“More power, less resistance.” Steven stared at the X in the sand. “Makes sense, I guess.”
“The greatest among the various crossings are well known to the world at large: Giza, Chichen Itza, Machu Picchu, Easter Island. Ancient adepts of the Art built temples and tombs at such locations for a reason. Thousands of years ago, such wellsprings of power enabled feats that to this day are still unparalleled. The Great Pyramids. The Moai.”
“Stonehenge.” Steven’s breath caught in his throat as the man’s dead eyes flashed across his memory. “The massacre.”
“Precisely. Each iteration of the Game centers on a specific crossing and the players for each side usually share a geographic propensity. As evidenced by the events of the last few days, the coming conflict will take place somewhere on the North American continent.” Grey walked up the beach to where the sand was dry and sat. His duster billowed about him like a dark cloud. “On a different note, I have divined the answer to at least one mystery.”
Steven stretched and joined Grey on the soft sand. “And that would be?”
“The most important question of all.” Grey’s eyes burned. “Why the Black are able to engage any of you at this stage of the Game.”
Steven let out a bitter chuckle. “They’re certainly not having any trouble doing that.”
“This hunting of the White by their opposition is an abomination.” Grey’s voice filled with venom. “The rules governing the Game expressly forbid my interference in matters of Black and White prior to the Game proper. The fact that I’ve been able to find and aid you to the degree I have speaks to the deplorable manner in which the Black are conducting themselves.”
“So Black is ignoring the rules,” Steven said. “Not the most shocking news of the day.”
“It is more than that. As Zed, myself, and the remaining seven of our order created this Game, the rules of most import were the ones that ensured play, regardless of the outcome.”
“Because if the Game isn’t played, badness happens, right?”
“Indeed. All of us agreed that prohibition of any contact between Black and White prior to the ordained time was out of the question—much, I suspect, to Zed’s chagrin.”
“Then how are they doing this?” Steven asked. “They’ve been all over us.”
“That is the missing piece. Other than the Hvitr Kyll, no other way to locate you and your brethren prior to conscription exists, yet somehow Zed has become privy to your identities.”
“And if we’re not yet a part of the Game, all bets are off.” Steven’s gaze fell. “Damn.”
“Our enemy’s newfound prescience adds a dangerous wrinkle to an already tenuous situation. For the Game to legitimately replace the bloodshed of the previous arrangement, it had to be more than just a ritual. The war before you is real, and each of your lives along with those of countless others are on the line. Zed has been patient for centuries, but now that it is upon us, it seems he will stop at nothing to gain the power of this correction.”
“So, all the others are basically walking around with targets on their chests and if I don’t get to them first, they’re dead.” Steven rose from the sand and stared at the growing number of stars in the eastern sky.
“Steven?” Emilio ambled over, Lena and the white stallion close behind. “Not that we have much of a choice, but Lena and I have been talking. As crazy as all this sounds, we’re in.”
Lena stepped up and took Emilio’s hand in hers. Her fingers trembled, and Steven didn’t think it was merely the cool night air. “I don’t think we’ll ever feel safe again unless we see this through to the end. At least with you guys around, we’ve got a chance.” She bit her lip. “We are going to get through this, aren’t we, Steven?”
Steven laid a hand on Lena’s shoulder. “If I’ve got anything to say about it.”
“Don’t worry, mami.” Emilio wrapped his arms around Lena from behind and pulled her close. “You’ve got me watching out for you.”
“So, what do we do now?” Lena searched Grey’s eyes for an answer.
“Wait for morning,” he answered. “Rest. Prepare.” Grey looked back over his shoulder as the sphere of fireflies dissipated, returning the beach to darkness. “And pray.”
16
Interlude
The darkened room was silent save for the occasional footsteps that echoed down the adjacent hallway. Scant illumination seeped in from the space around the door, the rectangular eclipse maintaining the room in a twilight state. A hospital bed projected into the center of the room, the gentle rise and fall of its occupant’s chest the only visible movement.
A darkened television was bolted to the ceiling in the opposite corner, a silver Zenith label at the bottom of the set barely visible in the low light. A corkboard on the wall bore dozens of cards filled with well wishes and prayers. The flowers in the vase on the bedside cart were wilted, a day or two beyond their prime.
The sleeping form shifted under the covers and then sat bolt upright and eyed the door. The man’s dark skin blended with the shadows of the room, though his wide eyes and silver mane betrayed his position. A quiet titter escaped his lips that evolved into a throaty laugh.
“It seems I have visitors,” he mused to himself in lilting, laughing tones. The hoary fellow pulled himself upright, sat on the edge of the bed, and stared in the direction of the hallway, his head cocked to one side. After several seconds, the heavy door flung itself open. Backlit by the setting sun of some faraway desert landscape, one shadowy form and then another strode into the room. The door closed itself quietly behind them and one of the overhead fluorescent bulbs flickered to life, shedding wan light on the man’s after-hours guests.
The tall, slender man in the lead adjusted the waistcoat of his finely tailored black suit while the striking woman in the full-length black gown and stiletto heels looked around at the lime-green paint of the walls and sighed.
