A black shadow fell across his legs.
Ico curled up into a ball and shut his eyes tight, but the moment passed and he realized he was still breathing. His eyelids trembled open. His head felt like it would split.
Can stone feel pain?
He looked up to see a large shadow looming over him, broad shoulders on stunted legs, with the same horns that he had. Strangely curved arms spread out, protecting him.
It was one of the shades-turned to stone. As Ico watched in shock, it crumbled to dust before his eyes.
– Be brave, Brother.
– Stand. Fight.
Ico heard disembodied voices coming from every direction, near and far.
He looked around to see that the queen’s throne room had filled with the shadowy creatures. They were hovering around Ico as they had once surrounded Yorda. Winged shades flew over his head, and those that resembled men stood around him, supporting him.
– We will be your shield!
The shades advanced step by step, forming a rank around the throne with Ico behind. The cursed creatures the queen had created had broken the chains that once bound them.
Ico looked at their shadowy features and gasped as he saw the living faces that the sword had shown him.
– Take the sword, Brother.
– You can destroy her.
The words wrapped around Ico, and he felt strength welling from the core of his being.
The queen remained on the throne. The pale mask of her face did not move or betray any expression, yet her voice was filled with rage, and her mounting anger ruffled the hem of her black robes.
“Wretched things, you would turn on me?”
Another blast. A row of the slowly advancing creatures turned to stone, preserving their misshapen forms for a moment before exploding into dust. Yet still the mob continued their advance toward the throne.
It was a moving wall, defending Ico.
Flying shades turned to stone and fell as dust from the air. The feel of powdered stone on Ico’s face brought him back to the present. He got to his knees and stood, looking around for the light of the sword. When he found it, he ran directly to it, picking it up in both hands just as one of the creatures next to him turned to stone.
– Use the sword.
– Use its strength.
– Defeat the queen.
Suddenly, the sword’s power increased. The blade extended until it was longer than Ico was tall, longer even than the shades in front of them, and it shone with the brilliance of the noonday sun, sending forth waves of power that made the stones on the floor of the throne room ripple.
– You can see the queen.
– It is the power of your Mark.
– You can see the queen who has lost her mortal form and become the castle.
– You can see her true shape.
The shades’ words brought Ico a deeper understanding. The final key he needed for his battle.
Of course-what had Ozuma said? Remember the queen’s words. Remember the elder’s words.
The Mark would help him see the queen’s true form-this was the knowledge.
The sword would help him defeat her-this was the courage.
That which was once split had come together again.
“If I can see it, I can fight it!” Ico shouted, and the shades echoed his cry. The ring tightened on the throne. Even as their brothers turned to stone and fell to dust, they surged forward. An army of Sacrifices.
“Hateful things!” the queen roared, and her hand faltered as she traced another glyph in the air.
Ico lifted the sword above his head. He charged up onto the platform, making directly for the throne. The sword traced a beautiful arc in the air, trailing white light as it cut straight for the queen’s chest.
There was an explosion of light centered on the tip of the sword. It grew, enveloping the throne, and Ico saw the ring of dark creatures around him evaporate in it.
It felt as though the sword had struck nothing as it pierced cleanly through the queen’s black robes. Ico followed its momentum until he was practically leaning over the throne, seeing its black obsidian reflected in the blade.
The queen doubled over, her chest collapsing onto the seat of the throne. Her arms, stretched over her head, stopped abruptly, grasping the air. Then her fingers lost their strength, her elbows bent, and her head fell backward, revealing her white throat.
The strength left her shoulders, and her arms fell down on the armrests together.
Ico looked at the queen’s white face, so close to his own. He was looking at a white mask. Where her eyes should have been were two dark holes. Then the darkness faded.
“I…” the mouth of the mask moved. Ico kept his grip firm on the sword. “I cannot be…”
Ico shut his eyes tight. Then with his remaining strength he thrust the sword forward again.
The white mask crumpled. Like white paper burned by an unseen fire, it fell inside itself, wasting away to nothing. Her black robes lost their shape and color, turning to a drab gray, their embroideries fading, until the cloth itself began to thin and disappear.
No one was left sitting upon the obsidian throne.
The last ring of light emitted by the sword reached the corners of the throne and evaporated to mist.
The sword dropped from Ico’s hand.
With a clang, it fell upon the throne. It was no longer shining. Now it was dull, aged. Rust showed on the hilt, and the notches in its blade told the tale of its many years.
For a moment it hung balanced, half off the throne, before falling onto the floor next to Ico’s feet.
Ico lowered his arms and stood a while just looking at it.
The glow of his Mark had faded as well, as had the shades from around the room.
Ico staggered back, almost toppling off of the platform. He found it hard to control his own body.
Fresh blood flowed from the base of his right horn. It ran down his neck and trickled onto his shoulder. New blood flowed with every beat of his heart. His knees bent and he sat, face dropping. He raised his right hand to hold down his horn, but couldn’t lift it all the way before he lost what strength remained in him and collapsed on the spot. His face was calm, peaceful, like that of a sleeping boy.
The Castle in the Mist realized something was different-its core, its soul, was gone.
In countless rooms, walls of stacked stones sighed. Cobblestones in the floor began to rattle.
We are cages. We are empty.
The strength that held us in place is gone. The darkness that bound us together has faded.
The vibrations were so faint at first that not even the most wary bird would have noticed them. Yet the entire castle had begun to tremble. Every stone, wall, and floor began to shake. Tiny particles of rock fell from the cracks where the ornamented walls met the ceilings. As one, every torch in the castle was extinguished. Water in the copper pipes ceased to flow. The wind that whistled through the towers and across the terraces and along the outer walls grew still.
We have held this false shape for so long.
All of this should have faded years ago.
Minute vibrations became a noticeable trembling that came with a keening noise. The birds sitting on the Tower of Winds or flying around the old bridge sped away from the castle.
It is ending. I am ending.
On two slender legs she climbed the stone stair to the queen’s chambers, the tattered hem of a dress falling around them.
Yorda was free of the stone, and her body had begun to glow again as she walked.
She saw the boy lying on the stone floor, his back to her. He was exhausted and covered with wounds.