Polychrome

by Ryk E. Spoor

  Polychrome managed a weak smile. “No…no, Father. Any blood…is from those who pursued me.”

  “You fought them?” He knew his daughter was…unorthodox. She danced to Earth often, forgetting the Rainbow, wandering the world below until she wearied of it. Her dances were more than mere dancing, for she had modeled many of them on the training of his Storm Legions, a ballet not merely of beauty but of wind and lightning. But the thought that she not only could, but would fight…

  “In a manner of speaking.” Her voice rasped faintly, but with a touch of humor. He called immediately for wine. “I led them on a merry…chase, through angered trees and invisible hazards. And evaded them many times, despite their weapons. They harried me, even to the skies above the Desert, and beyond, Father. Oh, Father!” She suddenly pressed herself into his chest and began to sob. “Oh, Father, it is all too terribly true! The Emerald City…is gone!”

  For a moment his mind simply refused to accept the words. Finally he said, “What do you mean when you say ‘gone,’ my daughter?”

  A servant appeared and proffered a goblet; Polychrome seized the Cloudwine and drank the entire goblet in one long series of swallows — something startling and worrisome, for a fairy princess who could normally subsist on a few dewdrops and mist cakes for a day or more. When she spoke again, however, her voice was smoother, and a touch of color was returning to cheeks that had been pale as morning mist.

  “Grey stone, Father.” She shuddered. “Grey, cold stone, all of it. For a mile and more around to the very towers of Ozma’s palace, solid grey stone, and soldiers of stone and metal commanded by those who now rule from that grim mockery of what was.”

  He nodded slowly. The disruptions in the very essence of the air had given him much cause to worry, and the rumors had been terrifying. But to hear it from his own child… “Go on, Polychrome,” he said gently. “You did not take so long, or suffer so much, only seeing this transformation. The theft of things magical, that was how this began. Was it as they believed?”

  Her violet-blue eyes met his, and he saw the answer there before she spoke. “Oh, yes, Father. But far cleverer, far more dangerous. And not alone.”

  “And none resist this…abomination?”

  “Why do you think I stayed, Father?” Polychrome’s voice was sharp, angry, and he drew back in surprise. “Many of them were my friends! I sought for them, through the Quadling Country where I found the Palace of Glinda in ruins, to the Munchkins, fleeing in terror from the armies sent to subdue their lands. I saw the Gillikin Forest in flames!” Tears burst out anew. “Most of my friends were in the Emerald City when it happened! A Council of War, to determine how to locate their enemy — something their enemy had already planned upon! Ozma, Dorothy, the Cowardly Lion, the Wizard, Glinda, the Scarecrow, the Tin Woodman, all of them, all of them were there! I…” she almost broke down, but in a show of discipline and strength that almost forced tears from the Rainbow Lord’s own eyes, she took hold of her voice and heart and refused them the chance to retreat. “I saw through the windows of the Palace, Father, saw the grey stone statues of the heroes of the realm, mortal girls and metal men, all stone, dead, dead stone.”

  “And Ozma herself?”

  She nodded slowly. “Father, she is sealed within a crystal pyramid at the very doorway to the Castle, facing the great Courtyard, where she must have been caught by whatever hideous spell they used.”

  He was silent for a long moment; he watched as Polychrome took another goblet and sipped from it. Finally, he spoke. “You say ‘they,’ Polychrome Glory.” He rarely used both of her names, saving that for times of great import or great tenderness…and this, he judged, was a time for both, for his favorite daughter was sorely wounded in the heart, if not in body. “Who are they?”

  For answer, Polychrome looked down and slowly loosed her grip on the bundle she held, with a wince from the pain that comes when loosing a near-deathgrip. She brought out the oddly-shaped lumpy bundle and looked down at it. With a sigh, she reached in and removed first a long grey envelope, sealed with green wax. On it was inscribed “Iris Mirabilis, Lord of the Rainbows” in a spidery but elegant hand. Wordlessly she extended the envelope to her father.

