Special Thanks to Negative Creep, who has helped me proofread the story and offered invaluable suggestions for corrections.
Disclaimers: I do not own Shadow of the Colossus and its characters: Wanderer, Mono, Agro, Emon, Dormin and any of the colossi. The name of the kingdom, Sacreda Sol, the Holy Capital, the idea of Sun God, Wind God, and the Demon God belong to Miyuki Miyabe, the author of the Japanese novel "ICO – the Castle of Mist" as I am inspired to write this fiction in connection to her story of Ico, with SotC as the past events that lead to the story of Ico. Other names and characters presented in this fiction are my original creations.
Note before Reading: This fiction will contain spoilers for the whole game, from the beginning until the end, and will be told between Wanderer's progress in the forbidden land and flashbacks of his past with Mono. The past will be dominant at most of the time. However, I have chosen to include the details of colossi fighting in this fiction because I would like to tell the whole story like a novelization, while I took the liberty to express how my interpretation of Wanderer and Mono's relationship would be like. I will try my best to express the story as wholly and vividly as I can.
Thank you for reading, and all comments will be appreciated.
A Tale of a Lost Wanderer
By Anithin
Prologue - To the Ancient Land
A lone hawk soared through the night sky.
Below him, both to the left and to the right, were sheer cliffs dropping away endlessly into the night. The gaping abyss between the two bluffs was shrouded in a thick mist that left the bottom of the gorge fathomless and unseen. The hawk swooped low near the cliff on the right, where there was a narrow, meandering path. The tip of his pinions almost brushed the shoulder of a rider mounted on a black horse, walking slowly and carefully along the narrow pathway.
The horseman was a young fellow outfitted in dirty traveling clothes. His red hair, which seemed much darker in the nighttime, hung down to the back of his neck, almost touching his shoulders. A blue bandana around his forehead kept the long bangs there from falling down into his eyes. He wore a sand-colored shirt under a black poncho with intricate silver embroidery, which covered his chest and back, and a pair of green pants that came to the top of his knees. His sandals were made of leather straps sparsely woven together to provide dexterity as well as protection.
From the look of his attire he seemed to be a traveler, and also a warrior. Slung over his shoulder was a leather strap that bound to him a quiver of arrows and a large bow. From his belt hung a sword sheath, gently swinging in time to the movements of his horse. In many small scabbards attached along the length of the cinch were daggers used for various tasks.
The man looked up and saw the hawk flying higher in the sky under the pale light of the full moon, shaded by gossamer curtains of swaying clouds. Distant shadows that looked like a pair of gigantic statues loomedbefore him in the distance.
The warrior's horse suddenly whinnied in warning. He turned back to see a gap in the path ahead. Pulling at the reins, he ordered the horse to back off a few steps. Then as he kicked at its side, the horse lunged forward and jumped across the gap.
It landed perfectly on the other side of the drop, a few pebbles tumbling into the abyss at the disturbance its hind hooves caused. The rider straightened the long bundle wrapped in a dark cloth placed on the saddle in front of him, pausing for a moment before his steed continued onward.
His gaze was again fixed on the looming shadows as he recalled words he had heard in the past.
"Only winged beings are free to roam between our lands and the land beyond."
And yet here he was heading to that land: the ancient land where no man had set foot in for thousands of years, lying just over the horizon.
Turning his eyes once again to the dark bundle, he released one hand from the reins and caressed it gently.
He had decided.
All of this…
…will be for her.
His lips moved, softly calling a name.
"…Mono."
… "Mono," a pair of plum-ripe lips moved just slightly, catching his eyes. He could not help but stare at the lips – one of the parts that made up such an angelic face, apart from the rose-colored cheeks that were brushed by her shoulder-long raven hair, a perfectly-shaped nose, and a pair of dark, sparkling eyes like the starlit sky.
Perhaps he stared at her for too long as the sweet voice rang out once again.
"My name is Mono. What's yours?"
His lips moved slightly, almost telling her his name. But then he remembered what his father ordered before he parted ways with the tribe.
"Heed this. Our names are sacred. Do not tell your old name to anyone until you return to us. The old name is the childish self you must cast aside."
"I don't have a name." The girl's brows rose in wonder at this answer, and so he added, "At least not yet. I'm from Arslan."
"Oh," she nodded, in sudden understanding. "So you are on your coming-of-age journey"
According to the custom of Arslan Tribe, the nomadic horse-tamers of the Great Plains, a boy who was about to reach adulthood had to leave the village and go on a journey alone for one year before he could return. It was only after the journey that he would be able to undergo the coming-of-age and name-giving rituals, which would mark that he was now accepted as a fully-grown man.
For him, the time left was eight moons.
"That's right."
