The Flaw in the Stone

by Cynthea Masson

  “Yes. She may well be aligned with the rebels. Granted, I may be wrong, but we currently cannot afford the risk. We must concentrate on resolving the fallout of the Third Rebellion. And we must do so without hindrance or distraction.”

  Cedar uncrossed her arms and placed her hands into the pockets of her robes. She stroked the coin that rested at the bottom of one. What if Genevre did know too much? Cedar could not afford exposure of her own rebel sympathies at this delicate time. Perhaps Ruis was right. Perhaps she should focus solely on her sacred duty, keep the vow she had taken years ago to maintain the elemental balance, help repair the world from its current state of devestation. Once Council had brought an end to the outside world war, Cedar could respond to Genevre’s proposal without divided loyalties or guilt.

  “Your suspicions would be better suited to a discussion with the Elders rather than with me, Ruis.”

  “With that I can concur.”

  “Be sure to present your case as tactfully as possible. Otherwise the Azoths may deem you delusional. Perhaps suggest that both outside world scribes are current impediments to Council work — that Lapidarian efforts would be better suited to manuscript revision than training, that the war could sooner be ended.”

  “Yes,” he nodded.

  Ruis left her then to seek out Ailanthus and the other Elders. Not until the following day did Cedar see him again and learn the repercussions were worse than she could have predicted. He had spoken with the Elders late into the night, and the Elders in turn convened an early morning meeting to discuss the matter among themselves. That afternoon they spoke with each of the Lapidarian Scribes, including Cedar, asking them a series of questions regarding both Coll and Genevre. By the early evening, Azoth Magen Ailanthus called a special meeting wherein he asked all Elders and Lapidarian Scribes to vote on whether the two recent recruits should be excised from Council and its protectorates until after the war. Eighteen of twenty voted in favour of excision. Only Saule and Ravenea voiced their dissent.

  Santa Fe — Winter 1918

  How could Cedar have known the war would continue for another two years? She had thought continually about Genevre during her absence and sought her out the moment Ailanthus granted permission. Now she and Genevre stood together at the edge of a field. At Genevre’s insistence, they had ventured here through a temporary portal. As they had done at their first three war-torn destinations that day, they surveyed the devastation for as long as they could bear before returning once again to the portal chamber in Council dimension. Finally, they returned together to Santa Fe.

  “What have they done?” Genevre asked. “What has the Council done? How can you remain—”

  “The Council is not solely responsible,” Cedar replied.

  “Is it not the Council’s sworn responsibility to ensure the stability of the outside world?”

  “Yes. But even alchemists are vulnerable to failure. For the past few years, we have been failing. The Flaw in the Stone was erased. The Council became focused on its salvation. The people of the outside world were left to make their own decisions, heedless to consequences. Ever since, we have been working to re-establish balance.” Cedar paused before adding, “Do not insist that I explain what you already know, Genevre. I weary of it. I am weary of it all.”

  “Yes, you and others have explained it to me. The logic made sense, once upon a time. When you first approached me, I was optimistic about my future with the Council. I longed to participate in something that mattered. Three years have passed since then. Now that I have seen the repercussions of those years, your explanations — the philosophy, the politics, the protocols — appear to me as perpetual excuses for incompetence.”

  “Incompetence! Genevre! The Alchemists’ Council most certainly has its faults. But incompetence is not one of them. I would be among the first to admit our mistakes — the removal of the Flaw in the first place being an unassailable misstep. Within a few months of working together, I had shared with you my perspective on the Flaw. You have thus known all along where my sympathies lie.”

  “Yet here I am, having been promised an extended life only to be exiled to the outside world. If I agree to return to Council work, what will I gain as the years of my protracted life continue to pass? Am I to witness more harm? Am I to endure more pain?”

  “I have allies, Genevre. I am working to increase the Flaw in the Stone so that its eradication will never occur again. As the years progress, we will find solutions together.”

