As far as Council Elders and Readers were concerned, Genevre had not yet distinguished herself in the outside world. Yes, like Coll, she had her creative talents. What good would she be to Council at all without a previously honed skill that a Council Scribe could readily transform into something useful for manuscript work? In Genevre’s case, that skill was with inks and paints, papers and canvases. Whereas Coll was a poet renowned in various European cities, Genevre worked as a painter in a small American town only recently becoming known for its emerging artists. Admittedly, Cedar had come to recognize that rhetorical skills were not as significant to the scribal endeavour as she had once believed. Anyone could read or copy written text. But only a few could master vibrant manuscript illuminations. Perhaps such alchemical illustrations were to become Genevre’s forte. Of course, like all potential outside world scribes, Genevre also appeared to be reasonably adept at alchemy — as much as anyone outside Council dimension could be given their inherent limitations. All outside world scribes had dabbled in alchemy for years, though they certainly could not be considered true alchemists. At that thought, Cedar shook her head wondering how many of her entrenched beliefs would be challenged before her outside world tenure ended.
So here she was, waiting on the porch of a traditional Santa Fe house — box-like with a flat roof and clay-coloured walls. She had knocked and, at the lack of response, sat to rest in a rocking chair near the door. Her walk from the temporary portal ground had taken half an hour in the bright sun and cool air. The atmosphere was pleasant, she thought as she rocked herself gently. A budding cottonwood tree proved a unique feature of the yard, which was artistically landscaped by someone who clearly appreciated attention to detail. Perhaps this new recruit would prove to be a viable scribe for more than only her skill with inks.
After twenty minutes or so, a striking woman appeared at the gate. She had olive skin and jet black hair, emphasized by a streak of white near her temple. She wore strands of turquoise beads, which hung from her neck across the front of a loose green cotton dress. She smiled, and Cedar blushed because the woman simply looked too beautiful in the late afternoon sun.
“Hello,” said the woman.
“Hello. I’m Cedar. Sorry if I startled you — a stranger in your garden.”
“Not at all. I’m Genevre.”
How strange, thought Cedar, that Genevre seemed completely at ease by her unexpected presence. Perhaps day-to-day life was calmer by nature in Santa Fe, undoubtedly more so than in other parts of the current world with its raging battles.
“Hello, Genevre. I’ve been sent to speak with you.”
“Sent?”
“Yes. By Elders of the . . . That is, by a group of . . . alchemists.”
“Alchemists!” Genevre laughed. “Well, how intriguing you have sought me out. It appears news of my eccentricities has spread. Are you an alchemist?”
Though an understanding of basic alchemical principles was a key characteristic the Council required of all outside world workers, the immediacy of Genevre’s question surprised her. Be completely upfront during your first meeting, Ailanthus had said during her preparation session. Doing so will allow you to evaluate responses and thus determine suitablility. If a potential outside world scribe appears to lack basic knowledge of alchemy, walk away. The candidate will gradually forget the encounter if never brought into Lapidarian proximity for training.
“Don’t worry,” Genevre assured her. “I’ve been longing to meet someone who shares my fascination.”
“Yes. I’m an alchemist. I’m known within our group as a Lapidarian Scribe.”
“What are your duties?”
“We’re trained to inscribe alchemical manuscripts with Lapidarian ink — that is, ink gleaned by Novillian Scribes from the Lapis.”
“The blue gemstone?”
“No. The Stone — the one you would likely call the Philosopher’s Stone.”
“You inscribe manuscripts with ink made from the Philosopher’s Stone? So you’re quite powerful within your group, no?”
“Relatively, I suppose. But the Elders — the alchemists who sent me to you — have even more experience and knowledge.”
“Why would the Elders be interested in me?”
“They believe you’ve shown alchemical potential — that you could help us as an outside world scribe.”
Genevre laughed. “My knowledge of alchemy is limited, though I’m reasonably well versed in the works collected by Ashmole in Theatrum Chemicum Britannicum. What I would give for a visit to the British Library to see an original alchemical manuscript!” She sighed and shrugged.
Cedar smiled then, imagining the expression Genevre would sport upon first crossing the threshold of Council dimension’s North Library.
“Of course, I wouldn’t want to be in Europe right now. I prefer to be ensconced in relative safety here. Granted, it’s rather backwoods — so to speak — in its distance even from major American cities. But I’ve always liked the idea of striking out on my own. Though I have to be honest and say that I wasn’t alone when I first arrived. I had a man with me — a lover — who has since departed. We weren’t married, understand. I trust you’re not offended.”
With each word Genevre uttered, Cedar became that much more enamoured with her, far more than she had been with Coll.
“No,” said Cedar. “Not at all.”
“So, are you here to convince me to use my knowledge of alchemy for the war effort?”
“Well . . . indirectly . . . I suppose.”
“In that case, will you come in and have a cup of tea? If nothing else, I am certainly patriotic and will agree to do my duty if at all possible. Women are underutilized if you ask me.”
“Right,” replied Cedar. Though not women on Council, she thought to herself.
