But Yorik was not looking at the Princess. He was looking toward the Manor, where Master Thomas was, and remembering what Dark Doris had said about keeping Yorik’s murder secret. Those had all been lies—hadn’t they?
He left the safety of the Princess’s light and raced for the Manor.
Chapter Seven
Yorik entered the Manor grounds through the limestone wall by the kennels. The piled stones had a strong, musty odor he had never noticed in life. He half expected the old stones to tumble as he pushed through, but they did not seem aware of his passing. He peeked inside the kennels, but Mr. Lucian and the hounds were not there. He hadn’t thought they would be.
He walked across the frosty grass toward the hulking and massive house. He knew the hounds would come.
And they did.
He felt a presence to his left. He turned and saw Hatch watching him, enclosed in his green and glowing demon form. The hound rumbled and growled, deep in his chest.
Yorik knelt in the grass. He raised his balled fist. “Here, Hatch,” he called softly.
Hatch crept closer, his paws crunching in the frost, his fire eyes burning at Yorik. His muscles were tensed to lunge.
Yorik waited.
The hound leaned toward the waiting fist. His nostrils flared, and he padded around the boy, sniffing from all sides. Yorik sat calmly, feeling the hound’s bonfire breath wash through him. The green glow pulsed, and the whiff of burning phosphorus strengthened.
When he was finished, Hatch crouched on his haunches in front of Yorik and whimpered happily. The bold green tongue came out of his mouth and licked Yorik’s hand.
Delighted, Yorik reached out and stroked the
hound’s spirit self. His hand tingled as it brushed the green fur. Hatch nuzzled him fondly with his spirit nose.
“Hello, Hatch.” Yorik grinned. For one moment he felt alive again.
The other hounds arrived, running low, gathering around Yorik. They made growls, whimpers, whines, and low barks. Yorik stood up. “Yes, I know,” he said. “You must go and guard the Manor from the Dark Ones.” He looked up at the sleeping mansion.
The pack woofed and raced away, spirit lights shining in the night.
Yorik made for the South Wing. He did not know the Manor, but he had heard that this was where servants entered. He reasoned that the kitchens must be nearby.
He passed high, arched windows and tall walls of stone. All the doors he saw had multiple locks. Beside a set of triple-locked wooden doors in the very back of the Manor he saw a pinpoint of firelight. As he drew near, he saw that it was Mr. Lucian, wrapped in his scarves and smoking his pipe.
The pipe lowered as Yorik approached the doors.
Mr. Lucian sniffed the night air. “Ah, I sense ye are near, young Yorik,” he said quietly.
Yorik said nothing. He knew that would be useless.
“The hounds have elected to let ye pass, so ye must no longer mean harm to the Family. And ye had the good sense to know it.”
“Thank you, Mr. Lucian,” said Yorik, too polite not to respond, though his voice was only a moan in the night.
Mr. Lucian went on. “I must warn ye, then. There are Dark Ones inside. Some got through without me knowing, before I brought out the hounds. A few have slipped through since. Their power is in their words. Their lies can force ye to their will.”
No, they can’t, thought Yorik, remembering the water garden. The Dark Ones had tried to influence him, to tell him no one needed him. And they had failed. What, then, was their true power?
“Good luck to ye, lad. May ye find yer peace at last.” Mr. Lucian raised his pipe once again.
Yorik pushed through the padlocked doors and into the Manor.
He wandered through the South Wing. He walked through doors and walls. He found rooms full of beds where servants slept. Everything was dingy and musty and cold. Wallpaper peeled from walls. Carpets were worn through. Twice, Yorik thought he saw another person out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned, the person was gone. Another ghost? he wondered. But if there were others like him in the Manor, they were keeping to themselves. At last he found a kitchen—and Susan.
The Matron and several girls had risen early to ready the kitchens for breakfast. Several enormous stoves needed fire. Susan was at work in front of a vast field of eggs, cracking them into bowls. Beside her was bread for slicing and bushels of oranges for squeezing. All around, kitchen maids bustled.
Yorik longed to run straight to his sister. But the people, and light, and fire overwhelmed him. He shrank into a quiet, shadowed corner. His sister was singing softly; he could hear her clear voice under the kitchen din:
Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee,
The shooting stars attend thee;
And the elves also,
Whose little eyes glow
Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.
The Matron, passing by, put her hand on Susan’s shoulder. “ ’Tis a beautiful song, my dear,” she said. “Where did you learn it?”
Susan smiled wistfully. “My brother taught it to me, ma’am.”
