Pawn's Gambit

by Darin Kennedy

  “Well, that’s done.” Arthur grabbed one of the hot crescent rolls and gestured across the table. “Can someone pass the preserves?”

  “Come now, love,” Ruth said. “We haven’t blessed the food.”

  “Yes, yes.” Arthur took Ruth’s hand and then Grey’s. After an uncomfortable silence and a not too subtle nod from Ruth, Steven followed suit. Grey’s firm grasp was a sharp contrast to the nervous tremor in Ruth’s fingers. Steven bit his lip as the other three closed their eyes and bowed their heads, something he hadn’t done since he was a child.

  The truth was, he didn’t recall the last time he asked for God’s blessing on anything. Katherine had dragged him to her church in Georgetown on occasion, though any desire to set foot in a place of worship died the day of her funeral.

  Grey cleared his throat, and Steven realized he was crushing the man’s hand. He relaxed his grip and tilted his head in apology. Ruth began to pray.

  “Father, we come before You today with thanksgiving in our hearts for the bounty You have put before us, for health, for security, for old friendships that never fade, and for new faces to brighten our day. For all the blessings of each and every day, we give You thanks. Amen.”

  Waiting until Arthur and Grey had echoed the final word of the prayer, Steven opened his eyes to find Ruth already up, humming a pleasant tune and assembling a plate. He reached for a sandwich and felt Grey’s hand on his arm.

  “Don’t you lift a finger, Steven.” Ruth shot him a wink. “My house, my rules.”

  Though the fare was humble, the aged woman served the simple sandwiches as if their meal were the finest of feasts. She moved with a facile grace that belied her age, the veil of years lifting occasionally, allowing glimpses of a young woman from half a century before to peek through. As she worked on Steven’s plate, her face flashed with something like recognition.

  “Hold on.” She stepped into the kitchen and returned with a white bowl covered in cellophane. “I’m betting you’d rather have a bit of cole slaw on yours.”

  “Thanks,” Steven said. “Never was a big fan of sauerkraut.”

  “My pleasure.” A hint of color playing in her cheeks, Ruth spooned a bit of the sweet smelling cabbage onto Steven’s plate.

  “Bit of that for me as well, please.” Grey set the salt back on the table, deftly exchanging it with the pepper as Ruth served him. “Ever the consummate hostess, Mrs. Pedone.”

  “My Ruthie’s one of a kind,” Arthur said. “Don’t know what I’d do without her.”

  “You silly boys,” Ruth said. “It’s just cole slaw.”

  “Best cole slaw you’ve ever had.” Arthur grinned. “Sixty years of nothing but the best.”

  “Stop it, love.” Shooting Steven a furtive glance, Ruth sat back at the table and did her best to avoid his gaze. “You’re embarrassing me.”

  An awkward silence fell over the table.

  “Thank you for your kind hospitality, Ruth,” Grey said, steepling his fingers below his hawkish nose. “As always.”

  She nodded, taking a sip of her drink.

  Steven turned to Arthur. “I’m curious. How do all of you know each other?”

  Arthur’s eyes shot to Grey and the two men shared a knowing look.

  “We go back quite a way,” Grey said. “Longer, I imagine, than either Ruth or Arthur care to remember.”

  “And they know why I’m here?” Steven’s eyes flashed with something like hope. “Have they been through this?”

  “Thank heavens, no,” Arthur said. “I’ve never even seen the shoes you’re wearing, much less walked a mile in them.”

  “But you do know why I’m here. I can see it in your eyes. Ruth all but spilled it in the hall before. Why won’t anyone tell me what’s going on?”

  “Do not worry,” Grey said, eyeing Ruth. “These two have only your best interests at heart. They are privy to knowledge few on this planet know or understand. Their reticence to share with you is at my request alone.”

  “As for how Rex and I know each other,” Arthur rested his glass on the table. “It was the Big One, Steven. June of ’44. The shores of Normandy.” He slapped Grey’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t have made it off Omaha Beach if it weren’t for this old coot.”

