In a panic, he swung his stick, letting go of the girl’s hand as he did. She lifted her eyes the moment he let her go and began to walk slowly toward the four idols. The creatures advanced.
Ico hurriedly ran to the girl, nearly losing a sandal as he did. The girl looked at Ico only briefly before returning her gaze to the idols. Still moving unsteadily toward the idols, she muttered something in words he could not understand.
Again, Ico took the girl’s hand. This time, he could feel her pulling him. She wanted to go toward the idols. “It’s a dead end!” Ico shouted, yanking her back. She shook her head as though annoyed and pulled against him. Her eyes were fixed on the idols, and her expression said I must go.
It only took that moment’s distraction for the creatures to surround Ico. Ico put his back to the girl and swung his club in wide circles. The girl moved slowly yet smoothly. She avoided the stick when it came too close, and when Ico, breathless from the effort of driving the creatures off, lowered his guard, she extended her long, slender arm and pointed toward the idols. I know, I know. The idols! Ico grabbed the girl’s hand and began to run. The girl’s hair and the shawl over her white dress fluttered in the wind.
They crossed the room, passing by the fallen cage. The girl’s pace quickened, and she ran ahead of him—a forest spirit leading a hunter to safety. The four idols loomed before them.
Suddenly, a brilliant flash of white light cut through the air. The girl stopped as though she had collided with an unseen wall and took a step back. Ico flinched and stopped beside her.
The white light was coming from the idols, just as it had when the guard brandished that strange sword. The girl held up one hand as though to shield her face. Ico spotted another of the black creatures, arms outstretched, flanking her. But the moment the creature entered the light, it disappeared like a gust of wind blows away smoke, leaving no trace. Not even a pair of glowing eyes. The light leapt from idol to idol, coming together at a single point where it seemed to draw a quick pattern in the air before disappearing altogether.
With a low rumble, the idols began to move. Like marching soldiers changing formation in mid stride, the outer two idols moved forward, making way for the remaining two to slide to either side, opening the way for Ico and the girl.
Gaping, Ico looked around the room. The boiling pools of smoke on the floor were evaporating, and soon they had vanished entirely. Where they had been, the stone floor looked no different than it had before the creatures appeared.
The girl lowered her hand slowly. She seemed neither surprised nor the least bit frightened. Her shoulders relaxed, and her arms hung loosely at her sides.
They’re gone.
With a dry throat, Ico swallowed and put a hand to his chest to still the pounding of his heart. She got rid of them. She even opened the door.
The girl stood motionless, looking down at the floor. Ico walked up to her, stepping quietly—though he could not say why he felt the need to do so.
“How did you do that?”
The girl turned, looking at his feet, but she said nothing.
“Oh, that’s right. You don’t understand me. I mean, you don’t speak my language. Er, sorry.”
The girl blinked. Her long eyelashes fluttered.
“Look,” Ico said, “we need to get out of here before those creatures come back. Come with me, okay? Let’s find the way out.”
Ico realized he was still holding the stick in his hand. It wasn’t exactly what he pictured when he thought of a weapon, but it had done an admirable job of holding the shadows back. He decided he’d better hang on to it. He steadied his grip on the stick and held out his left hand, brushing the girl’s sleeve. He tried looking at her face, but she would not meet his gaze. She just looked at his outstretched hand, and for a moment, she did not move.
At last, she made her decision and grabbed Ico’s hand tightly.
Her hand was soft in his, with long slender fingers and delicate nails like the newly bloomed petals of a flower. Again, a sensation like a gentle wind passed from her hand to his. Ico recalled diving headfirst into cold pools of water on a hot day in the middle of summer. In an instant, the day’s dirt and grime were washed away, making him feel clean down to the bone.
The energy flowing into his body felt so good that for a moment, Ico closed his eyes. He wasn’t tired anymore. His hunger melted away. He felt no thirst. Even the pain in his leg from the fall off the top of the cage faded away.
