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The deep blue walls of the Sage’s library shifted, patterned wallpaper twisting in the dapples of light that coasted across the great room. The sun had begun to melt at the horizon, all classes from the day had ended at the strike of the afternoon belltower, the mild gold that now made its way inside the peaked sugar glass sending streaks of light across the ticking gears and planetary diagrams that littered its hold.
Though, it was not the library itself, nor its splendors, that occupied her attention tonight. She had much better, much more interesting things to attend to– a correspondence she had been planning rigorously in the week following her quiet solitude. The Sage of Truth had seen to it that today was a perfect calculation, providing just enough of an atmosphere, not too much to scare her subject, as she sat sandwiched in an armchair between a nook of shelves, kicking her plated heels on the lacquer.
“Why on Earthbread have you gotten this?” Across from her sat the Truthless Recluse, upturning her hooked nose from the cup cradled in her worn hands. “Where is your… your herbal?”
The Sage giggled to herself as she set down her gaudy teapot on a floating tray, the fat thing brimming with rich amber. She had steeped it herself, packed rich with vanilla beans from the forest littering the edge of that ruined clearing– the smell wafting and curling every which way and threatening to leech itself back into the poor crone that hunched across from her.
“Oh,” she feigned, sniffing exaggeratedly at her overfilled pour. “You told me to get something else, friend. I thought since you hated my hand-pickings it was only natural to suit your own disposition. I must say, after I acquired it, it's become a rather strong preference of mine! Thank you, for the push to try new things.” She lilted as she took a loud sip, the Recluse across from her contorting with a terrible shudder.
“Am I to drink poison?”
The Sage’s eyebrow ticked, gloved fingers winding tight against her cup. “You will live! I have much planned, after all, and I am not wasting our valuable time on such petty trifles. Go on.”
The Recluse's mismatched eyes wandered back down to the liquid, humming pathetically beneath her breath.
“...You wish for me to throw up on your floors.”
“You have not even tried it!” The Sage barked, her hands balling to fists. How long had she sat and picked those stupid beans, and gotten them all stained upon her gloves, and read the recipes and boiled and stewed and quality tested and all the little things the Recluse ignored to stifle her act of immense thoughtfulness!
“Presumptuous, and oh so cruel to me! So, so cruel, and horrible and inconsolable–”
A haggled cough escaped the other woman’s throat, pulling the cup from her mouth and covering it with the back of her hand. “It… It is actually quite good.” It was more of a guilty whisper than a sure statement, but the Sage’s protest ceased in an instant, her thin hands clasping together and rattling the wooden table.
“Of course it is, I expected no less!”
She certainly felt relieved now that the variable pieces of her routine had begun to fall into place. Even more so, seeing the Recluse every so often sip on the tea, pretending as if it troubled her deeply– though she could not resist returning to the warm stuff. She settled back into her armchair, the waves of her icing pooling over the edges in a smear of milky stars, and with a snap of her fingers, a chess board appeared upon the table, a velvet bag of pieces naturally sagging on top of it. The Recluse said nothing as she reached for her staff, settling it against her leg and the arm of the chair, the piercing eyes rapidly raking over the board in all directions. The largest in the center looked up at her, its strange lashes curling outward. She smiled at it, watching as the Recluse then stole its stare from her, the white pupil mulling about her surroundings.
“Again?”
She laughed, cupping her face. “Do you have a game of your own?”
The Recluse frowned, quietly refusing to even indulge the question, leaning forward and drawing open the cord of the velvet sack. The pieces were always unnaturally cold to the touch as she fished them out, likely because of their ready state in that other-realm, polished with beeswax and taken care of so emphatically it was hard to believe they were well used, despite the sheer age of them. She took a handful of pieces to lay out, and realized they had been embellished with some strange carving upon them as she gripped them: a thick line through the stem. The Sage watched patiently as the Recluse drew her fingertip across the grooves, the glare of her own dulled eyes looking up to meet her suspiciously.
“You marked black.”
“So I have.”
The Recluse sat for a moment, before she allowed the eyes of her orchid to inch shut, hesitantly drawing the pads of her fingers on the empty board. She suddenly shrunk back into her chair, pulling the inky swell of her cloak to her chest.
The lines of the board were set with grooves, small divots enough to feel the elevation of the white squares, the centers marked with inlay no bigger than a coin. The silence that stretched through the library was palpable, the quiet ticking of clocks and models only marginally louder than the soft shake of her breath.
