Checkmate (Insanity Book 6)

by Cameron Jace

  It’s clear to me that the giant has his eyes on The Pillar. Each thud in the snow shakes the place all around us. Snowflakes sprinkle off the earth and into the air.

  “So the monks had a plan B.” I say.

  “Plan death, I’d say.” The Pillar apparently has no means to fight with the speechless giant. “I’d start climbing up if I were you, Alice.”

  “And leave you here?”

  “Climb up or die. One of us has to distract him. Go.”

  It’s not like there is an easy way to climb up, but I get The Pillar’s concern. I don’t even have a chance to use my None Fu with the giant.

  Then something out of this world happens.

  “Hit me.” The Pillar says to giant.

  “Are you crazy?” I say.

  “Hit me, you big ugly cannon ball!”

  The giant accepts the invitation and lashes the back of his arm into The Pillar, who flies midair and then thuds against the snow wall to the left.

  “Stop it, Pillar. Don’t encourage him. I’m sure you can trick him with your smooth tongue.”

  The Pillar doesn’t listen to me. “Is that all you’ve got?” He sneers at the big man.

  Another lash, to the right this time. The way The Pillar slides down from the wall after this is almost like a cartoon.

  Blood spatters on the snow and The Pillar pulls himself up, stretches his neck and says, “Try a better one.

  I can’t believe my eyes as the giant punches The Pillar for the third time. This time he almost buries him an inch deeper into the snow.

  The Pillar spits out the blood and grins. “Not so hard, you stupid,” he tells the giant. “You don’t want to kill me. You want to have fun with me.”

  The silent giant grimaces, not sure why he shouldn’t want to kill The Pillar.

  “Because let’s face it. You’re a giant schmuck living alone in this hole in the ground. You’re lonely and have no one to talk to. Your IQ is probably – 45 like the cold weather we’re in, so why kill me right away when you can have a good time doing it slower?”

  The giant grins, liking the idea and begins a series of small hits at The Pillar.

  I try to talk him out of it, but he insists I climb up. And right there, when I don’t know how to do it, a rope dangles down for me, and I cling to it.

  “Typical of Hollywood movies,” I mumble. “To have deus ex machina save you in the last minute.

  The Pillar is still being hit, for the seventh time I believe, and someone is pulling the rope up. I hope it’s not the monks, because why would they want to help me?

  I feel guiltier as I am being lifted up, leaving The Pillar behind. Am I really going to let him die?

  Then a terrible thought suddenly hits me. “Pillar!” I scream while being lifted up. “Who is it who is going to kill you in the future?”

  The Pillar cranes his neck for a brief moment. Amidst all the punching he is suffering, his eyes speak the truth to me. I get it now. I understand why he visited the hospice, instead of facing his killer. “Don’t tell me it’s me who’s going to kill you.”

  The Pillar smiles, and slightly nods, as if he doesn’t want to tell me but has to. “And now I know how.”

  Above me, the monks’ voices are absent, and the thin beam of sunlight seems like a dagger of light killing me. I decide to let go of the rope and jump down and help The Pillar. “If you think I’d kill you by leaving you to die by the hands of the giant, you’re mistaken,” I spit snow from my mouth. “The future can be changed. I am never going to kill you.”

  But right there when I’m about to jump back, a firm hand pulls me up. I resist, craning my head up. “Let go of me.” I crow.

  But then I realize I can’t fight this grip, because it’s the kind of hand that’s too strong for me. It’s the Dude’s.

  Chapter 39

  “Leave me alone!” I shout at the Dude in the Red’s outfit, but his grip is like a chain of steel. “I have to save The Pillar.”

  In his silence, as usual, the Dude passes me another note, and I am already fed up with those: It’s his time. Leave him be.

  “No, I won’t,” I say, still trying to find my way back down, but a swirl of winding snow has already covered the hole below and I can’t see anything.

  Another note: It’s the price you will have to pay for saving Jack.

  I turn and glare at him. “How do you know about Jack?”

  A note: It doesn’t matter. What you need to know is that’s part of the laws of time travelling. Having cheated Time and saved Jack, Time will demand an equal sacrifice.

  “What does that mean?”

  Note: Time will take The Pillar’s life for Jack’s, Alice, and there is nothing you can do about it.

  “The hell with time!”

  Note: You don’t know what you’re talking about. Time is the one thing that lasts while we all die eventually.

  I swallow a lump of snow for having my mouth open wide. “But why should I be the one to kill The Pillar?”

  A note: Because you’re the one who saved Jack. Cheat time and enjoy a dear person’s resurrection, but pay the price and live with another dear person’s loss.

  “So time knows how much The Pillar really means to me.” I tell myself.

  A note: Now take a breath, and give it up. The Pillar is gone. I killed the monks by the way. We’re leaving soon.

  It’s hard to really accept this, but the wind is stirring quite stronger, and my survival instincts take over. The Pillar’s death is shoved to the back of my head, though I can’t believe I am really doing this.

  Next to me, I see monks spread dead on the ground. “Where did you come from?” I ask.

  Note: I’m British, from Kent.

  “You know I didn’t mean it that way,” I say. “Did you follow me? Why are you helping me?”

