“You told me you had lied to Genevre, led her to misinterpret your words. And now I’m certain you’re doing the same with me. If you expect me to continue to trust you, show me the courtesy of honesty.”
Dracaen paused before he responded. “You were not born to your outside world parents.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, from which she was too shocked to pull away.
“I don’t understand,” she said, astounded at this revelation.
“You were not . . . physically . . . You were not . . . procreated by man and woman of the outside world.” He stumbled over his pacing and language, clearly attempting to steady his voice.
“I . . . What? What do you mean? Then how was I . . . born?” She too could not find the words she needed.
“You were alchemically created, here in Flaw dimension. You were composed in an alembic with the help of a Dragonblood seed conjoined with a Lapidarian egg. To ensure your survival after your naming, you had to be hidden in the outside world until you grew strong enough to return to us, until rumours of your existence became merely the stuff of ancient myth and calligraphy.”
Kalina trembled. She grasped the railing to keep from falling. “I am an alchemical child? I was . . . created? By whom?”
“The Elders . . . primarily.”
“Which Elders?”
He paused again, leaving Kalina to question his honesty even in this moment of truth. “You were created by me, Kalina. The others followed my instructions.”
“Instructions? They assembled me — piece by piece? As a design for rebel insurgence?”
“You are living proof of the homunculus, an alchemical creation we thought lost forever to the deepest archives.”
“I am a creature? I am a creation like an outside world storybook monster?” She shook her head, thoughts racing. “Then I’m grateful Genevre has left us. She’d be appalled at this revelation. Had she known, she would not have braided with me.”
“No, Kalina. She would not be appalled. She understands that you are the pinnacle of our ultimate plan: mutual conjunction for all through the formula. All will be free. She has played her role, and you will play yours. You will ensure the survival of free will for eternity to all who exist throughout the dimensions.”
“You praise free will, yet you give me no choice. You created me, you have lied to me for years, and now you expect me to do your bidding.”
“No, Kalina. I expect you to choose to be the rebel Genevre and I conceived you to be.”
III
Council Dimension — 1816
Melia sat at the edge of the catacomb alembic debating whether to enter the healing waters. She had been feeling off-balance for no apparent reason. Though they shared a body, Ilex claimed to feel fine. Melia had agreed to enter the shadows until the discomfort passed. None of their fellow alchemists had found Melia’s temporary absence troubling; in general, over the sixteen years since the conjunction, Council members tended to accept that the unprecedented result would entail equally unprecedented behaviour by Ilex and Melia. Melia assumed several weeks would need to pass before anyone questioned the absence or presence of one over the other. Sitting here now she wondered if anyone other than Saule, and perhaps Ravenea, fully understood her as herself. Of course, too much time spent in the catacombs would affect their Council duties, a possibility that weighed heavily upon Melia. Council members would soon enough resent her neglect of Novillian duties.
For four days Ilex had maintained control of their body while Melia rested, mentally withdrawing into a space she experienced physically as a dark, cool cavern. It reminded her of the Flaw dimension, but soft drumming rather than wooden chimes resonated. She remained in this state, only vaguely aware of the activities being pursued in mind or body by Ilex as he went about their Council responsibilities. Though she was happy to have missed a long Council meeting during this period of absence, she had become gradually more uneasy with each passing day — the dream-like state transforming into a series of nightmares. Thus, her plan to achieve rest appeared to have been thwarted by her mind rather than their body. Yet even physically she simply did not feel like herself, not even like the self she had come to know as conjoined with Ilex. Finally, frustrated and exhausted, Melia had no choice but to emerge from her virtual hibernation. The shift had occurred too quickly, catching both her and Ilex off guard.
Saule had been walking beside Ilex discussing a fluctuation in fire — a slight elemental imbalance the Rowans had sensed a few days earlier and raised at this morning’s Council meeting. She had clearly been startled when Ilex suddenly lurched forward, his breakfast following shortly thereafter. Though such occurrences may be familiar to people of the outside world, they were virtually unheard of in Council dimension. Alchemists simply were not prone to vomiting, let alone into the precious channel waters.
“Ilex! Melia! Sit down!” Saule insisted, guiding them towards the nearest bench.
Melia looked back towards the stream.
“Don’t worry, Melia! The alchemical waters have taken care of the instrusion. Let me take care of you,” said Saule. She supported Melia by the arm, helping her lower herself to the bench.
“When I was an Initiate,” Melia said to Saule upon settling, “I wanted to clean a shell that I’d brought back as a souvenir from an outside world beach. I dipped it into the channel waters closest to residence chambers. When I accidentally dropped it, I combed a few feet of the bottom of the channel section, searching, but it was gone. I figured it had been whipped away in the current — that it would resurface at some future point in the classroom alembic and result in the Azoth Magen reprimanding my carelessness. But that never happened, of course.” She smiled, remembering. “A few months later, Ravenea, using her own hairbrush as proof, illustrated that the waters immediately dissolve all non-metallic objects that are not being held or worn by an alchemist.”
