ICO: Castle in the Mist by Miyuki Miyabe, Alexander O. Smith

hesitated, looking toward the priest. The priest nodded and indicated with his hands that he should stand in front of the idols. The guard took a few steps forward. He glanced at the other guard, standing next to Ico. Both men’s faces were hidden in the depths of their helmets, but Ico thought he could imagine their expressions: they were terrified.
    “Draw the sword,” the priest commanded. “There is nothing to be frightened of.”
    Holding the blade level to the floor, the guard gripped its hilt with his right hand. His arms shook with the weight of the blade. Though the sword appeared ancient, it slid from its scabbard without a sound, like the well-oiled blade of a soldier.
    A light flared in the dimly lit chamber.
    Ico closed his eyes and lifted his hands in front of his face. The light that bled through his eyelids was painfully bright.
    He timidly opened his eyes to look and saw the soldier standing, feet apart, straining his shoulders to hold the blade level. A brilliant light emanating from the blade bathed the man’s body. The light swelled, enveloping both guards, Ico, and the priest.
    Ico realized that the light wasn’t just coming from the blade—the idols were glowing too. Their glow echoed the brilliance of the sword, and both grew brighter until a light passed from one idol to the other and they split down the middle with a loud crack, sliding apart to reveal a passage beyond. The light faded.
    “Sheathe the sword,” the priest ordered. The guard looked down, bewildered. The blade’s color had returned to a dull silver. After a moment’s hesitation, he reverently returned the sword to its scabbard.
    The priest led them between the two statues. Ico reached out to touch one as they passed. The stone was cold beneath his fingertips. Where did that light come from? he wondered. Ico spied a cavity in the statue’s side with a tiny carving inside it. He looked closer and found that it was a depiction of a tiny demon. It’s like something from a fairy tale.
    The passage opened into the central column. In the very center a small dais like a copper knob protruded from the floor, with sheets of steel radiating out from it in bands.
    The priest said something too low for Ico to hear to the guard without the sword. He walked over to the copper knob, pulled something like a lever next to it, and the entire device began to slowly spin. With a reverberating clang, the floor began to lift and Ico nearly lost his footing.
    The room is rising!
    Ico reached out and touched one of the walls, feeling it slide against his fingertips. A deep sound rumbled beneath them, and he could feel vibrations coming up through the floor. They continued to climb.
    Of all the things Ico had expected to find in the Castle in the Mist, this was not one of them. “Amazing,” he whispered.
    The kind guard gave Ico a reassuring nod. The priest had his back to Ico, while the other guard held the sword with its tip against the floor, clutching its handle with both hands as though he feared it might walk away if he didn’t keep a firm grip on it.
    The clanging stopped.
    They had arrived at the top of the column. Here stood another pair of stone idols. This time, the guard stepped forward and drew the sword with a mere nod from the priest. Again, a brilliant light ran across the idols and they parted.
    As soon as the way was clear, the priest stepped through, the hem of his robes drifting above the floor.
    There were no signs of life. The only sounds were their own footsteps and the metallic chatter of the guards’ chain mail. The castle was abandoned.
    At first, Ico thought they had emerged into a room with a low ceiling, but as he walked further on, he realized his mistake. The room had only seemed low because they had entered beneath a wide staircase climbing from the center of a vast chamber. Ico took a deep breath, trembling as he exhaled.
    You could hold a festival with everybody in Toksa here and still not fill this place. The