Cedar should not have given into temptation. She should have listened to Saule. She should have believed Genevre. But she thought she knew better. She thought she too deserved to bear witness. Two weeks into the incubation, when she knew Council members and outside world scribes, including Genevre, had retired to their chambers for the night, Cedar walked through the shadows over the grounds to the catacombs. Just inside the entrance way, she removed her pendant and hid it temporarily in a small crevice. She was not concerned about an Elder reading it — Saule had temporarily altered its elemental vibration to distort accidental revelation of the marriage and conception. She did, however, want to ensure Saule could not sense her presence through pendant proximity. She progressed quickly but quietly until she reached the entranceway to the incubation alembic. Then she watched, smiling with satisfaction when she finally realized Saule had immersed herself in another alembic for the night. Cedar had nothing to fear, or so she believed, as she made her way to the side of the incubation alembic and peered through its transparent walls.
What she witnessed was something more beautiful than she had ever seen in Council dimension, more beautiful to Cedar in that moment than the Lapis itself. It glowed like a star in the sky, changing colours through the spectrum, a rainbow of crystalline structures, sparkling in the alembic light. She watched her future child late into the night, leaving only when she saw the lights in Saule’s alembic begin to flicker. She worried momentarily that Saule may struggle to emerge without assistance from the alembic, but she then remembered that the immersion was only for rejuvenation rather than healing. Saule would be fine. As would the child — clearly Saule’s caution regarding her interpretation of the Rakta Pathara had been unfounded.
Three weeks later, at a similarly late hour, Saule woke Cedar from her slumbers.
“Come with me to the catacombs,” she whispered.
They did not speak on the journey through residence chambers, the courtyard, or even Council grounds. They could not risk being overheard. But Cedar became irritated when Saule refused to answer her questions as they progressed through the catacombs themselves.
“Please wait, Cedar. Genevre will explain.”
She waited. Step by step, her concern grew. If all was well, would Saule have not told her? Would she not have announced, back at Cedar’s chambers, Your child has been born? When they finally arrived, Cedar was overjoyed. She could see that Genevre held a child in her arms — a girl with golden hair, bright like that of Sadira. Surely Saule and Genevre must be pleased as well. But as she reached Genevre’s side, she saw the tears. Genevre was crying, not in joy as Cedar would have expected. Instead, she looked grief-stricken. She moved her arms so that Cedar could see her daughter’s face, exquisite in its silent fragility. Motionless. Stillborn. Cedar fell to her knees and wept.
If only pride had not turned her from protocol. If only she could rescind her mistake.
Santa Fe — Winter 1918
“Cedar blames herself,” Genevre said to Saule. “We must tell her the truth. We should have told her the truth from the beginning. She trusted us, and we have used her. She doesn’t deserve to be treated this way. No one does.”
“We made a decision, Genevre. We did what was necessary under the circumstances. Within the century, Cedar will understand as much. She is also working towards eventual change for all.”
“And for now?”
“Within the decade, she will of necessity no longer dwell on the past but look towards the future. When the plan has been fulfilled, Cedar will learn the truth, she will understand, and she will forgive us our transgressions.”
“Cedar believes she did something wrong. She believes herself responsible for the death of our daughter. Our lie to her is much worse than her abandonment of me. She will suffer for months, years, decades.”
“As must we all at some point,” replied Saule. “As did you, years ago when you left Kalina behind. You did so out of necessity, Genevre. As you must do now.” Hearing no response from Genevre, Saule gently added, “The time has come. Bring the child to me. We must leave you tonight.”
Genevre shook her head. She had dreaded this moment. Yet she knew Saule was right. She knew the child must be taken somewhere never to be found by either rebel or alchemist. Not even Genevre could be told where Saule planned to seek safe haven — not until enough time had passed for Saule to ascertain whether the arrangement was indeed safe and secure.
“Just a few more hours.”
“No, Genevre. Fetch the child,” said Saule.
Genevre moved slowly to the bedroom and gathered the small body into her arms. She returned to the main room, sombre but steadfast. For the plan, she said to herself.
