The figure was bent over so low that it was hard to make out any details, but Ico decided it was a woman. For a moment, he thought she might be holding something in her hands, but he decided that it was only her intertwined fingers.
Quite suddenly, a brilliant flash like lightning shot from the woman’s chest, striking each of the four idols. The idols began to move, lining up to block the entrance to the room, just as they had been when Ico first saw them.
When the idols came to rest, the kneeling figure stood. The veil shifted on her face-or perhaps she had moved it with her hand. Ico glimpsed a white cheek and hair bound up in an elaborate braid. It is a woman.
The vision faded. Ico opened his eyes.
Still holding his hand, the girl stood staring ahead of them. I wonder if she saw it too.
Ico thought back to the old man he had seen when he first held the girl’s hand. He had not prayed quietly like the woman in black; he had been angry. Maybe the celestial sphere on his staff was supposed to suggest that he was some sort of scholar. Probably a very great scholar, Ico thought. The elder had books with drawings of the heavens in them, but even he didn’t have a device like that.
So who was the woman in black? Had she been praying to breathe life into the idols, or for something else? Maybe, Ico thought with a sudden realization, she was casting a spell ward. Maybe all those idols were meant to seal off the doors and imprison something. No ordinary person could make things move like that. Was she a witch?
Witches were commonplace in the fairy tales Ico had heard growing up. They were followers of darkness, servants of the evil gods who fought against the Creator. Witches were fallen human women, and while they resembled people in appearance, their hearts were filled with dark curses chanted by evil gods. Wherever they went, darkness followed, even by the light of day.
Was there a being like that in the Castle in the Mist? Was the master of the castle a witch?
Ico shook his head. Thinking about it was getting him nowhere. He didn’t even know what these visions were, or why he was seeing them. He only knew that it happened whenever he took the girl’s hand.
Ico glanced at her. She did not look sad or even frightened. Nor did she smile or seem engaged with the world around her at all. Though she was right next to him, and he could look directly into her face, he felt like she was standing on the other side of a veil of mist.
Who is she, for that matter?
She could open the doors magicked shut by the woman in black. She carried within her the same power held by that blade.
Ico pulled lightly on her hand. She looked in his direction-or rather, she turned her face toward him, but her eyes did not see him.
I know she’s taller than I am, probably a little older…and nothing else. He tried staring into her chestnut eyes, tried to see if some secret might be hiding there beneath her eyelashes, but it was in vain.
His eyes went to the shawl she wore over her shoulders. What if her shawl had the same power against the castle that his Mark seemed to have? She didn’t have horns on her head, but she had been kept in a cage. He was sure she was another kind of sacrifice. Just like the elder and Oneh worried for him, someone worried for her, and they had given her the shawl as protection so that she might one day return to them.
“Let’s go,” Ico said brightly. Whoever the girl was, it was better being two than one.
5
THE ROOM BEYOND the idols was smaller and again split into two levels. Ico wondered why the castle had been built in such an inconvenient way. It seemed like there were different levels of floor everywhere, making it impossible to walk straight through.
The rise in this room was very high, but Ico jumped with his arms outstretched and caught the edge. Left behind, the girl wobbled unsteadily on her feet, seeming lost. He had only taken his eyes off her for a moment, but when he looked back he saw that she had turned and was walking back toward the room with the cage.
…and the creatures!
“This way!” Ico shouted. He slid his arms over the edge, reaching down toward her. “Grab my hand, I’ll pull you up.”
He knew she wouldn’t understand his words, so he gestured to get his point across. Finally, she reached out to him and grabbed his hands. Ico braced himself to pull her up-and was astonished.
She’s so light!
This was nothing like when he had struggled to pull her out of the swirling black mist. Even though all of her weight was in his arms, she was barely heavier than the basket he used to carry firewood back home. Ico stared at her white skin and the light that seemed to suffuse her.
She is a spirit!
But then he saw the shawl on her shoulders rising and falling.
A spirit that breathes. And has fingers and toes. And hair.
Ico realized he was staring at the girl and blushed. She didn’t seem to notice.
“I think we can get outside from here.” From this higher level, he could see an arched exit leading from the room through which bright sunlight spilled. “Come on. This way!”
Ico waved his arm, urging her forward. He ran out through the arch, and then stopped and stood in amazement.
They were at the end of a long, straight bridge of stone. The far side was so distant he could barely make it out.
He could hear the sea from here. There was a parapet of stacked stones, and he leaned out over it, feeling dizzy, like he had when he looked down from the tower that held the cage. The blue sea stretched out beneath him. Clouds drifted overhead, and he could hear the cries of seabirds coming from all directions.
The wind whistled in his ears. The Mark fluttered on his chest.
At one corner of the bridge parapet stood a statue. Ico walked closer and looked up at it, entranced, forgetting for a moment the girl behind him. It was a statue of a knight. He wore a breastplate, and his legs were also armored, though most of his body was covered by a long cloak that wrapped around in front. His head was covered by a helmet, shaped just like the ones the guards had worn, complete with horns. His were upturned, and the one on the right had broken off.
The statue of the knight faced toward them, away from the bridge, with his arms hidden beneath his cloak. This was not a statue of someone in battle. He seemed almost too pensive to be a proper knight. The statue was weathered and pitted from long years of exposure to the elements, and though the lines of the face had long since worn away, Ico did not think he looked particularly stern or grand as one might expect a great warrior to look.
Maybe the statue had been made to commemorate someone who served the castle? He had heard that there were many such statues in the capital erected to honor former city guards, or those who had won great battles in defense of their country. Those stony men sat astride horses, brandishing their whips or swords, giving orders to their troops, a perfect picture of the day when their loyalty and bravery had shone most brightly.
But this knight looked like he was just thinking. Strange.
Ico stood on the low stone wall behind the statue to get a better look. The wall went up to about Ico’s waist, and it was narrow. He tried not to look down at the sea far below him on the other side. Getting his balance, he turned to face the statue.
Seen in profile, the knight did not lose his thoughtful expression. Ico noticed tiny spots on a part of his cape. Drops of blood? No, maybe they were just stains from the rain.
He guessed that the statue was incredibly old. Maybe even as old as the Castle in the Mist. He wondered when the horn on the knight’s helmet had broken. The break was smooth and clean.