“Indeed I have,” replied Ravenea. “I believe ancient knowledge could well prove valuable rather than detrimental to future Councils. One must be prepared not only for the inevitable but for the previously inconceivable. You and Ilex have taught me that lesson well, and more than once, Melia.”
Thus, they began; thus they studied; thus they practised over the weeks between that day and this one. Now Ravenea stood, ancient manuscript in hand and scribal tools spread before her on a makeshift platform atop a wide, relatively flat, waist-level branch of the wisteria tree.
“Hold this,” she said to Melia, passing her a small clay vessel.
“Recite these words after I light the Lapidarian candle,” she instructed Saule, handing her a small scroll.
Saule began to recite as soon as the flame was kindled. She recognized the ancient script; she had studied it years ago as a Senior Initiate. From the Lapis to the Scribe; from the Scribe to the Reader. With words intoned enlivening words inscribed, the alchemical transmutation began. Within seconds, the bees began to arrive — a few at first, then dozens, then a few hundred at least. They gathered into a small swarm on the branch above the one holding the manuscript.
“Choose one,” she said to Melia.
Melia continued to hold the vessel in one hand and hesitantly reached up towards the bees with the other. She positioned her fingers, palm up, near to the swarm of bees as if she planned to scoop up a handful. But instead of doing so, she waited for one of the bees to approach her. Within seconds, one did. It walked across a fingertip, along the finger, and into her hand. Saule reached over and pulled the lid off the vessel. Though not visible from her position, Saule knew the vessel contained a mixture of equal parts Lapidarian ink, Lapidarian honey, and Melia and Ilex’s blood, the latter of which had been extracted via a sharp blade at sunrise.
“Step forward,” Ravenea said, gesturing to the manuscript.
Melia stood directly beside the branch in front of the manuscript. She poured a thimbleful of the blood-infused mixture onto an image of a bee in the manuscript and manoeuvred the actual bee in her hand to move from her palm onto the now-obscured folio image. It did so without reluctance, as if it understood its role in the process. Melia then drank the remainder of the mixture. In a flash of light that emerged suddenly from the glowing fissure of the wisteria tree, Saule was temporarily blinded. Seconds later, having regained her vision, Saule realized that both Melia and the bee were gone. The fissure, charred with black edges, would soon crumble to ash.
“The blood alchemy ritual has ended. As a result of its success, Melia and Ilex and the child will, forever after, be intimately connected with Lapidarian bees. Time will tell whether such a connection proves useful.”
“And what of us, Ravenea? What now? We have aided in an unauthorized and blatantly unorthodox ritual. Ilex and Melia are gone. The Elders will question us all. They will undoubtedly read our pendants.”
“Hence the necessity of our final step,” said Ravenea. “Set your pendant here.” She set her own pendant between the manuscript and the Lapidarian candle. “Melia procured a solution — presumably from a rebel, though she didn’t specify and I didn’t ask. It will render our pendants impenetrable regarding not only events of today but also of all events regarding Ilex and Melia that took place over the past six months and that will take place hereafter into the future. This prohibited rendering of the pendant should remain undetectable to others, including the Elders — but I emphasize should. A proficient Reader or Elder may well detect something amiss. If investigated — if discovered — you could be accused of Rebel Branch alignment. Are you prepared for that, Saule? Are you prepared to risk erasure?”
“What choice do I have now or in the future? I helped a friend, and I will continue to help her without regret.”
“Your choices remain yours, Saule. But do not allow your path to interfere with mine. Ongoing collaboration or even hushed discussion between us regarding the escape or the pregnancy or the child — should one thrive — could endanger us all.”
“I understand,” she replied, but her tone hinted otherwise.
“Saule, listen to me. I am not being unduly harsh or unreasonable. I am being practical. If my path to Azothian status is blocked by scandal, my ambitions to effect change in the future will come to nought.”
Saule met her eyes and nodded. “Scribe Ravenea, I vow on my Quintessence to hold silence with others regarding your involvement in Ilex and Melia’s escape, and I vow to hold silence with you in the future regarding the escape and the whereabouts of parents or child.”
