The Upended Fortress

''Rather hysteric today, aren't we, Sire?'' Whispered the concerned squire.

The sire in question, Jeoffrey the second, only heard the distant rumblings of a fool. He himself was absorbed in the careful study of his own reflection in the great window, not at all escaping the unbearable idiocy of the situation.

''What a ridiculous costume'', he thought out loud, glancing at his formal clothes and his en-vogue fluffy white hair. Pretty much the same as the many other ministers engaged in very serious discussion, here in the hall of the Upended Fortress. Chandeliers hanged from the high ceiling, adorned in countless candles, flickering slightly. Underneath, the stone table beared the weight of towers of paperwork, maps, trinkets and elbows. On its once polished surface were the ring stains of decades of wine drinking, forming an abstract, almost imperceptible mosaic. Behind Jeoffrey, his squire was building up the courage to adress the council, fiddling with his fingers, uncertain.

''Please, good Sirs, you must excuse the Minister of Fears. His nobility is rather distracted lately, his work and his family affairs-'' His squire proclaimed, making quite the deal about his behavior. The Sire at last snapped out of it, turned around and clapped his hands, to the annoyance of everyone. He took a seat, his seat, and looked at everyone around the table, only to be met with the disapproving eyes of any that catched his. Since when did they hated him as much as he despised them?

''I am all ears'', he proclaimed, to a heavy and oh so absurd silence, interrupted by his squire once more, this time not pestering anyone but pouring a generously innapropriate amount of blue wine, the local delicacy.

The minister of Fears, also known as Sire Jeoffrey the Second, was quite fed up with the other ministers, his supposed equals. In fact he had been quite fed up with everything, for quite a while.

Quite so.

Jeoffrey recalled, with shameful nostalgia, his youthful pride. Of years and years, spent working in complete dedication to his dream ; to escape the peasantry that plagued his family. To become noble, nay, to become the highest member of society, a Minister. Made laughing stock by his own mother, claiming his daydreaming would result in nothing else than disappointment, young Jeoffrey persevered. Twenty years of work, spite and wine, there he was. A prestigious Minister, discussing nonsense with other delusionnal men.

And for what? Jeoffrey grabbed his cup of wine and drank bitterly. How bitter. He inspected the blue wavey surface of the wine, his reflection distorted slightly. By now the unending years of struggle of his youth seemed most beautiful, most poignant. In perfect contrast with the dream itself, empty and devoid of meaning. In a way, his mother was right, no matter what, disappointment plagued him. Jeoffrey the Second, Minister of Fears, cursing the life he worked so hard to get. He saw himself, sitting there, consummed by regret, of a life spent astray, hearing the hollow words of the other ministers, all sitting in the hall by the great window, showcasing the ravaged landscape they all so proudly administered.

Just like the fortress, the land outside was barren stone of black and crimson red, veins of a dark river coursing through it. And as the blue wine flowed from barrels to jugs to glasses here, outside the heavy darkwater flowed, inversed. Rising from the depths, akin to a miraculous reversal of the river. This land has always been enigmatic, yet not in an interesting way, at least to the ignorant opinion of the other Ministers.

''How strange, and how cursed is this land. And to think I used to dream of ruling it! The absurdity''

Careless, Jeoffrey had thought out loud once more, and his heretic words fell in the ears of the other ministers, as verocious predators, this was their opportunity, and at once they rose and protested loudly, standing upward with their red cheeks and blue tongues, their squires urging them to settle down and discuss in civilised manner, as the Minister of Fears still sat comfortably, laughing in the most insulting manner, a fat, satisfied laughter.

As they pestered him, he got back up once more. His feet leading him to the great window, where this time he looked past his own reflection, to the accursed land below. Once more the great hall, its people and their incessant words became distant, irrelevent. Down there, on the shores of the blackwater river, a soft glow, catching his eyes.

Rising from nothingness, it seemed, glowing light, dancing to some impossible melody, following the dark flow of the reversed river, to Jeoffrey's stupor. Their ethereal light was like nothing he had seen before, yet how familiar it was, calling him. The glow morphed into several figures, seemingly engaged in the harvesting of the river's souls, mesmerizing him. And as they danced and busied themselves in incomprehensible labor Jeoffrey lost himself, for what seemed like a fraction of a second, in contemplation, before almost awakening from it, exalted.

''Incredible news! The golden spirits are back!'' Exclamed the minister of Fears to the others, yet the hall was now empty. Gone were the pesky ministers, gone was his foolish squire and theirs, gone was the blue wine.

Yet he remained, along with the dancing golden spirits, down there.

He remained, in careful study of the miraculous unknown, calling him.

He remained yet now the spectacle of the golden spirits became enthralling, all-encompassing. Jeoffrey forgot about the glare in the window, forgot about the mundane details of his life, and forgot pretty much everything, except these two sounds, Jo-Fray, how peculiar.

Jo-Fray had awoken once more from a dream, and looking around he was surprised to see his family, glowing in a sweet familiar golden light. Beneath them, the darkwater river, spewing the dark souls of the accursed, that rose and danced with them, liberated. Yet Jo-Fray was puzzled. He took a stick and wrote on the shores, what he thought was his name. Studying the shapes of the letters, its meaning was fading away, much akin to his dream, about some life rising to become minister. Shining behind him, a golden spirit came and embraced him. ''Another dream, perhaps, my dear son?'' And Jo-Fray felt the weight of his sadness, heart breaking, as he tried to hold on to what he thought was his whole life. ''A dream?'' He answered, and they both went back to the river, embracing their golden light, almost forgetting about the absurd life of a sad minister.

Yet Jo-Fray still held on to his dream, his sadness and fear stopping him from forgetting. Along the shores of the blackwater river, the golden spirit gazed upward in awe, at the inversed architecture of the upended fortress. There! In the window, the face of a man, tormented. The man from his dream perhaps?