Key to Chroma

by Piers Anthony

  "Is the threat to us or the tree?"

  "Probably both. We are one with it, this night. We must gird for action."

  He went out far enough to gaze in the direction of the Yellow Chroma cone. It was not yet dawn, and the forest was dark. “The cone's on fire."

  She joined him. “That may be the preliminary to the eruption. Hot gases streaming up, visible because of the darkness. But I don't see why that should be an immediate threat. We don't use magic, so it can't react against us. The dragon seed hasn't buzzed."

  "Depends on the eruption. But I agree: the tree should be reacting to something more specific. It is native to this Chroma; it may perceive a threat before the dragon seed does."

  Then there was a rumble, and the ground vibrated. “Quake!” she said. “That could be immediate."

  "It could swallow the tree,” he agreed. “But I doubt we could do anything about it."

  "Agreement.” But then the dragon seed buzzed in her ear. “Correction: we can and must do something about it.” She tapped her ear, her action invisible in the darkness, but she sent him her thought. The seed had caught up.

  "I have had some experience combating men, but less combating nature. How could be stop a quake?"

  She cast about, mentally. “Maybe not the quake itself, but a consequence of it."

  "Collapsing houses, tsunamis in lakes, clouds of dust?"

  "None of the above,” she said, and the seed did not buzz. “There must be something else."

  "Changing landscapes, animal stampedes, freak weather from the disturbance?"

  "None of the—” The seed buzzed, so she started over. “Negative on changing landscape, animal stampedes—” It buzzed again. “Stampede!” she exclaimed. “The quake may not do much original damage, but if there's anything a ground animal fears, it's loss of ground stability."

  "I am a ground animal,” Throe said. “The mere notion makes me nervous."

  "If a stampede came this way, it could crush us,” she said. “And maybe damage the tree. This is the Fire Chroma; those animals may be burning in their panic. Too much of that could do it. We've got to divert that stampede."

  "Now we get tactical. That's back in my department. We need a barrier or something that will turn them aside, even in their madness. Elsewhere a fire would do it; here I doubt it. We might make a barricade of stones, but I observed few loose rocks as we traveled yesterday."

  "Animals,” she repeated. “I remember when Havoc handled some by making a stink. That might do it."

  "A bad smell?” he asked dubiously.

  "Not just any bad smell. One designed to repel animals who might graze on a sensitive plant. A stench weed might do it."

  "Crazed animals in stampede may not be sniffing the air."

  "Evidently you have not had experience with stench weeds.” She paused, casting out her mind. “I can read plants a little—yes, there's a patch not far off. We'll have to transplant it."

  "This must be another time I am obliged to trust your judgment."

  "Affirmation. Maybe we can use your shield to transport them. Follow me.” She set off in the darkness, orienting on the faint mental odor.

  She found the patch. The smell was slight, as the weeds did not pollute the neighborhood without cause. But a stampede would be another matter. “Now we must dig several up and move them closer to the tree,” she said.

  "If these plants react the way I think they will, we won't want to disturb them."

  "Endorsement! First we must befriend them. You have urine from the night? Piss here, carefully so as not to wet the leaves or stem."

  The man had evidently come to appreciate the need, but was hesitant. “I can't see the plants. I'll likely wet them."

  "We don't have time for this,” she snapped. “Give it here."

  "Confusion?"

  "Your spigot.” She found his trousers in the darkness, and opened the front. “Kneel; you need to be closer to the ground."

  "Embarrassment."

  "No time for that, either.” But he kneeled as she caught hold of his member and aimed it correctly. “Now piss."

  After a moment the flow started, and she directed it carefully to the bases of the plants she had located. When it ran out, she let him go and squatted herself, getting the remaining plants.

  "I think I will not brag of this particular sequence, back in Triumph,” he remarked.

  "Why not? Tell them I made you spout for me."

  He laughed, but not comfortably.

