The mountain an official.., p.1
The Mountain: An Official Minecraft Novel, page 1
Minecraft: The Mountain is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2021 by Mojang Synergies AB. MINECRAFT and the Minecraft logo are trademarks of the Microsoft group of companies. All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Del Rey, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
Del Rey is a registered trademark and the Circle colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
ISBN 9780593159156
International edition ISBN 9780593355282
Ebook ISBN 9780593159163
randomhousebooks.com
Book design by Elizabeth A. D. Eno, adapted for ebook
Cover art and design: M. S. Corley
ep_prh_5.6.1_c0_r0
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Epigraph
Introduction
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 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
What We Have Learned from the World of Minecraft
Dedication
Acknowledgments
By Max Brooks
About the Author
THE FOLLOWING IS BASED ON TRUE EVENTS.
INTRODUCTION
If you’ve found this book, then you already know about the strange, block-built world around you. And if you’ve found my first book, you know about how I initially got to know it. You’ve already read about how I spawned in the ocean, all alone, near an island, and how learning to survive on that island taught me not only about this world, but about me as well.
And, if you didn’t know that, now you do.
If this is the first book you’ve found, don’t worry. I’ll fill you in as we go along. All you need to know is that this story picks up where the other one left off, and while I thought I’d learned a lot already, I had no idea that my real education was just getting started.
Cold.
The feeling changed everything.
It’d been about a day and a half since I’d left my little block-shaped shore, and I don’t mind admitting that I was barely seconds from going back.
It wasn’t the first time I’d turned tail and run—well, paddled. A few days after landing on that strange, new land, I’d learned enough about crafting to accidentally produce a boat like the one I was riding in now. That time I’d been so inexperienced, so scared and frazzled and eager to escape, that I’d rushed right down to the beach and set off at full speed for the horizon.
And nearly gotten myself lost at sea.
This time, what felt like a lifetime later, I’d been determined not to repeat that same impulsive mistake. I’d spent a week provisioning myself for a long journey. I had plenty of food, tools, raw materials for crafting, and, most important, navigation aids like a compass and a nearly blank map. I say “nearly” because my little island appeared in the map’s far east corner. And I mean “appeared.” The moment I’d lifted it off the crafting table, the entire tan surface filled with a perfect, top-down re-creation of my island.
And me! I was on there, represented by a small white arrow that turned and moved along with me in real life. I remember thinking, This is awesome, and with the compass, I’ll never be lost!
Following the manual I’d found in the mineshaft, I’d learned how to expand the map by surrounding the original copy with eight more pieces of sugarcane paper. I’d done it several times, until the island had shrunken to a little brown and green speck, surrounded by a thin blue ring and then a giant, blank space. So small in such a big, unexplored world. I still remember that mix of emotion, fear tinged with excitement. What’s out there?
I’d have to wait another few weeks before finding out. That’s how long it took me to write down my first book, leaving it to whomever might follow me. It was a record of all my adventures, and the lessons that came with them. And that last lesson was the one that drove me back to sea:
Growth doesn’t come from a comfort zone, but from leaving it.
It sounded so cool at the time, so brave and true.
It rang in my head as I said goodbye to my animal friends, rowing west, turning occasionally to see everything I’d known fade slowly into the distance.
Smaller and smaller. Just like on the map. First went the lowlands, then the hill, then my house on top of the hill, and then, finally, the cobblestone observation tower that stretched far up into the clouds.
“Growth doesn’t come from a comfort zone,” I said, turning back to the now setting sun, “but from leaving it.”
I don’t know how many times I repeated that phrase, aloud and in my head, as the sun dipped, the sky darkened, and the pale crescent moon—shaped like my island, I thought with an odd pang of homesickness—rose behind me.
Hesitation.
There’s gotta be land out there, I told myself. Sooner or later, you’ll spy something up ahead. It wasn’t fear that slowed me down. At least, that’s what I told myself. You don’t want to miss something in the dark. Another island, low, and without a hill. It might be the start of a larger chain. Too fast and you’ll pass right by.
That’s what I thought, scanning back and forth while being extra careful not to veer off course. The compass helped, its red-tipped needle pointing straight back to my original spawn point. The map helped too, filling in a straight, thick, unbroken blue line as I went, almost as if by magic. “No land,” it silently told me, “not yet.” I thought about stopping altogether, taking a break, waiting for dawn. At least then I could be sure not to bypass any land in the dark. I still wasn’t one hundred percent sure that the map’s vision was the same as mine. If I can see even a little bit beyond what it marked…
That’s when I ran off the edge!
