OOM
There is a reason why chess is such an overused cliche for the art of war. In no other game are aspects of ruthless conquering so simply displayed. One side against another, the same basic shape and purpose, differing in only simple ways. Guarded by many disposable pieces, flanked by those willing to sacrifice, the leaders lie safely ensconced from beginning to end, if played well.
And at no time are any of the pieces on the board, so focused on their objective, every truly in control.
There are things about chess that Rachel would agree with, when applied to war. An aggressive opening is always a good choice. One should sacrifice for the good of many. A loss here and there, while disheartening, is inevitable and must be anticipated, accepted, and forged through.
The point is to win.
You must win.
These are things Rachel would agree with, if she had ever played chess. Or had any interest in chess.
But to play chess, you must be a player, the mover of pieces, the gentle strategist.
And even Rachel knows, she is more likely to be a knight.
If the player is being charitable.
Certain subjects are not talked about.
Some of them haven't changed since the early days of the war. The word Nothlit never passes between them. The very first battle, the hours following their descent into the Yeerk Pool. The construction site, at any time, for any memory, is taboo.
What they saw there, did there, is unspeakable in many ways.
The final moments of Rachel's life are not talked about. In fact, the entire twenty-four hours preceding, though she knows that Tobias has guessed how long she held her secret, that she could have warned him and didn't.
She would say couldn't. He would say didn't.
But they don't talk about that.
Some subjects are not so easy. After the last time she tried, Rachel knows now that Loren is not to be discussed. And after the initial questions about their friends, about the aftermath of the war, when Tobias did not mention a single member of her family, she took that hint, too.
The time between her death and her arrival in Milliways, if any time passed at all.
Tobias does not know it exists and sometimes Rachel isn't sure.
What she is sure of is that telling him would change nothing.
And would solve less.
You were just a kid, she'd said, when the great player himself finished his story. Like us.
And he was, she could see that. She spoke the words, knowing he wanted some form of forgiveness, perhaps more than he wanted to honor her, to explain why she had to die. She wonders, sometimes, if he was comforted at all to hear her say so, to be given the opportunity to speak the words that meant so much.
Yes.
You were brave.
You were strong.
You were good.
You mattered.
She wonders if he realized, if he cared, that being a child in a war offers little excuse.
For either of them.
Chess is a game for the brave. For the confident. For the dedicated. For the patient.
For the player.
Not the pawns.
There are things that are not spoken of.
Bringing up the fight with Yrael was allowed in a moment of distress. Like a moment of silence for Elfangor while discussing the Blue Box. Because the latter is necessary, the former is allowed.
Because she had to say something about Yrael, Rachel was allowed to say the Ellimist's name. And when that time passed and they agreed, together, that neither understood or perhaps could understand, it was over.
But it stays with her.
In all his storytelling, the emotions the Ellimist displayed to her were elevated and far away, things he had grown past and was no longer capable of feeling as he once was. A creature so beyond what he had once been that he would never return. It's why he could stop time and tell her, in those moments when surely she had already died but was not quite dead yet, tell her his story when she demanded it from him. When she had sneered his name and demanded to know what right he had to pick up the pieces and move them where he wanted, even when such a move would sacrifice the piece.
And he had told her, in that way that is part answer to the desperate cry of a dying child, part a desperate cry of his own for forgiveness. Too elevated to see the ludicrous nature of it, and she too scared to protest.
She hadn't wanted to die. He was one of few creatures who truly knew that about her.
The Ellimist is a curse to them. A four letter word, as it's said. Rachel can think of him in moments where she is clear-headed and be angry and confused and exasperated and sad all at once. For his story and his purpose and his choices.
They don't line up in her head, the Ellimist and Yrael. Their choices and their attitude. The Ellimist is a player, Yrael has the potential to be a player.
Perhaps they all do, in significantly smaller ways.
I did not cause you to be one of the six.
An extra piece on the board. Stacking the deck for one side, one more square taken up by a soldier the other side didn't have.
