ICO: Castle in the Mist (10 page)

The priest, for his part, barely acknowledged Ico’s existence. Ico did not think the priest had even looked at him once. Between the cloth over his head, his long sleeves, and the high woven boots, Ico couldn’t see the man’s skin. At times, he wondered if there was really a person under those robes.

On the fourth day, Ico detected a curious scent in the air, entirely unknown to him, and different from that of the woods and grasslands through which they had passed. Ico sniffed the air, and the guard with the upturned horns, who happened to be riding alongside, whispered, “It’s the smell of the sea.”

Ico felt the priest tense, and there was a loud
crack
. The guard quickly pulled the reins and fell behind them. For a few paces, the hoofbeats were staggered, but they soon resumed their usual rhythm.

Close to the sea means close to the castle.

On the morning of the fifth day, they were making their way along a gentle path through a hardwood forest when Ico spotted white birds wheeling overhead. The smell of the sea was stronger in the air now.

Seabirds. I wish Toto was here to see them.

Soon, Ico heard the sound of the wind. At least, that was what he thought it was—but there was no stirring in the air through the forest around them. When he listened closely, he could hear it rushing in, then sliding away.
Those must be waves!

The path turned uphill, quickly becoming very steep. The horses whinnied with exertion. At the top of the climb, the forest fell away on both sides.

They could see the sky now. Over the pounding of the surf, Ico heard one of the guards gasp.

CHAPTER 2
THE CASTLE IN THE MIST

[1]

THEY HAD REACHED
the edge of the forest.

Birds chittered in the sunlight, and from somewhere high above came the keening screech of a falcon chasing its prey.

Two weathered stone columns stood under the dappled light that filtered through the leaves at the wood’s edge. The track of lightly trodden ground they had been following ended here in a stone stair that led into the clearing.

The guard in front urged his horse forward, and his mount’s hooves made a loud
clack-clack
on the stone. The steps were weathered at the edges. Some of the stones were covered by moss, and others were missing altogether, but there was no doubt they had been placed there by human hands.

The horse bearing Ico and the priest followed, its bridle rattling, a sheen of sweat on its neck. The three horses stood side by side on the cracked stone terrace they found atop the stairs. Ico squinted in the bright sunlight, feeling a gentle breeze against his face. A sudden dizziness came over Ico as he realized that they stood at the very top of an incredibly high precipice overlooking the sea.

Far below, the water glinted in the sun. It was Ico’s first time at the sea—but he had no eyes for the gentle flow of the current or the sparkle of the white waves that crashed along the cliff base. The water was a mere inlet, and all of Ico’s attention was focused on what lay on the other side atop another cliff just like the one on which they stood.

A massive castle of giant rough-hewn stones, a dark silhouette against the crystal blue sky, dominating the view. The castle did not perch so much as grow from the cliff face as though it had been carved from the stone itself. It was almost as if some aberration of nature had caused the rock to erode into the shape of a castle that men might construct. It looked solid. The only curves in its construction were the elegantly sloping pillars that supported the outer wall, their bases planted firmly beneath the waves.

Ico couldn’t imagine something looking more different than the Castle in the Mist he had seen in his daydreams and nightmares. Perhaps it was the clear blue sky above or the merry sound of the songbirds in the trees. Still, there was nothing dark, terrifying, or even vaguely ominous about the castle atop the cliffs. It was beautiful, elegant even—an ancient, noble edifice.

“So this is it…” the guard with the upturned horns on his helmet breathed.

The horse carrying the priest and Ico whinnied and raised its front legs, bringing Ico’s attention back across the water. A strong sea wind blew, rippling the edges of the Mark where it hung over his chest and back. On the side of the castle facing them stood a massive stone gate, its doors open wide. But there was no way to reach it.

Ico realized that the stone platform upon which they now stood had once been part of a bridge leading to the castle. The bridge had been wide, large enough for three horses to pass abreast. But now, just a few paces ahead, the stone ended. He held a hand over his eyes to shade them from the sun and saw the other end of the bridge at the foot of the castle gate. It, too, ended abruptly where the cliff began. Between them, only sky.

