ICO: Castle in the Mist

1

THE LOOM HAD fallen silent. The old man had noticed the absence of its rhythmic clack-clack-clack some time before, and now he waited patiently for it to resume. He sat at an old desk, its surface worn to a golden amber from years of use, on top of which he had laid open several ancient tomes. A faint breeze coming in through the lattice window ruffled the edges of the yellowed paper and made the tips of the old man’s long white whiskers tremble.

The man cocked his head, straining to hear any sound-weeping, perhaps.

They had completed the weaving room several days earlier. All the necessary purifications had been made. The room stood waiting for her whenever she was ready to begin-no, he thought, she must begin right away. Yet Oneh had wept and shouted and cursed and would not go near it. “It’s too cruel,” she had said, clinging to the old man’s robes. “Please stop this. Do not ask this of me.”

He had no choice but to let her cry until her tears ran dry. Then he spoke to her, explaining patiently, as one talks to a child. “You knew this would come. You knew it on the day he was born.”

He had pleaded with her from sunset of the day before until well into the night. Finally, around dawn, Oneh had allowed him to lead her into the weaving room. From his study, he had heard the heavy sound of the loom’s shuttle. It was an unfamiliar sound, which made its absence even more noticeable.

The old man looked out the window at the leaves shaking in the grove. Birds were singing. The light of the sun was bright, and it warmed the room where its rays struck. Yet there were no sounds of children playing, and when the villagers shuffled out to work the fields, they did so in silence. Disconsolate sighs rose in place of the forceful thudding of hoes that echoed down the furrows. Even the hunters, the old man imagined, stopped in their chase along the tracks that ran through the mountains and exhaled long laments as they looked down upon the village in the distance.

It was the Time of the Sacrifice.

The old man was the elder of Toksa Village. He had turned seventy this year, thirteen years after inheriting the position from his father. He had only just stepped into his post, filled with ideas of how he would do the things his father had not been able to do, and the things his father had never tried to do, when the boy had been born. That unlucky child, doomed to be the Sacrifice.

At that time, the elder’s father had been deeply ill, his body and spirit greatly weakened. Even still, the night when he heard that a boy had been born to Muraj and Suzu-a boy with horns growing from his head-he had leapt from his sickbed, his face filled with a furious grief. He had rushed to the birthing place in the village and cradled the newborn child in his own arms, brushing his fingers across its soft head until he felt the horns.

Upon returning home, he summoned his son. He shut the doors and windows and shortened the wick on the lamp until the room was dim, and when he spoke, his voice was a whisper, no louder than the night breeze.

“I did not pass the mantle of elder to you readily,” he had said. “Even while I saw how the other men and women of the village regarded you with pride and trust, I held you back. I’m sure you wondered why this was at times. You were unhappy, I know, and I do not blame you for it.”

The new elder sat, unspeaking, his head hanging low. He lacked the courage to meet his father’s eyes. That night had transformed the tired, sick old man who was his father into something altogether strange and frightening.

“But know this-I did not cling to my role as elder out of a reluctance to let go. I merely wanted to spare you the burden of the Sacrifice. I was too cowardly, and put off that which I knew must come to pass sooner or later. What a fool I was. The one who rules in the Castle in the Mist sees through all our flimsy schemes. How else can we explain that just now, on the very day that my illness compels me to pass you the title of elder, a boy with horns is born to our village?”

His father’s voice trembled as though he were on the verge of tears.

In Toksa Village, it was a fact of life that every few decades, a child with horns was born. The horns were small at birth-soft, round bumps, barely noticeable beneath the infant’s fine hair.

The horned child grew up stronger and more quickly than ordinary children. His limbs grew long, his body hale. He would dash through the fields like a fawn, leap like a hare, climb like a squirrel, and swim like a fish.

While the child grew, his horns would remain much as they were at birth, sleeping beneath his hair. It was impossible to tell the horned child apart from regular children at a glance. Only his boundless energy, a voice that could be heard for miles through the forest, and eyes that glimmered with precocious wisdom set him apart.

And yet, the horns were an undeniable sign that this child was to be the Sacrifice; that one day he would have to fulfill that task dictated by the customs of the village; that he would have to go to the Castle in the Mist.

The horns were the mark of the castle’s cursed claim upon him and everyone he knew.

When the boy reached the age of thirteen, the horns would reveal their true form. Overnight they would grow, one on either side of his head, like a small ox’s, parting the hair where they jutted out and upward.

This marked the Time of the Sacrifice.

The Castle in the Mist was calling. Time was up. The child must be offered.

“The last Sacrifice was born when I was but a child,” the elder’s father told him. “The old books say that sometimes as much as one hundred years might pass after a Sacrifice is born and sent to the castle.” He winced and shook his head. “I hoped our fortune would be as good. How I prayed that your generation might come and go without seeing a Sacrifice-only to have one appear now, so early! I’m afraid that the previous Sacrifice was not potent enough.”

That was why, his father explained, the Castle in the Mist hungered again so soon.

“Still,” he continued, “time yet remains before the child born tonight reaches his thirteenth year. I can teach you all you will need to know about offering the Sacrifice. You’ll have to consult the old books our family keeps. When the boy is of age, and the Time of the Sacrifice arrives, an entourage from the temple in the capital will come and arrange everything. You merely need do as the priest says.”

Then the elder’s father grabbed his wrist with astonishing strength. “Whatever happens, you must not let the Sacrifice escape. You must not allow him to leave the village. And you must impress him with the weight of his destiny, train him in every particular until he truly accepts it and will never choose flight. You must not be lenient or frail of heart. The castle has chosen him as the Sacrifice, and about that there can be no mistake.”

The elder quailed, thinking of the newborn child. How adorable, how helpless and priceless he had seemed. Even if he bore the horns of the Sacrifice, he was still just an innocent babe. How could the elder be stern with something so small? What words could he use to tell the child that his life would one day be offered up to the Castle in the Mist?

He could not protest his duty to his father. Instead, in a weak voice he asked, “What happens if I succeed in keeping the child from escaping, only to watch him fall ill? What if he is injured? What if he does not live to the proper age?”

“The Sacrifice cannot fall ill,” his father said with grim confidence. “Nor can he be easily injured. He will be exceptionally healthy, in fact. You need only raise him to become as solitary as the hawk, as pliable as the dove, and deeply committed to his fate.”

“Raise him?”

“Yes. As elder, you must raise the child born this night as though he were your own.”

“But what about the parents?”

“Once his birth mother is able to walk, the parents must be cast out from the village.”

“What? Why?” the elder asked, even though he knew what the answer would be.

“That is the custom,” his father replied. “The couple who has given birth to the horned child must leave Toksa Village.”

Then, for the first time, the hard lines of his father’s face softened, and tears shone in the corners of his eyes.

“I know it sounds harsh. But it is in fact a mercy. Imagine the anguish of parents forced to raise a child they know must leave them before he is fully grown. If separation is preordained, the better it be quick. Muraj and Suzu will live a good life in the capital. They are free to have another child, or three, or five-as many as they wish. Greedy though the castle may be, it will not take more than one child from a single family.”

The steel in his father’s voice left the elder speechless for a time, until at last he managed to utter a name. “Oneh…”

His wife. What would Oneh think? She knew the village custom as well as he did. How would she take the news that they were soon to become direct participants?

“How will I tell Oneh?”

He already had six children with his wife. Four had been claimed by accident or disease before reaching adulthood, leaving them one son and one daughter. They had grown well. Their son had already taken a wife.

“Are Oneh and I even qualified to raise a child at our age?”

“Of course. He will be like a grandson to you.” The new elder’s father smiled a thin smile, showing dark gaps where his teeth had fallen out. “Think of it this way. Because the horned child was born tonight, your own grandchild, who cannot be far off now, will be spared his fate. You should consider yourself fortunate.”

The elder shivered. His father was right. Because the Sacrifice had been born tonight, the village would live in peace for many years, maybe decades. My grandchildren will be spared. Still, he could not tell whether the chill that ran down his spine was one of relief or of horror that his father would say such a terrible thing.

His father clasped his hands once more, shaking them with each word. “Know this,” he said. “The elder must never fear. The elder must never doubt. No one will blame our village for this, nor will they blame you. We are merely following custom. Do everything the priest tells you to do. Accomplish your task, and the Castle in the Mist will be sated.”

Do as the priest says. It is the priest’s doing-no one will blame the village-or the village elder-the elder-

“Elder!”

The voice brought him back over thirteen years of time in an instant. Back to his seventy-year-old self; back to long whiskers growing from his chin; back to thin, bony shoulders.

“Sorry, Elder, didn’t mean to intrude.”

In his doorway, several men of the village stood shoulder-to-shoulder, still dressed for field work.

“It is no intrusion, I was merely doing some reading.”

The men exchanged glances until one of them spoke.

“Mistress Oneh’s weeping in the weaving room.”

“She became violent,” said another man, “like a madness took her, and she tried to break the loom. We held her back, Elder, but she’s wild yet.”

That explained why the loom was still silent.

“I will go myself,” the elder said, placing both hands upon his desk for support as he rose from his chair.

Oneh, sweet Oneh. There have been enough tears.

How long would it take for her to understand that no amount of tears or rage could change what had happened? That no matter how high she raised her fist to the heavens or how hard she beat the ground in lamentation, it was all for naught.

Their cries would not reach that ancient castle perched upon the cliff at the end of the world, far to the west where the sun sank after its daily journey. The only thing that could lessen the rage of the master in the castle, that could stave off the castle’s curse for even a short time, was the chosen Sacrifice.

2

SMALL PEBBLES FELL down from above the boy’s head, plinking on the sandy floor. First one, then another.

The boy sat up, looking up at the small window set at the highest point of the cave. The window had been hewn out of the rock, and long years of wind and rain had smoothed its edges.

A face appeared.

“Psst! Hey!” a voice called down. “I know you’re in there!”

“Toto!” the boy replied with a smile, wondering how his friend had managed to climb up to the window like that.

“What,” Toto said, “don’t tell me you were still sleeping.”

The boy had been lying on his side-there wasn’t much else to do.

“You’ll get in trouble if they catch you.”

Toto grinned. “I’m an old hand at this. No one saw me.”

“You sure?”

