Isolation

This is the beginning of a short story that came to my mind after hearing about the great news that Gwrych Castle has been saved and no doubt inspired by the recent film of Pete's Dragon, as well as The Jungle Book for obvious reasons and the Viggo Mortensen film Captain Fantastic for less obvious reasons, plus documentaries on the Himalayas and cemented by my recent holiday in Costa Rica. Let me know what you think. I can send the rest of it to you if you feel it's worth continuing with...

Grwych Castle as I first saw it, through the trees

With each step, she cursed her parents’ final wishes. They had tried to help by spending their final days in the tower, when they realised how sick they were. But there were a few steps still to climb and she had to catch her breath on every second step. Perhaps bringing both of them together wasn't the best idea, even with the ramp she had set up. But it seemed fitting; they were hardly ever apart when they were alive and they should be the same in death. They even left her alone in the castle for days at a time while they went on their expeditions. However, the view at the top was worth it. Her father had forbidden her to ever climb the tower and, unusually for her, she hadn’t defied him. The tales her grandfather regaled her with had left an indelible impression. He deliberately told her when she was little of the dark history of the turret that reached higher than the canopy, the only one of their towers to do so. The vague memories of him, corrupted by time had only made the stories more potent. Many of the things he told her she didn’t believe, but some of the stories reeked with truth and had given her many a nightmare since. Her mother didn’t speak to her grandfather for a year after he told his only grandchild about the waterfall of blood cascading down the tower.

The breath caught in her throat again when she came out into the open, but for a different reason. The world spun around her, not from the vertigo of the sheer height she had attained, jungle life swinging through the trees had put paid to that, but from the spiralling staircase she had climbed, even at her slow pace. Leaning against the staircase roof, letting it take her weight, she took her bearings. This view she had seen before, from the tallest tree in the area, and her favourite, which grew just outside the castle walls. Even that was overshadowed by the tower, but only just as it peeped out of the trees. It was the only bit of the castle which was visible from above, as it was surrounded by vast dense rainforest. Fortunately, despite the airplanes which sporadically flew overhead, they had never been found. She had long since stopped fearing they would be discovered and now she was on her own, even less so.

Although they didn’t live in the Himalayas, the sky burial had always appealed to her parents. The vultures would have have competition where they lived though, so it would probably be a harpy eagle, monkey or jaguar, if it could make it up that high, that might do the honours instead. She dragged the white linen packages to the centre of the tower, pushed a lock of her mother’s unruly red hair, a more vibrant colour than her own diluted version, that had escaped back inside and waited until the sun went down before she left them alone. No thoughts or feelings entered her mind, no tears were shed and her body was relaxed as she sat there. Listening to the sounds of the rainforest with howler monkeys calling in the distance, watching the butterflies and hummingirds flit about the flowers occasionally tussling to have it all to themselves and watching the lizards hunt insects was a form of meditation. The fears of her complete isolation would come later, in the middle of the night when she woke up shaking under her own canopied shelter. The anxiety that had been suppressed during the long days and nights as she nursed them, only able to watch as they got sicker and sicker, would soon take over. She wasn’t used to it and barely knew what to do. So she ran and ran and ran until she reached the river and plunged in, the shock of the cold supplanting the shock of her grief. On her return, she looked up at the dark walls and considered her future by searching her past.

The castle was a ruin and only a few rooms were habitable, there were too few of them, their numbers dwindling over the years and generations, to return it to its former glory. She had always preferred to live outside anyway, with barely a roof over her head. It was miles to any other man-made structure; the pyramids they occasionally visited were deep in the jungle to the west, across the border to another country. The explorers who discovered those pyramids never found the castle hidden in the jungle, built by a Scottish family who fled their homeland after the battle of Culloden, foreseeing the loss of their heritage and proud national freedom. What possessed them to build a castle in a rainforest had been lost in the stories handed down by each generation. What was left was only a vague outline of trying to bring a bit of their old home to their new one. The local tribe were the sole people who knew they were there, but they keep their distance now, after an initial friendliness and trade of knowledge and supplies; when the building started, they never came by again. She occasionally sees them through the trees, but neither approaches the other. Although she knew she would have to when she came of age. Their actions to ensure they kept the bloodline going almost erupted into outright hostilities. Her father prevented that coming to pass.

