After Checkmate
I sat staring out of the window. It was raining. Again. Not that the weather on this blasted island did anything else. No pegasi to move the storms, so they just hang here, swirling round and around, turning to fog, back to clouds, and then forming storms. The raindrops pattered on the glass and wind howled against the wooden walls of my home.
My home…well, more my prison than anything else. A pitiful ramshackle bungalow made from little more than cowsheds, with just enough trappings to make it liveable. It’s a far cry from the homes of my past. Once I lived in grand palaces surrounded by soft, white snow, with more rooms than you could count, servants to cater for my every whim, and comforts beyond the imagination of the commoner.
Now though, I am reduced to this; a glorified garden shed on an island far from anywhere, surrounded by nothing but rocks and the sea. And, of course, this infernal weather. What I would give for a single day where the frost was thick upon the ground while a cool sun made it all glisten in its rays. Anything but the endless grey.
Sighing to myself, I turned away. My diversions here in my new kingdom are few, but sustenance is one of them. Walking over to the bell pull in the corner, next to my bed, I rang for breakfast to be prepared.
I turned to look around the room; it too was a far cry from the luxuries I enjoyed but a few years ago. A modest four poster wooden bed, a desk and bureau for my work, a small armoire for what few clothes I still possess, and a couple chests of drawers. I shook my head again. Opening the door, I stepped out of my bedroom and out into one of the few other rooms in the house.
“Good morning, your majesty,” my servant says as I step out into the hallway.
I despise it when they call me that you know. They do it out of respect for the fallen foe, but nothing infuriates me more. All it serves to do is remind me of that which I have lost, or rather, that which was taken from me.
I merely grunt in response. These days I find little point in speaking to anypony. After all, what is the point? Nothing I say matters anymore. There is no army awaiting my command, no council of ministers waiting for my decision, no slaves begging for mercy, and no loved ones to embrace. All that is here is my poor collection of servants, along with the occasional visitor who comes to pay call on me. I might as well be entirely alone.
Breakfast, like everything here, is a simple affair. Porridge. It’s fitting, I suppose. That’s what they serve to prisoners is it not? At least it is filling and keeps the chill away for a time. Across from me, along with my meal, there is a newspaper. It is a week old of course, but it’s the best I can get; the mail boat only comes once a week. It is something to occupy me, even if it mostly is drivel. I glance over the headlines. For once, I see something that makes me smile.
It is Luna, looking utterly miserable standing next to a smiling filly. The story ran something along the lines of how she was dissatisfied with some fundraising event at a school. The column of print then went on to stir up all sorts of rumours about what was going on in Canterlot Castle. I’m surprised that, after all these years, neither of them has followed my model of controlling the press. He who pays the piper calls the tune after all. It made the population so much more docile, and dissent far less common.
I dismissed my servant. Even when I was royalty, I could never abide how they hovered around you. And, in my case, more than one of them concealed daggers and plotted to slice me open, and see me bleed over the dinner table.
Sipping at my tea, I pondered what I would do today. It is perhaps now my most difficult task. You’d be surprised how quickly you run out of things to do on an island that is a mere ten miles long and six wide, with hardly another soul for thousands of leagues.
At first it was merely inconvenient. I read what books I had, I plotted, I schemed; I was certain that I would yet find my way to freedom. But, as the months and years passed by, the fire died, quelled by the wind and the rain that surrounds me. I found it harder and harder to get out of bed in the morning. I spent days at a time simply looking out of the window at the windswept landscape of my island kingdom.
The rain looked to be easing off for once. Perhaps today I could tend to my garden? It’s quite an amusing image is it not; a tyrant such as myself in marigolds, digging away at the soil, planting flowers, watering them, carefully pruning them. Mock me if you must, be caring for plants is little different from caring for an empire, particularly out here. They must be raised, cared for, nurtured, but kept on the right path, and should they become diseased, cut down if need be, for the good of the others.
Finishing my meal, I carefully wiped my mouth with a napkin. Listening to the rain pattering against the roof, I heard it slow and lessen, and finally stop. Perhaps the sun would even come out today?
Walking back to my bedroom, I opened my wardrobe and pulled out my overcoat; a coal dust grey thing that is perhaps a few shades darker than my coat. It is quite cold outside, even in the summer, what with the wind and the fact that summer ends in March. As I come back out into the dining room, I find my servant has reappeared and is clearing everything away. I see him reach for the paper.
