Key to Chroma

by Piers Anthony

  "When I first left my Chroma, it was as far as I could reach on either side. Now my color is fading, and with it my magic. I suspect it operates only quite close to my body."

  Havoc considered. “I do not wish to embarrass you, maiden, by pressing too closely to you."

  "Press closely, minstrel; I do not mind. You are a handsome man."

  And she was not a lovely woman. Her features were plain, her torso thickset, and her uniform grayness made her seem older than she was. “I have no untoward designs on you."

  "More's the pity. I would gladly oblige your ardor at any time. It is seldom that I have access to a comely man. But I do understand; your reaction is typical."

  That gave him a twinge of guilt. He was reacting exactly as other men had, isolating her. She seemed to be a nice person, and not stupid. Just not sexually attractive. “I apologize if I have been unkind."

  "Be not so, minstrel. Perhaps propinquity will in due course change your mind. I do not require any commitment; I am amenable to passing interest of whatever nature. In the darkness you might mistake me for a more lithesome morsel."

  Havoc had had more than enough of this line of dialogue; it was merely enhancing his guilt. He did not like to perceive himself as shallow, but the fact was that he was attracted to pretty women and not to plain ones, and he ordinarily had several quite pretty women at his beck. “I will tell you my mission.” He stepped close and put his arm around her, suspecting that physical contact would strengthen the effect of her magic interference. “We go to a site in a Blue Chroma region, on an isle in a lake."

  She snuggled close, unashamed to show her delight in the contact. “That's nice. I understand they do marvelous things with animals."

  "They do. But there is a social aspect."

  "What is that?"

  This just might make Stevia change her mind about accompanying him, showing that she was after all the wrong person and giving him a chance to try for another, so he did not mind telling her. “The Blues of the wet hinterlands are wont to require relationships with those who traverse their territories."

  "Oh, I remember! Men have to make out with their women, and vice versa. That should be fun."

  So much for that. This relationship-starved woman was eager to get close to any man. “Perhaps,” he agreed with an inward sigh. If this was really the person the Red Glamor intended as his companion, Red was cruelly teasing him.

  They walked on, for without the use of magic, walking was the most practical way to get anywhere. They followed the winding road that led in the general direction of the indicated Blue Chroma.

  "I don't want to be critical,” Stevia said, “but I am not used to walking such a distance. Could we get a ride?"

  Havoc did a quick mental calculation, and felt uncomfortably stupid. Walking at a reasonable pace would require about thirty days to get them to the site, and similar time on the return. That made it an excursion of at least two months. He lacked the patience for that, especially with dull company. They did need to get transportation. “We should do that,” he agreed. “But if it is magic, won't your nature interfere?"

  "Not if I draw in to myself, and use my hair."

  "Use your hair?"

  "It can shield me, so that I am not disruptive."

  "Oh—an aspect of your magic? Limiting the immunity, as it were?"

  "As it were. But it's really a different type of magic, that may be useful in other ways."

  "I think I am missing something. I understood that you, as a Gray Chroma woman, are immune to magic. How can you have magic hair?"

  "I shall be glad to explain, and demonstrate, if we can rest for a time. My legs are tired."

  Havoc suppressed his impatience. He was used to traveling far distances by foot, but of course he was not a soft city woman. “We shall rest."

  Stevia went to a spreading shade tree and sat beneath it, leaning against the trunk and lifting her knees comfortably. Her thighs showed under the skirt. They were interestingly firm, not showing the dumpier aspects of her body, but Havoc was determined not to let her distract him with portions of her body.

  "Request."

  "Considered."

  "I could use a leg massage to restore my vigor,” Stevia said.

  She would not give it a rest! Yet her request was reasonable in the circumstance. Havoc squatted before her and put his hands on her feet and calves, kneading her tired feet. “Tell me where to stop,” he said, knowing that she would not. She was out to play a game of Tickle & Peek without ever getting ticklish.

  "I am not strong on theory,” she said as he worked his way upward past her ankles and calves. “But I understand that the debate about the powers of magic of the several Chroma has never been settled. You are familiar with this?"

  "Of course.” He put down another surge of impatience. She was trying to extend the explanation, to give him time to get beyond her knees. Indeed he was passing them now, reaching the full firm flesh of her lower thighs. Her upper legs were actually quite appealing, and she made no effort to conceal their juncture. “Some claim that all the Chroma are similar in magic, differing merely by color, and that the specialization we see is merely human convenience. So any color of magic can perform in any manner, if appropriate effort and training are applied. What does this have to do with your hair?"

  "My body is magic immune. My hair is magic active. There is no conflict, since as you say, all Chroma may be able to do all magics."

  Havoc paused to knock the dottle from his head with the heal of his hand. “I think I have just been stupid."

  "For a kiss, I will forgive you."

  This was not a Guess & Penalty game, but perhaps there was an element of it. He owed her that much. He leaned forward, bracing himself with two hands on her firm thighs, and kissed her carefully on the mouth.

  She closed her eyes dreamily. “With luck, there will be other pretexts for forgiveness, you virile man."

