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

small stones covering the floor were as many in number as the stars he could see from the village watchtower, and Ico doubted that any of the hunters in the village were strong enough to loose an arrow that could reach the vaulted ceiling.
    What is all this for?
    Stone alcoves formed a grid along the walls, each cavity holding a strange coffinlike box with rounded corners. No, Ico realized. Not just like coffins. They were stone sarcophagi.
    Ico followed the priest up the steps, recalling a story Oneh had told him.
    Once upon a time, the story went, malicious spirits were born within the void that separated heaven and earth. Resentful that they lacked a realm of their own, they stole away human children and robbed them of their souls. But when they found that the stolen souls could not fill the emptiness inside their hearts, they seethed with anger till their rage became like tiny demons inside them.
    Though they had brought the demons into being, the void-spirits were weaker than their own anger, and soon they were forced to do as the demons commanded. Distraught, the Creator hastily imbued the void-spirits with souls of their own, thinking this might placate them. But the demons within the spirits’ hearts took those souls and devoured them, so that no matter how many souls the Creator gave to the spirits, they were never sated but grew even hungrier than before.
    At a loss, the Creator gathered magi from across the land and requested that they fashion stone sarcophagi in which to imprison the void-spirits together with their demons. It was the humans who had suffered when the void-spirits stole their children, so it must be humans who imprisoned them, the Creator declared.
    The sarcophagi they made looked like eggs grown long and were covered with carved incantations of purification and placation. The wizards chanted their spells, imbuing the carvings with power, and the sarcophagi began to glow. Like moths to a flame, the void-spirits were drawn to the light and thereby trapped for eternity.
    Ico looked over the stone sarcophagi lining the walls. These, too, were carved with ancient letters and patterns. Ico’s hand went to the Mark on his chest. The whorls of the patterns there were not entirely unlike those upon the stones. Ico could read neither, though he thought that the patterns on the sarcophagi looked a bit like the outlines of people.
    What does it mean?
    “This is your Mark,” the elder had said when he placed the tunic over Ico’s head. “The Mark has recognized you.”
    The elder had a hopeful light in his eyes when he gave Ico the Mark— so why can I think of nothing but scary fairy tales when I look at these stones? Ico pressed a hand to his chest, lightly squeezing the fabric against his skin.
    While Ico stood in a daze, the priest made his way to the wall and looked up at one of the sarcophagi.
    “There,” he said, pointing to one that looked no different from the hundreds of others save one thing: it glowed with a pale blue light, pulsating like a beating heart.
    As the priest intertwined his fingers and began chanting a prayer reserved for this occasion alone, the stone sarcophagus slid forward on its base, emerging from the wall with the heavy grating of stone upon stone. The guards took a half step back, the horns on their helmets colliding as they did, sending a ringing sound through the hall.
    The lid of the sarcophagus slowly opened.
    “Bring the Sacrifice,” the priest ordered. The two guards stiffened and exchanged glances. Even without seeing their faces, it was clear neither of them dared to do their next task.
    “You.” The priest indicated the guard with upturned horns. “Bring him.”
    The chain-mailed shoulders of the other guard slumped with relief as his companion turned to walk toward Ico, dragging his feet as he went.
    Ico considered his handlers as the guard approached. These men had been chosen to protect the Sacrifice, a deed of tremendous honor. They were sure to be