ICO: Castle in the Mist (17 page)

Ico smiled and took her hand, keeping a firm grasp on the lever with the other.

“It’s okay, it’s safe. Doesn’t the wind feel great?”

The rails ran along the edge of the building in a straight line. Ico took a deep breath, feeling the air rush over his body and clear away the lingering darkness of the tower. For a moment, he forgot his questions, his doubts, and his fear over what was to come.

Ahead, the rails curved gently to the right. Ico slowed the trolley. Feeling the wind ripple along the Mark on his chest, he turned to the girl with a smile.

She was gone. In her place stood a little girl of only three or four years. She was wearing a white sleeveless dress that went all the way down to her ankles. Instead of a shawl, the dress had a collar embroidered with a pretty flower pattern. The girl’s hair was long, and she wore it tied into a single ponytail at the back. It sparkled a bright yellow, like flax.

The girl grabbed hold of the railing of the trolley with her little hands and laughed out loud. The laughter made her chestnut eyes glow a bright amber.

“Faster! Faster!” she called out. “Isn’t this fun, Father?”

The world swam past them. Though the girl’s laughter still rang in his ears, Ico saw that she was looking at him, speaking to him. Like she knew him.
Or maybe she sees somebody else here, not me.

Then she was begging him, still in that bright, childlike voice, wanting to know if he would play with her again on his next visit home. If he would give her a ride on the trolley again, to promise that he would.

The trolley sped like the wind, making Ico’s tongue feel dry when he opened his mouth to speak.

“Thank you, Father!” the little girl was saying. “Thank you!”

With a start, Ico realized that the little girl was gone, replaced by the girl he had rescued from the cage—still holding his hand, her other hand gripping the metal bar of the railing. The transition between vision and reality had been so seamless it was hard to tell which was which.

They were approaching the curve. Ico applied more pressure to the lever. The trolley swayed in protest, then began to slow, its inertia carrying it smoothly around the bend.

Who was that little girl? Was she a younger version of the girl at his side? Ico felt like he had been dreaming with his eyes open, like he had plunged into someone else’s memory—happy memories of a childhood long past.

Thank you, Father!

The rails ran along the edge of a cliff. Beyond, Ico could see only blue sky and the sea below.
I’d better slow down more.

When he looked up from the lever, Ico noticed more of the shadowy creatures standing along the wall above them, as though they were seeing the trolley off. They were there only an instant, but Ico sensed their glowing white eyes following their passage.

They’re not chasing us.

Something about the way the creatures stood there made them look lonely. Or maybe it was just another vision. It was getting harder for Ico to tell.

Farther ahead, the rails came to an end at another platform. Ico carefully let go of the lever. The trolley slowed, its wheels making a loud rattling noise before the cart settled to a stop.

Ico scrambled up onto the platform, sure that the shadow creatures would be waiting, but there was nothing. He saw a passageway with an arched roof leading from the far end of the sun-drenched platform.
At least it’s not a dead end.
He took the girl by the hand and helped her off the trolley.

Through the arch, they passed along a narrow corridor, exiting onto a terrace with square pillars. The terrace led to the balcony of another vast hall with a high, peaked ceiling. A latticework of thick beams crossed overhead, supporting a massive chandelier lit with dozens of candles that hung in the middle of the hall.

A bridge crossed to the far side of the hall. Leaving the girl behind for a moment, he walked to the center of the bridge, testing it carefully with each step. He grasped the handrail and looked down. Below, he saw the decayed remains of furniture. Here was a toppled candelabrum, there a large pedestal where a statue of a woman had once stood, the statue itself now lying broken on the floor. The great hall was nearly round, and he could see a pair of double doors leading outside. Both of the doors were open wide, letting sunlight spill in—perhaps from the courtyard. He could see green grass beyond the threshold.

Ico wondered how far down the cart had taken them. They had been traveling quite fast—they might have come a very far way down in the castle indeed.

The thought put Ico at ease.
Maybe if we can get down to those doors, we can get outside.