  He regarded the envelope for a moment, then broke the seal and withdrew the letter, which he read.

  To Iris Mirabilis, Lord of Rainbows and the Seven Hues of Heaven

  Greetings.

  As your lovely and accomplished daughter Polychrome has seen fit to visit our realm, newly acquired, of Oz, and as there may be some confusion as to the status of this land, we send you this missive.

  Be it understood that all of Oz is now under our rule, and shall remain so; and that we have under our control all of the power of that land and can direct it as we will, even unto the power once belonging to Ozma its ruler, the sorceries of Glinda, the enchantments of the Wizard, and all other manner of power held here.

  As Oz was and has always been the core of true Faerie power, since its blessing by Lurline ages agone, you will recognize that we are now a greater power than any other. We do not seek warfare with you or the others of Faerie or the enchanted lands above or below, but make no mistake: we shall tolerate no interference in our affairs. Leave us to ourselves, and all shall be well. Meddle, and whosoever has challenged us shall be destroyed. Each of us was vanquished once; we shall not be defeated again.

  We remain, sir,

  Ugu the Unbowed

  King of Oz

  and

  Amanita Verdant

  Queen of Oz

  The Rainbow Lord knew his face looked like a thundercloud as he set the letter down. “So quickly has it happened…and they claim to control the power itself. But…who is this ‘Amanita,’ Polychrome?”

  She gave another shudder, and he realized that Polychrome — his brave, undaunted, ever-cheerful daughter — was truly afraid of this unknown woman. “Who is she? I have never heard this name before, my daughter, and yet you seem afraid of her, as though you knew who she was.”

  “Oh, I know her, my Father. She it was who captured me once, held me prisoner, stripped me of my form and most of my power, kept me as a plaything and a pet, and would have done so perhaps forever had not others come who gave me a chance at freedom.”

  Shock caused him to draw in a breath. “Her? That monstrous Giantess, the Yookoohoo? She has taken a new name? But I thought that Princess Ozma had sealed her powers away in a form from which they could never be recovered.”

  “Perhaps…perhaps her old form cannot be recovered, Father. But she has a new one, a beautiful Human girl with hair green as emeralds; but I knew her when she laughed as the letter was given to me, for I had heard that laugh many times.”

  He remembered discovering how his missing daughter had been imprisoned. The thought of that monster loose again… “But something still seems amiss. They caught you spying, and sent you away with this letter. Why chase you and harry you near to death?”

  Now Polychrome laughed, a laugh as joyful as a sudden ray of sunshine, and at the same time bright as a blade unsheathed; and he wondered at just what sort of girl he had fathered.

  “Oh, not for that, Father. But for the fact that I sought allies and friends not yet imprisoned, and in the Winkie Country I found a few still fighting; but they were falling, and their King gave to me a final charge…and…” Now, for the first time, she hesitated.

  “Polychrome… what is it?”

  Her jaw set for a moment, and then her shoulders slumped. “He made me promise to give my charge only to you…but that I must leave the room, and am only to be told…whatever you feel I must know.”

  An unnamed dread began to creep over him. He held out his hand; slowly, unwillingly, the girl let him take the bundle. He removed the wrappings.

  Within lay a pink stuffed bear, a small crank protruding from one side.

  Others might not have recognized the significance, but the Rainbow saw many places indeed. This innocent, even silly, looking objec
t was one of the most potent mystical objects…or beings, depending on how one viewed it…in all of Oz. The Pink Bear was a seer, a prophet, blessed or cursed with the ability to live only whenever the crank in its side was turned, and to think, and speak — and see into some place where the future, past, and present were all one, where distance was meaningless and walls nonexistent, and speak of what it saw there.

  “And the Lavender King…”

  Polychrome turned her face away. “They torched the forests.”

  An appalled silence fell over the throne room. Finally he stood. “You gave your word, my daughter. You must leave the room…while I hear the last words of one monarch to another, on the fall of his allies and the loss of the greatest of the Faerie lands.”

