ICO: Castle in the Mist

by Miyuki Miyabe

  Go find the sword. The sword calls to you. Take it in your hands and you will know the way.

  Ico looked down at his empty palms. The sea breeze whipped through his hair. “Will the sword let me defeat the queen? Will I be able to save Yorda then? I don’t think so. I don’t—” without realizing it, Ico had begun to shout. “Why couldn’t you wield the sword again yourself? Why couldn’t you defeat the queen?”

  The sword rested in a cave beneath the castle, still imbued with the power of the Book of Light—why hadn’t Ozuma tried using it again? Was he prevented somehow? Was no one in the empire able to do it?

  Now that Ico thought about it, it struck him as extremely curious. There must have been many people in the empire that knew about the sword—the priest and the temple guards who led him here were just a few of them. They had even used it. Had no one thought to raise that sword against the queen? Did they think it was enough to cage her? Had they denied the truth of the situation for so long?

  Why didn’t they do what had to be done?

  Because our minds were closed. Ozuma’s voice rose and fell with the sound of the waves. Because all that we saw was within her hands, we saw only what the queen wished us to see.

  “That’s no different than me,” Ico muttered, shoulders drooping. “I’ve been wandering through the castle forever, not even sure where I’m going. I’ve just been running in circles in the palm of her hand.”

  Ozuma spoke again, a smile in his voice. His words were gentle, reminding Ico of the first time he had seen the knight’s face up close.

  My child. You already know the truth—you are the only one not caught in the queen’s embrace.

  “How do I know that? How can I be sure?”

  Remember the queen’s words. Remember the elder’s words. The knowledge and courage once separated have come together again in you.

  The wind picked up, and Ico staggered several steps backward. He could feel Ozuma’s presence slipping away. The warmth he had felt coming from the distant statue had faded.

  Maybe that was all the strength he had. Or maybe he left.

  I’m alone.

  He touched the Mark again. Its glow had faded. And with it the understanding that had been so close—

  What did he mean I already know? Know what?

  Maybe getting the sword would solve that mystery. Unfortunately, that presented another problem. Ico didn’t relish the idea of another aimless trip through the castle in search of a way down.

  Ico looked up at the sky. The sun was still shining. The world still moved outside the castle.

  Then it hit him. Ico’s eyes went wide. The castle is the queen’s domain. No wonder I can’t get anywhere running around in here.

  I have to leave the castle.

  It felt like a ray of sunlight had penetrated the clouds of his mind.

  This was the answer he had been looking for. The sword was calling to him, beckoning him. If he could escape the queen’s clutches, the sword would draw him to it. That’s what Ozuma was saying.

  Ico stepped forward again, looking down at the sea. The water swirled around the foot of the pillars. White froth sprayed into the air. He licked his lips and tasted salt. The sea was moving beneath him.

  Ico looked back up at the sky, at the seabirds wheeling above him. He wondered if they ever knew fear. Whether they ever collided with walls they could not see and broke their wings. Whether they ever faltered in their trust of the open sky.

  The sky was limitless and vast, as the sea was deep and wide. These things were beyond the reach of human designs. Not even the iron will of the queen could hope to rule them.

  Trust the sea.

  Ico closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Holding his arms by his sides, he clenched his fists tightly for a moment, then let go.

  He stepped forward with his right foot and then brought his left foot even with it. His toes were looking out onto empty space.

  Ico pushed with both legs.

  The very moment his body hit the wind blowing up from the sea, his Mark began to shine with a brilliant, pure light, like a shooting star. Then he fell, plummeting downward like an arrow trailing a tail of light.

  In the back of Ico’s mind he saw himself and Toto back in that cave, shouting, jumping into the pool of water they had found without any fear.

  The blue sea opened its arms and welcomed him.

  [7]

  ICO’S EYES OPENED to the pleasant rush of running water. The light was dim around him. He was by an inlet, at the edge of a rocky crag jutting out into the water. Beneath him were pebbles and sand, a half-washed-away beach. The waves must’ve carried me here. He was lying on his stomach, halfway up on the sand. His legs were still in the water.

  Ico got his arms beneath him and crawled on his elbows away from the water’s edge. He was drenched. Sitting up, he began wringing the water out of his shirt and trousers and the Mark on his chest. He sneezed loudly, hearing the muted sound of water caught inside his ear.

  I’m alive, he thought. The sea swallowed me, carried me, then spat me back out. But where am I?

  The warped wooden planks of the pier were nowhere in sight. Dark rock wet with sea spray rose around him in a tall cliff. That was what was blocking the light.

  Across from the narrow triangle of sand where he sat, he saw a cave with an entrance like two hands steepled together, the fingers touching.

  The sword is in there. It must be.

  He looked around and saw the source of the running water he had heard over the gentle wash of the waves—a tiny waterfall that ran like a beautiful silver thread down the side of the cliff.

  No matter how high up he looked, he couldn’t see the castle anywhere. It must be over the top of the cliff. This place was hidden from its view, a narrow strip of beach between the sea and the rock.