The only problem was, there didn’t seem to be any way to get from the top of the bridge on the second floor down to the floor of the great hall. What stairs he could see went up toward the ceiling, not down to the floor below, forming a sort of catwalk that seemed without purpose.

Maybe
, he thought,
in the distant past
,
well-appointed ladies and knights would pass back and forth over the walkways and the bridge, waving down to the guests on the floor below in celebration of some great victory in battle. Cheers would rise up from both levels as they welcomed their hero
…

That is, if anyone ever really lived in the Castle in the Mist.

He went a little farther, each creaking step reminding him of the toll the years had taken on the bridge, leaving it cracked and chipped in many places. The far end where it met the other side of the room was the most precarious. There, a crack as long as the distance from Ico’s elbow to his wrist and as wide as the palm of his hand had opened in it. He could see through to the floor of the great hall. He stuck his fingers into the crack, sending fragments of stone down to the floor.

Walking carefully back to the girl, Ico shook his head. “This hall is pretty enough, but what a strange design. There’s no way to get down to the lower part. We have to find another way.”

To Ico’s surprise, the girl shook her head.

Did she understand me?

“Maybe if we had a rope…” He shrugged and offered his hand to the girl. She hesitated before taking it.

“I wonder if we can climb down that wall by the edge,” Ico said, looking around. Just then, he saw the little girl with the sleeveless dress and flaxen ponytail running down the right side of the room.

The vision again!

A man wearing loose trousers and a gently flowing tunic appeared behind her, striding slowly along the walkway. Before Ico even had time to call out, the little girl tripped on the hem of her dress and fell. She shrieked and pitched forward, catching herself on the stone floor with her hands. She started to cry.

When the girl tripped, the man quickened his pace, stretching out his arms toward her. “I told you not to run like that.” He picked up the little girl, lifting her to his shoulders. “What a tomboy you’ve become, Yorda.”

His voice was gentle. Tucking the girl under his left arm, he rubbed her cheek with the other. Drying her tears. A ring on his finger, deeply engraved, caught the light—

Ico pulled his hand away from the girl, shivering and jumping back. He let go so suddenly that she staggered and nearly fell.

“Who—who are you?” Ico demanded. “Every time I grab your hand, I see things. It’s so real. And they’re all right here, in the castle. It’s like I can see the past playing out before my eyes. Who are you? Did you used to live here?” He said it all in one breath, growing surer with every word that these visions he was seeing were her memories.

“Yorda…that’s your name?” Hands clenched into fists, he walked up to her. “It is, isn’t it? Your hair was longer when you were little. You used to run down the corridors here and ride in the trolley. Your father was here too…”

The girl shook her head slowly from side to side.

Does she mean she doesn’t understand? Or is she saying I’m wrong?

“I don’t know what you mean if you just shake your head like that!” Ico blurted out, unable to contain his irritation. Ico’s voice echoed off the ceiling. He imagined that the chandelier even swayed a little.

The girl did not answer. Without a sound, she walked out onto the bridge. When she reached the large crack, she stopped and peered down. Then she returned to stand directly beneath the chandelier, lifted one finger and pointed up.

“What? What are you trying to say?” Ico said, keeping his distance. “What is it?”

The girl kept her finger raised.

“What? The chandelier?” Ico asked angrily.

The girl nodded.

“What am I supposed to do with that?”

Ico put both hands on his waist and glared at the girl. She lowered her hand and her shoulders drooped—a little girl who was scolded.

Ico cursed himself for letting his temper get away from him. There was enough to worry about in this castle without making her afraid. He felt his irritation melt away.

“Look, I’m not sure what you’re trying to tell me,” he began, taking a deep breath. “But if it will make you happy, I’ll go check out that chandelier. You come over here, okay? I don’t want you standing underneath that thing.”

The girl quickly stepped back to the near side of the bridge. Ico walked up the staircase along the wall. There were rows of small windows set in the far side of the hall—if he used the windowsills as handholds, he might be able to climb up to the rafters.