A few days go by and the first vestiges of grief are breaking through the numbness that settled in, or she allowed to settle in, after the anxiety threatened to overwhelm her. Her sobbing wails attracted a few animals which she saw off easily and scared off a few more, which was more problematic as she was trying to catch them at the time to add to her food supplies. The future was becoming more oppressive, but the decision of what to do next seemed too large to make. It loomed over her, especially when she was trying to get to sleep. It couldn't be put off for much longer. Loneliness was not a problem, but isolation could be. Her independence worried her family at first, then they realised it was a blessing in disguise; dragging herself home after breaking her ankle in a bad fall silenced them. Dying alone was the thing that frightened her most; her parents had each other at the end, but she had no one.

So the next time she saw a tribesman, she stalked him. There was no need as she knew where their village was, but it was good practice. It was pointless all the same as he was too good of a tracker and hunter to not know she was there. But he hadn't counted on her training, handed down from generation to generation, provided by one of his ancestors no doubt. He tried to lose her a few times and at the last attempt, she let him think he'd succeeded and his complacency was his downfall. As the village appeared through the trees, a beautiful forest glade she had visited a few times in her curiosity, despite her father's warnings, she crouched down low and waited for nightfall, which always came suddenly.

Under the freedom of dark, her small figure crept past the guards and made its slow way to the chief's hut, using the various structures and other huts as cover. As expected, she was not accosted and burst in to see the chief, using surprise as her entry pass. Before anyone could grab her, her knife was at the chief's throat and the few people in the hut froze. Slowly she turned round and took them in. That was when she realised her mistake. The tribesmen she had thought she would have to fight off, before she could overpower the chief and force him to take her in; their code of honour stating that any great fighter would be welcomed into their village; were not there and in their place white people like her. The obvious leader who had until a moment ago been sitting down with the chief had startled into a standing position. A man behind him had a metal contraption with what looked like a telescope on the end; it was pointed at her and her immediate thought was she was in trouble. It wasn't what she feared, though it did look like a threatening weapon, but she was in trouble all the same. Before anyone could make a move, she barged past them, knocking what she would later learn was a camera out of the man's hands and fled.

Over the next few days, she cowered in the castle, doing the bare minimum as to upkeep, her previous forays had kept her food stocks at full capacity. All the while, she assumed she would be invaded. The defences were all set up, after extensive repairs due to lack of use. Nothing happened. The anticipation escalated her anxiety and when the invaders finally did arrive, they found her incapacitated in the middle of the castle courtyard. Anxiety turned to panic, the body she could always rely on failed her and her athletic legs had crumpled under her. A tribesman had clearly been persuaded to lead them there and when their eyes locked, they seemed to apologise. When she tried to stand to run away from them, she found that she could not move, her legs were locked in position, though her heart was pumping as if she were running a marathon. That was when the world swam in front of her eyes and when she could see again, she was being carried away. The scream that was developing in her throat got lodged and she struggled for breath. The limbs that had sealed her fate, came back to life and she flailed in the man's arms. He dropped her more in surprise than pain. There was no fight left in her, but her flight took her to her sanctuary. That was where they found her, asleep; the adrenalin that had gotten her there had caused her to crash out.

Common sense prevailed and they let her rest, only in favour of exploring the castle in wonder and complete bewilderment. The top of the tallest tower had been blocked up; she had left her parents up there and didn't look back. So there was no blundering into making a gruesome discovery. When they returned to find her waking up, they did make one blunder, cornering her in her safe haven under the canopy she had made herself. They soon learned their mistake with a few minor injuries, but when they had her pinned down, telling her to keep still, they almost let her go in shock, when she replied "I will nae give up." "You're Scottish!" The pale white of her skin may be suntanned and made less harsh over the generations, the strong Scottish blood watered down by successions of tribesmen and women, but the red of her hair was still clear to see and her accent was as broad as a true highlander.

When her mother had taken a local man to her bed, keeping him captive until she was sure she was with child, they were all astounded that he didn't immediately flee when he was freed, instead he stayed with them and became part of the family. She was the first of their family to be truly half Scottish and half tribesman. How they retained the red hair was a mystery even to them, but they were grateful for it. The accent was simpler to maintain. It was what saved her now and more importantly them. With the leader of their group on top of her and her struggling to get away, she almost missed it. But when she heard it, she suddenly stilled and peered through her hair at the man who had spoken. "Nae lassie, do not keep on so." His hair was black and his eyes blue, not the red and green of her own, but she recognised something of herself in him, beyond his accent which was softer than hers. His hand reached out for hers and she took it, letting him lift her up and into a strong hug which slowed her heart down and her racing thoughts. The anxiety about her future dissipated as with a few words and one action, she knew she was alone no more.