Key to Chroma

  "We are alert to invocations. You got our attention. Then we saw that you were a remarkably fit man, a prospect not only for an effective king, but for our purposes as well. You are unusually intelligent and motivated, even for a changeling, a superior creature, with a special facility for accomplishing your purposes. So we supported you, and then enlisted your service."

  Thus she had come to him in the privy, and dazzled him into going on her assignment. And joined him therein, perhaps ensuring his success. “This quest for seven Chroma ikons is my service to you?"

  "True. We are unable to handle them ourselves, and ordinary folk are unlikely to fetch them. But we thought you might succeed."

  "It has been a considerable challenge."

  "Which is why I came to you as Stevia. I will protect you."

  "What of my companions? They face dangers too."

  "We protect them too."

  That could account for a lot. “These ikons—are they of any use in my quest to discover the origin of the changelings?"

  "They may be. We seek the answer to that mystery too. Our cause is common."

  "You don't know?"

  She smiled. “We are not gods, Havoc. There is much we don't know."

  "Yet your powers are so great!"

  "Powers of magic, yes. But we are not smarter than ordinary folk, and we are unable to fathom the past or future. We wish to better understand our nature, as you do yours."

  "I am a changeling."

  "So are we, Havoc."

  He stared at her, astonished. “Humor?"

  "Negation. “Every one of us started as a changeling. Later we manifested as Glamors. So your tale was not false in essence, merely in detail."

  "Changelings,” he breathed. “So you do seek the origin of changelings."

  "We do,” she agreed.

  He gazed at her again. She remained enchanting. “Will you tell me how you became a Glamor? I ask because if we have common roots as changelings, it may be relevant."

  She smiled. “Affirmation. I was a fourth, and a changeling, though I did not know the latter. My family lived near a Red Chroma cone. My siblings were older, and not much taken with me. I was Stevia, in red. So I had time alone, and ventured toward the cone from simple boredom and curiosity. I found that magic worked better there, and I liked the feel of it. Each day I braved closer, studying the cone, for often it rumbled and made minor eruptions. When my parents caught me, they cautioned me not to approach the cone, because of the danger. But they were busy and could not watch me much, and I was drawn to it. It summoned me, with its grandeur and power. Finally I braved the demons of the surrounding desert, with their conjured phantasms, and made it to the cone itself. Power came to me, and I entered the cave and found the altar. Then there was an eruption, and the mountain shook, terrifying me. I clung to the altar as a phenomenal surge of magic came—and lo, I separated into two entities. One was a little red model; the other was something else: an enormous question of identity. I seemed to be choosing what I was. It was overwhelmingly important. “I am human!” I cried. Then the figurine dropped into the fourteenth pocket, and I was free. I made my way out of the cave and flew home, shaken by the mysterious experience."

  She paused, studying Havoc. “Am I being relevant to your interest?"

  "Absolutely. Fascination.” It was such a lowly question, considering her identity.

  "But when I got there, they ignored me. That was usual for my siblings, but not for my mother. ‘Mom, I had the weirdest experience,’ I told her, but she looked right through me. ‘Mom!” I cried, and grabbed her hand. But my hand passed right through hers. That was when I realized I was dead. The eruption had destroyed me, and I was now a ghost. I was horrified, but unable to change it. In the next few days I watched the burial ceremony. A sibling had seen me go to the cone, and they knew of the eruption, and I did not return for dinner, so they knew it had killed me. They lacked a body, but no one was going to brave the demons of the cone to try to locate or fetch it. They were sad, even my siblings, and I could not comfort them. There was nothing I could do except depart, hoping to find my way to Planet Counter-Charm and be with the spirits of my ancestors. Except, I realized, I did not know who they were: I was a fourth, my parentage unknown. Do you understand?” She looked at Havoc.

  "Yes!” he said, taking her in his arms. “I have always understood that aspect. That was one reason Gale and I were drawn together: we were both fourths. We were well treated by our families, but we knew. And Symbol: she's older, and callused, yet there is that affinity. This much of you I comprehend perfectly."