Again, a vision came as his eyes were closed—something that had once been, but was no more.
The four idols—the ones the girl had moved a moment before—were lined up in two rows. Before them knelt a figure in flowing black robes and a long black veil, back turned to them, praying.
The figure was bent over so low that it was hard to make out any details, but Ico decided it was a woman. For a moment, he thought she might be holding something in her hands, but he decided that it was only her intertwined fingers.
Quite suddenly, a brilliant flash like lightning shot from the woman’s chest, striking each of the four idols. The idols began to move, lining up to block the entrance to the room, just as they had been when Ico first saw them.
When the idols came to rest, the kneeling figure stood. The veil shifted on her face—or perhaps she had moved it with her hand. Ico glimpsed a white cheek and hair bound up in an elaborate braid. It is a woman.
The vision faded. Ico opened his eyes.
Still holding his hand, the girl stood staring ahead of them. I wonder if she saw it too.
Ico thought back to the old man he had seen when he first held the girl’s hand. He had not prayed quietly like the woman in black; he had been angry. Maybe the celestial sphere on his staff was supposed to suggest that he was some sort of scholar. Probably a very great scholar, Ico thought. The elder had books with drawings of the heavens in them, but even he didn’t have a device like that.
So who was the woman in black? Had she been praying to breathe life into the idols, or for something else? Maybe, Ico thought with a sudden realization, she was casting a spell ward. Maybe all those idols were meant to seal off the doors and imprison something. No ordinary person could make things move like that. Was she a witch?
Witches were commonplace in the fairy tales Ico had heard growing up. They were followers of darkness, servants of the evil gods who fought against the Creator. Witches were fallen human women, and while they resembled people in appearance, their hearts were filled with dark curses chanted by evil gods. Wherever they went, darkness followed, even by the light of day.
Was there a being like that in the Castle in the Mist? Was the master of the castle a witch?
Ico shook his head. Thinking about it was getting him nowhere. He didn’t even know what these visions were, or why he was seeing them. He only knew that it happened whenever he took the girl’s hand.
Ico glanced at her. She did not look sad or even frightened. Nor did she smile or seem engaged with the world around her at all. Though she was right next to him, and he could look directly into her face, he felt like she was standing on the other side of a veil of mist.
Who is she, for that matter?
She could open the doors magicked shut by the woman in black. She carried within her the same power held by that blade.
Ico pulled lightly on her hand. She looked in his direction—or rather, she turned her face toward him, but her eyes did not see him.
I know she’s taller than I am, probably a little older…and nothing else. He tried staring into her chestnut eyes, tried to see if some secret might be hiding there beneath her eyelashes, but it was in vain.
His eyes went to the shawl she wore over her shoulders. What if her shawl had the same power against the castle that his Mark seemed to have? She didn’t have horns on her head, but she had been kept in a cage. He was sure she was another kind of sacrifice. Just like the elder and Oneh worried for him, someone worried for her, and they had given her the shawl as protection so th
at she might one day return to them.
“Let’s go,” Ico said brightly. Whoever the girl was, it was better being two than one.
[5]
THE ROOM BEYOND the idols was smaller and again split into two levels. Ico wondered why the castle had been built in such an inconvenient way. It seemed like there were different levels of floor everywhere, making it impossible to walk straight through.
The rise in this room was very high, but Ico jumped with his arms outstretched and caught the edge. Left behind, the girl wobbled unsteadily on her feet, seeming lost. He had only taken his eyes off her for a moment, but when he looked back he saw that she had turned and was walking back toward the room with the cage.
…and the creatures!
“This way!” Ico shouted. He slid his arms over the edge, reaching down toward her. “Grab my hand, I’ll pull you up.”
He knew she wouldn’t understand his words, so he gestured to get his point across. Finally, she reached out to him and grabbed his hands. Ico braced himself to pull her up—and was astonished.
She’s so light!
