Minecraft: Mob Squad: Never Say Nether: An Official Minecraft

They must have used one of Elder Gabe’s potions on the horses for this part of the journey, as it feels like we’ve been traveling at an unnatural speed. Or maybe we stopped at the village earlier—we definitely stopped for something, but my captors keep quiet around me. I wish I could see even a peek of what’s passing, but the blindfold is way too tight.

It must be evening—I’m so tired, and my posterior is one giant bruise. They’ve given me food, but nothing good, and all eaten on the road. Now that we’re away from people, I guess, they leave my gag out. The air is the tiniest bit cooler. My horse slows to a normal speed, and I exhale; it was pretty bumpy for a while there.

When we stop, I brace myself for the familiar feeling of strange hands grabbing me and unceremoniously dropping me on the ground. I stumble every time, my feet numb and my senses thrown off by the blindfold. This time, a hand reaches out to steady me.

“Easy there,” says a familiar voice, the one I know but can’t quite place. “Not used to horseback, eh?”

I steady myself and stand tall. “There are no horses in Cornucopia. Surely you know that, considering you must’ve spent time spying on me before planning your heist?”

The man laughs and smacks me on the back in a way that his cronies probably find friendly, but since I can’t see and I’m exhausted, I stumble, and he has to catch me so I don’t fall.

“That’s true enough. Odd people in your town, behind that big, silly wall. No horses, no dogs, no pigs. Well, that one pet pig that I nearly stole, just so I could have my delicious revenge.”

All the pieces snap into place, and I realize exactly who he is, why I know his voice.

“You’re the leader of the brigands who stole our llamas at the river crossing.”

He barks a laugh. “The very one! Took you long enough to figure it out.”

“Well, you’ve kept me blindfolded and gagged and threatened to impale me on a sword if I spoke, so pardon me if I kept to myself.”

He laughs again, like I’m the funniest person he’s ever met. “You’re an odd one—you and your friends. How’d you come to be outside the wall in the first place? Our mutual friend Krog said no one had left for a hundred years or more—besides him, of course.”

I lick my lips, sensing some bargaining power. This man—this brigand—this kidnapper—wants knowledge that only I currently hold. “Take off my blindfold, and I’ll tell you.”

There’s a long pause, and I can imagine him looking around, surveilling the falling night.

“Fine, then. But the lead stays on.”

“I’d expect no less.”

It’s funny. After a few days of captivity, I feel a new sense of recklessness. The situation can’t possibly get any worse, so I might as well push back, right? I’m scared, but they obviously need me for something, so they’re not going to hurt me. Too much. Probably.

I’m right, and he pushes the blindfold down around my neck.

Night is falling, and we’re surrounded by horses, which look just like they did in Nan’s book. Two people cook meat over a campfire while three people keep watch for the hostile mobs that constantly spawn when it’s this dark. Everyone is bristling with weapons. No one is digging a shelter.

“Are we not sleeping?”

The leader shakes his head. He’s holding a torch, and he looks the same as he did the last time we saw him: burly beard, armor, cocky smile with a gold tooth. His hand rests comfortably on his sword hilt. “Not here. We’re only stopping for a quick bite. We’ll reach the woodland mansion soon, and then we’ll sleep. You’ll need sleep, where we’re going.”

“Where’s that?”

He grins, tooth glinting. “You’ll see.”

“Did Krog put you up to this?”

His mouth twists up in a sneer. “Krog? That self-important blowhard? He’s still in your town jail, as far as I know. His plan was a bit overcomplicated for our needs. He wanted to make everyone leave Cornucopia so he would have access to the fortress. We don’t need anyone to leave to accomplish our goals.” He prods me in the chest with a finger. “We just need you.”

“Why?”

He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter, does it? Because we’ve got you. Thing is, when people build high walls, they start to think they’re safe. They get comfortable. Then Krog left, and then you lot left, and then your town decided to open up. Ha!”Published by Nôv'elD/rama.Org.

In response, the other brigands throw back their heads and shout, “Ha!”

“The only thing worse than walling yourself off is being completely open. One gate with one guard—who falls asleep at a reliable time? There’s a middle ground between complete distrust and complete trust. Bunch of fools, those Elders of yours. Forget that people weren’t entirely altruistic. Never faced a threat, so how could they possibly know how to prepare for a threat?”