“What is this place?” Disgust dripped from her voice.
The man in the bed chuckled. “My current living arrangements, unfortunately.”
The woman flinched at the words, not having registered the man’s presence.
“I do not, however, intend to be here much longer. As a matter of fact, I’m quite certain my soon-to-be associates will be along to pick me up any day now.” Rising from his bed, the bent figure approached the man in the black suit.
“I see you’ve brought Her Highness with you this time. You hoping the old man might spill a little more information if provided with some proper eye candy?” The silver-haired man emitted a muffled cackle as he openly looked the woman up and down.
The woman in black clenched her fists but her well-dressed companion calmed her with a raised hand and subtle shake of his head.
“As you are no doubt aware,” the man in the black suit said, “the White Pawn and Knight have each managed to elude us despite our best efforts. No doubt their power and experience grows with each moment they are free. Your visions so far have been more than accurate, my jovial friend, but their proximity to the events in question has made it difficult for us to capitalize on that knowledge.”
“My visions? You blame the visions for your abject failure? Ha! The Pawn is indeed resourceful and the Wizard, as you know, has a wisdom born of personal experience, but that comely wench standing there should have had no trouble taking out one lone man.
“As far as your other agent goes, he couldn’t manage to kill two oblivious teenagers when presented with a clear shot at their collective backsides. I think your minions concentrate a bit much on showboating, and not enough on getting the job done. Now, the Pawn is armed, they have the boy, and he has drawn the lance. He is selecting a steed as we speak.”
“Again,” the man in black said, “events in the now are of little use to me.”
The silver-haired man ambled over to the opposite wall, shaking his head in simultaneous laughter and mock disappointment. “As the good Dr. Bersholtz keeps telling me, I really think you
should look inward for the root of your problem.” He spun around, sat on a plush armchair that rested in the corner of the room, and crossed his arms. His teeth gleamed, a Cheshire smile.
The man in black seethed, but maintained a cold monotone. “I am more than aware of the shortcomings of my varied associates. They both followed their instructions to the letter, but lacked sufficient initiative when their initial efforts were thwarted. I have already expressed my displeasure with their performance.”
“We will not fail you again, your Highness.” Despite a hint of deep purple evident below her eye, the woman’s icy stare betrayed no emotion.
“So, old man,” the man in black continued, “where is the quartet now?”
“What does it matter? They are, for the moment, beyond your reach. Tomorrow, on the other hand, they seek their Queen. You will find them where she lies.” The old man looked off into space at something apparently only he could see.
“And where might we find the White Queen?”
“I’ve been unable to isolate her position as I did with the others. An aura of uncertainty surrounds her, an ambience of death. I get the impression from what little I have seen that she is quite ill and not long for this world. Her own body kills her from within. Why the Game has chosen such a person is beyond me, but in this case, the woes of the world are apparently doing your job for you. I can tell you she’s somewhere in the west. I see a small range of mountains, three to be exact, but that’s all I can say. Return in the morning, and I may have more to tell.”
“What of their Rook?” the woman asked.
“Oh, he is a strong one.”
Without warning, the sarcastic tone disappeared from the old man’s voice, replaced with conviction and fire. “The Rook will not fall. Do you hear? The Rook will not fall.” This other person stared at the pair in black for a moment before his face resumed its baleful sneer.
“Whoops, did I say that?” The man brought his fingers to his mouth and rolled his eyes in mock embarrassment. “I swear, sometimes it’s like somebody else is trying to speak.”
“And what of the good Bishop?” the man in black asked with a hint of amusement.
“You needn’t concern yourself with him,” spat the old man. “We’re like this.” He brought up his right hand, his index and middle fingers interposed to form an X. “The old fool can’t even muster the will to squirt in the toilet without my say so. Continue with your plans, and I will continue to hold your ace.” He turned his attention back to the woman in the black dress. “Now, if you’ll have Her Majesty venture on over here. I’d like to see if this old body still has what it takes.”
The woman raised a toned arm and pointed an outstretched finger at the silver-haired man’s mocking smile. Before she could utter a word, the man in black grasped her elbow from behind and ushered her toward the exit. He gestured with his free hand, and the solid wood door again swung open of its own accord. The pair stepped through the open portal and vanished, the old man’s cackles echoing in their ears.
A few moments later, a middle-aged woman in blue scrubs popped her head through the open doorway and scanned the room. “Everything okay, Archie? I thought I heard something.” The woman smiled kindly as she helped the elderly gentleman back into his bed.
“I’m all right, Gladys.” Frailty not evident moments before colored his words. “Just another bad dream.” His long sigh ended in a yawn. “Would you bring me some water, please?”
“Sure thing.” She grabbed Archie’s cup and headed for the sink in the corner. “You know, two days from now is our open house visitation and you’ll likely still be with us. Do you have anyone coming to see you?”
“Actually, Gladys, I am expecting to be quite busy with visitors that day.” A glint of anticipation flashed across his eyes, a stark contrast to his feeble tone. “Perhaps you could help me tidy my room tomorrow.”
“Be glad to.” Gladys finished tucking the old man back into his hospital bed and took a moment to stroke his silver hair before heading back down the hall. She flipped off the light switch, exited the room, and closed the door behind her with a quiet click.