  She was hardly shy about her interest. How sad that she was not prettier. He removed his hands and withdrew, concluding that he had catered to her enough for now. He sat beside her. “You have explained. You were also going to demonstrate?"

  "Observe my hair."

  He watched her hair. Gradually the gray changed texture, becoming almost liquid. It flowed across her head and down around her shoulders, rippling. It reached the ground and trickled across it. One strand intersected his leg. The wetness soaked into his trouser leg.

  Havoc put down a hand and touched it. It was water!

  Then his leg turned cold. The water was freezing against it. He reached forth to touch her shoulder where the stream of hair coursed, and it was solid ice.

  In a moment the ice puffed into vapor and floated away in a dissipating cloud. His leg was dry again, and Stevia's hair was its original dull gray.

  She looked at him. “It can do more, but maybe this is enough for now."

  Havoc nodded. “I have never before seen magic like that."

  "Appreciation. I am rather proud of it. I labored long as a child to train my hair, and it is useful on occasion. Is there any way this can be helpful in obtaining transportation?"

  "Oh, yes! We could do a magic show for favors, and buy rides to anywhere. Except that it would bring more notoriety than I care to have, preferring to remain anonymous."

  "That is a problem,” she agreed. “I am sorry I am not more useful to you."

  She was fishing for another compliment on her hair magic. He was cautious about giving it. “But there may be a way. You could support me in a minstrel show."

  "Gladly. Tell me how."

  "We could narrate and demonstrate an entertaining skit that would pay our way with a caravan traveling our way."

  "Alas, I am not good at invention."

  "Fortunately I am; that's a minstrel's profession. You have merely to be my assistant."

  "Gladly. Tell me what to do."

  "I think I can adapt the story of the boy and the ghost girl. He sees her changing her c
lothing, and—"

  "A ghost wears clothing?"

  "Rather than go naked. Clothes can make a considerable difference in effect."

  She nodded. “I have not seen a ghost, but that makes sense. But I fear I am not very insubstantial, let alone ghostly.” She glanced down at her chubbiness.

  "I am impressed by what you can do with your hair. I think that can make you ghostly."

  She clapped her hands. “Oh, yes! We must rehearse."

  They reviewed it, and practiced with the hair, until Havoc was satisfied.

  Then they resumed walking. Havoc knew of a staging point for floating caravans not far along the road.

  "Your massage helped,” Stevia said. “You have good hands."

  "Appreciation.” Then he thought of something. “Question."

  "Acknowledged."

  "How is it you are able to do active magic between Chroma? Normally magic is limited to its own color.” Which was why nonChroma folk generally stayed clear of Chroma: they were not at a disadvantage there.

  "I have a gray garnet,” she said, lifting her right hand. Indeed, she wore a ring with a large stone; he had not noticed it before because it merged with the color of her hand.

  "But such stones are depleted when invoked beyond their Chroma. My crown has ten Chroma gems, protecting me from magic mischief by any Chroma, but each time it counters magic, it loses some power, so the stones must be replaced periodically."

  "Depletion is slight for light magic,” she said. “My hair magic is mostly illusion, which draws only a tiny fraction of the power that an act of substance magic would."

  "My foot got wet! That was no illusion."

  "Yes it was. Touch illusion."

  Havoc reconsidered, realizing that it could be true. “Awe.” He was complimenting her ability.

  "Gratitude.” Then, after a pause: “Question."

  "Acknowledged."

  "What brought you to my part of the city to solicit a companion?"

  Havoc reminded himself that he was supposed to tell her everything. He was not easy about this, but the Red Glamor surely had reason. “I was visited by the Red Glamor. She told me to go to a random section and take the first person who agreed to come with me. That turned out to be you."

  "That is great fortune for me. I thought Glamors were creatures of folklore."

  "So did I. But when I told a story that featured the Black and Red Glamors, both showed up and helped me vanquish my enemies. Then the Red Glamor came to me alone and told me."

  "I shall try to live up to her expectation. But I think I have much the best of the deal. This is already more adventure than I have had in a long time."

  Surely so, if she had been limited to a dull job in the city. They walked on.

  "Observation,” she said.

  "Acknowledged."

  "I am coming to believe that you really are the King."

  "Appreciation."

  "Did you truly not want to be King, and they had to force you?"

  "Affirmation. My choice was to serve for at least a year, or be executed for treason. Anger."

  "Comprehension. Sympathy."

  Havoc found himself touched, as she was evidently sincere. Her name suggested enormous sweetness, and it seemed apt. “Gratitude. I am trying to do the best job I can. That means not only governing responsibly, but fathoming the mysterious enemy of Kings who killed my predecessor and is trying to kill me too."

  "Admiration."

  The road curved between Chroma, avoiding the colors of magic, because normal human beings were uncomfortable in the presence of powers beyond them. But as it skirted a brown region, Havoc indicated a path that led directly into it. If they wanted magic help to travel, they would have to get into a magic region.

  They reached the staging area, which was not far from the edge of the Brown Chroma territory. A caravan was there, evidently about to take off. “We can catch it!” Stevia said.

