Checkmate, Death

by Cobyboy

  Lamina fell somewhere between. She at first scowled for a while, then started accusing me of tricking her. I just shrugged my way through all of this. Finally, she just had to smile and shake her head.

  "I don't think a rematch is necessary," she said, "but this was fun."

  "Yes, it was," I agreed. I didn't want to say too much, lest I break some magic spell which was somehow going to transport the two of us into her bed.

  We didn't end up sleeping together. But we did go and get lunch and then walk around for a little while. But it turned out we didn't have all that much in common, other than our interest in chess, so nothing much became of day I spent with her.

  Nothing other than that move I made. It was a move every bit as beautiful and elegant as Lamina herself, if I can say so without coming off as too much of an ass. It was a little unfortunate that it didn't happen under higher stakes, when bartering with a human for their life or trying to win some kind of prize. But it was all worth it for that one moment of despair and ruination as Lamina realized she was stuck. That she was already dead in a deep hole that she would never get out of.

  4

  Someone once asked me what my very favorite game of chess was that I ever played. I tried to give them a good answer but I really couldn't find one. There have been a lot of great games, sure, but I tend to more clearly remember individual moves and specific situations. I have a whole litany of those in my head, and I suppose I could take a grouping of them and combine them into one great hybrid game. I could call that my favorite game ever. But it would be a falsehood.

  A perfect game doesn't exist. In order to achieve a high, you usually have to scrape yourself through a low first. It has been eons since I last felt anxious in a game of chess. But, increasingly often now, I find that I get bored during the slow beginnings or middles of games, to the point where I can barely remember a game after I've played it.

  Over the ages I've been alive, all my memorable games have kind of blurred together. I have a great memory, don't get me wrong. But it's perhaps too great. I remember every single game, I think. But that makes it harder.

  Think of memory as a long hallway lined with doors. Each door leads to a specific memory. Games of chess, in this instance. And imagine every door is open all the time and the contents are spilling out like ghosts, clouding the hallway. They are all there, very palpably, but it's impossible to differentiate one from the other.

  But there are some things you never forget.

  Someone else once asked me about which question I wished that I received more often.

  I wish someone would ask me where my favorite place was that I had played a game of chess. Because I remember all of those with perfect clarity. Even so, it would be impossible to pick one out, point at it, and say with certainty that it's my very favorite. There have been too many good ones.

  I want to tell you about some of them. Not because you asked (though I'm sure you would, and maybe you will when it's finally your turn to be reaped), but just because I love to hear myself talk. Have you picked up on that yet?

  Before I can tell you those stories, I need to lay a bit more groundwork. And for that we will once again take a long look backward in time, to a very pivotal moment in the history of my relationship with humankind.

  ***

  Let's take a little trip to Earth, shall we? For the entirety of my story so far, I have been stuck in the unchanging realm called Heaven. Don't let anyone fool you, kids; Heaven sucks. It's boring and stupid and filled with beautiful, pretentious Celestials who not only think they're better than you, they know they are. Heaven is nice in... small doses. Brief stints. But I don't envy you good folk of Earth who, after death, will be subjected to that hell for all eternity. If you're reading this from Earth, here is my message to you; enjoy life while it lasts, especially if you're a nice person.

  Where was I? Oh, yeah. We were finally going to Earth.

  Do you have any idea how wonderfully wild and majestic and frightening your world used to be? Even a thousand years ago, it was a completely different place in almost every way. It's easy to just blame humans for everything, mostly because it's all your fault.

  Going to Earth has always been a thrilling experience for me. That hasn't changed. But the causes of the thrill have changed drastically.

  Chess, as you humans understand it, originated in the country of India. Never mind that I was actually the original creator of chess, and that it was invented a hell of a lot longer ago than you think.

  Let's just go with your version of events, okay? Okay.

  Chess was invented in India sometime before the 6th century. I don't know for sure if that's true, because I don't usually pay attention to borders and dynasties or specific eras. But I don't see why not.

  Saying that chess was invented at any one time is kind of false. There are different precursors to chess, none of which are identical to what humans play nowadays. The modern version is the same as the game I created, but there are certain codes when it comes to introducing humanity to celestial constants. First, we have to give you the very simplest, most primordial versions and allow the desired, final product to be achieved organically over time.

  So, that's what I did with chess. It's early form was called orangutanga or something like that, I'm not sure... No, it was chaturanga. That's it.

  You know what? I'm not a historian. There, I've said it. Maybe we should just get to the meat of the story now.

  All I know is, I arrived for a reaping in India one night. It was a very dark night, the moon was hidden behind clouds. But I was able to find my destination easily. Back then, with no real light pollution, it was easy to see the palace fires glowing from the heart of the jungle where leopards prowled and monkeys huddled together in the trees.

  First of all, I should tell you how I often convey myself when on Earth. Simply put, I can fly. Look up on a moonlit night, and you might see me gliding across the sky. You might see my black cloak, flapping behind me as I flash silently toward some soul soon to be departed from its prison of flesh...

