Mono felt her presence, like a cold mist at her back.
She turned about to see The Queen, standing over her.
And though The Queen appeared as a cloud of darkness with a mask of pale flesh, it was Mono who felt as though she were the shadow.
"What is the matter, child?" asked The Queen, in a voice low and lovely; were the speaker less menacing, 'twould be soothing, like a mother to a babe.
Tears flowed free from Mono's eyes; she no longer cared what The Queen might do, for the one she dubbed 'Ico' was lost.
Yet The Queen's patronizing tone was nigh too much to bear. "Why dost thou grieve for the horned boy?" asked she of Mono.
"Only one such as you would ask," was Mono's curt reply.
"We asketh only why thy mind hast changed," mused The Queen. "Tis little more than a decade past, when thou wished his death by thine own hand."
"A decade?"
"Thou hast slept in Our catacombs for many years, by thy mortal reckoning," answered The Queen, as simple fact which could brook no argument.
Years.
The word echoed through Mono's mind, hauntingly.
She could not believe what her ears were hearing.
Nay, it could not be so: 'twas but a few hours she spent in the sarcophagus, a single full day at most. The Queen must surely be lying.
"For Us, 'tis no time at all…" The Queen went on to say, "and in that stasis, 'twould seem to thee as nothing more than a long night's slumber…"
Mono bristled, as the rage within her swelled. "How dare you!" she cried, incensed that The Queen would work such magicks against her.
The Queen stared back at her, unfazed. "It is Our home. We darest."
Mono's anger gave way to realization. "Then, the baby…"
"Yes... horned babe grew into horned boy. Thy plan in coming was to kill him, was it not? He is dead, and thy hands are clean. Why dost thou not rejoice?"
Mono could bear looking at her no longer. "I hate you!" she cried, tearing her gaze away. "Leave me be!"
"If thou wouldst only consider Our offer, whatsoever thou wishest may be thine," spake The Queen. "Perhaps though wishest the boy to live once more?"
Mono stood up to face her. "Better he die than to be used as your pawn."
"Interesting…" purred The Queen, "he did not feel the same."
"What do you mean?"
"He stole thy body from its burial-scaffold… spirited it away to the Forbidden Lands, to attain thy resurrection...
"I do not understand."
"Thy beloved came to Us, and placed thy lifeless on Our altar, beseeching Us to give thee back to him, restored."
With a graceful gesture of her corpse-pale hands, The Queen summoned shadows from the stones beneath their feet.
Up rose the shadows: but rather than each taking a man-like shape, they became as small colossi, which Mono had seen naught of.
The Queen to them referred, indicating them with a wave of her arm.
"He killed the animal-minded, earthen creatures wrought from the fragments of Our soul, and thus released Us…"
The shadows converged to form a shape Mono knew all too well as Wander.
Mono's heart ached to see him; she came forth to touch him, but the Wander-shadow shifted to become a horned, monstrous creature: Dormin.
Mono shrank back with a gasp, affrighted.
"He took Our masculine side into himself…" explained The Queen.
"Where is he now?" demanded Mono.
The Queen looked at her then with what could have been pity. "Lord Emon and his priests dealt him a mortal blow."
The Dormin-shadow became as Wander once more, and then diminished in size, to become a little horned babe floating between The Queen's hands.
"Our essence spared him, but reverted him to infant form…"
Mono's mind was afire. "The boy was Wander?"
The Queen dismissed the shadows. "That is correct. Thus, We ask once more: what is it thy heart truly desires?
Mono looked out over the cliffs and sea, her heart deeply troubled.
X
In the meantime, the boy awoke with a start.
He was in the cavernous tunnel, where Mono first rowed in from the sea; but he could hardly be expected to know of this. The small boat was still there.
The boy looked all about himself for injuries taken from his fall, and found but one: the loss of one of his horns.
Warm, moist air; breath.
Startled was he to find the great chimera-beast Trico in the shadow of the cavern.
The beast was curled up in the water, sword still lodged in its breast, bleeding onto its feathers. It stared at the boy resentfully.
The boy stood; he'd seen and had dealings minor with The Queen's pet, and so was unafraid.
Trico roared, and he was nearly knocked back over.
After Trico ceased, the boy faced it boldly. "I do not blame you for being angry," said he. "I did stab you with a sword."
Trico snorted.
"But you are bigger than me and attacked first," the boy argued. He titled forth his head. "And look, see? My horn broke off. That make us even. Right?"
One large ear twitched atop the creature's head; the boy, called by Mono 'Ico', took this as a sign of agreement.