“Leave that!” I command sharply. He starts, and for a moment fear flashes in his eyes. Such things warm my old heart, feeble as it now is.
“Of course, your majesty,” he replies with a bow. I sigh to myself, wondering whether there’s any point in yelling at him for calling me by a title I no longer truly possess. I decide against it.
“I will be out in the garden today,” I inform him. “And I do not wish to be disturbed.”
“Yes, your majesty.” He bobs his head again.
Throwing on my cloak, I opened the front door and stepped out into the chilly morning air.
I found myself squinting as I walked outside. The rain might have stopped, but the bitter wind was still blowing. It wasn’t enough to warrant going back inside, but it was a touch uncomfortable.
My garden isn’t much to speak of really. In front of the house, there is a small little patch of ground split in two by the path that leads to the road and fenced off at the far end. When I arrived it was just grass and weeds, like the rest of this miserable rock, but with some effort I have managed to turn it into something a little more pleasing to the eye, injecting some colour into the otherwise desolate landscape. There are now Calendula, Snapdragons, Geraniums, as well as a few Rose Bushes, so there is plenty of variety. All are well suited to living in this harsh environment. I had considered some wall climbing plants. If nothing else, their need for water might reduce the damp that covers patches of the house’s walls, both inside and out. But I haven’t yet been able to find anything that can survive the harsh winds. The same can be said of trees. Can you believe that there isn’t a single one on the entire island?
Today, I would simply be doing a spot of maintenance. A garden, like an empire, is never truly finished and remains a constant project. And weeds were a constant thorn in my side, almost as much as those blasted sisters. My enemy now is not near immortal alicorns, but these infernal dandelions! They choke off other plants of food and their far spreading seeds make them difficult to control. But I have dealt with insurgencies before.
There is little else to do but get down and pull them out. I don’t have access to any herbicides, lest I try to fall on my own sword and rob the Equestrians of their grand joke. It is difficult, but by far the most effective method. My magic these days is failing me, so I tend to use a combination of my hooves and my teeth to pull out the deep rooted plants. Before long, a small pile forms at my side of the annoyingly cheerful yellow parasites. A quick fire spell ensures that the seeds will not be a bother come next year.
Getting back to my hooves, I take a look around at the fruits of my labour. While the rest of this island may be nothing but half dead grass and weeds, I have created one small splash of colour and splendour. In a way, it reminds me of the empire, that shining city in the middle of the vast, pristine whiteness.
I shake my head again. Thinking along those lines only leads to heartache and mourning for what I have lost, and loathing for what I have now. Luckily, or unluckily depending on how one views it, I was then interrupted.
“Hello there, Sombra,” a voice calls. I look up from my work. And there he stands in front of his carriage.
There is only one other pony of any standing on this island besides myself, and that is its governor; my gaoler. I may find my servants irritating, but he I truly despise. He is that strange mixture of pompousness, stupidity, and arrogance that almost saw me rule all of Equestria. And while I may dislike my servants addressing me by my old title, I do wish he would, if only to show his subservience to me; technically after all, I am king of this miserable rock, and he merely its governor. But he does not, calling me instead by my name, as if we were equals! Had he not a thousand guards at his command, I would have killed him long ago. He’s a large, broad shoulders stallion, with a caramel coloured coat and a chestnut mane. Today, he was wearing a large navy blue greatcoat, complete with a tri corner hat.
“What do you want?” I ask with a bitter sneer. He smiled benignly at me.
“Well, I just happened to be in the neighbourhood,” he said innocently. “And I thought you might like to join my wife and me for lunch.”
Lunch? Was it that time already? Time creeps slowly here, but when I am tending to my garden it seems to go as fast as a pegasus racing a storm. There was little point or reason to refuse him. I quickly learnt that a refusal did not stop repeated invitations. I pulled my own cloak close around me, for the wind was starting to get up again.
“Very well, I shall join you,” I said in a resigned tone. “Just give me a minute to wash off my hooves.”
Five minutes later, and I find myself sitting in the governor’s carriage, as we wind our way along the empty dirt roads. At least I’m out of the wind, I suppose. On the other hoof, I have to listen to the stallion’s inane prattle.
