The Death of Yorik Mortwell

by Stephen Messer

  “Your Highness,” said Yorik, “why does Erde need your help?”

  “Just look at her!” the Princess said, pointing her twig. “They’re killing her! Can’t you see?”

  Yorik looked with worry at small brown Erde. No one seemed to be killing her at the moment. He took a different approach. “Why can’t you leave?

  Why did beastly Fa—I mean, why did your father trap you here?”

  Everything in the glade went silent. The birds stopped chirping. The frogs stopped croaking. Storm clouds gathered on the Princess’s face. Only Erde continued communing with the ants as though nothing were wrong.

  Yorik felt that he had asked the wrong question. “My apologies, Your Majesty,” he said quickly. “I—”

  “You know,” said the Princess ominously. “Having a servant ghost-boy has not worked out as well as I’d hoped. First you run away from a bell, and then you ask a lot of rude questions.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Yorik.

  “Perhaps you should go,” replied the Princess coldly. “Yglhfm are my enemy, and there’s obviously nothing you can do against them.”

  A black pit formed inside Yorik at these words. Then he became aware of Erde standing beside him.

  “Need him,” Erde said to the Princess.

  “No!” shouted the Princess. “I don’t need him! You are both forgetting who I am!” There was a thunderclap. She leveled her twig at Yorik. “Leave my glade,” she said, seething. “Get out.”

  Yorik looked at Erde, whose eyes sparked grimly.

  He bowed. “I’m sorry,” he said. He turned and left the glade.

  Chapter Five

  Yorik moved back into the cold cabin.

  The cold didn’t bother him. Rather, he discovered that the neglected, dust-heavy, cobwebbed room suited him. Nights, he shuffled about the cabin and its environs. Days, dazzled by the sunlight, he retreated to a dim corner, where he huddled until darkness returned.

  He spent seven nights in this lonely condition. He hoped that perhaps Susan might visit her old home and he would be able to see her. But of course, with her new duties at the Manor, she would not be likely to leave. His instinct was to venture out, to trap or hunt or gather, or to patch the drafty holes in the walls and thatched roof. But even if he could have done these things, there was no one for him to feed, and he had no need for shelter from cold or rain.

  On the eighth night, boredom and restlessness drove him to wander farther from the cabin.

  He wanted to stay away from the Manor, the servants’ cemetery, and the aviary glade. And so he trudged along the Wooded Walk, past the Summerhouse, and up the Red Lion Steps. He found himself in the topiary garden. He wound along its paths, looking at the fantastic shapes sculpted skillfully from holly, myrtle, and yew. Most were animals, but there were also pyramids, obelisks, and clouds.

  In the center of the well-groomed topiary garden was a large mound on which the grass grew wild. It was enclosed by an ornate little fence that no one ever crossed. Yorik recalled whispered stories that someone had been buried there long, long ago, and that the mound was perhaps haunted.

  Well, thought Yorik, if it’s haunted, then whoever is doing the haunting might teach me something about being a ghost.

  He crossed the spiky fence. As he stood at the foot of the mound, a gust of wind came up, lashing the wild grass. The wind blew through the assemblage of animals, tossing their branches. The cloud-shaped pines seemed to tumble amid the animals, which in turn seemed to leap and frolic. A laurel lion crouched, then leapt playfully at a holly elephant, which reared and lifted its trunk, just missing a myrtle swan taking flight. Everything went around the mound like Yorik imagined a carousel might. The gust died as suddenly as it arrived, and the carousel stopped—but now all the animals had turned toward the mound and bowed or lowered their heads.

  Yorik turned. There, on top of the mound, crouched a motionless hare.

  Yorik automatically considered how he might shoot the hare. But of course, that was no longer needed. He watched the hare. The hare watched him. Yorik ascended the mound, expecting the hare to bounce off into the bushes at his approach.

  Curiously, the animal did not flee. Instead, it regarded Yorik with glassy, bottomless eyes. Yorik stepped closer. The hare remained utterly still.

  There was so much intelligence in the hare’s eyes that Yorik felt compelled to speak.

