“Her name is Sadira,” Genevre said. She spoke with such a matter-of-fact tone that the name barely registered.
“Who?” Kalina asked.
“The alchemist inscribed to conjoin with you. Her name is Sadira.”
“Sadira. I don’t recognize—”
“The name is Persian. It means lotus tree.”
“Is she—”
“She’s currently a Junior Magistrate with the Alchemists’ Council. A century from now, when you attempt to conjoin with her, she will have been a Senior Magistrate for several decades. And, if all goes according to plan, by that time you will have been a Senior Initiate for a year.”
Kalina squinted at her. Surely, she must be missing something — some nearly imperceptible quality to Genevre that would become visible if she watched her from the correct angle. Just what sort of powers did this outside world scribe have in her repertoire? Did Dracaen truly expect that Genevre and Kalina would together be able to manipulate Council manuscripts to such an extent that Council Readers would not notice the rebel origin of their inscriptions and lacunae, that their alterations would be found, still perceptible, a century from now?
“How did you determine that Sadira would be the one?”
“Blood alchemy.”
Again, Kalina stared at Genevre, waiting for something further to be revealed.
“Years ago, through blood alchemy — alchemy accessible to me, thanks to the bloodline — I gained access to myriad manuscripts that others had neglected for centuries. Over these last few weeks, when not in sessions with you, I’ve been working on interpreting minute details of one particular manuscript. There I read of Sadira, the lotus tree. She is to conjoin with the Guelder rose — with you, Kalina.”
“Sadira and Kalina. The lotus and the rose. How beautiful.” Kalina paused before adding, “Thank you . . . for your diligence.”
“I recognized the name Sadira when I read it,” said Genevre. “I learned long ago that Sadira was the Initiate brought onto Council to fill the spot left open by Ilex and Melia. Their unorthodox departure resulted in an elemental disruption that Sadira alone managed to quell. The accomplishment of such a feat as an Initiate portends the magnitude of her future powers. She is rumoured to be a naturally born daughter of the bloodline.”
Of course Sadira is of the bloodline, thought Kalina. One day, Dracaen had repeatedly said to her, you will conjoin with an alchemist of the bloodline. Rebel and alchemist will finally be one.
“The conjunction will be an honour,” responded Kalina, unwilling to admit she was intimidated by Sadira, based on that description. Such a powerful alchemist could overcome Kalina, rendering the mutual conjunction impossible. “Do you know much about them? Ilex and Melia?” asked Kalina, shifting the conversation away from Sadira.
“I know them personally. They were my teachers, my mentors. I would not be the alchemist I am today without them.”
“Yes, of course,” replied Kalina. “They were powerful Scribes on the Council.” She shook her head, as if to adjust the puzzle pieces as they began to fit painstakingly into place. “And they are also of the bloodline. We are all part of Dracaen’s plan.”
“Indeed.”
“So here we are. Sadira and I are cast to play the new Ilex and Melia.”
“To speak figuratively, yes. But, in the end, you are meant to surpass them. Whereas they were both Scribes of the Alchemists’ Council, you are a Scribe of the Rebel Branch, a daughter of the Flaw. When you conjoin with Sadira, you will transmute the essence of Flaw with the essence of Lapis into human form. Ilex and Melia merely revealed that mutual conjunction can be accomplished outside its mythical framework. You and Sadira will change the dimensions by altering the established rules. You two will be the first of your kind. After you, others will follow. No longer will alchemists fall victim to the Sacrament of Conjunction; instead, they will reign victorious through the Rite of Equivalency.”
Kalina smiled, allowing herself a moment to be tantalized. Had she the right to feel pride for a hypothetical outcome predicted to take place a century into the future? The puzzle she had so carefully constructed could quite easily become fragmented as the years progressed. She glanced towards the manuscripts on which she and Genevre were meant to be working.
“What if something goes wrong? What if Council Readers detect our transgressions? Or what if we simply . . . make a mistake? You speak as if our scribal powers are immaculate. Yet it stands to reason that if we can manipulate the inscriptions of others to change the world, then others can manipulate ours to change it back.”
