Key to Chroma

by Piers Anthony

  "I am not a creature of courage. I fear so many things."

  "Courage is not lack of fear. You risked your sanity on Havoc's behalf. I think that was when I became aware of you as someone special. It's a kind of dedication I understand."

  "Let's get private,” she murmured in his ear.

  He wheeled them to his chamber. By the time they got there, she had opened his clothing and hers, and her bare bottom was massaging his crotch. She twisted around to face him, and in a moment had him in her as she leaned forward to kiss him. It was a maneuver that Ine would have been proud of.

  "Get that sorceress out of your mind!” she said severely.

  "The comparison was favorable to you,” he protested.

  "So it was. Apology.” She squeezed him, and brought him to a climax. Feeling it in his body, and reading it in his mind, she followed with her own. Mind reading was a phenomenal boon to sex; instead of partners being out of synch, they were together, because there was nothing more conducive than the partner's orgasm received directly in the mind.

  "Were you ever like this with your husband?” he asked as they relaxed together, connected.

  "Never. Never wanted to be sexual at all, until I loved you. Now I'm a nympho, with you. If I could have looked ahead and seen myself as I am acting now, I would have been excruciatingly appalled."

  "I always liked sex, in contrast,” he said. “That excursion with the three air sisters was terrific. There was a Blue Chroma changeling woman, too."

  "Not to mention Symbol."

  "Not to mention her,” he agreed. “But it's better with you."

  "Because I have no ulterior motives,” she said, following his mind. “I just want to please you, and be pleased by you."

  "You do please me, and I do want to please you. That makes all the difference."

  "Let's get us decent,” she said. She got off him and cleaned them both up. “I'll have to change your pants."

  "I can do it myself.” But then he remembered his feet. He couldn't leave the chair, except to lie on a bed. That frustrated him no end.

  "Made you forget for a while,” she said smugly.

  "That whole business was merely to distract me?"

  "That too.” She pulled off his trousers, and went to get a new pair. Her own body was bare from the waist down. She had never been that casual, before their relationship. He found that flattering.

  "You should,” she said.

  A black figure appeared between them. “The Black Glamor!” Throe exclaimed, astonished.

  "I have need of your service,” the Glamor said.

  "He serves the king,” Ennui said nervously. Throe knew why: she was remembering how the Black Glamor had appeared in public and turned all of Havoc's human enemies to ashes. She did not want to annoy this grim entity.

  "This relates.” The Black Glamor contemplated Throe's feet. “Those are not serviceable."

  "Agreement,” Throe said. “I will do what I can to support the king, but I must do it sitting down."

  "That is not sufficient."

  "Apology, but—"

  "I must replace your feet, but I can not make them from nothing. I must give you another person's feet."

  "Another person's feet? You can do that?"

  "Affirmation. Whose feet can I take?"

  "Take mine!” Ennui said before Throe could speak.

  The Glamor gazed at her. “Bring them here."

  "Wait!” Throe cried. “You mean that literally? I can't take hers! She needs them."

  Ennui stood before the Glamor. “Take them. I have a desk job anyway."

  It was that damned courage again. She was no Amazon, no fighting creature, but when it came to something to do for someone she valued, she did not count the cost. “No!"

  "Stand before him,” the Glamor said. “Feet matching."

  She stood before Throe, facing away, her bare bottom almost under his chin, her legs straddling his.

  "You can't do this!” Throe protested.

  "Regret,” the Glamor said, squatting before them. “This is not my specialty. There will be pain.” He put one hand on Throe's dead right foot, the other on Ennui's live one.

  "Do it,” Ennui said bravely.

  Then she screamed. Her mind radiated terrible pain at her foot. It was being torn apart, skin, flesh, blood vessels, and bone. She began to fall. But now her screaming was silent. The Glamor had muted her.

  Throe put out his hands to grab her hips, holding her up. But he could not stop her pain. It proceeded endlessly, filling her mind with itself. It was the destruction of her foot.

