The Flaw in the Stone

by Cynthea Masson

  “Thirty-two.”

  Cedar smiled. “I was only twenty, as are most Initiates. I am now two hundred and . . . forty-one. I often forget my age since I am rarely asked for my outside world birthdate. As you know, after Elixir, Council counts an alchemist’s time only in pendant years.”

  “Let me hear it,” suggested Jinjing, automatically moving her hands into the second position of the Ab Uno.

  “I am Cedar, Lapidarian Scribe of the Alchemists’ Council. I have carried my pendant for two hundred and eleven years,” she said by rote.

  Jinjing smiled and then sighed, frowning. “You are fortunate to have been chosen as an alchemist, to have been granted Elixir and a pendant rather than having to rely solely on Lapidarian honey. As you can see, I appear much older than you despite my relative youth.” She ran a hand over her hair.

  “How old are you?”

  “Ninety-six.”

  “I have never quite understood the alchemy of Lapidarian honey, despite my years on Council,” admitted Cedar. “Its properties are so diverse — affecting different people at different levels of potency. I could name a few cooks who’ve aged much faster than you appear to have done. You seem to have been fortunate with your Lapidarian results. At ninety-six, you don’t look a day over forty.”

  Jinjing laughed. Perhaps she too was in a better mood now that a few hours had passed since their discussion, now that they both had time to remember one poignant reality: they were currently one another’s only company. All in all, despite this morning, Jinjing had certainly proven herself a much better companion than Cedar was likely to have encountered in any of the European protectorates, including Vienna. She shook her head at the thought of Vienna.

  “No matter what the ratio, my life has certainly been extended. In that sense, as you suggested earlier, the Council has kept its promise to me, for better or worse.”

  “For better or worse?” Cedar asked, careful to maintain a neutral tone. After all, Jinjing appeared to have capitulated on at least one point. And Cedar wanted her to know that she was ready and willing to listen.

  “Sometimes — especially when I am able to walk through parts of Qingdao and observe its people — I wonder what would have become of me if I had simply lived out my natural life. What if I had declined the Council’s offer when they first contacted me? What if I had flatly refused or feigned indifference when asked to venture to Council dimension? If the names you and I submitted yesterday are verified by the Elders, the choice Council presented to me is the same choice they will give both Coll and Genevre. A hundred years from now, will they question their choices as I’m now questioning mine? Will they carry on, completely content — or completely naïve — eventually pursuing their paths as Keepers of the Book? Or will they begin their journeys only to give up? Will they come to recognize the flaws in the system — flaws much more difficult to erase than the Flaw in the Stone?” She stopped momentarily and sighed. “I also wonder what would have become of me if at some point during the first few years, long before I became Keeper of the Book, long before my friends and family had faded away, I had abandoned my post at my first inkling of dissatisfaction. Perhaps I’d not be feeling the way I currently do.”

  “What caused that — your first inkling of dissatisfaction?”

  “I’d become close to my mentor, a Lapidarian Scribe named Erez.”

  “Erez! Yes! I admired him. We share namesakes.”

  “Ah, I’d forgotten, erez means cedar. Truthfully, I fell in love with him. That can happen on occasion when a Council Scribe and outside world scribe work closely together. A certain intimacy is shared. Consider that advanced warning for your work with Coll or Genevre.”

  Cedar smiled. “What happened?”

  “He was called to conjunction. And he wasn’t victorious. And for weeks I understood the sacrament as a barbaric ritual.”

  “The Sacrament of Conjunction is a necessity for replenishing Quintessence.”

  “I recognize that, Cedar. The privileges we hold depend upon the sacrifices of others. I appreciate as much as I loathe that fact. But Scribe Erez became, in that single moment of his conjunction, my great unrequited love.”

  “Does she know? Ravenea, I mean. Does she know you loved the one with whom she conjoined?”

  “She knows I wished for his victory.”

  “Then she also knows you longed for her demise.”

  After admitting her love for Erez and regret for Ravenea’s victory, Jinjing had sighed and returned to her document work in another room. Later, having exchanged a few pleasantries over evening tea, Cedar again ventured back into the conversation that Jinjing had brought to a close.

