ICO: Castle in the Mist (33 page)

Yorda held her breath. On the narrow stone ledge by the rails, she saw three dark figures standing, shadows without people.

The one in the middle turned toward her, raising a hand. Yorda desperately grabbed the handle, summoning all her strength to slow the trolley. The wheels screeched and sparks flew. The trolley wobbled, leaning to the outside of the rails, but it did not slow immediately. Yorda watched as she sped by the standing shadows.

The tallest was most certainly her father—but who were the other two standing next to him?

She had glimpsed them for only a moment, but the merciful moon lit their features clearly. The faces were familiar, stirring distant memories within her. The two men were her father’s most trusted advisers, one a scholar, the other a soldier. They had accompanied her father from his birth home when he came to the castle, and he had always valued their counsel in matters of state.

Whenever the young Yorda would visit her father’s offices, she would see them there. When her father was too busy to play, they would be the ones to console her. Now that she thought of it, she realized that they had often been there when her father took her for trolley rides. They would smile and wave, remaining out of the way until it was time to return inside, when they would help Yorda as she stepped off the trolley.

They were kind gentlemen, with clever minds and a sense of loyalty as deep as the sea. Only now did she realize that they had disappeared from the castle after her father’s death. Yorda had been too young at the time to even wonder where they had gone, and no one bothered to explain to a child what became of advisors when they were no longer needed. Even had she realized, the shock of losing her father was so great, she would have had no tears left for them.

But now she saw they were reunited with her father. Her mother’s curse had bound them to the Tower of Winds too.

Eventually, the trolley came to a stop. Yorda leapt out and ran back along the tracks, toward the platform she had passed. She tripped once but didn’t feel the pain. The platform seemed impossibly far behind.

“Father, Father!” she called out, crawling up onto the stones.

But the shades were gone.

Panting to catch her breath, Yorda looked around. Abandoned materials sat in piles, and a marker of some kind stood at an angle, casting a curious shadow across the stones.

When she lowered her eyes again, despondent, she caught a glimmer of light a short distance away. Something that sparkled like gold. She approached and slowly knelt, reaching out her hands.

The golden glimmer did not fade. The object felt hard to Yorda’s fingertips. She picked it up and placed it in her palm.

It was her father’s signet ring.

Yorda.

Her father’s voice filled her mind.

That is a token of love once sworn in sincerity, even as it is proof of a broken promise, a gravestone for a sacrificed soul. The ring will open the way into the tower.

Yorda gripped the ring tightly.

Beloved daughter. This will be the last time I can venture forth from the tower to appear before you. The queen has sensed my presence outside of the prison she built for me. The closer I come to you, the more danger I place you in. I’m sorry I cannot guide you myself or lend you further aid. Please forgive your father.

“Father!”

Yorda shouted into the empty night. She caught her father’s voice again, receding on the wind.

You will face many unpleasant truths within the tower. The most difficult of these will be the truth that your father is no longer the man he was.

As master of the tower, I possess none of my former nobility and little of my reason. Barred from entering the underworld and cut off from the joys of life while still tied to this world, as a captive, a shade, I live in eternal suffering. To me in the tower, you would not be a beloved daughter, but prey to be possessed and devoured. That is what your mother, my wife who swore her undying love, has made of me.

That ring you now hold is the only weapon by which you may stave off the shades that serve me within. It will open the way for you and protect you. Keep it close to your person and never let it go.

Yorda clutched her father’s gold signet ring tightly to her chest. Fighting back the tears, she stood straight and spoke, her voice piercing the moonlit silence. “I understand, Father. I will go to the Tower of Winds. And I will free you!”

How cruel a father I am to ask this trial of you. You must do more than free me, you must free this entire kingdom from the clutches of the Dark God. My brave daughter, you must climb the Tower of Winds and there claim the true light.

“The true light?”

It was her first time hearing the words. “What is that? Is it something in the Tower of Winds? Does it wield some power over the Dark God—over my mother?”

