Hero Steve Book 1: The Quest for Boney Pete

By Mark Mulle

In Steve's head he is a hero...but is he really a hero or a menace?

Every hero needs a mighty steed! For Steve no other horse will do but his skeleton horse - Boney Pete. The problem is Boney Pete got stolen. Steve is clueless as to the identity of the thief which makes finding Boney Pete even harder. But a hero has to do what

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mark Mulle
• Release date: Dec 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9798869086495

Book preview

Chapter One: Hero Steve

The 442nd Day of the Skeleton Horse Hunt (I will find you, Boney Pete)

It has been 442 days since my beloved skeleton horse, Boney Pete, vanished from my home without a trace. He has gone missing, perhaps taken, but who could have done it? I don’t know. Across mountains and oceans, I have searched for Boney Pete, but I have not yet found him or any other horse worthy enough to carry me. I found a brown mare that almost fit the bill, but in the end, he looked too plain. A brown horse? Could you imagine me, Steve … no, sorry, I should have written that differently. Let me try again.

Could you imagine me, HERO

STEVE, riding a boring, brown horse!?!?

(That’s more like it).

I am sitting by a campfire and using its light to write in this journal. This book has been my only friend on this long journey. The spruce trees lean over me as I write. When the wind blows the leaves swish and it sounds like whispering. I can almost hear words in their whispers (my hearing is very advanced after all).

What is it? I say politely to the trees (for I am always polite to things that can squish me while I sleep). Thankfully, they say nothing back and their noise dies down with the wind. I’m relieved. The day a tree does talk back to me is the day I put myself in the looney bin.

I am writing to tell you about the last two days as I want to tell you what has happened. I don’t really know who you are. But even if I’m writing for nobody, I need to write down everything about my exceptional life. Who knows, maybe I’ll die in the wilderness and my adventures will be discovered and published. Maybe I’ll become famous and my fabulous bones will be displayed for all the young crafters to look up to. Yes, I would like that a lot. So, I am writing to you, my future fans, to tell you about the last couple of days.

Two afternoons ago, on the 440th day of the skeleton horse hunt, as the sun reached the center of the sky, I stumbled out of a dark oak forest and onto a plains biome. In the distance, I saw a village.

I loosened my belt to prepare for the massive amounts of bread I was about to eat, letting out a loud HOORAH! at the same time. It had been a hard time for in the dark oak forest. I ran out of pork chops on the first night. After that, I had to eat mushroom stew. Can you believe it? Mushroom stew. Days and days of mushroom stew. I hope I die before I eat or even see another piece of fungus. So, future fans, you can probably imagine how happy I was to find this village. A village full of wheat, beetroot, potatoes, and best of all … PIGS. And it had villagers, of course. I saw several farmers working the potato fields and greeted them with another ‘HOORAH!’ They looked up from their work, shielding their eyes to block out the sun, no doubt blinded by my glorious iron chestplate. But instead of running towards me, offering me free food (as a hero like myself was accustomed to being treated), they ran into their houses, screaming and locked the doors.

I knew at once what had happened. The villagers had looked up and seen me, armed in my iron armor and wielding my iron sword (which I had taken out to impress them) and then looked behind me and seen an army of pillagers. They must have. If they had seen me alone, with my sword and armor, they would have let out a sigh of relief and rushed to give me free food. It must have been pillagers.

I smiled, my teeth gleaming as bright in

the sunlight as my iron armor (I have really nice teeth). If it wasn’t for my timely arrival, the village may not have noticed the pillagers until I was too late. I had already saved them from a surprise attack. Now I had to protect them.

I searched the plains for banner and crossbow wielding pillagers, but found them empty, save for a few scurrying cats. I realized the pillagers must be hiding in the dark oak forest I had emerged from. That place was so dense they could have been hiding anywhere.

I had to help these poor villagers defend themselves from this terrible threat, and so I took out my trusty diamond spade, who I affectionately call ‘George.’

I created George from the first, and sadly only, diamond ore that I mined. I thought about saving up for a sword, which would have suited me, but I couldn’t wait to have a diamond tool. So, I made George, naming him after a cat I had as a child. I am not sure who should be more honored, George that I named him after a cat, or the cat that I named a diamond spade after him.

I used George to dig a trench through the middle of the village potato field, cutting it in half. I piled the dirt blocks on the village side of the ditch and made a wall complete with course dirt guard towers and dirt battlements to protect me from arrows. I kept an eye on the dark oak forest in case the pillagers chose to attack while I was building. Strangely, they continued to hide.

I paced the walls, placing torches on the battlements and scratching my bearded chin vigorously. ‘They must know it’s Hero Steve who defends this village and are afraid to attack.’ I thought to myself. I used the extra time the pillagers gave me, to expand the trench and wall until it surrounded the entire village. Hunger struck as I finished and so I ate a couple of pigs that had been left out in the potato fields, no doubt unaware that there were pillagers nearby who were hungry for

their pork (which was delicious, by the way).

Night came, and I waited on the wall. I waited for the pillagers to attack, but the moon rose without a single crossbow bolt being shot at me. As the sunlight faded, zombies showed up. They always seem to show up when the sun goes down and they always seem to follow me. I killed a few that came close to my guard tower but left the rest. A tiny horde shambled into the village, but I had to stay at my post and watch for the pillager attack. I’m sure there was an iron golem around to deal with the zombies. Well, hopefully there was. If not, I’m sure the villagers could handle a few zombies (goodness knows I could). I stayed at my post even when I heard doors being smashed and screaming from the village. There was a bigger threat than zombies. I couldn’t be distracted. I had to be ready when the pillager attack came.

Sunrise. A beautiful morning. Orange light crept over the eastern horizon. Flowers opened their petals to greet the dawn. Cows and sheep began their day long feast, nibbling on grass and flowers. The whole world yawned, stretching as it began another day. I shed a quick tear, admiring the poetic beauty of it all.

With the rising of the sun came the very thing I had been hoping for: a white flag of surrender. But it did not come from the pillagers. It came from the villagers.

A blacksmith fell trembling at the foot of my guard tower, waving a piece of white wool above his head. P-please leave our village in p-peace. We will give you our most valuable p-p-possession. He dropped the wool and with his arms shaking, presented a long leather-wrapped package to me.

He was surrendering to me, but I had no idea why. I believe you’re confused, you silly, weak villager. I’m Hero Steve, the righteous defender of your town. Without me you would have been destroyed by the pillagers who haunt your borders. Why are you surrendering to me? I think the terror of the situation had gotten to him. Perhaps he heard trees talking to him. As I write this, I still think the spruce trees are whispering, but it might be the wind again.

When I said this to the blacksmith, he stopped shaking. Pillagers? There are no pillagers. It’s you. You frightened our farmers, you’ve ruined our crops, you trapped us with a dirt wall, you brought a plague of zombies on us … AND YOU ATE OUR TWO FAVORITE PIGS!!! The blacksmith finished his rant in tears.

A single tear entered my left eye and I brushed it away with a delicate flick of my agile fingers. Bravo, good sir. Excellent performance. Excellent! Excellent! Excellent! I leapt