“Only alchemy can outwit alchemy,” replied Saule.
“What do you mean?”
“To contaminate the channel waters, you would need to use powerful alchemy. The shell and the contents of your stomach are apparently not powerful enough.”
Melia laughed, despite her discomfort. “I will keep that in mind.”
“Your rest was disrupted,” said Ilex, his face momentarily appearing in place of Melia’s. “We were too loud, perhaps.”
“No. I am simply unwell. I can no longer hide from the truth.”
The leaves rustled gently in the branches overhead. Melia continued to feel nauseated. She longed to move herself from the bench to the ancient apiary — specifically to the branches of the wisteria tree. She longed to fall asleep cradled in the depths of its purple haze.
“How long have you felt unwell?” asked Saule.
“A week or so — a few weeks, I suppose, if I am honest. I recall feeling dizzy for the first time during the Initiate class on conjunction.”
“That was over three weeks ago,” said Saule. Having been the Magistrate in charge of that class, Saule would remember. “What have the Azoths suggested?”
“We’ve not consulted them,” replied Ilex. “We thought rest would help. Like so many physical challenges since the conjunction, we believed we could resolve the problem on our own without resorting to Azothian interference. I see now that we were wrong.”
“Perhaps a session in a catacomb alembic is in order,” suggested Saule.
Of course, Melia realized, as did Ilex and Saule, that one could not simply remove oneself from Council duties and occupy a catacomb alembic without first attaining permission from an Azoth. Melia did not want the Azoths to know of their problems. Such a confession could lead to yet another investigation, another series of tests, or, at the very least, to another tribunal of questions about the sustainability of mutual conjunction. They had endured enough such intrusions — outright abuses at times — during the first few years of their co-existe
nce.
“I will escort you to Azothian Chambers now,” said Saule who, though she had been a good friend and confidante for years, did not seem to understand the depth of Melia’s fears. How could anyone understand something only she and Ilex had ever experienced?
The agonizing hour that followed was spent recounting the state of their well-being to Azoth Magen Quercus who, inevitably, asked another question for each one that Melia or Ilex answered. Melia felt she would have collapsed had Ilex not supported their body. Finally, acknowledging that he could not account for the weaknesses or anomalies of a mutually conjoined pair since he had no precedent with which to do so, Quercus granted two days in a catacomb alembic, gesturing with a sweeping motion that she, Ilex, and Saule should depart without further ado. Saule walked with Ilex, offering her arm for physical support if needed.
So here Melia sat, Ilex having entered the shadows upon their arrival. Saule waited patiently to help her into the alembic.
“I fear it will not work,” said Melia.
“Why?” asked Saule.
“I do not think even the alembic waters can cure what ails us.”
“But you don’t know what ails you,” replied Saule.
“I’m beginning to suspect the problem lies with the conjunction itself.”
Saule stared at her, bewildered. “No! How can that be — after all these years?”
“Our conjunction is unprecedented. Perhaps our ability to maintain it is limited.”
“But Ilex is fine. I am sure—”
“No.” Melia paused, shaking her head. She debated how much information she should share with Saule. Finally, though, she realized she had to confide in someone, and Saule was certainly her closest friend. “I haven’t been completely honest, Saule — not to you and not even to Ilex. He’s not fine. He fades away on occasion.”
“Fades away?”
“He disappears from my awareness, as if he unwillingly and unknowingly enters the shadows. When he returns, he doesn’t even realize he has been gone until something tangible pierces his reverie — an afternoon shadow appearing on a wall, for example, when he assumed the sun had only just risen. I must fill in the gaps for him.”
Saule laid a hand on Melia’s shoulder and kissed the top of her head. “I am sorry.”
“Saule, I am truly afraid that I am beginning to dominate — that my body is rebelling against Ilex. I fear, despite the sixteen years as partners in mutual conjunction, I will be victorious in the conjunction. It otherwise makes no sense that Ilex would have these lacunae in his consciousness. I thought if I purposely entered the shadows, all would be well when I returned to our body and mind. But he has disappeared again, just moments ago. I fear not only that the alembic waters will do no good, but that they could, in fact, make the situation worse.”
She broke down then, crying. Having said aloud to Saule what she had secretly feared in moments of Ilex’s absence, Melia felt vague possibility become probability. How could she face the prospect that the person she had loved for centuries, the person with whom she had been physically conjoined for sixteen years, was slowly disappearing into nothingness? She had always assumed erasure would be one of the most difficult processes to bear — walking around Council dimension as an Elder knowing what others did not know, knowing that someone who used to be present was now no more than an absence, not even a memory, to all but the privileged few. But this process was worse — this process of someone disappearing bit by bit. Unlike those who are erased, Ilex would eventually simply cease to be. His presence, his existence, his absence, and his death would be marked only by tears in the Amber Garden.
Saule had moved closer to Melia. She now sat beside her, legs dangling over the edge of the alembic, an arm across Melia’s shoulders, her own shoulder supporting Melia’s head.