She drew out her hand again, stopping to brush at the lip of the board, only to find the rise of columns, raised bumps adorning the once flat and polished surface, marring it with brailed letters. It looked as if she were scared to touch it, gliding her fingers over the letters like avoiding the heat of a raging stove, anticipating to burn her fingers clean off.
And cue the applause! Any moment now! Yes, yes, Recluse– I am quite the genius for such a thoughtful gift! You can praise me later, of course, after the main event! Is what she would say, were she the ostentatious self that had greeted her, all those meetings ago.
The blonde woman’s face wore impossibly deep, eyes wobbling.
“Why must you show me this?” Her tan hands fell to her lap uselessly, her deep voice strained in its composure. “This board is… it is older than me!” She whispered pathetically and clutched her forehead, strings of her pale icing falling in front of her face, her words of protest muffled by her palms. “This is an artifact, something irreplaceable! Why would you ruin it? You carved a mess all over it!”
“A mess? Excuse you, I took quite the liking to this design, it’s classy.”
It seemed she could not find it in herself to speak, sagging forward in the chair as if to swallow herself in her thick robes, and the Sage could not bear to see her wallowing, she must put the poor thing out of its misery before her dough melts to a pathetically sad little slurry.
She tapped on the table, grounding the attention back to the empty board. “Have you heard, there are over trillions of possible ways to bring a partner to checkmate? You cannot seriously imply I would ever be bored, not when computational limits are even farther beyond our mind’s understanding in numerical value. Remind me, how many solutions have we found?”
The woman did not even entertain a response, her eyes shifting nervously. “I have to play now, because you’ve destroyed it. Is that why?” Had she not learned the illusive figure well, she almost sounded angry– but to the Recluse’s misfortune such outbursts no longer worked, and the Sage merely ignored it. “Tell me why.”
She shifted in her seat, lips pursed as she drew another quiet sip of tea.
“Your leg.” She half mumbled it as if it were a simple fact, scratching at her nose.
Recluse’s gaze flicked downward, her hand brushing at the gnarls of her staff. She pulled her leg away from it, the thorns that twisted down the black handle tugging at the fabric of her robes. She scoffed, the dark spools of her eyes unravelling, meeting the virtues gaze from the murky depths. “That is entirely illogical. That is not merely a good enough reason.”
The reason itself need not be said, and they both knew that. It was a frightening understanding that swallowed her whole– the Recluse hated to face it more than anything, and why she could not meet her cloying eyes even now. Perhaps that was why her touch shook and faltered while feeling the changed board, and why her hands now gripped tightly the thorns at the arm of her chair, digging them deep into the dough of her fingers like a bleeding lifeline.
“Games are not fun if they are not fair. I saw the flaw, and I corrected it, so you may tell me thank you– and let us be on our way.”
The woman breathed through her nose, biting her lip. “You will have to fix this board.” The words pattered oddly, her square fingers finding again the cord of the bag, dumping out the rest of the pieces with a loud clatter.
“You must win, first!”
Of course, that was rhetorical. Unfortunately no shift of the board would make it any easier to beat that beast of logic, nevertheless, the Recluse seemed to silently accept her fate anyway. Each finger of her hand seemed to tear from the familiar grip of her staff, and she laid it against the bookshelf aside her, brushing its gnarls gently as one would dote on a pet with fondness.
As the Sage predicted, it took little time for the Recluse to grow accustomed, her chair scooted in and she dove into sorting the pieces in no time at all, and the old Sage could not help herself but grin at each tender thumb-over the pieces received. By the time the board had been arranged, a sense of relief had washed over the table, and now the determination kicked in.
“Would you like time to familiarize yourself?” The Sage offered, swirling her tea and tossing it back in her mouth. The aroma radiated through her, the delicate spice dancing in the back of her mouth and making her wish she had ground her pipe. Of course, the Recluse had no patience for the formality, already settled.
“So you can stall and analyze me? No thank you. Start your move already.”
She kicked back, slipping her gloves off of her hands, her nails rattling excitedly on the tabletop as she seized a pawn, the quiet tap of the piece signifying to her counterpart she was certain. “1, E4.” She spoke aloud, and the hermit leaned forward, tracing her hands on the front of the board.
