The Frost Walker's Wolf

  This book is not authorized or sponsored by Microsoft Corp., Mojang AB, Notch Development AB or Scholastic Inc., or any other person or entity owning or controlling rights in the Minecraft name, trademark, or copyrights.

  THE UNOFFICIAL ANIMAL WARRIORS OF THE OVERWORLD SERIES: THE FROST WALKER’S WOLF.

  Copyright © 2019 by Hollan Publishing, Inc.

  Minecraft® is a registered trademark of Notch Development AB.

  The Minecraft game is copyright © Mojang AB.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews or articles. All inquiries should be addressed to Sky Pony Press, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018.

  Sky Pony Press books may be purchased in bulk at special discounts for sales promotion, corporate gifts, fund-raising, or educational purposes. Special editions can also be created to specifications. For details, contact the Special Sales Department, Sky Pony Press, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018 or info@skyhorsepublishing.com.

  Sky Pony® is a registered trademark of Skyhorse Publishing, Inc.®, a Delaware corporation.

  Visit our website at www.skyponypress.com.

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.

  Special thanks to Erin L. Falligant.

  Cover illustration by Amanda Brack

  Cover design by Brian Peterson

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-5107-4133-1

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-5107-4138-6

  Printed in the United States of America

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  CHAPTER 1

  The Art of Growing Nether Wart: Potion Brewing for Beginners: The Super-Charged Creeper (and Other Cautionary Tales. Ella slid her finger along the worn book spines lining Gran’s bookcase. It doesn’t matter which book I choose, she reminded herself. What matters is the enchantment I get!

  She grabbed the Nether wart book and slid it into the left-hand slot of the enchantment table. Then she reached into the bin for a piece of lapis lazuli. The blue stone felt cool and smooth beneath her fingertips.

  “Okay,” she said out loud. “Here goes nothing.”

  She plunked the lapis lazuli into the right-hand slot of the enchantment table. Then she stared at the thick book with the golden cover that rested atop the table. As if a breeze had blown through the drafty room, the pages of the book began to flutter. Sparks flew between that thick, golden book and the scads of other books on the shelves surrounding the enchantment table. Ella inhaled deeply, wishing she could breathe in all of that magic and knowledge and keep it for herself. But as soon as it had begun, the moment—and magic—passed. The only remnant was the mysterious purple glow of the book she had placed in the slot.

  Ella slid it out carefully, as if it might be hot to the touch. Then she dropped it with a sigh.

  “Depth Strider.” She practically spit the words. What good was the Depth Strider enchantment when she lived at the top of a hill, far away from lakes, rivers, and mountain streams? The only body of water nearby was the tiny fishpond Gran had dug for her cousin Jack. Ella didn’t need to wear Depth Strider boots to swim across that pond. She could pretty much leap across it in a single bound.

  “Save it for later,” she told herself, tossing the enchanted book on the bottom shelf alongside all the other books with useless enchantments.

  Gran said they might be useful someday, and she had taught Ella how to use an anvil to transfer those enchantments onto tools and other things.

  “Someday,” Ella said thoughtfully. “I’m going to hold you to that, Gran.”

  She checked the clock on the wall, which showed the sun dipping low in the circular sky. She had time for one more enchantment before dinner. But as she reached for another book, Ella froze. A faint howling—the same sound that had woken her up that morning—pricked her ears. She cocked her head, straining to hear.

  What was that?

  Was Jack crying out from the basement, like he had the day he’d tripped and broken all of his potion bottles? No. This sound wasn’t quite human. Was it a mob—the dreaded moan of the zombies Gran had warned Ella and her cousins about? Maybe. But the sound wasn’t scary exactly. It was more . . . sad. Terribly, awfully sad.

  Ella pulled the hood of her cape up over her ears. The thick wool muffled the mournful sound. So did the chime of the bell tower—Gran’s signal that dinner was about to be served. Thank goodness! thought Ella. Something about the strange howling made her long to be with Gran and her cousins, to be safe and snug in a warm kitchen rather than alone in the drafty enchantment room.

