“Such a decision would only reinforce the perception of Heavenly governance as arbitrary and corrupt,” continued Marcius.

Reinforce whose perception of Heavenly governance as arbitrary and corrupt? I’d never heard any humans suggest that the gods were anything less than perfect. Not Cassius, who claimed the Jade Emperor’s mandate for all his actions, or his courtiers, who claimed divine guidance for theirs, of course – but not even the poorest, hungriest peasant tilling the rockiest patch of mountain soil, whose children had all just died from a plague. No, instead of blaming the gods for their misfortunes, the humans just bowed their heads and murmured about karma from past lives.

The Goddess of Life hadn’t uttered a word yet, which Marcius took as permission to keep expounding on all the problems in Heaven that needed fixing. The man had never known when to stop and neither, apparently, did the Star.

Fascinated, I edged through the crowd until I had a clear view of the Goddess of Life. Her face was as hard and cold as the two white jade vases that flanked her throne. Out of one rose a single pink lotus blossom, and out of the other, a branch of willow. Both swayed gently in the breeze, but that was the only motion on the dais. Down on the floor, the clerks’ eyes swiveled between her and Marcius.

Since no one was stopping me, I kept weaving forward until I reached the front row of clerks. They’d all pulled back from the dais, leaving a good ten feet between them and Marcius.

What’s going on? I chimed into one star sprite’s ear.

She flinched but kept her face pointed forward. Sliding her eyes sideways, she breathed, “The Star of Scholarly Song is appealing the decree that he re-enter the cycle of reincarnation.”

I must have misheard. That he do what? Why?

In front of us, Marcius was declaring, “Although the criteria for full membership in the Bureau of Academia as written are clear enough, in practice obtaining a permanent position is much more about whom you know and whose work you champion. Or oppose.” He shook his head, a deliberate, disapproving motion that I was all too familiar with. “That is wrong. The goal of academic research is the pursuit of knowledge. It must remain above petty politics and closed-door decisions. It must be based on merit – and merit alone.”

The clerk I was talking to tipped her head towards him. “That’s why,” she whispered.

Did he not get a permanent position at the Bureau of Academia or something?

“No. He had one already, due to his courageous defense of integrity on Earth. But he…disagreed with some…long-established practices in the department.”

“Shhh!” hissed the clerks around her, and she snapped her mouth shut.

With supreme confidence, Marcius concluded his speech with, “Hence I believe that the most appropriate course of action would be to restore me to the Bureau of Academia and to accept my proposals for its reform.”

The Goddess of Life moved at last. One slender forefinger lifted, and the clerk on the dais rushed to heave the willow branch out of its vase. Kneeling before the throne, he presented it to her with both arms trembling under its weight. She plucked it up and held it as easily as a sprig of wildflowers. Water droplets beaded on the leaves and rolled down the branch, falling to her feet, where they shattered and transformed into a fragrant, pale-green mist.

“Enough.” The word floated through the room like birdsong and butterfly wings.

“My lady – ” protested Marcius, exactly as he used to when Cassius cut him off.

She didn’t raise her voice, but something about her manner silenced him. “The decision that you re-enter the cycle of reincarnation was made by the God of Culture. As the head of a different department, I do not possess the authority to countermand his decrees.”

Marcius, naturally, couldn’t let her go on any longer without interrupting. “With all due respect, the God of Culture may have made that decision, but whether or not you implement it is within your authority – ”

She spoke over him, still without raising her voice but somehow drowning him out. “In addition, She Who Hears the Cries of the World has upheld your punishment.” She flipped her free hand palm up, as if to say, “And that is final.”

Marcius, as I knew, was not so easily deterred. His mouth set into a stern line. “Then I request an audience with the Jade Emperor. I will explain the situation to Him and – ”

One graceful eyebrow arched, the only part of her face that moved. “And do what? I can tell you already that He will uphold the decision of His officials. When He tells you that Himself – when He returns a decision that you disagree with – would you school His Heavenly Majesty Himself on how to govern Heaven?”