  Steven slid back from the table. “I don’t think I’m following you, Arthur. You’re talking D-Day. You I can buy, but ‘Rex’ here isn’t even as old as my dad.” Steven scrutinized Grey’s features for a second time that evening. “Unless I’m missing something.”

  Arthur’s gaze shot to Grey. “He doesn’t know?”

  Something akin to frustration washed across Grey’s visage. “We had not quite come to that part.” He rose from the table and stepped into the hall. Steven moved to follow him, but at Arthur’s raised hand, sat back down.

  “Still has a flare for the dramatic, that one.” Arthur poured Steven another glass of tea. “Don’t worry. I have a feeling I know what he wants to show you.”

  Grey returned a few seconds later with the framed picture from the other room and handed it to Steven. Closer inspection revealed it wasn’t a mere photograph, but a newspaper clipping, a vintage Steven had only seen in museums. The aged newsprint had yellowed, but the picture, a group of soldiers disembarking from a US Navy frigate, remained clear. The caption beneath the photo read, “Corporal Arthur Pedone and Sergeant Rex Caesius of the 29th Infantry Division disembark at New York Harbor.” In the upper right corner, nearly covered by the frame, the paper’s date read, “January 4, 1946.”

  In the lead were two familiar figures.

  The first, an unbelievably young Arthur, walked proudly down the dock with a stuffed duffel bag held across his shoulder. He looked nineteen or twenty, his smile that of a man with his entire life before him.

  The second bore an uncanny resemblance to Grey, as if no more than a day had passed since the photo was taken. Other than the hair, which was cut in the military style of the time, his mysterious rescuer stood unchanged from the photo taken three generations prior.

  Steven laid the frame on the table. “How is this possible?”

  “I have lived long enough to say goodbye to more friends than I care to recall.” Grey rested a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “I remember walking off that boat with Arthur like it was yesterday. That year represented one of the great watershed moments in human history, and I have been present for far more than my share. Every other person in that photograph is long gone, but I still remember every name.”

  “Stop,” Steven said. “What you’re talking about is impossible.”

  “Impossible is a state of mind,” Grey whispered. “Were you not standing in downtown Chicago less than two hours ago and now find yourself breaking bread in Maine?”

  “All right, though you still haven’t explained what any of this has to do with me.”

  “Very well.” Grey sat and stroked his beard. “Tell me. What do you know about chess?”

  5

  Pawn

  “Chess?”

  Grey raised an eyebrow. “You have played the game, I assume.”

  “Enough to go a few rounds with you.” Steven grinned. “It’s been a few years, though. What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “Everything. What lies ahead of you is a game of chess, the most important of your life. But be warned. This contest is no mere meeting of the minds.”

  “That woman,” Steven said. “She mentioned something about a Game.”

  “I have no doubt she did. You and others like you comprise one side of a coming conflict, the woman you met last night and her associates the other. The gathered White are soon to face their dark opposition across a checkered battlefield and fight until only one side remains.”

  “This chess game. It’s not metaphorical, is it?” Steven put down his sandwich and placed his hands in his lap to hide his trembling fingers. “You’re crazy if you think I’m signing up for more of this shit. That woman killed those people at the club without a second thought. Burned
that security guard alive right in front of me. Hell, if you’d arrived a few seconds later…”

  Grey rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “I know your role in this must seem without hope after your encounter with the woman in black this evening, but let me assure you when you next face the enemy, you will be far from helpless and, if all goes well, no longer alone.”

  Steven massaged the knot forming in his neck. “So, assuming neither of us is in serious need of medication, you’re saying I’m part of this Game of yours whether I like it or not.” His gaze fell. “And powerless to do anything about it.”

  “Not powerless.” Arthur’s voice quivered with excitement. “Tell him, Rex.”

  Grey eyed Arthur, his patient gaze clouding for a moment. “For a time, you and others you have yet to meet will embody the various pieces of the chessboard. Once conscripted into the Game, each of you will possess abilities commensurate with your position therein.”