  After that they used their hands to dig out the moist base of each plant and set it carefully on the inner curve of his shield. Then Throe lifted and carried the shield flat to the spot she selected, and they went through the process again, hand excavating holes in the ground and setting the plants into them.

  By the time they finished, dawn was cracking the sky. They had a little garden of eight small weeds arranged in a triangular pattern, the apex pointing toward the volcano.

  "Now may we wash up?” Throe asked plaintively. “Our hands are covered with urine soaked mud."

  "What, you don't want me to give you a facial mud pack for your complexion?"

  He shook his head. “You would surely like Ine. You have points of similarity."

  "Spankable bottoms,” she agreed. “We can go to the local stream if my seed lets us."

  The seed did. There was a larger shaking of the ground, an evident tremor, but not close enough to threaten them directly. Still, it was fair warning. They found the stream, and drank and washed in the yellow water. She reminded herself that this was not more urine, merely natural water for the Chroma. The mud had gotten all over them, so they stripped and rinsed their clothing.

  Gale stood for a moment, facing away from him. “Are you sure you don't want to do something, while it's bare?” She glanced back at her bottom. “A spanking new opportunity?"

  "If I couldn't read your mind, I might suspect you of being seductive."

  "But you can read my mind, so you are sure of it."

  They laughed together. It was a camaraderie that came of thorough acquaintance buttressed by the mind contact. She could afford to play at seduction because they had a firm understanding that it was a game. They were neither lovers nor father and daughter, but had become knowledgeable friends who could play either role as required.

  The seed buzzed.

  "I think we're on stage,” Gale said.

  They ran back to the tree, carrying their wadded clothing. Already the ground was shuddering again, this time from the beat of many hooves. The stampede was coming.

  They reached the tree just as the vanguard of the stampede came into sight. Yellow buffalo, their six legs pounding the ground, their three horns pointing forward. No creature that valued its life would get in the way of those charging beasts.

  "The tree was right,” Throe yelled over the growing thunder of the stampede. “This is formidable. But can a few little plants stop it?"

  "I hope so.” She had been confident; now in the face of the charging herd, she was uncertain.

  The lead buffalo approached the wedge of stench weeds. Suddenly it tossed its head, snorting fire. Then it veered to the side, face averted. The following animal sneezed and veered the other way, in similar discomfort. In a moment the herd divided, and charged past the tree on either side.

  "Amazement!” Throe said.

  Then the odor of the aroused weeds wafted back. It was breathtakingly awful. Gale choked and tried to hold her nose, but she had to breathe, so it got inside her. She stifled the urge to vomit, and clamped her eyes closed, because the ambiance was making them water copiously. The stench weeds were coming through.

  She felt something at her face. Throe was pushing her own wet clothing to her mouth. Breathe through it.

  Gratitude. She covered the whole of her face with the material and use it to filter the fetor. It wasn't enough—nothing could ever be enough!—but it helped.

  Meanwhile the stampede continued, fleshed out by lesser animal
s who had also been spooked by the quake. They were a yellow blur passing around the tree and its encompassing cloud of stench. Fire danced across their backs, singeing the leaves of saplings and bushes. The plants of the Fire Chroma were resistant to damage by fire, but there were limits.

  At last it passed, and the foul odor eased, drifting away on the breeze. The stench weeds had done their job, protecting themselves from trampling, and in the process protecting tree and people also. Now ordinary life could resume.

  Gale patted the trunk of the tree. “All even?” she inquired.

  There was a rippling of leaves not of the breeze. The tree agreed. It had alerted them; they had helped it. This was the ideal way of interaction.

  "I think I have learned something,” Throe said as they climbed into their damp clothing. “I will have mere respect for trees hereafter.” He glanced at the weeds. “And for smell as a defense."

  "Havoc taught me,” Gale said. “I love nature."

  "And you love Havoc."

  "Forever."

  "You are his ideal bride."