Even Marcius could tell that he’d pushed too hard. Bowing his head, he softened his tone. “Regardless, my lady, I would greatly appreciate an opportunity to discuss the matter with Him in person.”

Both her eyebrows lifted now, incredulously. “Do you imagine that the Emperor of Heaven has time to discuss trivial quibbles with every newborn godling?” Sarcasm dripped off her tongue, tinkling like bells. “This is how we do things in Heaven. If you cannot accept that, as it is manifestly clear that you cannot, then you have no place here. You would do better on Earth. Which, I believe, is the gist of the God of Culture’s decree.”

Marcius gritted his teeth. “My lady – ” he tried again, but she’d had enough.

Holding out the willow branch so it arched over the steps of her dais, she let three drops of water slide down the long leaves. “This soul will enter the cycle of reincarnation,” she proclaimed, the words booming around the pillars and echoing off the ceiling. “Let it be done.”

As the drops struck the crown of Marcius’ head, they sizzled and turned into a golden mist that surrounded him completely. When it blew away, in his place was a glowing black ball that spun furiously. Her face serene again, the Goddess of Life passed the willow branch to her clerk.

“What are you doing?” hissed a voice next to me. Flicker had finally caught up. “Don’t wander off by yourself.”

I didn’t wander off, I replied, still transfixed by the scene before me. On the dais, the clerk was straining to get the end of the branch over the lip of the vase. A couple times, he nearly dropped it and knocked over the vase, and I tensed in anticipation. But alas, he got it back in safely. With a disappointed sigh, I corrected Flicker, I floated off for a better view.

That distinction impressed him not one whit. “Come on, before – ” He tried to melt back into the crowd, but it was too late. The Goddess of Life’s dark eyes had turned our way. One porcelain-white forefinger curved up, beckoning.

His eyes flew wide, and he stared around wildly, as if to ask, “Me? You can’t possibly mean me, right? Which one of my fellow clerks did you want?”

His fellow clerks (and I) pulled back at once. With a gulp, Flicker prostrated himself in front of the dais, under the spinning ball of Marcius’ soul.

“What is your name, star sprite?” came the Goddess’ cool voice.

He kept his forehead planted on the floor. “Flicker, my lady.”

“Flicker. Good. You may look up.” As he scrambled to obey, she smiled down at him, the impersonal smile of a statue that bore no resemblance to any Earthly emotion. “I hereby assign this soul to you.”

Flicker nearly gasped. Then, collecting himself, he prostrated himself again. “I am honored, my lady.”

She smiled that perfect, meaningless smile again. “Now, what did you come here for today?” A glance at her clerks sent one of them hurrying forward to take Flicker’s slip of paper.

Since her office hours seemed to be returning to normal, I drifted forward until I was at the edge of the crowd of clerks. There I hovered, waiting until it was safe to rejoin Flicker.

“I am here on – ” I was positive he planned to say, “the matter of a complaint against the Star of Heavenly Joy,” but at the last minute he changed it to “ – on behalf of one of the souls in my custody.”

The clerk on the dais glided over to present the Goddess of Life with a scroll, which she skimmed. “Ah, I see,” she said, her tone giving no hint of what she saw. I’d expected her to fly into a rage over Cassius usurping her power, but she simply handed the scroll back to her clerk. “Well, this seems to be a matter for Accounting to set right. Still…. Where is the soul in question?”

Floating into the open, I dipped in a graceful bow. I am here, my lady.

As soon as her gaze struck me, it pinned me in place. Then it started to vivisect me, peeling off my soul layer by layer, examining and discarding each in turn, all the way down to the core of who and what I was.

I was vibrating, trembling. Shivering.

From the spiritual equivalent of coldness, of course. Not from her dispassionate cruelty. Not because any god, no matter how powerful, could intimidate me. I am Piri, I chanted silently, clinging to my sense of self. Piri Piri Piri. I have dined with emperors. I have scorned kings. I will not bow to a god now.

Those cold, dark eyes blinked and I snapped back together. I clutched my layers around myself, the raw, naked sensation lingering.

“For the inconvenience, soul,” said the impassive voice from above, “I will grant you one favor. Within reason.”

