’t know, I just thought it was named that to make it sound cooler. Like magma cream or phantom membranes or…or dragon’s breath.”
Aunt Meryl sighed again. “Oh, my dear child. We’ll have to have a long talk when I get back. I’ll promise to be as quick as I can, but I’ve got a lot to replace. It sounds like you gave those illagers a good wallop, though, so it’ll take them a while to recover and regroup for another attack.”
“Okay, well, I’ll clean up and dust all the cobwebs while you’re away,” Zetta mumbled. “And I’ll have a bunch of pumpkin pies ready for your return.”
“Leave the cobwebs,” Aunt Meryl said, patting Zetta’s cheek. “They give the place some character. And I look forward to the pies. Hopefully you’re a better baker than an alchemist.” She said this jokingly, to lighten the mood, but it only made Zetta feel worse. Zetta wanted to shrink up inside herself, but she managed to put on a smile.
“Let’s hope,” she said.
After her aunt departed, Zetta started the long process of picking up glass shards and mopping up her spilled hopes and dreams. Miraculously, one of her potions had survived the explosion. A strength potion. The bottle was still warm to the touch and held a bloodred liquid. She packed it into her inventory, tucking away just a little bit of optimism with it. But maybe her father was right. Maybe she needed to stop worrying about potions and let the adults worry about keeping Sienna Dunes safe.
It took her two whole days, but finally, the place was gleaming. Zetta poked around the room some, peeking in chests. One of the chests contained a bunch of sand. Zetta thought it might be nice to craft some glass bottles to replace all the ones she’d ruined, so she stoked the furnace.
While she was waiting for it to heat up so she could make glass, she looked at the curiosities stored on high shelves. She wouldn’t touch, of course. No way would she risk ruining her aunt’s trust further. Green-eyed totems lined one shelf, seven of them all in a row. Were those emeralds?
Odd-looking purple fruits sat on another shelf. Zetta got close enough to smell them. Sweet, but in an otherworldly sort of way that left an odd, tacky taste in the back of her throat. Another chest contained ender pearls. Zetta and her friends were never brave enough to fight endermen, but sometimes other hunting parties brought pearls back. These looked different, though. A lighter shade of green, and the pupils seemed like they were watching her. She shut the chest quickly as a chill ran down her spine.
Then Zetta caught a glimpse of something in the far corner of the room—the darkest corner of the room, where the light from the windows and torches didn’t quite reach. It was buried under tons of cobwebs, like it had been sitting there for a decade.
It was an egg. Zetta could just barely make it out. A large egg, nearly half as tall as she was. The deepest, most beautiful black, with specks of purple all over. It called to her, like a song.
Zetta was wary. She didn’t want another wither incident for sure, but dusting it off a little wouldn’t be such a bad thing, right? Sure, cobwebs made the place look lived in, but this…this was a little much. And the egg was so pretty. It should be shown off, right? Put on display?
So Zetta dusted a little around the edges, until more and more of the egg was showing. There. Much better. She stood next to it, hands on her hips, triumphant. Now, to get started on making that glass.
But her feet didn’t move her toward the fiery furnace. Not even one step.
“Now, to get starting on making that glass!” she said, aloud this time, hoping her body would take the hint. But she was stuck looking at this egg, this thing of beauty.
She shouldn’t touch it.
She shouldn’t.
But the softest, most delicate poke with her finger wouldn’t hurt, would it? It’s not like she would break it. This thing was old, but it didn’t look fragile. Looked as tough as a rock, actually.
“Those bottles aren’t going to make themselves,” Zetta said one last time, pleading with her conscience as her index finger extended toward the egg.
She touched it, and immediately felt a strange suction and heard a loud pop echo through the room. She blinked. Once. Twice. Zetta gritted her teeth.
Good news was that she didn’t break the egg.
Bad news was that it had disappeared. Completely.
“Okay, not completely,” Zetta said with a sigh of relief, realizing the egg was now behind her. She’d nearly tripped over it. She reached down so she could put it back in the dark corner, but as soon as she touched it, it blinked away again, this time reappearing on the brewing counter. She tried again, moving as slowly as she could, but it blinked away and plopped down in front of the door, like it was trying to escape.
Panic grew in the pit of Zetta’s stomach, making her as queasy as she had been staring into her aunt’s suspicious stew. She had to fix this. Fast. Moving the egg by hand clearly was not going to work. She felt like maybe if she used her brain, she could figure out a solution. Zetta hoped that her mother’s ingenuity had been passed down to her. Zetta knew her mother had made mistakes, too, but she was desperate not to make another one.
She had to figure out a way to get that egg back in its place. She tried poking it with a stick. It didn’t disappear, at least, but when she tried pushing it with the stick, the egg proved too heavy and didn’t budge. What Zetta needed was something to give her a little leverage. Instantly, her mind went to pistons. She’d seen Rift use them in his redstone contraption pranks. If she could craft one, maybe she could use it to scoot the egg back into place.
It took her a little trial and error on the crafting table to figure out how to make the piston and a little lever to go with it, but Zetta did it. She set the piston on the ground and the lever next to it. She pulled it a few times, and squealed with delight as the piston’s head popped in and out, in and out.
But when she faced the piston at the egg and pulled the lever, it stuck. Or the egg weighed too much. She pulled harder, and the piston started to inch the egg forward ever so slightly, but it was just too tough. Zetta wasn’t strong enough.
Zetta pulled out her strength potion. She’d promised her aunt that she wouldn’t craft any potions, but she hadn’t said anything about using potions that were already made. She uncorked her potion. Before the explosion, Zetta had been sure the potions she’d brewed were all perfectly fine. She’d be fine. Zetta gulped.
She put the bottle to her lips, the hot, almost burning liquid slipping down the back of her throat. Zetta sucked in cool breaths rapidly. The potion didn’t have a distinct flavor, other than t
he lingering aftertaste of nether wart, but her tongue felt like she’d licked the surface of the sun.
Nearly instantly, she felt a tightening in her body like, though she was still contained in her original skin, she’d grown to twice her size. It felt like there was suddenly so much more of her. And beyond feeling stronger, there was now an itch in her mind to use that power. To show it off.
Zetta stared down the egg. It didn’t have eyes, but it was definitely staring back. She decided to show it who was boss, and pulled the lever with all her might.
Maybe it was too much might, because the head of the piston shot out with a tremendous force, and instead of the egg moving, the piston….
…cracked it.
Zetta’s eyes went wide as the crack lengthened and deepened. Oh no.
No. No. No.
What had she done? Glass bottles and potion ingredients could be replaced, but this? Aunt Meryl would never forgive Zetta for breaking this egg. The crack ran clear from the top to the bottom, and was so wide she could stick her hand in it if she wanted to. No way could it be repaired.
And what was worse, really worse, was that she could see something moving inside.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Zetta screamed.
Whatever was inside the egg squealed in response—an odd noise caught between a kitten’s purr and a bat’s shriek. Needle-sharp claws pried at the crack in the thick black shell, slowly crumbling it, until a nose poked through. The thing had big nostrils, like a cow, but was scaly, like a turtle. And the creature was the deepest, richest black—darker even than the shadowy egg it was emerging from.
“Stay in there,” Zetta warned, taking three enormous steps back. “Don’t come out! I’m a master potioner and you definitely don’t want to mess with me.” Without breaking focus on the hatching creature, she reached into her pack for a weapon, feeling around for something sharp and threatening, but she pulled out a stone hoe. Ack, not as good as a sword, but at least it could inflict some damage. Especially if this black nose turned out to be connected to an oversized carrot.
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