“Who else could I be?” she asked, stepping up to Cha Ming. She looked him up and down, and as she did so, he looked back. What he saw was difficult to describe. One moment, she was four feet tall, and the next, she towered over him. She was infinitely large and infinitely small. “This is my world, human. This is my tree. This is my road, which travels across the cosmos. Some call me Gazer, and others Builder. Others call me Warrior. I am King and Queen and Sage and Scholar. My children call me the Star-Eye Ancestor.”
“Can I presume to call you Star-Eye Ancestor?” Cha Ming said. “I am not your child, but I am taking your trial.”
“If that is what you wish,” she said. “I was prepared to beat you and send you back to where you came from, but since you’re so much more respectful than your teacher, I’ll give you a shot. You and your stupid cheat of a brother, of course.”
Cha Ming relaxed at the mention of Huxian, whom he’d lost contact with.
“I was told I would be taking a king’s trial,” Cha Ming said. “I know nothing else.”
“Queen’s trial, dear,” she said. “Do I look like a king?”
“I suppose you don’t,” Cha Ming said uncomfortably. “My teacher may have said such a thing. Please forgive him.”
“Never,” she replied. She looked around. Her eyes brightened when she saw what she was looking for. A groove in a root shaped like a bench. She lounged on it and continued speaking. “I don’t think you’ll last very long, to be honest, so forgive me for taking this less than seriously. The Queen’s Trial is simple: You must pass three sub-trials. The Trial of Vision, the Trial of Wisdom, and the Trial of Will. Should you succeed, you will personalize that ugly crown you’ve been given and keep it as your own. Should you fail, you’ll be sent back without one. Your teacher will have a hell of a time making one again in the foreseeable future. And as for the war? Good luck getting out before then. Few succeed in their trial, let alone on such an ambitious timeline.”
“This trial is the Trial of Vision?” Cha Ming asked, looking at the roots. “It’s already started, hasn’t it?”
The Star-Eye Ancestor smiled. “Make your way past the roots to gain entry to the trunk. A reward awaits you at the exit.” She winked and disappeared. Oh, and since you weren’t rude like your teacher, I’ll give you a hint:
A man had eyes, but he could not see.
He lived in a house, but how happy could he be?
He wanted a road that he could not find.
He yearned for a love that he’d left behind.
To find a path, he lost his sight.
He closed his eyes and found the light.
He cannot see her, but now he sings.
He weaves her rainbows with colored strings.
Her voice faded, and Cha Ming was left to ponder her words. He looked ahead and saw the entrance to the maze. When he walked inside, his eyes failed him. All around him, everything looked the same.
There were walls of wood in every direction, and his eyes revealed nothing. Wherever he looked, he saw a piece of something massive, something impossible to make out. The truth of it overwhelmed his vision to the point that he had to close his eyes. As for karma… what karma? Would it show him a path through the maze? This was one entity—a pattern of vines that no one could understand.
Yet he was here, so he had to try. He walked through the eerie pathway blindly. He remembered a trick of mazes—to always turn left until you came to the exit. He tried to do just that, but before he knew it, his mind was spinning. He only stopped when he walked out of the woods with the full knowledge of what he’d just done: taken every left turn until finally, he’d thrown himself out of the maze where he’d started.
“Crap,” Cha Ming muttered. That wasn’t good. Assuming he remembered everything, that could only mean one of two things: The maze was changing, or it had hidden places you couldn’t just walk into. “You know, this trial is very unfair.”
A light giggle answered him from the roots. He was alone, and Huxian couldn’t hear or answer him. Yet he was here, so he could only try. He closed his eyes and headed back into the maze. The roots shifted as he walked.
“Run, little fox!” the Star-Eye Ancestor yelled. “Quickly, before you run out of time!”
The walls were literally attacking Huxian, who had to keep moving to survive. She had other names in the vast repository that was his ancestral memories. Dead-Eye and Hell’s Gazer were some of the kinder and more endearing ones.
