While on holiday recently near Fort William, we happened upon these fabulous ruins. I think it’s Inverlochy Castle. To be honest I wasn’t paying enough attention. A lost opportunity, perhaps. I’ll have to make more effort when I happen to go that way again. Annoyingly, it means I have no interesting facts to share about the real place. I’ll have to fall back on imagination instead.
The image, and the place inescapably remind me of one of my (very embryonic) works in progress. Perspectives on Revenge has a somewhat experimental writing style, part of the reason it hasn’t yet seen the light of day. Don’t worry, I wont subject you to that today. I’m really not ready to unveil that particular oddity yet. Today’s story doesn’t follow the plot, nor the characters of that other story. Perhaps, it might capture something of the tone of it. We’ll see.
Ice crunched under my steps. Nothing moved here now. Perhaps nothing would ever again. That should seem like justice.
Is it though? Yesterday I would have said so. While the fires of my hate rose as high as those I’d set within the castle. Then, my mind was filled with revenge. There had been no place for anything else within me. Now, in the crisp cool of morning, I was less certain.
Don’t get me wrong. I haven’t forgiven anything. I will never forgive. He burned my village to the ground. All because we’re different.
He claims we are dangerous. Sorry, claimed we were dangerous. Past tense. That’s one thing that the Baron and my people have in common. My people are no more and now neither is he.
His claims were false. Translated to your language our name for my people meant ‘The Peaceful Ones.’ By our arts we can know each other’s minds. When that is the case it is hard to distrust another. Disagreements become harmony when we know the other’s truth. And yet the Baron saw us as a threat though there was no evidence to earn us that label.
Long ago my grandmother told me: “When encountering the unknown, there are two kinds of men. Both fear and both will move mountains to remove the source of that fear.”
“That’s only one kind, Gran,” I responded.
“Ah, but it is two. The first seeks to remove the fear through understanding. The other seeks to remove the thing that is feared. You must always strive to be the first kind of man. The other kind you must avoid.”
Well, I have let her down at last. How I wish she were here to scold me. Until last night I did not understand the Baron. By his actions he taught me to fear him. By the destruction he wrought. The people he exterminated in his own ungrounded fear. I met him last night and understood him at last. Greed, and spite, and fear. That was all I found within him. So I took my revenge.
Yet here in the cold morning air, as I look at the fruits of my vengeance, I feel no satisfaction. No release or relief. I burned the man’s home. Took everything away from him, as he had done to me. But I see and I care. I grieve for the poor unfortunates who, through my choices now have no home, no work. A community in ruin.
I turned away from the castle. The neighbouring village was in turmoil. Their lives had been ruined by my rage. I watched as they began to rebuild their lives. That was something that we had in common. Perhaps that would be a good place to start.
Brandon Lim 