“You cannot know what will happen, Melia. As you yourself said earlier, your conjunction is unprecedented. Perhaps the catacomb alembic will help. Perhaps this is merely a phase in your development. Perhaps you are entering a period of dominance that will later recede. Entering the alembic offers the best chance for you both to regain strength. Even if you are not healed of this problem, you should at least gain insight. In the altered state of alembic immersion, you will understand your body in ways you cannot hope to achieve otherwise. Please, Melia. Please immerse yourselves in the alembic waters.”
Melia nodded. She knew Saule was right. She knew she must choose the path that had the greatest chance of success. She stood then and, with Saule’s help to steady her, made her way down the stone steps into the depths of the alembic. She positioned herself as protocol dictated — body submerged, head above water in the hollow of the stone pillow. And she waited, watching Saule move back to the outer rim of the alembic chamber to chant the ritual words that would nurture the waters into compliance. She watched as the emerging vapours began to change colours, and then she closed her eyes.
Suddenly Melia’s awareness was elsewhere. She could no longer see Saule or the alembic or the catacombs. She was for all intents and purposes nowhere, though she knew better. She knew she was inside herself in yet another state of altered consciousness. Unlike when she had purposely retreated to the shadows over the past few days, she now felt wide awake — more alive and well than she had ever felt even when fully conscious in Council dimension or the outside world. Yet she could not possibly have been healed so swiftly. These feelings of well-being must be an illusion, a calming façade created by the alembic waters to ensure she remained in position.
Time became muted. She could not tell if hours or only minutes had passed. Her thoughts meandered, sometimes focused, sometimes a rapidly firing collage of images that made no sense to her. She would touch momentarily upon Ilex — sensing him within her own being. Then he would vanish, and she would feel as if she were completely and only herself, as if they had never conjoined. As much as she feared his disappearance, Melia realized during her immersion that her preferred state of being among these fluctuations was one of all-encompassing silence — dark and empty, cool and tranquil. She knew the emptiness was most certainly an illusion — that she was being given a reprieve from a continuous awareness of Ilex’s emotions and sensations, of his movements, of his physicality. She wondered if he could sense that she liked this, that as the seconds or minutes or hours moved ahead, she hoped to remain alone for many more hours or days or weeks. Was she supposed to feel guilty for savouring her time alone, her time to be by and in and of herself? She felt content. Yet she could not bear losing Ilex permanently.
Then something stirred her — an indistinguishable sound from far away. It did not startle her as much as it made her curious. Silencing her intrusive thoughts, she listened. At first, it remained faint but steady. As it grew louder, she understood it to be rhythmic, like a heartbeat. Perhaps it actually was a heartbeat — from the heart she shared with Ilex. The sound was disconcerting yet comforting, loud yet muffled as if reaching her through the alembic waters. Yet how could that be? She was in the waters herself. She could not possibly be hearing Saule’s heart, could she? Or the heart of another Council member waiting with Saule for Melia’s re-emergence from the alembic?
As she relaxed into its constancy, she began to feel soothed by its familiarity. Where had she heard such a sound before? Perhaps she recalled it from a previous alembic immersion years ago — decades, a century — too long ago for her to have a conscious memory of the event. Though alchemists lived for hundreds of years, their memories were fallible. But this explanation did not seem quite right, did not feel quite accurate. She imagined herself even further back in time — back to the first months of her being, swathed in embryonic waters, listening to her mother’s heartbeat. Of course, she had never had a conscious recollection of such a moment; what she experienced now was some sort of imagined memory — one possible, she assumed, only through the alchemical powers of the alembic.
And then sh
e stopped. She stopped imagining because she suddenly knew. She knew in a way she had never known anything before — as if all other knowledge became irrelevant in that moment. The realization was so overpowering that she awakened immediately and sat up with such force the alembic waters splashed over the side and ran down the stone steps.
“What’s wrong?” asked Saule.
“You . . . you’re still here?”
“Yes. I’ve not yet left. The lights were fluctuating in a way I’d not seen before. I thought I should wait until they had settled before leaving you alone here. You have been immersed for just over an hour.”
Saule moved from the bench beside the alembic to the third step on the stone staircase and looked intently at Melia. She then moved to the fifth step and stared at Melia’s face. Melia assumed she was checking for damage, but she then realized she was looking for Ilex.
“He’s not here,” said Melia. “Ilex is no longer here.”
“What do you mean? Were you right? Has he been dissolved into you after all these years? Are you the victor in the conjunction after all?”
“No. He has retreated for now. Out of necessity. He has made room.”
“Made room? For what?”
“Our child.”
The following week, having learned to emerge for brief periods as their child slowly gestated, Ilex rested with Melia in the wisteria tree. Their tears and silence reminded Melia of the long, awkward periods they had spent together leading up to their conjunction. Once again, neither Ilex nor Melia knew what to expect. The simple fact was that alchemists could not get pregnant. Yet here they were, the exception to the rule once again. Alchemists cannot mutually conjoin. Alchemists cannot become pregnant.
The Flaw in the Stone Page 10