The Multichrome: a fantasy gem that needs adaptation

Synopsis

Not everyone is gifted to see the True Colors of the Multichrome — let alone command them. Those who possess that gift are called the Rainbow mages, or the Masters. People fear them — and not without reason. For centuries, Regna has been ruled by kings, but now the balance between noble houses is broken, and the Guilds of Masters have begun their game.
But what could a Rainbow cracksman named Airid, who just took on a rather unremarkable job, possibly have to do with it?

Part 1: Color of the Past

Chapter 1: The Colors of Desire and Fate

The thin, pale-red curtains swayed slightly in the draft. No wonder — the doors stood flung wide open, as did the windows. The owner of the mansion would hardly have approved of such behavior; then again, he wouldn’t have approved of our presence here either. Smirking at the intrusive thought, I turned back to my work.

It was easy enough to hook a fine thread of green floating nearby. All that remained was to draw it carefully toward the barely visible slit of the keyhole. The air filled with the fresh scent of pine needles and meadow herbs. A moment later the thread touched the lock, and a wave rolled through the room — invisible to ordinary eyes, but not to mine.

Gentle flute notes intertwined with birdsong, and the barrier dissolved before me. Intuition truly is a great force — after only two tries, I’d found the first color of the key! I pushed aside the thought that at least six more layers lay ahead and continued my work.

The newly opened layer partly reflected the next — something like a sea wave or ocean breeze. Rather than cycling through all thirty-seven colors available to me, it was simpler and wiser to look for something that matched the reflection. That’s why you must always watch carefully and know which guild made the lock. Unfortunately, the client hadn’t been able to name the creator. Still, he’d told us enough to get the job done.

We knew the owner of the house would be away today, along with most of his servants. We had the precise floor plan and the location of the items that interested our client. Even the fact that he’d have to hire not just any Rainbow mage but me was something Carib had foreseen. Those two locks sealing the hidden door to the basement had taken me a full day to break. I could have done it faster, if not for the alarm threads woven into them — they made things much trickier. Still, it let me guess that all the locks had been made by the same guild — the Blue.

A symbolic name, really — tradition surviving long after sense fades. Because of that, I easily guessed the next color. Azure — there it was, a wisp of it drifting above the coffee table. When that layer obediently opened as well, a triumphant smile touched my lips.

Really, “Rainbow mages” — what a foolish name. It has nothing to do with our gift. But people always try to turn the unknown, the new, the inaccessible into something familiar. How else to explain that the ability to see and feel not just seven familiar colors but the True Multichrome, they took for sorcery? In truth, our colors — all forty of them — are simply perceived differently. They can’t be reduced to one sense; they’re at once simpler and deeper. Imagine a color fused with scent and sound, with touch — that’s what a True Color is.

The next two layers took more work. The third, a crimson hue, yielded only with effort — too little of that color was present nearby. Out of breath, I missed the reflection of the next. By the time I finally found it, sweat beaded my forehead. Even the slightest lapse in focus can be costly in my trade. Masters have it easy, sitting in cozy workshops crafting locks and keys under their guilds’ protection. They’re perfectly safe.
Once, I was meant to be one of them — a Master myself — if not for the king’s death… but that’s in the past.

When I found the fifth color, orange, I allowed myself to relax a little — to enjoy the spicy scent of blossoms, the taste of southern fruit. My good mood didn’t go unnoticed by the young man standing at the door. Judging by his gloomy expression, he probably thought me an arrogant idler.

Poor guy. What use is an ordinary cracksman these days, even an experienced one? Every rich man considers it his duty to secure his coffer, storeroom, or treasure vault with a lock crafted by the Masters — invisible to common folk. To let the owner open it himself, a key is made for him, the True Colors set in the right order. The only way to pick such a lock is to reproduce those colors — which was exactly what I was doing.

When the sixth and seventh layers finally opened, anxiety began to gnaw at me. We still had time, but if the lock had more than ten colors, it could take too long. Behind me I heard familiar steps — Carib himself, the head of the crew hired for this job, had arrived.

