“I’ve never cared how I appear to the Azoths. One day I will ascend to Novillian Scribe based on my achievements, not on my apparent dedication.”
“I admire your stance. As a Keeper of the Book, I certainly recognize the importance of individual achievement on the road to Elder Council.”
Cedar looked up, quizzical. Jinjing had taken a risk in praising Cedar on this front — one that could easily be mistaken as a plea for the individual rather than the collective.
“Of course I respect the Elders,” clarified Jinjing. “But I’ve been with Council long enough to recognize that reaching one’s potential is not necessarily accomplished through uniform agreement. A dissenting voice such as yours can divert attention when necessary, if not stem the tide of disaster completely.”
Cedar’s astonishment at Jinjing’s brashness was now clearly visible in her expression. But Jinjing chose that moment to move her glance over the documents rather than Cedar’s face — a sign perhaps that she had said as much as she cared to for the moment.
Thus, they refocused on the work at hand, moving each page into position, examining the ink and penmanship, the lines of text and the empty spaces between the lines. The potential scribes of the outside world had worked their alchemy, knowing instinctively that something lay beyond their grasp, gesturing towards the ineffable with their letters and words and icons and symbols, reaching out to the Council without conscious intention. Like all seemingly impossible tasks, this one assigned to Cedar and Jinjing appeared without end or solution for hour upon hour until suddenly a flash of inspiration made Cedar pause, fingertip to page, having felt a resistance of her skin to the texture of the ink.
“Bee-loud glade,” Cedar read aloud.
“What?” replied Jinjing.
“This phrase on the page — bee-loud glade — it feels . . . different.”
Jinjing reached for the paper and examined it closer to the candlelight. She ran her fingertips over the letters, then nodded and smiled.
“Yes, as does linnet’s wings.”
“May a writer be assigned as an outside world scribe?” Cedar asked, astounded.
“A writer? I should think writers are eminently suitable to scribal endeavours. Do you know these words? Have you seen them before?”
“I’ve heard them. They are part of a poem. Ruis recited it to me once. We were in the apiary, lying amidst the lavender. Are we not already in a bee-loud glade? he asked me. And I laughed because the bees surrounded us. After that day, whenever he wanted us to have time alone, he would whisper, ‘Meet me in the bee-loud glade.’ And I would.”
“Where are the corresponding documents? What is the potential scribe’s tree name?”
Cedar stood and moved to the corner table. She shuffled through the corresponding documents until she found the correct one.
“Coll,” Cedar read aloud as she walked back to the table. “His interest in alchemy goes back at least two decades. Strange,” she said. “Based on these statements, Rowan Kai suspects he was contacted by a Council member years ago, though she could find no official record.”
“Perhaps this hypothetical contact was made by a Rebel rather than a Council member.”
“Perhaps,” replied Cedar. “Such an occurrence would be rare but not impossible.”
“And where does Coll reside?”
“He moves about, it appears — but I would say London and Dublin primarily.”
“As soon as possible, we will send the scribal sample and documents back to the Readers and ask them to hone in on the location.”
“Until confirmation, I suppose I’m to remain here to continue the search.”
“Hone your skills at assessing the truth amidst words inscribed by outside world poets. All the better to entice Ruis back to the bee-loud glade,” Jinjing joked.
“All the better to engage in our literary game at any rate. But I don’t need the words of poets to entice Ruis. I merely need to look at him.”
Jinjing laughed as she left the room, and Cedar pulled the next sheet of paper towards her.
Three weeks later, Cedar stood in front of a mirror across from her bed in Qingdao. She had removed the nighttime cover from her window. The perpetual sounds of war had temporarily abated to allow a full and restful night’s sleep. Coincidentally, even the rains had subsided. In the bright morning light, she examined her face closely, checking for signs of aging. She knew, of course, that a few weeks — even a few months — would make little difference to her Elixir-enhanced body, but this period in Qingdao was the longest she had been removed from Council dimension since she had entered as an Initiate. Not surprisingly, she felt different, and she had begun to wonder if she looked different. She focused on a small line under her right eye, not sure whether or not it had been there the week before or even the day before. How could she not know the intricacies of her own face? Perhaps the food rations had taken more of a toll than she had realized. Even the Lapidarian honey had to be used sparingly until the supply could be replenished.