I’d like to argue, but I can’t.

He’s right.

As much as we needed to open the wall, we messed up. We left ourselves vulnerable.

“Once we beat you, we’ll know better,” I growl.

“Beat me? Who’s going to beat me? You?” He plucks at my arm, raises it up and drops it. It falls to my side, limp as a flower stem.

“My friends,” I say with confidence I almost feel.

At that, he nods. “True enough, true enough. You bested us once before, didn’t you? Four kids, outside for the first time ever, and you managed to surprise me.” He leans in. “I admire that, you know? You lot are brave, I’ll give you that. But your friends can’t save you. Not where we’re going. And they don’t have horses or potions—thanks to your help, we made sure of that last part. There’s no way they could catch us before we’re beyond their reach.”

“Where are we going?”

He bops my nose with a finger. “So many questions. You’re curious, Tok. I like that. Don’t worry—you’ll find out soon enough.”

He reaches for my blindfold, and I start to panic. I don’t want to be relegated to darkness again. “But where’s Jarro?” I blurt. “I heard you take him.”

The blindfold slides back into place. “The sweet berry kid? We dumped him way back. Didn’t have enough horses. And let’s face it—that kid was dead weight. We only took him so he wouldn’t sound the alarm.” He pulls down the blindfold, just enough for me to see him. “Why? He a friend of yours?”

I snort. “The opposite. He’s a bully. He deserves whatever he gets.”

The brigand looks into my eyes. “Yeah, I had bullies, too. Might’ve been a bit of a bully myself in response to it. Never found a group of friends like yours. You’re lucky, you know?”

I stare directly into his eyes, unblinking. “My brother and my friends will find me.”

The blindfold snaps back into place.

“Not soon enough,” he says. “Now let’s get you back in the saddle for the last leg of our journey. You do your job, and you’ll be back in your own bed one day, and that’s a promise.”

I want to ask what good a promise from a kidnapper might be, but I don’t test my luck.

This time, when hands drop me back onto my horse, I know it’s him. He’s not gentle, but he’s not cruel. It’s businesslike. And I think about who this brigand must be, that he can steal me from my bed and my family so callously and yet talk to me like I’m some friendly acquaintance. He’s stern but not mean, friendly but aloof, almost paternal. I want to ask him how he became this way, a dangerous outlaw roaming the Overworld and taking whatever he wants, but the brief openness we shared is over. I’m just baggage again.

I hear everyone else mount up, and then we’re on the move. The path changes, a downward slope that makes me lean back. We zig and zag, and I understand where we are: the mountain pass right before the river. I can hear it now, the rush of water, the way the air goes cool and moist. They must’ve replaced the log bridge we toppled with something wider, as my horse clips and clops slowly through the mist. Nausea rises as I think of the waters raging below, but there’s nothing I can do but hold on. Finally we’re back on dirt, and my horse sags with relief.

“Almost there,” someone says, and a cry of victory goes up.

Raindrops plink on my head, but only for a few moments. Then we’re under the cover of the dark forest, its canopy so dense that it blocks the sky. I hear a rattle, then several twangs followed by the clatter of a collapsing skeleton. My captors are competent in the wilderness. That’s a point against my escape—they’ve got at least one good shot among them, if not more.

There are more groans and rattles, more arrows loosed, more clatters and grunts. Finally my horse stops, and someone grabs me and drags me to the ground.

“Walk,” the leader says, punctuated by a prod in the back.

So I walk, and I mentally map where we must be—the woodland mansion. Up the stairs, then up more stairs to the top floor. I throw out all my senses, waiting for the grunt of an evoker or vindicator, but the brigands must be keeping this place empty of mobs and illagers.

As I walk, led from before and prodded from behind, I realize something that makes me grin.

My friends know how to get here. They know this place. There’s a good chance they really will find me—at least, a better chance than if they were wandering out in the middle of nowhere. The leader said they won’t find me in time, but he’s probably underestimating how far the Mob Squad would go to bring me home. And he also doesn’t know about the trail of iron ingots and coal I’ve been leaving all along.

“Stop,” the leader says, and I do. “Climb up this ladder. No funny business.”

“Yes, sir,” I say.

He places my hands on a ladder, and I climb until I run out of rungs. Someone else lifts me to stand on the floor above.

My blindfold is untied and—

I’m stunned.

Now I know why they needed me.