ICO: Castle in the Mist (24 page)

“Stunning, aren’t they?” the queen asked, obvious satisfaction in her voice. In her observations of the statues, Yorda had wandered quite a distance from her mother. So far, she did not hear the tinge of sharpness in her voice.

“Yes, very,” Yorda replied, astonished. “I’ve never seen such ornate sculpture. Mother, what master craftsmen did you order to make these? I had no idea we had such talent at court.”

The queen laughed quietly. There was a coldness in her laugh that made Yorda pause. She turned to look at her mother. The queen stood in the middle of the circular dais, staring directly at her.

“Mother?”

The queen raised her head slightly and pointed with a long finger off to Yorda’s right. “Look over there. You’ll find my newest works.”

Yorda began to walk, her eyes still fixed on her mother. The queen’s smile was growing wider.

She’s trying to catch me off guard,
Yorda thought suddenly, feeling goose bumps rise on her skin.
Why am I trembling?
A dark premonition rose in the back of her mind. Yorda returned her gaze to the statues and found a familiar face standing at the very bottom of the long row.

Though her eyes saw, for a moment she did not comprehend. The statue was of a young woman with a slender figure and oval eyes. Beautiful eyes, frozen in time. Her head was lowered in defeat, yet there was fear and awe in her face as well.

I know that face.

She was wearing a long tunic of a simple design. Her sleeves were embroidered, and her sash had been carefully folded across her waist. Her hair was held in place by a hairpin in the shape of a daisy. Yorda knew it very well. She had seen it practically every day. The pin had been a gift from her lover—

But that’s impossible.

For a moment, Yorda’s eyes lost focus. At last, she understood. The statue was her handmaiden—the very same girl who had used all of her cleverness to help her attempt to escape the castle for one day of fun.

Next to her stood her lover, the royal guard. He wore his sword in the leather belt that went with his leather armor. Its hilt bore an engraving with his surname and a single star to indicate that he was of the lowest rank of guards.

The boy’s eyes were opened wide, and the fingers of his right hand were curved like hooks, gripping at the air, as though he would have drawn his sword, if he had but a second's more time.

“Yes, Yorda,” the queen said, her voice incongruously gentle. “I turned them to stone and placed them here to decorate my chamber. Now you see the hideous penalty your foolishness has—”

But before the queen had finished, Yorda fell to the ground unconscious.

[5]

THE MINISTER’S LONG
speech was over, and the beginning of the great tournament formally declared. The contestants split, heading off to the eastern and western arenas. Yorda could not bear to watch them go, and so she stepped away from the terrace back into her chambers.

She had awoken later that night to find herself lying in bed, with the queen sitting next to her. It took only one look at her mother’s thin smile to realize that what she had seen beneath the graveyard was no nightmare.

“Perhaps that was a little shocking for you,” the queen said, her tone no different than if they had been two girls exchanging secrets beneath the blankets. “I had hoped you would be able to spend a little more time observing my handiwork.”

The queen told her that she had not created her secret gallery for punishment. Had Yorda looked a little longer, she would have seen that more than a few of the statues were victors from tournaments past.

“When the victors are chosen, they’re treated like royalty—true to our word. For a while, they enjoy their post as master-at-arms, and in time they are sent to another keep within my domain, there to serve as captain. While there—say, for a year perhaps—they train the garrison in their techniques. Then, when the conditions are right, I summon them back to the castle.”

“Where you turn them to stone? Why? What possible benefit can be had from such cruelty?”

“A stone warrior cannot turn against his master,” she replied without hesitation. “War is nothing more than a clash between soldier and soldier. Should one of such quality fall into the hands of my enemies, I would be ruined.”

When it became known that the tournament was a shortcut to glory within the queen’s lands, confident warriors came from far and wide—even from beyond the borders of the realm. And so she sapped the strength of her neighbors without raising their suspicions.

“And when they go missing? Surely they must have wives and children, brothers and sisters, friends. Have you not thought on how these people must worry, or their sadness?”

