Polychrome

by Ryk E. Spoor

  But from what her father had said, it was utterly impossible that this man had any connection with Faerie. He couldn’t, or all their hopes would be for nothing.

  Seeing that they were now moving (at a very impressive speed) steadily along some very wide roadway, she decided it should be safe to speak. “And now that we are safely away, sir, may I have your name?”

  At her voice, she saw a paradoxical expression: he smiled, yet a tenseness lurked at the corners of his mouth, along with almost a hint of fear; but she didn’t think he was afraid of her — no man she’d ever known was, unless she meant them to be.

  “My name is Erik Medon, Lady Polychrome.” He spoke formally, his gaze flicking to her face and then away. He’s making a very great effort, now that I think of it, to look nowhere else. Well, he’s trying to be a gentleman, even if it seems that this is rare here.

  “Just Polychrome, if I may call you Erik,” she said with a small laugh. Yes, the laugh was right. Worries are not my province, nor things to concern one of Faerie.

  “Please do…Polychrome.”

  She heard the echo in his voice of the same disbelieving joy that had filled it when first he spoke her name. I like that. “Thank you for your timely arrival, Erik. I am not sure I liked the looks of all those people.” How to bring us to the right discussion…I need to understand him. But there is so little time!

  He chuckled and his smile looked more natural. “Mobs are not comfortable things to be around, and people don’t always react well to things they don’t understand,” he said, tacitly agreeing. “But, if you’ll pardon me for jumping straight to the point, you said you needed to speak with me. And you seemed to be expecting someone when I spoke, though — obviously — you weren’t expecting me.”

  Well, that solves that problem. Polychrome nodded. “I was expecting you, actually…I just didn’t have any idea who you were.”

  He frowned in thought for a moment, and then his brow cleared. “I see. You were following a prophecy.”

  That startled her. “Well-thought, Erik! You have hit exactly upon it!”

  Another surprise was the slight blush that touched his cheeks at the compliment. “Oh, that didn’t take much thinking. Seen the scenario enough in the books I’ve read. You came here with the knowledge that you needed to meet someone at a particular place…hmm…and obviously it had to be whoever it was that first recognized you, since as soon as I spoke your name you knew it had to be me.” The vehicle was crossing over a very high bridge now, and she looked down from a dizzying height at a great brown river below. Erik continued, “So…what is it you need to find me for? And of course the other question is, when am I going to wake up?”

  “As to the second, you are very much awake right now. Is magic and Faerie so much forgotten now that you think this could only be a dream?”

  “Forgotten? As far as people today are concerned, there never was such a thing. The few people who do believe in magic…well, they believe in something very different from anything even vaguely like the Faerie of Oz, and nowhere is there any real evidence it ever existed. To be honest…even the Oz books themselves are fading from most people’s memories. Most people who know the word associate it with a single movie that wasn’t even an accurate adaptation of the book.”

  He turned them onto a ramp leading to another street. “And as far as the world I know is concerned, the Oz stories were just that, stories, no connection to any reality. With you here, of course, I now know that isn’t at all true. Baum, and possibly Neill, had to know something about the reality of Faerie. Assuming I’m not dreaming this whole thing, which is something that I am hoping is not true with a desperation you could not even begin to imagine.”

  The intensity of the last words demanded a reassurance, and she laughed. “You are not dreaming, Erik Medon, and there will be no awakening to a world in which you have not met me in that strange black field of horseless carriages. Although,” she continued more soberly, “you may well come to wish that you would awaken, for in the end this may be more nightmare than dream.”

  “Having met you and learned that Faerie is real?” Now he laughed, loudly, a cheerful, free sound that seemed to lighten the air around her. “Polychrome, that would take something much darker than I can imagine.” He turned the wheel and brought the vehicle to a stop in a driveway next to a small white house. “And I can imagine quite a bit.” The last part sounded almost as though he was quoting something.

  Erik came around to open the door and hand her out — though in a way that showed he was utterly unused to this sort of formality or courtesy. “Thank you, Erik. So this is your home?”

  He nodded, looking slightly worried. “Um, realize that I live here alone, so, well, I don’t keep things very neat most of the time. Okay, just about any of the time.”

  This was something of an understatement, she found, as the door opened and he turned on what appeared to be electric lights. The rooms were cluttered, mostly with books and papers piled here and there. It wasn’t, as she’d momentarily feared, a place of unhealthy litter, and as she wandered, dancing idly, through the various rooms, she suddenly recognized it as the same kind of disorganized, omnipresent clutter she’d seen in the Wizard’s private rooms on occasion, or those of other men of education and no family; the sign of a thoughtful man, though not a very organized one. Maybe the mess…isn’t a bad sign, she thought. He reads a great deal; he thinks and writes, I can see. His mind is quick. Maybe…

  He blocked her entry to one room. “Definitely not.”

  She giggled. “Ah, your own room. Fear not, I will not invade such a secret lair.” She danced back to what was clearly the sitting or living room; he stepped ahead of her and removed several stacks of books from a large, overstuffed chair.