Certainly, given the vast number of hours she had spent over the weeks squinting at the scribal fragments and manuscripts by candlelight at Jinjing’s ongoing insistence, she would not be surprised if the skin surrounding her eyes was indeed suffering the first visible signs of impact. On the occasional sunny day, they worked primarily in the natural light filtering through the upstairs library windows, but the nature of war, the variances of seasonal weather, and the characteristics of Lapidarian ink required candlelight much of the daylight hours, and entirely during nighttime sessions. They could not waste a minute in their efforts to locate scribes. The Council wanted all the assistance they could get in their attempts to rebalance the elements — even if these gruelling labours were eventually reflected in Cedar’s appearance, even if Ruis noticed her malnourished fatigue when he next caressed her cheek.
Cedar wondered then if Jinjing had similar vain concerns when she thought about seeing Obeche after an extended absence. Thus far she had attempted to maintain a certain level of decorum with Jinjing. Yes, she and Jinjing had laughed on occasion during the first few weeks of her stay in Qingdao; yes, they had complained about the personalities of certain Council members; yes, they had even shared a few intimate details about their respective relationships with Ruis and Obeche. But Cedar had not ventured too far into Jinjing’s past, into the details of the personal life she had brought with her to Council dimension and, more recently, to Qingdao. She had not even asked directly how Qingdao’s unfolding events were affecting her. She was not certain whether doing so would be appropriate. To Cedar, Jinjing had always been a friendly and dedicated Keeper of the Book of the North Library. She had not known her — though she had certainly heard of her — in Jinjing’s early days as an outside world scribe. But lately, after working together for so many hours over the weeks, Cedar had begun to sense a shift in Jinjing’s attitude to their work and to Cedar herself. So today would be the day to enquire further, to ask questions, to learn if Jinjing shared her growing doubts about Council protocols.
As it happened, they were in no rush on this particular morning. Just yesterday, Obeche had finally returned. Though brief, his visit meant that she and Jinjing had been able to submit the two potential candidates they had located: Coll, endorsed weeks earlier, and Genevre, endorsed only two days ago. Though the Council still hoped for a third name, she and Jinjing could certainly take a break for a few hours — perhaps the entire day. After all, several more weeks would pass before Obeche returned. Not until then could they know whether either of these two potential scribes had been accepted. Not until then could Cedar learn whether she would be relocated to make first contact with one of the new scribes. The protectorate documents suggested that Genevre was an artist of minimal repute, living alone in a small New Mexican town. Though Genevre’s proximity to the Santa Fe protectorate was appealing, Cedar dreaded the thought of being sent to such
an isolated place. Coll, on the other hand, was most likely to be in London. London had always fascinated Cedar, though she did not relish the idea of being sent anywhere in Europe during this war. Regardless, for now she could do little but wait for news. She and Jinjing seemed perpetually to be waiting to hear from the Council. They awaited letters from Ruis and Obeche, they awaited word about the war, they awaited news on the state of the Flaw, and now they awaited confirmation on the acceptance of the prospective outside world scribes. Certainly, after weeks of labour and anxious anticipation of results, they could at least take the opportunity to relax and temporarily distract themselves from the long wait ahead.
At first, Jinjing and Cedar sat together silently in the protectorate library and listened. After a few minutes, Jinjing removed a tapestry and opened one of the windows to bring in the cool air. No flashes, no blasts, no shrieks, not even a whiff of smoke carried on the wind from a distance. Peace had temporarily descended. Surely, they could open all the shutters and enjoy natural light for the day, even if the cold required them to wrap themselves in heavy shawls. Surely their efforts, like the siege, could come at least to a brief cessation.