  But there was a negative buzz in Havoc's ear. “Not this one."

  "As you wish, of course,” she said, disappointed. They walked instead to a rest area that had shelters and water for travelers. They settled down under a brown pole barn. “But what is wrong with it?"

  "I don't know."

  "But—"

  He would have to explain, though he was loath. “I have a dragon seed. It warns me of danger or wrongness. It warned me against this."

  "A dragon seed!"

  "You know of them?"

  "I have heard stories. They are very hard to come by. How did you?"

  "I befriended an injured dragon in childhood. We made oaths of friendship so we could trust one another, exchanged names—we called him Mentor—and Gale and I brought medicine to heal him, and he gave us dragon seeds."

  "Who is Gale?"

  "She is my betrothed. I love her, and want to marry her.” He hesitated, but knew she would ask anyway, so he went ahead with the rest. “But we are changelings, more closely related than siblings, so must not marry."

  "Frustration."

  "I find it so,” he agreed wryly.

  "What is a changeling?"

  Havoc had tended to forget that the average person did not know all the things he had been recently learning about the hard way. He schooled his patience and answered. “When women are infertile, they may go to pray at a temple. They may subsequently conceive—but the baby may not actually be sired by the man of the family. It may be a special one implanted by the Temple, crafted to be superior in all things human. This is not generally bruited about, because families might take exception. Those babies differ in details such as facial features and gender, but are extremely similar to each other, so should not intermarry. I have learned that I am a changeling, and so is my beloved Gale, and so is my associate Symbol. The prior King Deal was also one. He may have been killed because of that; now I am the one being hunted. So I need to hide my identity, and to locate the source of the changelings, and to identify our nameless enemy. That is the object of this mission, though it is only one of seven similar missions."

  "You are certainly a smart and strong and handsome man,” she said. “But maybe you are cursed by similar token. I will help you all I can."

  "Appreciation."

  She was not through. “How did King Deal die and why, if he was a superior changeling?"

  "He died because he was a changeling. I mean in two ways: he was investigating the origin of the changelings, and I believe he was killed for that. But he was killed by the invocation of a liability only changelings have."

  She gazed at him. “I perceive no particular liability in you, apart from the evident savagery of your nameless enemies."

  "This is a kind of switch in the mind of changelings, that can be flipped by a signal from elsewhere. After we learned of it, I went with Gale and Symbol to the mental professionals of the Translucent Chroma to have it nullified. They said it was inherent, but they were able to bridge across it so that it no longer operates. We can't be stunned that way, anymore."

  "That is a relief,” she said.

  "Agreement."

  She glanced sidelong at him. “I meant that I am glad you can still be stunned in some other manner."

  "Confusion."

  "Look at my chest."

  He looked. In a moment her shirt opened to reveal the twin heaving mounds of her gray bosom and the deep valley between them. It was a far more impressive sight than he might have expected; her breasts were large and well formed.

  "Like that,” she said.

  "Question?"

  "You have been several minutes in stasis, and did not observe approaching company."

  Havoc hauled his gaze from the valley and looked around. Others were indeed approaching. “Apology."

  "Needless. It is a power I value."

  To stun him with the sight of her breasts. “Point made.” Of course he would not have allowed himself to be diverted had they been in any immediate danger; this was idle time. But why tell her that, when she so enjoyed h
is fascination? Still, the views she had so willingly given him of her legs and breasts were persuading him that her body was not after all chunky so much as voluptuous. Perhaps she had not wanted that to be evident until she knew him well enough to wish to seduce him.

  She closed her shirt, satisfied. “In due course I will show you more of them. But now we have other business."

  "Agreement.” Havoc had seen breasts before, and of course liked them, but Stevia had a real asset there.

  Enormous brown men tromped from the darker region of the Chroma. They were golems, far larger than any living men could ever be, magically animated. They picked up the coaches of the caravan and carried them rapidly across the landscape, just above the treetops.

  "That's impressive,” Stevia said. “I know it's their specialty magic, but they remain considerable figures."

  "Yes. Brown Chroma golems can be made to emulate living people, too,” Havoc said. “I have had one to emulate me, and another to emulate Gale."

  "But they are not alive. How could they fool anyone?"

  "They can do so, when properly crafted and animated. Their hard flesh can become soft and warm."

  "Do you mean they can be sexual?"

  "Definitely."

  "This is something that intrigues me. If a competently animated golem man took me to bed, would I know the difference?"

  "Not if the animator did not wish you to, unless he or she became careless."

  "A woman could animate a male golem?"

  "If she wished."

  She shook her head. “It seems there are horizons I have not yet dreamed of.” She smiled. “But you will certainly do for now. I trust your member is not wooden."

  "Not unless you make it so."

  She laughed. “Not yet."

  No other caravan arrived. They would have to wait the night.

  "I will make us comfortable,” Stevia said. She jumped up and set about doing that, picking brown fruits and gathering brown wood. They, as non-Brown Chroma visitors, could not do Brown magic; that was why the rest area catered to non magical tastes. It was not just straight humans who could not do magic here; visitors of any type from any other Chroma were similarly limited.