The Matron nodded sadly, stroked Susan’s hair, then moved on.
Susan continued humming the tune as she cracked one egg after another.
Watching his sister, Yorik sang quietly:
No will-o’-the-wisp mislight thee,
Nor snake or slow-worm bite thee;
But on, on thy way
Not making a stay,
Since ghost there’s none to affright thee.
Then he saw Master Thomas.
Or rather, he saw Master Thomas’s eye, peering from a crack in a doorway far on the other end of the cavernous kitchen.
Master Thomas was watching Susan.
The crack closed.
Yorik rushed through the wall. He darted through another wall and then another, to a corridor where Master Thomas’s round form was bumping up a stairway. But something about the round form was too round, too humped. Something about Master Thomas had changed.
Yorik followed.
Then Yorik realized why the form was wrong. He realized he could not get too close to Master Thomas, not yet.
He must not let the Dark Ones know he was there.
Two of their blobbish shapes squatted on Master Thomas’s shoulders. Yorik could hear them making urgent, murmuring sounds. From this distance, Yorik could not tell what they were saying.
He followed as close as he dared. They were no longer in the dingy, peeling, threadbare part of the Manor. The carpets were thicker now, the floors polished. Mirrors hung on the walls. Glistening silver and paintings could be seen. Doorknobs shone.
They were climbing. Yorik crept up long, wide staircases with marble banisters, keeping Master Thomas’s hurrying form ahead of him. Once, he sensed a Dark One looking back, and he leapt through a wall into a musty sitting room.
Then Master Thomas went along another corridor, turned, opened a door, and went inside.
Yorik poked his head through the wall, just enough to see into Master Thomas’s lavish quarters.
Master Thomas was sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands clasped in front of him, rocking back and forth. He was crying fat tears that streaked down his face and plopped into his lap. His weeping face was torn with misery.
You must kill her, said the Dark One on Thomas’s left.
She knows your secret, said the one on the right. She knows what you did. She will tell your father.
Then the two chorused together: And when your father knows, he will banish you. You have always disappointed him. You are useless and weak. He wishes your sister still lived, so that the Estate could be left to her instead of you, you worthless failure.
Master Thomas moaned.
“No,” whispered Yorik.
Instantly the Dark Ones turned their hunger onto Yorik.
The ghost-boy! they chattered. He is here!
Yorik stepped through the wall into the bedroom. “Leave him alone,” he said.
Look, they whispered to Master Thomas. Look! The ghost of the murdered boy has come for revenge!
Master Thomas sniffed. He blinked in confusion.
Look, fool! screamed the Dark Ones. Then they began to make noise, a high, whining, and monstrous sort of singing.
Though Yorik knew that Master Thomas was not aware of the Dark Ones on his shoulders, something about that piercing song seemed to direct the boy’s attention. Master Thomas peered into the dark corner where Yorik stood.
Their eyes met. Horror sprang onto Thomas’s face.
“No!” said Yorik. “Wait, the Dark Ones, they—”
But it was futile. Master Thomas leapt to his feet. “Yorik!” he said. “No!” He stumbled backward.
Run! screamed the Dark Ones.
Master Thomas ran through a set of doors onto his balcony.
Yorik wished he had Erde with him. She could do something about the two Dark Ones. Not knowing what to do, not wanting to scare Thomas further, Yorik began to leave.
Then, through the doors, he saw that Master Thomas was standing on the stone balcony railing.
The Dark Ones screamed of ghostly terrors, of a wrathful Yorik coming to seek vengeance.
Master Thomas wobbled on the balustrade. He seemed to think he could escape by leaping to the next balcony. But Yorik could see that it was too far, and Master Thomas, never a graceful boy, was going to fall.
Yorik ran onto the balcony, wondering if somehow he could tear the Dark Ones away before something awful happened. They were hissing more whispers into Thomas’s ears, urging him on with You fool, you useless, cowardly, stupid, hated waste—you must jump!
Yorik reached hopelessly for Thomas as the Dark Ones shrieked in triumph and vanished.
Master Thomas fell through the night.
Yorik raced to the balcony’s edge and looked over.
Far, far below lay the body of Master Thomas. Yorik, having had one himself, could see that the boy had a broken neck.
Twelve-year-old Master Thomas lay on the hard, cold ground, dead.
Chapter Eight
The Princess had established herself on a sort of throne, which she had cultivated from the low branches of a sycamore.
“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.
“Yes,” rolled the voice of the Princess.
The Death of Yorik Mortwell Page 4