"For after all what is man in nature? A nothing in relation to infinity, all in relation to nothing(...)" PASCAL, Blaise
"...Year 0. Gaia had its moments of glory, when the first civilizations were being developed and organized, from a primitive community of farmers to wide urban centers, powered by the production of artifacts and the emergence of the first commercial relationships(...) Market concepts, known as Trade and Currency, date from that time. Living at the lowest parts of the Mist Continent, the early human inhabitants of the planet suffered the constant risk of invasions, mainly from the inhuman Vastitas, who would later become Burmecians." Excerpt taken from Encyclopaedia Alexander, volume VIII
"It's foolish to believe the only way of prosperity is to sacrifice our own brothers. You're sacrificing part of yourself as well. The only way to clean your bloody soul is to follow the path of the floating river." Excerpt of the Words of Kain, the Mediator, also first King of Burmecia, orally passed from generation to generation.
"All kind of warfare is utterly based on deception." Excerpt taken from a revised script of the Book of Gizamaluke, dated from the year 1300.
"Deception is the key that opens many doors. My sons had been brought to this world of deception by the same deception as well." Excerpt taken from Clyde Brandford
Joy Division - New Dawn Fades
July 05, 1778
The Funeral March
Early Morning
...
— Oi! Get your filthy hands off my desert!
Those were the last words uttered by Komakino, if I recall. This before gunpowder struck at his chest, same part I thought to be hollow once.
Gunpowder... To think such is now killing us. Once upon a time, fireworks were fired at the cloudy skies of home; whenever a King had been crowned, whenever a King or someone important had a marriage, whenever a son/daughter of the King was born. They never fired such fireworks when a King died, though, they did a march instead. Not only for the King, but those as important as his, like father.
Drums were played, and each beat struck our ears, louder than a single firework, but less than how our ears had been struck by the news. Either sad, or neither bad, because father died in the field, and that's where he should have died, instead of letting this world as a Major, sick in bed, like mother.
Only when my father was alive, the fireworks alive. But the same cannot be said for Komakino. Even when father was a child, he was old like now, or even more. Even with their guns, these Alexandrians still find a way to stab us, either with shots, or with the tips of those knives. Thieves would never play fair, this if it's fair to pour some sand on their gaze, but instead of our eyes, they pour sand on our wounds, more than enough. And mostly, this is our sand that is being thrown away into the wounds, and these wounds had been made by us as well, or ordered to be made by the one who's above us, yet below Bahamut.
'God's watching us from a distance?' Don't make me laugh, Sigurd. Well, I sincerely can't, right now. But even if I did, briefly, someone else would notice, like Bart, here on my left, the same direction his wife often uses to hold off his arm, and that spear, and maybe something else, judging how she holds that spear, made by her husband as well.
We cross many lengths to achieve love, or a peace of mind, don't we? We offer gifts, invitations to stroll around the lake, all done for us to have a chance to later make out keenly, as I did, Bart too, Prescott as well, but the same cannot be said for Komakino, judging how he used to argue that sword...
Speaking about swords, we all queued in this linear row, except Sigurd, who's in front of the pile of wood, we all lift the tip of our swords, or daggers, or knives, something with a sharp blade that shines within the range of the sun's light, up into the further we could touch the azure of the skies, same color belonging to many of our outfits, except Komakino, who isn't wearing nothing. He sure seems gray like before, heh he... Ouch!
With some words of 'he was a courageous one', 'an honest Burmecian', and 'this medal of honor shall be granted to yours' is the cherry of the cheriest cake. Giving a medal to Komakino is as redundant as someone who is digging to find some dirt; medals are already spread on his body, like every child's body is meant to be infected by lices or chicken pox once in a lifetime.
That old crook already had gotten tons of medals dedicated to his honor, if there was one. Maybe a medal of tolerance would fit better, or a medal of 'oldest alive' would be alright. But medals don't make you itchy, despite some of them being uncomfortable, and the risk of the tip getting stuck in your skin, like a wood splinter in your finger, but instead of the finger, your chest is wounded. However, these people are proud of receiving medals.