“I fear you’re mistaken, my child,” the queen said. “Not once has anyone demanded to know the whereabouts of one of the victors. That is the sort of people these adventurers are, you know. Nobody cares, no one misses them. If anyone ever should, why, I can simply tell them that the one they search for died a glorious death in battle. That should satisfy all but the most curious.”

Yorda couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Did you think of this plan by yourself, Mother? Was this your idea?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I want to know.”

The queen put a finger to her chin. “Do you want me to say that it was
not
my idea? That this was some plan dreamed up by my ministers, one of Master Suhal’s stratagems? Or perhaps it began at the bequest of your late father.”

Yorda knew her father would never do such a thing. Her eyes filled with tears as she looked at the queen.

“My sweet, naive Yorda. You have an innocent soul. Though our land may seem peaceful, look closely and you will find war and strife—even bloodthirsty rivalries for wealth among our own merchants. If it serves to protect our lands from the watchful eyes of our neighbors, no measure is too extreme.”

“But, Mother!” Yorda leapt to her feet. She made to clasp her mother’s arm, but the queen slid aside and stood. She walked over to the window.

The queen’s profile was luminous as it caught the sidelong light of the moon. “You are accustomed to peace and ignorant of the truths in our world. Glory and safety cannot be claimed without a price. This is a lesson which you must learn.”

“You have great power, Mother,” Yorda said with a trembling voice. “I heard so from the Captain of the Guards and even Master Suhal. They say it exceeds the imagination, though none will tell me how. Then why do you fear our neighbors so? Should they invade, can you not push them back yourself?”

To her surprise, the queen laughed merrily. “Is that respect I hear in your words?”

Yorda gripped the edges of her silken covers tight. “No,” she said quietly. “I fear you, Mother.”

The queen drew back her dark veil, straightened her hair, and turned to Yorda. “Well said. I am a frightening woman.” She sounded pleased. “I was born with great magic, and under the protection of the Dark God it has grown into something even more powerful. Indeed, I could destroy the world if I so wished. Yet I have sworn never to use my power unless absolutely necessary.” She lifted a hand, pointing toward the sky. “My power is not the power of the sword, Yorda. That is why I seek only to defend my lands, and never to invade…It is not yet time for that.”

Not yet time?

“These people who fear me recall incidents in the distant past when I turned my powers on a barbarian tribe who sought to form a country of their own too near our borders, and then again when one of our neighbors became too greedy for their own good.”

“What did you do to them?”

“I turned them to stone and let them fall to dust.”

Yorda imagined the scene in her mind’s eye. An entire town turned to stone, a howling barbarian horde frozen mid-charge. For years they might stand, until the wind wore their shapes down to sand.

“Among the kings and generals of our neighbors, there are many who have heard of my power. Thus they are cautious and never move directly against us. However, they fear only me, not the strength of my army. Thus the endless skirmishes on our borders, of which I’m sure you’re aware.”

Indeed, Yorda had heard much from her tutors of the many small conflicts that erupted in the far corners of the realm. “Women are ill-suited to waging war,” the queen said, her voice wilting. “And my power is one of destruction, not warfare. So to keep our neighbors frightened of me, I must
be
frightening. I do not wish to face them in open battle. That is why I devise these strategies. Culling the most able of warriors is but the smallest part of my plan—a symbolic gesture, if you will. I have sowed many other schemes that grow in places unseen. Ask Master Suhal and the ministers about them if you wish. They will tell you once I have given them permission to do so.”

“Then what is it you want, Mother? Is all this to defend our country?”

“For now, yes,” the queen said.

Yorda’s vision dimmed. She felt not fear or anger, but to her own surprise, a deep sadness.
What
does
my mother want?
The knowledge was painful, but she had to know. If she did not ask now, there might never be a second chance. “And when the time comes,” Yorda said, summoning her courage, “what then?”

The queen nodded slowly. “I made a pact with the Dark God. I will use the power he gave me to wipe this world clean and make a new land with the Dark God as its true Creator.”