  She closed the glass doors of the fireplace and raced down the long, winding hall that led past the crafting room. Around this corner and that, her heeled boots clattered with every step—until she hit the soft woven rug. As she rounded the hallway toward the kitchen, she paused to enjoy the sunset. Well, it wasn’t a real sunset. It was a canvas painting of mountains cast in the purple glow of the fading sun.

  Gran’s rule was to slow down enough to appreciate one beautiful thing every day. She’d be asking the kids about it at dinner—Ella knew to be prepared. Then she raced down the last twisty hall toward the kitchen. Screeched to a halt. Sighed. And backed up a few steps toward the basement door. Gran’s other rule was to never leave Jack behind. Even at dinnertime, it was Ella’s job to find him and make sure he’d heard the bell. There was nothing wrong with Jack’s hearing. But when a boy spends all his time brewing potions in the basement, he’s bound to miss something. So why is that my problem? thought Ella as she started down the cobblestone steps.

  She wound around the circular staircase, dodging cobwebs and tripping over mossy stones.

  “Jack!” she called into the darkness. Gran kept torches going at all hours—that was one more rule of hers. But the thick obsidian walls of the basement seemed to suck the light right out of those torches.

  At the base of the stairs, Ella felt for the handle of the heavy oak door. She pushed it open with a grunt. There was Jack, bent over the brewing stand, a tuft of his wayward hair poking out over the top. He glanced up, squinting into the light. “What?” he said.

  “Dinner!” said Ella. “Gran already rang the bell.”

  She turned to start back up the staircase. She could smell the fresh bread Gran had just pulled from the oven. She could practically taste it. But the potion bubbling on Jack’s brewing stand was such an unusual shade of lavender-blue that she snuck another look. “Is that a new one?” she asked.

  He stood a bit taller. “Potion of swiftness,” he announced. “Gran harvested some sugar cane for me.”

  “Good old Gran,” said Ella.

  Gran grew everything in her garden, from tall stalks of golden wheat to dewy melons and plump pumpkins. And if she’d harvested sugar cane, there’d be pumpkin pie for dinner. Yum!

  Ella took the stairs two by two, until a silverfish scuttled across her path. “Yuck!” She dodged the critter, then carefully navigated the last few steps until she’d made it to the top.

  She heard music drifting from the kitchen before she even stepped foot inside. Gran had an old jukebox that she played round the clock, filling the room with sweet melodies.

  As Ella entere
d, Gran glanced up from the table she was setting. Her silver hair spilled down over her cyan-colored robe—just one of the many shades of blue lining her closet. “There’s my girl,” said Gran with a warm smile. She was almost always smiling. But Ella knew that behind Gran’s grey eyes lay a great well of sadness, too. She gave Gran a squeeze just as Jack trotted into the room. But their oldest cousin, Rowan, was missing.

  “Will you find her, please?” asked Gran, giving Ella a knowing look.

  Ella fought the urge to roll her eyes. Why do I have to be the messenger? I’m starving! But she would never say something like that to Gran. Not after everything Gran had done for her and her cousins.

  Ella jogged through the kitchen, toward the front of the house. It was more like a mansion really. Gran’s house had twenty-three rooms—Ella and Jack had counted them one day. Bedrooms, crafting rooms, an enchantment room, a potion-brewing room . . . But not one of them was interesting enough to keep Rowan inside for long.

  Ella pushed through the front door and skipped down the stone steps.

  “Hey, Golem!” she shouted through the gate. “Seen Rowan anywhere?”

  The enormous iron golem spun his head to gaze at her, his eyes dark and watchful beneath his heavy brow. He clanked toward the gate and held out a long arm, magically producing a rose. But he said nothing, as usual.

  “Aw, thanks,” said Ella, reaching for the rose.

