ICO: Castle in the Mist (42 page)

“Did you ever love Yorda?” he asked the queen. “You tell me she had feelings for you, but did you love her like my foster parents loved me?”

The queen’s lips twitched, then the right side of her mouth curled upward, as though caught by a fisherman’s hook.

“I am Yorda’s mother. I gave birth to her, I gave
life
to her. That is the greatest thing a mother can do for her child, the only thing! Love is meaningless!”

The rage that had been boiling in Ico’s heart burst forth, and he shouted, “But Yorda loved you! That’s why she was deceived! That’s why she saved you! Can’t you see that? Is she only a tool to you—is that all she’s ever been to you?”

The queen turned her back—Yorda’s back, as supple as a spring leaf—to Ico and ascended to the throne. Ico watched her go.

She sat on the throne, the queen inhabiting Yorda’s body. She was lost against its tall back, the broad armrests. The light of the book was lost as well. There, on that throne, she was nothing but darkness in human form.

“They saw what they desired, my death, and believing that they had defeated me they left this place,” the queen said quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper. “They left that nasty sword in a cave by the sea—a symbol of the castle’s pacification, I suppose. There they held an empty, meaningless ceremony, bowing their heads to that ungainly hunk of metal.

“All while I became one with the castle. At the same time, Yorda became mine. She was my eyes and my hands. The bonds of blood are great. She was my most faithful servant. I was there, you know, at the ceremony. I watched it through her eyes. The cheeks of the men were flushed with their so-called victory over me—men who are little more than lumps of dirt, pretenders to their weak god’s glory. I watched them board their boats and leave—and Yorda with them,” the queen said, her voice like a song.

“Through Yorda I knew this, and I decided to wait until they had returned home to their capital. I am unshaken now, as I was then. I feel this castle, every inch of her stone is mine. The loss of my inhabitants, my sustenance, was a setback—but only a minor one. I had time on my side. And my task remained the same: to lie in wait until the next eclipse.”

So long as the queen remained the world was still endangered, and the people of the Holy Zagrenda-Sol Empire were too busy celebrating the defeat of the “herald of evil” to notice.

“They took Yorda to their walled capital beyond the mountain. There they rested their armies and gave Yorda time to rest as well. She was happy. They even let her stand atop the city walls and wave down at all the fools, together with that greatest of fools, the man they call their priest-king. Yorda acted the part they wanted her to play to perfection.”

The queen shook her head slowly, like Ico’s mother used to do when scolding him.

“Yorda thought that by deposing me she had saved me. She thought that she had driven back the Dark God, released me from his spell, and saved my human soul by taking me within her body.”

“You tricked her into thinking that!” Ico shouted back.

He didn’t want to imagine how Yorda must’ve felt, the happiness at being together with her mother at last. And yet he could hear the lies the queen’s soul had whispered to Yorda’s heart as though she were reciting them aloud to him now.

I am free at last. Free of the Dark God’s control. Though I have lost my human form, I am finally myself again. It is as if all that happened until now was but a long, dark nightmare. Beloved daughter, I will be inside you always. Your joy is my joy. Your life is my life. We will share these together. Bless your heart and your gentle nature for forgiving me!

It had all ended in betrayal. The anguish weighed on Ico’s heart so heavily he felt he might sink into the stone floor. It seemed like no matter how many tears he cried for Yorda, his eyes would never dry.

The queen sat in her borrowed body, watching him. White mist drifted through the room, wrapping around Ico as he lay trembling on the stones. When at last he looked up and wiped his eyes, the queen was staring down at him.

“They still had the Book of Light,” she said through her teeth, the alluring smile on her face contrasting with the venom in her voice. “That is why I moved, thinking to destroy the walled city, the priest-king’s army, and that cursed book with one blow.”

“The city of stone…” Ico groaned.

The queen turned her eyes upward toward the dark ceiling high above. “Yes, beautiful stone. Its lifeless forms are a joy to behold. Art as a sign of ultimate power.”

When the queen lashed out at the city, the empire realized for the first time that its struggle with the darkness was not yet over, and their ignorance of the ongoing conflict meant that they had utterly lost the initiative.