Thus, Cedar found herself sitting across the table from Genevre. She would recall this meeting with fondness even decades later: Genevre smiling and chatting, radiant in the dust-filled streams of sunlight that soaked the room. She talked animatedly, pouring and refilling the tea over the first hour. By the second hour, Genevre had brought bread and cheese and figs to the table. Never did she react to Cedar’s explanation of herself or the Elders or the Council or even of Council dimension as if it were a shocking revelation. Such was the way with outside world scribes, Cedar assumed — so different from potential Initiates, whose alchemical ability was genetic but whose knowledge of outside world alchemy was minimal at best. What good would outside world scribes be if easily alarmed or unable to accept the possibility of a world beyond the one they already know? Genevre responded with notable enthusiasm on the occasions that Cedar would provide a particularly detailed description of Council dimension landscape.
“I would love to sit there,” she admitted after Cedar had described the Amber Garden.
“As would I,” responded Cedar. “I have spent only two days in Council dimension over the last several months. As pleasant as this visit with you has been so far, I long to go home now. I must say, though, that I find your property here is quite charming — exquisite really, especially considering the relatively barren landscape.”
“I will take that as a compliment.”
“My apologies if I’ve offended.”
“You made a geographical observation — hardly an offence. Tell me then, Cedar, how many . . . outside world people work for the Council? And what is it that you and the Council will be asking of me?”
“The Council employs dozens of outside world workers to assist with our alchemical duties and daily needs. For example, in each library the position of Keeper of the Book is held by someone who originally trained as an outside world scribe. We also employ cooks and gardeners and artisans and wardens. As payment, these workers receive all they need to live contentedly along with a supply of Lapidarian honey — honey produced by the bees of Council dimension and thus i
nfused with Quintessence. The honey improves their health and prolongs their lives. Of course, their bodies still age and deteriorate at a faster rate than do those of Council members. But a lifespan of more than two hundred years is certainly not unusual.”
“Are you offering me such a position — one that would extend my life?” asked Genevre.
“Yes. We have need of a new influx of outside world scribes. Initially, you would work with the Keeper of the Book in the Santa Fe protectorate library. Eventually, you would be brought to Council dimension for specialized training by Lapidarian and Novillian Scribes, likely including me. In general, you would be helping us to transcribe and protect certain manuscripts. If all progresses smoothly over the first few decades, and you wish to prolong your tenure with us, you could apply to train as a Keeper of the Book.”
“As interesting and flattering as this proposal appears, I must ask why you’ve chosen me. What distinguishes me from anyone else in Santa Fe?”
“Under normal circumstances, as is the practice with choosing new Initiates, potential outside world scribes are located by our Readers who interpret manuscripts. The process is lengthy and complicated and occasionally flawed.”
“Flawed?”
“There have been mistakes. Even I have arrived on occasion in the wrong place at the wrong time — finding no potential Initiate in sight.”
“How can you be certain that the Readers were correct about me? What if you are in the wrong place at the wrong time right now? What if I am not intended to be a scribe for the Alchemists’ Council after all?”
“The Readers were not solely responsible for finding you. The Council is currently operating under war measures — not because of the outside world war, but because of the internal problems that may well have led to the outside world conflicts. You were located by a combination of procedures undertaken by Readers and Keepers of the Book. I myself found a sign that led us to you while working with Keeper of the Book Jinjing in the Qingdao protectorate — in China. You were then approved for assessment by the Elders. One of my duties now is to evaluate your potential as we speak.”
“And what is your verdict?”
“So far, I approve,” announced Cedar. “But our conversation is far from over.”
Genevre nodded. “No, I suppose it’s only just begun. Where am I to work? Where is the protectorate library of Santa Fe?”
“Temporarily it’s housed in a small adobe structure near San Miguel Mission. We hope to move the manuscripts to a more spacious and less exposed permanent location as soon as possible. Apparently, a hotel will be constructed within the next decade that Council already has a hand in planning — a design that will include secreted rooms for protectorate purposes.”
“Move the manuscripts? So, will you need to assess my muscular strength and determine how many manuscripts I can comfortably carry?”
Cedar laughed. “I doubt the scribes will be required to do more than supervise such manual labour. Time will tell, of course. First we must succeed at our current undertaking — ending the wars both within and outside Council dimension and re-establishing balance of the outside world.”
“When do I begin?”
“I must consult with the Elders first. We’re meeting at the protectorate early tomorrow. If you’re successful, you will be required to dedicate your time to us, not to your current worldly work. You will be taken to the library and introduced to Gad, Keeper of the Book of the Santa Fe protectorate. You’ll then begin your training.”
