Ico took up walking in circles around the cave, swinging his arms and stretching his legs to keep his body limber. He had just finished a round of these exercises when he noticed something unusual. Silence. There was no singing or music this morning. He couldn’t hear the loom either.
Something had changed.
A silhouette appeared at the entrance to the cave. Ico rubbed his eyes. It was the elder. His long robes dragged on the ground, and his thin shoulders were thrown back as he stepped inside. Oneh followed directly behind him.
“Mother!” Ico shouted. Oneh smiled at him, but no sooner had she done so than tears began to stream from her eyes.
She made to run to him, but the elder put out his hand, holding her back. He took the beautiful cloth she held in her arms and reverently hung it over one arm, nodding as he examined it.
“Ico!” Oneh called out, opening her arms wide. Ico glanced at the elder’s face, but all he saw there was kindness. The next moment, Ico ran into Oneh’s arms.
“Ico, my dear Ico, my sweet child.” Oneh called his name over and over again, like a song, and she hugged him tight and stroked his hair. “How lonely you must’ve been-how sad,” she repeated, crying. “Please forgive us. We forced this on you. If we’d only been stronger-”
“Mother…”
In Oneh’s arms, Ico looked toward the elder. It had only been a few days since he had struck Ico on the cheek, but it seemed as though he had aged years. Still, the gentle look, filled with authority, that had fled his eyes when the Time of the Sacrifice had come, returned. This was the elder who had raised Ico. He had come back.
“It’s time, Oneh,” the elder said gently, and then he smiled. “It is difficult for me as well. But we must say our farewells. The Sacrifice waits for no man.”
Oneh nodded, her eyes filled with tears. She gave Ico’s head one last hug before letting him go and stepping back to stand beside the elder.
He spoke. “Last night, we lit the signal fire. The priest’s entourage should arrive before midday. Once the ceremony is complete, you will leave for the Castle in the Mist.”
Ico swallowed, quickly wiped a lingering tear from his cheek, and straightened his posture. “I understand.”
He would have liked to sound a bit more determined, but his voice was choked with tears, and he couldn’t say anything more than that. Still, he managed to meet the elder’s gaze directly, to show his resolve was unfaltering. I won’t cry or yell again, no matter what. I won’t sulk, I won’t question.
But a moment later, when the elder and Oneh knelt reverently before him, Ico couldn’t help his mouth from dropping open.
“Elder?”
Ico was about to join them on the floor when a strong word from the elder stopped him. “Stand.”
Oneh smiled at him then and intertwined her fingers in front of her, bowing her head in prayer.
On his knees, the elder’s eyes were on a level 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 reverberating tones.
Still on her knees, Oneh leaned forward and gave Ico a hug. “We will be waiting for you,” she said through her tears. “We will be waiting for you to come home. Never forget that.”
A shiver ran through Ico’s frame. He was no longer cold or frightened-it was something else, vibrating within him, filling him with courage.
“It was Toto who found the prayers woven into the Mark you wear.”
Ico’s eyes opened wide. He grabbed the elder’s long sleeve. “Is Toto all right? He went into the mountains, didn’t he?”
The elder’s smile faded, and his face took on a grave look. “Yes. Toto went to the same mountains as we did and saw the same sight.” That horrible city.
“And this prayer-did it come from the city?”
The elder nodded.
Ico’s memory of the walled city of stone rose again in his mind. He wondered where Toto had gone in those ashen streets. Where had he walked, and how had he found the prayer?
“I am sorry to have doubted your intentions,” the elder said, his voice hoarse.