  Thank you, he thought, looking over his shoulder out at the water. Then he began walking toward the cave. Even though the waves must have tossed him quite some distance, he had not lost the sandals on his feet, and the sand was packed firm under them.

  It was dark in the cave, despite Ico’s eyes having long grown accustomed to the gloom. He could only just make out his hand if he moved it in front of his nose. When he extended his arm, everything past his elbow was lost in the darkness. Ico groped for the rock walls with his fingers, feeling his way forward, testing the ground beneath his toes as he advanced deeper into the cave.

  Even still, he felt no hesitation. The cave would take him to the sword, of that he was sure. It was as though he had been here many times before.

  Maybe the sword really is calling to me, he thought, setting a path before me I can only see with my heart.

  He continued on, feeling his way deeper into the cave. When he reached a curve in the wall, he pressed up against it and walked sideways, and eventually the sound of the waterfall at the entrance receded into the distance until he could hear it no longer. It was replaced by the whispering sound of water flowing somewhere down by his feet.

  For the first time, he realized that the water was a living thing. It spoke with many voices. Ico listened to them and understood that none spoke of danger. There were deep voices and high trilling voices, loud voices and soft ones, all telling him that this path was true. Walk on and you will reach your destination, the water seemed to say to him.

  He walked until he could not remember how long he had been walking. Water dripped down from the roof above him, splashing off the top of his head. He looked ahead and realized that there was a light coming from higher up, a place where the rock bulged out from the walls and ceiling like the fists of two stone giants.

  He put his hands to his waist and caught his breath while he looked around in surprise. He realized that he had been climbing up a rather steep slope to get here, clambering over folding layers of rock, jutting boulders, jagged walls, and narrow passages.

  No wonder I’m out of breath.

  Ahead, the rocky slope continued upward for some distance, lea
ding up to the place where the giants’ fists met and a narrow sliver of light shone through. He thought the gap might even be wide enough for him to pass through.

  At the top of the slope, he wedged his way through the gap between the rocks and heard the sound of a greater body of water echoing beyond. This new noise was almost like rain, and it came with a deeper tone that seemed to come up from the ground. He crawled on his elbows across the gravelly floor, coming out into a wider space where he could raise his head again—and caught a blast of water directly in his face.

  I’m behind a waterfall. The watery veil spread out in front of him. Water splashed up in a fine mist, wetting his arms and legs.

  Thankfully, it was brighter here. Ico peeked around the edge of the waterfall to get a better look, like a child peering around his mother’s skirts, and he realized that the opening he had reached was looking out over the sea. He was midway up a cliff that curved forward on either side, like a horseshoe with him roughly at its center. From here there was no apparent way to climb farther up, and when he looked down, the sea seemed impossibly far below. Several waterfalls coursed gracefully down the inside of the horseshoe cliff, and the sound of the rushing water was enough to make his ears go numb.

  He also noticed something else—two thick pipes crossing from the cliffs to his right over to the cliffs on his left. They seemed to be made of copper, darkened by the spray of the water, with green rust clinging to the seams where lengths of pipe were joined together.

  Several chains—he counted eight in total—hung down from the pipes, each with something like a giant ring suspended from its end. Ico looked closer and saw that they resembled giant spinning wheels, easily as wide across as a man was tall. While he looked in amazement, he could feel his heart racing. The sword was calling to him. Come, come. This way.

  As though pulled by a thread, Ico’s eyes looked in the direction of the soundless voice. It was coming from above the cliff to his left. Trees grew thickly along the top, and he thought he saw something among them sparkling, catching the sunlight.

  Great, now I know where to go—but how do I get there?

  Fear rose in Ico’s chest. What if all this running around, all of this fear, all of the sadness has made me lose my mind? What if the sword calling to me is just an illusion? What if madness brought me to this cliff?

  He saw another light shine in the trees atop the cliff, a sparkle like a star guiding a lost hunter.

  He wondered again how he would get there, when the answer rose in his mind: he would have to jump down to the wheels hanging from the bottom of the pipe, going from wheel to wheel until he reached the one furthest to the left. Then he would climb up the chain, and if he could get back on top of the pipe, he would be able to reach the forest at the cliff top.

  Each of the chains hanging from the pipe was a slightly different length. Unfortunately, the one closest to him was also the longest, which meant he would have to fall a great distance before he reached the wheel suspended at its bottom.

  He considered just jumping down into the water, when he remembered the warnings he had often received as a child not to swim near the base of the waterfalls that fell near Toksa Village. The water there swirled in such a way that if you went too far down, it would trap you there and never let you back to the surface.

  He would have to make a jump for it, and if he missed the wheel at the bottom of the chain, he would just have to brave the waterfalls.

  Come, the sword beckoned.

  This is another test, Ico thought. If I don’t pass this one, it just means I wasn’t worthy of the sword.

  Come to me.

  The sword’s voice had a sweet ring to it that reminded Ico of his mother—or maybe it was just that he chose to ascribe a familiar sound to those clear, beckoning vibrations that seemed to beat against his very soul.

  Then the adventuresome child inside him perked up. Grabbing the Mark firmly in one hand, he leapt. Wheeling his hands through the air, he worked his legs as though he might gallop on the wind, trying to keep his balance.