Maybe I'm just jealous that I had never gotten any kind of medal. I have, at least, a wife, my dear Cynthia, whom I call by other names as well, this when we are alone, cuddling in the room, and those hands, my hands, her ears... they say you cannot raise the dead, so I'd rather reserve such thoughts for later. About the relationship between me and Cynthia, whom I miss so much, like any other man there misses their wifes, and children as result. I wasn't planning to have children, but it just happened, like how Komakino just died.
Komakino was the son of another commander, a family of commanders, unlike my father, the Major Brandford, whose family, my family, is like a tree that shares many twigs. I can't even imagine Komakino as a kid, but I guess he was already old when born, unlike my sons, who were so little, skinny, furless, yet adorable.
After some words of self-praising, which I might include in my will to be uttered in a near future, here, on that pile of dry wood, they'll burn that damned corpse for good. I wonder why, since Komakino could be mummified instead... or maybe he's already mummified? Heh.
Even Bart may have agreed, didn't he? Maybe not. People often smile when they are upset, or worried, then they are happy with something. Even children force their smiles sometimes. What we think to be cheerful beings are deceitful ones as well. Besides the fake smiles, mostly the children keep asking not due to their annoyance, if there's such, but because they need to satisfy their doubts, or so Prescott told me before, when one of his sons asked to his about the labour pains, and if sex hurted mother. Geez, I guess I would never be able to tell the difference between pain and pleasure on a satisfying way, but Prescott sure did. He's a chilled out person, even when in a fight, unlike many here...
Bart is my mirror, sure isn't he?
...
The Post-Funeral Chess Match
Afternoon
...
Gbr: NB1-C3
Sig: PE7-E5
— Moving one of your horses first, my Highness? – Sigurd said, as he moved one of his pawns, jumping two squares instead of one, as pawns can do on their first round, and only. Afterwards, pawns can only move, or jump one square, and always to the front square. They can only take another piece if such is located on a square adjacent to the front square, either left or right.
(pause)
Gbr: NG1-F3
Sig: NB8-C6
— Another Horse? – Sigurd asked, rhetorically, after he settled a Horse belonging to his side of the table, as I did before, twice. He even moved as fast as I did.
Well, even if I had the opportunity to take out that Pawn he left on E5 on a first hit, since I could move the Horse from before right were that piece was lying, I couldn't. Horses are the utmost important pieces of chess. Well, each piece belonging to chess is important, even Pawns, this if you can reach the end of the other player's border. Chess sure is a game of lure and deception...
(pause)
Gbr: PD2-D4
(pause)
(long pause)
Sig: PE5xD4
Sigurd captured a pawn of mine, the same who I moved prior to its demise. I was careless, or maybe not. Pawns are easily the ones who get caught first on chess. Paws can't be taken, or be 'killed', as I used to say when I was a kid, that much. At least, one or two or three of their kind must stay at the table, so they can reach the other player's border, Sigurd this time, and always had been.
I played this game firstly with him, like many of the things I did first. I used to play outside the rules, making bishops move like the Queen, make the King jump on a Rook so he could move like a Rook does, make the Pawn go backwards or even attack and 'kill' one of Sigurd's pieces with a single move to the square in front of the Pawn, or make a Horse move in 'L', 'M' and 'N' patterns.
Sigurd just let it go on such times, those who happened before I grew up, and understood every single rule of Chess and anything I used to do. Speaking about rules, Sigurd, as much as me, can block the Pawns from reaching the border with a piece in front of the square where the Pawn was supposed to keep moving, simply because if you reach the border of the black pieces, as I am playing with white ones, you can get a piece of our side, once taken from yours, back to be played and used against the side who had made such piece a prisoner. For example, if Sigurd took a Horse from me, I could move my Pawn to the end of the Black border and take back that Horse, or other piece taken from the White infantry. Kinda like a war, mostly they stood the same way.
