by Maggie Marks
He rushed toward the entryway, preparing to greet them. Soon, Luna was knocking at the door, soaked from her head to the toes of her enchanted boots. Ms. Beacon stood behind her, wringing out her robes. Mason tried to meet the woman’s eyes, but he couldn’t.
“C-come in,” he said, his voice cracking. Then he caught the shadow of worry on Luna’s face. “What’s wrong?”
She sighed. “Everything is destroyed,” she said. “Well, almost all of the potion ingredients, anyway. Ms. Beacon’s Nether wart garden survived. And there’s still some dragon’s breath, so we won’t have to fight the Ender dragon any time soon.”
Behind her, Asher’s face fell, as if he were disappointed about that.
“But the pufferfish, spider eyes, glistering melon, golden carrots, mushrooms, slimeballs, sugar, gunpowder”—Luna ticked the ingredients off on her fingers—“they’re all gone. And most of Ms. Beacon’s potions, too, except the few bottles I managed to grab when the fire broke out.”
As she started to unpack the potions on the table, Mason glanced at Ms. Beacon. She had wandered toward the window and was staring out, as if she couldn’t bear to see the few remains of her potion collection.
“Splash potion of healing,” Luna announced as she placed the bottle of cherry-red potion on the table. “Ms. Beacon makes that with glistering melon. Oh, and . . . here’s potion of invisibility.”
Asher’s head whirled around. “Does that really work?” he asked, reaching for the bottle of clear liquid.
“Of course!” Luna said, sliding it just out of his reach. “All of Ms. Beacon’s potions work.”
Then she pulled another bottle from her sack and held it up to the light. “Last, but not least, we have potion of the turtle master.”
Mason winced. When they’d talked about that potion before, he had somehow offended Ms. Beacon. This time, he changed the subject. “Can we help Ms. Beacon get more ingredients?”
When Asher’s eyes lit up, Mason instantly regretted his words.
“Yes! We could fight creepers for their gunpowder,” Asher said, rubbing his palms together. “And battle spiders for their eyes. Ooh, and we could go to the Nether—”
“No!” Mason held up his hand. “We’re not going to the Nether. I meant that we could go with Ms. Beacon to . . .” Suddenly, he couldn’t think of a single place where they could find a single potion ingredient.
“The swamp.” Ms. Beacon spoke just two words, but they resonated throughout the glass room.
“The swamp?” Luna repeated. “Yes—perfect. We could find sugar cane there, and slime to brew potion of fire resistance.” At the word fire, her eyes fell, as if she felt guilty for reminding Ms. Beacon about the fire.
“And witches!” Asher added. “Witches live at the swamp. Have you fought witches before, Ms. Beacon?”
Ms. Beacon didn’t seem to have heard his question. “The swamp was my home,” she said, gazing at a far corner of the room. “It was a beautiful place, with oak trees covered in vines. Lily pads floated gracefully along the surface of the water.” She spoke softly, remembering out loud. “And just over the hill? Sunflowers grew, golden yellow like the sun.”
Sunflowers. A trickle of excitement ran down Mason’s spine. Did Asher hear the word, too? He turned toward his brother, but Asher was busy scraping dried kelp off the bottom of his shoe.
“I know the sunflower plains,” Mason blurted. “That’s our home! Mine and Asher’s.”
“Huh?” Asher scrunched up his forehead.
Luna cocked her head. “Really?” she said. “I thought you grew up on your uncle Bart’s ship.”
Mason shook his head. “Asher was really young when we left, but I remember. My mother used to crush the sunflowers to make yellow dye. She wove a yellow blanket for you, Asher. Do you remember that?”
His brother gave him a blank stare.
“We’ll visit the sunflower plains. Then you’ll remember home,” Mason said.
Luna’s face darkened. “We won’t have time for that,” she said. “We need to help Ms. Beacon collect her potion ingredients.” She stood up, as if the matter were settled.
Why is she acting so weird? Mason wondered.
When Asher pumped his fist, Mason knew his brother was picturing the battles he would soon fight with slime, spiders, and even witches. But this time, Mason didn’t argue or try to shut his brother down.