“How’s it going, Air?” he asked, his tone casual as he came to stand beside me.
“Not great,” I admitted. “Don’t believe me? See for yourself — this one’s your color.”
Carib, though a weak Rainbow mage who could see only five colors, at least understood how hard my work was. Squinting, he peered at the lock and gave an approving grunt.
“I see you haven’t wasted time. How many layers?”
“Seven. Working on the eighth.”
“Let’s hope it’s the last.”

Without replying, I caught a thread of lilac and, holding my breath, inserted it into the keyhole. As the wave rolled through, I almost shouted with joy — the final layer had opened! Carib felt it too, as did the younger cracksman nearby.

The color lock now lay open, revealing the hidden door to the adjoining room — the true object of our assignment. We were to retrieve whatever was inside and deliver it to a specified place. The client had mentioned a few other items he wouldn’t mind receiving, but this chamber was the key.

The cracksman stepped closer, eyeing the door hopefully — as if wishing it were secured with an ordinary lock. Naïve. Had he a bit more experience, he’d know such doors are almost always protected only by color locks. Few can open them, since guilds seize almost every Rainbow mage they find to make them Masters. And Masters, bound by oath, would never stoop to such work. For one thing, upon becoming Masters, they lose part of their ability to see the full range of True Colors. For another, the guilds strictly enforce their pact of neutrality. Those who break it are punished mercilessly — and the dungeons where offenders vanish are the stuff of grim legend. Across the whole capital, you’d hardly find two dozen Rainbow thieves.

Carib carefully opened the door and stepped inside. I hurried after him — and almost went blind from the flood of color. Even Carib, who sensed only a handful of hues, froze, stunned by the torrent of True Colors cascading around us. For me, it was far worse. Rarely does one see all the colors within reach in such profusion.

To the naked eye, it would have looked like a whirling haze of multicolored sparks. The intoxicating blend of scents was headier than century-old wine. I fought down a sudden urge to laugh and forced myself to focus on the room. There were no chests, no wardrobes, no furniture at all. Bare walls and a poorly plastered ceiling — more fitting for a shabby inn than a noble’s mansion.

Then I saw her.
In the center of the room, huddled on the floor, sat a terrified girl, no more than fifteen. Only when I looked closer did I realize it was she who filled the place with such chaos of color. From the strange collar around her neck, the finest, almost invisible threads stretched to the wall’s protrusions. Carib too must have understood what that meant — that we were standing in a trap. There was no time left for careful work, and the presence of an alarm was beyond doubt.

“Can you break the chains?” Carib asked, still studying the captive we’d been sent to fetch.

Calling those threads “chains” wasn’t quite right — real chains would take a Master to break. But these I could snap without much trouble, though I hesitated.

“I can,” I told Carib, keeping the details to myself. “But the alarm will trigger at once.”

“Damn,” he muttered. “No way to shut it off?”

“Sure — if I had two or three days, and a few other Rainbow mages to help. To be sure I’ve found every thread,” I explained. “Otherwise we’ll just waste time.”

“Fine.” He nodded. “I’ll warn the others. If you’re right, we can buy a couple of minutes at most. Once you get my signal — start. And you,” he added, turning to the cracksman as he left, “you’ll answer for the goods with your head.”

Lang — that was his name, I recalled — grimaced but nodded. You don’t argue with Carib, one of the most powerful thieves’ leaders in the city. Working for him was considered a stroke of luck; he never dealt in petty jobs, only in difficult, well-paid ones. His reputation allowed it. And now Lang obediently followed his orders, coming to stand beside me. You’d never have guessed him for a burglar — broad-shouldered and strong, he looked more like a tavern bouncer. In a pinch, though, he could fight our way out if needed. Not that I wanted us to have to.