“Hey, you should be thanking me. I brought you something-”

Toto threw down a white cloth bag into the cave. The boy snatched it up and looked inside. There was a fruit and a wrapped bundle of baked sweets.

“Thanks!”

Toto grinned. “Don’t let them catch you eating those,” he advised. “That old fogey they got by the door will take ’em away.”

“He wouldn’t do that.”

The boy’s guards weren’t particularly friendly, but neither were they cruel. When they brought him his three meals a day or came to set a blaze in his fireplace on cold nights, they would look down at the floor or off to the side-fearfully, apologetically-and leave the moment their business was done.

“Psst, Ico.” Toto lowered his voice to a whisper. “Don’t you ever think of running away?”

Ico-for that was the boy’s name-turned away from the window at the top of the cave, letting his eyes travel across the gray walls. This cave was on the northern edge of the village. It had originally been a small, rocky hill until the men of the village hollowed it out by hand, specifically to house the Sacrifice. Ico would remain here until the priest arrived to lead him away. The years that had passed since the cave’s construction had smoothed the marks left on the walls by the stonecutters’ chisels and axes. Ico could run his hand over it and feel nothing but featureless rock.

That was how long ago the custom had started and the sacrifices had begun.

It would take many words to describe how he felt at that moment, and they all jostled for attention in Ico’s head. Yet he lacked the confidence to choose just the right ones and line them up in just the right order. He was thirteen.

“I can’t run away,” he finally answered.

Toto gripped the edge of the window with both hands and stuck his head farther in. “Of course you can! I’ll help you!”

“It won’t happen.”

“Says who? I can break you out tonight, and then it’s a quick run to the woods. I’ll swipe the keys and you’re free!”

“Where would I go? Where would I live? I can’t go to another village. When they see the horns they’ll know I’m the Sacrifice, and they’ll drag me back.”

“So don’t go to a village. You could live in the mountains, hunt game, eat nuts and berries-you could even clear a field for a garden. You never get sick, and you’re strong as a bull, Ico. If anyone can do it, you can.” Toto frowned. “Of course, I’d be going with you. Let’s do it! Let’s go live in the wild! It’s better than…this.”

Toto was a full year younger than Ico. As good a friend as he was, he was also fiercely loyal to his family, especially his younger brother and sister. Ico couldn’t imagine him leaving them behind. And yet, there was a sincerity in Toto’s voice that made Ico think he really meant what he said. That sincerity hurt. Toto’s willing to throw everything away…because of me.

“Thank you, Toto,” Ico said, trying to sound somber. His voice cracked.

“Don’t thank me. Say you’ll come!”

“I can’t.”

Toto shook his head. “You’re a lot of things, Ico, but I never figured you for a coward.”

“Think of what will happen to the village if I run. Without a Sacrifice, the Castle in the Mist would grow angry.”

Not just the village. The capital too would be destroyed, all in the space of a night. No, he thought, there probably wouldn’t even be time to blink.

“So what if the castle gets angry?” Toto asked, growing angry himself. “What’s so scary about the castle anyway? My parents won’t ever talk to me about it-Mom practically covers her ears and runs when I ask questions.”

It wasn’t that Toto’s parents didn’t want to talk about it-they were forbidden to talk about it. It was part of their custom, because they knew that the Castle in the Mist was always wary. Not even a curse could be whispered under the breath. And the castle suffered no one to challenge its authority. No one.

“When you turn fifteen, they’ll hold the ceremony for you,” Ico told him. “You’ll learn what it means then. The elder will tell you everything.”

“That’s great,” Toto said, a bit too loud, “but I want to know now! How do they expect me to just sit here and accept it until they think I’m ready? Once they take you off to the castle, you know you’re not coming back, right? Well, that doesn’t work for me. I’m not going to just stand around and let that happen.”

“But, Toto, I am the Sacrifice.”

“Because you got horns growing out of your head? Why does that make you anything? Who thought all this crap up anyway?”

It’s just the way it is, Ico wanted to say, but he held himself back.

“You know something, don’t you?” Toto’s voice suddenly grew much quieter. “Tell me, Ico. I have to know.”

Ico slumped. Hadn’t the elder told him-in a tone that left no room for interpretation-not to speak of what he knew, of what he had seen?

It was already several days ago that Ico’s horns had grown suddenly in the space of a night and the elder had taken him over the Forbidden Mountains. They had ridden on horseback for three days to the north, going where not even the hunters dared tread. They saw no one on the road, no birds flying overhead, no rabbits in the underbrush, no tracks of foxes in the soft mud left by rains the day before.

Why were the mountains forbidden? Why did no one come this way? Why were there no birds or animals to be seen? All of Ico’s questions melted like a springtime snow when they reached the top of the pass and he saw what lay on the other side.

“I brought you here to show you the horror the Castle in the Mist has wrought, the depth of its rage-and the true meaning of your sacrifice,” the elder told him. “Only the Sacrifice can quell the castle’s wrath and prevent this tragedy from happening again. Look well upon it. Carve the sight deep within your heart. Then fulfill your duty and do not think of flight.”

The elder’s words still rang in his ears.

Ico had known he was to be the Sacrifice since he was a child. He had been raised for this purpose and none other.

Ico’s daily life had been no different from that of any other child in the village. When he was bad, he was scolded; when he was good, he was praised. He tended the fields and the animals. He learned how to read and write, he swam in the rivers and climbed in the trees. The days went by quickly, and he slept soundly at night. Before his horns poked out from beneath his hair, even Ico often forgot they were there at all.

And yet, he knew that he was the Sacrifice, that he was different from the other children. The elder told him that often, almost every day. What he had seen across the Forbidden Mountains, however, had a greater impact on Ico than any words. It made him painfully aware, beyond a doubt, of the weight of his burden. Ico reached up, absentmindedly brushing the tip of one of his horns with a finger. Here was the proof that he was the one chosen to prevent calamity, to save his people.

How could I run from that?

On the trip home from the mountains, Ico’s resolve had become as hard as steel. Whereas his duty as the Sacrifice had only been something vague before, a role in a distant play, now it took a clear and definite shape. He never noticed the tears the elder shed as he hurried his horse ahead of him on the path. When they returned to the village, Ico had moved into the cave without being asked.

“I got it!” Toto shouted from the window, jarring Ico from his reverie.

“What? What is it?”

“I’m coming with you, Ico. I’m going to the castle!”

Ico jumped up, standing against the wall directly beneath the window. “You’re not going anywhere! If the priest found out, they’d lock you up. Probably the rest of your family too. You really want that to happen?”

Toto gulped. “Why would they do that? Who says I can’t see the castle? If only the Sacrifice is allowed to go, what about the priest? Does he have to throw himself in jail?”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

“Why do I even bother?” Toto grumbled. “You’re not even on your own side.”

Ico shook his head. He looked up at his friend’s face, beet red with anger, and suddenly he felt the tension leave his shoulders, and he laughed out loud.

Toto’s a good person. A good friend. And I’ll never be able to see him again once I leave.

That thought made him feel lonelier than any other.

A good friend…Which is exactly why I must go to the castle.

“Toto,” he said after a moment of silence, “I know what will happen if the castle gets angry. But I can’t tell you. I can’t go against custom. It’s just like when they say we’re not supposed to swim in the deep water on days when the west wind blows or ride into the mountains without trimming our horse’s hooves. It just is, and you’ll have to wait for your ceremony to know why.” Ico’s voice was calm and even. “It’s true, though, that when the Sacrifice goes to the castle, the danger is gone. And you know I won’t die, right?”

“Sure, but you’ll never come back. What’s the difference?”

“It makes a big difference to me!” Ico said with a grin. “The elder told me that after the Sacrifice goes to the Castle in the Mist, they become a part of the castle-they live forever.”

Ico wasn’t lying. The elder really had told him that. It had surprised him at first when he learned that being the Sacrifice didn’t actually mean going to your death.

“So you’re going to live forever?” Toto lifted an eyebrow. “You’re just going to live at the castle? That’s it?”

“Pretty much.”

The conversation was quickly entering an area where Ico felt less sure he was right. In fact, he didn’t know what he would be doing once he arrived at the castle. He suspected the elder didn’t know either.

As it was, from the moment he had heard he wasn’t going to die, his curiosity about the Castle in the Mist had grown. What would happen there? What did it mean to “become a part of the castle”?

Toto wasn’t buying any of it. “How does the elder know what’s going to happen to you? It’s not like he was ever the Sacrifice.”

“The priests told him.”

“So the priests know what’s going to happen to you?”

“Of course. They’re big scholars in the capital, you know,” Ico explained, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “But, Toto, you have to promise me that when the priest comes to the village you won’t go asking him all kinds of questions. I wasn’t just trying to scare you-they really will lock you up. And I don’t want that happening because of me. If you try to do something when they come for me, they might punish the whole village.”

“Fine,” Toto said at last, but his expression made it clear he wasn’t happy with the arrangement.

“Good,” Ico said. “I’m glad.” And he meant it. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“Well, don’t think you’ve seen the last of me yet,” Toto called out. “And I haven’t given up, either!” He disappeared from the small window.

“What do you mean?” Ico shouted after him.

“That’s for me to know!” came his friend’s distant reply.

“This isn’t a game! It’s really serious! Seriously serious! You hear me, Toto?”

“I hear you just fine. Don’t get all worked up over it, okay? See ya.”

And with that, Toto was gone.

For a while, Ico stood there, looking up at the empty square of night where his friend’s face had been.

3

ONEH THOUGHT IT was her tears that made it hard for her to see the thread upon the loom, but she soon realized her error. The sun is setting. Darkness pooled in the corners of the weaving room, and when she looked up, she could not see the rafters above her head.

Oneh slid from her weaving bench, walked around to the other side of the loom, and examined the fabric. In half a day, she had only produced a finger’s length. The pattern was so muddled she had trouble making it out.

No light was allowed in the weaving room on account of the danger of a fire; she would not be able to continue work today. She pressed her fingers to her temples and felt her head ache. She was not fatigued, really. Perhaps it was all my weeping. Oneh sighed. I don’t want to be doing this work. I didn’t raise him for this-

That is where you are wrong, her husband, the elder, had scolded. The elder’s wife cannot be seen flouting custom. You may pity Ico, but the boy is ready. It’s your inability to let go, your tearful clinging that makes him suffer.