You may not enter.

You may not leave.

The inlet between the two cliffs formed a moat more effective than any crafted by men.

For the first time since arriving, Ico detected an undeniable eeriness to the beautiful view. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he noticed that despite the blue sky overhead, a fine white mist hung over every part of the castle.
How had I not noticed that before?

“Down the cliff,” the priest said from the depths of his cowl. He pulled the reins, leading their horse toward the left-hand side of the terrace, where Ico spotted the top of a steep switchback winding down the cliff face. The three horses made their way in single file down the simple path of trodden earth. There was no railing, nor anything else to prevent a single misstep from sending them plummeting off the edge, but the priest kept an easy grip on the reins.

The entire way down, Ico craned his neck to look up at the castle. He could not take his eyes off of it. A flash of light caught his eye—sunlight reflecting from two large spheres that sat atop the columns to either side of the main gate.

Ico felt a stirring in his chest.

You’ve come to me.

Finally.

Soon the gate was high above them and the sea close below. White seabirds hopped from rock to rock, and eddies swirled in the inlet. A small stone structure stood at the cliff base, its roof supported by slender pillars. The air was cool in the shadow of the cliff, and the spray from the rocks left a lingering chill on the bare skin of Ico’s arms.

The party dismounted. A short wooden pier with rotting pilings extended into the water in front of the structure. Beside it, a small rowboat had been pulled up onto the shore. While the two guards moved the boat to a small channel of water leading out into the inlet, the priest stood on an outcropping, facing the sea.

Ico strained his ears, thinking he might hear the words of the priest’s prayer, but if he said anything, it was lost in the roar of the surf.

When the boat was ready, the guards waved for them to board. As Ico approached the stern, one of them extended his hand to help him in, but Ico leapt instead, landing directly in the middle of the boat so softly the tiny craft barely rocked in the water.

Ico imagined the guard was smiling inside his helmet—the same way Oneh would smile whenever she saw Ico jump or climb.

“Must be nice to be so light,” she’d say.

But whatever expression the guard wore, it could not have lasted long. He turned away from Ico, a distinctly apologetic hunch to his back.

It was the other guard’s duty to row the boat. The priest sat at the bow, perfectly still, save for the motion imparted by the water beneath them. A seabird with pure white feathers on its breast and a red beak glided across the waves toward their small craft, barely skimming over the priest’s head. Even still, he did not flinch. Ico trailed his arms from the side of the boat, touching the water that streamed past. Through the clear waves he saw the shapes of fish swimming below.

They cut across the flow of the tide, slowly advancing toward the opposite shore. Ico looked back up toward the castle. The sky was split into smooth curves by the tall arches that rose between the stone pillars of the outer wall. The guard rowed toward the left-hand side of the castle, and soon the side wall came into view. Ico realized that the castle was not a single structure but rather a collection of several towers. Copper-colored pipes and narrow causeways of stone extended from the tower walls, spanning gaping ravines to link the towers together. The castle was so vast that Ico found it hard to take it all in at once.

The moment before the boat slipped beneath the castle’s shadow, Ico saw the spheres by the gate glimmer one last time.

As they neared the far shore, the boat veered further left, heading toward the side of the castle. From here, it was impossible to tell where the sheer cliffs above them ended and the Castle in the Mist began.
Is the castle becoming part of the earth beneath it,
Ico wondered in a daydream,
or is the cliff slowly swallowing the castle whole?

“Into the grotto,” the priest called from the bow, raising his hand and pointing. Ahead, a cave opened in the rock face. The cave looked like it had formed naturally, but it was reinforced on either side with stone pillars. The guard swung the boat toward the entrance.

As they paddled in, darkness fell around them. The boat advanced gingerly, a child afraid of being scolded, and the sound of the surging sea fell away.