A soft whistle from the corridor — Carib’s signal. I sighed and reached for the tangle of threads. The girl flinched when I touched the first colors. The weightless filaments broke easily, each snapping with a faint, musical chime. I winked at her and worked swiftly, leaving only two threads untouched. It would be foolish to assume the unknown Masters had used only colors I could see. Better to test what would happen if I left some unbroken — no sense in leaving an obvious trail.

“You can take her,” I told Lang.

The alarm hadn’t gone off yet, giving us a sliver of hope. When Lang approached, the girl shrank back, but he ignored that, lifting her effortlessly, as if she weighed nothing, and started for the door. The remaining threads tightened — then snapped. A shriek like tearing metal filled the air, and from outside came the crash of battle. The freed filaments whipped upward, lashing the air in fury.

Without hesitation, I darted after Lang, keeping him in sight. Despite his burden, he moved fast, and I caught up only at the staircase to the basement. From above came the sounds of fighting — but no guards blocked our way. A relief, though who knew for how long. Breathless, I nearly missed the hidden door concealing the passage below. Lang set the former captive — our “goods” now — on her feet and glanced back nervously.

The clamor of steel and curses drew closer; Carib’s men were clearly in trouble. Had they met the city guard, those lazy night patrols would never have dared fight. That meant mercenaries — or worse, Masters.

Lang clearly hated abandoning his comrades, but an order is an order. Hoisting the girl again, he ducked into the narrow passage. I didn’t hesitate. I worked for Carib on one condition only — my job was to open Color Locks. Nothing else. That arrangement suited both of us: good pay for me, a top Rainbow cracksman for him, and minimal risk. But tonight… tonight everything had gone wrong.

Running through dark tunnels is no easy task — harder still while carrying someone. Even if that someone was a frightened slip of a girl, not a sack of stones. Lang stumbled ten steps in, then again fifteen later; I lost count after that. For me it was easier — the faint gleam of True Colors lit my way, and my hands were free.

The phosphorescent green markers painted at each turn guided us, so even alone I could have found the exit. Still, I stayed close. First, if anything happened to him — say he got lost — I wouldn’t get paid. Second, simple curiosity kept me there. You don’t hide a terrified girl behind so many locks for nothing. And that collar… I’d seen nothing like it, even during my years training in the guild.

When the exit lay only minutes ahead, shouts and pounding feet echoed behind us. Lang, panicked, tried to quicken his pace, stumbled again, nearly fell. The pursuit was closing fast. At the next junction he stopped.

“Take her!” he barked, thrusting the girl toward me like a bundle.

Startled, I stared at him. In the dark I couldn’t tell if he was smiling or grim, but it wasn’t a joke.
“What are you doing?” I hissed. “Are you mad?”
His glance said everything — no time for talk. Drawing a short sword — the kind that earned a heavy fine if found on you — he glanced back down the corridor.
“What are you waiting for? I’ll hold them off. You take her — I’ll never get away with her, and you can’t fight them for a heartbeat.”

He was right. I was no fighter. If I’d finished my guild training, as my father had wanted, I wouldn’t have needed a sword anyway — why, when you can weave a fireball from colors themselves? But that, too, was past.

Awkwardly, I took the girl and pulled her along the corridor toward the exit. Lang stayed at the junction, ready to mislead the pursuers and vanish into the tunnels. I didn’t look back; I may not believe in omens, but I could imagine all too clearly how lonely he looked — and how hopeless his stand was. The speed of our pursuers left no doubt: Hounds were among them. And you never want to meet a Hound unless you’re a Master or you carry a crystal of confusing color-threads.
As it happened, I had one — and no, I wasn’t giving it to Lang. Whether he could lead them away was uncertain, and I’d be a fool to throw away my last defense.

Gradually the girl began to run on her own, and soon the light of a lantern flickered ahead. We climbed the steps toward the exit. From behind came the faint rhythm of many feet. The basement above was empty — a good sign. So it wasn’t a setup, after all. We still had a chance — I still had a chance. I doubted any of Carib’s people had escaped. The girl hardly counted; who knew what awaited her, with the client or her former captors?
Strange, I thought, sliding the bolt on the outer door. What could be so valuable about her? So many defenses just to keep anyone from getting in… But that collar — that deserved a closer look later.