In the silence that followed, Yorda’s conviction grew.
It must be true
. That was why her father’s suffering was so deep. He wanted her to destroy her own mother.

The light searches for you,
her father’s voice said at length.
Be careful, Yorda. The queen is wary. She must not be watching when you go to the tower.

…How many times my heart told me that you were better off not knowing, your true eye closed, spending your days in peace.

“No father, that’s not true. I’m glad I know the truth.”

Then I pray the Creator will protect you and give you courage. And,
her father added in a voice grown thin and weak,
though it is not how I would have wished to see you again, I am glad we could meet once more, Yorda. I love you.

Then Yorda felt his presence leave, receding swiftly into the distance.

This was goodbye.

[11]

THE FOLLOWING DAY
was the final day of the tournament. Yorda used the magic pebble before dawn had broken, and by the time she had finished her morning routine and come out to the trolley, Ozuma was already waiting for her.

That morning, Ozuma was wearing a fresh chain-mail vest and new gauntlets on his hands. While it was normal for a swordsman to replace worn equipment, to don new and untried gear the morning of such an important bout was a bold move. Yorda took it as a sign of confidence.

Yorda had placed her father’s signet ring on a silver chain, which she wore around her neck. She pulled it out now, showing it to Ozuma, and told him of the events of the previous night. Ozuma appeared genuinely startled when she produced the ring. He was clearly pleased. But not as pleased as he was to hear Yorda tell of the true light her father had mentioned.

Ozuma’s eyes opened wide. Yorda did not think the stoic knight capable of such surprise. “Sir Ozuma, do you know what the true light is?”

“The priest-king of the Holy Zagrenda-Sol Empire gathered many scholars together over the last few years,” Ozuma said. “Their purpose was none other than to define exactly what would be required to prevent the Dark God’s revival and destroy his child.”

“Did they discover anything?”

“Yes.” Ozuma nodded. “The Book of Light.”

“A book?” Yorda asked, somewhat taken aback. Demons were supposed to be banished with great swords or strokes of lightning—not books.

“It is a magical tome. In it are inscribed the spells that were used to stop the Dark God from rising in ancient times. Were a sword to be engraved with those spells and imbued with magical power, it could drive back the Dark God—or so they say.”

Suddenly, all became clear to Yorda. “That’s it!” she said, feeling her heart grow lighter. “The Book of Light is in the Tower of Winds, I’m sure of it! Why else would my mother hide it and surround it with guardians?”

“It would make sense,” Ozuma agreed. His face was stern, but his eyes sparkled the same as Yorda’s. “Because this book was created so long ago, no one knows where it rests—or if it has survived at all. If it is here, in the Tower of Winds, that would be a tremendous boon.”

Yorda clenched her hands into fists. “Then I will find it and retrieve it! I will drive back the Dark God!”

Ozuma’s lips drew together, and he stared at her. In silence, he shook his head. Yorda saw in his face the same emotion she had sensed in her father’s hesitation the night before.

“It is I who should go to the Tower of Winds,” he said at length.

“No,” Yorda cut him off. “This is something that I must do. That is why my father risked alerting the queen by appearing before me. That is why he came to me with this task.”

After saying her farewells to her father the night before, Yorda had lain in bed sleepless, consumed by her thoughts. She struggled with her father’s suffering and the love that still remained in her heart toward her mother. Now there was no doubt in her mind. “I am the heir to the throne of my kingdom. I must protect this land and its people from the Dark God. That is my duty as its future ruler.” Yorda stood straight and tall, her voice ringing clear. “You requested my help because of the revelation, and my help you will receive. But do not be mistaken. I do not act at your behest. Nor do I ally myself with the Holy Zagrenda-Sol Empire or take orders from your priest-king. I am merely carrying out my duties as sovereign-in-waiting.”

Ozuma blinked, as though looking at the sun as it emerged from behind a cloud.

“If I’m able to defeat the Dark God and ruin his plans of revival, then perhaps I will be able to save my mother as well.”

“Save the queen? How?”