She wondered how Ico was doing. Already, ten days had passed since he entered the cave. All women, even her, were forbidden to approach that place. Not once had she seen his face or heard his voice. Is he eating properly? The cave must be so dark and chilly. If he’s caught cold…

It would be the first cold he’d ever caught in his life. Oneh had witnessed proof of Ico’s fortitude enough times to know he would be fine. He could fall from the very top of the tree onto his back and be up on his feet a moment later to open his hands and show her the chick he had plucked from its nest. His strength and skill had even gotten him in trouble-like the time when, just after his age ceremony, he had gotten into a fight with some young fishermen over Ico’s uncanny ability to swim deeper and hold his breath longer than any of them. He took on six other boys that day and came home with only a few scratches. They were fond memories. Proud memories.

The others in the village thought Oneh’s feelings for Ico came from some deep sympathy for him and her chagrin at being the one who had to raise him though he was not her own. Even the elder thought this. But they were wrong. Ico was the light of her heart. She loved him as much as any mother could love her own child. Raising him had been a delight.

The children understood her-they were always more aware of these things than the adults. Her own grandchildren by blood often pouted and asked her why she favored the horned boy over them.

“Because Ico knows his place and does not talk back, and is not always wanting things or teasing other children,” she wanted to tell them, but she would refrain and say instead that she was kind to him because he was to be the Sacrifice. Then her grandchildren would smile and wink at each other, glad that they had been born normal, without horns.

Only one other adult had seen through her admittedly thin façade-her brother, dead now for five years.

“The boy has you enchanted, hasn’t he?” he had told her once. “Don’t forget, Oneh, why he is so pure and kind and without fault. He is not human. His soul is empty, and evil cannot cling to a void as it does to our tangled hearts. Emptiness absorbs only love and light, and reflects it back. No wonder it’s so easy for the one who must raise the horned child to love him-they see their own love reflected in his eyes.”

He reminded Oneh that to go to the Castle in the Mist was no tragedy for the boy. “The boy’s soul has resided in the castle since the very day he was born. He returns to the castle to reclaim it and be whole for the first time in his life.”

Oneh had been born to a merchant house in the capital. She was well educated, and her childhood had been easy. Her brother, six years her elder, had attended seminary in the capital and received the qualifications to become an ordained priest by the age of twenty-two, yet just before the ceremony he had withdrawn his application and left city life for the countryside. His teachers and parents both were violently opposed, but her brother hadn’t listened. He rented a small house in a small town, where he earned his keep by teaching the local children how to read and write, never took a wife, spent his evenings steeped in ancient books, and lived a life of austerity. He never once returned home, not even for a visit. Their parents’ opinion of him had softened over the years, and several times they sent a messenger to attempt reconciliation, but he had always refused them, gently, but firmly.

It was a year after her brother had left that Oneh went to be married in Toksa Village. She was seventeen years old. She had other siblings, but she had always been closest to her gentle, studious brother. That was why, near to the time of her wedding, she snuck out of the house and together with a maidservant visited her brother’s village. Marriage meant she would be leaving their family, and she wanted to tell him goodbye.

Her brother was overjoyed to see her. She found her brother’s home startlingly poor, yet the brightness in his face warmed her heart. He made her a simple meal that night. There was only water to drink, but it was cool and refreshing.

“Off to Toksa, eh?” her brother asked.

“I know it’s far,” she told him. “Farther from the capital than I’ve ever been. But the land is fertile, the water clean, and it is close to both the sea and the mountains, where there is food for the taking. The people in Toksa want for little.”

“So I’ve heard,” her brother nodded, looking at her with eyes like still pools of water. “Tell me, how did this marriage come about?”

Oneh didn’t know the details. As her parents’ daughter, it was her duty to do as they bade.

“I’m guessing,” her brother said, “that our father suggested the union. You mentioned that the man who will become your husband is the son of the village elder?”

“He is. Which means that, one day, I will be the elder’s wife.” Though the thought of traveling to an unknown place to wed a complete stranger made her nervous, she felt some pride in knowing that she was to be a person of standing in her new home.

“Tell me,” her brother said then, “have you heard of the role that the elder of Toksa must play in their local custom-a custom not observed anywhere else?”

Oneh shook her head. Her brother turned his gaze away from her to the rough, mud-plastered walls of his home.

“Brother?” Oneh said after he had been silent for some time.

When he spoke again, his voice was as calm as before, but it seemed to her that a shadow had come over his eyes. His eyes had always betrayed his emotions. That had been true since they were children.

“You know I would never object to your being married. Toksa is a peaceful, prosperous place, as you say. You needn’t be worried about a thing.”

“But-”

“You are strong, Oneh. Stronger than your parents think. And you have wisdom far beyond your years. You will make a good wife.”

She knew her brother meant what he said, but to hear such sudden praise made Oneh all the more uneasy. “What is this custom you speak of?” she asked.

“I was wrong to say anything,” her brother replied, his smile weak. “I did not mean to concern my lovely sister with trifling matters so soon before she is to be married. There is no cause for alarm. All villages have their customs. That is all I meant.”

Her brother’s smile did not fade, but the darkness in his eyes grew deeper. Oneh knew that he had something else to say, as she also knew it was better not to ask so many questions at times like these. Her brother was an honest man. If there were something she needed to know, he would tell her when the time was right.

“Toksa is a beautiful, bountiful place,” her brother said, speaking slowly. “That is its reward, you might say.”

Oneh didn’t understand. She was about to ask him after all, when he smiled broadly and turned to face her. “You must write,” he said.

“I’d like that.”

“I know you couldn’t have from home, not with everyone watching over your shoulder. But in your new home, no one will think twice about a sister corresponding with her distant brother.”

Oneh nodded, smiling.

“And if your lord husband should become jealous, just tell him you write to your peculiar brother in the capital. Tell him all I do is read books, that the dust from between their pages collects in my hair, and I delight in nothing more than walking between library shelves, my long sleeves dragging upon the floor behind me.”

Oneh laughed. “I will tell him that you are a renowned scholar. That the seminary begged you to become a priest-no, the high priest.”

“Ahh,” her brother exclaimed, “that is why you are my favorite sister.” He laughed out loud then, but even that merry sound did not drive the sadness from his eyes.

Their correspondence began soon after. They did not write often- all together, her brother’s letters fit easily inside a single parchment box. He wrote mostly concerning Oneh’s living arrangements, the weather, and how the crops were faring that year.

Once Oneh became a mother, he wanted to know everything about her children. Oneh sent detailed reports, and in return, her brother would tell her about the children he taught in his village and the fascinating books he had read. Sometimes he would talk about his studies or write humorously of the latest fashions in the capital. But not once did they correspond regarding the custom of Toksa Village he had alluded to that night.

Not until that day, thirteen years ago, when Ico was born and Oneh’s husband told her everything. Overcome with emotion when she rubbed her hand across the baby’s head and felt those round protrusions that would one day be horns, she wrote another letter to her brother that very night.

At last do I understand what you were talking about that day I visited you before going to be married.

Her brother’s response, when it came, was the longest he had ever written.

Because you are my sister, you know well that the great Sun God, Sol Raveh, to whom we pray in our temples, gives birth to all, mends all, and governs all with love’s power.

It seemed to her that her brother’s voice on the page sounded different than it had before. Even the letters were written in a careful, elegant style.

Yet even the God of Light had to walk a path beset by hardship before bringing peace to our land. He waged wars and fought many battles. Toksa was the site of one, particularly fierce.

He went on to tell her that Sol Raveh had fought a powerful adversary near Toksa. The enemy had been defeated and successfully imprisoned, yet victory had not come without a sacrifice: Toksa’s unusual custom, and the first child born with horns upon its head.

The Sacrifice is born a captive, even as he is a warrior of the Light and a keystone in the wall that imprisons the enemy. Though the horned child may appear human, that is not his true nature. The child is a pawn of a greater power. You who must raise him must never forget that the child carries a part of that divinity within him.

Oneh quickly wrote a response. She asked whether the enemy that Toksa Village had feared for many long years was the master of the Castle in the Mist. She asked how it was that the Sacrifice eased the master’s anger. He replied:

In Toksa, this is known only to the Sacrifice. Only a horned one, or the highest of priests, may seek to learn this.

Parts of her brother’s letter made sense, while others did not. Though each ended as it began, with words in praise of God, as she read reply after reply Oneh started to wonder whether he truly believed the words he wrote.

Once, she asked him straight if there was a connection between why her brother had given up on becoming a priest and the custom of Toksa. She was, in effect, asking whether he had questioned his faith in his youth. Oneh knew that if she showed the letter to anyone else, they would have taken it from her and thrown it away. The God of Light is great. Through his benevolence is our land blessed with peace. To cast doubt on the divine was to sin deeply.

No reply came. Instead, she received word that her brother had passed away.

The Sacrifice is born a captive, even as he is a warrior of the Light-

Oneh closed her eyes and talked to the familiar ghost of her brother that lived on in her mind.

Brother, she said, to me, Ico is nothing but a child, a dear child. How can I send him to the castle with a still heart?

“Mistress Oneh?”

She heard a small voice from the window. Oneh looked up. “Is that you, Toto?” He must be standing on tiptoe to see in like that, she imagined. “Have they sent you to summon me?”

The sun had set some time ago, and the weaving room was already completely dark. Oneh fumbled with her hands to retrieve the copied pages from an old book she had propped up next to the loom and rolled them together like a scroll. Without a light, she couldn’t even see her own feet between the times when the sun set and when it rose again in the morning. This was one of the reasons they gave her an escort to and from the weaving room.

“No,” the boy whispered quickly. “I came on my own. It’s secret.” He looked from side to side, belatedly checking that no one had seen him.

“Why are you here then?”

“I figured you’d know where that priest from the capital is by now.”

The capital was distant. A rider had come ten days before to announce the priest’s departure. It had been two days since they received word that the entourage had finally arrived at the lodgings nearest to Toksa on the high road, but that was still two mountain passes and a river ford away.

“Whatever do you want to know that for?”