  I guess that sounds kind of scary, doesn't it? I guess if you don't want to see me, then just don't look up.

  On the night in question, I was gliding along just over the treetops, reaching down now and then to run my hand through the canopy. Even though Heaven is the birthplace of all creation, it is true that Earth and other such places often feel more real. It probably has something to do with the flow of time, or the sense of mortality and temporariness that hangs over everything.

  I swooped over the wall of the palace and down low through gardens and fountains, past servants and workers. I shot upward, catching myself on the railing of a high balcony and hauling myself up to look in through the doors.

  Inside, the young man I was here to reap lay perfectly still. I could tell that he was someone important in this society, because of the height of his bedchamber and the lavish decorations inside. And also by how huge and fancy his bed was.

  A woman stood beside the bed, running a wet cloth over his forehead. She looked very sad, completely hopeless. I'm not sure why I was so sensitive on that night in particular, but the look on that woman's face broke my heart.

  I decided then that it was time to do what I had been planning for some time.

  First, I pulled myself fully onto the balcony. I sat there with my legs dangling into space through the columns on the railing and dragged the book out of my cloak.

  You might imagine the Book of the Dead as a huge, heavy tome. Probably with a black binding made of human skin, very dusty and old-looking. On all accounts, you would be correct. That's exactly what it looks like.

  But it doesn't act like a normal book. For one thing, its pages are infinite. It will never run out of space. It's actually a relatively new invention, something I adopted only after humans started giving themselves names and when certain figures in Heaven became interested in keeping better records.

  In my book, I write down the name of every person I
reap. There is no difficulty in learning these names; they arrive in my mind uninvited, along with the exact location of the person. Generally speaking, once I actually write your name in my book and leave your presence, that's it for you; you're dead. So sorry, better luck next time.

  I opened the book and wrote the name of the young man in bed behind me. I shut my book, shoved it back into my cloak, and stood up.

  The caretaker woman didn't see me as I approached the bed. Looking down at the sweaty young fellow, I had an impression that he was already much too far gone for my purposes. But then he suddenly coughed and opened his eyes.

  He was very sick, that was easy to tell. But his eyes were sharp and intelligent. His mind was still there. And he was obviously still able to move his hands, because he covered his mouth during his coughing. A moment later, he accepted a cup of water from his caretaker.

  I retreated to the corner of the room, sat cross-legged on the floor, and waited.

  It felt like forever before the caretaker left. Even though I'm a Celestial, I can still perceive the passage of time. That sense becomes more acute when I'm on Earth. The seconds just kept on going past, marching in a line that stretched forever in either direction. It was so late when the woman left that I felt sure she would extinguish the torches as she went. But she didn't. That was lucky for me.

  When I was sure she was gone, I willed myself visible and returned to the bed. The young man was asleep again, or maybe he just had his eyes closed. I touched his dark, sweaty forehead. His eyes snapped open, whirling around dizzily for a moment before focusing on me.

  "Death," he said calmly.

  Of course, he didn't say it in that language. It's just that I'm translating it for you. I can understand every language and dialect on Earth with no effort. And speak them fluently, too. This is quite necessary. It would be a tragedy for the last words of any dying person to go entirely unheard.

  "Yes," I said. "It is time for your moment of truth, I'm afraid."

  The young man shook his head. "You're not afraid of anything. You are fear itself."

  This was an adorable thought. But untrue. I am not fear; I am Death. Death isn't frightening, not when you know as much about it as I do.

  "I understand why you would feel that way," I said. "But I'm actually going to give you a chance tonight, my friend. There is a game I like to play. I am very good at it. I will teach it to you; if you can beat me, I will let you live. You will recover from your ailment."

  "And die again later," the young man said.

  "But not tonight. You may live another fifty years. Wouldn't that be lovely?"

  The young man thought about this. "It seems like I have nothing to lose," he said. "Even if I can't win, at least I will carry the knowledge of your game with me into the afterlife. Do many of your friends play it?"

  "A few," I said. "But they don't like to play against me. I always win."

  The young man smiled. "Maybe that will change tonight."

  I smiled and nodded. Best to let him feel hopeful for now. I may be an annoying bastard at times, or maybe all the time, but I don't think I'm all that cruel. What do you think? Maybe I'll leave a questionnaire at the end of this book so you can answer that. Maybe I'll even give you a mailing address so you can send your answers in.

  Anyway, I had to find some way of making a chess set. I started looking around the room.

  The first thing I needed was a board. After I described the rough size and shape required, the young man was able to point out a suitable object. It was a square-topped pedestal, about eight inches high, with four gilded feet. Right now it had a pillow on top of it. It probably had some religious use, I figured, but after ripping the cushion off I discovered a perfect, flat surface beneath. Using the edge of my book as a clumsy straight edge, and the charcoal pencil I use to trace names into it, I was able to draw out a grid.