Of the map, I mean. Not the world.
The next time I checked, I saw that I’d paddled right off the western border of the paper. My interactive arrow was now a static circle. When had that happened? How long ago had I checked it? I should have been calculating distance and time, keeping track of the where and when.
And what if I DID run off the edge of the world? Didn’t people used to think my world—my real, original spawn point—was flat? Didn’t some dum-dums still insist that was true, even though a universe of evidence proved them wrong? But there was no evidence in this world, no proof that it was round. So much was different here: gravity, bodily functions, even time—each day’s only twenty minutes! For all I knew, this ocean might just end at a giant waterfall, one that I couldn’t see until I rowed right over the edge!
Don’t freak out, I thought, just make a new map…
But of course, I couldn’t. Maps needed a crafting table, which needed solid ground. And it really wouldn’t help, I thought nervously. The map only fills in where I’ve been. It can’t tell me where I’m going. I have no idea where I’m going!
Lost again!
No, I still had the compass. But that little metal disk nearly did more harm than good. The problem wasn’t mechanical, but psychological, because, as I began to stare obsessively at the needle, I could almost hear it beckoning me home.
“C’mon,” it seemed to say, “just follow me. No more unknown, no more worries about what might be out there.”
I tried not to think of my island, my snug little cottage and soft comfy bed.
“Just follow me,” said the compass, “and I’ll take you right back to your safe space. It’ll be so easy. C’mon!”
I knew the only way to keep those feelings away was to keep them way behind me. I knew if I stopped, I’d turn back. And just like my last lesson had driven me to start this expedition, my very first one drove me forward.
Keep going. Don’t give up.
And I didn’t. I tried to keep focused on the here and now. Oars splashing, eyes scanning.
Something darted off to my right. A quick flash of black amidst white mini-cubed splashes. “Just a squid,” I said, trying to comfort myself. “There are no sea monsters.”
…at least none you’ve encountered yet.
Flat world.
Sea monsters.
“Just follow me home,” taunted the compass.
As the moon set in front of me, and the first rays of the sun warmed my back, I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen so much as a distant cube of land.
“Nothing?” I blurted to the empty expanse of blue. “Really? Nothing?”<
There were no hints of salvation, like that first underwater mountain that had turned out to be my island. Nothing. The submerged hills below never came close to the surface. Not even a dry reef to stop and rest on.
“Keep going. Never give up,” I chanted.
But for how long? How could I fight both my own doubts and the cop-out compass ganging up on me?
Maybe if I just turned back for a little bit. Not all the way home, just retracing my course, seeing if I missed some spot of land last night.
Keep going.
And what’s wrong with heading back to the island? Take a few days to rest, start off in another direction.
Never give up.
There’s three other directions, right? Three other chances to find something. That’s not giving up. That’s just restarting, rebooting, re—
Cold.
The feeling changed everything.
I’d still been moving forward. Slowly, but forward. And that bare minimum of motion had been enough to push me into a pocket of chilled air.
“Whoof,” I breathed, feeling a slight chill run down my spine.
I slowed to a stop, letting every corner of my square brain switch on.
Was this a seasonal change? Do seasons change in this world? And if this was the first hint of autumn, wasn’t it coming from the wrong direction?
My face was distinctly colder than the back of my neck. The two sides of my flat head were equally cool. So, this new rush of crisp air wasn’t coming from north or south. Due west, directly in front of me. How is that possible? Isn’t climate supposed to get colder the farther north, and, I guess, farther south you go?
Maybe in my world. But not here.
I thought back to another lesson from the island: Just because the rules don’t make sense to you doesn’t mean they don’t make sense.
“Due west it is,” I said, and started paddling slowly forward. I crept forward by inches…or, rather, by mini-cubes. I couldn’t afford to miss anything now. I had to be sure that what I was feeling was real.
And it was.
The farther west I went, the cooler the air got. I did pause at one point, when, unexpectedly, I felt my face start to warm.
Did I pass through it? I wondered. Was it some weird trick of the weather, a pocket of arctic air? No. It was just the sun finally coming up to start shining directly in front of me. And as I started up again, I could feel those warm rays nullified by an overall plunge in temperature. I rowed all day, stopping only for a short lunch of baked potatoes. At least this world kept them eternally warm. I needed all the help I could get, because by the time the sun started setting, I was well and truly chilled.