Toto’s eyes glimmered in the dusk. “The priest from the capital is real important, right?” The boy’s voice was filled with hope. “If the priest says I could do something, then even the elder couldn’t tell me not to do it-right?”

Oneh smiled cautiously and took a step toward the window. “Toto, are you planning to do something the elder doesn’t want you to do?”

“No, ’course not!” He shook his head vigorously. “I just wanted to know how close the priest is.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know,” Oneh lied.

“But I was just talking to Ico, and he seemed to know a lot about the priest, so I thought-”

Oneh walked up to the window. “Toto! You were talking to Ico?”

“Huh?” Toto blinked. “Er, I guess, yeah,” he stammered.

“You went to the cave? How did you talk to him without the guard seeing you?”

“I climbed a tree and went from branch to branch. Then I jumped down onto that little rocky hill and crawled across the rock until I reached the window on top.”

Oneh shook her head. This was not the first time she had heard of Toto’s acrobatics. He and Ico were the talk of the other children in the village for their daring antics.

“Was he well?”

“I guess. Pretty bored, though, locked up there all by himself.”

Oneh nodded, turning her head from the window to hide the tears welling in her eyes.

“You angry, Mistress Oneh?” Toto asked timidly.

“How could I be mad at Ico’s best friend going to pay him a visit? I’m sure he needed the company. Thank you.”

Toto’s smile returned to his face. “You know, I was trying to get him to run away,” he admitted. “But Ico said he wouldn’t. He said the whole village would be in trouble if he did. That’s why I’m going to the castle with him.”

“What?” Oneh said. “Toto, you can’t go to the Castle in the Mist!”

“Yeah, that’s what Ico said. He says if the priest found out there’d be ‘trouble,’ whatever that means.” Toto frowned. “Since when did Ico become such a field mouse? And how am I supposed to wait until my age ceremony before I get to know what any of this is all about? What kind of friend keeps secrets like that?”

Oneh understood how the boy felt all too well. She too had felt abandoned when her husband had taken Ico over the Forbidden Mountains and returned with a secret that only the two of them shared. The elder had never been a talkative man, but now it was as if he had sealed his lips with wax. And Ico is in the cave…lost to me.

“I would tell you,” she said, “but the truth is, I don’t know much myself. The elder says all we need to know is that protecting our village’s custom is a sacred and very, very important task. We mustn’t go against the elder’s word. That includes you, Toto.”

Toto snorted, puffing out his cheeks. “Yeah, but the priest outranks the elder, doesn’t he? So what he says goes. That’s why I was thinking I could ask him to take me to the castle.”

It took a moment for Oneh to find her voice. “So that’s why you wanted to know where he was,” she said.

“Uh-huh.”

“Did Ico not mention the trouble there would be if the priest knew what you intended?”

Toto shrugged. “Well, sure, if I tried to sneak after him. But if I got his permission…”

Oneh shook her head. How could she expect a mere child to understand when it was so hard for her?

“I really don’t think the priest will let you go, Toto.”

“Never know unless you ask.”

Oneh tried a different tack. “Perhaps-but it shouldn’t be you who goes.”

“Huh?”

“I will go with Ico to the Castle in the Mist. I’ll ask the priest to let me join him.”

“You don’t wanna go all that way, Mistress Oneh. You’d probably break somethin’ just getting to that old castle.”

“Even so,” Oneh insisted, “it’s no place for a child. I’m sure the priest would agree.”

“Then I’m sneaking after you,” Toto said.

“You must not!” Oneh reached out through the window and placed a hand on Toto’s head. “You cannot.”

“I can too.”

“I’ll tell your father.”

“No fair – ” Toto began. Then he shrank away. “Someone’s coming!”

Oneh stuck her head out the window and saw a torch approaching through the darkness. Someone from the village was coming for her.

“Run, Toto. Quick!”

“I’ll do better than that!” Toto grabbed the window frame and scampered up the side of the hut onto the thatched roof. “They won’t find me up here.”

Toto’s words were just trailing off when Oneh saw the torch swing in a small half circle, and a voice called out, “Mistress Oneh, that you there?”

“Yes,” she replied, shutting the window and turning to open the door.

“Sorry I was so late in getting out here,” the man from the village said once she had made her way outside. He was a muscular man dressed in hunter’s garb, with a short sword at his waist and a bow and quiver slung across his broad back. Oneh recognized him as the head of the hunters in the village. His skill with a bow was such that he could pierce an apple hanging from a tree on the far side of the river with his first arrow.

The weaving room had been hastily constructed in a patch of cleared forest outside of the village. There may be animals around when night falls, so I’ll be sending a hunter, her husband had told her. But Oneh knew the truth. The armed men were sent to make sure she didn’t try to escape.

The sole purpose of the weaving room was for her to make the Mark that would be worn by the Sacrifice.

The Mark was little more than a simple tunic that went on over Ico’s clothes, but it was woven with a special pattern detailed in the pages of that old book Oneh had received from her husband. It was not difficult to make if she followed the instructions.

“Will you be returning directly home?”

“At once, yes.” Oneh held the roll of paper to her chest and closed the door to the small hut behind her. The torch sputtered and a bright spark drifted through the air, crossing her path.

The man walked ahead of her slowly. “I was late in coming because one of the hunters was hurt in the mountains today.”

“My! I hope he was not hurt too badly?”

“He fell from a ledge, broke both his legs,” the hunter replied, his voice even. “Even if he mends, he will not hunt again. It’s not certain he’ll even walk.”

The hunter’s name was familiar. He was a boy who had just undergone the age ceremony this past spring. Oneh shook her head. “Such misfortune…”

“He was inexperienced,” the hunter said. “When you’re climbing, you must never look toward the mountains in the north-even if the view is clear. I told him this myself many times, but he did not listen.”

Oneh tensed. “The Forbidden Mountains?”

“Indeed,” the hunter said.

“What does one see…up there?”

“Nothing, most times. But every child knows you’re not supposed to look. There’s always the chance that you might see something.”

“So what did he see?”

The man replied that he did not know.

“But how-”

He shrugged. “The boy’s been muttering all kinds of nonsense. I’m afraid he hit his head too.”

For a moment, Oneh closed her eyes.

“Besides, even if he did see something and managed to keep his wits, he’s not supposed to talk about what he saw. That’s how I was raised, and that’s what I would do in his place. Did you know that my father was lead huntsman in his day? He told me about a man who went up into the mountains looking for a bird to shoot for his supper. Said he looked too long toward the mountains in the north.” The man paused. “His body made the trip back, but his mind never returned.”

“A frightening tale.”

“It’s just a story,” the hunter went on, “but they say it happened right around the Time of the Sacrifice.” The hunter stopped and turned. Sparks from his torch drifted toward her. In the torchlight, the hunter’s face looked hard and pale. “Mistress Oneh…” he began. “The castle knows when it’s time. If the Sacrifice isn’t quick about his business, the castle gets impatient. And it’s not like when you or I get impatient, Mistress Oneh. The castle’s black mood rides on the wind-that’s what the boy saw today.”

Oneh looked the hunter in the eyes. He stared back at her, unblinking.

“The castle may be far beyond those mountains, but its anger reaches as far as the sky over their peaks.”

“What are you trying to say?” Oneh managed to ask at last.

“I know you don’t like the weaving,” the hunter said, his voice iron, “and I know it’s hard for you to let go of your boy. I’m a father too. But Ico is the boy of no man or woman. He’s the Sacrifice. And there’s no good that’ll come from staying his time.”

It occurred to Oneh that the hunter had probably been late in coming to summon her because he’d been conferring with her husband, deciding what he should say.

“I do not stall for time.”

“Then that’s fine,” the hunter said curtly, turning and beginning to walk away, his pace quicker than before. “I’ll come for you tomorrow before dawn. If we don’t get that Mark made soon, the priest will arrive before you’re finished.”

Oneh followed behind him, her head hanging low.

Toto crouched on top of the roof, his ears pricked, and he heard everything.

Someone was hurt. That was the kind of trouble even Toto understood. But he was far more interested in the other thing the hunter had to say-now he knew where the castle was.

Then it struck him, an idea so great he wanted to jump up and dance for joy on the spot. Oneh told him he couldn’t ask the priest’s permission to follow Ico, but she hadn’t said anything about going ahead of them, before the entourage even left the village. He could wait for them on the way to the mountains, and once they passed, he’d trail them the rest of the way. That would get him to the Castle in the Mist for sure.

Once the priest leaves them, Toto thought, I’ll jump out and announce I’m joining Ico on his adventure! Toto was sure that Oneh would rest easier knowing that he would accompany Ico. Together, there was nothing Ico and Toto couldn’t do.

Then Toto had an even better thought, and this time he actually did jump up, standing atop the roof. I bet the two of us could find that master in the castle and take him on! We might even win!

“Yaaaahoo!”

Toto’s exhilarated shout echoed through the trees as he jumped down off the roof to land softly by the edge of the forest.

4

DEPENDING ON WHICH way it blew, the wind would sometimes carry the sound of the loom to Ico’s cave. Because no one else in the village was allowed to use a loom in the days after he entered the cave and the moment he left for the castle, whenever he heard the noise, he knew it was his foster mother weaving the Mark for him. It was hard to judge the passage of time, sitting alone in the dimly lit cave. Thick, leafy branches shadowed the narrow window through which Toto had spoken with him the other day, letting in barely enough light to tell whether it was the sun or the moon that shone. But Ico knew that when he heard the loom start up it was the beginning of another day, and when it ended, it was evening. Thus Ico had counted three days, and on the morning of the fourth day, the guard who brought him his morning meal said something entirely unexpected.

“Toto’s gone missing.”

Toto’s father was a hunter. He awoke very early at this time of year to prepare for the hunt, yet when he had risen from bed this morning, Toto’s cot had lain empty. When one of Toto’s sisters admitted seeing him sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night, it caused a stir in the village.

“Toto told his sister he was leaving and that she’d better keep it a secret.”

“He didn’t say where he was going?”

“Not a word. Not that his little sister would have remembered. She was too sleep-addled to even think to raise a fuss.”

Worse, one of the two village messenger horses had been taken from the stables in the night. The horses were kept ready at all times in case there was a need to carry an urgent message from Toksa to another town. They-a white horse named Silverstar and a chestnut called Arrow Wind-were smart and swift.

