Walking the Ruins

The start of a journey, and a castle on the water

We are paddling over the lake, in our canoe. About two months have passed since my discovery of the library in the basement of that building. I've spent much of that time lobbying and preparing for this journey. Now, we are on our way to explore the valley where I saw the smoke rising, on a winter morning months ago.

The more I think about that morning, when the world was glowing so coldly in the light of the rising sun, the less real my memories seem. The golden snow, the fog over the lake, the brilliance of the mountains. And the bear. It is a perfect story to be told at a campfire, but is it reality? Well, we'll see what we find when we get there.

With me in the canoe are Steve, sitting in the bow, and Jenny, perching between us, while my place is in the stern. Rose and Kevin are not with us. They are staying in the house at the lake. The boat only provides room for three or four people and their provisions.

We have christened our boat the Titanic. I sometimes wonder if this is a good idea. But, fortunately, there are no icebergs floating in our lake.

The sunshine makes the waves around us glitter. It is a splendid day, but my mood isn't. I don't quite understand why. Shouldn't I be happy and excited? After all, we are on our way, we are finally on the expedition that I have longed and prepared for. But this morning, while saying our farewells to Rose and Kevin, the two of them looked like an old, happily married couple. And as for Steve and Jenny, they seem to consider this journey to be some kind of honeymoon. They are holding hands, kissing and cooing whenever the opportunity arises.

Well, at least I stand a good chance to become godmother of one of their litters.

Great!

But it does feel good to paddle over the lake, in the gentle warmth of the spring sun. I enjoy the silence once these two in front of me stop babbling. And I feel safe out here, where nothing wants to attack me, bite me, scratch me, or eat me, apart from a couple of gnats.

Towards evening, my mood has improved considerably. The three of us have fallen into a silent and content routine of paddling, with the only sound being our oars striking the water.

I look at Jenny's back before me. The blouse she wears used to be white, but that is an unfortunate color when living in the wilderness, with only Kevin's lye as a detergent for washing. So Rose dyed it using an extract of the petals of some blue flowers—but the result, to Jenny's never ending chagrin, is an irregular brown. Still, she manages to look good in it. Her long blonde hair flows like a golden waterfall over the darker fabric.

My eyes stray to the land on my left, where I see a castle, apparently standing in the water, close to the shore. "Look at that!" I say, using my paddle to point towards it.

"Wow!" Steve replies. "This looks like a neat place to stop for the night."

"Oh, yeees!" My hopes that Jenny's use of triple-vowels has abated in our eloquent company are, not for the first time, shattered to pieces.

Getting closer, we see that the castle is in good shape, like most of the really old buildings here. Some of the wooden roofs have fallen in, but the rest of it seems to be sound.

The building stands on a rocky islet, at its closest point no more than maybe a couple of meters from the shore. Apparently, there used to be a bridge connecting the shore to the castle, but the only part of it still standing are some stubborn poles jutting from in the water, pointing skywards.

We moor the canoe directly at the islet of the castle. A short flight of steps hewn into the rock takes us to a side entrance. The door closing it is, surprisingly, still in place, but the old, grayish wood breaks when Steve pushes against it.

Having entered, we explore the halls and corridors inside. Many of the rooms are empty, some contain the debris of display cases, tables, and other, unidentifiable items, but in a few of the chambers part of the furniture is still standing. A layer of dust covers it all.

In a corridor, I see the torso of a man lying on the floor. It takes me a moment to realize that it is just a knight's metal armor, whose wooden stand has toppled over. Steve is immediately intrigued and tries to don it. But we quickly realize that it is way too small for him, and the leather straps holding the metal parts together are brittle and break easily.

Jenny and I laugh.

It's good not to be alone.

In one wing of the castle, we find two adjacent rooms that still have intact windowpanes. They offer a wonderful view over the lake in the setting sun. Its waves glitter in hues of orange, and the snowfields of the mountains rising from the opposite shore seem to glow from within.

One of the rooms has a large fireplace. We decide to spend the night here.

I run a hand along the rough, cracked plaster of the ancient walls, silently wondering what ghosts will visit us tonight.