  Then Throe felt his own foot. It had been numb following the burning; the flesh was dead. A doctor had put a spell of stasis on it, so that it did not spoil immediately, but Throe knew that both feet would have to be amputated once the king's party was safely on its way. Now sensation was returning, all the way to the sole. Sheer pain, but feeling. The flesh was no longer dead!

  It stopped. The pain faded as the Black Glamor removed his hands from their feet. Ennui stopped screaming and stood panting from the exertion of her agony. The noise had been stifled, but not her effort.

  "I can feel it!” Throe exclaimed. “It's alive!"

  Ennui caught her breath. “Now do the other,” she said.

  "No!” Throe cried, remembering the cost.

  But the Black Glamor put his lands on their two left feet, and the pain came again. Ennui tried to stifle her screaming this time, but it burst out of her—and was silent. Throe realized that the Glamor had muted it again so that others in the palace would not come running. A practical device, but not a gentle one. Yet Ennui had asked for it, knowing what she faced.

  The feeling came, this time in the left foot. Even as the woman's foot was being destroyed, Throe's foot was being remade. He really was taking her feet.

  At last it stopped. The Glamor let go and stood. “Recover. Prepare for a mission tomorrow. Obtain two circumspect female volunteers for a difficult challenge. One must be lovely and able to dance well. I will return in the morning.” He faded out.

  Throe remained sitting, his new feet tingling, his hands on Ennui's hips, still supporting her. Then she fainted. He eased her down onto his lap. She had wet herself in her agony. Her bare bottom was at his groin again, but this time the situation was horribly different. She had given up her feet so that he might walk again. How could he ever come to terms with that?

  Yet as he looked around her body, her feet looked undamaged. They were neither burned nor bruised. They looked exactly as before: small and ordinary, with delicately tinted nails. There was no physical evidence of either the pain she had suffered, or the deadening.

  He wheeled to the bed, and carefully lifted her to it. He spread her out, checking her feet with his hands. They were warm and firm. Were they really dead?

  Then he looked at his own. And gaped. They were just like hers! Small, with tinted nails. He did have her feet.

  Cautiously, he levered himself to his borrowed feet. There was no discomfort or unsteadiness. He stood, and felt the pressure of the floor. He took a step, and then another, and had no difficulty. The feet really were working.

  He heard a sigh behind him. Ennui was waking. He hurried to her side. “My love,” he said, taking her hand.

  Her eyelids flickered. “Apology,” she said. “That pain—"

  "I felt it from your mind. It was unbearable. Apparently it was from the transfer. He said it wasn't his specialty. Maybe another Glamor could have done it painlessly."

  "It's gone now.” She winced. “But death is in that Glamor, or at least the pain of it."

  "And life,” he said.

  She shook it off. “Oh, Throe—was it successful?"

  "Look at me. I'm standing on your feet. Walking on your feet."

  She looked—and laughed. “My feet! You really do have my feet!"

  He realized how funny it looked. He was a stout, muscular man. These feet were several sizes too small for him. Yet they worked.<
br />
  But what of hers? “Your feet look all right,” he said. “But I don't know their state. Can you—can you walk?"

  "Let me try.” She sat up and swung her bare legs off he side of the bed. She started to stand, and he grabbed her shoulders to steady her. “No need,” she said.

  And it was so. She was standing normally. He let her go, and she walked across the room and back. “They're fine."

  "Then what—what did I take?"

  She considered. “You do have duplicates of my feet. He must have copied them. Taken their pattern. That's what he meant. If we had realized, we could have gotten strong man's feet for you. Apology for not catching on in time."

  He embraced her and kissed her. “You tried to give me your feet, and make yourself a cripple, yet you apologize for confusion! What am I to do with you?"

  She smiled. “Well, you might hold me for a while. I am somewhat shaken."

  "I will hold you forever!"

  "Negation,” she said, laughing again. “It would be awkward when I needed to use the potty."

