“We must rework the text,” he said.
“What? Where is everyone?”
“I sent them away — all of them, for three days and three nights. I need space and time to think undisturbed.”
Feeling mildly guilty for intruding, Genevre said nothing.
Dracaen tapped a finger against a single folio illuminated with an image of a maturing homunculus within an alembic. “Your blood may have enlivened the manuscript, but we are left with blood on our hands.”
“Our son has died, but we have our daughter. She thrives.”
“No,” he said. “She too is gone.”
“What?”
“We must begin again; rework the text. Repeatedly.” Tap, tap, tap, his finger moved against the folio.
Genevre stared.
“Do you hear me, Genevre? Your daughter is gone. The two of us must begin again.”
Tap. Tap. Tap. Fury raged within her against the repetitive sound of his finger and the cloying tone of his words.
“My role in your plan is over!” she bellowed.
With elemental strength flowing through her veins, and using blood alchemy to draw additional power from the earth thanks to a swift, purposeful movement of her hands, she struck him. Genevre, outside world scribe, struck the High Azoth of the Rebel Branch across the face. Blasphemy! Dracaen stumbled away from the manuscript long enough for her to reach it. She tore from its binding the illuminated folio contaminated by his touch. Sacrilege!
She ran. She had reached the lift and was ascending before Dracaen had even rounded the corner of the final corridor. His calls of “Traitor! Traitor!” reached no one, since no one remained in the vicinity to heed them.
Not until she reached the portal room did Genevre stop to wonder how she would make her escape. She had no authority — no means — to activate the portal. She stood, anxious and breathless. He would find her.
“Do you require assistance?”
She spun around.
“Fraxinus! I—”
“I offer fair trade,” he interrupted. “I assist you now. You assist me later.”
She paused only for a moment. Dracaen could not be far behind.
“Fairly traded,” she responded.
Vellum folio clutched in her hand, Fraxinus by her side to activate the portal, Genevre left Dracaen and the Flaw dimension, vowing aloud never to return.
“No!” cried Fraxinus. “Trade is troth, Genevre. You already pledged fair trade to me. To honour your word, you must return to assist me when I call upon you to do so.”
“Trade is troth,” repeated Genevre. “Until then.”
“Until then.”
Flaw Dimension — 1913
Anxious, Kalina watched the others carefully. Azoth Thuja stood to her left in the gathering chamber alongside Junior Reader Tamar, who peered over the wrought-iron barrier at the Dragonblood Stone. The moment Dracaen and Fraxinus entered the room from the northern archway, Tamar turned ceremoniously to acknowledge them, crossing his wrists in front of his chest. Thuja exhibited no such formality.
“We have finally convinced her,” announced Thuja. “Genevre has agreed to our proposal. She has accompanied us to Flaw dimension with the stated intention of assisting the Rebel Branch once again. The intervening years appear to have softened her disdain for you, Dracaen.”
“How would you describe her demeanour?” Dracaen asked. He nodded to Tamar, who released his formal pose.
“I would describe her as cautiously optimistic. Larix believes her to be . . . What were his words?”
“Resolutely apologetic,” offered Tamar.
“Apologetic?” repeated Dracaen. “If Scribe Larix believes Genevre to be repentant for her past actions, I would suggest he immerse himself in the cavern pools for restoration of his senses. She is not one to apologize, especially when she believes herself to be innocent.”
“She destroyed a sacred relic of the Rebel Branch!” interrupted Kalina, indignant.
“No,” countered Fraxinus. “She tore a single folio from a manuscript — one she had enlivened with her own blood.”
“I am a Scribe, Fraxinus. I cannot condone manuscript defacement no matter the grounds,” replied Kalina. “From my perspective, Genevre was and always will be a traitor to the cause.”
“Civility, Kalina!” interjected Dracaen. “Your attitude will do little to convince Genevre to return the folio for restoration.”