“Part of their army simply fled, including the priest-king and that knight with bestial horns like yours. However, the Book of Light was lost, and the stone city became part of my domain, its statuesque citizenry my new subjects.”

The queen leaned forward, arms draped elegantly across the armrests of her throne. “Imagine my surprise,” she said, her tone growing more familiar, “when I discovered the power of that same book woven into the cloth you wear on your chest. It can only mean that the people who sent you to me as a Sacrifice somehow retrieved the Book of Light from my city.”

Ico felt his heart sink. The elder believed in the power of his Mark. They believed in the absolute power of the Book of Light—that he was their light of hope. And yet it seemed now that the book was not as powerful as they had thought. The Book of Light could not defeat the queen. It had failed once already. It was less a poison and more a nuisance to the queen.

Was the elder wrong?

“As it happens, I do remember a particularly mischievous insect slipping into the city quite recently. A little boy, just about your age. He must have found the book and carried it to the place where you lived.”

Ico tensed.
She’s talking about Toto!

“What’s wrong, Sacrifice? You look pale.” The queen smiled at Ico. “Don’t worry. That little insect feels no pain anymore.”

For a moment, Ico felt like he couldn’t breathe. “W-what do you mean he can’t feel pain?”

The queen’s smile widened.

“Toto’s dead? You killed him!” Ico felt the strength leave his body. The elder had told him Toto was fine.
Why would he lie?

“Poor little Sacrifice,” said the queen on her throne. “In truth, I pity you.”

“Why should you pity me?”

“Because you are mistaken, so terribly mistaken. You have all these misconceptions in your head, and you’ve never been given a chance to set them straight. That is why I pity you.” Though she still spoke with the authority of the queen, a gentleness crept into her voice that reminded Ico of Yorda, and that made him tremble all over.

“You’re trying to trick me, but it’s not going to work!” he shouted, but half of him wanted to believe.
Don’t listen to her lies!
he told himself, but the other Ico within him wanted to hear more.
This could be important,
he heard himself thinking.
This could be the key to discovering the truth of what happened.

Truth? What’s “truth”?

“What did they tell you back in your village?” the queen asked. “What did you learn of your role, of the custom? What great purpose did they claim you were fulfilling?”

“Quiet!” Ico shouted. “Quiet! I don’t want to hear any more!”

“Did they tell you to resign yourself to your fate?” she asked, ignoring him. “Did they say you were a hero for giving yourself up to this noble cause? Did you picture yourself as a great person for what you did, drunk on the draught of their lies? Yes,” she said, nodding, “there’s nothing sweeter than false glory.”

“Quiet, quiet, quiet!” Ico shouted, covering his ears with both hands. He could hear his pulse pounding in his head, and his breath was ragged—and all this time, his Mark did not glow, nor did he feel its strength flow into him. It was just a thin piece of cloth pressed against the floor beneath his body.

“I don’t believe anything you say!”

“Whether you believe or not is entirely up to you.”

Ico looked at the queen’s face as she brushed aside Ico’s protests and could find there neither the queen’s pale visage, nor even Yorda’s, whose face it truly was. She looked like his foster mother, the gentle woman who had raised him and taught him all he knew.

Beware,
a voice said inside him.
You’re being tricked.
He wanted to look away, but the effort was like trying to grab water in his fists.

“You know, Sacrifice, I think I’m growing to like you. You have a simple, uncomplicated soul. It glitters like gold among the meaner examples of your kind. Truly you must be loved by all the gods,” the queen said. “So I will tell you the truth you seek.”

The queen slid from the throne and walked to the edge of the platform as she brought her hands together in front of her chest and looked down at him. “Know that I never once asked them to sacrifice to this castle. Not a single one of you was offered up at my request. It was the rulers of the empire who came up with the custom, chose the sacrifices, placed fetters on their arms and legs and pressed them into the enchanted stone sarcophagi. Your people did this.”

The words reached his ears, but Ico couldn’t grasp them.