  She broke off the stem and tucked the rose behind her ear. Then she began her nightly game of Hide and Seek with Rowan. Was her cousin perched on the obsidian wall circling the mansion? Hanging out her bedroom window at the top of the turret? Dangling her feet over the edge of the rooftop? Ella spun in a slow circle, looking up. As the sun slid behind a cloud, she shivered—and heard the click of the beacon lighting up behind her. The mansion grounds would never fall dark. Gran made sure of that.

  “Blast! Why is that thing so bright?”

  Ella turned to see Rowan straddling the wall, dressed in black from head to toe. If not for her fiery red ponytail, she would have blended right in with the dark stone.

  “I can see clear to the extreme hills,” said Rowan, pointing. “At least I could, until that beacon blinded me.”

  She was always scanning the horizon, searching for something. But what? wondered Ella. Does she wish she could sprout wings and fly away? Leave us all behind? Ella’s heart ached at the thought.

  “Come up here and look!” said Rowan.

  Ella eyed the spindly vine ladder strung over the wall. “No, thanks.”

  Rowan shot her a glance. “Don’t you want to see what’s out there? Aren’t you even kind of curious?”

  Ella shook her head. “I know what’s out there—zombies, skeletons, spider jockeys, Endermen . . .”

  Rowan snorted. “Gran sure has you spooked. She’s teaching you to be a scaredy-cat.”

  Hot lava bubbled up in Ella’s chest. “No she’s not! She’s teaching me how to do enchantments. She’s teaching Jack how to brew potions. And she’d teach you a few things too, if you’d let her.”

  Rowan clamped her mouth shut. She stared back out over the horizon, inching forward along the wall.

  “Why do you care so much about the world outside these walls?” asked Ella, her voice cracking. “Don’t we have everything we need here? Gran loves us and protects us . . .”

  Rowan kicked at the stone with her heel. “I don’t need protection,” she spat. “I’d rather go out there and see the Overworld, like our parents did.”

  Ella swallowed hard. As the sun made its final descent, she allowed herself to think about her mother—but only for a moment. She and her cousins lived with Gran because their parents had died during the Uprising, when the day and night cycle stopped and hostile mobs spawned uncontrollably across the Overworld.

  Gran rarely spoke of the children she had lost, but Ella longed to know, Am I like my mother? Am I brave like she was?

  A low, pitiful howl suddenly pierced the silence.

  Ella whirled around. Was it a dog? Or . . . a wolf? She glanced at Rowan to see if she had heard, but her cousin sat perfectly still, staring out over the horizon.

  “Did you . . .?” Ella’s question trailed off. If she asked Rowan about wolves, her cousin would just call her a scaredy-cat again, or go off on Gran for filling her head with spooky thoughts.

  So Ella said nothing.

  But a trickle of worry ran down her spine. The howling was growing louder, more insistent. And instead of trying to figure out what it was, Ella wanted to run inside and hide—to bury herself in Gran’s robes and shut her ears to the world outside.

  I’m not brave like my mother, she decided, forcing back hot tears. But Rowan is.

  CHAPTER 2

  Ella could see the grey wolf pacing, hear it panting, feel its fear. Its golden eyes pleaded with her through the darkness, begging for help. When he raised his head toward the night sky, she braced herself for the sound—for the howl that woke her with a start and sent her tumbling out of bed.

  “Ouch!”

  The bedroom door creaked open, sending another wave of fear through Ella.

  But it was only Jack, rubbing his eyes. “Why were you hollering?” he asked. “Wait, why are you on the floor?”

  Ella scrambled to stand, but tripped in the tangled sheets. “Just a nightmare,” she said quickly. “I thought I saw—I mean, heard a . . .”

  “Heard what?”

  Can I trust him? Ella wondered.

  Jack wouldn’t accuse her of being scared, like Rowan had. So Ella let the words tumble out. “I thought I heard a wolf. Did you hear it too?”

  Jack shook his head. “But I heard the breakfast bell.” He sounded proud, as if it might be his day’s most impressive accomplishment.