“My mother is the child of the Dark God, she has said so herself. Yet she did love my father, and she did bear a child of her own. She is as much a woman of this world as a servant of the other. When the Dark God has been driven back, I pray that the darkness will release her. Like this country, a curse lies upon my mother. That is what I must try to break. That is my battle.”

Yorda smiled, feeling more in control of her own destiny than ever before. “That is why, Sir Ozuma, I would beg your assistance. Your skill as a swordsman is of great use to me.” Yorda extended her hand toward Ozuma, as a queen does to her loyal servant.

The wind whipped at Yorda’s hair as she stood staring up at the aging, desolate tower.

She could feel the weight of her father’s ring on her breast. When she picked it up in her fingers and lifted it, it sparkled in the sunlight.

The sky above was deep blue and free of clouds, and the sea below reflected its light. Tiny waves sparkled across the water as white flocks of seabirds wheeled in the sky, flecks of paint against the sky’s azure canvas.

She walked across the stone bridge, stopping halfway to look over her shoulder. She had heard a snatch of cheering mingled in with the howling of the wind.

The Eastern Arena was beyond the castle proper. That she could hear the roar of the crowd from this distance meant that their excitement had reached new heights on this final day of the tournament.

Just then, Ozuma and his final opponent would be entering the ring. The spectators standing in the packed gallery around the arena floor would stand as one and applaud. She wondered for whom they would cheer, which contestant had inspired more of them to wager their hard-earned coin. The outcome of this match could make a significant difference in the weight of their money pouches.

She closed her eyes, steadied her breathing, and began walking again. Though she had walked here a hundred times before, today the distance to the tower seemed much greater.

As she approached, she spotted the shadows-that-walked-alone gathering by the windows. She wondered if they had come because they sensed her, or if they always stood there to look out on the world beyond the tower, much as she looked out of her chambers at the land and sea beyond the castle walls.

Now she faced the stone idols before the door to the tower. Yorda brought her feet together and raised her father’s ring. Pointing the mark on the ring toward the idols, she spoke in a high, clear voice.

“As I bear the signet of the master of this tower, I command you. Stand aside!”

A bright light shone from the ring. The flash was so brilliant, Yorda staggered, taking two or three steps backward before she regained her footing. As one, the idols’ heads glowed in response. Unbound energy ran along the lines of their misshapen forms, and a bridge of lightning spanned the air between statues and ring.

With a heavy grinding sound, the two idols parted to either side, revealing a dark rectangular space behind them. At the same time, the light faded, leaving Yorda’s hands numb and tingling. The spell ward was broken.

Yorda stepped forward. A chill wind blew out from the tower, brushing past her cheek. She was alone in darkness and silence.

Yorda had given Ozuma his orders that morning: he was to fight his best in the final round of the tournament and emerge victorious. Yet it must not seem an easy win. Even if his opponent was no match for him, Ozuma was to drag the fight out, driving the spectators to a frenzy. She wanted everyone in that arena to forget, if only for a while, the passage of time. She wanted them to lose themselves in a fight so spectacular they could not tear their eyes away, not even for a moment.

She needed time.

The queen would be watching the final match with cruel curiosity, her eye on Ozuma as he worked his craft on the arena floor. She alone knew that he would one day be a statue in her gallery, and she would want to see just how good he was so she would know what she would be taking from this world.

All that Yorda required was that the queen’s interest be held long enough to distract her attention from other things.

She remembered her father’s quaking voice when he visited her chambers.
She’ll find me,
he said.

The queen knew everything. Even the slightest disturbance, the merest presence within the borders of the enchantment she had laid upon the castle could alert her, as it had when Yorda made her attempt to leave the castle that day. And yet the queen was only human. She might be the child of the Dark God, but she was no god herself. If something captured her mind and heart so forcefully that for a moment she had no attention to pay to stirrings within her enchantment, then it might just be possible for Yorda to enter the tower unseen. It was, in essence, Yorda’s only hope: a wager more desperate than any taking place in the arena that day.