A man in a nearby street broke the silence with a laugh, and others followed suit.
Jinjing shook her head. “They are naïve,” she affirmed quietly.
“Even the wisest among us are naïve on occasion,” responded Cedar. She moved away from the window to take a seat on the tableside bench.
“You sound like the Azoth Magen. Have you Azothian aspirations?” asked Jinjing. She remained at the window.
Though she suspected Jinjing to be teasing, Cedar responded in earnest. “Most certainly not. Ruis has ambition enough for us both, despite his failings. Or perhaps because of them.”
“Ambition may not be the deciding factor for Azothian ascendance. You need look no further than to Obeche for confirmation.”
Cedar smiled. She had grown to appreciate Jinjing’s sense of humour and her jibes at Obeche.
“What do you see in him?” Cedar asked. “Or what did you see in him when you first met?”
“Nothing at first. I just relished his praise,” admitted Jinjing. “Early on, I’d purposely align my hours in the library to coincide with those he monitored. He’d encourage my talents. Stop fretting, he would say. Your work is pristine. Our manuscripts and keys and catalogues will be in good hands when you are an official Keeper of the Book. When that day finally arrived, he kissed me for the first time to wish me luck. I liked it. I wanted more, and I told him as much.” She laughed, blushing. “As I grew to know him over the years, his integrity is what kept me enamoured. But of late . . .”
“Yes . . . of late,” repeated Cedar. She understood Jinjing’s dilemma. The same qualms had needled her over the past year regarding Ruis.
“They’re each on a mission,” said Jinjing. “Obeche and Ruis. They removed the Flaw once, so they believe they can do so again. You’d think they were both Azoths already. Can you picture the two of them, side by side, making Azothian decisions?”
“I try not to,” said Cedar. Yet she could, of course. She doubted Obeche would ever progress above Novillian given his temperament. But she could picture Ruis as Azoth, even as Azoth Magen. And in the process of such reveries, she had occasionally questioned her commitment not only to him but to the Council. She did not relish the prospect of Ruis lording Azothian status over her or, worse, of giving her a direct command that she would have to follow despite her misgivings. Their differences of opinion might eventually prove their undoing. Of late she had, indeed, begun to imagine a different world, one that she could be comfortable inhabiting for a potential eternity. Of late, Ruis was, more often than not, absent from her imagined scenario.
“The people of Qingdao believe the war has ended. I’m certain it has barely begun.”
Cedar nodded. Jinjing stood across the table from her. She stared at her, contemplating.
“Thousands will become millions,” Jinjing said. “The dead will outnumber the living. War will never cease. Yet I ask myself what’s worse — the death of millions of the outside world or the end to all beings of all dimensions.”
Cedar knew she must now proceed with care, regardless of their past conversations, regardless of how far from orthodoxy they had strayed together before the current peace in Qingdao. Jinjing’s hesitancy regarding Obeche or her questioning of what is worse did not necessarily equate with a complete condemnation of the Council or its rites forevermore. And if it did, even Cedar could not condone such heresy outright.
“Ruis and Obeche aim to prevent further carnage,” offered Cedar. “If they can remove the Flaw again, if ultimate Final Ascension can happen, they believe all will be well. If so, these wars and their casualties will be forgotten eternally.”
Jinjing moved to the small stool at the end of the table. She tilted back her head, stretching muscles sore from dozens upon dozens of hours labouring over the manuscripts in dim lighting. From her seated position, Jinjing was able to tilt her head back far enough for her long, braided hair to touch the floor. She appeared both youthful and weary.
“Ruis and Obeche aim, once again, to remove the Flaw in the Lapis,” Jinjing said, her head upright, her eyes piercing. “They claim the best of intentions. They claim to speak for all as they work towards saving themselves. They claimed as much only a few months ago before their success and subsequent failure. Observe the results.”
