ICO: Castle in the Mist Read online

  The elder touched a hand to Toto’s arm and then to his legs. Everywhere he touched felt cold, and everywhere was covered by the same ashen dust. His clothes were infused with the smell of the stone city.

  “You went beyond the mountains.”

  Toto blinked and nodded.

  “You went through the pass and down the other side. And then into the city.”

  Toto nodded again.

  “You saw the people turned to stone?”

  Toto’s lips formed the words I saw.

  “And you saw something else. What?”

  In response, a single tear fell from the corner of Toto’s eye, and his entire body began to tremble.

  “You met someone, didn’t you? Who? What did you see in that city of death?”

  Toto’s breath quickened as though he were struggling to wring the last strength from his tiny frame. “F-face.”

  “A face? What kind of face?”

  “A woman…a woman’s face. I was…afraid,” he managed through tears.

  Pity swelled in the elder’s heart, but his fear was greater. His hands clenched into fists. “Did she chase you?”

  Toto closed his eyes and nodded. The elder’s blood went cold, and his heart began to beat raggedly in his chest.

  “You have gone to a place where you should never have been and done something you should never have done.”

  Toto’s small teeth chattered. “I-I’m sorry.”

  Toto tried to move his arms on his chest, but they seemed to be stuck together. Toto’s slender muscles tensed and the layer of ashen dust covering his skin cracked and began to flake, like rust falling from iron.

  “I found…this,” Toto said, finally loosening his arms enough so the elder could see what they held.

  It’s a book—an ancient book.

  “The book…”

  The elder gently grabbed Toto’s wrists, helping the boy loosen his grasp.

  “The book protected me,” Toto said in a hoarse whisper, and his eyes looked up at the elder. He was trying to give him the book.

  Once the elder had helped Toto pry his arms far enough apart, the book slid easily out. Quickly, the elder caught it in his hand and lifted it up.

  The cover was coated in gray dust, but the elder could tell that the cloth binding was a lighter white. The smell of dust filled his nostrils—the same smell the wind had carried when he stood looking down upon the city.

  The elder carefully wiped the front cover and read the short series of letters running across it.

  The Book of Light.

  His eyes narrowed. How could it be?

  “Toto,” he said, eyes still fixed on the book, “where did you find this? Did you truly find this in the city?” He grabbed the boy’s shoulder and shook him, his voice growing louder. But Toto’s eyes had lost their focus, and his arms fell limply to his sides, their task complete.

  “Answer me, boy!”

  Toto’s gaze drifted slowly, coming to rest for a moment on the elder’s face. His mouth moved. “The…light.”

  “Light? What about the light?” The elder held his ear to Toto’s mouth, straining to hear. “Tell me about the light, Toto!”

  Then the elder thought he heard the boy whisper I’m sorry, but whatever he said next was lost in the elder’s own scream.

  As he lay there on the bed, Toto’s body began to harden, starting at his fingertips. It was as though a gray wave washed over him, covering his entire body while the elder watched.

  “Toto!” The elder reached out as if to snatch Toto away from that wave, but where he touched the boy’s shoulder it was already cold and hard. A breath later, his chin, nose, and cheeks turned to stone.

  Toto’s eyes went wide, as though he saw something there, hanging above him—but before it could come into focus, his pupils shrank and turned to stone. The elder swiftly leaned over the boy as if he could catch in his eyes a reflection of what Toto had been looking at, but by then, even the boy’s hair had turned gray and rigid.

  Dizziness came over the elder, and he staggered, dropping the book from his hands and leaning upon the boy’s bed for support. The book bounced on the bed with a soft sound, then landed flat on its back beside the boy’s cheek.

  The Book of Light.

  The book came to rest, touching the side of the boy’s face as though to give it one last stroke. Toto was still crying when the last patch of skin finally turned to stone.

  Hands trembling, the elder picked up the book and clasped it in his own arms, much as the boy had done until a moment before.

