-Yorda-
By Julie Danskin
Chapter 2 - Interaction -
"What - what did you say, Y-Yorda?" the boy said, not sure whether to be frightened or happy quite yet. He had learned her name from Yorda's mother, the Queen, when they had first crossed paths. Yorda had fallen, and he had run back for her, spiting his own chance for freedom. He could have escaped on his own, leaving her behind. He didn't owe her anything. Still he had stayed. The Queen had appeared in a cloud of black smoke, not unlike her minions the Shadow Demons, and towered over Yorda, who was unable to rise to her feet. The Queen had warned - even threatened the boy to keep away from her daughter, who was far better than he, and told him to leave. She disappeared with that as the boy had looked away in acceptance of his status. Nevertheless, he offered the girl his hand. Yorda had said: "She will kill you if she sees you with me again." Even though the boy could not understand what she had told him, she felt he knew that would happen without words. Still his hand was held out to her. She had taken it.
For it, he had lost his horns on his head and his strength. For her, he had killed her mother, with all will of sacrificing himself if necessary. He could have escaped himself, but he chose to rescue her, came back for her, risking all he had to look forward to. For him, she had rescued him from the crumbling castle, pushing the boat out into the sea.
To Yorda, this seemed like a small repayment. Though she knew he wanted no reward, she still felt obliged. The least she could do at this time was to let him interact with her through speech, which she knew he longed to do. "I said that was sad," she repeated. It felt strange to talk away from her native tongue. She would have to get used to it, as she wanted to be good friends with him. "I-it was. But then I found you," he said, now sure to be happy. He was still weak; his face showed tiredness and hunger. She would find him food when she was strong enough.
Yorda looked away. He cocked his head, making her look at him. She had to speak what she felt. "It would have been better if you hadn't found me," she said regretfully. "What do you mean?" he asked, confused. "My mother is dead, my castle is ruined, you are injured and weak," she finished, but she had seen him flinch when she had said her mother was gone. It was he who had forced the magic sword into her chest, ceasing her heart forever. "She was going to kill you," he said defensively, and Yorda only looked at him, "She told me that when you awoke you would be no more. She would be in your body. That's why you were in the cage in the tower, Yorda. She couldn't lose you because she needed you for her to survive," She looked disbelievingly at him, not sure whether to respond or remain silent. "Carha-arachi sharonia powik," she said in her own language, which meant, "She was still my mother," "What?" the boy asked, "Yorda, I am telling the truth. Please believe me. I wouldn't lie to you," "I-I know," she replied, and looked towards the water, and saw the distinct ruin of her castle, her home all her life as a dusty wreck. Dirt was still pouring out of it; the rubble was all that covered the island now. The beautiful castle she and her mother had treasured was no more.
She thought of the times when she had ridden out in the grassy green gardens on her white stallion with her father, while her mother planned everything indoors. Her father had died the year before she was locked in her prison. Her mother had said she was being locked away so her father would know where to find her, and so she could always think of him. She brought her food that sucked her strength and powers she possessed as a child, and everything that was good in her life. She was enveloped in sorrow, despair and grief after a few months, she was no more than a shadow.
"Yorda?" the boy asked again, his voice croaking. "Yorda, are you angry with me? I thought it would set you free," "I-it did," she replied, "And I'm not angry. Not at you. Never. I couldn't understand your language before, when she had me. She was teaching me, you see, before she - locked me up." "Why did she?" he queried, and then relented, she would tell him when she was ready. He decided to change the subject. "I'm going to find some food. You need fattening up." He smiled, and picked himself up carefully. "I can wait. Please - don't hurt yourself on my behalf," she pleaded. "I nearly got killed because of you," he reminded her, "I think I can manage to bring you some food." She smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Karan," she said. He looked at her, puzzled. "It means 'boy' in my language," she explained. He nodded, and there was an awkward pause between them. "I forgot you don't know my name!" he laughed. "I'd like to know it, Karan sounds so terrible," she told him. "Alright. My name is Ico."
Yorda pressed her hands against the sand, elbows bent. By the time Ico returned, she was arms length from the ground, not quite sure how to progress. She had over-estimated her strength. Ico had never thought of Yorda getting ahead of herself, but he supposed that he hadn't known the real Princess Yorda as she had been under a spell. A spell he had broken. The 'little horned boy' had triumphed, and the evil hold the Queen had over her 'beloved' daughter. Well, she had been beloved. Without Yorda, she would have died. She needed her frail body to live in.