  After a moment, Polychrome nodded. He gestured to the servants, who immediately came forward and helped Polychrome out; her sisters, he knew, would help tend to her as well.

  He placed the Bear on the arm of his throne and placed his magic upon it; the Little Pink Bear would at least not have the indignity of relying on someone to turn that crank; it would turn itself until the Bear desired it to stop.

  The little head turned jerkily, and one paw came up. “Hail, Iris Mirabilis!” the Bear said in a high, childish voice. Then its head sagged, and the eyes sparkled as though with tears. “My King is destroyed. My…father is gone.”

  “I know,” he said softly. “And I have no words of comfort for you now, I fear. Your King and father sent you to me, in the hands of my daughter, risking her life and giving his own that she might escape, I would guess. Why?”

  Answering questions was what the Bear had been created for; its duty might not be warming, but it was familiar, and easier than feeling and grief. “To guide you, to show you the way.”

  “There is a way to defeat these people? To restore Oz to what it should be?”

  “It has not been what it should be for a long time. Mistakes were made.” The little Bear’s words were more complex and cryptic than normal.

  “Explain, Bear.”

  “Much power prevents me from speaking plainly. Some is my own; I am a prophet, prophets speak as they must.” The little Bear paused, then spoke again. “Balance was lost here. Balance is also lost without, in the human world. Both must be regained. Both are needed.”

  The Rainbow Lord nodded. The Faerie had always relied on mortals for certain things, and the mortals had in their turn been supported by the Faerie in much of their essence — even though these days they knew it less and less. “Then tell me what must be done.”

  “Two paths before, and the way never clear.” The Bear’s voice was cold and hard now, the voice of a speaker of destiny. “One brings you joy, the other filled with fear. All will hinge on the choice of one, a choice only made before it has begun.”

  The words continued, and as the Rainbow Lord heard the Prophecy unfold, his face became more and more grim. There were no certainties. Even the best path was fraught with danger and potential for mishaps. And in the end…it would cost him the most precious thing in all the world.

  But that was the price that true Kings paid; all that they had. And more.

  Chapter 1.

  They’re close now.

  She was astounded by their speed. Over cloudscape and through brilliant ways of the sky she had met few that were her equal and none her master; even her own father could not match her in fleetness of foot across the skies.

  But these were no natural beings, not even in the sense that she, a princess of Faerie, could be considered natural. Forged from spirits of dark power and bound in chains of Faerie magic, constrained to the will of others, they were living aspects of wild storm — alive, yes, thinking, yes, but not creatures that were ever meant to be. Father had his Storm Legions, trained warriors of the heavens, and so they made their Tempests.

  Despite the peril, she laughed joyously. At last I’m doing something. The waiting is over!

  The clouds were valleys and hills, dark-tinted with hints of storm and rain, white with touches of sun, and she danced along them, pretending she did not see the blue-black flickers of motion in the deepest shadows, the sparking crackles of hidden lightning. They were closing in, hoping to cut her off.

  As she rounded a great white-blue crested cliff-face of smoke and dreams, two Tempests flowed from within the clouds depths, moving on tendrils of sickly green-tinged black, the hue of tornado and destruction. “Halt –”

  Instead of pausing or slowing, she gave a great leap forward, springing high, the lowering rays of the evening sun catching her fair hair and making it flame like molten gold. The Tempests were caught unprepared, not expecting her to act so decisively and dangerously, and she landed fully six feet on the other side of them and danced onward, laughing. “I halt not until I reach my destination, you poor bound stormcloud-spirits, and I have no time to play tag with you today!”

  Three more leapt from a slow-curling arc of white above her, slashing with crackling lightning and jagged-edged talons of night-dark mystic cloud. More serious now, but still wearing a half-pitying, half-mocking smile, Polychrome whirled aside, turned, bent like a willow; lightning missed, cursed talons caught only air, and she dealt the nearest a gentle slap that somehow unbalanced it, sent it reeling into its fellows, gave her an opening.