“You must learn to have as much faith in yourself as I have in you.”
Though Kalina realized that Genevre may simply be attempting to buoy her resolve with flattery, she appreciated that Genevre wanted her to succeed. This outsider about whom Kalina had doubts for weeks had ardent faith in her ability to affect the future of all dimensions. In the light of such confidence, how could Kalina not be charmed?
The night of the braiding was exquisite in its beauty. The expanse of the cavern glowed with the amber light of luminescence lanterns and Lapidarian candles. The pools were shimmering with phosphorescence. Shadows and light danced upon the smooth jet walls as rebel attendants fanned a soft breeze across the water. Cool forest-scented mists — cedar and juniper, pine and fir — drifted gently across Genevre’s face as she turned towards Kalina. The hollow notes of the wooden chimes jangled softly in the distance, distinct above the deep vibrations of the preparatory chanting of the Elders.
Genevre’s senses were tantalized by the splendour even before she caught sight of Kalina, whose robes glistened, reflecting the light of the room, like a beacon calling Genevre towards her.
“You look radiant,” Genevre whispered once she had reached Kalina. She kissed her softly on the cheek. “The ceremonial robes become you.”
“As do yours,” Kalina said quietly. “They also appear much more comfortable. Mine are unbearably heavy. You may have to steady me!”
Genevre adjusted her angle to observe the details of Kalina’s jewel-encrusted robe. Symbolizing air, Genevre’s robes were replete with feathers. In contrast, Kalina’s symbolized earth. Crystals and gemstones, along with gold, silver, and copper coins, must indeed be a literal burden for Kalina to bear. How much more so the figurative burden of the ties that were about to bind her to Genevre for an eternity? Yet this woman — so young relative to most alchemists she knew — had agreed to the bond when Genevre had made the explicit proposal. They had known each other for only eight months at the time she proposed to her — eight months of working on manuscript revisions hour upon hour, week upon week, dawn and dusk blurring until they could barely tell one folio from the next.
Come to the pools with me, Genevre had said after they finally completed the inscription of one particularly challenging palimpsest. As she rinsed her bathing sheet under the spray of the sapphire waterfall, Kalina had asked, How am I to ensure my inscriptions are always as accurate as yours? What could Genevre have responded other than Write and write and write. Then read and read and read yet again. And, finally, braid your essence with mine. Kalina had slipped at that very moment on one of the wet stepping stones, and Genevre had reached out a hand to steady her. I will, Kalina had responded. Now, two months further along, their revisions of three particular manuscripts nearing completion, with the braiding ceremony about to begin, Genevre steadied Kalina once again as she wavered under the weight of her ceremonial robes.
“To an outside world observer, I would look like your bride,” laughed Kalina. Genevre’s thoughts flitted away from the braiding ceremony into a muted yet poignant memory of her first wedding. She could hear the vessel smashing as if decades collapsed into mere seconds between the wedding and the braiding. In how many ceremonial bindings would she participate before her life reached its natural end? Perhaps no end could be considered natural when ti
me was being manipulated in the hands of the alchemists.
Tonight’s braiding would ensure their scribal cohesion, that their manuscript inscriptions solidified. Once the ritual was concluded, Kalina could never be completely erased by Scribes of the Alchemists’ Council since part of her would eternally exist within Genevre and the textual revisions they had made together — ink upon ink, pen upon pen, stroke upon stroke. Each letter, each icon, each illumination, and even each incised lacuna would be mutually conjoined forever. No one — current or future Scribe or Reader — would recognize the one from the other, the original from the revision, the written word from the edited text. Two scribes, once braided, could never be completely severed; whether in this life or in life everlasting, their words forever entwined.