“Wake up, my dear,” Saule said to the child, stroking his jet-black hair. “We must walk. I cannot carry you.”
The boy blinked. He moved from Genevre’s arms to stand facing Saule.
“Bid farewell to your mother,” Saule advised him.
The boy did not look at Genevre. Instead, he moved towards the door and stood facing it, not looking back. Saule took his hand, opened the door, nodded to Genevre, and progressed down the walkway. Genevre stood in the doorway watching, tears burning in her eyes. Doubt coursed through her. She wanted to run to them, grab her child, take him to Cedar, and plead her forgiveness. He’s our son, she longed to tell her. Our son. His alchemical twin died, but he survived. But the moment passed as if in a dream. Saule and the child had already reached the gate.
As Saule unhooked the latch, the boy turned around and extended his tiny hand to Genevre. Genevre did the same in return, waving goodbye. He looked so innocent. Yet one day he would cross this threshold again as the skilled alchemist she intended him to be.
VII
Qingdao — Winter 1939
In the decades since Saule had arrived on their doorstep with Genevre’s black-haired child — Payam — Ilex and Melia had kept in regular, if infrequent, communication with her. Genevre, on the other hand, had refused direct contact with her parents or child, unwilling to risk that someone — Cedar or Dracaen, in particular — was watching her interactions too carefully, would notice the child, and intuit the truth. Genevre wanted her son to live in the outside world — just as she and Kalina had done in their youth — free for a few decades from both Council and Rebel Branch influences. Under the circumstances, who better to raise Payam than the alchemists whose conjoined bloodline made his conception possible? Melia had initially protested her decision, insisting that Genevre get to know Payam. Her pleas for a bond between mother and son were especially strident after hearing that Genevre would be working primarily in the Santa Fe protectorate. But when Ilex learned of Genevre’s intention — to work at the Santa Fe rebel stronghold helping train Kalina for Council infiltration — he convinced Melia to respect Genevre’s decision regarding Payam. In addition to keeping their grandson from prying eyes and interference, Ilex himself loathed the idea of becoming entangled with rebel politics yet again.
Ilex and Melia sent regular updates about Payam to their daughter with Saule as intermediary. Every few months, as she had always done since Ilex and Melia had departed Council dimension, Saule would find an excuse to visit an outside world protectorate library and, in the process, meet with her beloved friends. Along with a renewed supply of Lapidarian honey, she would bring news of Genevre. Saule would spend a few hours with Ilex, Melia, and Payam, learning all she could of the child’s progress to report back to Genevre at the next opportunity. Occasionally, if she sensed someone growing suspicious of her frequent visits to Santa Fe, Saule would temporarily relocate Ilex, Melia, and Payam through a series of protectorate portal stations. A few years ago, they had spent a pleasant six months in Istanbul. Today, they sipped jasmine tea from small, elaborately patterned cups in the upper room of a residence near the Qingdao protectorate. This rather conspicuous location made Melia nervous, but she had trusted Saule for years
and saw no need to question her choice now.
“Any news of Genevre and Kalina?” asked Melia. Having recently witnessed a growth spurt in Payam, she could not help but wonder about the progress of Genevre’s other alchemical child.
“What a timely question,” responded Saule.
“Has something happened?”
“Yes. Genevre has finally told Kalina about her brother.”
Ilex leapt forward, transforming Melia’s features abruptly to his own before Melia was able to prevent him. “Kalina resides with Dracaen! What was Genevre thinking?”
“She decided that the looming outside world turbulence predicted in various Council and Rebel Branch manuscripts required an adjustment to the plan,” said Saule.
“How did Kalina take the news?” asked Melia, temporarily regaining control of their body from Ilex. His focus on politics could wait. In this moment, emotions were paramount. After all, Payam too would be affected by this connection someday.
“Apparently in stride.” Saule smiled and shook her head. “The news of Payam triggered curiosity rather than shock. She asked why Genevre had waited so long to tell her. However, given her own experiences with being secreted away, Kalina didn’t take long to accept Genevre’s explanation and request an opportunity to meet with him.”
