The Elder Lands

Chapter 28

The succession of chess riddles continued in different forms and convolutions, with Lucan none the better for it. At some point, he’d even stopped trying with all his effort, tired from all the trying and failing.

His frustration must have shown on his face because the spirit gave him a consoling smile. “No more chess, but one more riddle, and you may have some respite.”

“Respite?” Lucan asked.

“The riddle first,” the man said, still with a smile. “You come upon a land where only heroes and villains live. They live harmoniously, but heroes always tell the truth and villains always lie. On your first day in this land, you meet three men. You may choose one of them to ask three questions, either about themselves or their companions. From these questions, you must ascertain who is a hero and who is a villain, knowing that there is at least one of each.”

Lucan thought about it for a moment then looked at the man sitting on the other side of the table incredulously. “No matter who I choose, I cannot be certain whether he lies or tells the truth. I can’t ascertain anything.”

“Perhaps you ought to think about it more, then.”

Lucan huffed and leaned back into his seat. If the one I choose turns out to be a hero, then all will be well, and I would only need two questions. But I can’t ascertain that, if I ask the one I choose who he is, he will say he is a hero whether he’s a hero or a villain.If my choice is a villain, he would ruin all my questions. If I ask him about a villain, he’ll say that he is a hero, and if I ask him about a hero he’ll say that he’s a villain.

Lucan ground his teeth together as his mind went up in knots. He rubbed his forehead, as though he could scratch the itch that he felt inside somehow. If only I could tell whether the one I was speaking to was a hero or a villain…

He spent a considerable amount of time thinking, but with no result. The spirit’s human form was still infuriatingly smiling. Lucan felt that it would be cathartic to reach over the table and slap him on the face or grab him by his oddly plain clothes and wrestle him into the ground until he submitted. For some reason, though, he suspected that wouldn’t end up with him earning all those Vital Orbs.

Frustrated, he inadvertently let a mutter right out of his thoughts. “No one does, for Elders’ sakes.”

“What’s that?” the spirit leaned forward.

“It’s nothing,” Lucan waved his hands sideways. “Not an answer to the riddle.”

“But I’d like to hear it.”

“My father once told me that no one always tells the truth.”

The spirit grinned, pearlescent white teeth reflecting the light. “Heroes do.”

Lucan sighed. “May I get a clue, at least?”

The spirit shook his head. “I’m afraid not. And your time has ended.”

“Cursed gods,” Lucan swore.

“A respite then,” the spirit said. “For the mind, like the body, needs its rest.”

“How long?” Lucan asked.

“The signs will be clear before a return,” the spirit said. Then he pointed in the general direction of the princess. “You may speak to your friend, but you may not ask for or give answers to the past riddles.”

Lucan nodded, upon which the spirit began to disintegrate into motes of light that flowed back into the sphere. The fog between him and the princess was already thinning, and her form was beginning to become visible.

The princess’s face eventually became clear enough. She was looking in his direction too, still seated on her table as he was.

“We get to speak again then,” the princess began.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Lucan said.

“Do you think perhaps we’re done with the easy part of the Trial?”

“Easy?” Lucan said, eying her carefully to see if she was saying so in jest.

“You had difficulties?”

“Yes,” Lucan said with pressed lips, a flush already creeping up his neck. If she found all those riddles easy, then he now looked like a monumental fool.

“Ah, I suppose they could be. Perhaps you’ve come to the Trial too young. I’ve waited until now, you see?”

“Perhaps,” Lucan said, his voice inadvertently subdued.

“Which of the riddles was difficult for you?”

“Everything after the third chess position.”

“Even the fifth?” she said, cocking her head. “It was quite simple.”

“How was it simple?” Lucan nearly growled.

The princess gave him a light chuckle while covering her mouth. “You had to make a series of moves that would put you on the path to certain victory. Then your opponent would resign. You didn’t have to gain an immediate win.”