  “Good evening.”

  Good evening, replied the hare solemnly.

  “Why aren’t you afraid of me?” asked Yorik.

  Should I be? inquired the hare.

  Yorik thought about the many hares he had snared for the Manor kitchens and for his family’s supper. “Hares are afraid of people.”

  You are not a person, said the hare.

  “Then what am I?”

  You are a child of the living night, as am I.

  “You’re dead too?” asked Yorik, as politely as one could ask that question. The dignified hare invited the utmost respect.

  No, the hare replied. Not yet.

  That answer hushed Yorik. Still the hare did not move, but gazed searchingly at him. Yorik realized that this hare was larger than it had seemed at first. In fact, it was growing.

  “What are you?” said Yorik.

  I am a hare, came the reply. But Yorik could see that the hare was suddenly as large as himself. No, much larger. The hare grew taller, until it towered high above him, looming like the Manor. Its fur was now a leafy tangle. The hare had become a majestic yew tree, and its eyes shone with starlight.

  “You’re a topiary!” exclaimed Yorik.

  The topiary hare did not answer. Another gust of wind blew, but the carousel animals did not move. Yorik felt their respectful stillness in the presence of the hare.

  He ventured another question. “Why is it that I have never seen you before?”

  The hare’s voice assumed a rich cant. There is much you can see now that you could not see before. You can see things as they are. You can see both that which is living and that which is dead.

  “Yes,” answered Yorik.

  What else have you seen? inquired the hare.

  Yorik thought about this. He thought about the foam-flecked horses and the whispering voice and Erde’s muddy tears. “Something is wrong with the Estate,” he answered finally. “Something bad has happened.”

  Silence, wind, and rustling leaves. Then—The land is being consumed by the Yglhfm. What shall you do?

  “Me?” asked Yorik, surprised. “There’s nothing I can do.”

  No, Ghost. There is much of which you are capable.

  This time Yorik was the one who was silent.

  What shall you do? came the question once more.

  “Why are you asking me?”

  It is not I who asks. I ask on behalf of the Oldest, mother of us all.

  “The Princess?” asked Yorik, confused. “But she told me she doesn’t need me. She threw me out of her glade.” He did not understand any of this. No one had ever asked Yorik to do anything. Yorik had only been ordered to do things, all his life and all his death.

  “What happens if I do nothing?” he asked, genuinely interested.

  I do not know, came the reply. It is your choice.

  “I want to protect my sister,” said Yorik.

  Is not the fate of one bound to the fate of all?

  Yorik had not thought about it that way. If the Estate was in danger, then his sister was too, and protecting the Estate would do the same for Susan. “What can I do to help, then?” he asked.

  We do not know, Ghost, replied the topiary hare. We do not know how to stop the Yglhfm.

  Yorik suddenly felt a presence—the same presence he had sensed in the water garden. He looked past the hare, past the mound, and into the woods beyond the topiary carousel. There he saw a shuffling emptiness gliding between the trees, the same emptiness that had crouched on his shoulder and rasped into his ear. He heard soft muttering.

  “Is that a Dark One?
” he asked.

  Yes, said the hare, but its voice was strained. Yorik sensed another presence, and then another, three in all, gathered outside the topiary garden.

  A tremble raced through the branches of the hare. We must leave for now, it said. As must you.

  As Yorik watched, the starlight in the hare’s eyes faded. He turned to the other animals. The lion, elephant, and swan were motionless, back in their places, no longer bowing toward the mound.

  The muttering grew louder. Ghost—the dark voices began, but Yorik did not pause to listen. He raced from the garden with all the swiftness of wind.

  Back in the one-room cabin, he pondered the words of the wise and dignified hare, who believed that protecting Susan would protect them all. He thought of the terrified horses, the hounds who guarded the Manor, the Princess, Erde, Master Thomas, and Susan.

  Is not the fate of one bound to the fate of all?

  If that was true, then he had to find a way to protect them all.

  Yorik could see that the dismal cabin was falling to ruin, soon to be reclaimed by the forest. He looked at the cold ashes in the fireplace, and for a moment he could see three people there: Father, himself, and Susan, laughing and playing as a warm fire blazed.