  “What of other friends in Council dimension? What of Obeche? He’s provided you with some comfort, has he not?”

  “Obeche has been a lovely distraction for several years.”

  Cedar could not imagine Obeche as lovely.

  “But the outside world war has begun to affect my sense of purpose,” Jinjing continued. “I fear my sense of duty will soon conflict entirely with Obeche’s. I don’t want to hurt him. But, as you know, of late I blame the Council for slacking in its duties to maintain the balance of the world. I blame the Elders for focusing too much on their precious Lapis and its Flaw. Forget the Flaw, I want to scream. Let it increase! Focus instead on fixing the outside world! Abandon the One! At other times, I find myself thinking quite the opposite: that perhaps it would be best under the circumstances if Council did indeed find a means of permanently eliminating the Flaw and of achieving ultimate Final Ascension thereafter. I’m such a hypocrite!”

  “No, Jinjing. I appreciated your questioning of the One earlier today. I question it too. I fear life as we know it would end.”

  “Yes. We would all rise infinitely into the One.”

  “No. We would all die.” Cedar paused, assessing Jinjing’s reaction. “I apologize for my earlier outburst. You can speak the truth to me. No one is listening to us. I’m not asking you to explain your reservations about faith in the One. I’m asking directly: Do you believe we would all, in fact, become One?”

  “I don’t believe in the One. But I believe we all could die. And if we do, then I hope we all die simultaneously, together, without prolonged suffering, without invading each other’s lands, without the sounds of bombs and gunfire, without individuals dying in the streets and fields in agony, without death threatening, lingering, never quite taking hold even when so many pray for it to do so. Living in perpetual anguish in the outside world is exhausting. On days filled with such thoughts, I find myself hoping the Elders can permanently eliminate the Flaw. On other days, I simply long for the world to be released from Council oppression.”

  “You indeed have been jaded by the events in Qingdao.”

  “And you seem completely unaffected by the suffering surrounding you now.”

  Cedar paused, considering her response. She had planned to learn more about Jinjing today, but the conversation had continually ventured into territory she had not been expecting to explore. Was Jinjing correct in her assessment and all that it implied? Was Cedar ignoring the intensity of suffering in the war-drenched segments of the world in order to ensure that she herself survived? She wondered if Jinjing was testing her, seeing just how rebellious her rebel sympathies were, deliberately goading her into saying something she might regret — something for which she might be accountable to the Elders. Perhaps her work here in Qingdao was a test, a Lapidarian version of the complex Initiate tests she had undergone years ago. Or perhaps she was merely being paranoid. Perhaps the sounds of battle resuming once again in the distance were affecting her more than she realized.

  “I appreciate your candour,” Cedar finally replied. “You have been in Qingdao much longer than I, and you have first-hand knowledge of the people and events here that I could never hope to gain. But I cannot agree that eliminating the Flaw
is the answer. If such a statement is blasphemy, then so be it. I’m not the only member of the Alchemists’ Council who has advised caution on the matter over the years, and certainly not since the Third Rebellion. Yes, the people are suffering. Yes, this war is devastating. Yes, ultimate Final Ascension offers us a means to end all such misery. But do we want to end all life for the sake of ending its less admirable aspects?”

  “The Elders may tolerate the occasional dissenting voice — whether yours or that of any other Council member. They also know that dissenters are few and far between. In the end, your meagre efforts will be for nought since you’re one among many. If the Flaw is eliminated, you alone cannot re-inscribe it.”

  Cedar waited. She watched Jinjing, assessing her movements. Jinjing’s right index finger tapped slowly and softly on the table. Finally, the complexities of all Jinjing had said to her that day sifted into one radical thought that she dared in that moment to express.

  “You’re right. I most certainly cannot re-inscribe it alone. I would require assistance from the Rebel Branch.”

