Chapter 26: The Tome and the Chameleon King
The air in the small park held a charge, like the moment before a lightning strike. Aarav and Kiyan sat across from each other at the weathered table, the only things between them the cursed question and the fading evening light.
"Do you… know about the Chameleon King?" Aarav asked again, his voice laced with a grave curiosity.
"The Chameleon King…" Kiyan repeated the name as if it were a venomous fruit on his tongue. His golden eyes widened abruptly, pupils contracting to pinpricks. His lips trembled faintly. "Yes," he whispered, the sound like gravel dragged over stone. "I have heard the name."
"You've heard it before? Or do you know it?" Aarav pressed, leaning forward.
Kiyan nodded slowly, his gaze lost in a painful memory. "I never met him… but once, when I was very young, my mother told me. That among the powers created by the tantrics… there was one called the Chameleon King. Who could take the form of anyone. And that person's… memories too."
"Memories too?" Aarav's voice held the resonance of a terrible understanding. "How?"
"I don't know," Kiyan said, a shrug that did nothing to hide the fear in his voice. "That's all she said. And how do you know about all this? Who told you about the Chameleon King?"
Aarav said, "From the mysterious tome of Kalprant."
"The Tome of Kalprant?!" Kiyan's voice broke into a higher pitch. He stared at Aarav as if he'd uttered something impossible.
"Yes. The same tome written by our ancestors," Aarav said, and walked back to his bike. From under the seat, he pulled out the old, leather-bound book. "This is the tome. I brought it with me to show you."
Kiyan hesitated, then reached a hand towards the tome. But just as his fingers were about to touch the ancient leather, a sharp, golden spark jumped between his skin and the book. Zap!
Kiyan gasped in pain and snatched his hand back as if burned. The tome slipped from his grip and thudded onto the table. Aarav was instantly at his side, taking Kiyan's hand in his own.
"Are you okay?" Aarav asked, his voice tight with concern.
"Yes… I'm fine," Kiyan said, looking at his golden fingers, where a faint wisp of smoke curled. "Just a small shock. Perhaps… this is your lineage's tome. A power like mine… cannot touch it."
Aarav nodded, a deep understanding settling on his face. "Alright. I'll read it to you."
He picked up the tome and sat back on the bench. Kiyan carefully sat beside him, this time maintaining a safe distance. Aarav opened the book and found a page that looked more yellowed and worn than the others.
On the page was an illustration. A figure—from the head to the waist, a normal human man, but from the waist down… the body of a massive chameleon. Skin patterned in greens and blacks, clawed feet, and a tail that curled out beyond the edge of the drawing.
Aarav's breath caught. His eyes found the text in the corner, and he began to read aloud, his voice low and steady:
"'The Chameleon King—another name of dread in the annals of Kalprant's history. The Chameleon King was a power that could assume the form of any man or beast…'"
Aarav stopped reading. His heart thudded against his ribs. "Assume the form of anyone… how is that possible?"
Kiyan spoke softly, his voice trembling like a plucked string, "Yes… it is written true, Aarav."
Aarav looked at Kiyan, a horrific possibility igniting in his eyes. Then he dove back into the tome, reading on:
"'…The history of the Chameleon King predates even the Daayans. It began when a farmer, drowning in debt, sought out a tantric. He told his tale—"I am a poor farmer. My harvest failed, and the market gave me no fair price. Because of this, I cannot repay the moneylender. Please, help me."
The tantric stared at him and said—"It will be done. But you must sacrifice 21 chameleons."
The farmer was shocked and said—"Baba, what kind of sacrifice is this?"
The tantric said—"You want freedom from debt? Then this you must do. Otherwise, you may leave."
The farmer fell at the tantric's feet and begged—"No, Baba, no! I will do whatever you say! But you must help me, Baba!"
The tantric began to smile and said—"Get up, and go. Bring me 21 chameleons."
The farmer said—"As you command, Baba!" and left.
After the farmer left, the tantric laughed and said—"Foolish farmer!"
A few days later, the farmer returned to the tantric and said—"Baba, here they are, 21 chameleons in this basket. I have brought what you asked for, Baba! Now, help me!"
The Baba, pleased, said—"Very well. You must do exactly as I say."
The farmer joined his hands and sat. The sacred fire burned in the havan kund. The farmer's heart pounded. The tantric's black hair, red eyes, necklace of skulls… looked even more terrifying in the firelight.
The tantric chanted mantras for a while. Then he said—"I offer my soul to the tantric."
The farmer, startled, said—"Baba, what are you asking me to say?"
The tantric said angrily—"Do you want freedom from debt or not? Otherwise, leave!"
The farmer joined his hands and said—"No, no, Baba! I will say it, I will do everything you say!" And he said—"I offer my soul to the Baba."
As soon as he said it, the flames of the havan grew fiercer. The farmer began to tremble. The tantric said—"Now, take out those chameleons and throw them into the sacred fire."
Trembling, the farmer brought the basket and dumped it into the havan kund.
A violent fire erupted from the kund, and the chameleons, burning, began to crawl out. The tantric laughed, cut his own hand, and let his blood drip into the fire.
All the chameleons emerged and began to cling to the farmer's body. The farmer screamed, and the tantric laughed and said—"Foolish farmer! You will now serve my purpose!"
Moments later, a ball of fire shot from the havan, entered the farmer's body, and exploded. A blinding light filled the space.
When the light faded, the tantric looked and laughed with joy—"I have done it! I have done it!"
Before him stood a being. From the head to the waist, a human head and torso. From the waist down, the form of a chameleon. Its skin was black-green. It laughed and said—"Welcome… today, your Chameleon King."
Before it, the tantric grew pale and withered…'"
Aarav gently closed the tome. His fingers were white where they gripped the pages. Slowly, he raised his head and looked at Kiyan. The dusk's crimson glow cast his face in a terrifying, mysterious light.
His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, holding a dreadful, impossible question:
"The Chameleon King… can take the form of anyone. What if… he has taken my father's form? What if, in the guise of my father… sits the Chameleon King?"
The words hung in the air like a poisonous noose. Kiyan's golden eyes flared wide, and Aarav's own question plunged him into a terror he had never imagined.
(Chapter End)