Finally, fear spurred her to action. She ran and jumped. Then she was falling forward, the wind blowing up from the chasm beneath her feet making her hair and dress flutter.
Ico grabbed her hand in midair, then her weight began to pull both of them down. He fought against it with all his strength.
The two collapsed onto the near edge of the gap, arms and legs tangled together. One of Yorda’s feet was still hanging over the edge.
“This way!”
Helping Yorda to her feet, Ico ran toward the idol gate. On the other side of the gap, the horned shades stamped their feet in soundless frustration. As Ico watched, two of the flying creatures swooped over the heads of their comrades to pursue Yorda.
The idol gate flared with light at Yorda’s approach as the power of the Book of Light within her shot forth and pushed the statues off to the sides. The two dashed through the opening. Ico looked back; the flying creatures made keening sounds like wind through bare branches. Then they dissipated into formless plumes of smoke.
Ico caught his breath. “That was close.”
A smile returned to Ico’s face, but Yorda remained glum. She spread her hands and looked down at them as though she were having trouble believing what she saw. Why am I still here? she seemed to be asking herself. Why did the creatures not catch me? Why did I not let them?
“You can’t let them get you,” Ico said. “Ozuma said so. I heard him.”
He brushed his fingertips over the base of his horns. The burning pain had subsided, but he still felt its message loud and clear.
When they arrived at last in the Eastern Arena, they found it standing silent and cold. Ico crossed the arena slowly, one step at a time. On the round platform in the center of the arena he spotted dark stains that were almost certainly blood. They were the last remnant of the battles waged here-and of Ozuma’s performance that had distracted the queen for those few vital moments. Not even the many years since the last tournament had been able to erase it. Though the life that had drained here onto the floor had become nothing more than a dark smudge, it still held its meaning.
When he found the device for opening the large circular window in the wall, Ico felt like he might jump all the way to the arena’s high ceiling with joy. He pulled down on the lever, and the shutters on the window opened with a heavy creaking noise.
A band of light shot across the arena floor, gradually widening to envelop Ico and Yorda in its brilliance. Ico climbed up the outer frame of the window. From here he could clearly see the light hitting the sphere. It sparkled, creating a glow that seemed to fill the stones all around the eastern door of the gate. Soon, what had been nothing more than a solid stone obstruction to Ico’s escape was glowing with a white, pure light, becoming almost transparent.
“Yes!” Ico shouted.
A fresh sea breeze blew in through the window and teased at the edges of Yorda’s hair. She too was looking off into the distance at the sparkling sphere by the gate. Then Ico spotted something long and thin lying on the floor by her feet. He jumped down from the edge of the window and picked it up.
It was a sword-a knight’s sword. It was covered with rust, and the blade was pitted and marked in places.
What was a sword doing here?
Ico looked up at the open window and thought. He recalled the thin gap he had seen between the shutters on the window from the windmill. Could this sword have been wedged in between a pair of shutters to hold them open, then fallen down when he opened them all the way?
He grabbed on to the handle and gave it a swing. Though the blade had lost its luster, its weight felt good in his hands. This would be a weapon far superior to his makeshift club for driving off the shades.
Ico’s imagination traveled back to that dark day when the enchantment on the castle lifted, plunging its occupants into madness. Maybe someone had come here in their desperation to escape but had forgotten or been unable to work the mechanism to open the window. In a last attempt to spill the light onto the celestial sphere, one might have thrust his sword into the gap between shutters in the hope of prying the window open, and there the sword had remained.
They wanted to bring light back to the castle-to free the trapped souls.
Then it seemed to Ico that the band of light stretching from the Eastern Arena looked like a sword had cut a blazing path across the sky on which not even the mist that enveloped the castle dared tread.
4
REACHING THE EASTERN Arena had lifted an incredible weight from Ico’s mind. He could picture the ruins of the castle now, and the route he would need to take to cross over to the western side. The ease in his mind had lightened his step as well.
Yet, next to him, Yorda seemed even more burdened by sadness. The light of the book within her had not faded, but her face had. She was expressionless, wearing an unfeeling mask.
Though they had never been able to speak normally to each other, Yorda’s face had always been a clear signal of her feelings. When danger was near, she shook her head and looked reluctant. At times she was scared, and at other times she wept, or showed surprise, or tried to console Ico.
Now she looked like a being molded from wax. When she stopped to look around, she was like a statue-a priceless object of art left behind in that abandoned castle. Still possessing its beauty, but robbed of its life.
Ico pressed onward, dragging her along by the hand. Through a long corridor, they entered a room where the shades once again attacked, but Ico handily drove them off with the sword. The weapon served him as well as he had imagined it would. All it took was one swipe to send the shades back to smoke.
The sun was beginning to redden in the sky and had dropped to a level with Ico’s shoulder. He picked up the pace. He would have to open up the window in the Western Arena and throw light on the western sphere before the sun set. No way am I spending another night in this castle!
He climbed up three stories, passing through rooms and corridors with familiar shapes, reaffirming his newfound confidence in the layout of the castle. From the windows he passed, Ico occasionally caught glimpses of the Tower of Winds. It seemed to beckon to him, standing apart from the rest of the castle as it did, but he resisted the urge to stray from his chosen course.
After a particularly long climb up a staircase, Ico entered an unfamiliar room. He caught his breath. The room was almost perfectly square and not particularly large. The walls were straight and entirely unadorned save for eight sconces in which torches crackled and sputtered, casting their light across the room. Only the very top of the arched ceiling remained in shadow, as though some dark creature lurked there, devouring all light that strayed too close.
The only prominent feature of the room was a raised dais about twice as high as Ico was tall, with a solid-looking chair set in the middle. Both the dais and chair were made of stone and looked as though they had been carved from the living rock of the room itself. Behind the dais, the rear wall of the chamber had crumbled, leaving a pile of gray rubble upon the floor.
It’s a throne, Ico realized. Which would make this the queen’s room-the place where she sat, hands on the wide armrests, staring down at her ministers. A shiver went through Ico and he raised the sword. If the queen should appear again…
Ico steadied his breath, senses alert, but the only thing he noticed was a white mist drifting through the room. Ico breathed a quick sigh of relief and turned to see Yorda standing at the entrance by the strangely adorned archway, slowly shaking her head.
“What is it?”