  He shook his head and turned away. That world was gone.

  He walked outside, looked at the cabin for the last time, then strode off toward the Manor.

  Chapter Six

  As Yorik walked down the carriage path, he recalled what Mr. Lucian had said: Ye seek revenge. At first that had been true. But no longer.

  Pale Moon Luna had set hours ago. Even with Yorik’s ghost eyes, the world around him seemed sunk into a well of black. Silence was heavy over all the thousands of acres of Ravenby Estate, its four great hills, its innumerable trees. The only sounds came when he passed the mews. Inside he could hear the falcons stirring, unsettled and anxious.

  Then he heard a voice.

  “Yorik, dear Yorik.” It was a girl’s voice, high and laughing and pretty.

  Yorik looked around. The voice seemed to float from a distance. Nearby there was a stone arch, with a little path of trampled dirt going under it. Yorik followed the path into a small clear space, like a bubble carved out of the dense bushes and trees. In the bubble was an old marble bench, and on the bench sat a girl.

  “Mistress Doris,” Yorik breathed. He automatically bowed.

  Mistress Doris had been dead for years, but she had been older than Yorik when she’d died, so now they were nearly the same age. She wore one of her beautiful dresses, and had an expensive hat and perfect shoes. She patted the bench beside her and giggled. “Dear Yorik, I’m not your mistress any longer. Sit beside me.”

  Yorik sat awkwardly on the stone bench. “I was sorry when you died,” he said haltingly.

  It was true. Mistress Doris had not been a friend exactly. But she had been the terror of the Ravenby family, and part of being the terror of the Ravenbys involved consorting with children like Yorik and Susan. She stole things from the Manor and distributed them to servants, who dutifully returned them. She broke things; she escaped at night; she fought the other noble children who came to visit. And then curiosity had gotten the better of her, and she had gone to look at plague victims, and caught the plague herself, and died.

  “Well.” Doris smiled. “I’m not sorry you died. Now we can have terrific fun together.”

  “I can’t have fun,” explained Yorik. “I have to protect Susan. She’s working in the Manor kitchens, and—”

  Mistress Doris waved her hand. “Yes, you need to protect her from my horrid brother, don’t you? He murdered you, and no doubt he will gladly murder your sister too.”

  Yorik gaped. “I don’t think—” He was not sure what to say. He didn’t think Master Thomas would deliberately murder Susan. Would he?

  “Yes,” said Mistress Doris. “To keep your murder a secret, he might do anything. He is a horrible, bad, evil little boy. He must be punished.” She giggled. “Now we shall punish him. But first we must get past those demons that guard the Manor. Do you know how to do that, Yorik?”

  “Y-yes,” said Yorik, hesitant. “I think I do, now.”

  “Mmm,” sighed Doris happily. “Then you can get me past them as well, can’t you?”

  Yorik was silent for a long time. He looked at Doris, who smiled beatifically.

  “The hare said—” he began.

  “The hare lies,” Mistress Doris interrupted. “It is a demon, and so are those two creatures in the aviary glade. They must be punished along with Thomas. Now you must take me past those guardians.”

  “I don’t think I should do that,” Yorik said.

  Doris’s smile vanished. “Those demons are keeping you from your sister. And just look what they did to me.”

  She showed her ankle. In the ghostly skin, Yorik could see two throbbing bite marks, glowing angry green.

  “The hounds are guarding the Manor from the Dark Ones,” said Yorik.

  Doris bared her teeth. “You don’t have a choice, boy. I order you to take me past the demons.”

  Boy? Doris had never spoken to him that way before. “I don’t serve Family any longer,” he replied.

  Mistress Doris’s face went white. “You are a servant and always will be. You will get me past those demons and we will finish my naughty brother.”

  “No,” said Yorik, confused. Doris and Thomas had fought incessantly, he remembered. But Doris would not have hurt her brother.

  Doris inched closer. “You know what happened last time you disobeyed a Family command.” Yorik watched her eyes cloud over and then swirl away into empty voids of deepest dark.