“It must have been Toto…”

Ico’s friend had been a caretaker at the stables, and the horses knew him well.

“Most likely,” the guard agreed, his face dark. “He took a change of clothes and a little dry food with him too. Who knows where that troublemaker’s gotten to? We have people out looking for him, but if he left on horseback in the middle of the night, without knowing which way he’s headed, they’ll never find him. That is, unless you have any idea?”

His conversation from a few days before came back to him, and Ico swallowed. Could Toto be headed toward the castle? But Toto doesn’t know where the castle lies-only the elder and Ico knew that. He couldn’t have gone by himself.

Still…

Even if it seemed to others that Ico couldn’t compose himself, it was only because his mind never stopped moving. He made himself replay the conversation in his head and remembered specifically telling Toto he couldn’t go to the castle-but Toto had never agreed. Maybe he had guessed that the castle lay in the same direction as the Forbidden Mountains and gone ahead to lie in wait for Ico and the entourage from the capital.

Of course, in order to actually reach the Castle in the Mist, you had to do more than just cross the Forbidden Mountains. From there, the elder had told him, you would take a trail west through a deep forest and over rocky highlands, along a steep and treacherous path that went on for days. Only the priest from the capital knew the way. It would take more than a miracle for Toto to reach the castle himself.

But he would be able to reach the mountains.

“Which horse did he take?” Ico asked.

“Arrow Wind.”

Arrow Wind was good on rocks and steep trails. Like his name suggested, he flew like an arrow through the narrowest ravines and across the highest cliff tops without fear or falter.

“He’s gone to the Forbidden Moutains,” Ico whispered.

The guard turned pale. “How do you know that?”

“No one from the village has gone north looking for him, have they?”

“Of course not, it’s forbidden. No one will go close.”

“No one except Toto. If he left in the middle of the night, he’s already there by now.” And when he sees what lies on the other side-

“I want you to ask the elder something for me,” Ico said suddenly. “He must lend me Silverstar. I’ll catch Toto and bring him back.”

The guard took a step backward. “What are you talking about? We can’t let you out of this cave. You know that.”

“But except for the elder, only I can enter the Forbidden Mountains, and he’s too old to ride Silverstar so far.”

The guard took another step back until he was flat against the door. “You mean you’ve been to the mountains?”

“Yes. The elder took me there when the Time of the Sacrifice came.”

“Why’d he do a thing like that?”

So that I would play my role without question, Ico thought, but he said, “We don’t have time to talk about these things-I have to go after Toto!”

The guard turned and dashed from the cave, locking the door behind him. Ico’s heart pounded. He paced in circles. He could not hear the sound of the loom today. The entire village must be in disarray. He wondered how his foster mother was taking the news.

What seemed like only a few moments later, the elder entered. The guard opened the door for him then quickly fled, leaving Ico and the elder alone inside.

“Elder, I-”

The elder’s open hand hit Ico’s cheek with such force that he lost his words and gaped. “Elder?”

“What nonsense did you put in that boy’s head?”

The elder’s face was severe, his mouth strangely twisted. Ico had never seen him this way before, not even on the day that he had taken him into the north.

“I haven’t told him anything-”

“I know Toto came here the other day. I looked the other way because I know he’s your friend. And now I see I have made a terrible mistake. What did you put him up to? What are you planning?”

Ico’s mind reeled. Planning? Me? Why would I want to involve Toto in any of this? He’s my best friend. Why is the elder accusing me of things I haven’t done? So great was Ico’s shock that he didn’t even notice how his face stung.

“I’ll admit, I didn’t imagine children were capable of such scheming,” the elder said, his hands clenching into fists at his sides, as if he were holding them back from striking Ico again. “Toto disappears, and you leave the village on the pretense of finding him. With you two on Silverstar and Arrow Wind, no hunter in the village would be able to catch you. Tell me plainly-where is Toto waiting to meet you? Where were you going to go once you were together? I shouldn’t have to mention that there is no safe haven for the boy with horns.”

“We weren’t planning anything! I swear!”

“You lie to me, even now?” the elder said.

“It’s not a lie! Why don’t you believe me?”

Ico went to hug the elder despite himself, but the elder brushed his hands away and turned his back to the boy. “It gave me much pride that day you accepted your fate as the Sacrifice so readily. Even as it filled me with sorrow that you must bear this burden, I felt great gratitude. And now, you have betrayed us all.”

Ico stood there, staring at the elder’s withered back, unable to think of anything to say. That back was cold and hard, a barrier that none of his explanations or pleas could hope to pass.

When Ico had been younger, he had often gone for rides upon that back. And he had known since the time when his horns had been nothing more than bumps, that before the day came when he could give the frail, weakened elder a ride upon his own back, he would have to leave the village.

“The Mark will be ready for you by the end of the day,” the elder said, still facing the wall. “Once it is complete, a signal fire in the watchtower will inform the priest’s entourage in their lodgings across the river that the time has come. They will be in Toksa within a day, and you will leave with them without delay.”

“I won’t go anywhere until Toto is back in the village,” Ico managed to say, forcing out the words.

“I thought you might say that.” The elder snickered; it was a cold, derisive sound. “Buying yourself more time, no doubt.”

“I’m not, I swear it!”

“Whatever the case, Silverstar has already left. A messenger has gone to tell the priest what has happened. We will wait for word from him before deciding what to do about the boy. Until then, we can only keep searching for Toto in hopes that he was struck with a sudden urge to go hunting and will return of his own accord. I will send no one toward the mountains in the north, let alone you. Your plan has failed.”

Ico felt something cold on his cheek and lifted his hand to touch it. For the first time, he realized he was crying.

“I never thought to run from my responsibility.”

The elder was silent.

“Especially not since we went to the Forbidden Mountains, and I saw what lay beyond. My heart hasn’t wavered, not even for a moment. I couldn’t let something like that happen to Toksa, or to any place. If I can help stop that-if that’s my fate-then I accept it.”

The elder stood as silent and still as an ancient tree. The only motion in the cave was Ico’s trembling lips and the teardrops that fell from his eyes.

“It’s not a lie,” Ico said. “I haven’t lied to you. I could never send Toto into danger, even if I wanted to escape. I couldn’t.”

The elder hung his head and spoke in a low, rough voice. “The old books tell us we must never trust our hearts to the Sacrifice. How I wish I had understood the meaning of those words before now.”

With his long robes dragging across the dirt behind him, the elder walked unsteadily from the cave. Ico didn’t try to stop him. He sat there in silence, quietly sobbing.

In the distance, the sound of the loom began.

Mother-I want to see her. She’d understand how I feel. Like she always does. “I know, Ico,” she’d say. “Don’t cry.”

Or maybe that, too, was only a dream. Maybe she would never be like that again. Maybe to accept his role as Sacrifice was to accept that the elder, and Oneh, and everyone else he knew would change forever.

For the first time, the cruelty of it all sank inside his heart. Ico covered his face with both hands and wept out loud.

Yeah, you’re a good horse, real good.

Arrow Wind’s hooves skipped lightly over the stones, never flagging. The horse’s body was sleek and supple beneath Toto’s legs, his neck thick and strong, and his eyes alight with a black luster. Arrow Wind galloped onward, his chestnut mane whipping in the wind.

Toto had never felt so alive in his life. He had always wanted to ride like this. He was having so much fun that he had almost forgotten where he was going and why he had snuck out of the village late in the night.

By the time the dawn star shone in the sky, he had already reached the foothills of the mountains in the north. There, he stopped to give Arrow Wind a rest, watering him and rubbing him down as he whispered words of praise in his ears. They had ridden hard across the grasslands separating the village from the mountains without stopping. Toto ate some baked crackers, drank some water, and waited for the first light of dawn before beginning the climb up the Forbidden Mountains.

It was his first time coming here-he had never even heard of someone making the trip until the other day. Even still, in the morning light, the mountains seemed almost disappointingly peaceful and green. There was no path up them, but the slope was easy, with only short, mossy grass growing beneath the swaying branches of the willow trees. Arrow Wind kept his pace well. Toto gave him an occasional rub on the neck to keep him from going too fast. Other than that, he leaned forward and listened to the pleasing sound the horse’s hooves made on the grass below.

By the time the sun was shining on him directly, he was nearly halfway up the mountains. He looked back down at the grassland over which they had come. It spread out flat as far as he could see. It was beautiful.

These mountains aren’t scary at all, he thought. What’s so forbidden about this?

Toto’s chest swelled. A light of hope lit his face from the inside. His heart danced, running ahead of him toward the Castle in the Mist. He would go there together with Ico, defeat the master in the castle, and save the village. There was nothing to be scared of after all. Everyone had let themselves be frightened into cowardice by rumors and stories. If only they had ever dared to face it head on, they would have realized that they were stronger.

Arrow Wind’s footfalls mirrored Toto’s heart, growing lighter with every step as the little warrior and his gallant horse made their way up toward the pass.

If Toto had been just a little older, and his eyes a little more like those of the wary hunter, he would have noticed something very strange. Other than himself and the horse beneath him, there was no sign of life on these hills. No birds sang, no insects buzzed. Only the leaves of the trees swayed in the cool forest air. This was why the hunters never strayed here, why it was taboo to venture under these boughs.

But Toto noticed nothing. Nor was Arrow Wind frightened. Together, they reached the pass. Here the forest and sky opened around them, and they could see for miles in every direction. Toto dismounted and walked through the pass, coming to a stop at the other side.

He saw something that staggered his imagination.

A city, surrounded by high, gray walls. It was giant, enormous, the largest city he’d ever seen. It was dozens of times larger than Toksa, at least. The houses were monumental stone edifices, standing close together. Brick-lined streets crisscrossed between them. He spotted something that must have been a church, with a tall spire that reached for the sky and a large hall with a flag flying above it.

And there were people. A great throng, filling the streets.

Toto’s eyes went wide, and his mouth gaped. Then, for the first time, he felt uneasy.

Why was the entire city so gray, from corner to corner? And the people too-why were they gray?

Why isn’t anyone moving?

Everyone stood in the streets, perfectly still. When he squinted his eyes and looked, he noticed the flag wasn’t moving either. Perhaps the breeze that blew against Toto’s cheek up here in the pass did not reach down so far.