  “Good for you,” said Ella with a grin. “I’ll meet you down there.”

  After Jack left, she carefully untangled herself from the sheets. Then she listened for a few seconds longer. Was the wolf real? Or just a bad dream?

  She shook her head and pulled her hood up over her ears. If he called to her again, she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it.

  * * *

  “Jack, wipe your mouth.” Ella handed him a napkin.

  “Mind your own breakfast,” Gran scolded. “You’ve barely touched it.”

  But Ella couldn’t eat a bite. She couldn’t shake the sense of dread that had followed her out of bed, down the stairs, and into the kitchen. What’s wrong with me? she wondered, sliding the melon around in her bowl.

  As soon as Gran left the kitchen, Rowan leaned closer. “What’s going on with you?” she whispered.

  Ella shrugged. She sure wasn’t going to spill the details of her dream to Rowan.

  “She had a nightmare,” piped up Jack. “About wolves.”

  “Jack, be quiet!” Ella snapped. “And wipe your face already.”

  But the damage was done.

  Rowan cocked her head. “Wolves?” she asked. “Are you hearing wolves?”

  Her expression was so strange. Does she hear it too? Ella wondered, biting her lip. Why else would she ask me that?

  “You do hear them!” said Rowan, slapping her hand on the table. “I knew it.”

  “I don’t!” said Jack, sounding envious.

  Ella grabbed Rowan’s arm. “You know about them? Why didn’t you say something? Where is the sound coming from?” Suddenly, she wanted to know everything. She pushed her hood off her ears and stared at Rowan, waiting.

  Rowan raised a finger to her lips. “Not here,” she whispered. “Let’s go out back.”

  “Me too!” said Jack.

  But Ella cut him off at the pass. “I need you to brew us a potion,” she said. “Let’s see . . . how about potion of night vision?”

  A smile spread slowly across Jack’s face. “I have carrots,” he said. “But not golden carrots. I need gold nuggets to make those.”

  Ella sighed. “I’ll look for some in my chest,” she said. “Go see if you have everyt
hing else you need, okay?”

  Jack took off from the table like a shot.

  “Nice work,” said Rowan.

  But Ella didn’t need compliments. What she needed were answers. So she followed her cousin through the dining room, across the living room, and out the back door.

  Gran was weeding the garden, so the girls wound around the pond to the other side of the yard.

  “Okay,” said Ella. “Tell me about the wolves.”

  Rowan shook her head. “I’m not going to tell you. I’m going to show you.”

  As she headed toward the wall and reached for the vine ladder, Ella’s stomach sunk. But now was no time for fear. If she had to scale that wall to get some answers out of Rowan, she would.

  The vines burned the palms of her hands, and it took Ella twice as long to get to the top as it had Rowan. But finally she was high enough to swing her leg over the wall.

  As the world swayed beneath her, she gripped the stones and hung on for dear life. “We’re practically in the clouds,” she whispered, trying not to look down.

  “You’ll get used to it,” said Rowan, laughing. “Now look over there.”

  She pointed north, past the village at the base of the hill, past the expanse of plains, past the dense forest, all the way to the snowcapped tops of the extreme hills.

  “The wolves live in the forest,” she said. “And in the Taiga beyond.”

  Ella strained her eyes, as if she might be able to make out the wolf’s face from so many miles away. “He’s in danger,” she said suddenly, remembering her dream. “My wolf is in danger.”

  “Your wolf?” said Rowan.

  “The one who’s calling to me,” said Ella, trying to explain. “He needs my help.”

  Rowan blew out her breath. “I’ve heard the wolves too,” she said. “But I didn’t know you had your own.”

  Ella waited for Rowan to tease her or accuse her of making the whole thing up. But she didn’t. Instead, she faced Ella straight on. “Do you want to help him?”

  “Yes! But I don’t know how.” As she spoke, she fought back tears.

  “Well, maybe he’ll tell you how,” said Rowan solemnly. “If you listen.”