“No!” cried Ilex.
“Yes, Ilex. Though physically he still appears to be a child, Payam will soon be twenty-one. You and Melia have kept him safe for more than two decades. The time has come for an initiation of sorts: he must meet both his mother and sister. Genevre plans to visit within the week. Then, the following week, she will introduce him to Kalina.”
“A reunion with Genevre I understand and encourage. But what is to stop Kalina from informing Dracaen immediately? She has remained faithful to her father and the ideals of the Rebel Branch since the Third Rebellion!”
“Yes, Kalina remains loyal to the rebel ideals. As do I,” replied Saule. “But she has recently learned something about Dracaen that has resulted in a shift of allegiance.”
“Explain,” requested Melia, struggling with Ilex for dominance.
“Kalina believes Dracaen intends to create another alchemical child.”
Suddenly incensed, Melia asked whether Dracaen had forced his will upon Genevre.
“No! Of course not. Dracaen is High Azoth of the Rebel Branch. He cannot force his will upon anyone within Flaw dimension,” replied Saule firmly. “But he has, apparently . . .” Her voice trailed off, as if she was not sure what words to use.
“He has what? Saule! I hardly think this is a time to censor yourself!”
“Years ago, and years after failing to convince Genevre to join him in creating another child, Dracaen convinced someone else to enter a chemical marriage with him.”
“What! Did the marriage result in an alchemical child?” enquired Melia.
“No. Children were conceived, but they did not survive,” explained Saule.
“Is Kalina certain? Perhaps one did survive only to be hidden from view.”
“Dracaen seeks a sibling for Kalina. If one had survived, Dracaen would certainly have informed Kalina.”
Melia, suddenly concerned for Payam, stood up and moved quickly to the window. But he appeared fine at the moment, batting small stones down the deserted road with a stick. No one else was in sight. Unbidden, her concern regarding their proximity to the protectorate resurfaced.
“Who was she — Dracaen’s chemical spouse after Genevre?”
“Jinjing, Keeper of the Book of the Qingdao protectorate.”
The puzzle pieces were beginning to fall into place. “Is that the reason you have housed us here? Are Ilex and I to consult with Jinjing?”
“After failing to produce a child with Jinjing, Dracaen left well enough alone for many years. But Azoth Fraxinus, out of respect for Genevre, has recently brought his concerns to Kalina. He reports that Dracaen has recently renewed his efforts to perfect the formula for a higher purpose. A sibling is no longer enough. Fraxinus believes Dracaen’s goal is to strengthen the power of the Rebel Branch with several alchemical children.”
Melia felt Ilex physically protest.
“Genevre and Kalina have developed a plan,” continued Saule. “Kalina will soon propose that plan to Jinjing. I have been sent to propose the same plan to you. If all goes well, together we will form a coalition: you two, Genevre, Kalina, Jinjing, and me.”
“To what end?”
“Revolution.”
Though Jinjing worked primarily in the Qingdao protectorate and Genevre primarily in the Santa Fe protectorate, their paths occasionally crossed when reassigned temporarily to the North Library. On each such occasion, Jinjing would observe Genevre closely and ponder yet again how many times she had submitted to Dracaen’s demands, how many times she had endured the ritual and its agonizing results before their success with Kalina. She longed to admit to Genevre that she sympathized with her plight, to confess that her treatment by Dracaen still haunted her. But no practical opportunity arose.
On lonely nights during assignment in Qingdao, Jinjing contemplated Kalina herself, repenting that she had ever thought her otherworldly and, therefore, had considered her somehow unworthy of her full trust. Kalina had survived impossible odds. She existed. She was no more human or inhuman than any alchemist in Council or Flaw dimensions. Jinjing’s newly amended view of Kalina was put to the test on the morning she opened the door of the Qingdao protectorate to find Kalina on its threshold. Years had passed since they last had met. Yet, unlike Jinjing and Genevre, Kalina showed no physical signs of aging. Such was the fortune of being an alchemical child, Jinjing surmised.