Lucan nodded, trying to remember the exact shape of the board back then. The princess was obviously going in circles around the answer as the spirit had warned them not to peddle their answers. He shook his head. It mattered not whether he remembered the board. The riddle was gone and passed. But there had been one position that he could still remember, because he’d felt that he was so close to victory but couldn’t find it. “The seventh one,” he said. “I felt an answer within reach.”

“It was,” the princess said. “Sometimes in chess, as in politics, it is possible to force your opponents’ hand, even if they are not of a mind to assist you. A forced move is always a delight to implement, whether in this or that.”

The board was still in Lucan’s mind from the seventh, easy to remember due to how hard he’d stared at it in anger. Anger that’d come from feeling so close to an answer, but incapable of touching it. As the princess’s advice echoed in his mind, he saw the moves he should’ve made. An endgame position in chess was often both simple and convoluted, and he’d missed a simple approach that he could now see. He wouldn’t make that mistake again, not that it mattered now.

“The riddle about the heroes and the villains,” he said. “That I couldn’t parse either.”

The princess chuckled again. “It seems you have trouble with forced moves. But let me give you a clue.” She tapped her lips with a finger a few times. “In my father’s court, it is difficult to hear the truth. Except for when it comes from my father, of course, His Royal Majesty never lies.” She gave him a look. “But everyone else? They lie and lie, or they don’t speak, or…or they tell a truth to confound you and nothing else. So when you need answers, you must find a way to conjure them. Silence in itself can be an answer. Even a lie can serve you. If you know which lie to pick, it can carry an answer–a truth–for you.”

Lucan nodded slowly. It was nearly as difficult to parse as the riddle itself, but he could see the beginnings of clarity coming to him from her words. “I must force the right lie.”

“Yes,” she said. “And in knowing that it is a lie, you have gained power over its speaker.”

They grew silent as Lucan contemplated her words. Eventually, he found the way to solving that last riddle, or at least he believed so. He must’ve been silent for long, however, because the princess huffed and spoke, sounding frustrated or perhaps bored.

“The spirit doesn’t seem to be coming soon, and you’re already deep in your mindscape. One would think you’d repay me by keeping me company.”

“Apologies, Your Highness. I didn’t mean to–”

She raised a hand to stop him. “No need to express your regret just yet. If you’re done with your thoughts, then perhaps we can speak of simpler matters once more?”

“Of course,” Lucan said, dipping his head. His mind went back to what they’d talked about earlier and he spoke before the silence could drag on for too long again. “May I ask how you haven’t found someone worthy of your trust yet? There have to be some suitors with proper character, and enough prospects to inspire a promising fate.” He lingered on the last word since she’d mentioned it in her justification before.

“You miss that which is most important,” she said. “Trust. I must trust them. And no, none have come that I can trust.”

“Why is trust important? It’s difficult to nurture such a thing without time. Should trust not be grown between spouses in time?”

The princess scoffed. “Without trust to begin with, there’s nothing. Marriage doesn’t necessarily build it. It’s like a wager. It might build it. It might reverse what little of it there is. Or it might destroy you.”

Lucan gulped, slightly taken aback by how tense the princess had suddenly become. For some reason, it felt as though the princess was speaking from some experience or another. He cleared his throat. “I apologize–”

“Enough was the apologies,” she huffed. “I allowed you to ask. There’s no harm done. But now that you’ve delved into the privacies of my life, it’s only polite for you to speak a bit about yours.”

“Yes, of course,” Lucan said. Then he found himself lost for words. He didn’t know what to tell her about himself. If anything, life in a backwater territory like his could only prove dull compared to the royal court. He looked at her, expecting to see impatience, but instead he found her patiently waiting for him to speak. “Do you have any questions, Your Highness?”

She hummed for a moment then nodded. “Do you remember your mother?”

