Free ICO: Castle in the Mist by Miyuki Miyabe, Alexander O. Smith Page A

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 were 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