The Story of the Realm

The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished.

Rook looked up from the playbook. “That sounds cool.”

“Maybe for you,” grumbled Bishop, his grey eyes narrowing. “All my merchant barges will flow your direction now.”

“Yeah, but it'll be easier for you to travel to the other side of the Realm now, right?” said the King placatingly. “Does the Book say anything else?”

Rook shook his head, flipping to the next page to be sure. It was still blank.

Knight tipped back in his chair with the smugness of someone who got to ride a flying horse. “What I want to know is, what does the direction of the river have to do with the Queen not being here?”

“Of course, all you can think about is Queen,” Bishop taunted as Knight’s freckled cheeks pinked.

“It’s my job to protect her, okay? That’s all!”

Bishop mimicked in a swoony voice, “It’s my job to protect her! Because I loooove her!”

“PM, what do you think about this gameplay?” King broke in, ever the peacemaker.

They turned to Pawn Master, as usual sitting a bit apart from the others around the card table, arms crossed. She shrugged. “Let’s play it out. What else can we do?”

“Maybe there’ll be more in the Book tomorrow, after Angie—I mean, Queen—gets back from her stupid camping trip,” said Rook, as he set an empty wooden chessboard on the table.

“It’s not like she had a choice,” Knight snapped. “It’s some big deal family reunion.”

“Just roll already,” Bishop directed, nudging the dice across the table to King.

King gathered the dice and unfolded his lanky frame to stand before the podium that held the playbook, taking a deep breath. As he did so, an almost imperceptible change rippled around the table. The five players sat up straighter, their expressions less teenager-y, their attention focused on the six cubes cupped in King’s hand.

He lifted them up in an offertory gesture, and began the chant.

We are but pieces of a whole

Moving into the vast unknown

With destinies we make our own

Then he brought down his hands and solemnly held them out flat over the center of the table. Each player reached out and touched one of the colored dice in his palms. They intoned the last line together:

Tokens of fate, guide our story, guard our souls!

As the players withdrew their hands and the King prepared to release the dice, Pawn Master suddenly broke in: “Wait! Don’t roll yet!”

Everyone turned to her in surprise. “The Queen vanished, remember? We have to take out her token,” she urged. “She can’t inhabit the token if she’s not here.”

“Makes sense to me,” said Rook, plucking the blue dice from King’s hands. He looked around the table. “What should we do with it?”

“Put it with the captives?” suggested Bishop.

“She’s vanished, not captured,” Knight retorted.

After a moment, Rook said decisively, “Close your eyes. No peeking.”

After looking around the table to make sure they had complied, he scanned the room. It was more of an almost-room, set in the corner of his family’s unfinished basement. The far side of the area was unpainted drywall. A row of two-by-four wall studs completed the square, with a framed gap where the door would have gone. The space was originally intended as a laundry room, but his parents had abandoned the project because of a glitch in the plumbing, and Rook had claimed the space as his own.

Several posters of dragons, trolls and wizards were tacked across the wall studs. A large rag carpet, table and chairs, mini-fridge, two lamps, rickety wooden podium, an empty chessboard atop a small grey metal cabinet, and a lumpy bean bag comprised the furnishings. It was Rook’s favorite place in the world to be.

His friends agreed it was the perfect space for the Chess Realm. His parents—whom Rook characterized as overprotective—were happy with this arrangement, since it kept their only child under their roof, and drew him out of his usual isolation. Most days when the Keepers of the Realm arrived, they found a plate of cookies or brownies waiting for them on the table. But his parents knew better than to come downstairs once the Story had begun.

Rook considered where to hide the Queen’s token. The cabinet was too easy. Under the rug seemed disrespectful. He tiptoed to the corner where concrete met drywall, and discovered a wide crack in the concrete running under the wall. He pushed in the cube and nudged it under the wall so it was not visible to the room. Then he tiptoed to the opposite side and made a point of rustling around before returning to his spot at the table.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s begin.”

The King shook the dice in his hands three times, then dropped them gently onto the chessboard. They landed with a sound as of distant bells, and the room shimmered. A soft light enveloped the board, obscuring the rest of the room. Everyone except Pawn Master leaned in to see how their dice had landed.

* * * *

Angie Martinez was bored. Annoyed, hungry and bored. The rest of the Stilson clan was still lunching on the big patio to the side of the oversized cabin. She could hear their burbling chatter and laughter through the trees as she made her way down to the lake.

No one had noticed her slipping away from the hamburger fry, not even her dad. After all, she was a vegetarian. And a Martinez. She didn’t dislike her mother’s side of the family, just was acutely aware than she didn’t fit in.

Scowling, she yanked on a strand of her frizzy mahogany hair that had caught on a low branch. Just one more reason she stood out in a crowd of Stilson blondes. If it weren’t for her birth certificate, she might doubt that Cammy Stilton actually was her mother. She barely remembered her, but all the photos showed a smiling blonde.

Angie reached the lake and disconsolately plunked a few stones into the water. It made her think of dice dropping onto the board. She hated missing even one day of the Story of the Realm. But probably not as much as Casey -- Knight -- was missing her.

When she thought of Casey and the others, she didn't see them as they appeared at school. She saw them in her mind--her loyal Knight with his gleaming sword and red locks waving from under his helmet, the tall and darkly brooding Wizard King, broad-shouldered Bishop bustling arrogantly in his gaudy robes. And Rook--whose name really was Rook, which made his choice of role a natural fit--the mysterious, blind scholar who seldom left his high tower.

She had a picture in her head too of herself as the Queen: golden circlet crown flashing on her flowing mahogany tresses; stern and stately mien when she walked among her people, but sprightly and mischevious among friends. She loved being that person. Sometimes, when she looked in the mirror, she was surprised not to see Her in her reflection.

So focused was Angie on what she was missing back in the Realm, that she missed her footing. She tripped over a root, lost her balance, and toppled into the lake. Angie's first thought was