  "Humor,” he said, trying to suppress that aspect.

  But she caught it from his mind anyway. “Did I wet on you? Shame!"

  "You gave me back my mobility,” he said. “How can I ever thank you?"

  "Don't thank me, just love me."

  "Forever!"

  "But first put on your pants. And we'll have to find some shoes for you. Unless you prefer to wear mine."

  He smiled, visualizing himself in lady's slippers. Meanwhile the realization was growing: what he had lost had been restored. He was no longer washed up as the king's bodyguard. For that he had the Black Glamor to thank—and Ennui. His future was reappearing.

  They washed their legs and got dressed, and then addressed what else the Black Glamor had said: they needed two female volunteers for a difficult challenge.

  "I'm one,” Ennui said.

  "No!"

  "Be sensible, Throe. Obviously you and the Black Glamor are going on a mission. Twice you have gone without me. This time let me come. I don't want to be apart from you again so soon."

  "But there is likely to be danger."

  "I'm tired of watching you go out to risk your life while I bite my nails. If you're going to get killed, I want to be there."

  "I think the Glamor meant an Amazon—one who could fight like a man."

  "And maybe he meant a soft lovely young woman to cushion a no fault journey. I'm tired of that too. That Ine was more than enough."

  "She's out with Havoc now. It will have to be some palace women we trust."

  "Throe?"

  He capitulated. “If the Black Glamor accepts you, so must I."

  "Now who else?"

  "Are there any mind readers remaining here? That counts for a lot."

  "The Lady Aspect."

  "She's a fine woman. I've known her for decades. But she's no young sexy dancer, and she's needed here to run the palace. She's the only one who truly knows what it's all about, and can cover for Havoc's absence."

  "Bijou."

  "Bijou,” he repeated. “The former bath girl."

  "She's savvy and adaptable, dances very well—and quite pretty."

  "If it is as we suspect it may be, she could keep a Glamor company well enough. But she loves Havoc."

  "Every woman loves Havoc. She'll be glad to help him any way she can."

  "Maybe she'll do. But we'd better check with the Lady Aspect first."

  "I wonder,” Ennui said, musing. “Do you think our absence should be concealed, the way it is for Havoc and Gale? If so, it may be easier to keep you lame."

  "Because who would ever suspect me of gallivanting on some other mission!” he agreed. “Right: I'll remain lame, and whoever impersonates me will get to lie about all day."

  "I will talk with the Lady Aspect now.” She kissed him again, and departed.

  Throe practiced walking on his new small feet. They were serviceable, but would likely become fatigued if he hiked far in body armor, pack, and weapons. He would have to favor them, at least until they built up some additional strength. Still, he couldn't help liking them, because they were Ennui's. Now he would always have something of her with him.

  There was a knock on the door. Throe got hastily into the wheeled chair. “Acknowledged!” he called.

  "I brought you visitors,” Ennui said. “To console you in your loss."

  Chief entered, followed by the Lady Aspect and Bijou. The girl closed the door and stood guard by it.

  "True?” Chief asked.

  Throe stood and walked around the room.

  The Lady Aspect ran to him and embraced him. “That's wonderful, Throe! You can continue employment."

  "I am grateful for that,” Throe said. “But at the moment it seems I have a private mission for the Black Glamor. We need—"

  "Of course. Bijou has agreed to go, and Chief and I will conceal your absence, and that of the Lady Ennui."

  "Lady, I wasn't asking you to do that!"

  "We all serve the king. I will retire to my apartment, to be seldom seen, and Chief will disappear on a private mission for a few days. We will become the two of you. With the help of a little illusion and makeup, I think we can handle the masquerade for a time."

  "This is most generous of you,” Throe said.

  "We have felt somewhat left out of recent activities,” Chief said. “This enables us to participate, in our fashion."

  "I am sure Havoc will be grateful,” Ennui said.