My teeth chattered, and I wished this world would let me blow on my hands, or at least rub them together. It’d been a long time since I’d found any fault with the rules of my body or clothing. My crafted armor was great for protection against mobs, but in this cold I realized that the painted-on duds beneath them were no more than decoration.
If only I’d packed a sweater, I thought as the wind prickled my exposed skin. If only I knew how to craft one.
I might have had the materials to make warm clothes. I’d packed extra wool and some spider silk. Maybe one of them, or both combined…I stopped again, hoping that some mix of those items might come up with warmer clothing.
Big mistake. Not only could I not craft any winterwear, but stopping robbed me of any heat generated by movement. I also should have been more concerned with daylight, and not just for the warmth of the sun.
Darkness. Blindness. I had to slow, again, to make sure I didn’t swish past the very thing I sought.
“Don’t…think about the cold…” I shivered, as the night seemed to suck every last bit of heat from my body.
Fingers stinging, flat ears numb. Jaw aching from clenched, iron-tight muscles.
Don’t think about the cold. Stay focused. Keep your eyes peeled for…
Land?
Something up ahead, a dark mass that hid the lowest stars.
“LAND!”
A hill, just like my island. No—more of them, spreading out the closer I got, and covered in white. Snow! It had to be!
“Aw yeah,” I crowed, thrashing the oars about wildly. “Finally!”
Those were definitely hills, so many they stretched from one end of the horizon to the other. Not pure white, but mixed with lines of dark cubes.
Is that a tree?
I could see one, then several, sparsely scattered against a flat, pale beach.
“Yes,” I hissed, “these ARE trees! This IS land! I’ve made it! I’m safe! I’m—”
I wasn’t paying attention to what was right in front of me. My eyes were so focused on the hills and trees that I didn’t quite notice the change in the color of the water. I didn’t notice the thick, light blue crust that extended out from the shore.
Crash!
I hit something hard enough to splinter my boat. I fell into the water, sank to the bottom.
Freezing!
You must know that feeling. That first millisecond when you plunge into the ocean, or a lake, or a swimming pool that you thought was heated and realize, too late, that it isn’t? That was me, trapped in body-slamming shock.
I writhed for a second, let out a huge bubble of “Whhuuu…” as I shot quickly for the surface.
And hit my head!
The light blue water was hard.
Ice!
Panicked and punching! Mini-cubed cracks resealing with each blow.
Where was the edge?!
Looking around frantically in the dark. This way and that, swimming like a trapped fish. Lungs burning. Bubbles escaping from my mouth.
I couldn’t believe it. Drowning, again. Clawing for the surface.
The stars above. My face pressed against the ice.
Air…
Can’t reach!
Crack! The first snap as the last of my lungs’ breath vanished.
Pain, clear and cruel. And with it, clarity.
Panic drowns thought.
Crack! Seconds left. But seconds used, not wasted.
The iron-tipped pickaxe on my belt. Now in my hands.
Crack!
Bashing its tip against the ice. Giving way.
Crack! Smash!
Exploding up onto the hard, slick surface.
“Huuuuhhhhh.” A deep animal breath.
For a second, I just stood there, because this world wouldn’t let me lie down. Shaking in pain, too dazed to even see straight.
Hyper-healing. I’ll never take it for granted. As my lungs recovered and my oxygen-starved brain cells restarted, I felt pain give way to hunger.
And thanks to this world, the food in my pack was, like me, insta-dry! Bread baked. Still warm, but not hot. Not enough to banish the chill.
What’s that term when you get too cold and start getting sluggish—Hypertherm? Hypo…something?
Was it happening already? What did freezing to death feel like? I thought I remembered, vaguely, that it actually felt warm right before the end.
Which means I must still be all right, I thought, shaking violently between bites of bread. If I am hypo-thermiating, I guess it’s not in the final stages yet.
But what about getting sick?!
You get cold, then you get a cold! Wasn’t winter the time when everybody caught something? Didn’t parents yell at their kids to dress warmly before going out to play in the snow? What could I catch? What diseases did this world have?
There was nothing on my island, but this was a whole new land! Hadn’t that happened on my world? Hadn’t explorers set off to discover new lands only to discover new illnesses? Hadn’t some of those explorers wiped out whole civilizations because of the illnesses they brought with them? What did that mean for me? What if there were new sicknesses crawling around this new land, and my body was too cold and weak to fight them off? And if they were anything like being poisoned by a spider or a witch, or even that horrible gut storm I’d caught from eating the raw chicken that time—
