Anyway, on the next turn, two Knights parted, preserving good memories of each other. They had no illusions and understood that, despite mutual respect and the absence of any reasons for personal hostility, the game could bring them together in a battle and then, most likely, one of them would honourably fall at the hands of the other. This proposition seemed quite sad, but they shared one thought maybe they would be lucky enough to survive.
In any case, the White Knight remained loyal to the White Kingdom, believing that, right or wrong, it was still his Motherland, great and dear
Having already overcome most of his planned route, he hung over the map, checked the guiding compass and noted road observations in his shabby travel diary, when quite unexpectedly, he saw the familiar White Man. To be precise, he was no longer the Man, but one of the draughts White kings.
Now, he seemed prideful and was on his high horse, speaking figuratively, rushing off in a luxurious white carriage. He didnt dignify the old acquaintance with a look, not to mention a small nod or a usual greeting. He disappeared as suddenly as he had appeared, riding to the end of the playing board in a twinkle of an eye, and left the White Knight in slight bewilderment. Perhaps he was just in a hurry, and so he didnt even notice him? Or maybe he did, but didnt have time to nod? It was unlikely. But what was the possible explanation? Had the White Knight changed a lot in his journey, and the draught piece just didnt recognize him? Or maybe, it was not him who had changed drastically..?
What had happened with this nice fellow, who had praised the ideals of partnership and unity? Was the same Man towered now above his brothers-in-arms, revelling in the feeling of superiority? Where were his beliefs, perhaps naïve, but still kind, nice and respectable? Apparently, they remained in the chronicles of past moves only.
The sugar ran up, gently pushing the White Knight to cheer him up at least slightly. The traveller gave up his attempt to understand and said to himself, Alright. Lets forget about it. But he couldnt just forget. In any case, not right away, in the same turn.
Making his way through the jungle of multi-coloured squares, files and ranks, he no longer had in himself a hundredth of the former excitement since he had experienced too much. He was tired not only physically but also mentally. And the White Knights thoughts kept returning to his native side and his countrymen. Some of them were captured en passant, some participated in the castling, some walked stubbornly to the edge. Well, fate had scattered chessmen across the board.
He tried to entertain himself with thoughts about how he would return and tell everyone what he had seen during his difficult, long and dangerous journey: about the green nightingales wondrous singing, about the arrogant and rude Salt Cellar, about an interesting and worthy opponent he had met in the face of the Black Knight and about the unpleasant metamorphosis that had happened with the once honest and bold White Man. He imagined how he would introduce Dog to everyone and retire, starting to write memoirs based on his travel notes, where he would tell future generations about the structure of the universe, transferring to them the invaluable experience of his trip around the board
A familiar buzz interrupted the White Knights path again. Having circled above, the nightingale landed before him on the board and froze, rubbing its front feet, as if it was expecting something.
And you are all the same vile, disgusting and smelly. I dont know who you are or what you are, but now it seems to me, nightingales dont smell like that, dont sing and dont fly like that, the traveller said grimly. He had noticeably matured, become stronger and wiser after his tiresome wanderings through chess rivers and lakes, chess seas, mountains and jungles, chess deserts, cities and villages. He wasnt the same young and naïve romantic as he had been at the very beginning of the journey, many moves ago. Perhaps he lost not only sentimentality but also his enthusiasm. But at the same time, unnecessary thoughts and unreasonable unrest had decreased. Maybe another piece in his place would have committed suicide long ago, jumping from the edge of the board into the unknown, but the White Knight wasnt this kind of chessman. He was used to seeing everything through till the end, of course, if he was sure this made any sense, and nothing objectively deprived him of such an opportunity.
Actually, he wanted to go home more than anything else: no honours, no awards, no titles, he just wished to gallop against the wind, inhale the air of freedom, and graze grass in his native dark square g1. But that was still ahead: he left behind most of the path, but the tour itself wasnt completed yet.
A sharp clap brought the White Knight out of stupor. In the blink of an eye, something huge descended from heaven and fell upon the green nightingale (whatever this creature truly was), leaving some kind of flattened vile substance in its place.
Peering at the remains of the so-called nightingale, in which false sweet voice he had naively believed once, the White Knight sighed and put his hat over his eyes. The royal gift had now become worn, but it was the last thing that remained dear to him. With the death of the pale-winged creature, he felt as if a part of himself had also perished maybe it wasnt his best part, but its loss still left a void inside.
Looking up, from where a punishing blow had fallen upon his former idol, the White Knight reflected about his place in the world for a long time. It wasnt about the current move or a particular square on a chessboard, but his place in general. The matches he had survived, the pieces he had won, the announced checks at this moment, everything seemed so insignificant and vain, lacking any positive meaning
And at the same time, he had only just begun to understand that the sense of life truly existed: the roots of this meaning lied far beyond the limits of the playing board, but it was the place where the answers to all questions were. He meant eternal questions as to how and from where the board appeared, where did the pieces come from, and also what was the origin of files and ranks, squares and game rules? At the same time, the White Knight was more interested in why and for what purpose questions than in answers to how and where.
Of course, he was neither the first nor the last one to whom such thoughts came to mind. Some thinkers studied the composition of pieces bodies and correlated it with the composition of the board material. They assumed that chessmen had originated naturally from the board, and the squares were nothing more than the result of the pieces activities, as well as gradually formed rules of the game. Others claimed that the pieces had been created before the board. Third ones believed that they had been brought here from the outside, from another board.
Philosophers argued about what had appeared earlier the game or the rules; researchers traced the physiological path of modern Queens from the faded ancient pawns discovered during archaeological excavations under the playing board. But all these theories were distant from life; they were certainly interesting but distracted from the essence. In reality, there was no difference for the White Knight whether chessmen came from ancient pawns, generated in time immemorial in the depths of the board itself, whether someone made them and placed on the board, or whether they were brought from any other board. Besides, the last version didnt answer the question about the origin of pieces but raised the question of how they had appeared on that another board. And all these were particulars, which didnt give the White Knight an answer to the question of who stayed behind the moves and crushed the green nightingale, but he passionately wanted to find the solution that could give him the key to understanding everything else.