  “Allies? On the Council? What good will a few allies do amidst the dozens who worked to eradicate the Flaw in the first place? Perfection has been achieved and lost, the outside world flounders, and now you expect Council to abandon all hope of achieving the One? You can see the irony, the hypocrisy, can you not, Cedar? Council members cannot agree with each other on how to solve the world’s problems because they once again have the freedom to make individual choices. Disagreement is an exercise in choice. Perhaps your beloved Ruis is correct in his desires. Perhaps the best option would be to remove the Flaw once again — this time permanently, this time without rebel interference.”

  Cedar stood silently beside her. Cedar wanted to reach out to her, hold her hand, comfort her, but she knew better than to think Genevre would welcome her affections under the current circumstances.

  “Let us go inside, Genevre.”

  “Why? So you can lure me back with flattery and false promises?”

  “Genevre—”

  “You abandoned me, Cedar! With no explanation other than what Ruis offered, I was excised from Council dimension. How could you have left me to flounder alone in the outside world after being my mentor and teacher for a year? How could you have sided with the Elders when the Council tossed me aside like a broken alembic? Can you even begin to understand the emotional trauma your decision caused me?”

  “I’m sorry you were hurt. But you’re skewing the course of events, Genevre.”

  “How can you, as a Scribe of the Council, claim that I am skewing the course of events? I would not have thought you a hypocrite, Cedar.”

  “I have a job, Genevre! The Azoths proclaimed that your work with the Council had temporarily ended. The outside world war had become too grievous to require the assistance of outside world scribes! What did you expect me to do?”

  “Too grievous to require? Admit the truth, Cedar! The Council could not trust outside world scribes at the height of the outside world war! But I expected you to trust me. I expected you to convince the Azoths of my indispensable value!”

  “You were new, Genevre. You still required training, and no time for training remained. The war had gone on too long. The Azoths would not have listened to me! They had other duties for me to fulfill. Between my work and Ruis—”

  “Duties? Work? Ruis? Excuses, Cedar! You went from spending hours per day with me for months on end to having no contact at all! You could at least have visited me. Clearly, you didn’t want to see me. You purposely chose not to see me. Just admit that! Just be honest: my proposal scared you!”

  “What did you expect? I wasn’t about to toss away my security for your fantasy! And Ruis isn’t an excuse, Genevre. I loved him — I still love him — and my love for him always brings me back to my bond with him. As much as I admired you, you and I didn’t share the strength of the bond I shared with Ruis. He wanted you . . . gone. He thought we were spending too much time together. I know hearing that must be hard—”

  “Yes, it is hard. Here you are, having reappeared after two years? And for what? What does the Council want of me? What does Ruis want of you?”

  “The Council wants nothing from you. And Ruis is not a factor. I want . . . you.”

  Watching her carefully, Cedar could tell Genevre had let down her guard, even if only for one barely perceivable moment.

  “Two years ago . . . before you left,” Cedar continued. “I wasn’t in a p
osition to agree to your . . . proposal. It did scare me. Of course it scared me.”

  Genevre placed a hand against the wall beside her, as if to brace for impact.

  “I still have the coin,” said Cedar. She held out the small, bee-embossed copper coin, which Genevre snatched from Cedar’s hand immediately.

  “How can you have kept this from me? You should have found a way to return it long before now. I feared it was lost to me — forever! I feared you were lost to me forever.”

  Cedar watched Genevre struggle not to cry as she placed the coin in a small wooden box on a nearby shelf.

  “Genevre, I cherished the coin. As I cherished you. I simply wasn’t . . . ready.”

  “What are you saying, Cedar? Are you here to accept my proposal?”

  “Yes.”

  Genevre scoffed. “Why should I believe you? What’s to keep you from abandoning me again, from abandoning our alchemical child?”