This was nothing like when he had struggled to pull her out of the swirling black mist. Even though all of her weight was in his arms, she was barely heavier than the basket he used to carry firewood back home. Ico stared at her white skin and the light that seemed to suffuse her.
She is a spirit!
But then he saw the shawl on her shoulders rising and falling.
A spirit that breathes. And has fingers and toes. And hair.
Ico realized he was staring at the girl and blushed. She didn’t seem to notice.
“I think we can get outside from here.” From this higher level, he could see an arched exit leading from the room through which bright sunlight spilled. “Come on. This way!”
Ico waved his arm, urging her forward. He ran out through the arch, and then stopped and stood in amazement.
They were at the end of a long, straight bridge of stone. The far side was so distant he could barely make it out.
He could hear the sea from here. There was a parapet of stacked stones, and he leaned out over it, feeling dizzy, like he had when he looked down from the tower that held the cage. The blue sea stretched out beneath him. Clouds drifted overhead, and he could hear the cries of seabirds coming from all directions.
The wind whistled in his ears. The Mark fluttered on his chest.
At one corner of the bridge parapet stood a statue. Ico walked closer and looked up at it, entranced, forgetting for a moment the girl behind him. It was a statue of a knight. He wore a breastplate, and his legs were also armored, though most of his body was covered by a long cloak that wrapped around in front. His head was covered by a helmet, shaped just like the ones the guards had worn, complete with horns. His were upturned, and the one on the right had broken off.
The statue of the knight faced toward them, away from the bridge, with his arms hidden beneath his cloak. This was not a statue of someone in battle. He seemed almost too pensive to be a proper knight. The statue was weathered and pitted from long years of exposure to the elements, and though the lines of the face had long since worn away, Ico did not think he looked particularly stern or grand as one might expect a great warrior to look.
Maybe the statue had been made to commemorate someone who served the castle? He had heard that there were many such statues in the capital erected to honor former city guards, or those who had won great battles in defense of their country. Those stony men sat astride horses, brandishing their whips or swords, giving orders to their troops, a perfect picture of the day when their loyalty and bravery had shone most brightly.
But this knight looked like he was just thinking. Strange.
Ico stood on the low stone wall behind the statue to get a better look. The wall went up to about Ico’s waist, and it was narrow. He tried not to look down at the sea far below him on the other side. Getting his balance, he turned to face the statue.
Seen in profile, the knight did not lose his thoughtful expression. Ico noticed tiny spots on a part of his cape. Drops of blood? No, maybe they were just stains from the rain.
He guessed that the statue was incredibly old. Maybe even as old as the Castle in the Mist. He wondered when the horn on the knight’s helmet had broken. The break was smooth and clean.
Ico’s eyes went wide. From his new vantage point it was perfectly clear: the horns weren’t on his helmet, they were growing out of his head. Though the helmet resembled those of the temple guards, this knight’s helmet was a little wider at the nape of his neck, forming a bowl over his head. Small slots had been cut out over the ears for his horns to fit through.
He’s a Sacrifice, just like me. But how could a Sacrifice be a knight? What did it mean?
In his distraction, Ico nearly lost his footing and fell from the parapet. The sea filled his vision. With a yelp, he waved his arms and managed to tip himself so that he fell back on the stones at the statue’s feet.
He heard the sound of a nearby gasp. It was the girl, standing next to the arched doorway. She had her hands to her mouth, looking frightened.
“Oh, hey, sorry about that! I wasn’t going to fall over the edge, really!”
Ico smiled at the girl. Slowly, her hands dropped back to her sides. Then she walked up to him and stood beside him, looking up at the statue. It was the first time he had ever seen her look directly at anything.
A strong sea wind caught her hair, sending it dancing along with her long eyelashes. She blinked a few times, but her gaze never left the statue of the knight.
“I wonder if they put him in a sarcophagus like the one they put me in,” Ico said softly. “But he looks so old—maybe a long time ago they didn’t do sacrifices, and he was just a knight who served here at the castle.”