“Damn it, you old geezer,” Huxian muttered. “Why did you have to upset her?”
It wasn’t a difficult memory to draw on in the heat of the moment. Once upon a time, his ancestor had trapped the Star-Eye Ancestor in a space-time maze as a prank.
He hadn’t known before entering the trial, however. But it was easy to remember when you were running for your life. The crazed Star-Eye Ancestor was simply returning the favor. With interest. “Can’t we just get along? I’m not even on good terms with my old man!”
“If you were, you’d already be dead!” she said, popping out of a root. “Solve my space-time maze if you can. Die if you can’t.”
How many other stupid life-or-death situations will you push me into, old man? Huxian thought. Only bad things accompanied the original Bagua fox’s name. Where was the glory he remembered? The good deeds? The favors owed? Nothing. He probably made those memories easier to find, if only to hide the mountains of garbage that accompanied them.
Alas, such was life. He was here, and he had to survive. She’d told him he couldn’t eat his way out of this one, so naturally, he had to try. His manifestation extended from his body and tried to bite the thick roots. Its teeth broke, and the giant fox wailed in pain. The wall was definitely not edible.
He kept running, taking one left turn after another, only to find himself back at the center.
Moving maze. Right. That was standard practice in space-time mazes, so he didn’t worry about it. Instead, he kept his spatial senses focused on what was important—mapping out the place and its shifting. There would be a pattern to it, and when he found it, he would solve it.
“Eat! Drink! Make yourself at home!” said the Stargazer Chieftain from his seat on the floor. His chair stood empty on its elevated dais, since it would be impolite to seat himself at a higher level than even a spiritual Monkey King. Dishes floated around them and would find their way to those who wanted them. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t dare do anything to harm a guest. Eat as much as you like. Oh, wait. I’m sorry. I forgot.”
Sun Wukong was a spirit, and not being able to eat was a bit of a sore spot. He really wanted to beat this chump.
“Eat up, boys and girls,” Sun Wukong said. The dozens of inkborn, the sickly Golden Dragon, and the girl and her rabbit hopped to obey. Kids, he thought. So easy to impress. “Pace yourselves. We have all night to feast.”
Also, if they stopped eating, it would give the chieftain an excuse to bring up other activities. Very entertaining but potentially lethal activities. After all, you couldn’t continue hosting a party when all your guests were too exhausted from having enjoyed themselves. It was an old leadership trick that he had no doubt the chieftain had heard of.
“I hope we’re not cutting into your war preparations,” Sun Wukong said. Conversation was key. You couldn’t just glare at each other during the feast. That would count as insulting your host, and he could just end the banquet and do whatever he wanted. He couldn’t gift the crafty chieftain just any excuse.
“Nonsense!” said the Stargazer Chieftain. “My elders have everything under control. Lord Empty Death, attend me please.” The strongest of his elders walked over. He was old and bore a wicked black staff. “Have all our subsidiary armies been arranged? Have our scouts been deployed?”
“It is as you say,” Lord Empty Death replied. He bowed, both to the chieftain and to Sun Wukong.
There’s a bad apple if I’ve ever seen one. Fifty-fifty chance that he’s the one pushing for war. He’d seen it all ma
ny times before. It was the same across tribes, across countries, and across planes. Even across heaven and hell. War and peace were opposing factions, and each of them had their champions.
“And what have we here?” Lord Empty Death said. “A human. At a banquet. This slave cannot express how overjoyed he is to see his better.” He gave a deep and mocking bow to Mi Fei, who simply smirked in response.
Xiao Bai, however, would have none of it. “Hey. Tough guy. Bite me.”
“Is this a rabbit?” Lord Empty Death said. “What courage you have for a cute little demon.”
“Yeah, I’m about ten levels higher than you on the bloodline totem pole, and pretty unique among demons,” Xiao Bai said. “Cute is what I call little monkeys with ancestral memories that run only a hundred thousand years deep. Tough guys who think they’re all that, when really, there’re about a million more like them out there.” She wrinkled her nose. “Please step away, I’m trying to eat. You smell bad, and I can’t stand the look of you.”