  “Now that we’re here, Polychrome…& he said slowly, watching her sit (and still clearly keeping his eyes locked on her face, though she suspected that he had not managed to keep his eyes so elevated while following her), “what brings you here?”

  “Well…” To her surprise, for a moment Polychrome found herself speechless. How in the world do I begin?

  Surprisingly, he seemed to understand. “Let me see if I can help a little,” he said. “You know I’ve read the Oz books — how else could I have known who you were? — but realize, I’m not so naïve as to believe that every detail in those books is accurate. My guess is that Baum toned some things way down — because they were children’s books — and a lot of other things got tweaked either for the sake of a story, or to fit his own beliefs. So don’t worry about shocking me with facts that don’t fit those books.” He stepped towards the kitchen. “I know you don’t eat much at all, but I need to grab me something.”

  I just don’t know how to start. She looked at the faint shadows moving as he rummaged through the…refrigerator?…that seemed to store a lot of food. Especially when I have to eventually get to the part where I tell him…

  But that wasn’t something to dwell on. When she got to that part, she’d just have to go straight through and say it before she lost her nerve. Which wasn’t at all usual with her, but then, this whole thing was very unusual.

  As he came back in, eating a rather thick sandwich of some sort, she decided abruptly that it was best to go straight to the heart of things. “Oz has been destroyed.”

  With a comical widening of the eyes, Erik gasped. This was unfortunate as he also had a large bite of sandwich in his mouth at the time. He gagged, tried to speak, and in a panic Polychrome ran over, pounding him on the back. Oh, by the Seven Hues, what could I tell Father? “I’m sorry, I accidentally made our hero choke himself to death?”

  Suddenly the food dislodged, he swallowed and took a deep breath that had a strange, whistling undertone. “’Sokay, okay,” he said, waving her back. From his pocket he took a yellow, shiny object shaped something like the letter “L” and stuck one end in his mouth, pressing with the other; there was a quick hiss and he inhaled, then held his breath for a few seco
nds. “Sorry,” he said finally, “that kind of thing sometimes triggers an attack. Asthma,” he said, as she shot him a questioning gaze. “My lungs don’t always like to do their job and will choke up on me.” He shook his head, then sat down in a nearby, smaller chair. “What exactly do you mean, Oz is destroyed?”

  “The land itself is still there.” She tried to find the right words. “But it is no longer the Oz you have read of — even allowing for what those books did not tell you.”

  He had an odd smile for a moment as she spoke, then his expression grew more serious. “Was this a…natural change, for want of a better word?”

  To her own surprise, she found herself hesitating. She knew that it hadn’t been natural in any sense of the word… yet he clearly had a very good reason for asking… And a part of her felt that there might be something important behind that question, something her father might have understood better than she. But she shook her head.

  “No. Conquest. And you need to realize that Oz…is the center of Faerie. Those who hold it are more powerful than the rest, and the condition of Oz can affect the rest of us. And perhaps rebound upon your own people.”

  The blue eyes narrowed as he nodded his head, and for a moment she saw a strategist, leaning over a map. “Or, perhaps, what is done here rebounds upon your own.”

  That…is not far from something Father said. “There are…connections between our worlds, according to my Father. So you may be right.”

  “Okay, Polychrome.” He spoke with a new tone, someone listening to a problem and looking for understanding. “Start from the beginning. Tell me how it happened, who was responsible, and then how I come into all this.”

  Maybe…maybe he can help. She drew a deep breath. “It began when there were…thefts…”

  Chapter 4.

  Focusing on what Polychrome was telling me wasn’t easy at first. I may not have had many lady companions, especially in the last few years, but I was very, very far from unaware of the attractions of the opposite sex; given my commonly-noted lack of maturity, perhaps overly much so in some ways. And there was no girl or woman I’d ever met who could compare to Polychrome.

  I think I had managed a heroic feat in keeping my eyes fixed on hers most of the time we talked, and never letting them drop below the neckline, but the couple of times I’d followed her I had lacked such a clear focal point and I had studied that view much more intensely than was probably proper. And, of course, I have excellent peripheral vision, so even her frontal view was fairly clear — too much so, in some ways. Neill had captured much of Polychrome’s essence correctly in his pictures, or I’d never have recognized her — the ethereal delicacy of her basic build, the sunshine-golden hair that floated unconfined yet never in the way, her curiosity, her joy — but the real Polychrome was not the almost fainting hothouse flower that the pictures conveyed. Her stormy-violet eyes were merry and bright and intensely alive, her face beautiful but far stronger than Neill’s artwork had allowed, her figure much more… intriguing than I suspect had been permitted when those pictures were drawn.

  It did not help at all that Neill’s drawings had been entirely accurate in depicting her gauzy, near-transparent, diaphanous clothing. It wasn’t — quite — transparent, but as most guys know, sometimes a tantalizing hint of a view is as riveting as a full exposure. Even her scent was maddeningly distracting, a combination of flowers and thunderstorms, and a nigh-subliminal song seemed to follow her, a phantom music that echoed her actions and moods.