  “Abilities?” Steven asked. “And these others you keep talking about? Do they know about all this?”

  “No more than you did,” Grey said. “Five more await the call, each of them as oblivious to their destiny as you were earlier this evening.”

  Steven shook his head. “Shouldn’t someone let all the soldiers know they’ve been drafted before they’re dumped in a war zone?”

  Grey sighed. “You have hit upon the crux of the matter. Tonight’s skirmish was the opening salvo in the latest iteration of a struggle that has gone on for more than a thousand years. In the fifteen centuries since the inception of the Game, it has come to this only a handful of times. Each time, both sides stood assembled and primed before contact with the opposition was feasible, much less allowed. Your opponent has not only ignored this convention, but as evidenced this evening, has been quite proactive in his recruiting. Your future compatriots are in grave danger, Steven, and I fear we can do little but continue with the gathering.”

  “I don’t know much about chess,” Ruth said, “but removing pieces from the board before the game begins sounds like cheating to me.”

  “Indeed.” Grey shook his head, his dark eyes cast downward. “If the Black are successful in this endeavor, they will possess an insurmountable advantage before the Game proper can even begin.”

  “How do they even know who they’re looking for?” Arthur asked.

  “That remains a mystery.” Grey rested a hand at a bulge at his hip hidden beneath the edge of his tunic. “Without this—”

  “Stop it, all of you.” Steven shot out of his seat, sending his chair crashing to the floor, and went to the window. “Listen to yourselves for God’s sake.”

  Arthur joined him by the fogged glass. “I know all of this sounds crazy, but over the years I’ve learned to accept a few things on faith. I believe God looks down on me every day, hopefully with a smile on his face. I believe I managed to land one of the few perfect women ever born into this world.” He glanced back across his shoulder at Grey who remained seated at the table. “And if there’s one thing I haven’t a shred of doubt about, it’s that the world according to Rex Caesius, as strange as it may sound, is the truth.”

  Steven righted his chair and sat back down, the familiar dull pain flaring again behind his left eye. “It’s still a lot to take, Grey. One night of weirdness and I’m supposed to accept that my life has been transformed into some magical game of chess?”

  “I appreciate how difficult all of this must be for you,” Grey said. “You do not and cannot understand your place in the world as you are now, but you soon will.” He reached beneath the edge of his tunic and retrieved a small leather bag. Steven recognized the bundle Grey had brushed across the stage door in Chicago. Handing the bag to Steven, he said, “Until this time of conflict is over, this will be your guide and your burden.”

  Steven eyed the white leather bag. “What’s so special about your little knapsack?”

  “Knapsack.” Grey ran his tongue across his teeth, his impassive features clouding over with frustration. “The Hvitr Kyll is a tool, a guide, a resource. Old beyond measure when even I was young, this pouch and its dark sister contain the dual essence of the Game itself.”

  Steven studied the pouch, its heft unnaturally warm in his hands. Fashioned from faded white leather, it was cinched at the top with a length of silver cord. Strange letters stamped into the thick band surrounding the mouth were of no language he’d ever seen. A low drone emanated from the mouth of the pouch, its volume growing and the warm leather pulsating in his hand like a human heart.

  “Open it,” Grey said. “The answers you seek are inside.”

  Steven looked to Grey and Arthur, though it was Ruth’s silent nod that prompted him to untie the cord. He peered inside, the throbbing drone crescendoing with every passing second. A white glow shone from within, growing brighter with every beat as it pulsed in time with the pounding sound.

  “This is incredible. Can you guys see—”

  Steven looked up from the pouch only to find himself somewhere else. Far from the Pedone dining room in Portland, Maine, he stood atop a ragged cliff overlooking the ocean. The sun descending into the expanse of water to the west left the cloudless sky a burnt orange. A gentle breeze brought the scent of the churning surf to his nostrils. He turned from the edge and nearly collided with an aged man in colorful striped robes walking with a teenage boy dressed in white. Though their language was foreign, Steven understood every word.