“It is not I who devours the Sacrifices,” the queen continued, “nor is it the castle. I am here as the castle is here. We require no sustenance.”

“Liar!” Ico yelled at her, though his voice did not seem like his own. He wasn’t even sure he had shouted.

Silence fell on the room. Even the mist stopped its drifting.

“You lie…” Ico said again, much more quietly this time. “Why would they do that to one of their own?”

“They don’t think of you as one of their own. You are a horned child, a Sacrifice. Nothing more.”

The mist brushed Ico’s cheek like a gently consoling hand.

“When I destroyed their city, the priest-king and his men realized that I was not yet defeated, and they were afraid. Yorda’s treachery also stood revealed. They blamed her, and struck her.”

Ico shook his head, feeling like one of the little wooden dolls with springs for necks that Toto’s father used to make for them.

“They realized that even with the power of the Book of Light they were too weak to ever stand against me. More so now that I had lost my human form! I was indestructible. Even if they managed to cross the waters again and march through my gates, I would merely turn them to stone and wait for the wind to reduce them to dust.”

The queen fell silent. Ico looked up. “So?”

“So…”

“What did the priest-king do?”

The queen leaned very slightly toward him. “He stopped time.”

“They cast an enchantment over the entire castle so that time would stop and I would be trapped within these walls,” the queen explained. “That is why the torches still burn, and the grass still grows green, and the gravestones stand in a neat little line. But in order to do this they needed the power of the Book of Light that was within Yorda. It was through her body that they worked their spell.”

The elder had once told Ico that the Sun God was the source of light, and as the sun wheeled overhead, so did time flow on. What better device than a Book of Light to control the passage of the days?

“They brought her back to the castle to be the cage of time. You see, the glow within Yorda was not just that of the book. She glowed with the time she held captive. It was she over whom the Sacrifices stood guard, not me,” the queen said. “They watched her, making sure she did not gain back her human awareness. The fools who rule your people sent Sacrifice after Sacrifice, encased them in stone, and let the magic of the sarcophagi transform them into monsters. One by one, the shades grew in number while time outside the castle flowed on. They continued sending the Sacrifices so that Yorda might not escape. But the more time she held within her, the greater their unease became. So they sent still more.”

That explains why the creatures wanted to take Yorda back with them so badly. That has to be the answer. That has to be the truth!

The more time accumulated, the deeper their sin. And the hotter their rage and resentment burned. They couldn’t stop the sacrifices, they couldn’t change the custom. The leaders of the empire kept converting people into shadows to keep their lock on the castle safe. It was exactly what the queen had done in the Tower of Winds. Ico understood it with such clarity that it nauseated him.

The queen nodded slowly. “You see it now, Sacrifice. They blamed me for my evil deeds, yet while their words still sang on their lips, they committed the same acts over and over, for many long years.”

The duty of the Sacrifice was never-ending. They would never return to their former selves.
Pity us,
they had begged him. And he had understood nothing.

“It was Ozuma’s idea that horned children be offered to the castle,” the queen said. Ico listened, forgetting even to breathe.

“When Yorda was chosen for the cage, he offered himself and his descendants as her protectors. ‘If Yorda is to suffer for this, then I deserve the same fate. I will go with her to the Castle in the Mist,’ he said.”

So Ozuma had returned once more to the castle, this time with Yorda. He came without his sword, one horn removed as a sign of his penitence—to show that he had lost his right to be a defender of the land, beloved of the Sun God.

“I greeted them,” the queen was saying, her voice becoming part of the mist that flowed around Ico. “Do you understand why? Why would I let them freeze time around me? Why would I admit Yorda and Ozuma to the castle?”

Ico himself was frozen, as though he had become stone.

“Because I was satisfied, Sacrifice. They were doing my god’s work for me! Picture, if you will, the beloved creations of the Sun God here on the land, the very ones he told to go forth and prosper, sacrificing one of their own kind, twisting them into horrible shapes and locking them away across the sea, and then accepting the resultant peace as their rightful reward. Did they really think they could sin and just wash their hands of it, pretending that nothing was wrong? Is that the proper way for men to behave?”