  It wasn’t supposed to exist. He had thought it long gone, lost to a distant past.

  It protected him.

  The elder raised the book to eye level. It glowed with a steady light. Though it was covered with dust from the cursed stone of the city, the light itself was unblemished and pure. The book breathed in the elder’s hands, pouring the strength it held within its covers into the old man.

  The elder felt the shaking in his limbs quiet, and his breathing became easier as the light purified him to the very core of his being.

  “God of Light,” the elder whispered. “Ancient knowledge, guardian of eternal purity.”

  A single teardrop ran down his wrinkled cheek, tarrying a moment on his chin before falling like the first drop of spring rain upon budding crops down onto Toto’s right cheek. He looked at the book. “You called Toto to do this.”

  You lay hidden deep, waiting year after year until the time was right for you to return to me in my confusion and fear.

  The elder lowered his head to touch the cover of the book, and with all his body and spirit, he prayed. When at last he looked up, he gently rubbed his hand over Toto’s head.

  “You did it, brave Toto. You did it.”

  The elder stood.

  There was no time for delay. The elder called all of the villagers together and quickly gave instructions.

  “For the next three days, there is to be no hunting. Men must stand in the four corners of the village with fires lighted, keeping watch in shifts. The fires must stay lit both day and night. The women must purify all the village with water and salt, and work every loom we have. Children, while the sun still remains in the sky, you must sing festival songs. Those who can play instruments, bring them and play. Once the sun sets and the village gates are closed, all must remain inside, save those men who are on watch, and no one is to make a sound. Rest your bodies and sleep holding hands, that you may bar entrance to nightmares. When the dawn comes, we will do again tomorrow what we have done today. These next three days are the most important.”

  The people of the village looked at the elder in bewilderment. His instructions to work all the looms flew directly in the face of his earlier command that only the loom in the weaving room might be used during the Time of the Sacrifice. Some wondered if he had gone mad—but the elder permitted no discussion.

  “I need you to follow these new orders, and follow them well. On the morning of the fourth day, we will set the signal fire and summon the priest from his lodgings. He will come that day and take Ico with him to the Castle in the Mist.”

  “But, Elder, why light watch fires around the village if we are not preparing for war? What’s going on? Why do these things without reason?”

  “There is a reason,” the elder replied firmly. “And this is war.”

  When all instructions had been given, the elder left for the weaving room. Without a word, he took Oneh’s hand from the spindle and tore the half-woven Mark from the loom, nearly startling her to death.

  “What are you doing, husband?” she cried, her face flushed. “What is the meaning of this?”

  The elder put both hands on Oneh’s shoulders. “When the knowledge and courage once separated are again together bound, then the long-cursed mist will lift, and the light of the ancients will be reborn upon the land.”

  “What…”

  The elder reached inside his robes and withdrew the book, opening its cover and show
ing it to her. “Look. See the design drawn here? See how it is like the picture of the Mark I gave to you?”

  Oneh looked between her husband and the open book. He was right. The resemblance to the Mark was striking, though it was not a perfect match.

  “This is the Mark you must weave for Ico. Throw away all you have done until now. You must make this new Mark as quickly as you can. We have no time. We must weave it together while the strength of the village still holds.”

  A light shone in her husband’s eyes. It was that light, more than his words, that moved her.

  “Will this new Mark save Ico?” she asked, grabbing her husband’s sleeve.

  The elder nodded. “I pray so, yes. And then Ico will save us all.”

  [7]

  A THIN LIGHT drifted up from the bottom of the pool, washing over Ico like a fresh, chilly breeze.

  “Think it’s deep?”

  “Probably.”

  “We could try swimming down. I bet it goes somewhere,” Toto said, tossing in a small stone.

  “It’s cold here, but I like it.”

  “Yeah. Really cleans out the chest.”

  These are memories, Ico thought. This isn’t happening now. We were exploring the cave. We found a pool of water. I almost dropped my torch…

  Ico opened his eyes with a start.

