He knelt at the Black King’s side, but instead of offering him his hand, he grasped the hilt of the broadsword and held it before his chest.
One fatal strike, and all of it would be over. No Zed, no gathered army of Black, no stupid Game to wreck all their lives. Just peace. And not just for Steven and his friends, but their families and loved ones as well. So many paths altered, so many lives endangered, and each person’s fate bound to the wounded man who lay helpless at Steven’s feet.
Checkmate in one move.
With little more than a flick of his wrist.
But, if he killed Zed now and the Game never occurred, what would happen to all of them?
Would Emilio survive the betrayal and gang violence that awaited him? Would Lena?
Niklaus, drunk and suicidal atop the King tower in Atlanta; what would happen to him if no one showed up to pull him back from the edge?
What would happen to Archie without the Game to give him purpose in the twilight years of his existence? Could Steven deprive the elderly priest the chance to taste the vigor of his youth one last time?
And that left the woman who had never left his thoughts despite the months since their banishment to the past: Audrey Richards, shriveled and dying from leukemia, would no longer have any reason for Steven to cross her path and bring her back from the brink, giving her a second chance at life.
Just as he would no longer have a reason to go to Oregon and rediscover joy within those beautiful hazel eyes.
Instead of a quick death, Steven offered the man destined to be his nemesis a hand.
“Let’s get you inside, Mr. Brenin. Archie can tend to you while the rest of us try to help Sakura.”
“Thank you.” Brenin took Steven’s hand, managing to maintain his composure despite the blood oozing from his shoulder. “It’s funny, Mr. Bauer. For a moment, it seemed you were debating whether or not to strike me down with my own sword.”
“I was merely arming myself.” He pulled Brenin to his feet. “In case Ndure didn’t exercise the better part of valor.”
“It would appear, then, that our relationship has again reached an equilibrium.” Brenin looked over at his lover. “May I speak to Sakura first?”
“Of course.” Steven helped Brenin to the eldest sister’s side.
Sakura’s left thigh looked for all the world like an enormous predator had taken a bite. Just far enough down the leg that Niklaus’ belt-and-stick tourniquet could staunch the bleeding, the wound still oozed the woman’s lifeblood onto the California soil.
“My love.” Brenin dropped to one knee. “I didn’t know.”
“You do hate being surprised.” Despite her pallor, Sakura managed to find a kind smile for a man Steven would never have dreamed deserved kindness. “I’ve told you a thousand times, Victor. You can’t plan for everything.”
“I will find the man who did this, and I will end him.” His gaze shot to Steven, a cold anger in his eyes. “I swear it.”
“Swear only one thing to me.” She took Brenin’s hand and brought it to her heart. “That you will never leave my side, should I not see the end of this day or should I live another fifty years.”
“You are not going to die.”
Sakura voice cracked. “Swear that you will never leave me.”
He squeezed her fingers gently. “I swear it.”
Niklaus and Emilio carried Sakura inside, doing everything in their power to keep her leg still and minimize her pain. As Archie tended to her wound, Steven and Ume helped Brenin to his bed. The last thing Steven saw before passing the threshold again into his enemy’s home was Ume as she headed for the gate to stand guard, a pair of matching short swords in her hands.
God help Post and Ndure if they come back.
Steven stood on the porch of Brenin’s manor, hands gripping the bannister as he struggled to come up with their next move. As difficult as it would have been to return to Wolf’s Bend before, going back now was all but impossible having just sent away the two top lawmen of the town wounded and angry.
“Mr. Bauer?” Kiku joined him on the porch. “Are you…well?”
“Better than Mr. Brenin or your sister.” Steven turned to the girl. “What are you doing out here? Shouldn’t you be with Sakura?”
“She’s resting, as is Mr. Brenin.” She pulled in a deep breath. “And, in any case, it’s you I need to speak with.”
“Me?” Steven stared quizzically at the girl. “What do you need?”
“It is not me that is in need, but you and your friends.”