  "I am, at heart, a lonely girl,” she said. “With extraordinary powers, but still in need of acceptance and love. This is not something I care to bruit about carelessly."

  "I like you better now,” Havoc said, holding her. “I mean, you fascinate me, but—"

  "Understanding,” she agreed. “We do have common roots. This explains in part my attraction to you, however peripheral. At any rate, I wandered for a time, a spirit others could not see or hear or feel. I did not go to Counter-Charm, though I tried; I was able to fly only so high before leveling off. I also found myself getting hungry. I was mystified; why should a ghost want food? So I returned to ground and sought to pluck a fruit, but my hand passed through it. Annoyed, I willed solidity to my hand—and it formed, and dropped to the ground."

  "Confusion."

  "Me too, at the time. I discovered that I had formed a solid hand, but not a solid arm, so the hand had no support. So I willed a solid body, and then I was able to pluck and eat the fruit. That experience caused me to come to the conclusion that I was not after all dead, but in some other state. I experimented, and discovered that I could fashion my body into whatever form I wanted: tall or short, thick or thin, plain or lovely. I could make it fly or change color. So I was alive, and in control. I did need to eat, and to eliminate, but I could readily find food. I also needed to sleep, but I could do that in my ghostly form, undisturbed. Yet what was the point? I was alone.” She sighed in his embrace. “Figuratively. People were all around, but now I avoided them, certain that they would not understand my state. I did not understand it myself. So I continued to exist, and to explore my powers. I seemed to have all the magic any Chroma person did, and more."

  She kissed Havoc, and he kissed back. “Appreciation for your comfort,” she said. “This is not an easy statement."

  "Welcome to it.” Her humanity had grown greatly during this narration. She was no longer the seeming goddess, but a fellow being.

  "Then one day I strayed beyond the Red Chroma zone, and encountered a hostile plant. Instantly I dematerialized and floated away. Then I realized that this should not have been possible; Chroma folk lose their magic beyond their zones. Yet I had done it. Thereafter I experimented further, and discovered that I had lost none of my powers of magic. I was the same in otherChroma or nonChroma zones as in the Red Chroma. I had never heard of this."

  "Didn't you recognize this as Glamor status?"

  She made a wry smile. “This was some time ago. Glamors were unknown then."

  "Unknown? But the stories have been around for centuries."

  "Affirmation."

  Slowly he realized the import. “If I may inquire—"

  "This happened approximately two hundred and fifty years ago."

  He froze. She was that old?

  "If you wish to turn me loose now, you may do so. I will understand."

  Yet her body was that of a woman in her teens or twenties. “Immortality—it is another Glamor trait?"

  "Perhaps."

  "You don't know?"

  "Not yet."

  He considered, and realized that it was a fair answer. How could a person know how long she would live, before her life was done?

  And how did he feel about her now? She was really an old, old woman. Yet still a beautiful one, and in need of comfort, as she said. “I think your Glamor identity is too much of a good thing. Your age is too much of a b
ad thing. Together, there is a kind of balance. You are someone to whom I can relate, no fault, if that is your wish."

  "It is my wish,” she said, kissing him.

  Havoc suffered a sudden belated revelation: “The red ikon! It looks exactly like you!"

  "Correction: I look like it."

  "You modeled yourself after it?"

  "It represents the ideal human woman."

  He nodded; it did make sense. “How did you come to know you were a Glamor?"

  "Unanswerable. I was the first. I defined the term."

  "The first? How could you know that?"

  "All Glamors were first changelings. There were no changelings before my day, and there were few thereafter. So it seems that something in changelings enables them to make the transition, and there were none from ordinary folk. I looked for others like me, and for thirty years found none. That was the worst of my loneliness."

  "How did you tolerate that?"