For the inconvenience. The inconvenience. Was that what she called it when a soul in her care strove for centuries to earn the positive karma it needed to advance to the next Tier; and finally did advance, only to get kicked back down in an act of blatant malice; and then sought her out for help, only to get publicly vivisected for no apparent reason besides idle curiosity?

Fury surged, wiping out humiliation.

A favor, she said. Any favor. Within reason.

So what did I want most?

To hunt down Cassius and fling him into the cycle of reincarnation and keep him in White Tier, forcing him to live as a worm over and over and over until his soul was worn and mad and tattered, and then to rip it to shreds.

To lunge at the Goddess of Life and rake my claws across her perfect skin until I saw fear in her eyes, and then to gouge them out.

To – to destroy Heaven itself. The way I had Cassius’ dynasty.

It wasn’t even as crazy as it sounded. It had nearly been done once before, eons ago, by another wronged, angry animal spirit. It could be done again.

Heaven really needed to work on its public relations policy.

“Well?” asked the Goddess of Life’s voice, tinged with impatience, shattering my fantasy and jerking me back to the present.

All right. I knew what I wanted in the end. But here and now, as a lowly Green-Tier soul in this audience chamber at the top of the Hall of Vermillion Clouds, what could I ask for that would be useful and that the goddess would grant? I glanced at Flicker for ideas, even if he were pretending that his forehead had been nailed to the floor. However, the sight reminded me of all our sessions in his office, reviewing my curricula vitae and going over the activities that had earned positive or negative karma.

If I’d known during my lives on Earth that my every deed was being recorded, categorized, and tallied up in Heaven based on how much they benefited humans, then I could have focused on activities that maximized karma. No more languishing life after life as an earthworm because I accidentally scared some small child. No more getting promoted at last, only to get demoted again for eating the wrong farmer’s crop as a caterpillar. Better to starve to death in that situation, because at least I’d get zero karma instead of negative.

All right. I knew what to ask for.

My lady, I’d like to retain my memories when I reincarnate. In my lives on Earth, I wish to remember who I truly am.

“Ah.” From the syllable, I couldn’t tell if the Goddess of Life were surprised or displeased or simply acknowledging that I’d spoken. “Flicker, a soul in your custody has requested that it retain its memories when it reincarnates. What are your thoughts on the matter?”

From his stiffness, I could tell that his thoughts were something like, If she has her memories on Earth, how much damage can she do within the limits of mortal bodies and the karma system? How much damage can she do to me? Will she get me thrown out of Heaven too? “Well, ah, my lady in her infinite wisdom is much better able to judge than a lowly clerk…,” he hedged.

She was having none of his wishy-washiness, probably because she wanted a ready-made scapegoat for later. “I asked for your thoughts on the matter.”

I bumped his shoulder urgently. Say yes, say yes. Haven’t I been good? When have I caused you any trouble? Then I remembered all the times I’d forced him to use magic to dunk me in the Tea of Forgetfulness. Recently, I mean? I’ve learned my lesson. I’ve been good. I’ll be good. It’s good for me to be good too, so I can earn positive karma.

That last point was what convinced him. He looked up and met the goddess’ eyes. “My lady, this soul has committed morally reprehensible acts in its past, but I believe that it has the capacity to change and improve.”

She liked that answer (which sounded like it came straight out of a training manual). “As the cycle of reincarnation is designed for. Very well, I shall grant that request.” She motioned to her personal clerk.

This time, he offered her the lotus blossom. As she extended it out over me, three drops of golden nectar fell on me and flowed all over me, incredibly sweet and unbearably tender. They soaked into and permeated my entire being and wove my layers back together. I chimed in contentment, feeling whole again.

“It is done,” proclaimed the Goddess of Life. “You may withdraw.”

Flicker scrambled to his feet, bowed nearly to the floor, and then glared at Marcius and me until we both bobbed bows too. Then he led us back through the crowd of clerks, who parted for us, whispering as loudly as they dared about what had just happened.

Most of their speculation centered on what terrible mistake Accounting could possibly have made that would compel the Goddess of Life herself to recompense me for it.