  “Ten thousand dead in two days,” the old man said. “Twelve hundred years under the arrangement of our ancestors and still men die in droves at the whim of an unforgiving universe. Over a millennium, and we have accomplished nothing.”

  “But Grandfather,” the boy said. “Has not the arrangement kept the great catastrophes at bay for the same twelve centuries? You have always taught me to trust the wisdom of our forbears.”

  “And what wisdom is that?”

  “To always serve the greatest good.” Though harsh on Steven’s ear, the voice of the boy was strangely familiar. “Did you not instruct me the needs of the many must always come before the needs or wants of the few?”

  “Ten thousand dead, young one. Ten thousand. I believe even Aristotle would agree in this case, the sacrificial few have become the many.”

  The boy picked up a smooth stone from the ground and rubbed it between his fingers. “I and a friend have spent hours deliberating over this. We may have come upon a solution.”

  “What would this grand solution of yours be, my grandson?” The old man stopped and faced the boy. “And who is this friend of whom you speak?”

  The boy studied the ground at his feet. “Zed returned from the Orient yesterday.” He flung the stone sidearm off the edge of the cliff. “He brought with him an idea. A game.”

  “Zed is a wandering fool, and I know far too well the kind of games he plays.” The old man turned away from the boy and headed inland. “You would do well to avoid him.”

  “Won’t you hear me out, Grandfather?” The boy’s eyes grew wide with emotion.

  The old man stopped in mid stride, though he didn’t turn to face his grandson. “Speak. Tell me of this game.”

  “Ah, to be that young again.”

  Steven spun to find Grey standing at the cliff’s edge, a hint of moisture forming at the corners of his cloud-grey eyes.

  “He’s… you.” Steven stared at the boy in white.

  Grey turned to face the setting sun. “I truly thought I had the answer. The centuries have proven it was I, not Zed, who was the fool.”

  “Slow down, Grey. What are you talking about?”

  “Forgive me. There is so much for you to understand.” Grey’s eyes darkened with emotion. “What you are witnessing is, in many ways, the Game’s beginning, though the seeds of its creation were planted long before this day, this conversation.”

  “They… you were discussing an arrangement of some kind?”

  “The history and legends of every culture on the planet are fil
led with references to great catastrophes that occurred in the all but forgotten past. A great flood that nearly destroyed all life on earth. A once great city sent to a watery grave. Pestilence. Famine. Even the fossil record your scientists worship proves the worldwide extinction of one dominant species after another. Practitioners of the ancient arts sought a way to end these great cataclysms that had plagued man for all of history.”

  “They tried to stop… nature?”

  Grey offered Steven an apologetic smile and picked up a stick from the ground. Holding the fragile twig delicately between his fingers, he maneuvered it like the balancing pole of a tightrope walker. “In a way. The forces responsible for these great cataclysms are ever present, much like the tides or the shifting phases of the moon. They lie in eternal opposition, usually in some semblance of balance, with most changes to their equilibrium occurring over millennia or longer. This perpetual state of flux, however, is punctuated at times with rapid corrections, when reality snaps back into place with speed and violence.” With a crack, Grey broke the stick across his knuckles and allowed the two pieces to fall to the ground. “Like an earthquake occurring after centuries of subtle tectonic shifts, these corrections have the potential for destruction beyond imagining.”

  “I still don’t see what this has to do with me,” Steven said, “or chess for that matter.”

  Grey raised a hand. “My ancestors set in place a solution that stopped the great disasters from occurring, at least at their previous magnitude. The arrangement involved channeling the forces in question into the constantly warring tribes of the world. By allowing the opposing energies to come into direct and violent opposition through the endless conflicts of man, they achieved a new and more fluid equilibrium. The great disasters ceased and a multitude of innocent lives were saved. The cost, however, was greater than they could have imagined.”

  “Dad always said no one could see the future.” Katherine’s smile flashed across Steven’s memory. “All you can do is make the best decisions possible with the information you have.”