The girl’s lips moved slightly. At first, Ico thought it was the wind, but then he realized she was whispering something. It sounded like—a name. Like something she remembered from a distant past, saying it just to see if it sounded right.
“You know who this was?”
The girl didn’t answer. Ico took the girl’s hand, half expecting and half fearing the vision he knew would come.
For a moment, Ico thought nothing had changed. Then the statue of the knight moved.
It turned its head, looking in Ico’s direction. He felt a thoughtful gaze regarding him from the two holes in the knight’s faceplate.
The pieces of the knight’s armor clanked against each other as he stepped down from the stone parapet. A gust of wind caught his cape as he stood next to Ico, making it flutter.
Ico could say nothing; he simply stood there looking up at the knight. He felt no fear or danger. Even his surprise faded after a moment, carried away by the wind.
Something rose in his chest, a feeling of intense familiarity, like an old memory from childhood. Why would the knight look familiar? Is it because of his horns?
The knight extended an arm and the cloak dropped away, revealing a silken shirt beneath his armor. Small clumps of dirt fell from the sleeve.
Ico suddenly realized that the knight was not a statue. He had not been carved from stone. This was once a man, a man with blood flowing through his veins. Just as some evil power had turned the walled city beyond the Forbidden Mountains to stone, so it had turned this man into a statue.
The statue laid a hand on Ico’s right shoulder. His grip was firm, but gentle. Much to Ico’s surprise, it even felt warm.
There was a gentle light in the knight’s eyes as he looked into Ico’s. Although his helmet covered his entire face down to the chin, Ico was sure he smiled. He looks just like the elder, whenever he was teaching me something. "Listen well, Ico, and you will learn.”
No, it wasn’t just that. There was something else. It felt like—it felt like his father was looking at him. But I don’t even know my father, Ico thought. How could someone look like him—someone whose face I can’t even see?
Then he heard the knight speak.
The words sounded in Ico’s head. His ears heard nothing.
Forgive my mistake, child—all my children who must endure this trial.
The knight’s hand left Ico’s shoulder. His head turned, looking up at the tower from which Ico and the girl had escaped, then back at the long stone bridge across the sea, and finally out across the waves.
He spoke again in that soundless voice.
Castle in the Mist!
Resentment this strong.
Sin this deep.
Long years of atonement this cruel.
One thousand years of time did not erase my sentence.
Barren years spent imprisoned here.
Even now it tortures my body, binding me to this place.
But, my son.
The statue looked back at Ico.
I knew love here as well.
Then the knight turned calmly, sweeping his cloak behind him as he walked toward the stone bridge. With each step his steel boots made a heavy sound on the stone, and his cloak whipped in the wind behind him.
The knight crossed the bridge, walking toward the white mist.
Ico found his voice. “Wait!”
He ran, still holding the girl’s hand in his own. He ran wildly. His leather sandals scratched noisily against the ancient stones. He dashed forward with such speed that the barefoot girl nearly fell as he pulled her along.
“Wait! Please, wait! Who are you? Are you my—”
The knight disappeared into the mist.
Suddenly, Ico felt a great rumbling beneath his feet. The bridge swayed, and Ico nearly fell. He flailed his arms, losing hold of both his stick and the girl’s hand. Beneath them, the bridge cracked, crumbling away. Ico leapt through the air, only just landing on the far side of the break.
He heard a shout behind him—the girl was teetering over the widening crack in the bridge. She flailed her arms and legs, desperate to catch hold of anything that might support her, but she could not reach the edge. She fell, plummeting downward along with fragments of broken stone, her dress and shawl whipping wildly in the wind.
Ico lunged, barely catching her hand. The girl swayed, her legs tracing an arc through the air that almost reached the underside of the bridge. The momentum of his lunge nearly sent Ico skidding off the bridge himself. He tried to find purchase on the stones with the tips of his sandals and used his free hand to grab hold of the edge, finally stopping just at the point where his shoulder had cleared the edge.
ICO: Castle in the Mist Page 11