"Are you heading to the Savon River?" she asked, turning her face to the east, the direction in which a faint salty smell sometimes came with a strong wind.
"Yes. I'm crossing it to reach the sea."
The girl named Mono smiled dryly as she met his eyes.
"I'm sorry to say you've come at the wrong time."
"And why is that?" asked he.
"At this time of year, the Savon River is flooding," she replied, nodding towards the large black steed beside him. There was a diamond-shaped patch of white hair on its forehead, looking strangely similar to a symbol. "You can't get across, even with him."
"Then how long do I have to wait?"
"About three moons, before the Senna Rain stops and the soil hardens," was her answer. "Knowing this, are you going to change your course?"
He pondered for a moment and then answered firmly.
"I can wait. There are lush forests around this village. I'll probably manage to find a safe place to rest, and some animals I can hunt."
"Why don't you stay in the village instead?" Mono inquired.
"I don't want to bother anyone. I'm not sure it would be good for them to receive an Arslan like me."
He guessed she knew his reason, and his guess was right.
"Are you afraid of the Holy Capital?"
The king of Sacreda Sol, the ruler of this land who resided in the Holy Capital, was currently not pleased with the Arslan Tribe, for they thought of the vast plains as a home they could roam freely, belonging to no-one. This attitude was a cause of some difficulty to the Kingdom's recent plans for annexation of the prairies to their own territory; because of these issues they had branded the Arslan Tribe as 'heathens' for their differing religious beliefs and way of life, trying with all their might whenever possible to push the nomadic villagers off the plains and into the wastelands beyond.
The young Arslan rider had seen a dome-shaped roof adorned with the crest of the Sun God, the supreme being whom the people of Sacreda Sol worshipped, at the center of the village. The sight of the gilded structure had convinced the wanderer it might be best not to enter.
"Yes."
"It's all right. People from the Capital hardly come to this faraway village anyway," said Mono, nodding towards the houses clustered around the shrine on the hill before them. "Besides, Lord Emon, the head priest who presides over the shrine, doesn't detest people for their differing beliefs; he's equally kind to everyone. I think he will allow you to stay for sure."
"Still, I would hate to be an unnecessary bother for the villagers." Once again the boy tried to refuse her offer as politely as he could. "Thank you for your offer, Miss, but I don't think I can take it up."
The girl smiled. It was a smile intended to show him that she had a way of making him agree with her, whether the stubborn lad liked it or not.
"Well, you should at least go see Lord Emon once, so he can tell the shrine guardians not to harm you when they are out patrolling and see you in the forest …"
He was speechless for a moment, and then he laughed.
"I give up, Miss. I'll go see this Lord Emon of yours."
"I'm not forcing you. I just think it will be good to do so," Mono replied with another brilliant smile. "And please don't call me 'Miss'. Just Mono will do."
"All right … Mono" Her name escaped his lips softly, with shyness and unfamiliarity. He looked her over and noticed a rattan basket slung over her shoulder. It had been coated with resin so it could hold water inside, making a lighter carrier than earthenware pots. "Are you going back to the village?"
"Yes, I am."
"Then hop on," he said, patting the shoulder of his black horse. "We can go there together."
Mono's lips moved as if to speak, but then she stopped and looked around hesitantly.
"Will it be all right?"
"Of course. You ride him, and I'll walk beside and lead the way," he replied, thinking that perhaps she was worried about the properness of them riding together. "And then when we reach the village, would you mind taking me to see the head priest?"
She nodded in agreement, smiling.
"I'd be glad to."
He stepped aside, letting Mono approach the horse. She halted and paused beside the beast nervously, looking up to the saddle that sat far above her head. He could tell she had never ridden a horse before.
"Agro, be still." With those words, he grabbed her by the waist and lifted her up onto the stallion's back. Even with the weight of the water-filled basket, she was so light that he was surprised. "Place your left foot in the stirrup and grab the reins."
Mono followed the instructions quickly despite the slight trembling of her hands and feet; even after she had properly seated herself in the saddle the girl seemed tense. Her tutor had to force himself not to smile and said gently:
"Relax. Agro is docile. There's nothing to be afraid of."
Despite the boy's reassurances Mono remained nervous and edgy, clinging to the saddle horn tightly as the Arslan led his steed along the path. It took awhile after the horse had left the pond in the grove for her to finally get familiar with the rhythm of riding and relax as previously instructed. She began to ask questions.
"So his name isAgro?"
He turned back to see her patting the long mane of his petgently, a motion that made the horseman smile.
"That's right."
"Then it is very nice to meet you, Agro."
His smile widened at her words. He was thinking that Agro would probably smile too if he were human when she asked him yet another question.
"And what about you?"
"… Huh?"
"You know, what should I call you?"