He ran to her, dropping the apples, coconuts and grapes he had found. He gently clasped his arms around her arched back, and lifted her backwards so she was in a sitting position. She assorted herself and could see ahead of her. Ico could see the far-away gaze in her eyes was reduced, but he could only presume his mysterious Princess of light and shadow was naturally embossed in nature and not quite wanting to know all the mysteries of her surroundings. He respected her for that. "Thank you," she said, brushing the sand off of the strange dress she wore. Her delicate frame was beautiful in the morning light. Ico noticed for the first time how truly beautiful she was. He searched her face for lies and found only purity and innocence, and sorrow, grief and fear for herself and everything she loved. He smiled at her in response. Why did they talk? They understood each other well without the use of speech. Still, it was nice to have her happy to be able to communicate with him. "You're welcome." He replied.
He watched her sleep, watched her rhythmic breathing with thankfulness that she was alive and healing. Perhaps he could save her soul as well as her life. Yorda's soul could be as exquisite as her mortal self, he was sure. Corrupted by anguish and misery, it would be difficult, but escaping from the castle was no easy task. Yet she looked content, lying with her violet eyes covered by her elegant eyelids, occasionally twitching as she dreamt. He wondered what she dreamt of, and he was sure just now that it would be a nightmare. Of her mother, of her prison, of her captors desperate to drag her back into the abyss to torment her soul. They had succeeded, but he, Ico, would free her. But it was a two-way interaction and he would need her help. "Yorda." he whispered to her, and she moved a little bit, and he swept his eyes down her face, then lay down, forgetting about the pain in his head where two stumps grew where his horns once were. He thought about Yorda, his family, and his battle in the castle that was over, but was far from forgotten. Nursing both physical and mental wounds, he eventually drifted into a heavy sleep.
Yorda, however, was having another nightmare.
"Mummy.let me out, please. I'm cold."
"Stop complaining!"
"But Mummy."
"Yorda, I told you not to defy me."
"I don't like the black men. They're like shadows."
"They are shadows."
"I don't like them"
"I do. They're my friends. Be nice to them."
"Alright, Mummy. I'll try. When will you let me down?"
"When you are ready."
"When will I be ready? For what?"
"It's a surprise."
"Is it nice?"
"To die for."
"Mummy?"
"What?"
"I'm cold."
Yorda turned uncomfortably. She opened her eyes. Ico was asleep. She wanted to speak to him, for him to tell her it was alright. But she couldn't disturb him. She decided that she would face the nightmares. She closed her eyes again reluctantly, and she saw her eight-year-old self in the cage, her mother's face haunting her, teasing her, telling her she would never be free.
They had started again.
Yet she endured them.
For him.
For Ico.
Chapter 2 - Interaction -
"What - what did you say, Y-Yorda?" the boy said, not sure whether to be frightened or happy quite yet. He had learned her name from Yorda's mother, the Queen, when they had first crossed paths. Yorda had fallen, and he had run back for her, spiting his own chance for freedom. He could have escaped on his own, leaving her behind. He didn't owe her anything. Still he had stayed. The Queen had appeared in a cloud of black smoke, not unlike her minions the Shadow Demons, and towered over Yorda, who was unable to rise to her feet. The Queen had warned - even threatened the boy to keep away from her daughter, who was far better than he, and told him to leave. She disappeared with that as the boy had looked away in acceptance of his status. Nevertheless, he offered the girl his hand. Yorda had said: "She will kill you if she sees you with me again." Even though the boy could not understand what she had told him, she felt he knew that would happen without words. Still his hand was held out to her. She had taken it.
For it, he had lost his horns on his head and his strength. For her, he had killed her mother, with all will of sacrificing himself if necessary. He could have escaped himself, but he chose to rescue her, came back for her, risking all he had to look forward to. For him, she had rescued him from the crumbling castle, pushing the boat out into the sea.
To Yorda, this seemed like a small repayment. Though she knew he wanted no reward, she still felt obliged. The least she could do at this time was to let him interact with her through speech, which she knew he longed to do. "I said that was sad," she repeated. It felt strange to talk away from her native tongue. She would have to get used to it, as she wanted to be good friends with him. "I-it was. But then I found you," he said, now sure to be happy. He was still weak; his face showed tiredness and hunger. She would find him food when she was strong enough.
Yorda looked away. He cocked his head, making her look at him. She had to speak what she felt. "It would have been better if you hadn't found me," she said regretfully. "What do you mean?" he asked, confused. "My mother is dead, my castle is ruined, you are injured and weak," she finished, but she had seen him flinch when she had said her mother was gone. It was he who had forced the magic sword into her chest, ceasing her heart forever. "She was going to kill you," he said defensively, and Yorda only looked at him, "She told me that when you awoke you would be no more. She would be in your body. That's why you were in the cage in the tower, Yorda. She couldn't lose you because she needed you for her to survive," She looked disbelievingly at him, not sure whether to respond or remain silent. "Carha-arachi sharonia powik," she said in her own language, which meant, "She was still my mother," "What?" the boy asked, "Yorda, I am telling the truth. Please believe me. I wouldn't lie to you," "I-I know," she replied, and looked towards the water, and saw the distinct ruin of her castle, her home all her life as a dusty wreck. Dirt was still pouring out of it; the rubble was all that covered the island now. The beautiful castle she and her mother had treasured was no more.