  “Yes,” he said, staring straight into the voids. “But I don’t think you’re really Family.”

  Mistress Doris scrambled up to Yorik until her furious white face was only inches from his. “Yesss,” she hissed. “I’m Missstresss Dorisss.”

  “No, you’re not,” he said clearly. “I can see things as they are now. And you’re not really Doris.”

  “Ifff I’m not Fffamily,” she whispered, “then what am I?”

  Yorik remembered seeing that emptiness before, in the darkness of the water garden and the trees beyond the topiaries. He looked at the glowing bite marks on Doris’s ankle. “You’re a Dark One,” he said.

  The thing gave a harsh chuckle. Not ONE, it rasped. MANY.

  Mistress Doris’s face became dry and hollow. The skin smeared and faded. And just before the image of the girl disappeared, those black void eyes cleared and became a girl’s again, and a tiny, distant voice, the voice of Mistress Doris, pleaded, “Yorik—help me!”

  Then she was gone.

  In her place sat several things, or not-things, presences that were there and not there. There were more than he had sensed before—perhaps five. They were each a little blob of midnight, plump like large pears. He saw that there were a few more up in the trees, squatting on branches. They did not seem to have eyes or any other features, but Yorik sensed that all of them were looking at him, and in that look he sensed a vast, terrifying hunger.

  Revenge, they chorused. Two Dark Ones dropped from a tree and slid closer to Yorik.

  “No,” said Yorik, leaping up.

  The two stopped. Revenge, they said in their rasping whine. Revenge on the one who killed you. Revenge on his family.

  “No!” said Yorik firmly, shaking his head. “No revenge.”

  Then we will take you, they chorused. We will take you like we took the girl. Like we are taking her brother. They slid toward Yorik, and despite his desire to show courage, he stepped backward. An unfamiliar panic seized him, a wild fright as he imagined the Dark Ones consuming him, and Susan’s death at the hands of the evil Master Thomas.

  The two nothings sprang toward his shoulders.

  Then there was a terrific whoosh, and two objects flew past Yorik. They caught the nothings in midspring with a tremendous thump. Yorik thought it sounded like someone had punched a ball of
dough. The objects sped onward, taking the Dark Ones with them.

  Suddenly the vast hunger was no longer focused on him, but on something behind him.

  There in the path crouched the tiny sticklike figure of Erde. As Yorik watched, she reached her little clawlike hands into her mouth. They emerged with two dripping mud-balls. With a snapping twist of her body, she threw the mud-balls, and two more Dark Ones went flying from the bench with a magnificent thump.

  Instantly the Dark Ones abandoned Yorik and clustered around Erde. More appeared in the trees above her. He could sense waves of ravenous hunger washing from them to her, far stronger than their craving for him. And Yorik could sense something else. He could sense their triumph.

  Erde twisted and whirled, but there was no escape. She curled down and made two more mud-balls and threw them, but there were too many of the hungry voids. They pressed close to her, dropping from the trees, growing larger as they neared, as though opening their voids to devour her.

  With a rushing leap, Yorik jumped over the cluster. He landed in the tiny gap between them and Erde and reached for her. He felt her long fingers wrap twice around his fist, clenching so tightly it hurt. He looked into her eyes and saw sheer and abject terror staring back from their deep brownness.

  He lifted Erde into his arms and ran. The girl weighed almost nothing, and the world flashed by—carriage path, riding lane, forest, fishponds, shooting range, and then the aviary glade.

  The Princess was there, in an orb of throbbing light. Her face was streaked with tears. When Yorik knelt and placed Erde on the ground, the Princess instantly gathered her into that glowing, silver, loving light.

  Yorik turned. The protective light illuminated everything. There were no Dark Ones to be seen.

  “Why?” the Princess was screaming. “Why did you leave? They could have destroyed you!”

  Erde’s voice was muffled by folds of the Princess’s gossamer gown. “Looking for him,” she growled.

  “You can never leave again, no matter what, never never,” cried the Princess angrily, sobbing. Then her eyes flashed at Yorik. “This is your fault!”