Again, Lucan was taken aback, but this time by the question. But once he got his bearings he nodded softly, a light smile drawn on his lips. “Yes, I do. I was young when she passed, but I have memories.” His smile turned wistful. “She gave me my first book after I learned to read. She barely knew how to read herself, after a lot of trying and learning.” Lucan glanced at the princess’s face to see if she was finding it tedious to listen to him reminiscing about things long past, but she wasn’t. She was surprisingly smiling too. So he continued. “Sometimes she asked me to read to her. A story. Or history. The latter was her favorite. She said there were so many stories in history, and the best thing is that they were all true.”

“You read to her a lot then?” the princess said.

Lucan shook his head and looked down at his table, rubbing his neck and pretending it had gotten stiff from looking at her which it had, but it wasn’t the reason he turned his eyes away from the princess. “I…I was young back then. I always resisted it. I didn’t want to read. It was dull, and I didn’t like it. Perhaps three or four times. Those are the ones I remember, the times I’ve read to her.” His eyes conjured tears out of nowhere and his sight was suddenly a blur. “If I’d known, I would have…”

“Read to her more?” the princess said so softly that he nearly missed it.

Lucan bobbed his head. “I read a lot now.”

“History?”

“Yes. Sometimes I…”

He didn’t continue, though the princess nodded at him understandingly and said, “I know.” Then he remembered something. Something that everyone knew but his mind had somehow neglected. The princess, too, had lost her mother, the first Queen, many years ago.

Lucan wiped his eyes as subtly as he could and got a better sight of the princess who was looking at him sympathetically.

“Your Highness,” Lucan said. “You have lost your mother too. Forgive me for not being more considerate.”

“I asked you, did I not? There’s nothing to forgive. Do you want to know about my mother?”

He eyed her carefully, making certain she wouldn’t take offense to the nod he gave next.

“You’re fortunate compared to me,” she said. “I have little memory of my mother. I can remember her love, somehow. The memory of a feeling is subtle but heavy, you see? I loved her.” Her smile widened and showed some of her teeth, as though she’d lost her mastery over decorum and, consequently, her countenance. “She loved me. I know it. I still feel it. But there are so few memories,” she lamented with a shake of her head. “I remember her holding my hand in the palace gardens once. She held it so tight and I held hers back. I can’t remember what she said, nor can I remember the expression on her face. But I can remember looking at the trees and the flowers, my hand in hers, and feeling whole; as though the future was certain.”

Lucan nodded sympathetically, at least to return the favor. But it wasn’t just that.

“She died of grief,” the princess said suddenly, freezing him. “Believe it.” She nodded at him. “You must know the story.”

Lucan didn’t speak or react. He would be treading dangerous territory, even if the princess was the one to bring him there. Oh, he knew the story. Everyone did. The King’s first Queen, the princess’s mother, had been the princess of Pontis herself. She and the King had tried to bring an heir to the world for years, but they’d failed. The Queen wouldn’t become with-child no matter what they tried. Eventually, the King had to marry another, and heirs were ultimately born. In a twist of irony, years later, the first Queen became with-child, soon giving birth to the princess, Anushka.

“She had hope that I would be a boy,” Princess Anushka said. “That I would be her proof.” She paused. “I wish I was.”

Lucan saw now why she’d asked him about his mother. She’d been looking to see whether he was someone who could understand.

“They’re resting now,” Lucan said, though he didn’t feel the comfort he wished for from the words.

“Yes, they are,” the princess said with far more conviction than he did.

And he understood, for her mother had led a sadder existence than his, being the neglected and abandoned wife. Being Queen, then losing it all, even if she hadn’t lost her title.

“It is nice that you read now in her stead,” the princess told him after a brief silence.

“Yes,” Lucan said, nodding. “Though my father doesn’t always approve.”

The princess cocked her head quizzically.

“He feels that I neglect my responsibilities in favor of reading, even though I don’t. Even though he knows…he knows that it was her that made me love books as I do today,” he said bitterly. Then his voice grew faint as he continued. “Sometimes I feel as though he doesn’t care for her memory as much as I do.”

Before he could see the princess’s reaction to his words, the fog between them thickened, and motes of light began pouring out of the spherical artifact.

The spirit had chosen the worst time to return.

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