She thought of the times when she had ridden out in the grassy green gardens on her white stallion with her father, while her mother planned everything indoors. Her father had died the year before she was locked in her prison. Her mother had said she was being locked away so her father would know where to find her, and so she could always think of him. She brought her food that sucked her strength and powers she possessed as a child, and everything that was good in her life. She was enveloped in sorrow, despair and grief after a few months, she was no more than a shadow.
"Yorda?" the boy asked again, his voice croaking. "Yorda, are you angry with me? I thought it would set you free," "I-it did," she replied, "And I'm not angry. Not at you. Never. I couldn't understand your language before, when she had me. She was teaching me, you see, before she - locked me up." "Why did she?" he queried, and then relented, she would tell him when she was ready. He decided to change the subject. "I'm going to find some food. You need fattening up." He smiled, and picked himself up carefully. "I can wait. Please - don't hurt yourself on my behalf," she pleaded. "I nearly got killed because of you," he reminded her, "I think I can manage to bring you some food." She smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Karan," she said. He looked at her, puzzled. "It means 'boy' in my language," she explained. He nodded, and there was an awkward pause between them. "I forgot you don't know my name!" he laughed. "I'd like to know it, Karan sounds so terrible," she told him. "Alright. My name is Ico."
Yorda pressed her hands against the sand, elbows bent. By the time Ico returned, she was arms length from the ground, not quite sure how to progress. She had over-estimated her strength. Ico had never thought of Yorda getting ahead of herself, but he supposed that he hadn't known the real Princess Yorda as she had been under a spell. A spell he had broken. The 'little horned boy' had triumphed, and the evil hold the Queen had over her 'beloved' daughter. Well, she had been beloved. Without Yorda, she would have died. She needed her frail body to live in.
He ran to her, dropping the apples, coconuts and grapes he had found. He gently clasped his arms around her arched back, and lifted her backwards so she was in a sitting position. She assorted herself and could see ahead of her. Ico could see the far-away gaze in her eyes was reduced, but he could only presume his mysterious Princess of light and shadow was naturally embossed in nature and not quite wanting to know all the mysteries of her surroundings. He respected her for that. "Thank you," she said, brushing the sand off of the strange dress she wore. Her delicate frame was beautiful in the morning light. Ico noticed for the first time how truly beautiful she was. He searched her face for lies and found only purity and innocence, and sorrow, grief and fear for herself and everything she loved. He smiled at her in response. Why did they talk? They understood each other well without the use of speech. Still, it was nice to have her happy to be able to communicate with him. "You're welcome." He replied.
He watched her sleep, watched her rhythmic breathing with thankfulness that she was alive and healing. Perhaps he could save her soul as well as her life. Yorda's soul could be as exquisite as her mortal self, he was sure. Corrupted by anguish and misery, it would be difficult, but escaping from the castle was no easy task. Yet she looked content, lying with her violet eyes covered by her elegant eyelids, occasionally twitching as she dreamt. He wondered what she dreamt of, and he was sure just now that it would be a nightmare. Of her mother, of her prison, of her captors desperate to drag her back into the abyss to torment her soul. They had succeeded, but he, Ico, would free her. But it was a two-way interaction and he would need her help. "Yorda." he whispered to her, and she moved a little bit, and he swept his eyes down her face, then lay down, forgetting about the pain in his head where two stumps grew where his horns once were. He thought about Yorda, his family, and his battle in the castle that was over, but was far from forgotten. Nursing both physical and mental wounds, he eventually drifted into a heavy sleep.
Yorda, however, was having another nightmare.
"Mummy.let me out, please. I'm cold."
"Stop complaining!"
"But Mummy."
"Yorda, I told you not to defy me."
"I don't like the black men. They're like shadows."
"They are shadows."
"I don't like them"
"I do. They're my friends. Be nice to them."
"Alright, Mummy. I'll try. When will you let me down?"
"When you are ready."
"When will I be ready? For what?"
"It's a surprise."
"Is it nice?"
"To die for."
"Mummy?"
"What?"
"I'm cold."
Yorda turned uncomfortably. She opened her eyes. Ico was asleep. She wanted to speak to him, for him to tell her it was alright. But she couldn't disturb him. She decided that she would face the nightmares. She closed her eyes again reluctantly, and she saw her eight-year-old self in the cage, her mother's face haunting her, teasing her, telling her she would never be free.
They had started again.
Yet she endured them.
For him.
For Ico.