Ahead of them, a portcullis made of thick logs lashed together barred their path. The priest looked up at the rocks to the right and called to the guard with the downturned horns. “Now.”

The guard jumped lightly from the boat onto the rocky ledge of the cave and disappeared into the darkness. The boat continued sliding forward, and just as its bow was about to hit the logs, the entire portcullis lifted out of the waves with a loud creaking noise, allowing them passage.

The guard reappeared along the side of the cave and jumped back in the boat with a loud thud.

A short while later, a small wooden pier very like the one they had left on the far shore drifted into view. It even resembled the other in the way that its wooden pilings had rotted, leaving the planks along the top slanting toward the water.

The priest was the first to disembark when they reached the pier. The guard behind Ico pushed him lightly on the back. Though they were still inside the cave, the ceiling here was much higher, and the cavern seemed to extend ahead for some distance. A sandy path led from the pier, splitting to the right and left.

“Get the sword,” the priest said.

The guard with downturned horns nodded and walked off down the right path, disappearing down a stone passageway.

Ico stood examining his surroundings until the priest tapped him on the shoulder, indicating that he should proceed down the left-hand path. They began to walk, the wet sand making an incongruously humorous
slup-slup
sound under Ico’s leather sandals.

A round hole opened in the cave wall. They passed through, and the floor beneath their feet was now smooth. They no longer walked on rocks and pebbles; the passageway here was carved from stone.

Ico looked around, his eyes wide.

He had never been in a place like this before. It resembled a grand hall, with sides that rose straight up like a chimney. The room itself was perfectly round, and it hurt his neck to look at the ceiling far above.

A winding staircase, and in some places ladders, lined the chamber’s outer wall and would once have permitted someone to climb all the way to the top. But as Ico looked closer, he saw that the stairs had fallen away in places.

A thick, cylindrical pillar rose from the center of the chamber, reaching all the way up to the top—though, as Ico considered it, the structure was far too wide for a pillar. It must have been placed there for some purpose other than supporting the roof.

The smooth path extended into the middle of the chamber and ended at that central column, where Ico spotted two stone idols, roughly human-sized in height. The idols were rectangular, their sides meeting at sharp right angles, yet they had what looked like bodies and legs and even heads, complete with carven eyes.

Ico had never seen idols quite like these anywhere around Toksa. Their shape resembled the small idols that travelers prayed to for protection along the road.

The priest slowly approached the idols. The soldier with the upturned horns stayed back with Ico.

“Are you cold?” he asked in a voice so faint Ico could barely tell it from a breath.

Ico shook his head. The guard said nothing more, but he rubbed his own arms as if to say
Well, I am.
Or perhaps his gesture meant
I’m frightened.

Heavy footsteps approached. The other guard had returned. Ico was startled to see him holding a giant sword.
No wonder his feet were dragging.
The sword was so long that if the guard placed its tip on the ground, the hilt might reach up to his shoulder. It was sheathed, though it looked double-edged by its shape, with a chain attached to the pommel. The grip was as thick as Ico’s wrist, and its color was the dull silver of ancient metal.

The guard hesitated, looking toward the priest. The priest nodded and indicated with his hands that he should stand in front of the idols. The guard took a few steps forward. He glanced at the other guard, standing next to Ico. Both men’s faces were hidden in the depths of their helmets, but Ico thought he could imagine their expressions: they were terrified.

“Draw the sword,” the priest commanded. “There is nothing to be frightened of.”

Holding the blade level to the floor, the guard gripped its hilt with his right hand. His arms shook with the weight of the blade. Though the sword appeared ancient, it slid from its scabbard without a sound, like the well-oiled blade of a soldier.

A light flared in the dimly lit chamber.

Ico closed his eyes and lifted his hands in front of his face. The light that bled through his eyelids was painfully bright.

He timidly opened his eyes to look and saw the soldier standing, feet apart, straining his shoulders to hold the blade level. A brilliant light emanating from the blade bathed the man’s body. The light swelled, enveloping both guards, Ico, and the priest.