Because Mason had just made a decision. He shot out of his chair, as if propelled by gunpowder.
I’ll help hunt for potion ingredients, he decided. But I’m going to hunt for something else, too—our old brick house in the sunflower plains.
Would it still be there?
Mason wasn’t sure. But this was his chance to find out.
CHAPTER 4
“Is that our island?” Asher called from the back of the rowboat.
Mason glanced at the sandy shoreline. Sure enough, he could see the mast of Uncle Bart’s wrecked ship—a bit crooked now, but still standing. Every time he saw that ship, Mason was reminded: Uncle Bart is gone. He swallowed the lump in his throat and looked away, back at the map in his hands.
Luna sat beside Mason, rowing the boat through the choppy waves. With each stroke she took, the map filled in a little more. Mason could see the ocean monument straight ahead, deep below the water’s surface. Beyond that lay the rocky shoreline of the extreme hills. And beyond that? They would find the swamp—Ms. Beacon’s home.
Mason peered over his shoulder at the old woman, who kept her eyes on the horizon. She and Luna had charted their course this morning, planning a route that would allow them to gather as many potion ingredients as possible: slime, sugar cane, and mushrooms from the swamp. Gold from the ocean monument, for Ms. Beacon’s glistering melon and golden carrots. And gun powder and spider eyes from the mobs they might fight along the way.
But visiting the sunflower plains wasn’t part of the plan. Luna had dismissed that idea as quickly as Mason had voiced it.
He glanced back at his brother. Asher didn’t remember their home—or if he did, he was too busy searching for “treasure” to care. Even now, while Mason watched, Asher dangled dangerously over the side of the boat, trying to catch a pufferfish in his bucket.
As the round yellow fish swelled up, showing off its spikes, Mason reached back to grab his brother’s T-shirt. “Careful!” he cried. “Don’t touch it. Pufferfish will poison you.”
“But we need pufferfish!” Asher said, sliding back down on his seat. “I mean, Ms. Beacon does.”
Did the old woman flash Asher a rare smile? Mason thought she did—and he felt a niggle of envy.
“We can find pufferfish back home,” Luna reminded him. “For now, can you just try to stay in the boat?”
“Oh, fine.” Asher rested his chin in his hands and sighed.
As they passed over the ocean monument, Mason stared, wondering how many guardians lurked inside. He caught Asher looking down, too.
“I thought we were going to get gold from the monument,” Asher said.
“On the way back,” Mason explained. “Gold is heavy. It’ll just slow us down if we get it now.”
“If we get it at all,” Luna said. “We may need to fight a few guardians before we can leave there with the gold.”
Mason’s eyes flickered back toward Ms. Beacon. Would she help them fight the guardians? She’d been strong enough to take down the Ender Dragon. Battling guardians would be a piece of cake for her, he decided.
He imagined fighting side by side with Ms. Beacon. If he fought hard, could he finally impress her? Would she even smile at him, the way she had just smiled at Asher?
Maybe, he thought. Uncle Bart was never coming back, but if Mason could only get to know Ms. Beacon better, maybe it would feel like having family again.
Maybe.
* * *
As the boat passed the rocky shoreline of the extreme hills, the sun sank low in the sky. A cool breeze skipped across the waves, sending goosebumps up and
down Mason’s arms. He rowed faster.
“Are we there yet?” asked a sleepy Asher from the back of the boat.
“Not yet,” said Mason. But he noticed Ms. Beacon was sitting straight up, eagerly watching the horizon.
After another half hour of rowing, Ms. Beacon spoke from the back of the boat. “There!”
Mason followed her gaze. The shore was lined with thick trees covered in green moss. As they rowed closer, he noticed leafy vines wrapped around the tree trunks, too. This is it! he thought, leaning forward. This was the swamp Ms. Beacon had described, or at least, the beginnings of it.
Together, he and Luna rowed the boat into an inlet. Before they had even reached land, Mason heard a splash. Asher’s wet head popped up from the water’s surface.
“Water’s fine,” he said with a grin. “Come on in!”
Luna shook her head. “You couldn’t even wait a few seconds?”
