The Lesson of the Pious Gardener
There was once a gardener who bred dull grey flowers, with which he was unsatisfied. He sought greater flowers, which would grow into pristine white, and he found them in the holy texts. The old kings of the land had kept these flowers, and, he resolved, he could keep them too. Yet no matter how much the gardener tried, his flowers would not grow as anything but grey.
The gardener traveled to the palace of the old kings. In those days it had been turned into a temple. He spoke to the priests, saying, "Do you know of the white flowers of the old kings?" And the priests said, "Yes, indeed we do. We keep them here, to show that we have mastered Time; it is a wheel, and we know how to turn it in whatever way we please." And the priests showed the gardener their flowers, and he brought them to his garden.
Yet the gardener, growing the flowers, discovered that they were not white. They were tinged a yellowish color, and no matter how much the gardener tried, they would not become purest white.
The gardener studied the old texts himself. He learned that the flowers of the old kings had come from a distant land, and to that land he traveled. He spoke to the people of the land, and they said, "The flowers of which you speak come from the holy valley of our birth, where we keep them to show our power over Time; for Time is a flying bird, and our musics can change the course of the winds on which it soars." So they gave him the holy texts which showed the way to the valley, and he found and took the valleys' flowers and brought them to his garden.
Yet the gardener, growing the flowers, discovered that they were not white, either. They were tinged a reddish color, and no matter how much the gardener tried, they would not become purest white.
The gardener read the holy texts of those valleys, and he discovered that the flowers which grew now were not as they were. The old flowers grew only in a high abbey. He journeyed to the abbey, and asked its monks for their flowers. "Prove you are worthy," they said, "for we are the masters of Time and do not grant gifts lightly. Time is an arrow, and we have learned its bow." For nine days and nine nights they tested his body, his knowledge, and his character. And at last they were satisfied and gave him the flowers.
Yet the gardener, growing the flowers, discovered that not even they were white. They were tinged a blueish color, and no matter how much the gardener tried, they would not become purest white.
The gardener looked upon his grey flowers, and upon the three flowers he had collected which were not white. And he realised: perhaps the old kings' flowers were not white. All of these colors were almost white. Perhaps an error had been made. And he realised: the priests' flowers came from the kings, and the kings' flowers came from the valley, and the valleys' flowers came from the abbey. And in their journeys their colors had changed. All things have their histories, and their histories change them. The gardener could never have recreated the old kings' flowers, because his were not the old kings' flowers. They were from a later day, collected from other places. They were tended by a different hand. Every moment of every day is shaped by every moment that preceded it, and so no moment after them can ever take their precise shape. What has passed has passed, and no gardener, no priest, no valley-born, and no monk could make Time return to where it once was, whether it was a wheel that turned in only one way, or a bird that flew on only one wind, or an arrow that soared to only one end.
The gardener bred the three flowers he had collected with the grey flowers he had begun with, and his three new flowers were not white, or anything close to white. One was a rich and vibrant red; one was a cool and soothing blue; and one was a shining, sunny yellow. And the gardener grew these, and he was happy.
The Lesson of the General's Wounds
There was once a general who sought unimpeachable armor. The finest smith in the land created it for him, and assured him it was flawless, and he rode in it to war. He was struck ninety-nine times and was unscathed; but the hundredth blow found a flaw in his breast, and wounded him.
He went to the smith in ire. He said, "You have lied to me! Look, for I am wounded!" The smith was apologetic, but the general sent him away.
The general found the finest smith in the continent to forge him armor, which he was assured was stronger than the last. He rode it to war, and was struck nine hundred and ninety-nine times, without injury. But the thousandth blow found a flaw in his shoulder, and wounded him.
He went to the new smith in fury. He said, "You are a failure, just as the last one! Look, for I am wounded!" The new smith begged to keep his role, but the general sent him away.
A third smith was found, an immortal master, the greatest smith from all the seas and horizons. The general was forged armor once more. He rode it to war, and was struck nine thousand, nine hundred, and ninety-nine times without injury; but the ten thousanth blow found a flaw in his heart, and wounded him. And there were no greater smiths to find.
Thus the general learned: perfection is impossible. All things are flawed. No strength is unassailable.
The Lesson of the Flying King
A man once looked to the sky, and sought to claim it. None could walk amongst the clouds, but, he resolved, he could. So he climbed a mountain, and reached its apex, and proclaimed himself the Flying King, master of all he could see, highest of all men.
The King met a hundred enemies. But on the summit he had mastered aerial arts, and each enemy was turned away. A noble boy observed all this, for the King made a spectacle of each of his enemies' defeat. And the noble boy observed that the King's enemies could not strike him, for they stood too low. None had thought to climb the mountain. So the noble boy climbed it, while the King's back was turned, and toppled him from the summit, and proclaimed himself the new Flying King.
The second King again turned away all his enemies; but this time, he kept watch of the ways up the mountain, so that none could succeed him. But a merchant's son looked upon the King, and discovered another path, that he had not seen, which led to a higher summit. So the son climbed it, and was higher than the second Flying King, and so struck him from the summit, and proclaimed himself the new Flying King.
The third King again turned away all his enemies; but he was watchful of the secret ways, and passed the time between his wars by finding higher summits. But a village boy looked upon the King, and considered the bow he used to hunt for his family. This boy, humble as he was, came to the King to defer, lower on the mountain; but then he shot the King with his bow, sending him falling to the earth, and took the summit and proclaimed himself the new Flying King.
A peasant girl, who stole all the food she ate for she had no family and no coin to take it legitimately, looked upon the three fallen Kings and the fourth who remained and thought they were all tremendous idiots. She obtained a knife from a poorly-locked box in a smith's storefront, located a cave beneath the mountain, and walked to its end, the mountain's heart. She stabbed the heart thirty-four times; a number of no particular significance, as she stopped only when she got bored. She then sang a bawdy tavern song as the heart bled, and she exited the cave without haste, and watched from a safe distance as the mountain collapsed to rubble, sending the fourth King falling to earth.
The defeated King looked upon the girl and said, "Your cleverness is great indeed, and you will surely be a new Flying King. But you will fall too, in your day." But the girl laughed. And she said to the king, "That you cherish your title so is a work of utter foolishness. Do you not see that there was never a Flying King in this land? Always you stood upon a mountain, and even you were blind to it." And she called all the people of the land and she showed them the nature of the mountain, which was now nothing more than a pile of stones. And she said, "Do you see? A king seems to be higher than all others, but in truth they only stand atop mountains. That is the nature of our four kings, and of all kings across the earth. Why should we let these fools delude us any longer? Have we any need for kings?"
The people muttered and concluded that there was indeed a need for kings, so from the mountain's stone they built four towers. And the girl sighed, but she was only a hungry peasant and could not persuade them otherwise. And kings rose to them; but they did not proclaim that they flew.