“Larix could indeed use an immersion in the cavern pools,” scoffed Thuja, attempting to diffuse the tension. She glanced at Kalina before continuing. “Despite Genevre’s questionable history with the Rebel Branch, I trust her integrity as an outside world scribe. After all, she once understood her role in the ultimate plan, and she now recognizes the imminence of the plan’s execution. Her actions in the past, as impulsive and selfish as they may have seemed at the time, were certainly understandable given the extenuating circumstances.”
“And if her actions in the future prove her untrustworthy, countermeasures can be taken,” added Dracaen. He glanced at Kalina as if she were to intuit the specifics of both the past “extenuating circumstances” and the future “countermeasures.” Yet she barely understood a thing he had said to her of late.
Over the past week, Dracaen had been schooling Kalina with an incomprehensible mixture of literal and figurative pronouncements. You are a Scribe of the Rebel Branch, Kalina. Thus are you a daughter of the Flaw. Beware not to be bound by emotional ties, not even those that bind the two of us. From this critical juncture forward, duty alone must influence your decisions. Manacles must be self-imposed and, once imposed, not removed until our final goal has been achieved. Too much depends upon the ultimate plan coming to fruition for any of us to deviate from our chosen roles. The war to end all wars beckons. We must heed the call of the ancients.
She had nodded and smiled in response — a figurative sigh.
For as long as Kalina could remember, even before her Day of Decision, she had been in training for Dracaen’s plan. Years ago, she had foregone her attempts to return to her outside world family, having learned her alchemical genetics were all that mattered. Apparently, many years from now, she would conjoin with a member of the Alchemists’ Council, thus perpetuating the bloodline for the Rebel Branch. Though the specifics were unclear, she certainly understood that all Dracaen ever cared about was the bloodline. If, as Kalina gathered from overhearing snippets of conversation, Genevre was of the bloodline, she and Kalina would inevitably be paired to work together. In all likelihood, they would spend the next several decades occupied with scribal tasks of one form or another, all in the name of perpetuating the bloodline — all for victory, all for mutual conjunction, all for free will throughout the dimensions. But her duties did not include the directive to like Genevre; to succeed, Kalina merely had to tolerate the stranger as an ally.
Dracaen moved to stand directly in front of Kalina. “I would caution you against becoming overly confident in your superiority with Genevre. You may think yourself knowledgeable about the outside world, invulnerable to its dangers thanks to your alchemical skills. But we all have our weaknesses and, thus, our vulnerabilities, no matter our powers. Do not move too swiftly beyond your training. You have a century of work ahead of you before your conjunction.”
Like most Elders she had met, Dracaen spoke with a patronizing moral superiority that occasionally irritated Kalina. His advice to her today had already begun to grate.
“I understand my role and my abilities, High Azoth,” she said. “Freely chosen, my decision is to work towards the Rebel Branch plan of mutual conjunction and free will for all.”
“So be it,” intoned Dracaen, as if ending a ritual chant. He turned again to Thuja. “Where is Genevre?”
“She awaits in the Dragonblood Chamber. Larix and Samba have remained with her. They await our arrival for the t
our and introductions.”
“The tour?” echoed Fraxinus.
“What word would you prefer, Azoth?” asked Thuja.
“You make it sound as if she ventured here for holiday and has willingly paid her fee for a guided excursion. She has returned to Flaw dimension after years of self-imposed exile. She has agreed to be further honed as an instrument of the Rebel Branch for eventual infiltration of the Council. Do not suggest otherwise, Thuja.”
“Council infiltration?! You speak as if she were an alchemist!” exclaimed Kalina.
“Do not fret, Kalina,” said Dracaen. “Unlike you, she will never be trained to assume the role of an Initiate on the Alchemists’ Council.”
“But make no mistake,” added Fraxinus. “Genevre is an alchemist, albeit of the outside world. And as such, she will be trained to infiltrate Council as an outside world scribe. She deserves your respect regardless of her relationship to you.”
“What relationship?”
“Stop!” said Dracaen. “You can sift through the details later. Let us go to her. I expect decorum from all of you in front of Genevre. We cannot afford for her to harbour doubts about anyone. Is that clear?”