  "I had the distraction of learning and mastering my powers. I also recreated my original persona, Stevia, the sweet girl. She had brief boyfriends."

  "No long term commitment?"

  "I could have made her seem to age, if I wished. But it was easier simply to move on after a few years in no fault. I could not afford to have babies; they would tie me down, and might catch on to my nature, which I felt was best kept private. So I have known a number of good men, usually as mistress, so that they did not expect a family of me. But mere sex becomes repetitive after a few decades. Fortunately I finally spied the Black Glamor, who had come on the scene. I was able to be of help to him, and of course we were lovers. We understood each other in a way no others could. That passed the time. We discovered that we represented not the Red or Black Chromas, but different types of life. I spoke for human beings; he spoke for saprophytes."

  "Question?"

  "Fungi. The things that break down the products of life, so they can be recycled."

  "They need someone to speak for them?"

  "So it seems. They provide Black his powers, and he represents their interests."

  Havoc remembered how the Black Glamor had caused the conspirators who were trying to destroy the new king to dissolve into dust. They had been broken down for recycling. “So you called yourself Glamors, and the term leaked out into folklore."

  "Approximately."

  "Who are the others?"

  "I think you know."

  Havoc considered. “The ikons! We have found a blue insect, a red statuette, an invisible millipede, a translucent fish, a black mobius strip, and a yellow star. Now we are looking for a green one."

  "A green squid."

  "So the Glamors represent insects, humans, millipedes, fish, fungi, and—"

  "The demons."

  "And finally the squids. Seven categories."

  "That is the number."

  "Who represents trees?"

  She shrugged. “We do not understand the system of representation, we merely reflect it."

  "I think trees should be represented."

  "Then you must appeal to some higher authority. We are not sure whether we choose our types, or whether they chose us."

  "So now you are fetching the ikons—for what purpose?"

  "They are actually threads encased in symbolic shells. With the threads we hope to weave a tapestry, whose form will indicate the nature of the remaining Glamors."

  "How do you know there are others?"

  "There must be. To match the Chroma."

  "Ten—or twelve?"

  "Twelve. So we need to identify five more."

  "Then what?"

  "Then we will summon them, and hope to join with them to fathom the mystery of the changelings. Of our origin—and yours."

  "You can't just call out colors, the way I did in my tale?"

  "We have tried. They don't answer."

  "Maybe they don't exist."

  "We believe they do, but do not care to respond. Perhaps we are mistaken."

  "Perhaps,” he agreed. “Let's get that green squid, then see what the pattern is. Maybe answers will come."

  "This is our desire."

  "Speaking of desire: we were here for sex."

  She nodded. “Now you understand me better. If you want me, I am yours, no fault."

  "I think I want you, no fault. Can I handle it?"

  "Perhaps."

  "Let me try."

  He embraced her, and felt her divine body against him, electrifying every part of him. He kissed her, and his face seemed to float free of his head. But as their genital regions came together, the feeling became too much. “I think I need another derivative,” he gasped.

  "Granted."

  His groin expanded to encompass his whole body. He spun wildly in space. Then he steadied, and discovered he was the star Vivid, burning brightly in space. There before him was Void, a dark hole. A faint outline defined the Red Glamor, the dark star her groin. He moved toward her, and into her.

  There was a phenomenal flash. Energy flew outward, illuminating the region. They had become a quasar, flashing its presence to the universe. The fulfillment was so intense as to be unbearable.

  The fabric of awareness tore. Havoc found himself on Planet Mystery, in the bower, clasping the Red Glamor. But as the radiating light came, that flew apart. He found himself in the dream chamber, kissing her. The light overtook them and that too flew apart. At last he woke in the Green Chroma room.

  Stevia and Ine were tending to him. “Come back, come back!” Ine was crying, stroking his face.

  "Is Void flaring?” he asked dazedly.

  Ine paused, uncertain whether he were joking.

  "In your dreams,” Stevia said.