  "If only we weren't so close!"

  "Your tragedy,” he agreed. “Symbol loves him too.” As if she didn't know that. Yet in the aftermath of the stampede, with their nerves trying to settle, she knew he had to say something, even if it turned out to be stupid.

  "And I can't even give him to her. Damn this business of being changelings.” Ditto for her.

  "She can be his mistress. So can you."

  "As if that's enough. I want all of him, and for him to have all of me.” But it was pointless to bewail that frustration. “I hope Symbol is his mistress now."

  "You don't resent her competition?"

  "I might have, but she let me read her mind. I never saw a love that complete, except—"

  "Except yours,” he finished.

  "No one loves a changeling like a changeling. No offense."

  "None. I love Ennui, but there is a—a ferocity to your passion that eclipses mine."

  "Is it safe to move on?"

  "I think so. The stampede has passed, and I think won't return this way. But there may be wreckage ahead."

  "There may be an eruption ahead. We'd better hurry."

  They walked along the broad beaten path left by the stampede. It led them to a fallen section of ground, a new rift that was the remnant of a fragment of the quake. Throe poked at it with his staff, locating a firm crossing.

  It was worse beyond. There had evidently been several quake cracks radiating out in a pattern, opening the ground and closing it, dropping small trees and spooking the animals. They had fled it, heading for the tree. Sheer coincidence—yet the dragon seed had known. Its magic was small, limited to that faint buzzing, but its perception was uncannily accurate. It had never led her astray. Thank you, Blue Dragon, Gale thought.

  That reminded her of the one case in which the dragon seed had seemed to be inaccurate: when she embraced Havoc. But later they had learned of their incompatibility of too-close relationship, so the seed had after all been correct. Its limitation was that it could not define wrongness; it merely knew it when it encountered it. Sometimes the problem was obvious, sometimes subtle. It was never to be ignored.

  "Look at that!"

  She looked. A glowing yellow river was flowing toward them from the slope of the mountain. It had already covered the road ahead, making the bridge impassable. “Water?” Gale asked, surprised. “Is this a water volcano?"

  "Negation. That's lava."

  "Lava!” She had never seen it before. Since everything here was shades of yellow, she had not distinguished it from water. “We don't want to mess with that."

  "Comes with the territory."

  They veered away from the lava, toward a water river. But the quake had struck here too, and the only apparent bridge across it lay in ruins. How were they to cross?

  "Swim?” she inquired.

  He extended his staff, dipping the tip into the water. He brought it back and touched the wet spot. “Too hot."

  Now she saw steam rising from the surface. The water had been heated upstream, and was close to boiling. “Boat?"

  "I think they have all been used by the refugee natives."

  "They would have been crossing the other way. There should be boats at this side, left when no longer needed."

  "Should,” he agreed. But they saw none. “Must have been hidden away, pending their return."

  She nodded. “Can we make one?"

  "In time. Too much time."

  "Expletive!"

  He looked back at the lava flow. “Oddity: no burning there. It should be igniting the foliage it touches. Also, it seems to be flowing along the level, instead of downward. This is not normal behavior."

  Gale oriented on it. “Realization: it's illusion. I should have seen it before."

  "You can penetrate illusion, but only if you concentrate,” he said. “It has power over your perception, but not complete."

  "Accuracy. I see it unless I question it. I must learn to be more questioning."

  They walked to the lava flow. It looked horrendous, but Throe had seen similar before, in the Air Chroma zone. This was vision only, without seeming heat, fortunately. They were able to walk right into it, and through it.

  "Who made this illusion?” she asked as they crossed the bridge. “With all the people gone?"

  "Must be the Fire demons. I understand Chroma demons are thick around the cones."

  "They are. I had a time fetching the Red sphere. The demons fashioned horrendous illusions, as I mentioned.” She paused, realizing. “If only I had realized I could see through them!"

  "It is the nature of life to discover the obvious well after its usefulness has passed."