  Like a modern chess board, this grid was eight by eight. It was looking nice... but then I realized there was no color difference between the squares. So I found a bit of makeup the young man had been using to conceal his sickly pallor and used that to mark half of the squares a dark brown.

  Now, I needed pieces.

  Do you believe in fate? In predestination? You should, because it's all around you. It's hard to spot in the scope of a single human lifespan, but Celestials can see it everywhere. It was guaranteed that your kind would eventually discover and adapt the game of chess to its inevitable form, which is the modern form. The game is now perfected, it cannot and will not be further improved.

  But in order for you to have the game, it needed to be given to you by a Celestial. Namely, me. But I don't have power over everything. In fact, I have power over very little. The only thing I really control are my movements in a game of chess.

  So, the moment and means by which humankind received the gift of chess were already planned out. Everything was set up for me. I didn't have to try extremely hard to throw my haphazard chess set together.

  It turned out that the young man, as a child, had taken comfort in certain carved figurines, the same way some children take comfort in blankets or stuffed bears. Though he had gradually moved away from these comforts, he had recently come back to them during his illness and encroaching death. He had his whole set there, just under the bed. I pulled them out and looked over them, smiling a nostalgic kind of smile.

  He had two rajas, two mantri (the equivalent to the queen we know now), two rathas (rooks), two gajas (which were elephant in shape; I used them as bishops), two ashva (horses), and a whole rank of bhata, which are foot soldiers.

  I didn't expect this young man, who was very fatigued and sick and had no prior knowledge of chess, to learn the modern rules in any reasonable amount of time. So I simplified some of the rules, adapted them to his early mind. One example of these altered rules was that I removed the double-move option that our pawns (bhata) possessed.

  In chess, a pawn usually moves one space straight forward or, if he is capturing, one space diagonally forward. But, if it is the pawn's first move of the game, he is able to move forward two spaces. I took that away. I didn't even mention it. There was no reason to add special, limited moves to my already longwinded instructions.

  I also took out castling. In chess, provided the rook and king have not yet moved and there are no pieces between them, you are able to castle. The king moves toward the rook and the rook moves toward the king, for as many squares as it takes for the king to end up on the other side of the rook. This is a defensive move, a way to protect your king. It is also good for quickly pushing your rook into a position of offensive usefulness.

  As I went through the various pieces and their movement options, I had a thought. Shouldn't I make it a little easier yet, to give this poor Indian bastard a slight chance of winning? Yes, I decided I should. So I made another small adjustment. I made it so that a stalemate, which in modern chess means a draw with no winner, would actually mean a victory for the stalemated player in our infantile version.

  Stalemates in chess are funny situations that don't come up very often. They happen when a player cannot make any move without putting himself into check. I had only seen a few stalemates before, but making this change to the rules made me feel slightly less evil. And now, if my young friend died, it was pretty much entirely his fault. I had given him all the advantages I was prepared to give.

  Or had I? Damn it, I hadn't after all!

  Even after my moral qualms were considered and discarded, I had a very logical reason for letting the young man win. I had already gone to the trouble of crafting this ancient version of chess. It would be a waste if the one person I taught it to ended up kicking the bucket. I had to let him live, didn't I?

  Letting someone win a game of chess is harder than it sounds, especially for me. Imagine you're the greatest chef in the world, you are standing at the edge of your own beloved kitchen, and you are watching as a toddler throws raw eggs all over the place in an attempt at making a quiche. Mayb
e that's not a perfect analogy, or even a decent one, but you probably get my meaning. You want nothing more than to school that dumb toddler, to send him off crying to mommy while you slap your apron on and show him how this cooking thing is done.

  Now imagine you're the greatest chess player who ever had existed or ever would exist, and you're purposely losing to a sick Indian fellow who's three steps from death's door and who's never even heard of chaturanga, let alone chess.

  But I did it. I played deliberately stupid, under the guise of teaching the young man the ropes. And then at the end, I pretended to actually start trying while simultaneously not trying at all. I couldn't just let him win outright, so I forced the game in the direction of a stalemate. I'm rather proud of myself for this genius act of manipulation. I'm certainly used to guiding a game of chess in the desired direction, but not in the sense of trying to make myself lose in a specific way.

  I pulled it off brilliantly, of course. No, you don't need to clap for me. Just stay where you are and keep reading, please. I am a humble Death, now more than ever. Just go on turning those pages, and keep your eyes peeled for the moment when everything fell apart. It's coming. And if I can succeed in not being a total windbag (no promises), it will get here all the sooner.

  Now you at least understand where chess came from. It came from me. I gave it as a gift, when you were ready. The young Indian, on the verge of death, was able to "beat" me in a game of my own design. I fulfilled my promise to him, erasing his name from my book. He was able to live his life, during which time he made some major headway in the effort of spreading my game far and wide. Now, centuries later, it remains the hallmark of logic and strategy.