“We are hereby forever bound by this promise for eternity,” pledged Ravenea as she poured a blood-red liquid over their pendants and sealed the fluid with Lapidarian wax from the candle.
“For an eternity, we are bound,” replied Saule.
Within the hour, Ravenea and Saule had both returned to their respective residence chambers, confident that all had progressed as planned. Of course, Saule could not know whether Ilex, Melia, and their unborn child had emerged unscathed from the fissure into the outside world. It was too soon to hear from them; Melia had made arrangements for clandestine contact through the Santa Fe Rebel Branch stronghold. But for now, Saule could only hope that the ritual had worked based on its apparent success in the apiary.
Unease plagued her in the days that followed. All was made worse once the absence of Ilex and Melia became Council-wide knowledge. At first, when alchemists simply asked after them, they accepted Saule’s response: No, perhaps they are in the Scriptorium. But after three days, the portal logs were consulted. And after five days, all hell broke loose — Ilex and Melia’s absence could not be justified, certainly not to the Elders of the Alchemists’ Council. The Azoths were furious, especially when no one could pinpoint precisely when or how Ilex and Melia had departed. Nor could anyone trace the precise location of the Lapidarian fragment within their pendant. After two weeks, rumours and theories began to spread: They have abandoned their duties. They have joined the rebels. If they left with their pendant, they have confiscated Council property. Indeed, they have confiscated Quintessence! They merely vanished — an alchemical mutation inevitable with mutual conjunction. And so on and so on. A few of the theories made Saule laugh, but most upset her — not because of their level of inaccuracy, but because of the malicious tone with which they were uttered. But no one suggested Ilex and Melia departed Council dimension in order to give birth to an alchemically conceived miracle child. For that, at least, Saule could be grateful and relieved.
Though none of the rumours received official validation, the speculation continued unabated until, three weeks after Ilex and Melia had left, more pressing matters came to light. Remarkably, the Novillian Scribes had discovered that despite the potential of rebel alliances, Ilex and Melia could not be erased. This is not to say that the Elders chose not to erase them, but that they literally and physically could not be erased from the manuscripts. Malevolent alchemy! Rebel Branch mysticism! These and other such accusations quickly pushed aside wayward rumours of the disappearance. But the Azoths attributed the impossibility of erasure from the manuscripts to the strength of mutual conjunction or inaccessibility of their pendant rather than to direct involvement of the rebels.
Equally problematic, the disturbance in elemental balance caused by the abrupt departure of the conjoined pair became blatantly evident over the course of the same time frame. Balance would need to be restored immediately. Thus, as the Elders worked on temporary countermeasures to maintain dimensional equilibrium, the Readers were to labour day and night until they accomplished their duty to choose and locate a new Initiate and thus return the Council to one hundred and one — to only one hundred and one, now that the mutually conjoined pair no longer remained a factor in the calculation. The possibility of ascending in the extensive rotation — that is, in a rotation that began with a vacancy in the Novillian order — quelled so
me of the rumours. Why continue to speculate on how the space had opened when one could simply be content that opportunity had knocked? Azoth Magen Quercus chose Scribe Obeche to ascend to the Novillian position. You must assure that Obeche does not surpass you, Saule said to Ravenea. No one would be able to tolerate him as a Rowan, let alone an Azoth. Ravenea laughed and blushed. For all her power and knowledge — and, of late, duplicity — Ravenea retained an honest modesty in her abilities.
With all ascensions of the rotation assigned, with an Initiate spot vacated, with hours upon hours of work completed by the Readers to determine the next alchemist to join the Council, the final step of the Ritual of Location was performed by the Scribes. Given the unusual circumstances — that the new Initiate would be the replacement for a mutually conjoined pair who had purposely vacated Council dimension — the Azoth Magen himself officiated. Though Saule was not present, Ravenea reported the events to her in detail. All had apparently progressed as usual with only three aspects of note. First, immediately after the completion of ritual, Obeche’s nose had begun to bleed — for the first time in his life — which resulted in several drops of blood falling unceremoniously into the Albedo waters. Then Cedar, the newly appointed Senior Magistrate, had been chosen to make initial contact with the new Initiate. Finally, the crossing point — the moment at which Cedar and the new Initiate were predicted to cross paths — was to be at midnight that very night. According to Ravenea, Cedar had been rather shocked at the news, especially at the lack of preparation time. Ravenea had offered to accompany her, but Azoths Ailanthus and Kezia forbade such a move, suggesting that yet another breach of protocols could make an already awkward situation worse.
