by Neil Clarke
Yun Xiangzi examined the sketch, then looked again through his lens at the dark spot. He let out a long breath. “Could it be that . . . ”
“ . . . the face of the Sun is changing color?” Feng Mingyue supplied.
Yu You nodded. “This was my surmise as well.”
The three astrologers faced one another in silence. The Sun continued to darken, until it blended completely with the night sky.
“This is of great import,” Yun Xiangzi said, rubbing his sore eyes in distress. “We must inform the King.”
“Perhaps we should take a few more days to confirm,” Feng Mingyue said. “The Sun has been unchanging since time immemorial.”
“But if this bodes ill,” Yun Xiangzi said, “we need as much time as possible to prepare. If this blotch were to continue . . . ”
He hesitated, not daring to finish his thought. The other two knew what he’d meant to say, of course. If the blotch continued to enlarge, the Sun would darken, and the Kingdom of Yu would sink into eternal darkness.
Yu You forced a reluctant smile. “Perhaps the worst-case scenario will not come about.”
“True enough!” Feng Mingyue said. “And there is a way to confirm whether or not that spot really is on the Sun. Tomorrow I will set out for Hengyu City. Xiangzi, you’ll go to Bizhi. Professor Yu You can stay here at Tianqi.”
Yun Xiangzi clapped his hands together. “An excellent plan! But why wait for tomorrow? We should set out at once!”
The distances involved were not a problem for Yu folk. Traveling on the winds, a journey of three thousand li meant just one day and two nights’ effort.
The Sun was morning-brightening, and Feng Mingyue was three thousand li southeast of Tianqi at Hengyu, on Guangling, the Light Lattice Tower. He gripped the star lens in one hand and shakily sketched the spot’s position with the other.
He didn’t really need to return to Tianqi for contrast. The blemish appeared noticeably further northwest in relation to the Sun. Studying the northwest sky, he imagined seeing Tianqi City hanging there, as he knew it to be—but it was too far away to be visible.
“The calculation is finished,” Yu You said, his grimace unsightly. He folded the three sheets of translucent star chart cocoon paper together. “Recording inclination from three positions, it is knowable. The blotch is definitely on the surface of the Sun.”
Yun Xiangzi and Feng Mingyue both wore pallid expressions, whether from three days and nights of flying, or something else, it wasn’t clear.
“So, what is it?” Yun Xiangzi imagined flying up to the Sun to see for himself, but of course that was impossible. Flying too close, he would be roasted in midair and become a forever-drifting scorched carcass. Even the sharpest-eyed astrologer wouldn’t be able to spot his tiny remains.
The three of them dejectedly regarded the star charts.
Yun Xiangzi said, “We’d better inform the King.”
“I don’t think we have much choice.” Feng Mingyue sighed.
The three astrologers spread their wings and glided down from the observatory. The elderly Yu You led the way, followed by an anxious Yun Xiangzi, wishing he could take the lead, then Feng Mingyue, flying upside down, back to the Earth, the sunlight on his chest and belly.
He narrowed his eyes, worried and focused. The blemish had enlarged enough to be visible to the naked eye during daytime, though it was still just a small black spot. He couldn’t be sure if his keen eyesight was failing him, but he dared not approach his colleagues for verification.
The young King of Yu, Lord of the Feather Folk, received the three reputable astrologers in the royal palace. He heard their news and then sank into contemplation.
“Three masters,” he said, calmly looking at his hands, “I appreciate the urgent nature of your tidings. Now is the time to consult the Book of Revelation.”
Yun Xiangzi grew excited. “You’ll seek an answer in God’s own knowledge?”
God had vanished without a trace after creating this world and the Yu people. Only the Book of Revelation was left behind. Later, with the advent of war, many people forgot ancient history, and the tradition of passing on knowledge was mostly lost. All that remained of the world’s lore was this Book of Revelation, carefully guarded by successive generations of Yu Kings.
The young King opened three strongboxes and withdrew the block of white jade. Yun Xiangzi stared hungrily at the precious thing gripped tightly by the King. Only the dynasties of Yu Kings were entitled to use the Book of Revelation, and each use decreased a King’s life span. But every citizen knew you merely had to hold the thing, and it would display an answer to whatever problem or question you were contemplating.