“Of course, your Eminence,” responded Tamar.
“May I offer you the same suggestion about decorum?” asked Fraxinus.
Kalina had never quite understood why Dracaen put up with Fraxinus’s borderline insubordination.
“You have made your position clear,” replied Dracaen.
As they progressed towards the Dragonblood Chamber, Kalina trailed slightly behind, immersed in her own thoughts on the matter. She knew of the prophecies. She knew of the bloodline. She knew of Ilex and Melia and their mutual conjunction. She knew the role she was to play in Dracaen’s plan to bring such conjunction to all — alchemists and rebels alike. Though precise times — the day, the hour, the minute — had yet to be determined, Kalina understood the ultimate role she would play both with the Rebel Branch and the Alchemists’ Council. She knew where her sympathies were to lie. She knew of the battles about to be waged, the losses to be mourned, the victories to be celebrated. What she did not yet know was how she would react to Genevre.
Upon crossing the threshold into the Dragonblood Chamber, Dracaen strode swiftly to Genevre and embraced her. “Welcome back!”
Kalina flinched at Dracaen’s overt affection for the traitor.
“I do not recall meeting you before,” offered Kalina, thus drawing Genevre’s attention away from Dracaen and garnering a swift glance of disapproval from both Thuja and Larix. Tamar and Samba kept their eyes lowered. In uttering her words, Kalina had already broken Draconian protocols by not waiting to be introduced by the High Azoth.
“No,” said Dracaen, with only the slightest tinge of reprimand. “Genevre resided here years ago, first arriving decades before you were born, Kalina.” He gestured from one to the other, foregoing formalities.
Genevre extended a hand. She was striking with her olive skin, onyx eyes, and dark hair streaked with a white band at her temple.
“Pleasure to meet you, Kalina,” said Genevre.
“I have never worked with an outside world scribe,” said Kalina. Her words solicited additional chastising glances from Thuja and Larix. Kalina suspected that Thuja, in particular, would have lashed out at her vehemently, if not for Dracaen’s earlier request for decorum. She decided to change her tact. “Nor have I spent much time in the outside world since entering Flaw dimension. But I know of its Rebel strongholds and Council protectorates. Perhaps you and I will someday have the opportunity to work in a stronghold or protectorate together.”
“Perhaps,” said Genevre. “I suppose that will depend on the roles we accept.”
“I am the Blood of the Dragon!” called Tamar, fists clenched, wrists crossed in front of his chest.
Kalina assumed Tamar had commenced the Rebel chant either out of nervousness or to impress his superiors — his beloved Larix in particular. But both Thuja and Larix were visibly shocked that he would do so without the High Azoth’s lead. Dracaen merely stared at Tamar, apparently gauging the audacity and potential usefulness of this Junior Reader. And Fraxinus, not about to reply before Dracaen, attempted but failed to repress a smile.
Kalina alone, holding up her clenched fists in the second position of the Rebel chant, finally broke the silence: “I live as the Flaw in the Stone!”
For a full three weeks, Kalina harboured doubts about Genevre despite Fraxinus’s insistence that she should be trusted. Why should Kalina trust her outright, even if Genevre did have a connection with Dracaen and the Elders that began years ago, even if she did agree to stay and work in Flaw dimension? To Kalina, Genevre remained an outsider, an interloper who had been thrust upon her by Dracaen, a disruption. Worse, Genevre seemed poised and determined to usurp Kalina’s position as Dracaen’s cherished one. Larix sang Genevre’s praises to Kalina so often that she began to wonder if he had been seduced by her charms, which added to Kalina’s own need to be vigilant against them.