The rebel attendants having departed, only the Elders remained to witness the ceremony. Considering the grandeur of the setting and the significance of braiding, the brevity of the ritual itself was surprising. Each carrying a small mahogany tray, Thuja bore the rings, Larix the pens, and Samba the silk ties. Symbolic of the ceremony, the rings were braided metal — a strand of gold, a strand of silver, a thread of copper as the binding element. Holding one of the rings to her lips, Genevre kissed it gently before placing it into Kalina’s hand; Kalina held the ring to her own lips before sliding it onto her chosen finger. A braiding ring is molded in advance to fit whichever finger its wearer chooses; Kalina had chosen the third finger of her left hand — the ring finger, as she had learned to refer to it in the outside world. For her part, Genevre chose the middle finger of her right hand, reasoning that she would be reminded of her braiding with Kalina through all her future scribal endeavours.
No words were uttered during the inking. Like the rings, the pens and inks had been chosen and prepared in advance. For the pen, Genevre had chosen a bloodwood shell with golden trim and nib. Kalina had chosen an ebony shell with silver trim and nib. Ground and purified from the dust of precious Chinese cinnabar ink cakes and Dragonblood Stone, the ink for the pens was specifically blended for braiding — alchemically manipulated to remain visible for eighteen days. Genevre kissed the pen, took Kalina’s right hand into her left, and inscribed the hallowed vow onto her exposed wrist. My words bleed into you, wrote Genevre onto Kalina. As I bleed into your words, wrote Kalina onto Genevre.
The final stage — the binding — was conducted by the High Azoth himself. Dracaen tied a blue, then a green, then a red silk ribbon around the wrist of Genevre and then of Kalina; he then tied the ends of Genevre’s blue ribbon to the ends of Kalina’s green one and vice versa. The ends of the red ribbons were left to flutter in tribute to the Dragonblood Stone, and to the blood that now figuratively flowed between the braided pair. Thuja and Larix each recited a verse from the Haytim Manazir as Dracaen bowed, hands crossed. To seal the braiding, a small crystal goblet of Dragon’s Blood tonic was shared, sip by sip, by Genevre and Kalina. The goblet was then shattered against a slate panel set into the kiln for this purpose. At that moment, the ribbons themselves crystallized, shattering into small colourful pebbles that bounced playfully along the cavern floor.
With that sight and sound — the shattering that marked the end of the ritual — the unacknowledged truth overcame her. Genevre was jolted back to her past, to the pebbles that exploded like shrapnel at the birth of her children, to the crystalline pebbles that covered the fragile body of her son at his burial. She stared at Kalina, as if she were looking upon her for the first time.
“Do not ever doubt my love for you,” she quietly but resolutely assured Kalina.
She then turned to Dracaen, seething.
He stepped back, raising his arms. “Leave us!” he commanded of the Elders. “Thuja! Assist Kalina to her chambers.” Kalina appeared about to protest but then quietly gave Genevre a hug before departing, as quickly as she could manage in her heavy robes, along with Thuja and the others.
“How could you?” fumed Genevre.
“What I have done, I have done in the name of the plan,” responded Dracaen calmly.
Genevre shook her head in disbelief. “You lied to me! You told me she had died!”
“No. I told you she was gone. And she was gone. By the time you found me in the Osmanthian Codex library, she had already been taken to the outside world where she was to remain hidden until she came of age. For her sake, for her safety, I could not have you searching the world for her. I could not have you find her, expose her, endanger her.”
“Yet you have now endangered her by braiding her to me! Our essences are now linked!”
“From your perspective, I have endangered her. But the Alchemists’ Council is about to endanger us all. The Third Rebellion approaches. Your braiding will eternally protect Kalina from complete erasure. And her conjunction will eventually save us all.”
“My role in your plan is over.”
“Why should I believe you when you uttered those very words to me once before?”
“I will depart tonight.”
“And you will return again, as you did ten months ago. When necessity calls, you will return. For Kalina’s sake, if not for mine.”
Genevre did not respond. She turned from him and walked swiftly out of the caverns, not looking back. She stopped briefly at her chambers to change and to gather her belongings. Then she searched for Azoth Fraxinus. Without need of explanation, he accompanied her to a portal upon request, transporting her to her clay-coloured home in Santa Fe.
“Shall I wait?” asked Fraxinus.