"Well …" He tried to think of something.
"It would be too long to call you 'Agro's owner', don't you think?"
He laughed a little at this.
"I guess you have a point."
"Then what would you like me to call you?" urged Mono.
"Hmm… just call me 'Wanderer'." It was the first word that came into his head, and seemed fitting in his current situation
"Wanderer…That doesn't sound much like a name," she commented, a mischievous smile crossing her face.
"Well it'll have to do, because right now I'm only a nameless wanderer." At least until eight moons had passed and he returned to his tribe anyway, he thought.
"Then nice to meet you, Wanderer," Mono replied in her sweet voice, loweringher gaze untilshe met his eyes with her jet-dark ones. For the rest of his days he would never forget how her face looked at that moment, ethereal under the golden beams that shone through the leaves.
That day the bright sunlight had been stifling hot. The leather bag he kept drinking water and his own throat were both parched from yesterday, after a three-night journey along the edge of a desert. It was the dawn of that particular day he found a meadow and the green canopies of forests in the distance. From that point onward he let Agro lead the way, trusting his steed's instinct and olfactory sense. Agro did not let him down, following the scent of water until they reached a pond in the afternoon.
However, he was not the only one there. There was another person: a girl in a radiant white dress kneeling at the edge of the pond, a girl who looked up to see him and said her name was 'Mono'.
This was how the two met: the nameless wanderer and the girl in white whom fate had bound together.
Rays of sunlight shone through the green leaves and landed on the soil that was covered with a scattering of brown dead leaves; it was just late summer but the leaves had already started falling. Wanderer glanced at a small pond by the wayside with a few leaves drifting on its still surface, thinking how this pool resembled the one he had come across that day. The difference was the spring lakelet had not held the detritus of fall, and this summer, almost autumnal tarn did not have the figure of the girl in white.
No, not only this pond, but even in the village, in the meadow or anywhere, anytime, her delicate feet could not bring the girl, whose walking movement was like dancing through the sky, there anymore.
It was all because of them, and because he wasn't there with her, at that time when –
He bit his lip bitterly, kicking at Agro's side to spur him on. He kept going forward even though his thoughts were forever drifting backwards to the past; the boy continued to dwell on it every moment of every day, whether he was riding through the forest, finding shelter from the rain under a large boulder, or traveling under light drizzle in some distant meadow.
The journey continued until finally he reached a large mountain pass. 'Mountain pass' wasn't exactly the right term for it; although for the most part it seemed to be formed from a natural rock cliff, the lower parts of the gorge had been chiseled and carved into a row of columns. Moreover, at the edge of the pass right next to the empty space in the middle were blocks of yellowish white rock carved into intricate patterns reminiscent of a great city gate's design. High over the passageway rose even taller stone columns, the very same he had seen from a distance the night before and misidentified as gigantic statues. Small trees and vines sprang from the cracks in the columns and the walls as proof of how long this place had been forsaken. A blinding white light shone through the gap between the massive pillars, so monstrously large they seemed to have been built by gods or giants rather than men.
Wanderer looked up at the gate to the ancient land in awe for a few moments before slowly moving on.
On the other side of the mountain pass was a long bridge made of white stone connected to a grand tower. The tower seemed to reach up to the heavens, so dizzyingly high that not even hawks could fly over its top. The bridge looked as if it could only exist because of some enchantment; so large and so lofty was it that someone on the ground would look as tiny as a fingertip to the eyes of one on the bridge. It was supported with tall columns and arches, spreading its weight evenly along the way. At one point the bridge stretched over an abyss, where there was a beach and the sea under shadows of surrounding cliffs. To the east there were many levels of great waterfalls, sending their rapid currents out to sea.
It'll probably take more than a thousand steps to cross the bridge, Wanderer thought as they approached the middle of the bridge. He had counted that Agro had taken about five hundred steps so far and he gave up keeping track of them all at this point, letting his steed walk slowly and carefully until they reached the balcony of the tower. A carved stone door was there, with no handle and seemingly no other ways to open it save some unseen mechanism or magic.
But the Wanderer knew just how to open it.
He reached for the sheathed sword at his waist. The freed silver blade glowed an unearthly white, reflected the sunlight, and gathered it into a single bright ray pointing toward the concave circle pattern at the center of the door.
The sounds of stone moving suddenly echoed in reply. The heavy door opened slowly as if it were being pushed up by a gigantic hand, revealing the realm of darkness behind it.
Agro neighed nervously and backed away from the darkened passage, as if sensing some danger ahead. Wanderer examined the path before him briefly, like he had with all the other paths he had chosen, and then spurred his horse to go inside.
There would be no turning back in the ancient land they had set foot in.
To be continued...
Chapter 1 - Prohibited Art