5

THE MEN OF the village returned empty-handed from the day’s search. They watered their horses and rested aching limbs before quickly conferring and heading back out. The looks of determination in their eyes were undermined by a growing certainty that Toto had gone north, toward the mountains-though none dared say it.

Sometime after noon, the elder met with a messenger from the lodge across the river, come to tell them that the priest from the capital was growing tired of waiting.

In the weaving room, Oneh worked the loom tirelessly. She had only paused once that day, to glare at the elder when he came to make sure she wasn’t worrying about Toto instead of her task.

The elder had sent word back with the messenger, asking with utmost politeness for another three days. The messenger returned bearing both a message and an air of grandeur, and he cast a disparaging eye at the hunters hurrying to and from the village.

“If the situation here is beyond your ability to handle,” the messenger told the elder, “it would be a simple matter for us to send our guards to assist you.” There was a haughty ring to the man’s words.

The elder bowed deeply. “Please tell them it is nothing so serious. We are merely doing all that we can to carry out our instructions in accordance with the priest’s wishes. We remain, as always, entirely loyal.”

After the messenger left, the elder stood clenching his fists. He told himself that he was furious at Ico’s betrayal, at Toto’s recklessness, and Oneh’s stubbornness-but the more he tried to summon his wrath, the more his true feelings interfered. If that self-important, self-serving priest wants the Sacrifice so badly, why doesn’t he come dirty his own hands? Whatever excuses he might make, he knew the priest didn’t stay in Toksa because he didn’t want to hear the village’s laments at having to hand over the Sacrifice-to feel the accusatory stares of the villagers. The priest could lock Ico up in a cave, make Oneh weave the Mark, and silence the villagers’ questions himself…if he wasn’t such a coward. It left a bitter taste in the elder’s mouth to realize that no small part of his anger was directed at himself for striking Ico and speaking to him as he had.

A woman from the village arrived, breathless, calling for him. The hunter who had taken a fall several days before had just passed away. The elder’s heart sank even deeper, and the lines in his face hardened so that he looked more like a statue carved from stone than a man of living flesh. How easy it would be if only his heart would turn to stone as well. To stone. All to stone…

Toto sat astride Arrow Wind, gaping down at the scene below him. That’s why nothing moves.

Even the flag flying from the hall had been frozen in mid-flutter.

Toto urged Arrow Wind down the mountainside and rode directly through the city gates. The horse walked smoothly with Toto gripping the reins, but Toto no longer rode gallantly. He crouched low against the horse’s back, clinging to its living warmth for encouragement.

The world around him was petrified and gray.

The people in the streets around him had been frozen in time. Some pointed toward the sky, others ran, holding their heads in their hands, while still others held their mouths open in soundless screams. Toto wondered how many years they had stood there like this. When he reached out hesitantly to touch one, it crumbled into dust beneath his fingertips.

Arrow Wind whinnied and Toto steadied his grip on the reins.

No matter which turn he took on the winding streets, people turned to stone awaited him. At first, he tried to believe that these had all been created. Perhaps someone important from the capital had crafted a sculpture of an entire city here for some purpose beyond Toto’s comprehension. They had made countless statues-entire houses-and encircled the grim tableau within a wall when they were done.

But why would they do that? Was the city a decoy of some kind? Toto nodded, pleased with his theory. It has to be that. When the enemy saw a city full of people unprepared, men without helmets, with bundles on their backs, leading children by the hand, people carrying baskets and fetching water, they would be tempted to attack. And then-

Toto’s imagination failed to produce the second phase of the strategy. It also struck him as odd that the statues would be crying and shouting and obviously fearful if they were intended to appear an easy target. And nothing explained why so many of them were pointing upward, toward the western sky.

Toto was not the brightest boy, but he had a keen eye for detail, and everything he saw undermined his attempts to remain calm. The looks of abject fear on the faces of the stone people. Hands raised as though to ward off the fast approach of…something. Lips shaped around cries of despair when there was no longer time to escape.

He reached the entrance to a street where a pile of barrels sat, one stacked upon the other. Toto stopped. Dismounting, he reached out to touch one of the barrels, and its surface crumbled like a castle of sand. Craning his neck, he saw a figure behind the barrels-a boy about the same height as he, cowering. Fragments of the crumbled barrel dusted his stone hair.

The boy was smiling.

Toto understood instantly. He wasn’t hiding from whatever it was everyone else had been looking at-he was playing hide-and-seek. Whatever happened to the people in this city had happened so quickly, he hadn’t even had time to realize that he was about to die.

Reluctantly, Toto admitted what he had known for some time already. This city was no grand work of sculpture. This was the reason why the mountains in the north were forbidden. This was the curse of the Castle in the Mist.

The master in the castle was capable of dooming an entire walled city in the space of a breath.

This was what Ico had seen. This was what he meant by “trouble,” why he was so determined to sacrifice himself for the village.

Arrow Wind gave a light whinny and rubbed his nose on Toto’s shoulder. Toto stood, rubbing the horse’s neck, unable to take his eyes off the stone boy. At the end of the street, he saw a stable. The horses were still inside, their manes a uniform ashen gray. Toto was acutely aware of Arrow Wind’s warmth beneath his hand, the softness of his mane, and the musty smell of him. He pictured Arrow Wind turning to stone, a cold gray like the other horses.

Arrow Wind whinnied louder, his front hooves lifting off the ground. Toto pulled on the reins and looked up at him, when he spotted something in the western sky-something that shouldn’t be. It was a thin black mist, or perhaps a distant swarm of insects. As the mist drifted closer, it began to coalesce into a shape. He saw a broad forehead, the straight bridge of the nose, and flowing black hair. Finally, he saw a pair of eyes.

It was a woman’s face, covering the sky above him.

Toto heard a soundless voice.

Who are you?

Toto remembered playing once with Ico in a cave near the village. They had gone deeper than any of the other kids dared and discovered an underground pool. The water was as clear as crystal, and a faint light glowed at the bottom. Ico and Toto threw stones into the pool. The echoes of the splashes reverberated off the walls of the cave, followed by another splash and another echo. They kept tossing stones until the echoes overlapped one another, making a strange music that sounded almost like a vesper prayer. That was what this voice reminded him of-though the woman’s face hung in the sky, her voice seemed to echo from the depths of the earth. Or maybe she was speaking directly into Toto’s soul.

Who are you? Why are you here?

The woman’s lips twisted like pennants in the wind.

Intruder.

Now Arrow Wind reared and shook his mane, and the reins slipped from Toto’s hand. Before he could regain them, the horse galloped off madly.

“Arrow Wind!” Toto screamed after him.

The horse kicked his way through a crowd of stony faces. In the sky above, the woman turned her gaze to follow him. Lips of black mist pursed and she blew a gentle breath.

Toto felt an icy wind blow over his head. The breath swept down the street, catching Arrow Wind in an instant and wrapping around his beautiful chestnut coat. Toto watched as his bushy tail, his hind hooves, his legs, and finally his back and mane turned to gray.

Arrow Wind’s scream ended abruptly; he was frozen in stone, front legs rearing up, hooves inches away from another of the stony city dwellers.

Toto’s breath stopped. Arrow Wind-

“No!”

A scream ripped from Toto’s throat and he started to run. I have to escape. I have to get out of this place-away from her. I have to get out of here alive, back to my village.

Toto ran in a daze. He did not dare look behind him, but he could feel that face floating there in the sky, giving chase, the same way he understood without looking that the face was smiling.

He pushed down a crowd of stone figures in his way, leapt over the fragments, and rounded a corner. A woman carrying a basket of ashen flowers crumbled into pieces at his feet when he slammed into her on the other side. Coughing from the dust, Toto ran even faster. If only he could reach the city wall, the gate where he had entered. Which way was it? Right, left? Where am I?

He felt a frigid breeze blow over his head, and a scream rose in his throat as he tripped and fell to the ground. Just ahead he saw the yawning door of a house, propped open by a stick. The inside was darker than the street, but still that same uniform gray. Everything within had been turned to stone as well.

Another breeze raced overhead, and Toto dashed into the house. As he darted through the door, something hit his leg and crumbled with a loud noise-a chair or a person, he wasn’t sure. Daylight streamed in through the window. Toto crouched low, crawling through the rooms of the house. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the dark swirling mass of the woman’s face outside the window. It warped as it moved, swelling first, then thinning into a line, speeding after him like an angry swarm of wasps.

Toto shoved aside the rubble in the room with both hands, reaching a patch of wall beneath the window. He slumped, back to the wall. He was out of breath, and his heart felt like it might leap out of his throat.

The face made no noise when it moved. In that, it was different than a buzzing swarm of insects, and it made it difficult for him to get up after he had found what felt like safety against the wall. What if he risked a peek outside only to see that face filling the sky, those dark eyes staring straight at him? He wished he had some way of guessing where it might be.

A tear fell from his cheek-apparently he had been crying with fright, though he hadn’t noticed until now. Toto forced himself to steady his breath, and rubbed his face with his hands.

He took a look around the room.

A table carved from what had once been wood stood by his feet. There was a round cushion on the floor and a chair lying on its back. Everything was the color of ash. A tapestry hung on the wall opposite the window, the sort that was a specialty of Toksa’s weavers. He could still make out the design: an intricate depiction of the sun and the moon and the stars wheeling through the sky. Though it was drab now, Toto could imagine how it once looked, sparkling and bright-a masterpiece. The fabric would have been soft, yet weighty, the luxurious threads plush against the skin. Now it was more like a thin slice of dry, crusty bread stuck to the wall.

I wonder how long the city has been like this. How long has it been since the city was last alive? A perfectly shaped fruit sat next to him on the floor. Its skin was unblemished. He touched it gently with one finger, and the surface crumbled, leaving a round impression in the shape of his fingertip. He grabbed it and squeezed as hard as he could; the fruit disintegrated into a fine gray dust that ran between his fingers. In time, Toto thought, that’s all that will remain of this place. Dust.

As Toto took another shuddering breath, he noticed something-a pair of eyes near the floor on the other side of the room. They were looking in his direction. Gradually, he made out the form of a slender person, with the long hair of a woman, lying on her side. She had fine features and lay with her right ear against the ground. Her shoulders were hunched and her legs were bent at the knees, as though she had been cowering in a chair. Even in stone, the supple lines of her shape, like the branches of a willow tree, were beautiful.