  A thin light trickled through the small window at the top of the cave. Dawn, probably, he thought. His body was frigid down to the bone, and everything ached. He hadn’t been able to sleep well the night before due to the cold. That explains my dream.

  It hadn’t been easy descending into that cave with Toto. There had been a lot of scaling up and down sheer rock. But thanks to the cold he hadn’t even broken a sweat. He remembered the sound of his chattering teeth echoing off the walls of the cave.

  The dim phosphorescence at the bottom of the pool was beautiful, yet fleeting—a spectral gown worn by a dancing ghost. He could close his eyes and see it. There was Toto, standing next to him, eyes sparkling, enchanted by the light in the water.

  Things had been busy in the village outside his cave these last three days. He heard drums and bells and children singing, starting with the first light of morning and carrying on until nightfall. Maybe, he thought, this is how they welcome the priest.

  He wondered what Toto was doing. He couldn’t picture him singing with the other kids.

  “What nonsense did you put in that boy’s head?”

  Ico hadn’t been able to eat or sleep for a day after the elder’s visit. All he wanted to do was smash his head against the wall of the cave. But a day later, the guard had told him that Toto had returned. Weeping with relief, Ico begged the guard to tell him how they had found Toto. “Was he hurt? Why’d he leave? Can I see him, just for a little?”

  The guard was silent.

  “Do not worry about Toto,” the elder had told him on a later visit. “All you need to worry about is fulfilling your role as the Sacrifice.” His voice had sounded confident and serene, but bitterness stained his face.

  “Be sure to eat. You’ll be leaving soon.”

  Then the elder had left, and Ico was alone again in the cave. The only company he found was in his dreams.

  Ico took up walking in circles around the cave, swinging his arms and stretching his legs to keep his body limber. He had just finished a round of these exercises when he noticed something unusual. Silence. There was no singing or music this morning. He couldn’t hear the loom either.

  Something had changed.

  A silhouette appeared at the entrance to the cave. Ico rubbed his eyes. It was the elder. His long robes dragged on the ground, and his thin shoulders were thrown back as he stepped inside. Oneh followed directly behind him.

  “Mother!” Ico shouted. Oneh smiled at him, but no sooner had she done so than tears began to stream from her eyes.

  She made to run to him, but the elder put out his hand, holding her back. He took the beautiful cloth she held in her arms and reverently hung it over one arm, nodding as he examined it.

  “Ico!” Oneh called out, opening her arms wide. Ico glanced at the elder’s face, but all he saw there was kindness. The next moment, Ico ran into Oneh’s arms.

  “Ico, my dear Ico, my sweet child.” Oneh called his name over and over again, like a song, and she hugged him tight and stroked his hair. “How lonely you must’ve been—how sad,” she repeated, crying. “Please forgive us. We forced this on you. If we’d only been stronger—”

  “Mother…”

  In Oneh’s arms, Ico looked toward the elder. It had only been a few days since he had struck Ico on the cheek, but it seemed as though he had aged years. Still, the gentle look, filled with authority, that had fled his eyes when the Time of the Sacrifice had come, returned. This was the elder who had raised Ico. He had come back.

  “It’s time, Oneh,” the elder said gently, and then he smiled. “It is difficult for me as well. But we must say our farewells. The Sacrifice waits for no man.”

  Oneh nodded, her eyes filled with tears. She gave Ico’s head one last hug before letting him go and stepping back to stand beside the elder.

  He spoke. “Last night, we lit the signal fire. The priest’s entourage should arrive before midday. Once the ceremony is complete, you will leave for the Castle in the Mist.”

  Ico swallowed, quickly wiped a lingering tear from his cheek, and straightened his posture. “I understand.”

  He would have liked to sound a bit more determined, but his voice was choked with tears, and he couldn’t say anything more than that. Still, he managed to meet the elder’s gaze directly, to show his resolve was unfaltering. I won’t cry or yell again, no matter what. I won’t sulk, I won’t question.