They spoke for another hour before Cedar shook Genevre’s hand and walked back across the yard and down the street towards the protectorate portal. She was certain that she and Jinjing had correctly identified Genevre as an outside world scribe. Any lingering doubt she might have had was erased completely when they touched hands. If she had not known better, she would have assumed Genevre had been granted Elixir. Or perhaps she had ingested some Lapidarian honey at some point along her journey. After all, Council honey had made its way into the world on various occasions thanks to a few outside world beekeepers who housed Lapidarian bees for the Council and distributed — with or without permission — a jar or two of Lapidarian honey among family and friends as a curative for a flu or cold. Perhaps Genevre had once been cured by Council Quintessence without even knowing so. Perhaps as a child she had been fed, unwittingly, a spoonful or two of Lapidarian honey by her mother. Or perhaps, as Ruis was sure to suggest, Cedar had simply been enticed once again by the beauty and charm of an outside world scribe.
Flaw Dimension — Summer 1915
Within six months, and somewhat to her chagrin, Jinjing had in all but name become a spy for Dracaen. On each occasion that she returned to Flaw dimension for additional rebel training and strategizing, Dracaen inevitably drilled her for information — especially if she had spent more than a few days in Council dimension rather than in Qingdao. To Jinjing’s dismay, he never seemed completely satisfied with her answers. I am a Keeper of the Book, not an Elder, Jinjing reminded him repeatedly.
“What of the new outside world scribes?” he asked her earlier that day. “Do you see a future Keeper among them?”
“We have only two — Coll and Genevre — but I would be premature in assuming their future roles,” Jinjing responded.
“No particular news on one or the other?”
She would have assumed Dracaen’s question typical among his other inquiries had Kalina not also brought up the topic of the outside world scribes. They were seated in one of the cavernous archive rooms reading about cinnabar inks.
“What can you tell me of Genevre?” Kalina asked immediately after Jinjing had mentioned both her and Coll.
Jinjing tilted her head back and stared at the ceiling. She contemplated her next move. Clearly Genevre, not the two outside world scribes in general, was of interest to the rebels.
“Who is Genevre? Who is she to you?” she asked Kalina.
“My mother,” responded Kalina.
Jinjing firmly held her lips closed to prevent herself from expressing audible shock.
“Are you surprised?” asked Kalina.
“Only that . . . Only that you would entrust me with such . . . information,” said Jinjing.
“I consider myself an excellent judge of character,” Kalina assured her. “In fact, such intuitiveness is a trait of alchemical children, according to manuscript lore. But never having met another, I cannot know for certain.”
“Another what?”
“Alchemical child. As far as I know, I’m the only one to exist.”
Jinjing’s first instinct had been correct: Kalina truly was a mystical creature. The trembling she had felt months earlier when she first arrived in Flaw dimension returned with this new knowledge. Jinjing had never known such powerful alchemy to be possible. She had assumed, like everyone in Council dimension, that the homunculus was a figment of the rather vivid reimagining of alchemy by false practitioners — as far from true alchemy as outside world alchemists were from members of the Alchemists’ Council. Perhaps, as Dracaen was fond of explaining, the Rebel Branch truly did comprise alchemists with superior powers to those of the Council. Perhaps Flaw dimension libraries were indeed replete with even more ancient manuscripts than Council dimension and the protectorates combined. Perhaps the Flaw would one day consume the bulk of the Stone, would encroach on Council dimension itself.
When assigned to the North Library in Council dimension rather than the protectorate library of Qingdao, Jinjing had had numerous opportunities to observe Genevre working with Cedar. But she had not noticed anything amiss. Indeed, not until Kalina’s revelation did Jinjing even have reason to suspect Genevre was a rebel. Why had Cedar kept such an important detail from her?
“Does Cedar know of your connection with Genevre?”
“Cedar currently knows nothing about me. And what she knows of Genevre is minimal. Eventually, s
he’ll recognize that Genevre has rebel sympathies, but she certainly won’t suspect extensive rebel training. And she’d never fathom that Genevre and Dracaen had created an alchemical child together.”
Upon hearing this detail, Jinjing had maintained her composure for Kalina’s sake. But later, back in the Qingdao protectorate imagining Dracaen’s proposal, she recoiled at the prospect of Genevre being lured by the promise of an alchemical child. She should have had more fortitude. She should have refused Dracaen’s advances. Yes, Kalina was pleasant and, apparently, integral to the goal of mutual conjunction for all. But Jinjing nonetheless found the thought of mechanically engineering elements into human form ethically questionable. Was such a potent alchemical feat the ultimate manifestation of choice? Was Kalina the living embodiment of an end-game in a dimension literally built on free will? If so, perhaps Jinjing did not belong here after all.
These were the thoughts she fostered before becoming a hypocrite. These were thoughts Jinjing later attempted to banish when she learned the truth of Dracaen’s interest in her, on the day he proposed they become spouses in a chemical wedding.
Council Dimension — Fall 1915
In Santa Fe, talks continued regarding the art museum. Genevre could barely tolerate the conversations. But, of course, her friends and acquaintances — especially those whom she had not encountered for a while because of her Council work — continued to ask if Genevre had aspirations for a show herself. She would smile and laugh and claim she had not recently been inspired. When asked where she had been, she explained she had taken up work as an illustrator for government documents. Top secret, she would add. Given the news about the escalating war in Europe, responses would range from a raised eyebrow of doubt to wide-eyed shock. But no one asked for additional details or questioned her necessity to be unusually silent.
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