As soon as the boat bumped against shore, Mason threw the anchor overboard. He carefully stepped out onto the mossy shoreline, wondering if he should help Ms. Beacon, too. But she was already on the ground beside him, lifting her robes so they wouldn’t drag in the mud. Then she took off, hurrying toward the line of oak trees.
“Wait!” called Luna.
But Ms. Beacon was on a mission now. All they could do was grab their backpacks and try to catch up.
As they pushed through the dense line of trees, Mason felt the temperature drop. The leaves and vines blocked out what little sun remained. The ground below felt moist, covered with moss and dotted with tiny brown mushrooms. Mason leaped sideways to avoid squishing one. “Wait, we need mushrooms for potions, right?”
“Yes!” Luna stopped running. “Good call. Let’s collect as many as we can.”
Mason hoped Ms. Beacon had overheard—that she knew he was the one who had first spotted the mushrooms. But she was far ahead, standing beside a thick tree trunk.
Mason crouched low until he had gathered the last mushroom in the patch. Beside him, Asher popped one in his mouth before tossing a handful into his backpack. “Ew,” he said, spitting it back out. “Mushroom stew is way better than raw mushrooms.”
“No kidding,” Mason said. “So stop wasting them!” He zipped up his pack and hurried after Luna, who stood beside Ms. Beacon.
As he approached, Luna turned and held her finger to her lips. “Shh!” She held up her other hand to stop Asher, who looked as if he might charge straight through the trees. He skidded to a stop, sliding on a wet patch of moss.
Then Luna pointed.
Mason peered through the web of vines and leaves and saw the misty swamp—deep blue water dotted with lily pads. Tall stalks of sugar cane lined the edges. Then he saw something else. “Are those tree houses?” he whispered.
Luna shook her head and whispered back. “Witch huts.”
Mason’s stomach clenched as he studied the nearest hut. It stood on tall posts, rising above the swamp. A ladder extended up to a narrow deck and doorway. And just beside the door, Mason spotted a dark window. Was someone—or something—inside that window, looking back out?
He shivered. “What do we do?” he asked. Ms. Beacon had lived at the swamp. Would she know how to fight witches?
The old woman’s eyes seemed to glow with anticipation. But all she said was, “We wait.”
“Wait?” Asher blurted.
“Shh!” Luna hissed again.
Asher kicked at a rotting stump with his shoe. “I thought we were here to hunt for potion ingredients. What are we waiting for?”
As if in response, a shadow fell across the woods. A light rain pitter-pattered through the leaves. As the world around them darkened, it also sprang to life with sound.
Squish, squish, squish.
Mason whirled around, expecting to see Asher slopping off toward the swamp. But his brother was still beside him, his eyes wide.
Squish, squish, squish.
“What is that?” Mason whispered.
He strained to see through the veil of raindrops and vines. Shapes were forming in the darkness, great masses springing from the swamp and lurching across the shore.
Squish, squish, squish.
They were getting closer now, heading straight for the woods.
Heading straight for us! Mason realized.
He gripped his trident just as Asher let out a battle cry.
“Slime!”
CHAPTER 5
Great, green blobs bounced across the swampland. Squish, squish, squish.
Before Mason could pull his weapon from his side, Ms. Beacon raced toward the first slime, her trident raised like a sword. She carried it like a warrior, as if she’d been fighting her whole life.
But Luna beat her to it. She pulled back her arm and sent her trident soaring through the air. It hit the giant slime with a splat, and a spray of smaller slimes bounced along the shore.
Ms. Beacon fought them with fury, striking again and again.
“Wait for me!” Mason heard Asher cry.
As Asher sprinted out from behind the trees, Mason stuck close to his brother’s heels. Asher carried nothing but a pickaxe, but he was so fast! Before Mason could clear the trees, Asher reached Ms. Beacon and began striking the slime. Soon, tiny green globs littered the shore.
Mason raced past them toward another slime, raising his trident in the air and bracing his body for impact. But just as he reached the mob, Luna’s trident struck it dead center. Splat!
The mob burst, splattering green slime across Mason’s face. He wiped it with his hand, but he couldn’t wipe off the sticky mask. “I can’t see!” he cried. He swung his trident wildly side to side.