“Yes, Sombra,” he was saying. “It was only yesterday that my wife remarked how long it had been since you had visited us. I greatly enjoy your company myself, and I’m sure you enjoy the opportunity to talk with other ponies over a good meal.”
He does that a lot, hold over my head the fact that he still enjoys the finer things in life, while I spend my days in that miserable glorified cabin. It’s not unexpected, but it gets rather tiresome after a few months.
“I haven’t had a chance to match wits with you in some time either,” the governor goes on. “Perhaps after lunch you can join me for a good game of chess?”
Match wits? Bah! Last time I wiped the floor with the stupid oaf! The silly dolt wouldn’t know good strategy if it came up behind him and bit him on the rump. I half suspect that he’s intentionally playing poorly though. I can’t believe that a pony could rise to be a governor of an entire island and yet lack even the most basic planning skills. If we ever do ‘match wits’ it is in the field of conversation. I have no doubt today will see me sparing with him.
Before long, the governor’s luxury home comes into view. Naturally, it is far grander than my own hovel; a large, three storey mansion, with a large well-tended garden and comforts far in excess of what I now endure. He lives there with his wife and their two children. While he may be an imbecile, his wife is a lovely creature, and I do genuinely enjoy her company, rare as it is. But the old governor is a jealous pony, and guards her covetously, as any husband might be expected to. As for the children, they keep their distance from the scary old monster pony, with the colt and filly wolfing down their meals when I’m around and fearfully peaking in on our conversations.
A moment later, we roll up the gravel driveway and come to a stop. A servant opens the door for the governor and helps the slightly overweight pony down.
“Well, here we are, at last,” he remarks as I step out. “Come inside, Sombra.”
I follow him, merely nodding my agreement. I’ve hardly said two words to him the entire journey over here. Not that I could, even if I wanted to. I’ve never met a pony who can talk so much and yet say so little.
The two of us find ourselves in the large grand hallway of the house. A servant soon attends and takes the governors greatcoat from him, and does the same for my cloak. Even in this seemingly dry weather, both are damp from the moisture in the air.
Underneath his greatcoat, the governor wears a well-tailored outfit; an almost fiery red jacket over a cream coloured waistcoat and a light blue collared shirt. I’m no expert, but I’d say it cost a pretty bit. I’d merely come with my dark blue cloak, and with that gone, I was stood there with just my dark grey coat and onyx mane. I have a few clothes left, but none that really suit me out here. I see no reason to defile my old blood red royal cloak, nor is there any use for the other fine outfits, except for me to wear them when they finally do bury me.
The governor glances at me, a judgemental look in his eye. As I said, he loves to vaunt his superiority over me. I soon find myself led into the living room. It is a grand thing, with a great fireplace in the far end, with several sofas dotted about the room. It is as if somepony took a slice of Canterlot and placed it here on this windswept isle. Still, it is warm and dry, which is more than I can say for my own home.
And of course, there was one upside to my current situation. She was here. Standing in the middle of the room, waiting on her husband, was the lovely Josephine. A creature more lovely I cannot comprehend. She was a unicorn like myself, her coat was a light cream colour, and her mane, which she always kept long, was a wonderful shade of chestnut. Her eyes were a deep piercing blue that seemed to look right into my very soul. Her cutie mark was that of her family crest, showing her role in upholding the noble line from which she sprang. How my friend the governor here even managed to catch her eye, I do not know. What I do know is she deserves far better than him.
I shall not lie, for I despise liars; I covet her. I would be content to stay in this infernal place if I could call that beautiful mare mine. She is beautiful, gentle, kind, a loving mother, and yet her mind is sharp and cunning.
As the two of us walk in, I offer a brief bow to her, touching an invisible crown in respect.
“Your ladyship,” I say, my tone becoming warm and genial. “A pleasure to see you again, as always.” I approach her and she holds out her hoof for me. Unlike her husband, she has been brought up well in the old customs. I can practically feel the governor’s gaze boring into me as I plant a delicate kiss on her hoof.
“It is always a pleasure to have company at our table, Mr. Sombra,” she replies in a soft, melodic voice. “Please, come and join us.”
And with that, she effortlessly glides out of the room. The dress she wears trailing after her like a wake. I make to follow her, but find the governor passing in front of me, placing himself between me and that which he holds most dear. Sometimes, I suspect that she has ceased to love him. After all, she had barely paid him any mind since the two of us came in. But there is little I can do to take advantage of such a fact.