  “I’ve changed. The Council has changed me. The outside world war has changed me. I’ve come to recognize, as you yourself suggested today, that a few Council allies will not be enough. I said as much to another outside world scribe years ago, but now I truly understand. An unorthodox solution is required for a fundamental change.” Cedar paused before adding, “And I spoke with Saule.”

  Genevre became noticeably more interested in Cedar’s explanation. “Saule?”

  “She’s agreed to help us. The devastation caused by the outside world war—”

  “Caused by the Council,” Genevre interrupted.

  “Exacerbated by the Council,” Cedar allowed, “led Saule to seek me out. She’s known for years that I held rebel sympathies. We finally spoke of our respective roles in restoring the Flaw in the Stone. She told me she met with you during the Vulknut Eclipse. She told me she entered Flaw dimension with you. As you can imagine, these revelations came as a shock to me. But then she told me something else — something that changed the entire scenario.” Cedar scrutinized Genevre’s reaction in that moment, wondering how many details of her past Genevre had neglected to share.

  “If I kept something from you, it was not out of selfishness but concern for your safety and for the good of the future bonds between rebels and alchemists. Cedar, you were well on your way to becoming an Elder at the time of my original proposal. The less you knew about my history at that time, the better. Your pendant was not immune to Azothian readings, after all. And the Council was still on the hunt for rebel sympathizers in the aftermath of the Third Rebellion.”

  “True. But had you chosen to trust me with this particular detail, if you had offered the truth to me along with the coin, I may well have conceded, may well have found the courage to speak up for you at Elder Council. Now two more years have passed us by. As have millions of lives.”

  “Do you dare to blame me?”

  “Of course not. I didn’t mean—”

  “What detail? What could I have revealed to you back then that would have made all the difference?”

  “That you’d already successfully conceived an alchemical child with Dracaen.”

  Genevre stared, her cheeks suddenly flushed. “Do you honestly expect that I would risk my child’s life by revealing her identity to a Council Scribe?”

  “Of course not. Even now I’m not asking you to reveal her identity. But you could have told me she existed; you could have asked Dracaen to help us. If the Rebel High Azoth had—”

  “No! I couldn’t have asked Dracaen. After the Flaw was restored, I left both Dracaen and my child in Flaw dimension to pursue a life with the Council. I couldn’t simply leave Council dimension to go on excursions to visit them! Besides, the child I yearned to conceive with you was to be ours alone, Cedar. Dracaen couldn’t know. Just as you couldn’t know about my child with him. No alchemical child can be fully revealed until the necessity for revelation outweighs the risk of exposure. If we’re to proceed, I need to know you understand and accept that necessity — I need your sacred vow.”

  Cedar lowered her eyes, contemplating the situation. The child I yearned to conceive with you was to be ours alone. Cedar longed only to embrace Genevre. Instead, she pulled her pendant from beneath her robes and held it against her heart. She moved closer to Genevre, placing a hand on her cheek and locking eyes. “I swear to you, Genevre, I understand the necessity of concealing the alchemical child. You have my vow.”

  Genevre reached for Cedar’s hand and kissed it once. Cedar brushed her fingers over Genevre’s lips before letting her hand drop away.

  “Why did you choose me?” Cedar asked.

  “It’s complicated.”

  “I assumed as much. But I want to understand the complications.”

  “I couldn’t ask Dracaen. He would have wanted to keep the child for himself — raise our second child as a rebel like he did with the first. My child with Dracaen belongs in Flaw dimension as a member of the Rebel Branch. My child with you would belong in Council dimension, would become a member of the Alchemists’ Council.”

  “I am not the only alchemist you could have asked, Genevre. Saule already knows of your first child. Why did you not ask her?”

  “Saule is . . . alchemically unsuited to me — her elemental essence is too . . . similar to mine. Chances of conception and survival will be far greater if the child is conceived with you; our essences together can work as conjoined opposites. Besides, we need Saule as an ally. We can work together — you, Saule, and I — to create this child.”