“Stop!” he heard Luna cry. “I’ve got this!”
He stopped fighting and staggered toward the swamp, eager to wash the slime from his eyes. He knelt beside the sugar cane and cupped a handful of water. As he splashed his face, he tried to ignore the smell of swamp water—the fishy scent of earth and decay.
With one more swipe, his face felt clean. At least he could open his eyes. When he did, he saw Asher standing proudly in the middle of a pile of slime balls. Somehow, with his tiny pickaxe, Asher had collected more than even Ms. Beacon herself.
“Wow!” Mason said, racing toward his little brother. “Nice work, Asher!”
As he squatted beside Asher to help him gather slime balls, Ms. Beacon approached, too. She laid a hand on Asher’s head, the way Uncle Bart used to, and smiled. “You’ve done well,” she said simply.
Asher’s freckled cheeks turned pink. “Thanks, Ms. B,” he said with a grin.
Ms. B? So he has a nickname for her now? While his brother flushed pink with pride, Mason felt green with envy. He stuffed a handful of slime balls in his sack and turned away.
No matter what he did, he couldn’t seem to impress Ms. Beacon. Meanwhile, Asher could do no wrong. Mason sighed. As he trudged across the soggy shore, his feet—and spirits—sank lower with every step.
Luna joined him, her own pack heavy with slime. “We should find shelter,” she said. “It’s getting dark.”
“This way,” came Ms. Beacon’s hoarse whisper from behind. “This way.” She waved them back toward the trees.
Luna followed, but Asher lingered near shore. “Wait!” he piped up. “Can I collect some sugar cane first?”
“No—” Mason started to say. He didn’t want Ms. Beacon to get angry.
But instead of scolding Asher, Ms. Beacon held up her hand. “Just a few stalks,” she agreed.
Of course, Mason thought. She won’t scold Asher, but she would probably scold me! He hung back, not sure whether to help Asher or to wait for Ms. Beacon to lead them to shelter. He decided to wait. He walked along the shore for a while and then stared out at the swamp, taking deep breaths to try to soothe his sour mood.
Uncle Bart had taught him that trick. “Count to ten,” Uncle Bart used to say. “Count to ten before you say or do something out of anger.”
One, two, three, four . . .
He counted the legs of a witch hut.
Five, six, seven . . . His eyes crept up the rungs of the ladder, toward the front door, which was slowly opening.
Eight, nine . . . Two eyes glowed in the darkness.
Ten.
He heard the cackle, then the breaking of glass. Something exploded at the ground near his feet.
Mason leaped backward from the fizzy potion. Every instinct in his body told him to turn and run. He looked left and right. Had Luna heard the glass? Was Ms. Beacon coming to help?
No—they were still down shore, snipping sugar cane with Asher.
This is my chance.
Mason heard the four words in his head as clearly as if he had spoken them aloud.
This is my chance!
If he could fight the witch, maybe he could prove to Ms. Beacon that he was a real fighter. Maybe he could finally impress the old woman the way Asher had.
Mason drew his trident and took aim. He had only one shot—if he missed, he was out of luck. So he zeroed in on the witch’s purple robes, wound up his arm, and released.
He could almost hear the whizz of the trident soaring through the air, high over the sugar cane. He saw the weapon miss its mark and heard the thwack as it struck the wall of the witch hut.
Then he heard something else.
More breaking glass.
This time, the sound surrounded him. He pressed his hands over his eardrums just as his knees gave way. Then he fell, face first, into the swamp.
CHAPTER 6
Mason felt someone tugging him out of the water. He heard Asher grunting with effort, and then someone else was on his other side. Her robes, swollen with water, drip, drip, dripped across Mason’s forehead.
Ms. Beacon, he thought as his eyes drifted shut. Did she see me fight? He hadn’t won the battle with the witch, but he had tried.
Then he heard another voice—Luna’s. Her words sounded so far away, as if she were talking to him underwater. But when he felt a spray of cool liquid across his face, he knew she was using her splash potion of healing. He tasted sweet melon as it dribbled into his mouth.