Archie lay in the dark, staring at the checkerboard squares of the drop ceiling. A rueful expression crossed his weathered face. “Quite busy, indeed.”
17
Door
Gathered around the flickering fire, Steven, Grey, Lena, and Emilio talked well into the evening. The events of the day remained the focus of discussion, though as the night passed, the quartet made the first tentative steps toward becoming more than strangers stuck in the same foxhole.
Raised by his brother after his mother died a week before his tenth birthday, Emilio Cruz had excelled in high school despite every disadvantage. Finishing in the top ten percent of his class and having made All-State in wrestling his junior and senior year, he was headed to the University of Maryland on a four-year scholarship. More impressive than his accomplishments, however, was the young man’s humility. At every turn, he downplayed his own talents and accomplishments and steered the conversation back to the beautiful girl shivering next to him.
Lena Cervantes was Emilio’s opposite in many ways. Born into a wealthy family in Madrid, Lena had come to America when she was sixteen to spend a year with her aunt and uncle in Baltimore. Steven marveled at her spotless command of the English language.
Her initial dismay over going to a public high school vanished as she entered her first day of US History and caught the eye of the junior wrestler in the fourth row. She and Emilio had been inseparable since, and she had even convinced her father to allow her to stay in the States a second year so they could finish high school together. Her story reminded Steven of another first meeting, a bittersweet memory he quenched before it could fully infiltrate his thoughts.
Through the evening, Steven kept any revelations about his personal life succinct and avoided the painful topic of Katherine completely. Instead, he worked to keep the focus on the issue at hand, gleaning every bit of knowledge possible from his cryptic mentor.
Lena sat in rapt attention as Grey recounted a brief history of the Game. Emilio, on the other hand, spent most of the evening cracking jokes and seemed far more interested in the rumblings of his stomach than in the rumblings of any coming struggle.
Just after midnight, Grey’s jovial tone faded as his discussion of the Game came to the third iteration. Growing silent, he stared up at the red planet that glared down from above.
“What is it?” Steven asked.
“It is time for you three to go. You are all hungry and tired and will need rest and sustenance if you are to succeed tomorrow.”
“Why now? What’s happened? What aren’t you telling us?”
Grey remained silent and continued to stare solemnly into the night sky.
“I take it we’re on our own again, then.” Steven made no effort to hide the frustration in his voice. “How long are you going to stay gone this time?”
“I thought you understood, Steven. At this stage, I am forbidden to interfere.”
“Bullshit. You’ve been interfering since you pulled me out of that club.”
Grey’s eyes grew dark. “An intervention made necessary by Black’s misconduct.”
“So Black can flaunt the rules but we have to obey? That’s crap.”
“Nonetheless, it is my decision to make.” Grey met Steven’s gaze, the fire in his eyes fading into sadness. “The only decision I can make.” Turning away, he clicked his cheek, and the wandering stallion cantered back up through the surf, whinnying as the cold water splashed up on his legs. Grey waited for the horse to join them and then turned to Lena.
“There is one last piece of business before I go. Lena, your weapon, if you please.” He gestured to the aluminum bat lying half-buried in the sand.
Lena recovered the battered remnant of Emilio’s days in T-ball and held it before her.
“The pouch, Steven, if you will.” Grey’s voice barely rose above a whisper. “Miss
Cervantes’ cudgel may serve her well against the street gangs of Baltimore, but in the days to come, she will need something with a bit more ‘oomph,’ I believe the expression goes.”
Steven loosened the pouch from his belt, his irritation replaced by renewed wonder as he opened the leather bag to again find the mouth pulsing, the white iridescence growing in brightness with every beat.
“Wait,” Lena said. “I can’t…”
“Don’t worry, Lena,” Steven said. “Emilio and I have both reached into the light and made it through.”
Lena trembled. “What do you want me to do?”
“Put the bat into the pouch.” Steven held the pouch before her. “See what happens.”
“Yes,” Grey said. “Let it bathe in the White.”
Lena took a deep breath and dipped the bat into the shimmering light, jumping as if she’d grabbed a live electric wire. She slid the entire length of the bat into the small opening until her right arm was imbedded up to the elbow in the warm glow of the pouch. Her entire body stiffened and her expressive brown eyes grew wide with surprise.
Emilio took Lena’s hand. “What is it, mami?”
“It’s impossible.” Lena withdrew her arm from the pouch’s glowing mouth, her hand clad in a gauntlet of finely wrought platinum chainmail and the bat replaced with an enormous mace. The weapon’s handle fashioned of the same bright, poplar wood as the pike, its triangular tip possessed the dull luster of the lance’s platinum surface. The mace hummed quietly as Lena passed it through the air before her, her slender arms wielding the massive bludgeon with ease.
“Grey,” Lena asked, “what does this mean? Am I—”
“Lena, my dear, it is clear you and Emilio are meant to walk this path together, and even more clear you would never leave his side regardless. If you are to face the coming struggle with the others, it is only proper you be given implements to defend yourself.”
Pawn's Gambit Page 14