Her eyes were open wide in a stony stare. She almost seemed to be smiling at Toto. Perhaps she was someone’s mother or sister. He wondered what her last words had been-what she had been thinking when she died.

“I’m sorry,” Toto whispered, covering his face with his hands. He began to cry. I never should have come here. I shouldn’t have set foot in this place. What a fool I am.

He sobbed out loud now, unable to restrain himself any longer, and his shoulders heaved. The motion must have disturbed the wall behind him, for he heard a loud noise and the sound of something crumbling. Toto jumped to his feet and looked to see that a pole holding the window shutters open from the outside had fallen and collapsed into dust.

On his knees now, Toto shuffled away from the window. He saw the face flying through the sky, drawn by the noise. Toto’s stomach did a somersault.

She’ll find me!

There was no escape outside. He considered moving into another room. He could see a doorway, but a large cupboard had fallen over in front of it, and he didn’t think he’d be able to climb over in time. He looked around for any other exits.

Toto spotted an opening in another wall. He moved, quick as a woodland hare, dashing through the opening and then falling headfirst. As he began to tumble, he realized he was on a staircase leading into a cellar.

At the bottom, his head hit a wall, sending stars through his vision, and he heard an incredible crashing noise from above. A moment later, the light coming in through the doorway at the top of the stairs dimmed.

Toto sat up and looked around in the meager light. Where he had rolled through the cellar, things lay broken, just like the fruit upstairs.

I’m trapped…

Toto looked up at the thin ray of light shining through a hole in the rubble above. It looked like pieces of the house had fallen over the top third of the stairway. He wondered if he might be able to clear it out by hand.

But if I go up there, that monster will be waiting for me.

Toto turned back to the darkness of the cellar. The chilly air and dusty smell were the same as they had been above. It seemed large for an underground room. Maybe that meant another exit.

Toto began to crawl along the floor, searching. His hands met only the cold stone beneath him. He groped toward the right and found another wall. He pried at it with his fingers for a moment, then stopped.

Wait, that’s not a wall. It’s a piece of furniture. It’s divided into sections-and there’s something inside.

In the darkness, Toto’s face took on a serious, grown-up expression-the kind he’d never shown to anyone before, not even Ico. He began probing the cavity intently with his fingers, feeling the shapes of the objects, tapping them lightly with his fingers. He wrapped the tips of his fingers around one.

It moved and fell into Toto’s hand. He picked it up carefully and brought it into the light at the bottom of the stairs.

It was a book. He had found a bookshelf.

Of course the book was stone. He couldn’t open it, and his fingers left small indentations in the cover. In the dim light it was hard to make out the words, but he could see enough to tell that they were written in unfamiliar letters.

Toto was reminded of the bookshelves in the elder’s house. He and Ico had been scolded once when they snuck in to take a look. In that house, every part of the wall, save the door itself, was covered in books. The book of stone he held in his hands now looked a lot like those in the elder’s study.

Maybe this place was a study too? He wondered if the master of this house had been an important person like the elder. A scholar of ancient wisdom. Toto tried to be careful, yet even steadying his grip on the book made it break and crumble. He laid it gently on the floor and resumed his search, sweeping across the ground with his hands. Toward the back of the room it was so dark he couldn’t even see the tip of his own nose. Still, he was able to discover that three of the walls here were bookshelves, all filled to overflowing.

Somehow, it put him at ease. The elder was always saying they should read. Study, he told them often. Knowledge makes a man strong. Toto had never really listened. All a hunter needed was a keen eye and a steady hand. He could leave the studying to the slow of foot.

Even still, in this city of mysteries, hiding from something more frightful than the darkness around him, that tiny seed of respect for knowledge that had been planted inside him stirred and whispered to him in a tiny voice.

This place is safe.

This place is protected.

Or, Toto thought, maybe I’ve gone crazy and I’m hearing things.

He was standing in a fortress of books-a fortress with no other exit but those stairs.

There was nothing to do about it but find a way up and out. If he waited too long, the sun would go down and he would be left to cope in the pitch dark.

Wait-

Maybe it was better for him to remove the rubble and go upstairs after the sun had set. If the face couldn’t see him, how could it find him? Once darkness fell on the city, there would be any number of places where Toto could hide.

I’m a hunter, Toto thought furiously, putting a fist to his chest. He could run at night. He wouldn’t lose his way. He merely needed to look up at the stars and judge the moon’s height and he would be able to find his way out of the city and back home.

It’ll be hard without Arrow Wind.

Toto gritted his teeth and held back the trepidation he could feel growing inside him. It would be too easy to drown in self-pity. But that’s no way to be, he thought. No more crying. I have to get home.

Okay! Forgetting where he was for a moment, Toto stood tall. As he did, his left elbow smacked something so hard he gasped in pain. Whatever he had hit collapsed with a thud-a small piece of furniture he hadn’t noticed, perhaps.

Toto felt something moving through the air, and he sprang back in the nick of time. Something much larger than whatever his elbow had just encountered whooshed by his ear to collapse on the floor with a reverberating crash.

Toto had to cover his mouth and nose against the dust. He guessed that whatever little thing he had disturbed had knocked against one of the bookshelves and brought the whole thing down.

After waiting for the dust to settle, he began to feel around with his hands, quickly finding a mountain of shattered books. Something shimmered amongst the fragments.

At first, he doubted his eyes. It couldn’t be catching the light from upstairs; this part of the floor was pitch black, which meant something here was giving off its own light. It had a pale, beautiful gleam, like that of the Hunter’s Star, visible even on cloudy nights.

Toto felt through the pile with both hands, quickly retrieving the glimmering object. It was another book, not of stone, but of paper. It felt old and weathered, and there was no mistaking the feel of it in his hands.

Toto quickly moved into the light and began to examine his finding. The book was thin, with a white cover. Even when held directly in the light coming from upstairs, the book clearly gave off its own light.

Gingerly, he wiped the dust from its cover. The book’s glow brightened. Five words were written on the front in a script Toto had never learned, but he recognized it as the same script used in the old books back in the village.

The elder could read this.

More than its contents, Toto wondered how this book-one single book-had managed to avoid the dreadful curse that the Castle in the Mist had laid upon this city. And why did it glow with such a pure white light?

Whatever the book was, it must have been very strong indeed to have stood up to the castle’s wrath. Maybe, Toto thought, it can save me too.

Toto examined the rubble covering the staircase, then set to work, picking up one piece at a time, moving as carefully as possible so as not to make a single sound. By the time he had removed enough to pass, the sun had already set. Still, Toto remained crouched at the bottom of the stairs, waiting patiently. Come on, night, he thought. Moon, don’t show yourself, please. Hang darkness like a curtain over my path and let me get out of here alive!

He dozed while he waited, clutching the glimmering book to his chest with both hands, like a warrior holding his bow or his spear before battle, so close that it almost became a part of his body.

When all had fallen into the darkness of night, Toto climbed the steps. The curious book in his arms glowed, giving him courage and lighting the ground at his feet. He found he was able to make the glow stop simply by placing his hand over its cover. That would keep him safe from the watchful eyes of that face in the sky.

Toto began to run through the sleeping stones of the city. He didn’t get lost. As frightened as he was, his hunter’s instincts did not abandon him this time.

He came upon Arrow Wind, and for a moment, tears rose in his eyes, and he stopped. Toto stroked the horse’s rigid mane with one hand and hugged his back. I’m sorry. I never should have brought you here. And now I have to leave you all alone.

“But I’ll come back for you someday, I promise.”

With that whispered oath, Toto made for the city gates.

He was out of the cursed city. Toto ran to the foot of the Forbidden Mountains without stopping. His breath was ragged, his chest ached, and his muscles screamed with exhaustion, but he did not rest. If he didn’t run now, he would be too late.

In Toto’s arms, the book glowed.

As he began to climb, the moon showed its face on the far side of the forest. It was as if it had waited for him to find the shelter of the trees.

Under the moonlight, the book glowed even brighter. It seemed to Toto then that, by some means beyond his comprehension, the moonlight and the book’s light were smiling at each other.

It was only a little farther to the pass. Not even the best hunters in the village could run like this. But Toto ran and ran faster, as though his very feet were enchanted.

6

THE ELDER AWOKE feeling even more exhausted after a night of fitful sleep than he had when he lay down the evening before. His eyes opened at the first shout at his door.

“Elder! We found him! We found Toto!”

He sat up and bade the man come in. The face of one of the older hunters appeared in his doorway. “They’re bringing him in now.”

A search party who had gone out at dawn had discovered Toto lying in a field.

“How is he?”

“Too weak to talk. But his eyes are open, and he can hear us.”

The elder quickly dressed and went outside to see a commotion at the village entrance. The search party had returned, carrying Toto between them on a wide wooden board. Oneh ran out from the back, but the elder waved her away. “To the weaving room, now.”

“But-”

“You are to do nothing but weave the Mark. I demand it.”

Oneh’s thin shoulders drooped and she withdrew.

The elder hurried to Toto’s house. Toto’s father was a hunter and a craftsman besides, skilled at making the implements needed for the hunt. He was not a man to be easily alarmed, but his face was pale and rigid as he watched the others carry his son through the door. The elder guessed that the woman he could hear wailing from inside the cottage was Toto’s mother.

“Have you called the physician?” he asked one of the men standing there.

“We sent a man on Silverstar to fetch him, Elder.”

Inside, the men carrying Toto lifted him gently onto his bed. His father stroked Toto’s hair and his mother hugged him, still weeping, while his little brother and sister pushed their way through the small crowd of men, crying and calling out Toto’s name.

Toto’s eyelids fluttered, and the elder saw his lips move, but there was no sound. Though he was covered with dust and scratches, he appeared to have been spared any serious injuries. His legs lay limp across the bed and his arms were clutched tightly across his chest.

The elder noticed that Toto was holding something. He took a breath, and in a loud, clear voice, announced, “Everyone, thank you for bringing Toto back to us safely. This is a time for all to rejoice. However, I must ask that, for a moment, you leave me alone with the boy. There’s something very important I must discuss with him.”

