The Death of Yorik Mortwell by Stephen Messer

were already telling yourself. The Dark Ones seduce us with our own darkest thoughts.”
    “And …?”
    “And that’s why they are surrounding the glade. They’re bringing all their power to bear, Princess, the same power I felt when they surrounded me outside the mews. They’re pushing their lies on you, encouraging you to believe your worst fear—that you are unforgivable.”
    The Princess’s face bloomed like a lily. “My goodness. You are absolutely right. How embarrassing.” She jumped to her feet and snapped her fingers, and her silver glow returned in a burst that left Yorik blinking. From outside the glade he heard a furious roaring.
    “That’s over with, then,” the Princess announced. “I feel terribly silly. That never would have happened, you know, if I’d been able to see out of—”
    “I know, I know,” Yorik assured her. “Are you ready to leave?”
    “Yes,” the Princess said. “I believe I am.”
    “Then let’s go,” said Yorik, taking her hand. Together they walked out of the aviary glade.
    The wall of Dark Ones had vanished. Yorik led the Princess toward the Wooded Walk. With smallgestures, the Princess extinguished the little fires burning here and there. A wild-eyed horse hobbled past, its foreleg broken. The Princess spoke a soothing word and the leg straightened, the horse cantering away. Then a dirigible crewman crashed from the bushes, firing his pistol at them. The Princess did not seem to notice, but Yorik watched as the bullets became honeybees and the crewman slumped to the ground, snoring.
    In this way, they soon arrived at the path. The Princess released Yorik’s hand. “Where is he?” she said. “I’ve got to go to him, you know. He can’t come to me. It wouldn’t be proper.”
    Yorik decided not to remind her of the massive
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who had destroyed her father. He could hear a distant rumbling from the direction of the Manor. “I don’t know, Princess, but we have to move quickly.” Yorik took her hand again and hurried her to the Manor lawn.
    They were only steps onto the grass when Yorik noticed a firefly hovering motionless, its abdomen alight. He looked around. The world had stopped. There were motes of soot and dust and fire suspendedin warm light, just as they had been a few minutes ago. He felt bathed in a spirit of purest love, and when he looked at the Princess, he saw that she felt it too. Her hand slipped from his and she rose into the air, eyes closed, as though lifted by an invisible hand. Her gossamer dress and face shone, her silver hair glistened, and her laurel crown sprouted white flowers. As if from far away, Yorik heard the faltering voice of the young Princess and the warm, rich voice of her gentle father. They were speaking in a beautiful language that he could not understand. There were tears in the voice of the girl, but happy tears now, and happiness in the stern tones of her father too.
    Of course he’s not dead
, thought Yorik, feeling embarrassed that he had ever thought her father could be disposed of so easily.
    Then time began again. The Princess drifted back to the ground as the dust motes swirled away in a sudden burst of foul wind. They were on the Manor lawn under a bloody sky, distant screams all around, and a
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mountain towering over them, so tall now that Yorik could not see its peak.
    A furious roar shook the heavens. Violent blue thunderbolts slashed the clouds.
    The Princess was beaming. “Ah,” she said. “At last I’m my old self.”
    Yorik pointed upward. “Princess, it’s time. You must fight the Dark Ones. They’ve all combined together somehow to form this mountain, and—”
    “Oh, Yorik,” said the Princess, her face tear-streaked and dreamy. “Isn’t it wonderful? Father has forgiven me. I’m free.”
    “I know,” said Yorik. “Now, Princess—”
    “And I owe it all to you,” the Princess continued in a misty voice. She clasped his arm. “Lovely, lovely Yorik. My little ghost