  No note this time, because The Pillar’s pain below is tearing me apart.

  “Another hit, sweet big stupid thing.” I hear The Pillar roar at the giant from below – at least he is not dead yet.

  I turn to the Dude. “Can I ask you a favor?”

  Note: Anything you want.

  “Help him.” I point to The Pillar below.

  Note: No. The Pillar isn’t on your side, anyways.

  “What do you care? Didn’t you say you’d do anything I want?”

  Note: Anything you want, that’s always in your best interest.

  “This man cares for me,” I insist.

  Note: He surely may act so, but you don’t really know what his grand plan is.

  “Look, others have warned me of him before. They’re all wrong.”

  Again, my words are interrupted by The Pillar’s pain.

  The Dude points at a balloon he has ready in the distance. It seems like this is his escape plan.

  “I am not leaving The Pillar,” I say.

  Note: You have to stop the Chessmaster.

  “Like I don’t know that? I need to save The Pillar first.”

  Note: He is a lunatic, asking the giant to keep hitting him.

  “I know,” I sigh. “I wonder why he is doing this.”

  The Dude churns out another note: Alice, listen to me, you have to stop the Chessmaster. You have no idea who he is.

  This gets my attention. “You know who the Chessmaster is?”

  Note: I do. He is the scariest man on earth. Only you can stop him.

  “Enough with the puzzles. Who is the Chessmaster?”

  The Dude points at the balloon and writes a note: Get on the balloon and I will tell you all about him.

  I turn and look at the poor Pillar, then back at the Dude. I am torn with what the right thing to do is. But I am so curious about the Chessmaster.

  The Dude passes me another note. This one is prewritten. It’s the size of a letter.

  “What is this?” I ask.

  The story of who the Chessmaster is.

  Chapter 40

  The Dude disappears in the white of snow, as the wind begins to s
wirl all around me. It's a sudden and extreme change in the weather, as if unseen forces in the universe want to prevent me from reading the note.

  I duck on all fours and clamp onto the note, trying to read it under the safety of my orange hood, still faintly hearing The Pillar's pain. There is hardly anything I can do about it now, but I wish the wind weakens the giants punches.

  Underneath the protective hood I begin reading the note. Two separate parts actually. But even though it's hard to read it in detail.

  The first note is written in old English. It almost has the tone of fairy tales or formal old English letters.

  Skimming through, it talks about an eternal war between black and white. The black calling themselves Black Chess and the white, the Inklings. The note mentions it as a prediction since at the time of writing – probably a long, long time ago – the two forces had no names.

  The two forces are said to originate in Elfland, which a man by Lewis Carroll may change into Wonderland. The forces have no boundaries. They will kill and fight for as long it takes until they find the Six Impossible Keys.

  The wind throws me off balance. I tense my knees and then fall on my stomach, waiting for it to leave me alone. Even flattened on the ground I arch my back a little and keep reading under the slanting weak light of my phone.

  The note later mentions the Six Impossible Keys are used to unlock something but not a door, nor is it a box. It unlocks the one thing no man can unlock - whatever that means.

  But then it gets weirder – or clearer – I am not sure. The note talks about the Six Impossible Keys being useless without the Looking Glass.

  This told of the Looking Glass again. Neither does the note mention the importance of what it is - unless it's simply a mirror and I am only reading too much into things.

  Another howl of wind attacks me. Ironically, I can still hear The Pillar struggling with the giant in the distance.

  I bite the second note, clinging to it with my teeth, as I am about to finish reading the first one.

  Only two paragraphs left.

  The next sentences talk about a crucial point in the journey to unlock the Six Keys. One milestone is when a third force, neither black nor white, threatens to end the world before the Wonderland Wars begin. That one is called the Chessmaster, who is almost invincible. He is a monster of pain, created by accident, out of an unholy spell used by two irresponsible Wonderlanders.

  I shrug, reading this, trying to put two and two together, but nothing comes to mind. It’s all too vague to comprehend, still.

  Only the last two sentences show me what's in store. The first explains that the Chessmaster needs to find a 'missing piece' – I assume it’s the chess pieces we’re collecting now – to protect himself.

  Protect himself? The Chessmaster is doing all this to protect himself? How can that be? Protect himself from what?

  The revelation comes as shocking in the last sentence.

  “The Chessmaster desperately needs the chess piece of a Knight, made from Lewis Carroll's bone, so he can play the last chess game in Mankind's history. A game that will either protect him from a great evil or initiate the apocalypse.”

  I am at a loss for words, hardly imagining what kind of chess game the note means. I can accept the idea of a final chess game that will end the world – in a most Wonderlastic nonsensical way, of course. But what does the Chessmaster want to protect himself from?

  Between the terrible wind kicking at my arched back and The Pillar’s struggles below, I part my teeth and let the second note fall in my hands. This one tells the story of who the Chessmaster really is.

  Chapter 41

  Buckingham Palace

  The Queen listened to Carolus’ story about what happened to Margaret, and couldn’t fathom what was going on.

  “She just fell like Fabiola?” She wondered.

  “Yes, my Queen,” Carolus said.