“The outside world is about to plummet into chaos again,” said Kalina. She remained outside, glancing around as if afraid of being seen.
“So I understand,” responded Jinjing.
“Nothing has changed in that regard. Neither the Alchemists’ Council nor the Rebel Branch has managed to halt the outside world degradation. An intervention is required.”
Nothing appeared to have changed, thought Jinjing, but clearly something had. Otherwise, Kalina would not have taken the risk of entering a Council protectorate unaccompanied. Jinjing ushered Kalina inside and down the hallway into the small kitchen. She could not take her into the main manuscript room. Though unlikely given the war, the possibility remained that Obeche might arrive with a Council update.
“You mentioned an intervention,” prompted Jinjing, gesturing for Kalina to sit.
“Years ago, Dracaen told me you had abandoned your training with us, that you forsook the rebels. I believed him. But recently Azoth Fraxinus told me the truth: Dracaen was the one to have abandoned you.”
Jinjing stood still, both fearful and hopeful. She had always admired Kalina’s forthrightness, but she had not expected this revelation.
“Individual choice is an admirable ideal,” continued Kalina, “until it imposes itself on the choices of others. What Dracaen did to you was reprehensible. Fraxinus believes he has begun trying again. But more worrisome, if he were to succeed, his desire could never be satiated. Theoretically, he could create hundreds — thousands — of alchemical children. He would then be more than the High Azoth. He would be the commander of a virtual army of alchemical children bred to overtake the Council. He must be stopped.”
Jinjing sat on a bench across the table from Kalina. “How?” she asked.
“We must convince Dracaen we are following his plan, that we believe he aims to benefit all through the promotion of free will and mutual conjunction. We must act as though we are ignorant of his desire to create alchemical children. Meanwhile, we must strategize and develop an alternate plan to ensure liberation of all.”
Though Jinjing appreciated Kalina’s sentiments, she could not see a means to change the situation. “What do you propose, Kalina? That you and I overthro
w the High Azoth of the Rebel Branch?” Jinjing laughed, but Kalina merely frowned.
“No. I propose that you and I, along with Ilex, Melia, Saule, and Genevre work together with my brother to overthrow certain influential individuals on both the Alchemists’ Council and the Rebel Branch.”
“Your brother? You said Dracaen had not succeeded.”
“No, he hasn’t. But Genevre has. With Cedar. For now, he is called Payam. One day, he will be granted a tree name.”
“Payam,” repeated Jinjing softly.
“When I confided in Genevre regarding Dracaen, she confided in me regarding Cedar. I have not yet met him — Payam. And Cedar doesn’t know.”
“Cedar doesn’t know? About her own child?”
“Saule took him shortly after he emerged to be raised in protection with Ilex and Melia.”
“How can Saule condone concealing a child from its own mother?”
“Jinjing, be reasonable! Genevre and Saule have had to make difficult choices in difficult times! For better or worse, Payam required protection from warring factions. Who better to protect him under these circumstances than Ilex and Melia? The Council gave up searching for them a century ago, and Dracaen already took what he needed from them. As to Cedar, Saule requires a rebel sympathizer on the Alchemists’ Council who can assist her when necessary without the risk of exposing us or the child when her pendant and thoughts are read by an especially astute Elder. Cedar will be reunited with Payam in due time.”
“And what role will your alchemical brother play among these factions?”
“When he has matured, he will join the Alchemists’ Council. Then, together, we can work to unite the dimensions. As has been prophesied for years, I will mutually conjoin with an alchemist. If all goes as planned, my brother will mutually conjoin with a rebel. Thereafter, out of necessity, rebels and alchemists will begin to work together to repair the world. Granted, an alchemical child can take between five and ten decades to fully mature, and Payam has passed only two. But in less than a century, both he and I will be fully ensconced in Council dimension, primed to initiate the revolution.”
The Flaw in the Stone Page 23