The King lifted his gaze.
“Highness . . . ” Yu You was in terrible suspense.
“The Kingdom of Yu is, perhaps, facing real trouble.” The King’s youthful eyes plainly conveyed his apprehension. “The Book of Revelation has given me a solution . . . namely, to restart the world’s core.”
“The world’s core?” Yun Xiangzi had never heard of it. He thought of the Sun, of course, floating at the center of their spherical Kingdom.
“It is outside of our Mother Earth,” the King said, laughing bitterly. “Fortunately, the Book of Revelation also mentioned how to use an item of mystic royal power to get there.”
“We have lost so much knowledge,” Feng Mingyue fretted quietly, standing off to the side.
“Highness . . . ” Yu You prostrated himself. “Please set about this task immediately.”
The so-called item of mystic royal power was an immense drill bit, more than five people high and thick enough for ten people to wrap their arms around. When the King, following the Book of Revelation’s instructions, switched the thing on, it drilled down into the Earth, straight as a ramrod.
Yun Xiangzi took up an anxious vigil outside the palace, now and then raising his head to watch the sky. The blemish steadily dilated like an immense pupil. Common Yu folk all over the city had noticed the extraordinary change. All sorts of rumors had begun to circulate.
It was daytime, but the Sun’s illumination was noticeably subdued. Yun Xiangzi wouldn’t need to wait for dusk to do his work—he could see, however faintly, the tiny, dark celestial bodies sweeping past the Sun’s brooding face. Yu folk piously believed these stars were God’s emissaries, sent to control the functions of the world. For countless centuries, astrologers had predicted events by observing stellar trajectories. They gradually fumbled toward some laws: just before the appearance of Yin Chi star, it will rain; when Huan Hua and Sui Zheng arise together, it means no bumper harvest for farmers. The most profound law involved the very existence and future of the Yu people. It may have been that God once made the hidden meaning of the stars clear to Yu folk, but that knowledge had been lost. If given the chance, Yun Xiangzi would have spent the rest of his life feasting his eyes on the Book of Revelation’s tiniest mystery.
These days, he persisted in surveying the stars. Their orbits had not changed. This gave him some measure of reassurance about the future.
On the seventh day of drilling, a loud, dull sound came out of the great hole. An immense cyclone formed over the tunnel entrance, rising precipitously into the heavens. A squall erupted. Air poured rapidly into the ground, as if it meant to inhale the world. No Yu folk dared to fly.
The gale persisted a day and a night, then gradually subsided.
Another three days passed, and the astrologers were invited by the King to enter the tunnel. A massive net covered the entrance. After showing their identification papers to the guards, they hastily flew down the hole.
The tunnel was not so large, the diameter just eight or nine meters, corresponding to the size of the drill bit. Yun Xiangzi and Feng Mingyue had never been in such an environment before, so they prudently controlled their angle of descent, avoiding collision with the hole’s walls.
The tunnel plunged down vertically. Every so often there was a soldier near the wall, holding a lumine
scent pearl to light the pitch-dark way.
They gradually realized the farther down they flew, the more effort it was taking. Yun Xiangzi was obliged to reorient, head down and feet up, facing the wind tunnel’s deep abyss, feet pointed at the entrance. This soon felt like soaring upward. The other two astrologers followed his example, making their flight attitude adjustments. Sure enough, flying got a bit easier.
Sharp-eyed Feng Mingyue couldn’t help reaching out and touching the wall as it passed. He didn’t know when it had changed, but the tunnel was now going through solid adamantine.
As they flew on, they began to tire again. It was like a faint power tugged them back toward their world. Their progress slowed, until just staying in place cost great effort.
Yu You was the first to succumb, his wings failing him, and he plunged downward—no, not downward, but toward the wind tunnel’s mouth. Yun Xiangzi and Feng Mingyue hastily overtook him and dragged him to a halt. This was all unimaginable back in their world. This strange force did not exist there.
