“I’m risking the world for you, Alice,” Fabiola says. “So make it count.”
I am about to object, but the black army is already on her. Fabiola’s head disappears under several umbrellas of black warriors. And before it happens, her last look seems to have a meaning I can’t comprehend. What is she telling me, other than that I have to reach the end of the chessboard and make it count?
Chapter 63
The Pillar’s Plane
Xian, Tibetan Monk sat back in the fancy leather chair of The Pillar’s plane. He was sipping a pina colada and looking at a playboy magazine with eyes so open he might have fainted.
“This isn’t what America is all about,” The Pillar snatched the magazine from the monk’s clenching hands. “I’m not getting you the visa to become a burden to the country. I want you as an asset. Most immigrants are.”
“Sorry, Chao Pao Wong,” Xian looked embarrassed. “I’m weak to Western temptations.”
“There’s no such thing as Western, or Eastern, temptations, Xian.” The Pillar prepared his mini hookah as they flew away from Kalmykia. “This hookah is a temptation, if not an addiction, if you stuff it with certain shit, and it’s definitely Eastern.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying you can be a monk, a donkey, or a good man wherever you go. It’s your choice.”
“So my American visa is a choice?”
“It is, but then everything is a choice.” The Pillar smoked his hookah.
“Why so cryptic and gloomy, Cao Pao Wong? Is it Alice?”
The Pillar nodded, though he only made a slight move of his head.
“Then why leave her behind?”
“It’s complicated, Xian. Sometimes we’re forced to leave the people we love behind.”
“I don’t understand this. I mean, in the monastery we never leave a loved one behind.”
“That’s because there is snow surrounding your asses left and right,” The Pillar said. “And because in this isolated community you’re safe from life’s every day battles. Trust me, the visa will mess with your head, more than give you peace of mind. You know why? Because it will force you to make choices.”
“What’s wrong with choices?”
“Well, for one they seem like genius decisions at the time,” The Pillar coughed, not happy with his smoke. “Only later, you may realize your choices were wrong.”
“That’s terrible.”
“You know what’s really terrible? Living with the consequences.”
“But this doesn’t explain why you left Alice behind?”
“I’m not leaving her behind. She’ll be all right.”
“You truly believe she can reach the end of the chessboard and win?”
“She’ll do that, trust me. She’s a fabulous and fine young woman.”
“Then what’s worrying you?”
“The truth she is about to confront,” The Pillar says. “Winning will only lead her to having to make another disastrous choice.”
“Why am I sensing it has to do with her past?”
“It does. Alice will have to deal with a horrible thing she’s done in her past.”
“Don’t we all do that all the time?”
“You have no past, snowbird, so pull yourself out of it,” The Pillar tensed. “Alice is about to choose the Inklings or Black Chess.”
“I have the feeling she will choose the Inklings.”
“Me too, but I wish it was that easy. Because if you ask any person about the truth, they’d tell you it’s either black or white…”
“Inklings or Black Chess,” Xian offered. “It makes sense.”
“You’re wrong, Xian. The truth is never black or white. That’s the Hollywood movies perspective.”
“Then what is the color of truth?”
“Gray,” The Pillar says. “An ugly gray that makes London’s rainy and creepy afternoons look like heaven in greens.”
Chapter 64
Chess City, Kalmykia
Every step in my journey to the end of the chessboard reminds me of my cowardice. How can I let Fabiola die? This logic of war and how it’s supposed to be dealt with, confuses me again. I’ll be saying it again and again. War is just an ugly and blinding grey.
A couple of black army soldiers notice my escape and return to attack me, but I handle them with swift ease. The smell of blood on me is not only nauseating, but humiliating as well. I hate having killed all of them.
Behind me, I can still hear Fabiola’s voice yelling as she is killing them left and right. What a fabulous and admirable warrior. But I’m almost aware of hearing her scream in pain twice. She’s been stabbed, badly, but she will not give up until they steal her last breath.
And here I am, one step away from the last tile. There is no one to stop me but the short and stocky Queen, yelling at her guards. But none of them are here now. Fabiola has taken all of their attentions.