“What do you—” Steven shut up as the girl produced a familiar parcel from behind her back. “Wait. Is that—”
“Very early in our association, Mr. Brenin recognized in me a certain proclivity for manipulating the forces held within the dark leather of the Svartr Kyll. I have been trained since before I could speak with the power held therein.” Her head dropped. “How could I not recognize the presence of his dark pouch’s brighter sister?”
Steven reached into the pillowcase he’d borrowed from Dottie’s Inn, his fingers tingling as they brushed the smooth leather of the Hvitr Kyll. He pulled the bag of supple white leather from its cotton shroud, and a low pulse filled the air, prompting Steven to clutch the artifact to his chest, fearful that Brenin might hear.
Kiku rested a hand on his wrist. “Fear not. I waited for Mr. Brenin to start snoring before I sought you out.”
“But why are you helping me?” Steven’s brow furrowed. “Is your loyalty not to Brenin?”
“You and I both know that isn’t his name.” Kiku smiled. “It’s very simple, actually. From the moment we first met, you and you friends seemed out of place here.” She ran her fingers along the silver cord that held the mouth of the pouch closed. “Or perhaps out of time.”
“You know?”
She motioned to the pouch. “I thought that perhaps returning this to you would help you get back to wherever or…whenever you belong.”
“More than you can possibly imagine.”
“Oh.” She reached into the pocket of her jacket. “And one other entity to help guide you on your way.” She opened her hand and there, resting in her palm, Amaryllis shone green in the midday sun. “The workmanship of this dragonfly is exquisite. I’ve never seen its like.”
“She’s one of a kind, like the woman who gave her to me.”
“There is truth in what you say.” Kiku place Amaryllis in Steven’s hand. “Unless I miss my guess, on both counts.”
A sequence of faces echoed through Steven’s mind’s eye.
Young Ruth’s exuberant gaze filled his memory, slowly fading into that of the kind old woman who had given Steven her most prized possession in an effort to keep him safe from harm. Arthur, as well, equally dapper as a young man in uniform or as an elderly man in a “Kiss the Cook” apron, flitted through his mind. And then, as always, the woman who had captured his heart from the first moment he’d seen her photograph hanging on the wall of an old house in Sisters, Oregon, what seemed a lifetime ago.
With Audrey’s thoughtful gaze at the forefront of his thoughts, Steven pocketed Amaryllis and gripped the mouth of the pouch, its low drone doubling in intensity.
“I take it Mr. Brenin didn’t pick the location of his home arbitrarily.”
“Do you not hear the pouch?” Kiku closed her eyes and threw her head back, her expression akin to rapture. “It cries out to be used, to fulfill its purpose, its destiny.”
Archie poked his head out, his grey hair spread about his face like the sun’s corona. “Is that sound what I think it is?”
Steven nodded, pouch held before him, its low drone pulsing in time with his heartbeat. “Get Niklaus and Emilio. It’s time to go.”
Brenin sprinted from the house, his black silk robe barely fastened. He held a solitary piece of crumpled paper in one hand and the Svartr Kyll in the other.
“Where are they?” His voice came out ragged, almost raving. “Lacan. Bauer. Where did they go?”
>
“I sent them on their way.” Kiku sat lotus style in the center of the yard by a gnarled Japanese maple devoid of leaves. “They didn’t belong here.”
“What do you mean, ‘on their way’? What have you done, Kiku?”
“Exactly what you’ve trained me to do since the moment you first placed the black pouch in my lap a lifetime ago.” Her eyes turned skyward. “Brought order from chaos. Created forward movement from stagnation.” She fished a chess piece from the pocket of her robe, a white pawn. “I moved the Pieces forward, toward their eventual endgame.”
“You…” Brenin stopped mid-sentence. “Never mind. What’s done is done.” He held up the black pouch. “I’m guessing they were in possession of the Hvitr Kyll?”
“Strangely, both yes and no.” Kiku’s eyes slid shut, her mind going somewhere else. “The white pouch that spirited Mr. Bauer and his friends away no longer registers in my mind, and yet, the ever-present tether between your dark pouch and its white sister remains as strong as ever. What does that mean?”