Not yet an Elder, Saule was neither invited nor required to be present to greet the Initiate upon arrival. Nonetheless, she was more than curious. Thus, she opted to wait, concealed, under the willow tree in the courtyard, curious to see precisely who had been deemed worthy to replace the irreplaceable. Frankly, Saule doubted anyone would be up to the task. How could only one nascent Initiate effectively replace two conjoined Scribes — two Scribes who could not be erased, thanks to the nature of their conjunction or their bloodline? Of course, rotation and initiation were ancient and, admittedly, logical rites of passage that had worked successfully for the Alchemists’ Council for eons. However, this Initiate was different. This initiation, like Ilex and Melia themselves, was unprecedented. The newcomer would fill a spot that had occurred not through conjunction or erasure, but through a purposeful absence and forbidden blood-alchemy ritual — one abetted by Saule herself. Under such circumstances, how could Saule not be intrigued by the chosen one?
Thus, it came to be that Saule’s first glimpse of the new Initiate was dappled, occurring as it did through the leaves of the willow tree. Moonlight bathed the courtyard. Saule heard her voice before seeing her. She was, Saule presumed, replying to a question: Yes, Magistrate Cedar, I would be glad to do so. When Cedar and the Initiate stepped into the light of the open courtyard within view of Saule’s place of hiding, she fell forward slightly, causing the leaves to rustle. Cedar glanced towards the willow tree but then returned her gaze to the Initiate.
“This way, Sadira,” Cedar instructed.
Saule knew this name: Sadira, the lotus tree. Her name was as beautiful as her long, gold-hued hair caught in the moonlight. Saule was wholly captivated. As Sadira and Cedar walked out of sight, Saule moved from behind the willow branches to the bench beside the Wishing Well to contemplate her future. If only she had a coin.
When Sadira stepped out into the main courtyard on her first morning in Council dimension, she wondered if she had been brought to hell. She had not thought to ask Cedar under the previous night’s moonlight what to expect of the landscape at dawn. The sky, the grounds, even the trees in the distance appeared burnt orange — not the brilliant orange and pink and purple of the sunsets or sunrises she so adored in the world she had chosen to leave behind. Though no flames were visible, Sadira understood within moments that this world was on fire. How had she failed to notice the overpowering environment the night before? Perhaps the effect was visible only in the daylight hours. Perhaps, like all else here, the flaming skies were a consequence of the alchemy of Council dimension to which she gradually would have to acclimate. The air smelled acrid; a fine white dust clung to it, slowly descending to coat the pathways she had been instructed to use. If you awake early, explore the grounds. You will not get lost if you stay on the paths. These had been Cedar’s words to her the night before. Sadira had indeed wakened early — too early, it appeared, since she had not encountered another soul between her chambers and this inferno.
Sadira took slow, tentative steps along the path directly in front of her; when she had progressed far enough along to necessitate a decision, she chose to veer left. Eventually, she reached the most sublime spectacle: a walled garden filled with trees whose trunks appeared covered in an ochre-coloured glass and whose leaves glistened through the layer of white dust. Wiping aside the dust from one of the leaves, she realized that the tree comprised amber, not glass. Admiring its beauty, Sadira attempted but failed to pick a leaf off the tree. It simply would not detach from its stem no matter her efforts. Alchemy, she presumed once again.
The first sign that she was not alone in this burning and dazzling world came as a high-pitched cry. Though she saw no one in that moment, she did not need to wait much longer until various voices were calling out Fire! and Awaken the Azoths! Several robe-clad folks soon appeared within her range of vision, frantically moving across the courtyard and along the path. Where is it? What is going on? How could this happen spontaneously? Sadira abruptly realized that smoke and ash were not the usual state of affairs in Council dimension.