  It was also not helping that I was terribly aware of how poorly I compared to her or any men she must know — both in general appearance and in the semi-squalor of my bachelor existence. Only the oddities of the high-tech era managed to make my place look different than she might have expected. But she was talking and serious now, and with another supreme effort I drove all those thoughts to the background and focused every mental faculty on her problem. For whatever incredible reason, she has come here to find you. This is that impossible chance you’ve been waiting for all your life. Don’t blow it.

  The initial modus operandi of the unknown attackers was clearly familiar, and she confirmed it shortly. The immediate aftermath was grim.

  I nodded. Of the various so-called villains in most of the Oz books, these were the two who — once I allowed for the shifted imagery in the children’s versions — were undoubtedly the most formidable, intelligent, capable of long-term planning, and of nursing an intense grudge against all Oz. “Yeah, the ending of Lost Princess never rang true to me, even as a kid. I just couldn’t see Ugu suddenly reforming that way. He never showed any sign of really caring about other people, and I think that level of reforming takes a lot more than just a few weeks of thinking,” I said. Another thought struck me. “I’m betting they also got themselves a few more allies, among others that Ozma’s regime had stepped on.”

  “You go fast, and well.” The quick smile she gave, lighting up the grave face, and the swift glissando of bright notes amid the muted, somber background strains sent another spurt of joy through my heart all out of proportion to the words. “But they reserved the vast majority of power for themselves, and none would be foolish enough to gainsay them.”

  “Why didn’t they change Ozma to stone also?”

  Her smile was suddenly more cynical. “Because Ozma is the true heart of Oz, granted that power through her birth line, in direct descent from the Faerie Queen Lurline. Turning her to stone would weaken the power of Oz overall, reduce the value of their prize. Imprisoning her in that mystic cage leaves her helpless, trapped in a dream that permits her only the vaguest awareness of the situation, her power sealed such that it can only be used by her captors — and even that indirectly, in that she cannot prevent them from making use of Oz’s power.”

  “So she wasn’t actually in Lurline’s band to begin with? I was always confused about that — Baum’s tales didn’t leave it clear.”

  Polychrome shook her head. “Ozma is a child from the point of view of any Faerie. It was required that there be both mortal and Faerie blood on the throne of Oz, so that both sides were represented at this, the core of all Faerie. She is descended of a line of rulers.” She smiled again. “And as I think you have already guessed, his early tales oft held more of truth in them than the latter tales.”

  “It did strike me that way — no money? A perfect socialist state? And all the evil gone except in out-of-the-way benighted places?” I grinned, then grew serious. I think we’ve still been dancing. “But you still haven’t told me…where do I come in?”

  Now I saw real worry on her face, and the sound was of foreboding horns far off in a darkened fog. “Well…you know I was following a prophecy. A man of your talents already guessed that the prophecy led to you.”

  “Hard though that is to believe — and I can imagine your disappointment.”

  She flushed, a lovely rose hue that if possible made her even more beautiful than she had been. “Well…I…”

  “Don’t try to apologize, Polychrome. I would never have picked myself for hero material — as opposed to dreaming of it — and if you weren’t surprised and disappointed, well, you would have been seeing things I don’t in myself.”

  She was silent for a moment, as though she wanted to protest but couldn’t think of any convincing way to do so. Then she sighed. “Yes. But as I have thought on the prophecy -- or prophecies, for really it’s more than one, a string of several pieces more than a single epic of foretelling -- I think I see that someone like you was exactly what the Little Bear was describing.” She stood and turned away from me toward the window, gazing into the darkness. “And there isn’t any certainty, yet. Or, really, none until the ending. The prophecies make clear that we can fail. That, perhaps, we are far more likely to fail than to win through. And…” she hesitated.

  I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like the answer, but I asked, “And? What is it?”

  “And the first chance to fail is…tonight.”

  I
had a feeling there was more to it, but that was bad enough. “Tonight?” I glanced around involuntarily, wondering if something was lurking in the shadows already. “No offense, but what the hell will I be able to do in the next few hours that will determine ultimate victory or defeat?”

  She looked sincerely sorry, pained, a touch of mourning violins. “It’s…the prophecies, Erik. Now that I’ve found you, the next part has to be fulfilled, and as it was told me, that is:

  To the Rainbow’s Daughter a beauty will be shown

  Might and mortal glory as she has never known

  Set her feet to dancing, until they’ve skyward flown

  Through the skies and homeward to stand before

  the Throne.

  I blinked. “So let me get this straight. I am supposed to show you beauty such as you have never known?” I could not keep total incredulity from my voice.

  She bit her lip. “I…don’t see any other way to read that prophecy, Erik. And the following stanza was:

  If no joy by dawning, if no dancing glory felt

  Hope is gone now, shattered, lost

  Like first snow’s fading melt.

  Return you to the palace and prepare you for the end

  For mortal heart has withered

  And Faerie has no friend.

  “Oh. Okay. So in the next…” I checked my watch. “Um… lessee, it’s about nine, and the sun rises tomorrow at around 5:40, so in the next, oh, eight or nine hours all I have to do is show you some incredible beauty that sets you to dancing, or I’ve doomed all Faerie. No pressure.”