It wasn’t as difficult as he had imagined. Soon he had his hands on one of the thick rafters. Pulling himself up carefully, he stood on top. The rafter was slick with dust, but the wood felt sturdy beneath him and was easily wide enough to walk across. Ico’s leather sandals left clear marks in the white dust.

He made his way toward the chandelier, then knelt, inspecting the fastenings holding it to the rafter. Several metal brackets held an iron chain that went down to a central post on the chandelier, though about half of them had rusted and split, and the rest were dangerously warped.

Maybe she was telling me it was dangerous to walk on the bridge because the chandelier might fall on our heads?
But then he wondered how she had noticed from the ground.
And if it was likely to fall, why was she standing beneath it?

Ico craned his neck to look down over the side of the chandelier, careful not to let his feet slip. The girl was doing as Ico had told her, standing far to the side, looking up at him with a worried expression on her face. He tried waving to her. She didn’t respond. No other helpful gestures or instructions appeared to be forthcoming.

Ico sat down on the rafter, letting his legs hang down off the side. It was cool and dark up here. Away from the girl, he felt himself relax. The thought made him feel guilty.
Why should being away from her make me relax?
But it was the truth.

He felt like he had been running from the moment he escaped that sarcophagus. He hadn’t even had a moment to sit down and think, or even just to breathe. It was a welcome break.

Without even realizing it, Ico had been rubbing the Mark on his chest. It calmed him and gave him strength.
I’m getting out of here. I’m going home. Everyone is waiting for me. The doors outside are right down there. I can see them. I just have to figure out a way to get down there, and we’ll be walking on the grass, in the sun.

There would be plenty of time to wonder who the girl was and what the words of the shadow creatures meant once he was safely outside. Maybe the elder would know something. He could just ask.

There was no point in thinking too hard about it now or worrying about the visions he saw whenever he held the girl’s hand. Maybe that was just the castle trying to scare him. Maybe it had nothing to do with the girl at all.

Then why was he so sure that it did?

It was as though something dark had lodged itself in his chest, whispering to him incessantly.
It must be those creatures. When I was fighting them, I took a bit of them inside me. Like breathing in smoke from a fire. Now it’s stuck in my lungs, and it’s painting them black from inside.

Suddenly a voice rang in Ico’s ears.

—
You cannot escape this place.

—You must not leave.

—You must not take her away.

—Return the girl to the cage. She belongs to the castle.

—That is why her memories fill this place. That is why they return when you touch her.

“Quiet, quiet!” Ico shouted, trying to drown out the voices in his head. Then he saw it—something hanging from the carved railing of the bridge beneath the chandelier. And not just one thing, but many. They had legs, swaying in the air.

They were people, hanging down from the railing. Heads up, feet floating in space.

What are they doing?

Ico strained his eyes. Then he understood, and it felt like a blow to his chest. They weren’t just hanging—they had been hanged.

Some were knights still clad in light armor.
Maybe guards,
Ico thought. There were women too, wearing dresses like white clerics’ robes. Young girls in petticoats with flowers in their hair. Even a farmer, the cuffs of his trousers and shirtsleeves bound tight, so as not to catch as he swung a scythe in his fields, and a hat on his head to shade his face from the sun.

But there was no sunlight here. Their faces were pale and twisted in agony. Black tongues protruded from their mouths, and their fingers were frozen in place, clawing at the ropes around their necks. Where their arms and legs were exposed, they were drenched with blood. He could see it now, dripping.

Ico was struck by a sudden similarity between the hanging crystals on the chandelier and the bodies hanging from the bridge below—a long, macabre chandelier stretching the length of the room. In place of candles, corpses. In place of light, blood, spilling on the floor of the great hall.

Was this another vision?

The corpses swayed from side to side. Beneath the hanging corpse-candles, Ico saw the knight he had met on the ancient bridge. He walked slowly, heading farther into the castle. His pace was unrushed but steady. He passed through the hall without hesitation, turning not so much as a glance at the gory scene above his head. Knights were familiar with death in all its horror. The blood from the corpses dripped onto his single remaining horn and ran off the curve of his helmet. Some even dripped on his forehead, but he did not raise a hand to wipe it away.