The street outside lay bathed in the dim yellow light of dirty lamps. Empty. No beggars, no drunkards. Any other night, I’d have been glad. Not tonight. Slipping out like a shadow, I scanned the street and ducked back in. Since her… liberation — or abduction — the girl had recovered a bit. At least I no longer had to carry her.

“We’ll have to run,” I told her. “Run fast.”

No reaction. I tried a few dialects, but she didn’t respond to any. It felt as if she couldn’t hear at all. So, not wasting time, I grabbed her arm and pulled her along. At least she didn’t resist — that was something.

After a few blocks I finally allowed myself to slow down, so as not to collapse right there on the pavement. The streets were nearly empty, save for a few late passersby — lucky for us. The last thing I needed was anyone taking note of a strange pair: a tall, cloaked man and a frail girl in a shabby dress. Realizing her clothes stood out, I took off my cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders. It dragged a little on the cobblestones, but I didn’t care. Better that than a prison cell for being spotted.

Thin veils of lilac color drifted lazily between the houses, sprinkling yellow lamplight with sparks. Its sweet, plum-like taste brought calm and coolness, easing my breath.
I let myself relax — and heard it too late: claws clicking on stone nearby. Quiet, stealthy. It had crept up, lulling my senses. I yanked the girl into the nearest alleyway and groped for the silvery crystal in my pocket. The silence was deafening; every tap of those claws struck like a hammer. How could this have evaded my attention for so long?

Hounds. Terrifying creatures. I’d never face them willingly. Not for their monstrous shape, their stench, their claws or fangs, nor their size or malice — but for the sheer, absolute fear they radiate. Pure, undiluted black, tinged with the croak of ravens, fringed by a few kindred True Colors — that’s what fills a Hound.

Now several of them were on our trail. No mistake about it. Summoning my courage, I crushed the crystal. Freed, the mixture of colors burst out, scattering threads and sparks in all directions. They collided, tangled, churned — a chaos of hues that would overwhelm a Hound’s perfect nose. Those beasts hunt by the faint reflection a living being leaves in the fabric of color — and that reflection was now a whirlpool of confusion.

Crouching behind the corner, I held my breath. If they found us, we were finished.

The clicking drew closer — then stopped. They must have reached the spot where we turned. I pressed myself flat to the wall and glanced at the girl — invisible in shadow. Seconds dragged on, each an eternity. Then the sound came again — fading, reluctant, until at last it died away.

Only then did I seize the girl and bolt deeper into the maze of alleys. For several minutes we darted through courtyards and narrow lanes. My only fear was hearing that dreadful clicking again. But at last, emerging on a parallel street, I stopped, gasping for air.

There was far less lilac here, but swamp-green lay in thick abundance. It rose in thin filaments from the vents of the underground tunnels and spread across the paving stones, carrying a sickly, nauseating reek of rot—the very same stench you catch in the market, down the rows where the fruit sellers gather. Trying not to breathe too deeply, I stepped up to the nearest lamp and turned to my companion. With a quick motion I pushed back her hood and tilted her face to the light, lifting her chin high. We’d been running without pause, and I hadn’t had a chance to really look at our captive. And who knows—perhaps I should have done so from the very start.

The lamp’s pallid, yellowish rays fell across a pale, frightened face. Long red hair spilled over her shoulders like waves of orange. Only now could I guess her age: fifteen, perhaps sixteen—not the child I’d first taken her for, misled by her small stature. She looked up at me plaintively, eyes opened wide. For a heartbeat I drowned in their bottomless blue. Rarely are the True Colors so stark in a person. Rarer still are they so easy to see. The purest blue—fresh, brisk—washed over me with the salty scent of the sea, laced with the sweetness of springwater.