The Death of Yorik Mortwell

“Hmm,” she said. “A really horrible, nasty, tragic death, by the sound of things.”

“Does that mean he’ll wake as a ghost?” asked Yorik.

The Princess frowned. “I hope not. I’ve enough trouble with the ghost I’ve already got.”

“Saved me,” croaked Erde, almost angrily. She was huddled in the dirt.

“Yes,” sighed the Princess. “He did. Well,” she said to Yorik, “if that one does turn up, I don’t want you bringing it back here. I’ve finally got the place looking respectable.”

Yorik agreed that the glade looked lovely, especially in the nighttime. He was sitting on the grass in the middle of an absolute explosion of flowers, perfect green flora, and tall, thriving trees. Yorik wondered why the Princess was doing all of this in the middle of winter, but knew he could not ask. Only after he’d saved Erde had the Princess allowed him to return to the glade.

But he did have other questions.

“I don’t understand why Master Thomas could see me,” said Yorik. “None of the other living can.”

The Princess yawned. “Probably because you’re supposed to haunt him. He’s the one who murdered you, you know.”

Yorik had been pondering this. “I don’t think he did that on purpose. Killed me, I mean.”

“Let’s find out,” replied the Princess. She pointed her leafy twig.

A flickering, faded image appeared near the elm. It was Master Thomas, bundled up in his white wool coat. It’s an apple tree, said the image. Now start climbing.

Yorik stood, startled. “Is that a ghost?”

“Sort of,” said the Princess, twirling her twig. “It’s a memory.”

Two flickering gray Dark Ones were hunched on the shoulders of the image. They spoke, sounding whispery and scratched. The servant boy is very clever. He’ll find out what you did. Throw a rock. Throw a rock.

They repeated this again and again. The image bent, chose a rock, and threw it. The Princess twitched the twig, and the image vanished.

“I’d find out what he did?” said Yorik, surprised. “What were they talking about?”

“I don’t know.” The Princess shrugged. “But it’s only human business, so it can’t be very important. I have other things to worry about.” She looked at Erde.

Yorik was worried about Erde too. She had dwindled since her encounter with the Dark Ones. She had stopped having conversations with ants, or drawing in the dirt. She mostly huddled, slumped and motionless.

“Are you sick?” Yorik asked.

Erde nodded. “Sick,” she sniffled. A piece of mud fell from her mouth. Yorik noticed that the mud was drier than it had been. Erde was drying up, like the creek bed during a drought.

“Can’t you help her?” said Yorik to the Princess.

The Princess shook her head grimly. “I could,” she began, “but beastly Father —”

Yorik was done with hearing about beastly Father. “What does that have to do with it? The Dark Ones can’t come near you. You have loads of power.” The Princess’s eyelashes fluttered. “True. But my power is limited to this glade because of—”

“Beastly Father,” said Yorik.

The Princess gave Yorik a withering look. “Yes. The instant any bit of me left my glade, he would know. And Erde’s sickness comes from outside. It comes from them.”

All of Yorik’s attempts to repeat their word for the Dark Ones—Yglhfm—had only made the girls giggle nervously.

“I don’t understand,” said Yorik, “why they make her sick.”

The Princess and Erde exchanged searching looks.

“Tell him,” grunted Erde weakly.

“Are you sure?” said the Princess anxiously. “He’s only a human.”

Erde looked at Yorik. “Not a human.”

“It’s still a human,” objected the Princess. “Just a dead one, that’s all.”

Erde wearily rumbled, “Tell him.” She closed her dark brown eyes.

A wind blew through the glade. The trees and flowers stirred. Patterns flowed across the grass and across the surface of the pond. The light in the glade darkened.

“Very well,” said the Princess. “I will show you who Erde is.” And to Yorik’s surprise, when she said that, her voice did not sound high and haughty as it usually did, but deeper and richer. It stirred and echoed in his mind. Goose bumps rose on his arms.

The Princess stood and raised her leafy twig. Her glow deepened, and her gossamer dress grew black.

“Be honored, boy,” she said. “This knowledge is a gift rarely given to one of human birth.”

Suddenly the pale moon flickered and vanished. An instant later it reappeared.

Yorik was no longer on the Estate. No, he was, but the land had changed. The trees and flowers were gone, and a river flowed through the glade where the pond had been. But he could see the four hills of the Estate rising up around him, four brown hills dotted with scrub.

And he was alone.

Yorik stood and walked to the nearest of the four hills, then ascended for a better view.

Below, the river twisted and wound through the hills. Yorik knew there was no river on the Estate, only a small creek that flowed in a different place. He looked at it with interest, then was surprised to see a red lion rambling along the bank.

Yorik looked toward the Manor.

There was something there, not a manor, but some other kind of structure. It was high and arched, made of stones piled one on the other. It had a raw look that the Manor did not, as though cobbled together by hand. The windows were made from colored glass.

Its front doors opened, and men came out, dressed in brown robes. They held spears.

They are hunting the red lion, Yorik realized.

“Yes,” said the Princess’s rich, deep voice. The voice descended from the starry sky, and from the night shadows all around, but neither the red lion, as it padded dreamily along the rushing river, nor the men in robes with their spears raised seemed to notice. “All of this happened ten thousand human years ago.”

Yorik watched as the men spread out to encircle the red lion. Suddenly they rushed forward, hurling their spears. The red lion whirled around and roared a primal roar that shook the heavens.

Pale Moon Luna flickered out once more, and there was darkness.

“Wait, Your Highness!” said Yorik, anxious. “Did the lion escape?”

“You should ask Erde,” sang the voice of the invisible Princess. “She was there.”

“Erde was there? I didn’t see her.”

“Look closer, then, ghost. Erde is there always.”

The pale moon reappeared.

Yorik saw the four hills. It was winter. The river was broad and frozen. Luna’s white light glinted on the ice. The piled stones were gone, and in their place were solid huts built from wood and packed snow. Smoke rose from them. Though everything was cold and barren, the huts looked homey and warm.

“Do you see her?” asked the Princess.

Yorik turned in all directions, looking everywhere, but he saw only the hills, mist, and blown snow. “No.”

“You are not looking.”

“I am!” said Yorik.

“Further back, then,” came the Princess’s deep voice, like a rolling thunderstorm.

Dark, then light. This time there were no huts, no people. This time there were only tall trees covering the hills. There was no river, but a valley of ice that looked as permanent as a mountain. The hills were larger this time, and boulders jutted from them.

Yorik looked for Erde and did not see her. I need a higher view, he thought.

He found a jagged boulder on his hill and scrambled quickly to the top.

His gaze roamed over the ancient Estate.

“I see something,” he said suddenly.