Stories of ruins and hills...
Violante speaks:
It has been an odd and troubling time for me lately, coming to this world and trying to adjust to its strange rules. The change has left me bitter and uneasy. Even more troubling is the state of my dear sister who keeps drifting in and out of this reality. I feared I had been left alone with my thoughts for too long. Then Lucie asked me if I wanted to accompany her on a visit to the island of her forefathers. On this island, as it often is with remote places, the people have not yet forgotten the tales and superstitions of their ancestors. She said it would certainly make my view of this world more interesting, and I have never been one for prolonged self-pity so I gratefully accepted her proposition. The main reason of our visit would be to comfort Lucie's grandmother, who has long been suffering from a long range of different ailments of varying degrees of seriousness. But as the old lady seemed to find me an unfit companion to her granddaughter, Lucie decided to show me some of her favourite places. We travelled north to where a massive rock jutted out of the billowing landscape. Atop this half-mountain, a ruined castle crowned the hill. Lucie whispered to me in a voice with traces of reverence; My earliest memories are of this place, and every year I make a small pilgrimage to it. To remember a more innocent time, and sense the memories of those long forgotten, that seem to walk among these crumbling walls, and sing in the wind that always blows in from the sea.
Now the wind blew harder and carried dark and heavy rain clouds with it. We sought respite in one of the towers.
While the wind raged on, Lucie told me stories about the castle. There are several legends about how this place came to be. My favourite is this one: The island needed a large stronghold to defend itself, and to be a safe haven for the people in wartime. The founder of this project was a man of the church, an archbishop who had recently seized power from the old rulers of the island. The old people had scattered hill-forts hidden among the trees in the very middle of the island. Their stronghold was deep within the forest, but in the end it came to be destroyed. It was thought that the stones of the old castle could be used to build the new stronghold, and so the stones were dragged down from the walls of old and taken to the coast. The site of the new castle was chosen. It was a spot which was ideal for warfare; high above the ground and with a good view over the sea, and also with a source of fresh water in the middle of where the castle would be. In fact it was so perfect that the builders must have wondered why no one had chosen to build there before. But as we shall see, there was a very good reason for this indeed. You see, among the people of this island it was thought that the king of the people who live under the earth had his palace within this hill, so it would be very dangerous indeed to try to inhabit it.
Though the masons worked hard during the day, and walls as tall as a man were built, every morning they found the stones back on the ground and no trace of the walls left standing. The common people spoke amongst themselves; It is the work of a fool to try to build with these ancient stones, and right on top of the palace of those who live beneath the earth. But the archbishop was a sensible man who would have no talk of such heathen things. He ordered that a guard be put out to watch over the wall, for a supernatural phenomenon it could certainly not be. And so the guard armed himself with cloak and lantern, went up the cliffs and stood faithfully by the walls. Most of the night had passed and the guard, who was nervous, though he was not a local man, felt satisfied that nothing was going to happen. So he climbed up a wall and sat down to have a rest. He soon fell asleep and dropped his lantern.
When the morning came everyone was most curious to find out what had happened during the night, none more than the archbishop. As he hurried up the hill, he felt elated for he could see that the walls were still standing, nay, it seemed that they were even higher than before! At last the archbishop and the workers made it to the top, and it was true, the walls were even higher than before, and inside the courtyard foundations even stood for the inner buildings. Everyone rejoiced and the masons inspected the work and were very impressed. It was not until now that someone thought to look for the guard. Ah, he must have fallen asleep somewhere, said the archbishop, but inside him was a spark of worry. They searched and called out the guards name but there seemed to be no trace of him. Some men even searched the ravine and the cliff-littered beach far below the castle, but he was no where to be found. Until someone thought to look up. A silent scream echoed among the walls. From a wall, up about a mans height, jutted a hand, and a snip of a cloak. Those who live under the earth had taken a sacrifice, so everyone agreed, except for the archbishop, but by then he was already on his way to a nearby chapel as fast as his horse could carry him. When the workers had overcome their first horror, they sought to free the body from the walls. They hammered and chiselled and used raw power, but the wall wouldn't budge. In the end they had to leave the body there and build on top of it. It might still be there today.
Here I interrupted her and asked if she knew where the wall in question was, but though she had searched all the places open to the public, she had never seen it. Perhaps the archbishop had it covered up? Or maybe the body itself is the reason for why some of the castle is closed to the public?
I thought to myself that no one probably knew the whole story. With the intimate knowledge that I have of the more twisted kind of other-folk, I would think that a single sacrifice hardly would be enough to get them to let humans inhabit the outside of their hill. Perhaps there is a whole room with bones sticking out of the walls somewhere? These thoughts made me think of my sister again.
Lucie saw what was on my mind and tried to get my attention away from my worries with a less supernatural story; Another one of my favourite stories about this place is the one of the princess who was imprisoned here with her husband, the chancellor of the land. They had fallen out of favour when her father the king passed away, and rumours of treason had reached the new king, the half-brother of the princess, by way of his queen who thought the power of the princess distasteful. So they found themselves locked away on this island, far away from the splendours of their former life.
The princess and her husband meticulously planned their escape with a servant who had their confidence. But even though everything was planned down to the smallest detail, everything seemed to go wrong. The husband was ill, and on the way down the hill, though supported by a string of sheets that were tied together, the servant fell and broke his leg, which delayed them quite a lot. When they passed a tavern by the beach, the guard dog started to bark. The innkeeper came out, but fortunately he was as superstitious as the people in the former story, so when he saw moaning people, covered in sheets, he thought they were ghosts and hurried back to his safe warm fireplace. They found an old rowboat, and as the two men were incapacitated, the rowing was up to the princess. She rowed all through the night, between the rough cliffs, and in the early morning hours they arrived at a small fishing village, from which they were sure to be able to arrange passage to neighbouring country, that had offered them amnesty. But again luck was against them. A couple of soldiers that were on leave from the castle came out of an inn where they had spent the night drinking, and promptly recognized them, all their struggles being for naught. They were taken back to the castle, and the servant was most likely executed as he was of a lower standing in society.
The princess and her husband were then put into separate rooms on separate floors so that they would have no chance of escaping again. But they were pardoned by the king. Unfortunately, this did not last for long. Again rumours of treason reached the kings ear. This time the princess was prisoner for 22 years in the kings castle and she was not released until the death of the queen. But she had her revenge posthumously. While she was imprisoned she wrote a book which is still read today, and so it is her rendering of the things that happened which is remembered and her truth that is told.
During these tales we had not even noticed that the rain had stopped. We then went on further exploration. Though the castle had a certain aura to it before, as places of great age always have, knowing these stories had added another dimension to it all.
Was this the cell that held the princess?
Do you see a skeleton hand coming out of this wall?
All these dramatic things aside, the castle is also a very tranquil place.
I see why Lucie loves it so deeply. And so we left the lonely ruins, now only inhabited by the wind singing sadly through its empty halls, and the whispers from far inside the hill...