“Who’s there?”
They looked up to find the young King descending upon them and holding aloft a great, shining pearl.
“If it isn’t the three masters,” he said, grinning as he discerned their faces.
The distinguished astrologers were now totally occupied in panting, unable to pay respects to their King, as etiquette demanded.
The King pulled on a rope secured to the wall. “Please use this, gentlemen. Even my fiercest warriors cannot fly all the way to the exit. Only by installing rope and pulleys could we move onward.”
Yun Xiangzi grasped the rope. The King knocked on the wall and somewhere soldiers began to heave, pulling the passengers up. This upward work of the rope contended with the strange force at work in their bodies, weighing them down, so they were being pulled in both directions. It was like the feeling that came with acceleration during flight.
Yu You’s gasping subsided. “Highness, were you able to find the world’s core?”
“My engineers saw something incredible at the far end,” the King said. “I was eager to see for myself.” His kingly pearl-light flashed on the tunnel wall as it rushed by, creating immense, blurred shadows. “After drilling through this adamantine stratum, it took another three days for the engineers to rig the rope and pulleys. No one can reach the far end under their own motive power.”
“And the far end is what?” Yun Xiangzi said, marveling at possibilities. “An underground exit?” Since ancient times, the Yu people had been confined to their world, their Earth-wrapped spherical sky-space. But what was under the Earth? Outside the sphere? Yun Xiangzi suddenly burned with the desire to explore, to venture into the unknown.
Yu You cried out, and one of his arms went limp, hanging at his side.
“I think you’ve fractured a bone,” the King said, somewhat casually. “This place demands a lot of bodily strength. It is not suitable for the elderly. I think, sir, that you’d better turn back and rest.”
“As an astrologer, I have a responsibility . . . ”
“Rest assured,” the King said, his tone softening. “Your two outstanding pupils are here.”
“In that case, I ask your leave to turn back.” Yu You, grinding his teeth, clasped his arm, releasing the rope and plunging downward like a shot arrow.
“Professor!” Yun Xiangzi cried.
“Don’t worry about him,” the King laughed. “As he approaches the entrance, this falling-power will fade, and he’ll be able to brake with his wings. And the net is there to catch him.”
“Very well,” Feng Mingyue said, preoccupied with the metal wall of the tunnel.
He was curious as to the power source of the magical object that had drilled this hole. He pretended to fumble with his star lens and used the frame to scrape the wall. He rubbed the scraping between his fingers. Countless tiny metal grains reacted as if they were alive, responding to the energy of his rubbing, becoming flexible, and soft as tree resin.
Continuing upward, the strain on their bodies increased, until their joints were popping and it felt like they would come apart at the seams. The bones of Yu folk were hollow and gracile—not so sturdy. Feng Mingyue wondered if he would fracture like Yu You.
Fortunately, just then the King said, “We have arrived.”
Teeth clenched, the three of them climbed out of the hole.
A desolate scene emerged before them, a plain stretching as far as the eye could see, paved in solid, gray metal. Here and there a perfectly straight gorge extended to the horizon. Overhead was pitch-black night, but the occasional light flashed on distant ground, enabling the explorers to see something of their surroundings.
Far off was a cluster of lofty metal structures emitting an ice-cold radiance. The two astrologers, drawing on years of map drafting skill, reckoned the highest building was taller than all of Yu Kingdom’s observatories stacked.
Further off, the metal ground didn’t rise, instead curving gradually downward, forming a clear division between Earth and sky.
This was the outside of a spherical world.
The sky overhead felt oppressive, enveloping, no longer an Earth-wrapped sphere of air, but boundless space. A smattering of tiny white lights were sprinkled across the black canopy. If you gazed at them for too long it was like your vision would fly to the end of eternity. This incomparable vastness struck terror in the two astrologers.
The air was thin, but their difficulty breathing was chiefly due to the unprecedented weight in the pits of their stomachs. The immense pressure acted on every inch of their bodies. Their clothing, once light and soft, was now a burden.
Feng Mingyue lay down and spread out his wings, letting the mysterious force press him into the ice-cold metal ground. “We’ve ventured outside of the world,” he murmured.