  Jinjing stopped tapping. She stood up, leaving the room without saying a word. Had Cedar misinterpreted? Had she failed the test? Was Jinjing determining a means to report Cedar as a blasphemous traitor? Her heart raced. But, within a minute, Jinjing had returned. She held two small glasses and a bottle of plum wine. She set down the glasses, filled each with wine, passed one to Cedar, and held the other up towards her.

  “A toast!” said Jinjing. “To the Rebel Branch!”

  “To the Rebel Branch!” replied Cedar. She felt both calm and exhilarated, fearful and brave. But later, as she settled into bed for the night, the tapestry once again placed carefully over her window, she recognized with palpable relief that she had found an ally in Jinjing. They had found each other. Never again would either be alone in her dissent.

  Qingdao — Winter 1914

  Jinjing sat on a wooden bench in a small abandoned hut; its open-walled structure suggested it had once served to sell wares — vegetables perhaps, or pottery. Cedar had returned to Council dimension a month ago but had managed to contact her last week by concealing a letter inside a messenger-delivered box of Lapidarian honey and other supplies. The letter confirmed that Cedar had made contact with the rebels and requested they in turn make contact with Jinjing. Yesterday, she received a note from a young boy, who had arrived breathless but proud, clearly content to have succeeded at the task of navigating the streets undetected. Jinjing assumed he had been bribed and convinced his mission was part of the war effort. And she hoped the bribe had been worthy of the risk, perhaps food enough for a meal — something he could bring back to his family — rather than a trifle, like a small biscuit or sweet he had consumed along the journey. The note had said to meet here, so here she waited, excited but anxious.

  Two soldiers walked by, one of whom noticed her and paused briefly, as if unsure of his next move. She lowered her head and huddled closer to the wall. Perhaps convinced she was merely an old woman taking temporary shelter, he turned away again and carried on alongside his companion. Jinjing sat upright again and glanced around. The rain had stopped. The only person in sight was a figure — features indistinguishable from this distance — walking along the main road in Jinjing’s direction. If this was the person she was meeting, she could not imagine why the hut was chosen as the rendez-vous point. Would it not have been prudent to meet farther down the road, farther away from the heavier trafficked area?

  Jinjing became more nervous the closer the figure appeared. Even when only a hundred feet or so away, she still could not tell whether she was watching a man or a woman. Not until the person stood within a few feet of her was Jinjing able to discern her identity. Her rebel contact was a young woman with pale eyes and skin.

  “Jinjing?” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “I am Kalina. Junior Scribe of the Rebel Branch of the Alchemists’ Council. I have carried my Dragonblood pendant for six years. My current mission is to increase the Flaw in the Stone.”

  “Six years?” repeated Jinjing. “Does the Rebel Branch assume my intentions unworthy of a meeting with someone more . . . mature?”

  Kalina maintained her composure despite the insult.

  “You will be meeting with the High Azoth. I have been sent as your escort. Given my age and relative anonymity — unknown, that is, to anyone on Council who might make an impromptu visit to the Qingdao protectorate today — the Rebel Branch Elders decided to assign me with this . . . vital task.”

  “Sarcasm does not become you.”

  “Very few things become me, Jinjing — hence my training to become someone else.”

  “A noble aspiration.”

  “Time will tell. For now, I remain a Junior Scribe, and preparatory work awaits us. Take this fragment and follow me — walk far enough behind me that we do not appear to the casual observer to be together.” Kalina held out a small red stone, which Jinjing immediately placed into a pocket in her jacket. Kalina turned and continued along the road in the direction she had been walking before stopping at the hut.

  Jinjing followed several steps behind, slowing her pace when necessary. She marvelled at their ability to progress down this road at all without being questioned by any number of men in uniform. Perhaps they gave little mind to women. Or perhaps the fragment of stone Kalina had given her had protective properties of some sort. Why was so much of her understanding based on mere guesswork these days?

  After walking for at least half an hour, they finally arrived at a flagpole, though it held no flag. Jinjing glanced out at the harbour and the vessels on the water. She supposed someday this pole would be claimed by the victors.

  “Take my hand,” said Kalina. “Place your other hand on the pole.”