But Rachel doesn't play chess.
All she really knows, if she had to think about it at all, is that one side plays with black pieces, the other with white.
She is the grey knight.
More useful than a pawn.
And at no time are any of the pieces on the board, so focused on their objective, every truly in control.
There are things about chess that Rachel would agree with, when applied to war. An aggressive opening is always a good choice. One should sacrifice for the good of many. A loss here and there, while disheartening, is inevitable and must be anticipated, accepted, and forged through.
The point is to win.
You must win.
These are things Rachel would agree with, if she had ever played chess. Or had any interest in chess.
But to play chess, you must be a player, the mover of pieces, the gentle strategist.
And even Rachel knows, she is more likely to be a knight.
If the player is being charitable.
Certain subjects are not talked about.
Some of them haven't changed since the early days of the war. The word Nothlit never passes between them. The very first battle, the hours following their descent into the Yeerk Pool. The construction site, at any time, for any memory, is taboo.
What they saw there, did there, is unspeakable in many ways.
The final moments of Rachel's life are not talked about. In fact, the entire twenty-four hours preceding, though she knows that Tobias has guessed how long she held her secret, that she could have warned him and didn't.
She would say couldn't. He would say didn't.
But they don't talk about that.
Some subjects are not so easy. After the last time she tried, Rachel knows now that Loren is not to be discussed. And after the initial questions about their friends, about the aftermath of the war, when Tobias did not mention a single member of her family, she took that hint, too.
The time between her death and her arrival in Milliways, if any time passed at all.
Tobias does not know it exists and sometimes Rachel isn't sure.
What she is sure of is that telling him would change nothing.
And would solve less.
You were just a kid, she'd said, when the great player himself finished his story. Like us.
And he was, she could see that. She spoke the words, knowing he wanted some form of forgiveness, perhaps more than he wanted to honor her, to explain why she had to die. She wonders, sometimes, if he was comforted at all to hear her say so, to be given the opportunity to speak the words that meant so much.
Yes.
You were brave.
You were strong.
You were good.
You mattered.
She wonders if he realized, if he cared, that being a child in a war offers little excuse.
For either of them.
Chess is a game for the brave. For the confident. For the dedicated. For the patient.
For the player.
Not the pawns.
There are things that are not spoken of.
Bringing up the fight with Yrael was allowed in a moment of distress. Like a moment of silence for Elfangor while discussing the Blue Box. Because the latter is necessary, the former is allowed.
Because she had to say something about Yrael, Rachel was allowed to say the Ellimist's name. And when that time passed and they agreed, together, that neither understood or perhaps could understand, it was over.
But it stays with her.
In all his storytelling, the emotions the Ellimist displayed to her were elevated and far away, things he had grown past and was no longer capable of feeling as he once was. A creature so beyond what he had once been that he would never return. It's why he could stop time and tell her, in those moments when surely she had already died but was not quite dead yet, tell her his story when she demanded it from him. When she had sneered his name and demanded to know what right he had to pick up the pieces and move them where he wanted, even when such a move would sacrifice the piece.
And he had told her, in that way that is part answer to the desperate cry of a dying child, part a desperate cry of his own for forgiveness. Too elevated to see the ludicrous nature of it, and she too scared to protest.
She hadn't wanted to die. He was one of few creatures who truly knew that about her.
The Ellimist is a curse to them. A four letter word, as it's said. Rachel can think of him in moments where she is clear-headed and be angry and confused and exasperated and sad all at once. For his story and his purpose and his choices.
They don't line up in her head, the Ellimist and Yrael. Their choices and their attitude. The Ellimist is a player, Yrael has the potential to be a player.
Perhaps they all do, in significantly smaller ways.
I did not cause you to be one of the six.
An extra piece on the board. Stacking the deck for one side, one more square taken up by a soldier the other side didn't have.
But Rachel doesn't play chess.
All she really knows, if she had to think about it at all, is that one side plays with black pieces, the other with white.
She is the grey knight.
More useful than a pawn.