_________
The game started slow. It seemed the Recluse had much more to think about, after shifting her visualization of the board. She was deliberate, double checking often, and in all honesty moving no faster than a poor snail. Thankfully for her, the virtue sat across from her was terribly patient. They had forever, after all. Sage could feel the change in the air the moment her reluctance began to melt and fizzle, brain firing away as she traced the letters on the board, smacking down piece after piece.
It was absolutely riveting.
It was everything she had wished for, and more. Never had she imagined, carving this board and waxing it, she would have the Recluse meager hours later falling like putty in her grip to advance every move, toiling diligently and enjoying it. Even as she chewed at the inside of her lip at the cusp of each move, her thrilling chase did not falter.
The sap had somehow managed to seize her bishop, and she could almost make out the imperceptible beginnings of a smile as the Recluse did so, clutching the piece in her hand like her first prize of the night. Inconceivable! Though, she couldn't be mad. The slight dimple of the Recluse’s cheeks made the setback all the more worth it.
It didn’t take much for the Sage to even it back out, of course, as she always did– good luck wrestling her strategy from her once she sets her traps to motion. Two pieces disappeared in her greedy knuckles, and she made sure to pat them down with extra care, letting the Recluse really simmer on the loss.
She wasn’t sure what had changed, but the woman was playing much more offensively. A new confidence swelled in her black veiled chest, the overcast in her eyes ebbing hungrily as it progressed. She looked terribly good doing it too, the curve of her brow twisted at her nose, her cream eyelashes screwed on her downturned face as she plucked each piece with vigor, fingers settled nicely in the grooves as if they had always been there– utterly natural.
More pieces filtered between them as the Sage barked out moves, a meager stack of few to many, and she clapped her hands gleefully as the Recluse stole away a scapegoat, pouring herself another cup of tea.
“Brava!” She cried out as she tossed her head backward, another move bringing another black piece hoisted from the Recluse’s grip. It was absolutely merciless, and the hermit could do nothing to fight against it.
The Recluse stamped the table, her eyes coasting across the swirling color of Sage’s silhouette against the windows. ”You’re doing that thing,” she pinched the bridge of her nose, tilting her head to her shoulder. “That stupid move I do not like, because you know I have yet to figure out how to break your stupid defense, and you will not teach me.”
The Sage laughed, kicking her feet on the floor. “Awh, but one day you’ll figure it out, and it will be wonderful, won't it?” She held the piece between her fingers, lifting it up and kissing at it with a loud smack of her lips. “Captured again and in my sweet, sweet possession~!”
The ancient sighed.
_________
Eventually she sat with her hands against her forehead, black sleeves spilling at the sides of the table. Two games back to back, the Sage screeched checkmate, ordering at once for the board to be reset again. The faint shimmer that cast across the library had since faded, magic sconces dousing the nook in a cold ocean of unnatural light, and it made the Recluse’s eyes hurt. And yet, a laugh escaped her frame, and she wiped her nose against her sleeve.
“I must admit, that was a rather good game. I nearly had you that time.”
“Hardly. I apologize that you simply could not stand the challenge!” The Sage snapped, twirling the black queen between her fingers, tossing it before her. The piece rolled along the table, and fell to the floor.
“Oh–,” the Recluse grumbled something to herself, leaning down and trying to fish it with her hand. Her head vanished beneath the table for some time, and eventually she surfaced again, saying nothing but shooting the Sage a sideways stare, and the Sage knew silently it was a quiet plea. She dared not acknowledge it aloud, lest she withdraws altogether, but she quickly rests it on the checkered wood.
For a moment, the Recluse allows herself silence, closing her eyes and listening to the quiet ticking of the clock hung on the wall.
“I–” She began, words dying short of her breath. “I think I would like it if you keep the board.”
There it was, what she had waited for since the moment the reservation fell. The Sage latched to the validation, pride immediately puffing outward. She slicked her milk bang, huffing.
“You doubt too much, my friend. Think kindly that I may do you a favor, now and then.”
“I had almost forgotten how it felt to play chess that way.” She spoke softly, running a finger across the rim of her cup, a newfound fondness escaping her. “Without any– distraction. The last time I felt connected to the moves I made… I was only a child.” It was shockingly honest, and the Sage almost refused to breathe, eagerly awaiting if there would be any more to accompany it. But the words left a sour taste in her mouth. The Recluse took a slow sip of her tea, the now cold liquid resting thick in her chest as she swallowed, biting back her lip with a bitter laugh. “That sounds quite silly.”
“No, I believe I understand.”