“A word I rarely use…” Brenin stared down at the scrawled handwriting that filled the yellow paper held tightly in his fingers. “The impossible.”
“You’ve told me many stories over the years, Mr. Brenin, and no matter how incredible, you’ve assured me that each one was true.” She reached up a hand to brush her fingers along the crumpled paper that shook in Brenin’s trembling grasp. “What is that you’re holding?”
Brenin’s head dropped, as did his voice. “A message from one of our recently departed guests, Mr., or should I say, Father Archibald Lacan.”
“The old man.” Kiku rose from the ground and drew close. “What could he possibly have had to say to you?” She scanned the letter, her eyes growing wider with each line. “Can this be?”
Brenin sighed, folded the letter into quarters, and slid it into the pocket of his robe. “This letter represents the implausible solution to one mystery, and simultaneously opens the door on a hundred more.” He took the girl’s hand and turned to lead her inside. “But all of it is clearly a matter for another day.” He smiled. “Would you care to join me for a game of chess?”
“Of course.” She smiled. “I recently read of a new opening that I’ve been eager to try.”
“Excellent.”
Brenin led the girl to an upstairs parlor that boasted an uninterrupted view of the Pacific. At its center, yet another chessboard resided with all thirty-two pieces in place.
Brenin sat on one side, Kiku the other.
“The most difficult aspect of this game, Kiku.” Brenin focused on the battlefield in miniature resting between him and his young charge. “What did I teach you?”
“The waiting, Mr. Brenin.” She rested a finger atop her queen. “The waiting.”
25
Missives & Mysteries
One second, Steven, Niklaus, Emilio, and Archie huddled by the corner of Victor Brenin’s Black Dragon railcar, hands interlocked around the mouth of the Hvitr Kyll. The next, they stood at the mouth of a darkened city alleyway, a frigid wind whipping through the narrow space between the brick buildings.
Steven trembled despite his World War II vintage trench coat as he took a quick survey of his friends. Quite the ragtag bunch, Niklaus stood in his long coat, denim trousers, and 1940s-style boots while Archie and Emilio appeared even more like a pair of random extras from a black-and-white Western now that they no longer had the back drop of Wolf’s Bend for Steven to wrap his brain around.
“At least we didn’t end up in the middle of the woods for once.” Niklaus rubbed his upper arms, a shiver running through his muscular form. “Still, would it have been too much to ask for it not to still be the dead of winter?”
Steven glanced up and down the empty alley. “As long as Audrey and Lena are here, I don’t care how cold it is.”
“It was just a joke, Steven.” Niklaus shook his head. “We can laugh or we can cry.”
“Sorry.” Steven shot his friend a stressed grin. “Still processing everything.” His mind swam with so many loose threads and things unexplained.
Zed, the man destined to send his assassins for each of them a hundred years from the moment they’d just left, had seen each of them, learned their names and faces, but none of that explained how he would possibly know to look for them at the time of the Game. Zed struck Steven as shrewd and scarily perceptive, all traits of the chess grandmasters the man admired, but putting together that the four of them were, in fact, unwitting time travelers sent to the past by a future version of himself might be a stretch even for the Black King.
Not to mention all the mysteries that remained unanswered from 1890.
Who shot the U.S. Marshal at Dottie’s Inn that night?
Who knew enough about Zed to successfully lure the Black King to Wolf’s Bend in the first place?
Who was this “old man” who hired Scarface/Earl and Slick/Clarence to destroy the train engine and strand the man known as Victor Brenin in a backwater town in the dead of winter?
And above all, were all of those the same person?
In the distance a bell chimed, once, twice, three times.
“Guess that explains why there aren’t too many people on the streets.” Archie’s breath steamed wispy white from his dark lips. “It’s the middle of the night.”
Emilio pulled up next to Steven. “So, fearless leader, any ideas?”
The boy’s words, sarcastic and headstrong as always, were answered in kind by a more-than-welcome voice from the mouth of the alley.
“He’s gotten you this far.” Hope sprang anew in Steven’s heart at the five words. “Maybe you should give him the benefit of the doubt.”