  With a surprisingly light sound, Ico landed directly on top of the wheel. His legs swayed beneath him and he quickly grabbed hold of the chain. When he looked around, he saw rainbows in the air all around him, so close it seemed he might be able to grab them with his hands.

  Drenched to the skin, Ico grinned, letting his eyes follow the rainbows through the air. They winked in and out of existence, their sparkling light looking like applause for his courageous jump off the cliff.

  He looked up at the blue sky, rimmed by the curve of the top of the cliffs. The sky seemed less blue than it had before he jumped from the old bridge, and it was veiled by a thin white mist. Evening was approaching.

  I have to hurry. He looked across at the other wheels hanging from the chains, plotting his course, and it seemed like the rainbows twisted to guide him, showing him the way.

  “Here goes!” he shouted and jumped out into the air. Ico’s arms and legs moved smoothly, no trace of the fear that had sent shivers up his spine moments before. The more he moved, the less he feared. He made the last jump easily and began climbing up the chain toward the pipe, a smile spreading across his face.

  He walked along the top of the pipe, nearing the forest, when he stopped and turned to look behind him, wondering what the strange wheels had been placed there for. Why were they hanging from the pipe? What was their purpose?

  Looking down at them from this new angle he realized suddenly that they looked like cages. That’s what they are, round cages.

  People were kept here, hanging high above the waves—

  He trembled with the horror of the thought.

  But those cages had led him here. Maybe the rainbows were the traces of the souls of the people who had died in those cages, come back to lead his way. All of them wanted release from the Castle in the Mist.

  “I have to hurry,” he said aloud, quickening his pace, leaving the thundering sound of the waterfalls, the dancing rainbows, and the eight silent cages behind.

  Ico made his way through the thick foliage, over a rocky crag, and along the stone face of the wall. He found he could hear the voice of the sword best when his mind was cleared of thoughts.

  He headed down along the cliff, descending until he figured he was about halfway back down the slope he had climbed inside in the darkness. The path here was narrow, and he had to cling to the cliff to avoid slipping and falling into the ceaselessly pounding waves far below him.

  His memories returned to him as he moved carefully along the side of the cliff, grabbing at protrusions with his hands and finding indentations for his feet, jumping when he could not reach the next handhold. The look of the sea, the shape of the rocks, and the flow of the water all reminded him of his first visit. When he had descended even further, a scant three body lengths above the waves, he jumped off the cliff into the sea. This time he fought against the current, swimming with strong strokes into the cave that held the underground pier.

  Ico arrived at the lowered portcullis and found that there was enough of a gap at the bottom for him to swim through. He broke through the surface of the water on the other side with a splash. He was about to continue on when he had a change of heart and decided it was a better idea to investigate and raise the portcullis before continuing further.

  The rope was easy to find, and though the wheel above creaked noisily when he pulled on it, it was easy for him to raise the portcullis. He brought the rope down as far as it would go, watching water stream off the portcullis back down into the channel as it lifted.

  Even as he watched, he wondered why he had bothered to raise the portcullis at all—when he realized the answer. I’m coming back through here. And I won’t be alone. I’ll be with Yorda. I’ll bring her back. It was likely she wouldn’t be able to swim as well as he could, so raising the portcullis was a good idea.

  I will save Yorda. That’s what I’m doing. I haven’t given up.

  He dove back into the water
and swam swiftly onward. Within moments, he could see the leaning piles of the underground pier.

  It was quiet. The sound of the waves did not reach this far inside the cave. He swam until his feet could reach the bottom. Then he stood and walked toward the pier, scrambling up on top of it.

  Here I am, back at the beginning.

  He wasn’t going to take the queen up on her offer. I’m making my own way now. With my own hands—and the sword.

  The cave seemed different than when he had passed this way before. It was dimly lit and warm. A gentle breeze wafted through, feeling like the morning wind that blew down through the village at dawn, when the hunters gathered to check the gear and choose the path they would take that day. The armor clinked, laughter echoed down the street, and their voices turned to white steam that drifted in the air. We are off. All is ready for the hunt. It was an energy in the air here that did not exist before. Ico realized with a start that it was coming from himself. And there was another source—

  He would have been able to find it even with his eyes closed. He walked along the path that led from the pier, turning right at the intersection. White light shone up ahead. He could almost hear a noise each time the light winked, its outline so sharp he felt he could trace it with his fingers. If he had, he felt like its shape would be the same as the morning star that shone at dawn and the evening star that stood watch over the twilight.

  Ico walked toward the white light.

  The path ended in a stone wall, and there he found it.

  The sword was on a surprisingly small altar, and at first it was hard to make out, so glorious and blinding was the light that shone from it. As he drew closer, he saw that the altar resembled the shape of the Tower of Winds, except instead of the walls that covered the tower, there were four pillars.

  Ico’s sandals made wet sounds that echoed off the walls seemingly in time with the singing in Ico’s breast and the light flowing from the altar. The sword sat at the height of Ico’s waist, in the center of the four pillars. It had no scabbard, and its hilt faced toward him.