The priest turned to face the elder, his expression hidden beneath the cloth.
“The Mark.”
The elder shuffled forward on his knees, head bent low, and stretched out his arms as far as he could to offer the embroidered tunic to the priest.
The priest accepted it and held it out between his hands. Then he paused.
The elder could feel the blood rush to his head. His heart beat in his throat.
What if he notices that this Mark is different? What if he realizes that it was made for Ico alone?
“Step forward, Sacrifice,” the priest said. He placed the Mark over Ico’s head.
The Mark draped over Ico’s chest and back, giving life to his otherwise simple clothes. The elder had to admit, it looked good on the boy. A breeze blew through the village, lifting the edges of the tunic, and when it settled back down, it seemed to almost have become a part of Ico’s slender frame.
The boy’s black eyes looked up unblinkingly at the priest’s covered head.
“It is time to leave,” the priest announced. “Bring the horses.”
The elder and Oneh stood at the village gates, holding hands, watching until the priest’s entourage was gone from sight.
“He’ll come back, won’t he?” Oneh whispered in her husband’s ear, her voice full of tears.
“Yes,” the elder replied simply. The Mark will protect him. It has to.
Once on horseback, the temple guards put Ico’s wrists in irons. Ico rode with the priest seated behind him on the same horse. “You must not speak on the journey,” the priest told him. “Even should you say something, we will not answer. You must follow our orders. It will take five days for us to reach the Castle in the Mist. We will ride with you the entire way, but know that if we see you attempt anything unusual, we will cut you down on the spot. You have been warned.”
Ico replied that he had no intention of running, but the priest didn’t even seem to be listening as he held the reins.
With the irons on his wrists and the chain keeping them close together, Ico couldn’t get purchase on the horse’s neck. Should the horse decide to break into a gallop, he might fall off. Yet there didn’t seem to be any danger of speed. The guards kept the horses moving steadily but slowly. They did not speak a word between them, nor did they seem to be consulting any maps.
Guess they know the way, Ico thought.
They crossed over the grasslands, heading north along the same trail Ico had taken with the elder. Memories flooded Ico’s mind. The mere thought of seeing the stone city beyond the Forbidden Mountains again left him cold.
I wonder how Toto’s doing? I wish I’d gotten to see him before leaving.
They reached the foot of the mountains before evening, but the entourage veered away from the narrow path Ico and the elder had taken. They followed the foothills to the west a short while, stopping where the forest was thick.
“There is a spring nearby. Rest the horses,” the priest ordered, dismounting behind him. One of the guards came and lifted Ico off the horse, keeping hold of the chain attached to Ico’s irons while the other guard led the horses off to drink.
The priest looked up at the forest covering the mountainside, then he withdrew his scepter and began to pray. At one point, he thrust his arms directly overhead toward the sky, and the tip of the scepter gleamed brightly.
Ico gaped. Where before there had been nothing but thick forest, the tree branches parted with a great rustling sound, revealing a path up the mountain.
A spell ward. Ico had heard of these in stories. An enchantment had been laid over this path so that only the priest could find it.
The lifeless woods were silent, save for the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves on the white stones of the path. Ico was wondering how far they had come when they reached a small clearing and he spotted the first star of the evening above them.
They camped there that night, on the side of the mountain, resting their feet around a small campfire as they made dinner. Ico ate first. They didn’t take off his chains, so he had to lean over his bowl like a dog.
Oneh would give me a talking to if she saw me eating like this at home.
When Ico had finished, one of the guards approached and quickly slipped a sack over Ico’s head. He felt chains wrapping around his feet.
“You should rest. We will ride again before dawn.”
In the darkness inside the sack, Ico strained his ears. All he could hear was the wind.
Those guards must be going crazy, having to keep quiet like that.
Ico realized that they would probably have to take off their head coverings in order to eat-that was why they had covered his eyes. I’m not supposed to see their faces.
Ico fell asleep on the grass, listening to the occasional snuffle of the horses.
They crossed the Forbidden Mountains without ever seeing the path Ico had been on before or the stone city. Beyond, they found grasslands and gently rolling hills. On the third day, they forded a river. Once they were away from the mountains the sounds of life had returned.
However, there was a noticeable absence of people and villages. All Ico could see in every direction were grass and trees and the occasional bird.
To give himself some comfort on the journey, Ico had decided to befriend the horses. When they stopped to rest, he would steal up to them and gently pat their necks. All three of the horses were strong and sturdy and walked lightly without ever showing signs of tiring. These horses were far better behaved than the ones they used for farming in Toksa.
One of the guards-the one with upturned horns on his helmet-would let Ico touch and talk to the horses. But the other one, when he noticed, would immediately jump up and yank Ico away roughly. Once, he had shoved the boy so hard Ico had fallen to the ground.
The priest, for his part, barely acknowledged Ico’s existence. Ico did not think the priest had even looked at him once. Between the cloth over his head, his long sleeves, and the high woven boots, Ico couldn’t see the man’s skin. At times, he wondered if there was really a person under those robes.
On the fourth day, Ico detected a curious scent in the air, entirely unknown to him, and different from that of the woods and grasslands through which they had passed. Ico sniffed the air, and the guard with the upturned horns, who happened to be riding alongside, whispered, “It’s the smell of the sea.”
Ico felt the priest tense, and there was a loud crack. The guard quickly pulled the reins and fell behind them. For a few paces, the hoofbeats were staggered, but they soon resumed their usual rhythm.
Close to the sea means close to the castle.
On the morning of the fifth day, they were making their way along a gentle path through a hardwood forest when Ico spotted white birds wheeling overhead. The smell of the sea was stronger in the air now.
Seabirds. I wish Toto was here to see them.
Soon, Ico heard the sound of the wind. At least, that was what he thought it was-but there was no stirring in the air through the forest around them. When he listened closely, he could hear it rushing in, then sliding away. Those must be waves!
The path turned uphill, quickly becoming very steep. The horses whinnied with exertion. At the top of the climb, the forest fell away on both sides.
They could see the sky now. Over the pounding of the surf, Ico heard one of the guards gasp.
CHAPTER 2. THE CASTLE IN THE MIST
1
THEY HAD REACHED the edge of the forest.
Birds chittered in the sunlight, and from somewhere high above came the keening screech of a falcon chasing its prey.
Two weathered stone columns stood under the dappled light that filtered through the leaves at the wood’s edge. The track of lightly trodden ground they had been following ended here in a stone stair that led into the clearing.