“They do work towards saving us all, Jinjing, not themselves alone. No matter one’s faith in their ability to succeed, or in the outcome of ultimate Final Ascension, their aspirations incorporate all.” Cedar realized her path might diverge with Jinjing here. Though she did not believe Final Ascension resulted in life-everlasting, and though she believed in maintaining the Flaw in the Stone, Cedar nonetheless believed Ruis and even Obeche had honourable intentions. She had to believe they were principled or she would have to part ways from Ruis.
“But who is all, Cedar? All the alchemists? All the rebels? All the people of the outside world? All the people of Qingdao?”
“Yes. All will be One. So it is written. But I do not—”
“Whose One?”
“The quintessential One—”
“No, not who is One? Whose One? To whom does this quintessential One belong?”
“According to the Law Codes, the One belongs to us all in Final Ascension.”
“No, Cedar. The One is theirs alone. The One is represented in their manuscripts, in their sacraments, in their histories, and in their mythologies. It does not belong to the people of the outside world, not even to outside world scribes. They choose the One for themselves. Have they ever even thought to offer that choice to us? Have you?”
“The Council cannot offer each individual—” Cedar began, but Jinjing held up her hand.
“You misunderstand, Cedar. My question itself illustrates the problem. If the Alchemists’ Council were to offer us a choice, then our choice would be inherently dependent on their goodwill to extend the offer and respect our choice.”
Cedar breathed deeply and adjusted her pendant on its cord before responding. “The outside world has benefitted from the Law Codes and the vows the Council follows to maintain elemental balance throughout the dimensions.”
“Do you think me blind, Cedar? I have observed the result of the abuses of those codes and vows over these months in Qingdao. Should the choice to save or kill ourselves — the people of Qingdao, the people of the outside world — not be ours alone? Should we not control the balance of our world? Should we not learn to protect ourselves? We’ve never been left to fend for ourselves without Council interference.”
“The people of the outside world cannot be expected to protect themselves. Qingdao alone has illustrated as much.” Cedar’s growing agitation was evident in her voice.
“Qingdao alone? Qingdao has never been alone.
The choices of others have been thrust upon us — whether by the Council or otherwise. And here we are, well advanced into a war that could easily have been prevented had the Council not lost its focus, not forgotten to protect those for whom they uttered their vows. We could have done better if we had been left alone from the beginning — if the Council had never taken its vows, if the Council had never interfered.”
“You speak blasphemy, Jinjing. And you have spoken it in the presence of a Lapidarian Scribe.” Immediately, Cedar felt a twinge of guilt and lowered her head. She had perhaps crossed a line in her pursuit of assessing the opinions of a potential ally regarding the need to maintain the Flaw. She needed time to process what Jinjing was asking her to acknowledge.
“What have I left to lose? Is this not as good a time as any to utter my truth?” asked Jinjing. “Around me are the dead and the naïve.” She gestured towards the window. “Yet with them I have found a place.”
“A privileged place, Jinjing. To pretend otherwise would be hypocritical. You speak of the oppression of the Council making choices on your behalf, yet you have reaped its countless benefits for many years. If not for the relative safety of the protectorate library, you yourself might well be among the dead of Qingdao. And if not for Lapidarian honey — even in its relative scarcity of these months — you may well have died long ago, long before the advent of war. We have all benefitted from the Council.” She paused, observing Jinjing, whose eyes were closed. “And we must all continue to do so.”
“Must we?”
“Jinjing! Would you truly choose to leave if the opportunity arose?”
“Would you?”
“How old were you when you were first approached by Council?” Cedar asked Jinjing as they sat down to their afternoon tea. They had barely spoken since their heated discussion that morning, and Cedar longed to break the tension before venturing further into assessing Jinjing’s stance on Council politics.
The Flaw in the Stone Page 18