“You!” Lord Empty Death said, gripping his staff.
“Calm yourself,” the Stargazer Chieftain said. “You gave offense first.”
The elder caught himself and bowed to his chieftain. “Of course. I will excuse myself and continue our preparations.”
“Please do so,” said the Stargazer Chieftain. Then he looked to Xiao Bai. “I confess to never having met a small demon like you with a tongue so bold. It’s refreshing.”
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” she said, grinning. “But on a more serious note, are these truffle crepes? Grown wild near the Tree of Life and hunted with bestial demon boars?”
“I’m impressed,” said the chieftain. “Yes, it is as you say. Are they to your liking?”
“I’ll take five more plates if you have them,” Xiao Bai said.
“I’ll see it done,” said the chieftain. He clapped several times, and a young serving girl ran outside to deliver the message.
Sun Wukong’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Xiao Bai. He’d never really had the chance to observe her in earnest because he’d been so busy hiding from her. She’s smart for her age, he thought. Too smart. He’d heard she had a perfect memory of previous lifetimes, but before now, he’d doubted it. No more. There was no way you could fake that kind of presence. An aura that left you dripping with both blood and glory. She was the real deal, which raised more questions than answers. First, how was this possible? Second, why would she always be born with that same girl? The human would be born with too much power and remember nothing. The demon would be a Godbeast with perfect memory. Just who was she? Who were they? He’d never heard of anyone like them.
More importantly, what was with that web sealing off the girl’s memories? Why was it cracked? It had been intact only a few days ago. When he peered into that crack, he was reminded that he wasn’t very old for an immortal. Her memories ran much deeper than he could ever imagine, even if she couldn’t access them. As for what she’d seen… well, he could peer into that a little bit through his Buddhist arts. And what he saw frightened him. She’d seen far more drama than he ever had, and that was saying something.
Alas, it was a puzzle for another day. They had yet to survive the night, and as friendly as such gatherings were, those monkeys weren’t happy to see them. He would do his best to prevent any unnecessary misunderstandings or accidents until Cha Ming and Huxian came back and sorted everything.
Chapter 30: Constellations
It took five attempts before Cha Ming gave up on the “feel your way through the maze blind” strategy. Though it seemed silly as far as strategies went, it was worth a shot. Closing your eyes had been mentioned, and really, if you wanted to trick trial takers, making the solution dead simple could result in a lot of people overlooking it.
Still, time was ticking, so Cha Ming had to come to grips with reality. He still hadn’t penetrated the entrance of the maze. He focused on two of the verses in the Star-Eye Ancestor’s hint.
To find a path, he lost his sight.
He closed his eyes and found the light.
He clearly had to change the way he saw things. With his normal sight, the maze of roots was a maze with no exit. Everything looked the same. And when he looked with his Eyes of Truth, the experience was overwhelming. He couldn’t solve the maze either way. Yet when he closed his eyes and tried it blind, he couldn’t see anything. The maze shifted, and he could do nothing about it. The solution had to be somewhere in the middle.
“Should I wear glasses that obscure my vision?” Cha Ming wondered aloud, holding up a tinted lens he formed of creation qi. “Should I close one eye and walk around?” There were many possibilities, which included things like wandering through the maze with a mirror, opening your eyes for a short time then closing them, and so on. But he couldn’t do this by trial and error. He didn’t have the luxury of time.
Well, at least the view is beautiful, he thought. He looked up and saw the stars. They were bright pinpricks in the night sky, even though they were technically part of the tree. He even recognized some of them. How many stars were up there? Was it even possible to count them? Did the Star-Eye Ancestor even know all of them?