Ico did not like the name he had been given, for it sounded like merely a shortened version of 'Trico'.
Nonetheless, 'tis the name he shall be called; for indeed, though he liked it not, both boy and beast served as pets to The Queen, and she for her part saw little difference between them.
Ico's eyes scanned the cavern, til he espied several barrels stacked; butterflies of blue flitted joyously about them, attracted to something contained within.
The boy ran to the stack and lifted the lid of a barrel, full of hope to find a morsel he might eat…
But alas, to his dismay, the barrel was filled with naught but blue goop.
'Twere thick as honey to his touch, but without appetizing appeal; the smell was passing strange, and a quick lick with the tip of his tongue made him spit.
The boy was disappointed sore, for nothing had he eaten for some time; but Trico was watching with keen interest, ears perked upward.
"Hey Trico, do you want this?" he asked, glad to be making headway at last. "Is it your food?"
Trico seemed excited; the boy turned the barrel over on its side, and rolled it in the direction of Trico.
Trico caught it, pinning it with a bird-like front claw. The goop oozed out, and Trico lapped it up happily like a cat with a bowl of cream.
Ico approached Trico cautiously, making his way toward the sword lodged within the beast's breast.
He laid hand on the sword, and pulled it forth, stumbling backward.
A fortuitous loss of footing: for Trico began to rear and shriek with fury, clawing and biting at nothing, for the boy was not there to receive the blows.
"Stop that," the boy reprimanded. "You would not want the sword to stay in there, would you?"
Trico whimpered, and licked at the wound.
"I did not think so," huffed Ico, vindicated. "You are welcome."
The boy took the ancient sword to the water's edge, and washed it clean of Trico's blood.
Tendrils of dark blood, curling about in the water.
His reflection; the sight of his own face was new to him, and disturbing.
But why should he be disturbed? It was only he; yet, though he could not recall ever having seen his reflection before, it seemed hauntingly familiar.
The boy rose and turned to face Trico, who recoiled at the sight of the sword.
"Do not worry," assured Ico, hiding the sword under his loose and patterned poncho. "I will not hurt you."
Trico gave him a look of deep ambivalence, but let the boy approach.
The boy sighed, sitting next to Trico. "I do not know what to do, Trico," he said. Ico looked at the boat, and at the entryway to the catacombs.
"I do not think The Queen will make her a stone-man," he reasoned aloud, "since she is a girl, and does not have horns. But I think she will still be hurt somehow. I cannot just leave her."
Trico lowered his mighty head and stared at the boy with inky, glistening black eyes, which saw the world only in greyish blues and greens.
The beast listened; to him the words were gibberish, but he could see the boy was distressed, and for some reason addressing his concerns to Trico.
"How would I get to her in time?" Ico asked, getting to his feet and pacing about. "The castle is very large, and full of doors I cannot open without her."
By Trico's snout was the boy gently nudged; Ico turned and petted him, a gesture the creature had but rarely received from The Queen, and now from the boy gladly accepted.
"Say…" began the boy, hesitant, "I do not know if you can understand me, but... would you do me a favor, Trico?"
Trico cocked its head to one side; he understood not, but noticed the boy's tonal shift of questioning.
'Round to Trico's flank went the boy, and climbed he up, onto the beast's feathery hide.
Trico did not object to this, for well it understood its role as a mount; it rose to his feet, as the boy placed himself on the scruff of the creature's neck to ride.
Trico squeezed himself bodily through the entryway, into the catacombs… through the hall… and out into the courtyard.
From there, Trico took flight.
The boy rode the creature over the ramparts, past windmills, under bridges, and through archways.
The creature walked great bridges like a cat on a thin line of fencing, leaping from tower to tower, ascending to the very highest.
When Trico could go no further or higher, it stopped and licked its paws.
It had brought the boy as near to the very doorstep of his mistress as it could; there was but one last bridge, leading directly to the tallest tower of the island's keep.
"This is it," said the boy, dismounting.
He gave a last look of fond appreciation at Trico. "Thank you, he said.
Trico shook its head, and sat down to wait as the boy took his leave.
As the boy crossed the last bridge, he found himself troubled; why did this, too, seem so familiar? Never had he ventured this far, of that he was certain.
Climbing upon a great beast…
Riding a mount to a place he knew not...
Traversing across a great bridge… into the dark entrance of a foreboding, ancient pile, rising tall into the heavens…
...like a shrine built to honor some long-forgotten god…
The boy shook his his head. Must be nothing.