“Wait?”
“To transport you back to Flaw dimension.”
“No. I choose to remain here,” she said. “For now.”
“I understand,” said Fraxinus. “You may call upon me, should the need arise.”
As he rounded the corner, moving out of her sight, she opened her fist to reveal one of the items she had confiscated from Flaw dimension: a single coin. She had excised it from the bejeweled braiding robe when Kalina hugged her. She looked at it now, a small copper signet. On one side was a crown. On the other was an intricately carved bee. In her ten months with the Rebel Branch, Genevre had read and transcribed the Osmanthian Codex in its entirety. She could now devise her own plan, and this coin would forever after signify her intention.
“How could you have allowed her to leave?” yelled Kalina.
“What choice did I have?” asked Dracaen.
“What choice did you have? You’re the High Azoth of the Rebel Branch! Your very existence personifies choice!”
“As does hers,” Dracaen responded calmly. “Genevre chose to leave. You know as well as I that no one can be forced to remain in Flaw dimension. Each of us — rebel or outside world scribe alike — must choose to do so.” He paused, turning to look directly at her. “Including you.”
She watched him carefully. She had spent fifteen years of her life with him. He had doted upon her, much more so than he had on his other Initiates, even those who had arrived after her, even those younger and equally as powerful. He had been her mentor, advising her not only on her alchemical training within Flaw dimension but preparing her for her future life with the Council. She could read him as well as she could read any alchemical manuscript. And, in this moment, she could read that something remained hidden.
“No.”
“Yes, Kalina. Genevre chose to leave.”
“I am not refuting her choice! I am refuting the rationale you are spouting! She made a choice when she braided with me. I held faith in that choice. But it now appears you have influenced her choice to leave me, to change the direction in which we were headed. What is it that you’re hiding? And why are you hiding it? We were progressing. All was aligned. All was in place. How am I to play my role in the Third Rebellion without Genevre?”
“Kalina, you have been elected to play a critical role in both the Third and Fourth Rebellions. That plan has not faltered. Within months, as ou
r Readers have predicted for years, all dimensions will reach the point of crisis. We will all be called upon to restore the Flaw in the Stone. Within the century, all dimensions will reach the brink of annihilation. Yes, I have hidden certain details from you. But I have done so out of necessity. I could not risk losing you at this critical juncture.”
“You losing me? What of me losing her? I have lived thirty-five years, and I have never felt as close to anyone as I felt to Genevre during the braiding — not to anyone of the outside world, not to anyone here in Flaw dimension, not even to you.”
“You are a daughter to me,” said Dracaen softly.
In three swift strides, Kalina moved to the wrought-iron barrier surrounding the Dragonblood Stone. “Yet you have treated me like a protégé.” Her voice resonated over the mists of the Flaw, her back turned to Dracaen.
“Having spent fifteen years here in Flaw dimension with me, you would deny me the honour of my paternal role?”
Kalina heard a catch in his voice. Her words had stung him, even more fiercely than she had intended. Instinctively, she longed to embrace him, to tell him that he had indeed been for her the only father she had cherished. But she recognized that he was responsible for her dilemma — he had, after all, brought her to Flaw dimension as a young woman, removing her from her outside world family.
“Ten months. She has been with us for only ten months, Dracaen. You promised years! Genevre replaced the mother you denied me. And now you are denying me the chance to know her.”
“You do not understand, Kalina.” He too now stood beside her, his hands clenched on the wrought-iron railing only inches from hers.
“Then explain to me.”
Kalina expected Dracaen to justify his or Genevre’s actions. She was not surprised in the least when he attempted to quell her anger at his role in Genevre’s sudden departure by reassuring Kalina that Genevre would be safer living outside Flaw dimension — disassociated from the rebels. She listened, tears brimming, as Dracaen explained that Genevre’s actions were selfless, completed as part of her role in the plan, enacted to mitigate putting Kalina herself at risk. All of this, she found not only annoyingly predictable but most likely a distortion of the truth.
The Flaw in the Stone Page 9