Fantasy: The Beginning of the End

Fantasy: The Beginning of the End - Z. Smith - Part One: The End - Chapter Two

"So who's Finn?"

The question was abrupt, disconcerting, and took me aback.

"What are you talking about, Darius?"

We walked through the brisk and chilly streets of Noran's Upper Quarter; the morning sun beamed through fluffy peach clouds, and crimson cardinals twittered and danced among the black, barren trees. The cobblestone avenues were freshly shoveled, leaving them dusted with shimmering, pearly snow. The frozen wonderland was an improvement from the icy muck and weeping hovels Darius and I snaked through earlier in the morning. Faint smoke trailed from chimneys rising from stately manors; lit candles flickered in their tall windows, peeking out from behind the bony limbs of trees and spiked iron fences. At half past eight, carriage drivers were already preparing their steeds as finely dressed ladies tugged at the arms of their gallant lords. We nodded tersely at a sneering couple as they strode along the pavement.

"I woke up once last night," Darius explained after they had passed, "and you were muttering in your sleep. You said the name a couple of times."

"I have no idea," I lied with a shrug.

"All right," Darius replied, looking unconvinced. "Just curious."

We continued our brisk walk to the castle, a stony silence pervading the already frigid air. I had not wholly lied when I told Darius I did not know who this Finn person was, but I inherently knew the name regardless. I knew the name as if I had known a good childhood friend and, after many years of being apart, suddenly found myself running into him and sharing an awkward conversation while trying to summon his name to my lips. And despite my valiant attempts to disavow this Finn with my recurring dreams, I also knew him to be the glinting light hidden deep within the oppressive shadows. But how was I to explain this... this man, creature, thing to anyone when he resided solely in a realm of fabrication and ceased to exist upon waking?

The sleeping terror began only a few nights ago, but every time I laid my head down to sleep, the monster in the dark skulked and stalked. I had drummed it up to the stress of the intense studying Darius and I were undergoing, and hoped, as of today, these dreams would dissipate given time. We came to a plaza bustling with damsels in pretty gowns and cavalier gentlemen in their best furs. In the center of the square rose a towering clock, with each etched face turned attentively to the cardinal directions. Two silver hands lanced at eight and nine respectively.

"We're going to be cutting it awful close," I commented after glancing at the time. "Better pick up the pace."

"Yeah, would hate for Bowles to start us off with pushups for being late," Darius groaned before hugging his black wool coat closer and prancing after me.

We hastily crossed the square and headed down a wide street lined with skeletal elms, their limbs sagging under the weight of winter. Ahead was a short stone bridge crossing a shallow ravine, under which chunks of dark ice and the occasional shriveled leaf twined along in a brook. Beyond the ravine and rising up on either side of the bridge rose two high and mighty walls; the thick, beige bricks were illuminated in the morning rays. The spires and turrets of Noran Castle pierced the sky above, and its blackened windows stared blankly as we approached. Our brisk walk had devolved into timid ambling across the withering lawn to the castle's heavy entrance doors. By the time we mounted the steps to knock on the ancient wood, I began to feel we had come across some monstrous beast and were walking directly into its waiting maw.

Noran Castle had a dark history, and standing in its vast shadow certainly reminded me of the ghastly legends. It had been the Kingdom of Men's seat of power for ages, with every king or queen to rule residing in the lofty towers and grand halls. Deceit, betrayal, and madness had also reigned from its proud throne, seeping into the brick, staining the foundation, and bloodying hands that would never come clean. This castle had once been Sevarto Undul's triumphant display of humanity's progress and a commitment to honorably serve his people; as the door creaked open, I wondered if King Undul could have imagined the barbarity and wickedness that had screamed through these corridors.