“If so, then I can walk the white tiles now as well,” I say, taking a deep breath.
“You’re assuming this is one of those holy chessboards?”
“It makes sense, since it’s in a place that is supposedly a portal to Wonderland.”
“A bit far-fetched,” he comments. “But if you truly believe so, then you should start with the black tiles. I mean if you’re right, my bet is you can’t walk them.”
“I can’t,” I say firmly. “I feel it.”
The Pillar’s eyes glimmer, not in the most pleasant way.
“I will walk the white tiles now,” I say, and step inside.
The Pillar’s first reaction is taking a couple of steps back. I believe he just read my mind and realized what I was aiming for.
“Now it’s your turn,” I dare him. “I want you to try to walk the white tiles, Pillar.”
“Ah, there is no need to.” He waves his hand, trying to act playfully, but the concern in his eyes is exposing enough.
“I need you to,” I insist. “I need to know about your intentions.”
His eyes weaken. The shine in them withers a little. I’ve cornered him in a place he doesn’t prefer to be. But I need to know. I need to know, once and for all, what his intentions are.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I will never kill you, not even if you can only walk the black tiles. All I want is to know you’re on my side.”
“I am on your side.” The Pillar says.
“Actually, this is what I feel. I know what you’ve done to me. You believing in me is beyond remarkable. But there is this feeling about you, I can’t shake.
“What feeling?”
“That I don’t know who you really are.”
“I can’t walk the tiles, Alice,” The Pillar’s voice scares me, because he is almost begging me, something I’ve never experienced with him. “I just can’t.”
“Are you saying you can only walk the black tiles?”
“I’m saying I can’t.”
I pull out a gun from my back pocket and point it at him. I had confiscated it from the Chessmaster’s men in Marostica and held onto it. I’m not even sure it’s loaded, but I have to do this.
The Pillar says nothing. Somehow he is not surprised.
“I’m much more worried now,” I say. “Why aren’t you surprised I am pointing a gun at you? Is it that you don’t believe I will pull the trigger?”
“Actually, I have no doubts you will, if you need to,” he says. “And at some point you will pull the trigger and kill me. It’s my fate, but I’m not sure why you will do it.”
I grimace, realizing that maybe it’s the Bad Alice in me aiming the gun at him. “I’m sorry.” I lower the gun.
“No,” The Pillar says. “Don’t lower the gun. Don’t let repress that dark part inside you, Alice.”
“What? Why would you ask something like that?”
“Because this is why I helped you become who you are now,” he says. “The world is full of good guys trying to fix it, always faltering when it’s time to pull the trigger, because they have no bad side in them. You’re not like them, Alice. You’re perfect. A good person who was once bad. If you could only find the balance inside, you will save this world.”
Like always, his words seep through, and I devour every syllable and meaning.
He is right. If I end up facing Death itself, I will have to pull the trigger. I can only defeat Death with the darker side of me. I grip my gun tighter and point it at The Pillar again.
“Then walk the tiles, Pillar,” I demand. “Show me what your intentions are.”
The Pillar nods, still reluctant, but he approaches the chessboard. And there he stands before a white tile, about to step in, but can he really do it?
Chapter 52
World Chess Championship, Moscow, Russia
The Chessmaster listened to his informer telling him the latest news.
“The Queen is dying, too.” The man told him.
The Chessmaster nodded, thinking. “And Alice? The Pillar?”
“They’ve found three pieces so far. In a few minutes I will be able to locate their final destination.”
“I want to know as soon as they arrive,” the Chessmaster said. “I hope it’s not a far place from here.”
“It can’t be,” the man said. “The sequence of how they found the pieces makes perfect sense. The last piece was in Tibet, pretty close to us.”
“Are you suggesting they’re close?”
“They must be.”
“Be sure, and soon,” the Chessmaster said. “I’m counting on the accuracy of your information.”
“But of course,” the man said. “I wouldn’t risk you killing me.” He smiled feebly.
The Chessmaster didn’t quite like being perceived as that scary Death figure. He hadn’t been always that scary. He had a story of his own, a story that justified his actions — at least from his point of view.