Apotheosis

A man awoke on a bridge at dusk. The air was temperate, and it was silent aside from the gentle whispers of the wind. Unchanging autumn leaves rustled in the distance, barely lit by the orange glow of a suspended sun that poked timid above the horizon. In the west, two moons hung sentinel over the River Acheron, the stream of silver. He could not see where it ended, nor began.

He sat on a padded chair, in front of him a checkered kingsboard on a battered card table. The pieces were carved of river stone, no more artistry put into their craft beyond what was required for them to serve as functional game pieces. He had never owned a set, but if he had, he imagined they would look like this one.

A pallid woman, clad in blackened steel, sat across him. Her eyes were dusky, nearly black. Without a word, she picked up the white and black kings, shuffled them beneath the table, then presented two closed fists. Without hesitation, the man picked left.

“Interesting,” she said, her voice was warm, yet her tone was firm. She opened her left hand and set the white king in front of him. The man flipped the board around so the white pieces sat on his side. He made his move, the outermost left pawn one space to the right.

“This is the end, isn’t it?”

“Afraid so,” the pallid woman said as she moved her own pawn, mirroring the man’s move.

The man stared intently at the board, shifted in his chair. He was shocked to find he was perfectly comfortable. He no longer felt that nagging wound in his thigh. He moved his knight.

“Another interesting choice.”

“Hardly,” he scoffed. “Why such an adversarial introduction? This isn’t anything like the scriptures.”

“What makes you assume I am your adversary?” the pallid woman moved her rook down the board. His king was already threatened.

“I need to go back.”

“That’s not how this works.”

He castled, saving the king. “Then you must be my adversary.”

“It’s said that silver runs through your veins,” she said. He never believed that rumor. But if it was coming up now, of all times, there must have been something to it.

She moved another piece, and he took it soon after.

“Did you play often?” the pallid woman asked.

“I haven’t for many years.”

“I can tell,” she took one of his pieces, his king was threatened again.

“And, if I lose?”

“You finish crossing, like everyone else.”

He took the piece threatening his king, now threatening hers. “And if I win?”

“Then perhaps, you will realize your true purpose. Assuming there is one.”

The man was suddenly overtaken by intense longing. He had a purpose and he had failed.

“She’ll be fine,” the pallid woman said.

He was surprised, but not alarmed. “Bad sportsmanship to peer into my head.”

“Really? I wasn’t aware you determined rules…”

The board seemed to be at a lock. He sat in silence for what felt like hours carefully considering his next move, it could make or break his victory. Clearly, the stakes went beyond just his own mortality. Otherwise, he would have been sent to cross the bridge like everyone else.

“Don’t take too long,” she said, rolling her mailed fingers on the card table. “You don’t have much time.”

Not a taunt, just a fact. Time was moving quickly, and his living memories were fading just as fast. So much had left him already—he no longer even knew his own name. Still, he saw a young woman in his mind’s eye and knew he needed to hold onto that, even though he already forgotten why. He uttered her name under his breath so he would remember.

He made his move and the board seemed to open back up. There was an avenue for victory.

The pallid woman bridged the gap with her next move, closing off his path. “Figure it out. Now.”

The man was overwhelmed with searing emotion, like a toddler scraping their knee for the time. Tears billowed burning tracks down his stubbly cheeks. “Why am I alone? Shouldn’t she be here, too?”

“If she shared your fate? No, unfortunately not. You are an exception, silver runs through your veins. This enemy devours the mortal soul.”

His tears turned to rage. He stood up, wary of the old pain in his thigh even though it no longer ached. “You lie! Why should good people be punished for no reason? Answer me that!”

Grief visited her vacuous face for just a moment, then gone. “I’ve been asking the same questions. Now, finish the game.”

Memories flooded his mind and enveloped him. He saw visions of his privileged childhood and his cruel upbringing. He saw his wife, the day they married and the day she died. He witnessed his rise to power, remembering how he soared through the ranks of the elite. He felt those old temptations, the bitter edge of corruption that came with power and his steadfast refusal of its allure. He saw the face of a bright-eyed recruit, a woman determined to change the world and defend those who were helpless. He heard her screaming after she was slashed across her beautiful face in the line of duty. He still remembered the day when her wistful smile molted into a determined frown that only fell lower with each accolade.

My champion, my most trusted advocate—my love.

The man tore the board off the table, heaved it into the River Acheron below. He turned to face the pallid woman, who stood eye to eye with him. She held his gaze with an iron grip, her silver eyes glowing, molten.

“A man dies, and a brother is born.”

“What?”

His rage simmered, close to boiling over. But then it evaporated. As quickly as it consumed him, it all washed away into oblivion. He remembered that cold hand on his neck, breaking bones without any effort. Then all that was left was a drunken sense of freedom. He was free of hurt, free of compassion and conscience. Free of humanity.

His veins seared within him, he watched them bulge with hot silver. The twin moons loomed overhead, shining pale light through the encroaching darkness, a perpetual dusk. He knew the Darkness belonged to him, just as the Dusk belonged to the pallid woman—his sister.

“Once a man of steel, now ascended in silver. I’ve missed you.”

The infant god peered over the bridge to absorb his reflection. The metallic glow of his eyes tore through the water’s surface. He queried the archives of his awakened mind and found everything was still intact. He filed away his most recent life, knowing such data would soon be useful. Finally, everything made sense again—and it was intoxicating.