“Toto!” The elder reached out as if to snatch Toto away from that wave, but where he touched the boy’s shoulder it was already cold and hard. A breath later, his chin, nose, and cheeks turned to stone.
Toto’s eyes went wide, as though he saw something there, hanging above him-but before it could come into focus, his pupils shrank and turned to stone. The elder swiftly leaned over the boy as if he could catch in his eyes a reflection of what Toto had been looking at, but by then, even the boy’s hair had turned gray and rigid.
Dizziness came over the elder, and he staggered, dropping the book from his hands and leaning upon the boy’s bed for support. The book bounced on the bed with a soft sound, then landed flat on its back beside the boy’s cheek.
The Book of Light.
The book came to rest, touching the side of the boy’s face as though to give it one last stroke. Toto was still crying when the last patch of skin finally turned to stone.
Hands trembling, the elder picked up the book and clasped it in his own arms, much as the boy had done until a moment before.
It wasn’t supposed to exist. He had thought it long gone, lost to a distant past.
It protected him.
The elder raised the book to eye level. It glowed with a steady light. Though it was covered with dust from the cursed stone of the city, the light itself was unblemished and pure. The book breathed in the elder’s hands, pouring the strength it held within its covers into the old man.
The elder felt the shaking in his limbs quiet, and his breathing became easier as the light purified him to the very core of his being.
“God of Light,” the elder whispered. “Ancient knowledge, guardian of eternal purity.”
A single teardrop ran down his wrinkled cheek, tarrying a moment on his chin before falling like the first drop of spring rain upon budding crops down onto Toto’s right cheek. He looked at the book. “You called Toto to do this.”
You lay hidden deep, waiting year after year until the time was right for you to return to me in my confusion and fear.
The elder lowered his head to touch the cover of the book, and with all his body and spirit, he prayed. When at last he looked up, he gently rubbed his hand over Toto’s head.
“You did it, brave Toto. You did it.”
The elder stood.
There was no time for delay. The elder called all of the villagers together and quickly gave instructions.
“For the next three days, there is to be no hunting. Men must stand in the four corners of the village with fires lighted, keeping watch in shifts. The fires must stay lit both day and night. The women must purify all the village with water and salt, and work every loom we have. Children, while the sun still remains in the sky, you must sing festival songs. Those who can play instruments, bring them and play. Once the sun sets and the village gates are closed, all must remain inside, save those men who are on watch, and no one is to make a sound. Rest your bodies and sleep holding hands, that you may bar entrance to nightmares. When the dawn comes, we will do again tomorrow what we have done today. These next three days are the most important.”
The people of the village looked at the elder in bewilderment. His instructions to work all the looms flew directly in the face of his earlier command that only the loom in the weaving room might be used during the Time of the Sacrifice. Some wondered if he had gone mad-but the elder permitted no discussion.
“I need you to follow these new orders, and follow them well. On the morning of the fourth day, we will set the signal fire and summon the priest from his lodgings. He will come that day and take Ico with him to the Castle in the Mist.”
“But, Elder, why light watch fires around the village if we are not preparing for war? What’s going on? Why do these things without reason?”
“There is a reason,” the elder replied firmly. “And this is war.”
When all instructions had been given, the elder left for the weaving room. Without a word, he took Oneh’s hand from the spindle and tore the half-woven Mark from the loom, nearly startling her to death.
“What are you doing, husband?” she cried, her face flushed. “What is the meaning of this?”
The elder put both hands on Oneh’s shoulders. “When the knowledge and courage once separated are again together bound, then the long-cursed mist will lift, and the light of the ancients will be reborn upon the land.”
“What…”
The elder reached inside his robes and withdrew the book, opening its cover and showing it to her. “Look. See the design drawn here? See how it is like the picture of the Mark I gave to you?”
Oneh looked between her husband and the open book. He was right. The resemblance to the Mark was striking, though it was not a perfect match.
“This is the Mark you must weave for Ico. Throw away all you have done until now. You must make this new Mark as quickly as you can. We have no time. We must weave it together while the strength of the village still holds.”
A light shone in her husband’s eyes. It was that light, more than his words, that moved her.
“Will this new Mark save Ico?” she asked, grabbing her husband’s sleeve.
The elder nodded. “I pray so, yes. And then Ico will save us all.”
7
A THIN LIGHT drifted up from the bottom of the pool, washing over Ico like a fresh, chilly breeze.
“Think it’s deep?”
“Probably.”
“We could try swimming down. I bet it goes somewhere,” Toto said, tossing in a small stone.
“It’s cold here, but I like it.”
“Yeah. Really cleans out the chest.”
These are memories, Ico thought. This isn’t happening now. We were exploring the cave. We found a pool of water. I almost dropped my torch…
Ico opened his eyes with a start.
A thin light trickled through the small window at the top of the cave. Dawn, probably, he thought. His body was frigid down to the bone, and everything ached. He hadn’t been able to sleep well the night before due to the cold. That explains my dream.
It hadn’t been easy descending into that cave with Toto. There had been a lot of scaling up and down sheer rock. But thanks to the cold he hadn’t even broken a sweat. He remembered the sound of his chattering teeth echoing off the walls of the cave.
The dim phosphorescence at the bottom of the pool was beautiful, yet fleeting-a spectral gown worn by a dancing ghost. He could close his eyes and see it. There was Toto, standing next to him, eyes sparkling, enchanted by the light in the water.
Things had been busy in the village outside his cave these last three days. He heard drums and bells and children singing, starting with the first light of morning and carrying on until nightfall. Maybe, he thought, this is how they welcome the priest.
He wondered what Toto was doing. He couldn’t picture him singing with the other kids.
“What nonsense did you put in that boy’s head?”
Ico hadn’t been able to eat or sleep for a day after the elder’s visit. All he wanted to do was smash his head against the wall of the cave. But a day later, the guard had told him that Toto had returned. Weeping with relief, Ico begged the guard to tell him how they had found Toto. “Was he hurt? Why’d he leave? Can I see him, just for a little?”
The guard was silent.
“Do not worry about Toto,” the elder had told him on a later visit. “All you need to worry about is fulfilling your role as the Sacrifice.” His voice had sounded confident and serene, but bitterness stained his face.
“Be sure to eat. You’ll be leaving soon.”
Then the elder had left, and Ico was alone again in the cave. The only company he found was in his dreams.