There’s a Siberian train that runs between
Vladivostok and Moscow’s old Yaroslav
At the dead of night the whistle blows
And people fear she’s running still…

And then they hush their children back to sleep
Lock the doors, upstairs they creep
For it is said that the souls of the dead
Fill that train ten thousand deep!!

And far away in some recess
The Lord and the Devil are playing chess
The Devil cheats and wins more souls
And as for the Lord, well, he’s just doing his best
Apologies – Chris DeBurgh.

The air hangs like battlefield smoke, on the platform no wind stirs. Form nowhere an urgent breeze disturbs a discarded wrapper. Papers scurry like frightened insects over the tracks, come to rest. At the end of the station stands a stranger. A shaft of light casts a deep shadow. Under his wide brimmed hat a face like granite. The poker expression reveals nothing. Vladivostok at this time of year should be pleasant but with no cool breeze off Golden Horn Bay, it is stifling.

In the distance the mournful wail of an approaching train. In the dead of night such sounds carry far. Digging into his coat he takes out his watch, gold chain flashing. The train will be on time – of that he is sure. The steaming night monster gives a sombre bellow signalling its approach. The headlamp cuts into the dark, wheels scream in agony. The train is on time.

The railwayman stands on the platform lantern in hand, Lord-thy-God climbs aboard. Shivering, he signals and the Trans-Siberian stirs. Tonight the fate of the Souls of the Dead will be decided.

Lord-thy-God finds his compartment and sits down, dawn is a long way off. The rugged landscape silently moves by as he stares out to the horizon and waits. Presently the door slides open and his travelling companion steps in.  “I wasn’t sure if you were on the train.” No warmth, no friendly greeting – just business.

“You know that I wouldn’t miss this meeting for the world.” A broad but insincere smile.

They regard one another across a polished table. Lord-thy-God spreads his hands, his eyes flash; “After that childish stunt you pulled at our last encounter …”

“Ah yes, that.” Satan interrupts “Perhaps I was a bit impetuous. Cheating at cards when the stakes were so high.  Yes I was foolish.  You may be Lord-Thy-God and lay claim to the Universe, but the Soul of Man belongs to me.”

“It does?”  Lord-thy-God sarcastically. “Then why this charade?”

“Don’t be so naive you know it’s not that simple.”  Satan’s composed smile slipping a little.

“Isn’t it?” Lord senses an opening.

“Man gave me his Soul in the Garden.  Ever since then it was you, Lord-thy-God who has cheated.  You have no claim to the Soul of Man.”

“That is what you say. But we are reduced to this; playing a game of cards to see who wins the Soul of Man?”

Outside the Siberian countryside passed by, far in the distance an old priest looked on and crossed himself.  He knew that meetings such as this were dangerous.

“I have a claim on Man, established emphatically in the Garden at the very beginning. It’s time for you to relinquish your hold.”

“You flatter yourself. The last time you challenged me, it was to a game of cards. Even then you couldn’t restrain yourself, you had to cheat” Voice growing strident. “Are you so weak that you have to dupe the Soul of Man to get respect? Is it only by cheating that you can have sway? Get thee behind me, Satan.”

“We are getting ahead of ourselves.” Satan feigning agreement. “I admit games of chance are not what should determine our outcome; rather we should pit ourselves one against the other in a game of skill.”

“Game of skill?”

“Yes skill. You say that I cheat, you say I’m underhand …”

“You do, you are.” Lord-thy-God interrupts and instantly regrets it.

“Yes perhaps, but consider chess.  Chess is not a game of luck and there is little chance of cheating.  I challenge you to a game of chess.”

“I will think about it.” The Lord looking for the scheme. He needs time.

The carriage rocked to the rhythm of travel. The Lord stared into the dark, he knew this meeting could be a turning point.  Satan was becoming stronger in the hearts of Man.  Evil was everywhere and on this Siberian Train lay a proposition. Somehow the Dark Forces had to be stopped.  Man’s heart was becoming complacent in these modern times. Modern technology was making Man indolent and uncaring.  He secretly feared the indifferent Soul of Man belonged to Satan already.

“A game of chess?”

Satan smiled in the gloom. “Yes – chess.  Games of cards and dice are competitions of chance and fate.  Let us leave such juvenile contrivances of destiny to those Ancient Greek philosophers and fools who look to the constellations for their future. I know how big you are on free will.” Satan paces as he speaks, dark cape flowing. Click-click, click-click the sounds of the wheels on the track.

A lonely light shone in a distant village. Satan stared and quickly the light was extinguished. In the darkness a faithful soul prayed. The Lord knew if he refused he was turning his back on the greatest gift he gave the Soul of Man, free will.

“I accept.” Lord-thy-God abruptly answered “I will play you for the Soul of Man.”

“Splendid,” Satan smiled. “Splendid.” Somehow the Lord sensed an ambush. With all His knowledge and with all His wisdom he did not know what was in the mind of Satan. In all of time He never did.

“There should be some rules and a conduct of play,” said Lord-thy-God, fearing another bout of trickery.

“Surely you don’t believe I would cheat?” Satan feigned hurt.  “Still in the interests of fair play, what do you have in mind?”

“There is a game soon to be played,” Lord-thy-God drew on his omniscient knowledge, “in Moscow, between the Russian world champion Gary Kasparov and the most powerful computer ever built. The programmers have named it Deep Blue. They want to determine once and for all human intellectual dominance. We can use that as our battle ground.” The Lord’s terms were so authoritatively and emphatically put, that it left little latitude for negotiation. It was Satan’s turn to be unsure, fearing some trickery. He continued, “I propose you enter the game as the spirit of the machine since your interest is heartless and cold and I will enter in that of Gary Kasparov.”

Satan thought about this proposition.  If he refused it was a denial of his own conviction on the Soul of Man. Lord-thy-God was making the first move already and the game was not yet even played. The heartless, soulless option of cold logic. Satan liked that.

“I accept.” It was Satan’s turn to accept.

In an instant Lord-thy-God produced two chess pieces, a black and white pawn.

“Choose.”

Behind his back He switched the pawns around.  Satan smiled knowingly and pointed to the Lord’s left hand.  “Black, you get black and I will start first.”

Dawn on the horizon, the train pulled into Birobidzhan Station. On the busy platform passengers going about their business. Lord-thy-God nodded a familiar greeting to the railwayman.