Checkmate

The old man lay back in his chair, attempting to find sleep amisdst the ruckus of the children. Impossible, he muttered to no one in particular, since he could barely hear the words himself. The man who claimed that nothing was impossible had either been celibate or totally inaccessible to grandchildren.1

With a sigh he gave up and looked about at the children. There were seven of them--all boys--ranged in age from six to fifteen. They were the offspring of his only son. Why he had felt it necessary to own such a litter as this was beyond the old man's understanding.2

The four younger kids sat noisily in front of the television, watching an even louder movie about a dragon. The old man's eyes twinkled, and he chuckled in amusement. Imagine, he thought, a dragon with looks such as those! How easy it would be to slay, what with its underbelly exposed. And what sort of name was "Godzilla" for a dragon?3

From across the room, one of the older boys yelled "Checkmate!"4

The old man froze, his eyes wide, his brow knitted in remembered pain. How long, he thought, since last I heard that word?5

He turned his head, and saw the three eldest at the table, sitting around a little travel chessboard. The older two were setting up for another game while the third boy watched. If he had known, the old man never would have allowed the game in his house. But damage was done, and he could not now be held to blame.6

He stood, and walked to the table where the boys played. He looked at the game and smiled. Three, four moves at most. He leaned over and whispered to the eldest boy, who nodded and grinned. Black Queen's Bishop took White King's Knight. The old man paused a moment, then went to the television and turned it off. There were groans of protest, but they were silenced by his motion for them to follow.7

The children had been warned to do whatever their Grandfather said, so they trudged behind him to the table. Black Queen took White Queen's Bishop's Pawn. Checkmate.8

The old man winced, but it helped to strengthen him against the memories. He had protected his son from them, but he could do nothing to save his son's children. Perhaps, though, the world would have need of them someday.9

He picked up the Black King, and the fallen White King. Memory swelled within him, but he held it in. Without a word, he led the boys out into the darkness of the night. The sky was clear, and the stars shone brightly. Quickly, the old man sat the boys before him. He glanced again at the heavens above, then at the plastic shapes in his hands, and the memories began to flow like tears.10

"In the Beginning..."11

It is said by some that before all else there was darkness, night eternal, black as the heart of evil. Yet the power of dark was broken--changed. For from the nothingness of empty void sprang light, until it had spread far and wide across that vast open space. And though the light was less, it possessed great strength. And though the darkness tried to corrupt the light, still the light remained.12

The two forever contested, neither gaining over the other. At times the light would flare with overpowering brilliance, only to go black as quickly as it had brightened. The darkness would press against the cold matter of space in frustration, smothering any spark, only to have the light spring forth from the very rock.13

Their battle is eternal, but there can be but a single victor. Many believe that darkness shall never conquer light. Some say that there can be no darkness without light. Perhaps. But it is held by a few that dark will by defeated only in victory, and light shall have triumph from the ashes of its own defeat.14

It is those few, they who know the whole of the tale--they who now walk the hidden paths of the world--that speak the truth. For they have seen the thoughts that dwell within the heart of darkness.15

For centuries, millennia, eons the two battled, finally agreeing to a last contest. They were born to our world as twins. The elder, Shamus, was tall and muscular, his skin a natural deep earthen brown, his eyes grey as stone. The younger, Iridis, was fair of form and face, hair as gold as sun on water, eyes as blue as the sky on a clear spring day.16

As they grew, they constantly sought to best each other. Their favorite sport was chess, and most their games ended in stalemate. Soon, all their competitions became a game of chess in motion. First one would act, then the other, always on until the game came to an end.17

When the twain were twenty-two years on Earth, they met in combat for the final moves of the game. They chose their arena--a dark alley in a large city--and travelled the shadows to their destination. Without a word, they began.18

The two faced each other like old enemies, wary of every move, scanning the other for the familiar signs of attack, watching for simple tricks often-times used, never letting their own movements betray their next actions.19

The lunged and dodged each other for near to an hour, always anticipating the blows seconds before they were struck.20

The pair maneuvered into the street, into the center of the forming crowd. They stayed within the area circled by the audience. Never once did the group have need to part to avoid injury. Nor did they dare interfere. They could see that this contest was between these two, and help or hinderance to either would be deadly.21

As the two neared the alley again, Shamus fell backwards over the curb. Iridis grabbed a section of pipe nearby and smashed down. Shamus rolled clear, kicking Iridis' legs as he did. Iridis fell, still clutching the pipe.22

Shamus lept to his feet, and paused as Iridis stood. A gleam danced in Shamus' eyes for but a brief moment, though it went unnoticed.23

"Your move, Brother." Shamus' words were gentle, yet behind them lay the cold edge of a thousand glaciers in winter. None who heard those words could hide the shudder which passed through them. Nor would they ever forget it, even in death.24

A spasm of confusion contorted Iridis' fair features, but it lasted only a second. He stepped forward and swung the heavy weapon at Shamus' head, yet he hit only the air. He swung again, but Shamus retreated merely enough to avoid the blow. Again and again he advanced, though the pipe never made contact with flesh or bone. Yet his growing rage carried him on, until he could think of nothing but advance and swing. He took no notice of the scattering crowd, did not hear their screams, nor the sound of an approaching horn. Nothing could disturb his attempt to reach his goal.25

But then Shamus stopped, and the suddenness caused Iridis to hesitate. Shamus' eyes flashed, and his smile was one of victory.26

Shamus spoke a single word. It was all he needed to say. It was the only thing Iridis heard. He didn't hear the truck's approach, didn't feel the impact, didn't even care. He had lost.27

Shamus barely noticed the squeal of the truck's brakes, or the screams from the horrified crowd. He just turned and walked away into the darkness of the night. That one word echoed in his wake and flittered about him like flies upon a corpse.28

To this day, he speaks nothing but that single word to those who come upon him in the dark of night. Yet that one word tells of centuries, eons, of pain. Those who listen walk forever under the heavens, and gaze sorrowfully at the stars. And they always shed a tear at the sound of "Checkmate".29