  But a moment later, when the elder and Oneh knelt reverently before him, Ico couldn’t help his mouth from dropping open.

  “Elder?”

  Ico was about to join them on the floor when a strong word from the elder stopped him. “Stand.”

  Oneh smiled at him then and intertwined her fingers in front of her, bowing her head in prayer.

  On his knees, the elder’s eyes were on a level with Ico’s shoulder. Looking down at him, Ico was reminded of the dream he had just before waking. His eyes have that same light as in the pool.

  “You are the light of our hope,” the elder intoned.

  Ico had heard the elder’s resonant voice pray many times before. Prayers for the harvest, prayers for the hunt—a voice that echoed far and wide, calling out to that vaulted deity, the Creator of all life in this world.

  Now that voice was directed at Ico.

  “The knowledge and courage separated long ago come here together once more. You are our sword, our beacon-light.”

  A gentle smile from the elder stopped Ico’s question before he could ask it.

  “Come.”

  Ico took a half step forward. The elder spread out the beautiful cloth he held draped over his arm.

  In the very center of the cloth was a hole just large enough for Ico to stick his head through, like a tunic. Its pattern was embroidered in three colors: white, deep indigo, and a very light crimson. The colors intertwined in a complex pattern. Ico thought he detected shapes in the pattern that looked more like ancient letters than random swirls.

  “Put it on,” the elder said, lifting the tunic in his hands. “This is your Mark.”

  Ico put on the Mark. It did not quite reach down to his waist, but it was exactly as wide as his shoulders and draped nicely across his chest and back.

  Ico felt his chest grow warm, as though a hand were pressing down upon it, directly above his heart.

  He heard a sound like a tiny flute playing in the distance. Ico spread his arms and looked down at himself. Every thread woven to make the Mark was shining with light. It was as though the light had begun to flow like blood through the veins of the design. A silver glow passed from end to end, from whorl to whorl.

  And then the glow faded along with the warmth, but they wer
e not gone. Rather, he felt as though the light and the warmth had passed from the Mark into him.

  “There,” the elder said, his eyes sparkling. “That’s it. The Mark has recognized you.”

  Oneh was crying again, with her hands over her face.

  “Elder, what is this?” Ico asked.

  The elder stood and placed both his hands gently on Ico’s shoulders before answering. “The Mark is worn by every Sacrifice. However, yours is different. No other child sent to the Castle in the Mist has worn one quite like this.”

  Ico ran his hand over the fabric. It was smooth to the touch, but now that the light had faded, it felt no different than any newly woven piece of fabric.

  “These threads have been imbued with a prayer,” the elder said, indicating the design. “In ancient times, the words of this prayer were our only source of hope that we might one day rise up and cast off the darkness governing us.”

  Was this some kind of myth? What did he mean by darkness? The master of the castle? But that’s just the same as now, Ico thought. They still feared the Castle in the Mist. That was why they had to send the Sacrifice. Or had there been a time when the Castle in the Mist had ruled them even more fiercely than it did now?

  “I did not mean to cause you confusion,” the elder said. “There is little we can say about the past, for much of our knowledge was lost in ancient times. There is much that even I do not understand. But, Ico, there is one thing I can say with certainty.” The elder gave Ico’s shoulders a gentle shake. “You bear our hopes upon your back as you go to the castle today. I’m sorry I do not know what awaits you there or what you must face. But I know that you will prevail. As I know that you will one day return from the castle and come home to our village.”

  Ico couldn’t believe what he was hearing. A Sacrifice…coming back home?

  “Go now to the castle and see what lies there with your eyes. Listen with your ears. You will be victorious.” The elder’s words echoed in Ico’s heart. They dropped down deep into the pool within him, lifting back up again in glorious reverberating tones.

  Still on her knees, Oneh leaned forward and gave Ico a hug. “We will be waiting for you,” she said through her tears. “We will be waiting for you to come home. Never forget that.”