Counting stars was what the young did. The older one got, the more silly it seemed. Why would you even try doing something so unfathomable? It was impossible to count them all, and even the most alert of people would fall asleep or become distracted mid-count. Every night, the stars shifted. Some only appeared on cloudless nights, and others only at certain times of the year.
To that end, people had started grouping stars into constellations. He saw them more clearly here than he did on the Inkwell Plane. Individual stars might change, but constellations could be recognized. Even the most backward of tribes held to this tradition. Moreover, to make remembering the constellations easier, they worked them into their stories.
“Constellations,” Cha Ming muttered. “How many are out there?” A difficult question. It was only limited by the imagination. Constellations could have many names and interpretations. In the sky, he identified the Builder and the Warrior at a glance. He recognized the King, and constellations he’d once been shown by his father. “Pray to the Merchant for money. Pray to the Scholar for grades in school. And should you ever see the Sage, you’ll recognize it and be glad.” This thought gave Cha Ming an idea.
He looked up at the sky. Instead of taking it all in, he focused on one small part. A single grouping of stars. He chose the Builder, and as he focused on it, he opened his second sight, his Eyes of Truth. It was too much at first. The Eyes of Truth were good at seeing, and his eyes and brain had been forged by Grandmist. But the information, especially in this place of all places, was staggering. For this was no mortal sky, but a place of ancients. Primordial gods and ancient angels and devils had risen and fallen beneath it. A mere mortal like him couldn’t even begin to fathom its many mysteries.
Focus on the constellation, he told himself. And for the first time since he’d gained the Eyes of Truth, he narrowed his gaze. He didn’t take in everything at once, but just a little at a time. A tiny spot in the starry sky. What he saw was beyond imagining. These stars weren’t just twelve bright lights in the sky. When he looked at them, he saw a story. A woman wove a road between the stars with colored threads. They reached across the cosmos and tied themselves to her tree. The more she wove, the more the tree grew, until it took up the entire sky.
“Weaving roads with colored strings,” Cha Ming muttered. “They look like rainbows in the sky.” He’d seen those same patterns when it rained. Only now, he wondered what he’d been seeing. Creations of light and water or roads between realms? Perhaps both? Moreover, this was the just the Builder. There were other stars out there. Were there other stories just waiting to be read?
Cha Ming looked to the Warrior. At the pools of red blood at her feet. She wove a battle pattern with bloodred threads of karma. As for the Merchant, he saw a young trader. She wove threads of gold and sold them for a pitt
ance. She didn’t earn much, but the golden threads of goodwill she sowed formed golden roads that connected her to wherever she wanted to go.
Encouraged by what he saw, Cha Ming looked back to the maze of roots. He no longer saw an overwhelming picture. He saw details in the coarse wood that formed the roots that he would never have imagined looking for. Moreover, the wood wasn’t uniform. It shifted. It lived. These roots drank water from a heavenly spring that reached millions of kilometers deep.
Some were thick. Some were thin. Others had different patterns on their bark. Was this what he was looking for? Whatever it was, it should have meaning. Like the patterns in the stars.
A man had eyes, but he could not see.
He lived in a house, but how happy could he be?
He wanted a road that he could not find.
He yearned for a love that he’d left behind.
To find a path, he lost his sight.
He closed his eyes and found the light.
He cannot see her, but now he sings.
He weaves her rainbows with colored strings.
What was important in this story? Cha Ming wondered. He’d covered sight. He’d also blinded himself by restricting his eyesight. He’d seen the colored strings and the rainbow, so that only left a few unexplained elements. A house. A road. Love. A path. A light. A song. What did these elements have in common? That was surely the key. He sat and pondered as minutes trickled by, for navigating the maze while blind was simply an exercise in futility.
“A house, you build,” Cha Ming said out loud. “A board or brick at a time. Starting with the base. Ending with the finishings. As for a road, you travel it.” You could also cross it, he supposed. “The same with a path. You walk from start to finish. That leaves love and light and song.”
Crown of the Starry Sky: Book 11 of Painting the Mists Page 51