Ico shook his head. He didn’t care about that anymore. “Is Toto all right?”
“He’s fine.” The elder’s quick reply brooked no further questioning.
Ico looked him in the eyes. “When I return from the Castle in the Mist, I’ll be able to see him again, won’t I?”
“Of course.”
Ico bit his lip. I’m not afraid.
Oneh stood, wiping her tear-streaked face with a sleeve. Seeing the look of determination in Ico’s face put her at ease. She smiled. “Now, Ico,” she said, “you must return your Mark to me.”
She said his name just as she had when he lived in their house. Ico, you’re covered in mud again. Change your clothes this instant. Dinner will be ready soon.
“I can’t wear it?”
A conspiratorial look came into the elder’s eyes and he smiled at the boy. “Actually,” he said, “it is the priest’s duty to place the Mark upon the Sacrifice at your departure ceremony. We only brought it here to you because we wanted to see with our own eyes that the Mark was truly yours, that you were the chosen one, and that you were fit to wear it.”
“That’s why,” Oneh continued, “when you speak with the priest, you must not mention that we met here this morning, and you must on no account tell him that your Mark is special, that it’s not like the others.”
Ico nodded, but a thought occurred to him. “Elder. Wouldn’t the priest from the capital be pleased to know that my Mark is special, just as you and Mother are? Why do I have to hide it?”
“You are clever,” the elder replied, dodging the question. “Your cleverness is knowledge. It falls to you to find the courage that long ago was kin to this knowledge and to give us the light once more.”
8
THE THREE BLACK horses walked in a single line, treading the dry grass beneath their hooves.
The priest had arrived in Toksa Village, flanked by two temple guards. The fields sparkled beneath the bright sunshine, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the trees.
Silence hung over the village. People had dressed carefully for the ceremony and swept out their doorways, where they knelt to greet the entourage. Everyone was exhausted-the children from having danced and sung until Oneh finished weaving the Mark, the adults from standing watch day and night. More than one child slept soundly on their mother’s back.
For so long they had been patient, and now the end was near. Once the priest had come and gone, village life would return to normal.
It was strictly forbidden to speak aloud, let alone address anyone in the entourage. Nor was it permitted to look directly at them or their horses.
After the entourage had offered greetings to the elder and his wife before the elder’s house, they began preparing for the departure ceremony. From this point onward, only the elder, his wife, and three specially chosen hunters would be allowed to take part in the proceedings. The rest of the villagers were obliged to remain indoors, in silence, their windows shuttered.
The priest removed his black travel cloak, revealing robes of pure white beneath. From a leather saddlebag, he withdrew a long surplice woven with an intricate pattern and a single phial of holy water. Chanting a prayer, the priest touched his fingertips once upon the surplice’s shoulders, chest, and hem.
The departure ceremony was a beautiful, almost enchanting event-despite the unusual appearance of the priest, whose head was entirely shrouded in a cloth that trailed down to his shoulders, without holes for his eyes or even his nose. The cloth was made of a loose-woven material through which the priest could see out, but no one could see in.
The two temple guards followed a short distance behind him. They wore light traveling armor fashioned from chain rings and leather, with swords hung at their waists and sturdy woven leather boots on their feet. Their faces too were hidden by silver helmets-helmets with horns.
One had horns exactly like Ico’s, while the other’s were the same as Ico’s in size and position, but with their tips turned down toward the shoulders instead of upward.
This was not typical garb for temple guards. Even the elder had only seen these helmets once before, in an illustration in one of his books. They were to be worn only at the Time of the Sacrifice.
Moving slowly, the priest withdrew the scepter at his waist and raised it to eye level. A round orb at its tip sparkled in the sunlight. He then walked in a circle just inside the village gates, using his scepter to draw a line in the dirt. He walked to the east, west, north, and south sides of the circle, stopping in each station to ask the help of the land-spirits who guarded the cardinal directions, and lightly tapping the ground with the tip of his scepter. With the cloth drawn over his head, it was impossible for the elder to make out the words.
The priest knelt in the center of the circle and began to pray. The temple guards withdrew even further back to where the elder knelt beside Oneh, who was trembling so violently she nearly collapsed.
The elder reached out and, with his fingertip, lightly touched the Mark that hung neatly folded over her arm. The gesture seemed to calm her somewhat.
“You may bring the Sacrifice here,” said the priest, turning to face the elder. The elder looked around and raised his arm toward one of the hunters who stood waiting. The hunter immediately turned and sped down the path to the cave.
A few moments later, Ico appeared.
Three hunters walked with him, one in the front and two behind. All of them wore costumes typically reserved for the harvest festival. On their backs they bore bows that had never once been fired and arrows with tips that had never once tasted blood. They had no swords, but each carried a torch. The torches sputtered noisily and gave off an inky black smoke in the daylight.
Ico had already bathed and changed into simple clothes-a hempen red shirt and rough-woven white trousers. On his feet, he wore his own comfortable leather sandals, worn in through years of use. His lips formed a single straight line across his face. Ico stopped just before the circle in the dirt.
“Come here,” the priest ordered. “Come and kneel before me.”
Ico did as he was told. Behind them, the elder spotted a single teardrop from Oneh’s downturned face.
The priest lightly tapped Ico on both shoulders with his scepter, then touched it lightly to the top of the boy’s head, chanting prayers all the while.
“Stand.”
Ico stood, and the priest touched both sides of his waist, then his left and right knee.
“Turn around.”
Ico turned. The elder could feel the boy’s gaze on him. Unable to speak, the elder whispered words of encouragement in his heart. Next to him, Oneh struggled to keep herself from looking up.
The priest tapped both of Ico’s shoulders one last time, then touched the scepter to the small of his back.
“Turn back around and kneel.”
The priest lifted the phial of holy water and shook it over Ico’s horns.
Small damp spots formed on Ico’s fresh clothes where the water splashed.
The priest handed the empty phial to one of the guards, then held the scepter in both hands, level with the ground. He brought it up to the height of his shoulders, lifting it over his head as he chanted the words to a new prayer.
Suddenly a brilliant light sparkled along the circle that the priest had drawn in the dirt-as if a ring of silver had floated up from the ground beneath them.
With a whoosh, the ring vanished.
Ico stood, eyes wide. The priest slowly lowered his arms and, holding the scepter vertically, brought it before his chest. The tip of the scepter sparkled.
“The ritual is complete. He is the true and rightful Sacrifice. Blood returns to blood, time marches on, and the Sun God indicates the path we men must walk.”