This fortitude was not too difficult. Kalina found Genevre to be surprisingly diligent with scribal labours but rather unenticing as a scribal companion. She arrived at the Scriptorium on time, focused intently on the day’s manuscripts, and spoke pleasantly with Kalina and Thuja whether engaged in discussion of scribal matters or merely in small talk over meals. But Kalina did not feel she could accurately gauge Genevre’s motives beyond those stated aloud in support of the rebel cause: We must ensure free will for all. We must work to increase the Flaw in the Stone. On the surface, then, Genevre exuded optimistic dedication, but Kalina often sensed a quiet skepticism. On such occasions, if their assigned task required an extended period of meditative silence, Kalina could sense heartache — a repressed grief about which she wondered intently but dared not ask Genevre.
After one such emotionally puzzling afternoon at the calligraphy tables, Kalina found herself seeking conversation with Dracaen. As much as his formality and rhetorical flourish annoyed her at times, she longed simply to listen to the methodical rhythms of his deep, agreeable voice. Perhaps he would tell her what she needed to hear.
“What was Genevre . . . before?” Kalina asked Dracaen.
“A mortal of the outside world, as were we all,” he responded.
“No, I mean to you, to the Rebel Branch. You have welcomed her back. And now the Elders speak in whispers when she leaves the room. Clearly, she has a history in Flaw dimension beyond common knowledge. Did she betray you, Dracaen? Did she break your heart?”
“So, you believe I have one after all!”
“You have been kind to me.”
He turned away, nodding slowly. “She did not break my heart. We were not lovers, though I did . . . admire her.”
“You were attracted to her? Did she reject you?”
“No. You misunderstand. We were not attracted to each other. We worked together, as you and she are doing now. I admired her dedication. Together, we took a step that moved the Rebel Branch closer to implementing the ultimate plan.”
“What step?”
“We . . . We conjoined our abilities in an attempt to . . . recreate a mutation of the bloodline. Only a certain bloodline . . . formula . . . will enable rebels to conjoin with alchemists.” He paused, seemingly to gauge her understanding despite the brevity of his explanation.
“Were you successful?”
“From my perspective, yes. From hers, no. In the end . . . at the end of that time, she was unable to recover from . . . an unbearable loss. Granted, I had lied to her. No . . . not lied exactly. I had uttered truths — one in particular — that she misinterpreted. I implied that the formula had ultimately failed. I could not allow her to seek that which needed, for the time being, to remain hidden. I encouraged her to continue our work together. She refused and left. But I knew the formula itself would one day entice her to retu
rn. After all, she maintained a fragment of it — the folio she tore from the Osmanthian Codex. Enough time has now passed. Soon she will learn once again that what is lost can be found, that what is hidden can be revealed.”
“You are choosing your words carefully and speaking in riddles. What are you hiding from me?”
“Under the current circumstances — at this precarious juncture in dimensional history — I choose to reveal only as much as necessary to reassure you that Genevre is trustworthy. All else must remain in the confidence of the Elders for now. Do not worry, Kalina. I swear on the Dragonblood Stone itself, Genevre would never purposely harm you. Indeed, she has confided in me that you have become the primary reason she has chosen to remain with us.”
“What do you mean?”
“Years ago, Genevre became skilled at interpreting ancient manuscripts from the deepest archives. During recent work with one such manuscript, she has determined the name of the person with whom you will mutually conjoin in Council dimension. She has chosen to work towards helping you achieve that goal. Rebel will indeed conjoin with alchemist.”
“And I’m that rebel? I’ve not even been initiated to Council!”
“Kalina, my dear, the conjunction itself is over a century away. Genevre and I took the first step towards that achievement decades ago. But, regarding your role, for now let us speak in months, not decades. Over the upcoming year, you are to hone your skills with Genevre. Step by step, Kalina, piece by piece. Your current charge is to learn to accept her, to trust her, to know without doubt that she is here to help and not to hinder you.”
“What will come of that trust in the short term?”
“My hope is that she will agree to braid her essence with yours.”
Kalina had not anticipated this turn. She had come to Dracaen only as a temporary respite from Genevre. She had not expected to return to her chambers convinced that her future relationship with Genevre would include a proposal, that she and Genevre would together take the rebel equivalent of holy vows.
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