Most of the men hadn’t even realized the elder was there among them until he spoke. Quickly, they stepped away so that he might reach the boy, but Toto’s parents would not leave the boy’s side.

“I’m sorry,” the elder apologized to them, “but my duties require that I speak with Toto alone.” The elder looked at each of their faces in turn. “The physician will be here shortly. I need only a moment’s time before he arrives.”

The fate of our village might very well depend upon it, he thought.

Finally, they seemed to understand. Toto’s father gently touched his wife’s shoulder and they stood. Tears streaming down her face, his mother rubbed Toto’s head and cheek before she left.

Once everyone had gone, the elder gathered up his robes and hurried over to Toto’s bedside where he knelt.

“Toto. Do you know who I am?”

Toto’s head nodded slightly.

“Can you speak?”

The boy’s dried, cracked lips parted. “E-Elder…”

The elder placed a hand on Toto’s forehead. It was as damp and cold as clay never touched by the sun. He rubbed the boy’s skin and his hand came away covered with a fine gray dust. The feeling of it between his fingers sent a shiver up the elder’s spine, and he recalled what he had seen from the pass in the Forbidden Mountains.

The elder touched a hand to Toto’s arm and then to his legs. Everywhere he touched felt cold, and everywhere was covered by the same ashen dust. His clothes were infused with the smell of the stone city.

“You went beyond the mountains.”

Toto blinked and nodded.

“You went through the pass and down the other side. And then into the city.”

Toto nodded again.

“You saw the people turned to stone?”

Toto’s lips formed the words I saw.

“And you saw something else. What?”

In response, a single tear fell from the corner of Toto’s eye, and his entire body began to tremble.

“You met someone, didn’t you? Who? What did you see in that city of death?”

Toto’s breath quickened as though he were struggling to wring the last strength from his tiny frame. “F-face.”

“A face? What kind of face?”

“A woman…a woman’s face. I was…afraid,” he managed through tears.

Pity swelled in the elder’s heart, but his fear was greater. His hands clenched into fists. “Did she chase you?”

Toto closed his eyes and nodded. The elder’s blood went cold, and his heart began to beat raggedly in his chest.

“You have gone to a place where you should never have been and done something you should never have done.”

Toto’s small teeth chattered. “I-I’m sorry.”

Toto tried to move his arms on his chest, but they seemed to be stuck together. Toto’s slender muscles tensed and the layer of ashen dust covering his skin cracked and began to flake, like rust falling from iron.

“I found…this,” Toto said, finally loosening his arms enough so the elder could see what they held.

It’s a book-an ancient book.

“The book…”

The elder gently grabbed Toto’s wrists, helping the boy loosen his grasp.

“The book protected me,” Toto said in a hoarse whisper, and his eyes looked up at the elder. He was trying to give him the book.

Once the elder had helped Toto pry his arms far enough apart, the book slid easily out. Quickly, the elder caught it in his hand and lifted it up.

The cover was coated in gray dust, but the elder could tell that the cloth binding was a lighter white. The smell of dust filled his nostrils-the same smell the wind had carried when he stood looking down upon the city.

The elder carefully wiped the front cover and read the short series of letters running across it.

The Book of Light.

His eyes narrowed. How could it be?

“Toto,” he said, eyes still fixed on the book, “where did you find this? Did you truly find this in the city?” He grabbed the boy’s shoulder and shook him, his voice growing louder. But Toto’s eyes had lost their focus, and his arms fell limply to his sides, their task complete.

“Answer me, boy!”

Toto’s gaze drifted slowly, coming to rest for a moment on the elder’s face. His mouth moved. “The…light.”

“Light? What about the light?” The elder held his ear to Toto’s mouth, straining to hear. “Tell me about the light, Toto!”

Then the elder thought he heard the boy whisper I’m sorry, but whatever he said next was lost in the elder’s own scream.

As he lay there on the bed, Toto’s body began to harden, starting at his fingertips. It was as though a gray wave washed over him, covering his entire body while the elder watched.

“Toto!” The elder reached out as if to snatch Toto away from that wave, but where he touched the boy’s shoulder it was already cold and hard. A breath later, his chin, nose, and cheeks turned to stone.

Toto’s eyes went wide, as though he saw something there, hanging above him-but before it could come into focus, his pupils shrank and turned to stone. The elder swiftly leaned over the boy as if he could catch in his eyes a reflection of what Toto had been looking at, but by then, even the boy’s hair had turned gray and rigid.

Dizziness came over the elder, and he staggered, dropping the book from his hands and leaning upon the boy’s bed for support. The book bounced on the bed with a soft sound, then landed flat on its back beside the boy’s cheek.

The Book of Light.

The book came to rest, touching the side of the boy’s face as though to give it one last stroke. Toto was still crying when the last patch of skin finally turned to stone.

Hands trembling, the elder picked up the book and clasped it in his own arms, much as the boy had done until a moment before.

It wasn’t supposed to exist. He had thought it long gone, lost to a distant past.

It protected him.

The elder raised the book to eye level. It glowed with a steady light. Though it was covered with dust from the cursed stone of the city, the light itself was unblemished and pure. The book breathed in the elder’s hands, pouring the strength it held within its covers into the old man.

The elder felt the shaking in his limbs quiet, and his breathing became easier as the light purified him to the very core of his being.

“God of Light,” the elder whispered. “Ancient knowledge, guardian of eternal purity.”

A single teardrop ran down his wrinkled cheek, tarrying a moment on his chin before falling like the first drop of spring rain upon budding crops down onto Toto’s right cheek. He looked at the book. “You called Toto to do this.”

You lay hidden deep, waiting year after year until the time was right for you to return to me in my confusion and fear.

The elder lowered his head to touch the cover of the book, and with all his body and spirit, he prayed. When at last he looked up, he gently rubbed his hand over Toto’s head.

“You did it, brave Toto. You did it.”

The elder stood.

There was no time for delay. The elder called all of the villagers together and quickly gave instructions.

“For the next three days, there is to be no hunting. Men must stand in the four corners of the village with fires lighted, keeping watch in shifts. The fires must stay lit both day and night. The women must purify all the village with water and salt, and work every loom we have. Children, while the sun still remains in the sky, you must sing festival songs. Those who can play instruments, bring them and play. Once the sun sets and the village gates are closed, all must remain inside, save those men who are on watch, and no one is to make a sound. Rest your bodies and sleep holding hands, that you may bar entrance to nightmares. When the dawn comes, we will do again tomorrow what we have done today. These next three days are the most important.”

The people of the village looked at the elder in bewilderment. His instructions to work all the looms flew directly in the face of his earlier command that only the loom in the weaving room might be used during the Time of the Sacrifice. Some wondered if he had gone mad-but the elder permitted no discussion.

“I need you to follow these new orders, and follow them well. On the morning of the fourth day, we will set the signal fire and summon the priest from his lodgings. He will come that day and take Ico with him to the Castle in the Mist.”

“But, Elder, why light watch fires around the village if we are not preparing for war? What’s going on? Why do these things without reason?”

“There is a reason,” the elder replied firmly. “And this is war.”

When all instructions had been given, the elder left for the weaving room. Without a word, he took Oneh’s hand from the spindle and tore the half-woven Mark from the loom, nearly startling her to death.

“What are you doing, husband?” she cried, her face flushed. “What is the meaning of this?”

The elder put both hands on Oneh’s shoulders. “When the knowledge and courage once separated are again together bound, then the long-cursed mist will lift, and the light of the ancients will be reborn upon the land.”

“What…”

The elder reached inside his robes and withdrew the book, opening its cover and showing it to her. “Look. See the design drawn here? See how it is like the picture of the Mark I gave to you?”

Oneh looked between her husband and the open book. He was right. The resemblance to the Mark was striking, though it was not a perfect match.

“This is the Mark you must weave for Ico. Throw away all you have done until now. You must make this new Mark as quickly as you can. We have no time. We must weave it together while the strength of the village still holds.”

A light shone in her husband’s eyes. It was that light, more than his words, that moved her.

“Will this new Mark save Ico?” she asked, grabbing her husband’s sleeve.

The elder nodded. “I pray so, yes. And then Ico will save us all.”

7

A THIN LIGHT drifted up from the bottom of the pool, washing over Ico like a fresh, chilly breeze.

“Think it’s deep?”

“Probably.”

“We could try swimming down. I bet it goes somewhere,” Toto said, tossing in a small stone.

“It’s cold here, but I like it.”

“Yeah. Really cleans out the chest.”

These are memories, Ico thought. This isn’t happening now. We were exploring the cave. We found a pool of water. I almost dropped my torch…

Ico opened his eyes with a start.

A thin light trickled through the small window at the top of the cave. Dawn, probably, he thought. His body was frigid down to the bone, and everything ached. He hadn’t been able to sleep well the night before due to the cold. That explains my dream.

It hadn’t been easy descending into that cave with Toto. There had been a lot of scaling up and down sheer rock. But thanks to the cold he hadn’t even broken a sweat. He remembered the sound of his chattering teeth echoing off the walls of the cave.

The dim phosphorescence at the bottom of the pool was beautiful, yet fleeting-a spectral gown worn by a dancing ghost. He could close his eyes and see it. There was Toto, standing next to him, eyes sparkling, enchanted by the light in the water.

Things had been busy in the village outside his cave these last three days. He heard drums and bells and children singing, starting with the first light of morning and carrying on until nightfall. Maybe, he thought, this is how they welcome the priest.

He wondered what Toto was doing. He couldn’t picture him singing with the other kids.

“What nonsense did you put in that boy’s head?”

Ico hadn’t been able to eat or sleep for a day after the elder’s visit. All he wanted to do was smash his head against the wall of the cave. But a day later, the guard had told him that Toto had returned. Weeping with relief, Ico begged the guard to tell him how they had found Toto. “Was he hurt? Why’d he leave? Can I see him, just for a little?”

The guard was silent.

“Do not worry about Toto,” the elder had told him on a later visit. “All you need to worry about is fulfilling your role as the Sacrifice.” His voice had sounded confident and serene, but bitterness stained his face.

“Be sure to eat. You’ll be leaving soon.”

Then the elder had left, and Ico was alone again in the cave. The only company he found was in his dreams.

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.

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.”

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.