Dinner is a pleasant enough affair. Once again, my gracious host attempts to demonstrate all that he has over me. But I find the display to be more a sign of weakness than strength. When I ruled my empire, I did not show off my wealth. I used it. Such overt and arrogant displays belie insecurities. A true king need never say that he is so.
Still, the meal is a far cry from my usual fare. With so little on this island, most supplies are brought in from the mainland, and that includes all the delicacies on offer here today. Were it not for this, and Josephine’s company, I would never consider coming here. Even if I did, I would probably killed the oaf she calls her husband in a duel by now.
The conversation is that of your typical aristocrat; an intricate and careful dance, following strict social customs. As much as he might despise me, there is little my nemesis can do to stop me idly chatting with his lovely wife. And I know it irks him to see her enjoy my company. We share a common passion in astronomy you see, and I more than once have counselled her on the subject of the heavens above. As I’ve said before, it is a welcome change to my usual routine, and my only opportunity for meaningful companionship.
As the meal continues and we enjoy dessert, my mind wanders, and I once again find myself wishing that that darling creature was mine. I do my best to cast the thought aside. Eventually the fantasy must shatter and I will find myself miserable once again. Miserable and utterly alone.
After our lunch together, my geolor makes good on his threat to match wits with me. The two of us retire to his study, while Josephine goes to tend to her two children. I catch a glimpse of them briefly as we part company. They’re both hiding round the corner, peeking around, their eyes wide in fear at the sight of me. Faintly, I hear her telling them not to stare and not to fear. And somehow, I find myself not minding that. Perhaps because I know that there is another in this house who fears me far more, no matter how he may try to hide it.
He leads me upstairs to his private study. The room itself is probably larger than my own entire cabin. It is, like the rest of the house, opulent to the extreme. Against one wall are shelves and shelves of books and tomes, most of which I doubt he has read. At the foot of the large window that overlooks the grounds is his desk and bureau, adorned with a few loose sheets of parchment. And on the left are a couple of armchairs close to the small fireplace. This room doubles as his smoking room, and a pipe lies on the small table. I know for a fact that Josephine abhors the habit.
Sitting down in one of the high backed armchairs, he bades me to join him, while he sets up the ornate chess set between us. Unsurprisingly, he takes white for himself. After all, I am the villain, the tyrant, the enemy; it is only fair that I take the ‘evil’ side. Such a narrow view of things.
“I always enjoy having you over, Sombra,” he says with a well practiced smile. “My darling doesn’t really care for the game, and I take no pleasure in defeating children.” I merely nod my head slightly, waiting for him to go on. He finishes setting up the pieces.
“So tell me my friend, how have you been keeping?” he asks as he makes his first move with the queen’s pawn. “I saw you were hard at work on your garden this morning. Such a rewarding pass time.”
“It has its charms I suppose.” I counter his opening with a Sifillian Defence. I could have gone for the Prench Defence, but I prefer not to have my queenside bishop blocked in.
My opponent is not too surprised. He knows from bitter experience that I am an aggressive player. He would now need to work hard to hold the centre squares. Like most ponies though, I know he won’t want to risk his stronger pieces so early in the game, regardless of effective it might be. I watch as he tries to shift to the other flank.
“Tell me though,” I went on. “What brought you to my home today?” He smiled again as he develops a knight.
“Do I need a reason to pay call on a friend?” he replies. I fought the urge to bristle at that and bit back a retort. But he knew he had annoyed me, and that gave him pleasure.
“Not at all,” I replied coolly, blocking his advance with a swift attack by my kingside bishop. “I just thought you might want to spend such a vile day here your lovely wife.” That got him, his strategy faltered for a few turns, and I saw scarlet creep up his neck. He let me remark hang in the air and said nothing. I decided to press my advantage.
“And how have your dear children been?” I went on. “I’m sorry if I unsettled them. I know I have that effect on tnem. Perhaps I could offer to teach them this game. Then you would not have to come trudging out in such dreadful weather for an opponent.”
Now I got a reaction. As his counterattack began, his eyes glared at me. I simply stared back, pleading silent ignorance. His response was as feeble as his counter.
“Well, I didn’t want you to feel lonely out there in that cabin,” he said, his voice now becoming sneering. “All alone and with nopony to talk to.” I smiled back at him as I closed in on his queen, cut off from the king and its protectors.