  “But if Fabiola dropped because of the appearance of the White Queen’s chess piece, why would Margaret fall after discovering the Rook piece?”

  “It’s puzzling,” Carolus said. “We’re not sure our theory is right, but the two women got ill after each piece was discovered.”

  “That’s nonsense,” the Queen said. “What is this, witchcraft, where you kill a person by poking needles and pins into a puppet?”

  “A chess piece, this time.”

  “How could they possibly be connected to a chess piece?” the Queen snarled. “I am not buying this. Are you sure Margaret and Fabiola aren’t faking it?”

  “I suppose they’re not. Fabiola is doing pretty badly. A special consultant of doctors are on her case, flying her to the best medical centers across Europe.”

  The Queen paced around her chamber, hands behind her back, trying to put reason to this unreasonable world. “Assuming the chess pieces are so powerful, we need to know who the Chessmaster is.”

  “We must.” Carolus said. “He is beginning to scare me.”

  The Queen’s telephone rang. It was Mr. Jay, so she dismissed Carolus and answered.

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Jay?”

  “Things are getting complicated.” He said.

  “I assume your men failed in catching Alice?”

  “True, but it turns out that Alice is least of my worries at the time being.”

  “How so?”

  “My men discovered the true identity of the Chessmaster.”

  “And?” The Queen shrugged.

  “It’s not good news.”

  “Is he a Wonderland Monster?”

  “It’s hard to tell.”

  “But you said you know his identity.”

  “And that’s the problem. The Chessmaster did something in the past, in Wonderland, that’s too scary to imagine.”

  “So he did live in Wonderland, among us?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “I’m puzzled, Mr. Jay. Who is the Chessmaster?”

  “Let me read his story for you.” Mr. Jay said.

  “Read his story?”

  “It was written by Lewis Carroll’s sister, part of his lost diaries.”

  “Why hasn’t Lewis written it himself? I’m so confused.”

  “You’ll get it once I finish reading the story. Let me begin with its title.”

  “It’s a diary entry with a title?”

  “Yes. The title is a number: 01141898.”

  “Is that the date of…?”

  “Yes, now don’t interrupt me, and listen.”

  Chapter 42

  Lewis Carrol’s Diary. An entry written by his sister in

  Guildford, United Kingdom on the fourteenth of January, 1898

  As I write this, my lovely brother Lewis is dying in his room in my house at Guildford in the United Kingdom. He's been here for some time due to his recent illnesses – mostly the intensifying migraines and the possibility of being schizophrenic.

  I haven't seen much of his split persona he claims to encounter. On the contrary, my brother’s presence has been so pleasant that I regret not having spent more time with him earlier in life.

  He will die unmarried and without children, but having affected every child in the world with his books – and of course, he can’t stop talking about that girl who inspired him to write the books, Alice.

  But I am not here to bash about my brother. I am here to write about what just happened and what I saw with my own eyes. Better write it right away before my fragile old memories escape me.

  Let's start with Lewis having been obsessed with chess since he'd been to Russia many years ago. He couldn't get it out of his head that he had to write Through the Looking Glass, the sequel to Alice in Wonderland, shaped after a game of chess.

  Even since he arrived from Oxford to my modest two-story house here, he brought his own chessboard with him.

  It's been set up and ready on a table next to his bed for some time. Every time I asked him about whom he was expecting to play with, he laughed wearily and told me he was expecting a
n opponent to arrive any moment.

  I never understood, neither did I pay much attention to it. I was ignorant about chess and Lewis had always been an unusual man. You don't ask him about what he is doing, for he is like a child who does what he wants when he wants.

  In the last few days, his health had deteriorated much, and it was devastating watching him like that. He sometimes joked that I need not worry because he will not die, not until he plays that last chess game with his expected opponent.

  Which made it harder for me to hold my tears, because I thought he was hallucinating.

  But the unexpected guest came.

  It was late at night when the doors to my balcony sprang open due to a snowy wind with an aggressive appetite for destruction. I stood up, locked the window back, and was about to go back to bed when I heard Lewis talking to someone.

  Tiptoeing, I approached his room and could instantly see that Lewis had left the bed and sat on the table for a game of chess. Opposite to him, sat the awaited, and most unwelcome guest. I couldn't see his face though, not from this angle. All I was sure of was that he was wearing a red cloak.

  "I thought you would play the game, using your special chess pieces carved from your own bones." The guest told my brother Charles – I mean Lewis, as most of you know him by this name.

  "I knew you'd ask for them, but you will never find them," Lewis said. "I’ve had someone help me keep them away from you."

  "Nothing is that far away, Carroll," the guest mused. "I will find the set. I will find the Knight, eventually."

  "Then it will take you years and years to do so, because I scattered them all over the world."

  "The world is mine, not yours," said the guest. "I have time, you have none."

  "Don't get carried away. You haven't beaten me yet."

  "None has ever beat me when their time came, Lewis."

  "There is a first for everything."

  "My first will also be my last."

  "And it scares you," Lewis looked unusually competitive. I wondered who the guest was.

  "It does scare me," answered the guest. "But when it happens I remind myself that I never lose. It just never happened, because I am..."