  Jinjing did as instructed, noticing in the process the softness of Kalina’s hand compared to her own. To be young again was Jinjing’s final thought before the world around her became a blur and she was being whisked through a portal. By the time they emerged at their destination, Jinjing had temporarily forgotten her wistful nostalgia for youth and simply felt thankful to have arrived alive. She blinked several times in an attempt to focus her eyes in the dim light. She could hear a noise that sounded like bamboo wind chimes in the distance.

  “Where are we?” asked Jinjing.

  “Flaw dimension,” responded Kalina moving away from the portal and along a corridor.

  Jinjing followed, of course. She had not yet been instructed otherwise. The corridor appeared made of natural stone, as if the Flaw dimension were carved into solid rock. She sensed they were underground, though she had no means of knowing for certain. Why, Jinjing wondered as she followed Kalina, would a group of alchemists — even rebel alchemists — choose such a dark and dismal landscape when they could instead choose the beauty of Council dimension? She then wondered about her own future landscape given her choices of late. Perhaps she should attempt to find some pleasure in these cold stone walls. When the corridor opened into a large, well-lit cavern filled with tables and shelves heaped with manuscripts and scrolls, Jinjing could only assume she had been granted the privilege of stepping into a Rebel Branch library or archive collection. How could they possibly trust her with this knowledge? How could they trust her not to report to the Elders a storehouse of information that Council could pillage?

  Kalina gestured for her to take a seat. Though Jinjing did not want to be impolite, she could not help but stare directly at Kalina on occasion. Her hair and skin were so pale that to Jinjing she appeared illusory, as if she were a fragile doll and not a real person at all. Perhaps all alchemists of the Rebel Branch had an air of otherworldliness to them. Or perhaps all alchemists did, and Jinjing simply had never noticed amidst the sensuous splendours that imbued Council dimension. Here in the shade-filled, misty caverns of Flaw dimension, Kalina simply seemed ethereal against the darkness. Jinjing smiled, expressed
her gratitude again, and then lowered her eyes.

  Five minutes later, a man in bright blue robes entered the room and approached her. Jinjing looked into his bright green eyes as he stood before her. “I am Dracaen, High Azoth of the Rebel Branch of the Alchemists’ Council.”

  Only when he extended a hand, and she reached out to him in return, did Jinjing notice she was shaking, that she still needed to relinquish the stereotypes she had so long carried regarding the Rebel Branch. What had she to fear? After all, the rebels valued free will above all. What harm could come to her among a group of people who claimed to value her choices as much as their own?

  VI

  Santa Fe — Spring 1915

  Other than with Jinjing, whom she now considered a friend, Cedar had no previous experience working closely with outside world scribes. She had, of course, often worked in their proximity, engaged them in conversation, requested items, or assigned tasks as she did with any of the outside world workers. Certainly, she appreciated their importance to the Council, especially as potential candidates to become Keepers of the Book. But she had never engaged with one at the level of intimacy required of teaching and assessing a new recruit. Ruis would take exception to this assessment by reminding her of the sexual liaison she had undertaken with Oren, an outside world scribe of the Vienna protectorate, half a century ago. But she would counter that her weeks of passion with Oren did not count since they were not specifically engaged in Council duties at the time.

  Outside world scribes worked primarily in the protectorates under supervision of the Magistrates. They came to Council dimension only when training or working on tasks with specific Lapidarian or Novillian Scribes. Often engaging directly with the Keeper of the Book to help translate or transcribe outside world alchemical manuscripts, they had proven integral to Council operations. According to Ruis, Coll was proving particularly useful in his work with Eurig, Keeper of the Book of the London protectorate. A Keeper of the Book in the making himself, Ruis had whispered to her regarding Coll when Cedar had visited the London protectorate last week. But Coll had already established himself in the outside world as both an alchemical adept and as a masterful poet prior to beginning his manuscript labours. To become a Keeper of the Book, he would have to be willing to pledge himself for life to the Council. In Cedar’s opinion, that prospect was unlikely given Coll’s numerous and varied connections to the outside world. Her own new charge — Genevre — seemed a much more likely candidate to remain faithful to the Alchemists’ Council.