  They set it up, so that the change could be accomplished expeditiously the next day. Then the three departed. “I will be back early,” Bijou warned them, sending a mental picture of the two of them being caught nakedly embraced. Throe returned a picture of a disembodied hand goosing her so hard from the rear that she was lifted out of the room.

  "Belay those fresh images,” Ennui snapped.

  "Apology.” He realized that mind reading could make thoughts as real as actions.

  "However, she did have a point,” Ennui continued. “We had better get that naked embrace out of the way early, so as not to get caught."

  "As if she couldn't read our minds before ever opening that door."

  "I like her. She had a rough adjustment when she emulated Gale, then discovered that she wasn't really the king's mistress."

  "I remember. But she did get to be his mistress on another trip."

  "And he has promised her a fourth. But that's Havoc. You can keep your mental hands off her fresh young bottom.” But she smiled. Ennui was enjoying the role of possessive mistress.

  Early in the morning, Bijou appeared, with a band around her brown curly hair, disguised as a peasant girl. Even in that guise she remained rather pretty. “You are safely out of bed?” she inquired.

  "We are never safe together,” Ennui said, smiling. She and Throe had also disguised themselves as peasants. They did not know where the Black Glamor would be taking them, but peasants were everywhere. They ate a solid breakfast, not knowing what kind of meals they would have coming, and awaited the arrival of the Black Glamor.

  "You understand—” Ennui began.

  "I may be a plaything,” Bijou said. “I will serve in whatever manner is necessary."

  "Dancing well was specified,” Throe reminded them. “The most effective dancers are personally attractive."

  "I'd love to serve by dancing."

  "Greeting."

  They all jumped. No one had entered the room, but there was a man standing behind them. He was entirely clothed, with long gloves covering his hands and arms, and a veil on his face. But Throe recognized the costume and stance.

  "Jamais Vu!” Throe exclaimed. “My guide in the Air Chroma zone. What are you doing here?"

  The young man gazed at each of them in turn, before answering. He nodded. “These will do. Now necessary revelation: I am the Black Glamor.” And his form changed to the black cloaked figure who had restored Throe's feet. “This you will know but not reveal."

 
"Amazement!” Bijou breathed.

  Throe's own jaw had dropped. “I traveled with you, and chose a bride for you—and all the time you were the Black Glamor?"

  "Affirmation.” The figure of Jamais Vu returned, facing Bijou. “You and I will dance. I will guide you telepathically."

  "Question?” she asked, understandably confused.

  "By mind contact,” Throe clarified.

  "I know most dances,” Bijou said. “If you tell me which, I can do it without such guidance. No offense."

  "Vivid and Void,” Jamais said.

  "I can do Void."

  "You will do Vivid."

  "Vivid! But that's the man's role."

  "I am Void.” He stepped away from them and resumed his black aspect. He gestured.

  "I—I can try,” Bijou said. Throe understood her hesitancy. Vivid and Void was a classic dance, often used for contests, but normally the woman was Void, as she said. She would have had no practice in the other role.

  The dance began. The Black Glamor turned in place, emulating the rotation of Void, while Bijou turned in her place, emulating Vivid. Her feet moved in the tricky step required, exactly matching his footwork. As they rotated, they slowly moved to the sides, orbiting each other.

  It abruptly stopped. “So,” Jamais said, reappearing. “Practice the step."

  "I shall,” Bijou said, looking slightly awed. Throe had felt the mind power as the Glamor directed her motions, showing her the unfamiliar role. It was clear that Black was an expert dancer, and knew exactly what he wanted. She went to a corner of the room and practiced steps.

  "Background,” Jamais said. “The succubus Swale has been laboring under my direction to locate the changeling stronghold. It has been a difficult search, as there are magical bars to its discovery; she had to identify it by its absence of appearance."

  "Confusion,” Ennui said. “No offense."

  "Dispense with concern of offense,” Jamais said. “I am aware of your quality of character.” He glanced at Throe. “And yours."