ICO: Castle in the Mist by Miyuki Miyabe, Alexander O. Smith Read Free Book Online

tirelessly. She had only paused once that day, to glare at the elder when he came to make sure she wasn’t worrying about Toto instead of her task.
    The elder had sent word back with the messenger, asking with utmost politeness for another three days. The messenger returned bearing both a message and an air of grandeur, and he cast a disparaging eye at the hunters hurrying to and from the village.
    “If the situation here is beyond your ability to handle,” the messenger told the elder, “it would be a simple matter for us to send our guards to assist you.” There was a haughty ring to the man’s words.
    The elder bowed deeply. “Please tell them it is nothing so serious. We are merely doing all that we can to carry out our instructions in accordance with the priest’s wishes. We remain, as always, entirely loyal.”
    After the messenger left, the elder stood clenching his fists. He told himself that he was furious at Ico’s betrayal, at Toto’s recklessness, and Oneh’s stubbornness—but the more he tried to summon his wrath, the more his true feelings interfered. If that self-important, self-serving priest wants the Sacrifice so badly, why doesn’t he come dirty his own hands? Whatever excuses he might make, he knew the priest didn’t stay in Toksa because he didn’t want to hear the village’s laments at having to hand over the Sacrifice—to feel the accusatory stares of the villagers. The priest could lock Ico up in a cave, make Oneh weave the Mark, and silence the villagers’ questions himself… if he wasn’t such a coward. It left a bitter taste in the elder’s mouth to realize that no small part of his anger was directed at himself for striking Ico and speaking to him as he had.
    A woman from the village arrived, breathless, calling for him. The hunter who had taken a fall several days before had just passed away. The elder’s heart sank even deeper, and the lines in his face hardened so that he looked more like a statue carved from stone than a man of living flesh. How easy it would be if only his heart would turn to stone as well. To stone. All to stone …
    Toto sat astride Arrow Wind, gaping down at the scene below him. That’s why nothing moves.
    Even the flag flying from the hall had been frozen in mid-flutter.
    Toto urged Arrow Wind down the mountainside and rode directly through the city gates. The horse walked smoothly with Toto gripping the reins, but Toto no longer rode gallantly. He crouched low against the horse’s back, clinging to its living warmth for encouragement.
    The world around him was petrified and gray.
    The people in the streets around him had been frozen in time. Some pointed toward the sky, others ran, holding their heads in their hands, while still others held their mouths open in soundless screams. Toto wondered how many years they had stood there like this. When he reached out hesitantly to touch one, it crumbled into dust beneath his fingertips.
    Arrow Wind whinnied and Toto steadied his grip on the reins.
    No matter which turn he took on the winding streets, people turned to stone awaited him. At first, he tried to believe that these had all been created. Perhaps someone important from the capital had crafted a sculpture of an entire city here for some purpose beyond Toto’s comprehension. They had made countless statues—entire houses—and encircled the grim tableau within a wall when they were done.
    But why would they do that? Was the city a decoy of some kind? Toto nodded, pleased with his theory. It has to be that. When the enemy saw a city full of people unprepared, men without helmets, with bundles on their backs, leading children by the hand, people carrying baskets and fetching water, they would be tempted to attack. And then—
    Toto’s imagination failed to produce the second phase of the strategy. It also struck him as odd that the statues would be crying and shouting and obviously fearful if they were intended to appear an easy target. And nothing