  He looked at her, and somewhat hysterical laughter burst out of him. A dream inside a dream inside a dream, Vivid penetrating Void, and a flare that seemed to blow away the universe. Even triple shielded, he had barely been able to survive the experience of sex with a Glamor. Yet his whole body was vibrant with the thrill of it, and he felt great. “Appreciation,” he said to her.

  "Mutual."

  "What are you two talking about?” Ine demanded.

  "Stevia told me I might have wild dreams,” Havoc said. “She was right."

  "Well, your dream almost put you into a coma,” Ine said severely. “Try for a tamer one next time."

  "I will try,” he agreed meekly.

  They settled down, covering him from either side with breast and thigh, and he relaxed. Ine had feral notions of sex that could make for unusual experience, and Ine and Stevia together were remarkable, but the Red Glamor was something else. She had tried her best to protect him from her devastating effect, and barely succeeded. He would never forget the effect. But the other aspect was more significant: he had learned her true nature, a lonely girl more than two and a half centuries old, who craved acceptance for her reality rather than her mortal emulation. Now that he knew her, he could do that.

  His arm was around sweet Stevia's shoulders. He stroked her skin with three fingers, signifying that acceptance, and felt her breast twitch against him, acknowledging. She could read his mind, of course, probably right down to his secret thoughts. She was a Glamor. But also a woman.

  He would have to assimilate the rest of what he had learned about the Glamors, in due course. For now he merely remembered it. He slept.

  He woke at dawn, refreshed. The women did not demand more sex; they were evidently trying to spare him for the effort of acquisition of the ikon at the Green volcano. Indeed, they washed him and dressed him and kissed him on either ear. “Now go perform,” Ine murmured with a final pat on his bottom.

  Symbol returned with a good breakfast for them all. She had evidently evoked generosity in the prickly Green Chroma man. She did know her business.

  Then they girded for the coming battle. Each person donned light armor, literally: small mirrors that would reflect light. They had helmets with faceplates, gauntlets, elbow guards, crotch guards, greaves, and small mirro
r shields. It was not possible to cover everything, but with alert use of the shields they would be well protected. They also had light swords: hand grips that had no physical continuation, but shot out scintillating beams.

  "Remember,” Havoc warned. “The birds have no armor, but can read our minds, and are very quick to dodge. There are also three times as many of them, so we'll be outgunned. Best to be defensive, and watch yourself and your buddy. If you score, they'll go down, and if they score on us, we'll go down. There'll be a magic flash when there's a score. If you get killed, take off your armor and walk back to the base, here. You can do whatever you want, but may neither fight nor advise any fighter; you're out of it. Remember, too, that this is like chess: I'm the king, and if I go down, we're lost. I'm the one designated to fetch the ikon. So if you have a chance to give your life for mine, do it.” He smiled. “Same story with Avian: get him if you can, even if you must sacrifice your life to do it. Their resistance will end when their king dies.” He paused. “Any questions?"

  Stevia approached and whispered in his ear.

  Havoc faced her, publicly astonished. “Now? Why didn't you think of that this morning, before we got dressed?"

  Stevia shrugged, looking at the ground.

  "Oh, oblige her,” Ine said. “I had my turns."

  He sighed. “This will be fast,” he said grimly, turning away from the smirks of Gale and Symbol and the amazement of Dour and Lucent. What possessed the woman to make such a demand at such a time? Ine they might have understood, for news of her odd tastes was circulating. Hot sex in armor might indeed appeal to her. But sweet Stevia?

  They left Ine and retreated to their cabin. Once inside, Havoc and Stevia stripped rapidly, but expressed no sexual interest. She donned his clothing and armor, and he put on hers. Then she fished in her pack for a set of body paints. She painted his face and exposed body parts gray, and he did the same for hers, in nonChroma flesh color. Her hair flowed into the configuration of his, and also masked the differences in their facial features: she looked a lot like him. He slouched down to look shorter and thicker, and practiced walking her way, a few steps.