The Sage’s brow dipped. She really could not, logically. Not the way a mortal oven-baked cookie could with the emphatic emotion of something like nostalgia, but she knew the feeling, even when the circumstance was not the same. The chair beside her squeaked closer, the legs creaking as she inched to her side, and for once the Recluse did not stop it, her squared fingers twitching in her lap.
“Uncertainty is a voracious beast. It can swallow anything!”
The golden clock on the wall hung heavy, each moment with no reply the growing affront of its shifting hands, rapid clicks that did nothing but bring anxiety.
Her lips stifled a noise, face sinking back into her deep frown.
“Please, do not be disingenuous.” A clear line had been drawn in the sand– her shoulders firm as she stared at the direction of the Sage, the age of her voice slipping through the cracks as she tugged her skirts.
“I sincerely apologize; I do not mean to come off that way. The… concern with yourself, I understand the principle.” The Sage curled her lip, unsure if she should continue. “I know how it feels to no longer know what you are doing- what game you are even playing, on the board. To be entirely blind on which way to move, and to deceive yourself when it goes wrong. Perhaps the scary truth of complex living is that there is no one solution, but infinite possibility, and no single right way.”
She reached out, her azure claws brushing against the gold of her spined shoulders, an odd attempt at comfort that she was not quite sure how to feign in the first place, the entire gesture unfamiliar to her. The fabric was deceivingly soft beneath her hand, and the Recluse accepted the touch, fists squeezed terribly tight in her lap as if to shatter the dough.
“You cannot see it with your own eyes, not until you feel it.” The Sage whispered, searching the woman’s gaze as she thumbed her robe, her clouded eyes wide and face paled.
“It is not about the board, is it?”
It was horribly meek, slipping from her lips like a soft admission.
“No.”
The blonde woman nodded slowly, head shrinking into the thick black collar at her neck.
The game that sat on the table was littered, the Sage’s side an amassed horde of black and white, despite their trifling stalemate the game had obviously been won. It needn’t matter much now how much they reset to the beginning, the results would stay the same. Perhaps it always would end in the Sage’s victory, no matter how hard she tried– she could simply not fight the wisest cookie that walked Earthbread in a game of smarts.
“The game was… certainly interesting.” Slowly, she spoke, lifting herself from the safe confines of the upholstery. “I shall not overstay my welcome.”
Sage’s chest seized, her hand shooting for the woman’s thick wrist, her boney fingers wrapping around what she could grab. Her claws caught unnaturally against her, the tips weaving crescents to her dough like a horrible vice that silently goaded her to sit back down.
“If you play one more round, I can take you home myself!” Her composure entirely faltered, practically grovelling with desperation as she held tightly, the Recluse stumbling back against the chair. “You were doing so wonderfully, it would be a shame to call it off here, don’t you think?”
In a blur of shadow, the Recluse seized her staff, the eyes all snapped open within its center in a flurry of white and blue, all slowly rolling to view the Sage. Behind her in the half covering of the windows, the moon hung low, and the Sage knew well enough what that had meant. Her jam beat heavy in her ears, heart rattling in her chest as she held her arms out in futile embrace. “Please, Recluse, if you wish to stay, do not keep yourself– do not deprive yourself of enjoyment.”
Her head turned, refusing to meet her blown eyes. “I must go, while I can still see the path beneath my feet.”
“Really, must you?”
The Sage’s hand fell limp from her cape, the black fabric sifting between her fingers, drifting farther and farther from her with each step the recluse took, the fleeting static resonating in her fingertips even after she had heard the heavy latch of her door.
Further and further the tap of her staff echoed, until she could tell it apart no more from the thumping in her forehead. She stifled a pathetic sob, ugly impulse swirling like a vacuum in her chest as she threw her arms down to the table, sending the skewed board and all its carved pieces rolling onto the floor in a terrible clatter– pieces rolling under shelves and out of her sight. The episode left as quickly as it came, and she let out a rattling exhale as she found her prize among the disbanded pieces, clutching the lone black bishop tightly in her grip.
She would clean it all later, after wearing its imprint sufficiently into her palm.
The Recluse would eventually return her frequent letters and drift back to her lectures after deeming herself comfortable, and the game of cat and mouse would begin again. It had been a proven hypothesis before, strengthened only through time, but it did not quell the sick feeling that pervaded her mind as she watched the dark visage drift into the distance of the square from her window, vanishing into the black of the night sky.