Game Master

There is a certain strip of land abandoned by time, where Death dwells.

On a distant island, separated by a canal of oblivion, stands an empty tower. Death often strolls along the rocky shore, climbs the steep steps. She talks to herself, gazes into the distance. She remembers a certain man who played chess with her, thinking he was playing with his own imagination...

***

He traveled the world his entire life. There was no place on earth he hadn't visited. He was a Game Master, and everywhere he was greeted kindly. Everyone longed to see him play. And he played beautifully, virtuoso, as if savoring every move. Chess was his entire life. It defined every second of his existence. It was his occupation and his passion. Intoxication and oblivion.

The Game Master fought duel after duel. He was unrivaled. He approached each game with due seriousness. Yet he never paid attention to his opponent—which doesn't mean he disregarded him. He simply played as if he were playing against himself.

Despite his great wisdom, wealth, and fame, he was never happy. He was always alone. He and his pieces. One day, he met his Queen. He saw her in the crowd of gawkers during one of the tournaments. For a brief moment, measured by the execution of a checkmate move, their eyes met. Yes, this was his Queen, the one he had sought for so many years. He felt an extraordinary and previously unknown joy. However, amidst the congratulations and applause, unable to escape

the embrace of the congratulatory crowds, he lost sight of her. The stranger disappeared. He searched and questioned in vain. No one knew her. The Game Master threw himself into the game. Days passed, measured by moves. Another city, another tournament. He forgot.

Arriving at a certain kingdom, he was ordered to report to the king of the haunted lands himself. This King, called the Madman, had supposedly lost his mind as a result of a deadly and unhappy love. He became cold and cruel. From time immemorial, he had been in the grip of Death. And it was she who guided his actions.

The Game Master, left without a choice, went to the Mad King's castle. The ruler welcomed him hospitably, though coldly and with reserve. He proposed a game of chess.

"Play with me for your life," he said. "If you win, you will go free."

One of the great halls was transformed into a chessboard. The game was to be played by real people. They lined up, 32 in number. Both players faced each other.

The sound of trumpets initiated the game. The duel swayed, first to one side, then to the other. When the Game Master captured the first pawn, he was horrified to see it fall, covered in blood from the blow dealt by his champion.

"Chess is war, it is a true fight," said the King.

The Game Master fell into despair. The fight became increasingly heated. The main pieces charged into battle. Many did not survive the game. Finally, the scales of victory were tipping in the Game Master's favor. He saw a golden opportunity to end this bloody game. However, a skillful maneuver required sacrificing his own Queen. He gave the order, looked toward the Queen, and their eyes met. Imagine his surprise when he saw that a beautiful stranger had been designated as his Queen. He wanted to reverse his move, but it was too late. She faded away, sacrificed so that he might survive.

"You have won, man," said the King, "you are free."

The Game Master burst into tears. He departed in silence. No one cheered. The survivors were bandaged, the dead carried away. Only Death stood in the corner, clenching his knuckles.

"You have won again," she whispered with a grimace.

The Game Master stopped playing in public. He shunned people until he vanished from their memories. He settled in a lonely tower in a remote place. There, he waged solitary battles with his own imagination...

***

Death visited him daily, arriving in the evenings and playing until dawn. Enchanted by the Master's knowledge, she stubbornly yearned to learn the secrets of his game. He would set up chess pieces and fight battles, recalling the bloody scenes of that memorable game. He always tried to lose as few pieces as possible. If only he knew that every duel he played was for his life.

He impressed her. She admired him for his talent for foresight and his unparalleled tenacity. He thought he was playing against himself, yet he fought. She longed to touch his eyelids in final triumph, when she defeated him. After each checkmate, she clenched her fists and whispered through whitened lips,

"Next time..."

They fought this duel for years. He was undefeated, and she was patient. She waited for his mistake. The Game Master didn't want to live. The burden of responsibility was too heavy. He hadn't even realized how close he was to her. He didn't know she was staring at the veins in his hand. He struggled with loneliness, with the echo of his footsteps in the empty tower. With the nagging thought that he had become a prisoner of himself, with a whisper that seemed his own, yet alien.

Death was losing patience. His wounded pride was beginning to make itself felt. One starless night, a stray gust of north wind shattered a tower window. The swirling shards of glass lacerated the Game Master's forehead. He was lifting his Queen when drops of blood from his wounded forehead fell onto the chessboard. Tragic memories revived, tangled his plan, and he placed a piece on a false square. Death stood before him face to face. With one final move, she ended the fight and closed his eyelids.

Slowly descending the stone steps, she whispered:

"I won, I won..."