  "You're a real font of reassurance."

  They emerged from the seeming river of fire and resumed walking along a road. But now the cone got more serious about eruption: it blew out a shower of fiery stones. They arced across the landscape and smacked into the ground, starting fires.

  "Those aren't illusions,” Throe said. “We'd better get under cover.” He lifted his shield overhead.

  "We'll need more cover than that,” she said as she joined him.

  "There's a house ahead with a stout stone roof."

  They ran for it, matching their steps so as to remain under the shield. Gale might once have wondered why anyone would use heavy stone for a roof; now she knew. They reached the house, pulled open the door, and wedged inside.

  There were three people and a baby there.

  The two parties stared at each other. “We thought this house was empty,” Gale said, halfway apologetically.

  "How did you get here?” the yellow man asked.

  "We crossed the stone bridge,” Gale said.

  "But it's covered by lava!"

  They were natives, but they couldn't penetrate illusion. Gale had good news for them. “Introduction: I am Nonesuch Songstress, and this is my bodyguard."

  "Awry,” the man said. He indicated the woman. “Cajole, my wife.” Then the small girl. “Smidgen, our daughter."

  "How did you miss the evacuation?” Throe asked.

  "Cajole was birthing our son,” Awry explained. “By the time she finished, the quake had shaken down most bridges, and the lava covered the other. We are trapped."

  "No more,” Gale said. “The lava is illusion. But you will have to wait for the stone shower to abate."

  "Illusion!” Cajole exclaimed. “We never thought to question it!"

  "It was chance that we did,” Gale said. “My companion saw that it was not setting fire to the things it touched.” She did not care to advertise her newfound ability, any more than her mind reading ability. In any event, the latter was not feasible here, because there were too many people too close; their overlapping thoughts were a confused jungle. That was why she and Throe normally suppressed their ability; constant access to the minds of others could be overwhelming. Only when they were alone together was mind sharing easy.
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  "Apology for what may be a stupid question,” Throe said. “But I had understood that all Chroma folk could do magic, like flying. Why do you need bridges?"

  "Flying is a skill that must be honed, or it becomes dangerous,” Awry explained. “Especially when the magic ambiance is unstable, as is the case now. And the flying cinders are worse aloft. So we must remain grounded, covering our heads."

  Gale realized that also explained why the Yellow brigands had remained grounded. They could have flown headfirst into trees had they tried to go aloft. An eruption changed everything, taking away abilities folk might normally depend on.

  "You have saved us,” Awry said. “We must make a fair trade for this information."

  "No need,” Gale said.

  "Negation."

  Let them trade, Throe thought. It will ease their concern.

  "As you prefer,” Gale said. “We have a mission near the cone, but the way there is becoming awkward. Do you know of any safe shortcut?"

  "I do!” Smidgen said. “I go there all the time."

  Cajole looked at her. “You do, knowing it's forbidden?"

  The girl looked crestfallen. “Chagrin! I didn't mean to tell."

  "We'll be glad to trade information,” Gale said quickly. “Let's do this: we will show Smidgen the illusion, so she knows you have a safe way out, and she will show us her shortcut to the cone. Fair exchange?"

  Cajole looked as if she had some reservations, but decided to make the best of it. “Fair exchange,” she agreed.

  Gale looked out. “The rock shower is abating, but care should still be taken. My companion can use his shield, as we did to come here, and show the girl the way."

  "Negation,” Awry said. “No offense intended, but we do not let our child associate with strange men."

  "Point taken,” Throe said. “I have a daughter I never let do that either. You can do it, Nonesuch.” He handed her his shield, which turned out to be reasonably light.

  It did seem best. Gale lifted the shield over her head. “Stay close to me, Smidgen,” she said. “A hot rock could still come down."

  "I will."

  They moved out. They matched step and made good progress. “What is it about the volcano that so fascinates you?” Gale inquired.