  “Yes, togther in Council dimension. You must return there with me. I’ve managed to convince the Elders that I need your assistance. Of course, they assumed I meant for illuminating manuscripts, not for generating a homunculus.”

  Genevre turned away to reach for the wooden box on the shelf; she removed the coin and then stood before Cedar. She knelt on the ground like a man of the outside world proposing to his beloved.

  “Cedar, Lapidarian Scribe of the Alchemists’ Council — I, Genevre, outside world scribe, request your hand in a chemical marriage with this coin acquired from the braiding gown of my first child. I propose to you a ritual bonding. I propose to you a conjunction of opposites to be bound together for the purpose of creating an alchemical child together — a child who can help to save the worlds. Do you accept my proposal?”

  “I do.”

  Council Dimension — Winter 1918

  Saule was the one to first suggest the catacombs. Cedar balked at the idea. Provided the ritual conception took hold, the incubation could take weeks. The more time that passed, the more likely an alchemist would require revitalization in the catacomb alembics. They could not risk being discovered; if caught, both Saule and Cedar would surely be erased, and Genevre banished permanently to the outside world.

  “The water of the catacomb alembics is substantially more powerful than the channel waters elsewhere in Council dimension,” said Saule. “The incubation would likely progress more quickly than in Flaw dimension, at least as it is described in the Rakta Pathara Codex.”

  The Rakta Pathara Codex was a two-volume Draconian manuscript Genevre claimed to have surreptitiously borrowed years earlier from a rebel stronghold in Santa Fe. When Cedar had asked how she had accomplished such a feat, Genevre had suggested she not pose such questions. The less you know, the less the Elders will be able to read in your pendant. Not until then did Cedar recognize the full extent to which she was engaged in breaking Law Codes throughout the dimensions.

  “Genevre and I will request permission to work for a week in the Sante Fe protectorate,” continued Saule. “When we are ready, I will go to Ailanthus, explain that I have returned from Santa Fe . . . infected by a manuscript fungus and need to be immersed or, even better, quarantined in a catacomb alembic for a least five weeks. We will then work in the catacombs assembling equipment and ingredients. You will join us whenever possible, Cedar. And you will warn us if any
one from Council is scheduled for catacomb healing.”

  “A manuscript fungus?” Cedar repeated, skeptical. “What is—”

  “The Azoth Magen will not want to risk infecting other Council members. And even if he does not believe me — even if he suspects that I merely need a break from my duties in the aftermath of the war — he will be too busy attempting to repair the world to bother arguing with me.”

  Thus, they gradually implemented their plan. Day by day, object by object, word by word, they moved together closer to conducting the ritual itself. When the hour of the ceremony arrived, Cedar stood quietly by Genevre’s side listening to Saule recite the relevant passages from the Rakta Pathara, participating, as necessary, with words and gestures at appointed intervals. The words of transmutation were read by Genevre from a transcription she had made years earlier from another rebel manuscript. When she need not participate directly, Cedar contemplated the significance of the agreement she had undertaken with Genevre. Together they were attempting to create the alchemical child who, alongside its sibling, held the potential to end the conflict that began with the Crystalline Wars, who could finally bring unity to the rebels and alchemists. If they succeeded, Cedar would be honoured throughout the generations. Wouldn’t anyone find such a role appealing? Wouldn’t anyone have agreed to Genevre’s proposal under these circumstances?

  Genevre was the one to smash the vessel and thereby implant the seed. Saule had explained that only someone from the outside world could do so. Are you certain? Cedar had asked. We are certain, both Genevre and Saule replied simultaneously. They also explained that Cedar would have to refrain from visiting the catacombs during the incubation period. According to Saule, a passage of the Rakta Pathara indicated that only the chemical spouse who had smashed the vessel could witness the incubation and birth. Cedar would be called upon after the birth for the naming. Are you certain? Cedar had asked again. Yes. Disregarding the ritual instructions could have dire consequences, Saule had explained.