A bell began to toll. She could not fathom how the sound reverberated as loudly as it did. Many more people appeared in the courtyard thereafter, a man in dark green apparently taking a head count. Though the alchemists were dressed in robes, at least as many others donned liveries that she concluded marked their trade within this dimension. Observing those she assumed were cooks or kitchen workers, she had to wonder why none of their group had been awake as early as she had. Would they not have needed to be preparing food for the day? Perhaps the kitchen and residence for its staff were below ground. Perhaps she alone had wandered outside to greet the dawn. She recognized a few faces in the crowd: Cedar, who had brought her into this world, and the Azoth Magen and the Elders, including Obeche, to whom she had been introduced by Cedar shortly after her late-night arrival.
“The Elder Council will proceed to Inner Chambers to commence the Ritual of Restoration!” announced Azoth Magen Quercus. “All others will work together to ascertain the source of this elemental imbalance. Ravenea! Organize the alchemists into groups of four, elementally balanced where possible, to seek the source of the disturbance. Jinjing! Organize the workers to secure all Council buildings! The libraries and archives are priorities!”
Sadira, as a newcomer, assumed she would be instructed by an Elder to return to her residence chambers. But no one paid her any mind. Everyone was too focused on the emergency at hand. So Sadira concentrated fully on Ravenea’s commands, not wanting to miss her own name being called for a grouping. But Ravenea did not call out names; instead she asked for division by element, calling out “earth, air, water, and fire” as she pointed to each of four locations in the courtyard. The alchemists divided accordingly and then reorganized themselves into groups of four — one alchemist for each of the four elements. Not knowing her element, Sadira simply stood still a short distance in front of Ravenea.
“Sadira!” Cedar called to her. “Join us!”
“I don’t know my element.”
“You are water,” said Ravenea.
Do they expect me to extinguish the fire? Sadira thought to herself. Of course, she had no idea how to proceed with such a task. She merely followed Cedar and Obeche as they joined Ravenea to
form their group of four.
“Well, Sadira,” said Cedar, “there’s nothing like initiation by fire.” Cedar and Ravenea smiled, but Sadira was too nervous to appreciate humour.
“Where shall we begin?” asked Cedar.
“I suggest we begin where others might forget to look,” replied Obeche.
Sadira followed Ravenea, Cedar, and Obeche out of the courtyard and through the corridors to one of the few places in Council dimension she recognized: the portal chamber.
“The ash is thicker here,” Sadira observed. Compared with the substantial layer of ash directly in front of the portal, the paths of her early morning sojourn had received a mere sprinkling of white dust.
“What if the protectorates—” began Cedar.
“No. A fire in a protectorate would not affect us here — not directly, not like this,” replied Obeche. “But a fire in the apiary would.”
Ravenea turned to him. “Yes.”
“Most likely the lavender fields,” said Obeche.
“No. The fire is in the ancient garden,” said Ravenea. “In the wisteria tree.”
“You seem certain,” observed Obeche.
Ravenea said nothing, but her fear was visible in her eyes. Though Sadira knew little of her new world and its occupants, she knew enough about people to know that Ravenea knew something beyond what she was expressing.
“Cedar and I will go first,” Obeche offered. “You two follow immediately behind.”
Moments later, Ravenea reached out to hold Sadira’s hand. Together they stepped towards the portal as Ravenea recited a series of words and numbers that Sadira assumed were coordinates to the ancient garden.
Being transported to the garden was little better than the journey into Council dimension Sadira had experienced the night before. She felt pulled and swayed and, upon arrival, nauseated. The scene before them was one of devastation. Though Sadira would never know the beauty that had once greeted those who travelled here, she would never forget seeing what was left. The smoke and ash of Council dimension were minor complications in comparison with the scorched landscape she now witnessed. Everything — absolutely everything — that once had flourished was charred to the colour of coal. The grounds smouldered; occasional orange embers were visible amidst the blackness. The scorched remains of a tree — tangled, brittle branches — loomed against the white smoke sky. This, realized Sadira, must have been the wisteria tree.
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