Until now, there's no such piece taken from me, so I don't need to move further those Paws, this if I want to free the Bishops, but not yet.
Gbr: NF3xD4
Sig: BF8-B4
I took that Pawn belonging to Sigurd with a Horse of mine, as he moved that Bishop of his. From a distance, a curtain of smoke rises in the air, as white yet gray like the skin belonging to the body, or what was one, resting over that pile of wood, burnt by the bright sun, who brought the same fire and ashes posteriori.
Commander Komakino's funeral just happened, minutes ago. Everyone was expecting it to happen, prior these weeks. Even when I was young, the commander was already old like now. Even older than Sigurd, or father, or everyone else. His body has been cremated instead of being mummified. He was already mummified, some would say, or think as I do. There are things better thought to be spoken, as I learned with Sigurd, who learned from father.
Gbr: PF2-F4
(pause)
(pause)
Sig: BB4xC3+
(pause)
Gbr: PB2xC3
(long pause)
Sig: NC6-B8
...
Dusk
...
— …A Castle may be a special move, but that doesn't mean that you need to sacrifice many pieces of your side to be able to do a single castle. As a King you may be someday, you must know the meaning of each piece. Not only they are in this table for your safety, but the victory that should follow
— Sheesh... – I lost. I know I did.
Even when I had done the Castle move with a Rook and a King, Sigurd found a way to take as many pieces as he could, and a way to keep his Horses. Horses are the worst chess pieces to be kept at the table, because you can do anything with a 'L' movement. Not even the Queen I caught from Sigurd can do 'L' shaped movements across the table. The Queen, on chess, is an amalgam of a Rook and a Bishop, while the Queen is just another Pawn, but unlike many Paws, the King is protected by the other pieces.
I won't even bother to see those pieces aligned once again. There's a Horse, a Bishop, and the Queen, as the King is left on his own at the border, where he can't escape, and some insignificant While Pawns, who cannot do anything since they had been blocked by other Black Paws of Sigurd, who I thought to have blocked first. This kind of situation would never happen when I was a kid...
— What is bothering you, my Majesty? – Sigurd asked, after we kept playing the same game for a while, moving our pieces into each square, 64 in total, as time somehow found a way to move on.
— It's just that... not that I lost to you (again), but... I just miss home.
— You miss home? – He asked again. I know I wasn't fooling Sigurd, neither did he thought of same possibility. It has been a few days, but I do wish to come back home. This place is so much dried up already, unlike my spirit, and my homeland .– My Majesty... Do you miss Burmecia, or do you miss the Palace?
That question struck me abruptly. Mostly I've spent my life at the walls surrounding the same Palace I was born in, being raised by this same man in front of me, yet... I just miss the easy life I had. Not that I do not want to return home. Sure, all of us want the same as well, though. But who else is expecting me at home? My brother, who despises me; my parents, already gone; my people, who don't even know me, besides the name 'Prince'?
The ones who sure are awaiting for me, or used to do, were Edgar's sons, or so they are in a blood matter. I am also their uncle, in a blood matter, but I don't count our blood as the only factor of raising them to become adults. Before, they used to look away from me, but now I realize that they only did it when their father, or the shadow of the same, came across them.
Their sons must have thought I was like his, but my actions said otherwise, with the days we've spent, when Edgar remained on the throne, even out of the same seat. But that brief week happened before I had been invited to come to this place, ending up away from Edgar and their sons sight, in the same way our father had been brought to the field.
Edgar never had the time to take care of his sons, but only their hatred against me, and who can say he is doing it already, once again? We all do the same again, I know. It's part of the blood as well, and the skills such blood is submitted to endure with. Or so I keep asking complicated questions in an easy way. 'Easy questions, to easy answers'; neither are easier, as I thought it would once again be easy to 'win' against Sigurd.
...