The Alchemists’ Pendants


The pendant featured above was given to me a few weeks ago by Cheryl Morrison, an avid Alchemists’ Council¬†reader. She commissioned an artist to design this piece: a tree in the Amber Garden growing out of the Lapis. I gasped when I saw it and thanked her profusely. It truly epitomizes the spirit of the book. The Lapis therein even houses a flaw. Watching the light glisten through the amber, I stood astonished.


According to Cheryl, the artist who made this gift not only listened to Cheryl’s description of the Amber Garden, but she later read the book herself while designing the pendant. She also read through this blog, including the post I wrote almost a year ago on the significance of amber.

If you would like to explore more of Hailey Sacree’s stunning pendant art, visit her Etsy shop or Facebook page for WOUND TO EARTH.

woundtoearthlogoCouncil Initiates may begin seeking their pendants here rather than making the journey to Santa Fe.



Since writing the earliest notes that would eventually transform into Book One, I envisioned alchemists wearing pendants. In 2009, just as Jaden does near the end of Chapter Two, I purchased a pendant from a woman named Florence in Santa Fe. This exquisite piece of “blue turquoise flecked with black” inspired more than only a geographically specific scene. Thanks to this pendant, inspiration for specific Council pendants began. An alchemist’s pendant holds not only a fragment of the Lapis, but the accumulated power of the alchemist, without which one’s bond to the Council ends.


I have written every passage of Books One and Two wearing the same pendant — one of elaborate silver repouss√© wrapped around a green stone. Feeling its weight around my neck immediately transports me into the books’ multiple dimensions, into a state of mind conducive to writing. As a gift for my editor after we completed Book One, I chose an amethyst pendant. The stone is set back into the silver and boasts a streak of rebel red.


pendant-ssThe silver and stone pendants worn by the alchemists may eventually outshine even the official Council logo as an overarching symbol of The Alchemists’ Council. If you are a potential Council or Rebel Branch Initiate, don’t worry — you will inevitably recognize your pendant when you cross its path.

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The Amber Garden

My mother died of pancreatic cancer in 2014. On one of my final visits with her, she told me that in her youth she had dreamed of becoming an artist. Her sister had followed that path, but my mother had not. She had let go of her dream until, a few years before her death, she began to paint for the first time since her childhood. She painted through the pain of both her physical and mental illnesses. The picture featured here is my most cherished of all her works. I have dubbed it The Amber Tree:


My favourite passage in The Alchemists’ Council–the final paragraph of Chapter Six–centres on Jaden’s revelation about amber. The scene takes place in the Amber Garden, the most tranquil and exquisite of all the landscapes within Council dimension. The garden is filled with “resin-imbued trees” that transform into a “glistening spectacle” in the evening light (xi; 321). The Amber Garden is also a place of mourning for the alchemists, a place where they openly shed their tears.

The connection between tears and amber is as ancient as Council dimension. In one Greek myth, for example, “Phaeton’s sisters, the Heliades, lament his fate and are turned into poplar trees on the banks of the river, and their tears turn into amber” (Mythography). This and other amber-related myths can be read via the Amber Museum.


At my mothers memorial, many of her friends laid roses on her urn. She loved yellow roses in particular. Instead of rose petals, I sprinkled small beads of amber to represent my tears. She would have appreciated their connection both to her painting and to my writing.

Mom's Urn 2

My mother could not have known at the time of its creation what her Amber Tree painting would mean to me now. She died two months after I signed the contract for the book and two years before the book was published. But she knew that I had written it, and she knew it would be published. I explained the synopsis and told her that I would always think of her tree as one of the trees in the Amber Garden. Though precious to me, I did not keep the painting. I gave it to the only other person I knew would understand it and treasure it as much as I do: my editor.

I cried today. And consequently I made a decision based on the Amber Garden scene. Each time I am hurt by someone’s words, I will move an amber bead from the butterfly pouch (another symbolic gesture to my mother) to a glass jar. Today’s tears are represented by the first amber bead placed therein. As the years pass, the jar will fill. But perhaps, as in The Alchemists’ Council, these amber tears will one day be alchemically transformed into an exquisitely beautiful creation. Long live the Quintessence.


Cynthea and Book Covers 2From the HOME/BLOG page scroll upward to access MENU items (including BOOK REVIEWS) or downward to read the latest BLOG posts. Scroll to the bottom of the HOME/BLOG page to access the OLDER POSTS, ARCHIVES, and SEARCH.