The Creator Yorda knew was Sol Raveh, the Sun God, who loved and nurtured all from the sky above. So had she been taught since she was a child. The sun’s warmth gave life to all living things, even as its light protected them. Not just her own kingdom, but all the lands looked up to this one God of Light.

Was the religion that followed this deity and prayed to him not administered by their own clerics? Had her mother not sworn her marriage vows in a great cathedral to the God of Light?

“You turn against our own religion, Mother?”

The queen turned up her nose at that. “The country needs its religion, that’s true. If it will help keep the commoners in line, I will pay lip service to any faith required of me.”

Yorda frowned. “I don’t believe the Dark God exists. Even if he did, he cannot possibly win against the Light.”

“You say that only because you do not know the truth.” The queen lowered the curtains, blocking out the moonlight. The light of the single candle in the room flickered, sending shadows dancing across the walls. The queen walked to the foot of Yorda’s bed, leaning in close like a sister sharing a secret.

The silken covers sank slightly beneath her weight.
This is my mother,
Yorda told herself.
She’s real, not something born from shadow.

“The gods wage ceaseless war in the heavens, much as men do on the earth below. The God of Light to whom you pray is merely the current victor in this war, thus does he rule. Only under his temporary reign is my god called a demon and made to suffer away from his rightful glory. One day, I will rise victorious, the Dark God’s child, and pull the King of Light from his throne.”

Yorda fell silent for a moment, considering. “This Dark God,” she said at length. “What is he like?”

The queen smiled, pleased at the question. “He is the one who gives true freedom to those who dwell upon the earth. He governs the darkness.

“What light gives birth to, darkness destroys,” the queen told her in a chant. “That is why the power of destruction has been granted to me. Darkness, not light, governs life. Why, it can even stop time. Trust me, my daughter, though we may lie in wait now, our day of victory will come.”

The queen smiled. “This is written in no history book, and I am sure Master Suhal will not tell you, so I will teach you in his stead. I was born with the blessing of the Dark God, Yorda. The very moment of my birth, the sun in the sky was covered in darkness, unable to shine.”

A solar eclipse.
Yorda knew the phenomenon occurred only rarely. The priests and the history books said that it happened when the Sun God rested. At these times, all creatures upon the earth were to cease their activity and join in his rest.

“What you have learned is a lie. People interpret the world to suit themselves, even in divine matters,” the queen explained, her disdain apparent. “The true meaning of the eclipse is that the God of Darkness is resisting the God of Light, showing him that his power has not been completely extinguished. During that brief time when the God of Light was powerless, the Dark God sent me here. I am his child,” she said with evident pride.

“My mother, your grandmother, said it was an ill omen for a royal child to be born without the blessing of the God of Light, and she tried to take my life while I still lay in the birthing bed. But my father stopped her. He said that a child born while the God of Light was at rest would be born with the strength to act in the deity’s stead. My father believed that until his dying day and favored me above all of my siblings.”

Yorda had never known her grandfather, nor her aunts and uncles. By the time she was born, all of them had long since passed.

“Your siblings died quite young, did they not?” Yorda said quietly. What if her mother, to ensure her father’s favor, had done something truly horrible—

“My father was mistaken, of course,” the queen said, ignoring the question. “He was a very kind soul.” When she spoke, it was without the slightest hint of warmth or affection. “I was not to serve in the stead of the God of Light. Nor was I to serve him. I was born to conquer this world and offer it up to the God of Darkness.”

Then Yorda understood. “You’re waiting for the next eclipse, aren’t you?”

The queen smiled softly. “You are clever, my child. A worthy daughter.”

“When will that be?”

“I wonder,” the queen said, tilting her head, an elegant curve to her neck.

It was clear that the queen knew. Of course she would know. The many scholars in the castle, Master Suhal among them, could read the unseen calendar of the skies and gain from it knowledge of the heavens. It occurred to her that she had not seen many scholars amongst the statues below the graveyard—her mother wisely divided the world into those she saw as enemies and those whose skills she required.