“Your concern is most kind, sir,” I countered. “But I can assure you I seldom find myself lonely. Besides, one can be in a room surrounded by ponies and still feel utterly alone.” His lip quivered at that and he blinked twice. I was ready for my endgame.
“But I will concede that it is always lovely to see Josephine. Her passion for the stars surpasses even my own. I predict one day she shall go far in such a profession and leave this tawdry place behind.” I let out a false chuckle of embarrassment. “I apologise, I meant no offence.” On my next turn I would surely take his queen from him.
“Indeed, she may go far, Sombra,” my opponent said with a smile. “But she shall never leave me.” From seemingly nowhere, a knight appeared and removed my rook that had come so close to taking the queen. He went on.
“I know that, wherever she may go, or whatever she might do, she will always be mine. I find it a shame that you do not have anypony to share your own life with.”
I don’t respond. As much as it pains me to say it, he had parried me well, and made me look like a fool. While I may have gone on to overwhelm his defences and force him to admit defeat, we both knew who the victor truly was here.
I felt the sadness creeping back. The loneliness, the pain and loss, it all sat upon me like a great grey cloud, pressing upon my very soul. As difficult as it was, I could endure this exile. But to be tormented by the notion that such a wonderful mare was with a stallion such as he, and thus forever beyond my reach, was almost too much to bear.
With our little game complete, there was little reason for me to remain. The governor was kind enough to allow me to use his carriage to get back to my cabin. The rain had started up again, as if seeking to match my present mood. Still, at least I had the place to myself and that arrogant, smug ass didn’t follow me home and invite himself in.
Deposited with little ceremony before my own home, I was left to my own devices. The driving rain had beaten most of my garden flat. The plants would stay that way until they dried off. Assuming of course, that the storm had not drowned the poor things outright. Perhaps tomorrow I would have to start again.
Heading inside, I removed my sodden coat and had my servant stoke up the meagre fire in the front room. Even indoors, my breath turned to a visible vapour. There were even a couple pots and pans scattered throughout, catching the rainwater that was slowly dripping through the rotting wood. Before much longer this ramshackle place must surely collapse. I walked into my bedroom, to get some privacy.
It had been another long, difficult, and ultimately fruitless day. I’d gone to that forsaken mansion with the intention of getting one over on my ignorant gaoler. I’d been bested, yes, but what if I had succeeded? Did I honestly think I would catch such a pretty young thing’s eye? I’m twice her age, old and growing feeble. And as the governor said, she would never leave him, or her children for the likes of me.
I’d been here so long, that my goals had dwindled from conquest and empire building, to something as sad and tragic as winning over a foalhood crush. It was as if I had regressed to the schoolyard! Was that really all I could hope to accomplish now? Imperial glory was impossible, dominion was impossible, power was impossible, escape was impossible. All that remained was my ability to beat an oaf at a game chess while I foalishly pined after his wife, as if I ever had a chance.
I decided to take a bath. If nothing else the somewhat hot water would warm me up. At my age, you start shivering even in the slightest cold. As I sat there soaking, it occured to me just how clever Celestia had been. They could have killed me, banished me to the Void or Tartarus, or turned me to stone like that maniac Discord. But instead, she came up with something worse; she spared me and let me make my own punishment.
This island is indeed my home and prison. But it is of my own design. I stopped railing against the injustice done to me, lowered my sights, until my only desire was to make a minor aristocrat feel foolish. What is the point of that? What would I accomplish? All it has done is made me feel even more miserable and remind me of how pathetic my life has become.
And to think of it, me, King Sombra, Emperor of the Grand Imperial Crystal Empire. He who once held dominion from Vanhoover in the south, to Yakyakistan in the north. The stallion who led his army over the mountains and through freezing blizzards to face those who would dare defy him. I was all but a god! And now I am just a sad, worthless old stallion, living out a lie as a pretend king of a pretend kingdom. And beyond that sea, there is nothing but scorn and ridicule toward me. And the worst part? This is it; this is what all my efforts led up to. Here; a cold, lonely cabin, where I shall no doubt one day pass away, unwept, unmourned, and unloved.
I suppose that is the difference between chess and reality. In that game, when the king falls, the whole world ends and turns to nothing. The pieces are reset, and the battle begins anew. But in real life, so unlike chess, the game continues, even after checkmate.