Emilio spun around. “Lena?”
“In the flesh.” The girl stood silhouetted in the yellow of a distant street light. “Well?”
Both froze for half a second and then rushed into each other’s arms. Emilio swept Lena off her feet and spun her around, bringing a squeal of delight.
“Careful, papi.” With a quiet giggle, she pulled away so she could look Emilio in the face. “You’re going to leave us both dizzy and the sidewalk’s coated with an inch of ice.”
Emilio returned her to the ground. “Lena, thank God.” He panted, out of breath. “I was so afraid I’d never see you again.”
“Like I’d ever let that happen.” Lena grabbed Emilio by his vest and pulled him in close, the resulting kiss cribbed from every teen movie ever made. Steven and Niklaus both looked away to give them whatever privacy they could. Archie, conversely, looked on with a gaping grin.
“Ah, to be that young again,” he whispered just loud enough for Steven and Niklaus to hear. “For all its trials and tribulations, is there anything purer than first love?”
When Lena and Emilio were done getting “reacquainted,” she took him by the hand and led him over to the others.
“Hiya, Nik.” She beamed up at him. “Welcome to 1936.”
“1936, eh?” Niklaus pulled her into a robust hug and glanced back at Archie. “At least we’re only back one century this time.”
“Praise God.” Archie rested a hand on Lena’s shoulder. “So good to see you, child. Please, know that I’ve prayed for you daily.”
“Good to see you too, Archie.” Lena whipped out an arm and pulled the priest into the hug. “Looks like your prayers have been answered.”
When the three-way embrace ended, Lena turned to Steven, her head bowed in shame. “Hello, Steven.”
“Lena.” A thousand emotions swirled at his core. “I’m so glad to know you’re okay. How have you—”
“You have to know…” she blurted out before Steven could get out another word, emotion choking every syllable. “I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. All of this. If I hadn’t—”
“Stop.” Steven took her chin and brought her gaze to meet his, offering the crying girl his most genuine smile. “First off, you aren’t the one who sent us hurtling through time and space. All you did was sta
nd by your guns when the shit hit the fan. Not everyone has that kind of guts.”
“But, Steven—”
“Second, and far more important, you were right.” He motioned for all of them to draw close. “All those people on the bridge that day. They would’ve died if it weren’t for you. No matter what else has happened, those lives were worth it.”
Emilio nodded in agreement, as did Archie. Lena looked to Niklaus, who studied her with his mouth held askew.
“You want to know the truth.” His face broke into his trademark megawatt smile. “I always did want to see if I could bench press the Brooklyn Bridge.”
“Oh, Nik, you big goof.” She turned back to Steven. “So, I know there’s a lot going on here, but I can’t believe you haven’t asked…”
From the first moment he’d seen Lena, the question had been on the tip of his tongue, but he’d held back in an effort to give the girl her moment.
“Audrey.” Just saying the name made his heart jump. “Is she with you?”
“She’s not far.” Lena’s brow furrowed. “I’ll take you to her, but there’s something you’ve got to know first.”
A familiar ball of ice formed at Steven’s core. “What is it? Is she okay?”
“Audrey’s sick, Steven.” Lena ran a fist across her tear-filled eyes and sucked in a breath. “Dios mío, she’s so sick.”
“Steven.” The uttered word barely qualified as a croak. “Thank God.”
“Audrey.” Steven had waited months to hear that voice again, though he’d never dreamed that the next time he saw Audrey, she’d barely be able to speak. “It’s back…isn’t it?”
Long before Steven rescued Audrey from the Black Queen’s assassination attempt and brought her into the fold of Grey’s Game, she’d stood upon the threshold of death’s door. The twin devils of leukemia and the chemotherapy that poisoned both cancer and victim alike had left Audrey bereft of hair, emaciated to the point of visible ribs and skeletal limbs, and so bedridden that her mother had to cut up her food and feed her by hand. The Audrey before him still possessed her long locks of auburn hair, but her sunken eyes, hollow cheeks, and weak voice told the real story.
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