  I have to make it to the proper point. She had to watch now, for the time was growing very near. She repeated the words of the prophecy to herself again:

  Where three cloud-castles stand and face the sun

  There the Rainbow Princess ends her run;

  Cloud-wall ahead, dark storms behind

  At last the fated place she’ll find.

  Down the Rainbow all is changed, there is no familiar ground;

  Only when her name is spoken shall she turn herself around

  And when she sees the speaker, know your hero has been found.

  It had been a job memorizing the prophecy; especially since the Little Bear would sometimes reword things when repeating it, saying that the future itself could shift. She also suspected that there were parts her father had never told her. She just hoped she remembered it all correctly now, as the future of everything might depend on her getting all of the words exactly right.

  Focus on what you’re doing! she reminded herself as she barely evaded two more Tempests; there were a dozen behind her now, trying to close the distance, and failing — but not failing nearly so easily as she had hoped. There are many steps to victory, Father always said, but you can only take one step at a time, and anyone trying to take more will only trip over her own feet.

  A crackling bolt of lightning hooked just past her ear, cutting a strand of her hair, leaving it to flutter through the cloud to the ground below. Black-tendriled octopus shapes loomed through the mist ahead; she ran up the side of the billowing clouds to her left, bounced down and literally danced her way over the Tempests’ stunned heads before they could react. She laughed again, the exhilaration of risk and of hope combining in a heady brew like the finest Cloudwine.

  Before her clouds blazed brilliantly, reflecting the light of the setting sun… There!

  Just to her left, she could see three mighty thunderheads in a perfect row, triple towers throwing back the light of the sun that, as she altered her course, was directly behind her — perfect conditions for a Rainbow. “And there surely are dark storms behind,” she muttered.

  A clear space, wisps of cirrus trailing gossamer bridges; she paused in her flight, sent a shockwave of Faerie power across, the bridges shattering behind her, Tempests plunging downward; they would recover, but they had lost precious time. Not all of them, though…

  Now the cloud-walls loomed up like the bulwark of the world, so she would need to crane her neck to see the top, and the Tempests were coming faster. “Father!” she called. “Father, now!”

  A blaze of light appeared and grew before her, a mighty bridge of seven colors forming in midair, with a second slightly dimmer but no less spectacular arch above
, a bridge that Polychrome danced onto mere inches ahead of the Tempests; but no creation of dark magic could set foot on the Rainbow, and the Tempests knew it all too well. With screeches and howls of frustration and rage like hurricanes at a window, the dark and twisted beings faded away, returning to the clouds and, Polychrome knew, eventually to their Master and Mistress in Oz.

  But let’s not think on that, she told herself. We’re going to rescue all of Faerie soon! Her feet knew the curve of the Bow as well as they knew the clouds of home, and she danced her way down the Rainbow. Things do look different…great jumbles of buildings like I’ve never seen…so many houses…streets…what’s all those things moving on them?

  There wasn’t much time to study it, though, for her descent was fast, down the Rainbow nearly as fast as a stone might fall, to come to rest on a hard, black surface, a strange, exciting odor lingering in the air.

  She landed in the middle of a ring of people, already staring even before she arrived. Of course. For them, the rainbow recedes ever away, can never be caught. It’s been…centuries?…since the last time Father’s Rainbow came to rest with one end fully in the mortal world, centuries since I set foot here. Ever since Faerie truly began to separate itself.

  It was a bit of a jolt to realize how long it had been. She remembered that day well — the day her father had been told that the mortal and Faerie worlds would separate for some unknown time. She herself had been younger — young enough to still have sisters that were more babies than girls, and as mortals counted time that would be a long time indeed.

  The Rainbow lifted up and faded, only moments after her foot touched the black surface, and the murmur of the surrounding people increased. She looked back eagerly. Which one of these would recognize her? They all look so…strange.