“What an awful place,” Yun Xiangzi remarked. “Never mind flying. Walking is nearly impossible.” He lay prone on the ground, gnashing his teeth.
The massive drill bit lay to the side of the tunnel mouth. It had been stranded there since completing its task. The King, in a great feat of will, walked to its side and touched it. He couldn’t imagine how to bring it back. “We’ll have to leave it here,” he said regretfully. “We’ll have to lose an object of royal power.”
“And those structures over there?” Feng Mingyue said. “They are the world’s core?” His back spasmed with pain, and he wondered if his ribs were broken.
“You guess right. Come, let us make our way to it.”
The three of them went staggering along, unable to fly in the grip of this weighty force. Their lungs sounded like old bellows as they breathed the rarefied air. The ground was composed entirely of infinitesimal kernels of smart metal. After the travelers had passed by, their footprints began to vanish and were gone in minutes.
They didn’t know how long they toiled. Nearly spent, they finally came before the brilliant edifice of the towering structures. On this sunless dark side of the world, even the best astrologers couldn’t reckon the passing of time.
There was no lamplight. The glossy metal surface of the architecture was like some ancient behemoth’s skeleton, glowing with phosphorescence.
Feng Mingyue, although foaming bloodily at the mouth, was moved by what he saw. He met Yun Xiangzi’s gaze and they understood each other’s excited trembling. Inhaling deeply to calm himself, his back pain flared, and darkness threatened to engulf his vision. But a premonition seized him, somehow propping him up.
The King solemnly raised the Book of Revelation. Confronted by this divinely given talisman, the world’s core opened its vast gates.
They walked down an interminable corridor. There was all manner of strange machinery to either side, remnants of the era of divine creation. The King’s Book revealed a map of the world’s core. Guided by this, they finally arrived in a round hall, the core of the core.
Feng Mingyue stared in amazement at the floor. Hundreds of jade blocks were piled there. “Books of Revelation
!” he cried with abandon. There was only one back in their familiar world, of unparalleled value and guarded jealously by kings. Here they were scattered like refuse.
He rushed over and picked up a block. Yun Xiangzi snatched another. No astrologer could resist such enticements.
“I’ve never in all my life seen you rush ahead of me before.” Yun Xiangzi was surprised he still had the energy to feel moved. But Feng Mingyue didn’t acknowledge him. He was too absorbed in his Book of Revelations and the answers therein.
He recalled the three ancient Propositions that had been passed down through generations of astrologers. If the stars really decided everything, then these Propositions were of prime-moving importance:
“Who are we?”
“Where do we come from?”
“Where will we go?”
Fluctuating patterns gradually formed upon the jade block. Ancient history paraded before his eyes, act upon act of the great drama, while fragments of God-given knowledge flowed slowly into his thoughts:
“ . . . they were created, modeled on the angels of ancient legend . . . defend us in our dormancy . . . ”
“ . . . ancient sun on the eve of its death . . . Earth remodeled . . . ”
“ . . . during our dormancy . . . Earth would proceed toward new . . . ”
Feng Mingyue gasped for air, not knowing if it was the strain on his lungs, or the shock of sudden revelation. Then the ground pitched violently under him, and he fell to his knees.
The young King’s face paled horribly. “All I did was . . . what the Book of Revelation advised . . . ”
A heart-stopping, thunderous roar came from the Earth’s depths.
They still didn’t know the consequences of restarting Earth’s core. It meant the restoration of the globe’s interior to its condition just after divine creation. Mountains, rivers, forests, the royal palace, implements and wares, all creation formed of infinitesimal smart particles—all would reset to their initial states.
This included the motion of Earth itself. Forty-six vectoring geysers on the outer surface adjusted their angles, and the Kingdom of Yu was pushed onto a radically new trajectory. Feng Mingyue lay prostrate on the ground and could not rise. Bubbling blood oozed from his mouth with labored breath. Recollections flashed through his mind, life in the Kingdom, life among his fellow Yu people, comfort, contentment, the freedom to soar and to float.
