One morning, Seri, greatest apprentice to Aza, went on a long walk. During his walk, he came across the goddess of knowledge sitting by a pond. He watched as she sat there, perfectly still, for hours on end. He studied the pond, its surface equally still, for a time as well. Unable to decipher the deeper meaning, he finally turned to face her.
"Oh, goddess," he said, "May I entreat you to know what you see in the water?"
The goddess of knowledge has no eyes, for true wisdom is only found in intuition. In lieu of answer, she bent down and grasped a pebble tightly in her hand. She flicked it over the water with the flawless technique of one who practiced every day for uncountably many years. The rock hit the surface and then sank, the pristine surface destroyed.
Seri bent to pick up a rock. He studied the roundness of it carefully, checking the shape. Content it was ideal, he sent it spinning towards the pond, attempting to skip it as well. It plopped into the water, failing to bounce at all.
The goddess of knowledge was fond of riddles. "Tell me wizard-child," she said. "Tell me who is wisest?" She threw another rock as she spoke.
Seri's next throw plopped into the water without bouncing. He considered the question carefully while he watched the ripples spread. "Is that what you consider as you stare at the water, oh goddess?"
"Yes, wizard-child. I consider who is wisest."
"And who is wisest, oh goddess?"
She threw another rock, which sank without bouncing, and then turned to face Seri, greatest apprentice to Aza. "Tell me, wizard-child. Tell me who is wisest and I will grant you a great boon."
"A riddle, oh goddess?" Seri's rock fell into the pond with a little splash.
Her next rock sank with a splash. "Indeed, child. Indeed."
The sun was now at its zenith and so she returned to the realm of the gods to attend to her duties.
Seri sat by the pond and watched the light of the sun reflect off it. Seri considered for a long time.
The next day, Seri found the goddess of knowledge again watching the pond.
"Oh goddess," said Seri, "I believe I know who is wisest. It is you."
This was a clever answer, for deities are egotistical and vulnerable to flattery as any mortal.
The goddess spun a stone, which failed to bounce. "Try, wizard-child," she said, gesturing at the stones scattered over the beach.
As the day prior, Seri's rock sank into the water without skipping, quickly lost to the depths.
"When you know who is wisest, your rock will skip."
Seri bowed his head. "Oh goddess, who could be wiser than you?"
The goddess was indeed flattered. However, pretty words were not enough to break from the structure of her contemplation. "Consider, wizard-child. If I am wisest, why am I the weakest of gods?"
"There is a wisdom in weakness, oh goddess." His rock splashed.
"Then why do you crave power so?" Her rock splashed as well.
"I crave wisdom, oh goddess."
"Indeed," said the goddess of knowledge. "And yet. If there is wisdom in weakness, surely you are wiser than I. If there is wisdom in power, then surely the king of the gods is wiser than I. Is that not so?"
"That is so, oh goddess. But perhaps wisdom is not power. Perhaps your wisdom has put you right where you need to be."
"If I am wisest," said the goddess of knowledge, "then why do I spend my hours staring at a pond and pondering who is wisest? If I am wisest, why can I not skip a stone?"
Seri frowned, considering. But try as he might, he could not fault her logic.
They both stared at the pond until the sun reached its zenith and the goddess of knowledge departed to attend to her duties.
The next day, Seri found the goddess of knowledge again watching the pond.
"Oh goddess," said Seri, "I believe I know who is wisest. It is my master, Aza."
This was a true answer, for Aza was the bearer of many secrets long forgotten and the solver of many riddles paradoxically impossible.
"Prove it," requested the goddess of knowledge.
Seri picked up a stone and felt its weight as he spoke. "Aza knows the names of the stars and the birds. She knows the rain and the sun. She has been to worlds uncountable through ages lost. Surely her wisdom must dwarf that of any other." With that, he cast his stone out to the pond. It spun for a moment, hit the water, and sank.
The goddess of knowledge tapped the ground with her foot. "Aza was born in the first age. But the world predates the very concept of time. If age is wisdom, surely the world itself is wiser than she will ever be?" She cast a stone and it hesitated on the surface as though it wanted to bounce, but ultimately did not.
"Ah," said Seri, who had prepared for this question. "Surely Aza has experienced more than the world ever has."
"I see," said the goddess of knowledge.
Seri smiled, impatiently. "So, my goddess? Is my master wisest?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Wizard-child," said the goddess of knowledge. "Is Aza-God-Betrayer happy?"
"No," replied Seri, honestly.
"I ask you," said the goddess while flicking another stone. "What is the purpose of wisdom without happiness?" Her stone sank without bouncing. "Surely the playing child is wiser than your master, no? And if wisdom precludes joy, then surely the grieving widow is wiser than your master will ever be?"
Seri had no answer to that.
They both stared at the pond until the sun reached its zenith and the goddess of knowledge departed to attend to her duties.
The next day, Seri found the goddess of knowledge again watching the pond.
"Oh goddess," said Seri, "I believe I know who is wisest. It is the humble blacksmith."
This was a simple answer, for riddles were often best solved simply, in ways that built up the common people who laughed at them and mocked those who pondered them too closely.
The goddess of knowledge was not one to be impressed by craftsmanship or simple answers. "Demonstrate to me," she said, gesturing at the pond.
Seri's rock, a simple square piece of stone flew in a wide arc, splashing into the water. It carved a rivet in the surface as it sank. It did not bounce.
"Why," said the goddess, "surely the artisan is wiser than the blacksmith. For a sword is interchangeable, but a painting is immortal." Her stone sank into the lake.
"In the heat of the sun, paint fades. But battles and blood mark the course of history, forever remembered in the annals of scholars." His stone seemed to shine as it flew.
"There is no artistry in simple things and what is wisdom without artistry?" queried the goddess.
Seri rebutted, "how does one engage in artistry without simple things?"
The goddess of knowledge could not answer that.
They both stared at the pond until the sun reached its zenith and the goddess of knowledge departed to attend to her duties.
The next day, Seri found the goddess of knowledge again watching the pond.
"Oh goddess," said Seri, "I believe I know who is wisest. It is this rock." He held aloft a rock from the beach, randomly selected.
This was a canny answer, for riddles were often trick questions and true answers often seemed to be impossible candidates.
Instead of answering, the goddess of knowledge plucked the rock from Seri's hands and hurled it into the pond overarm, with no spin. It splashed in without bouncing.
"If that rock is wisest, why did it not bounce?"
"Why would bouncing be a mark of wisdom?" Seri rebutted.
The goddess selected another rock and flicked it sideways, gently. It did not bounce. "For I am the goddess of knowledge and I declare it so. The purpose of a rock is to be skipped. By failing at its purpose, it demonstrates a lack of wisdom and shall be doomed to remain in this pond until it erodes away to sand."
"With respect, oh goddess, that seems circular. If you can declare the definition of wisdom, then surely the riddle is meaningless. It is arbitrary. You could solve your conundrum any day you wished." Seri hurled a rock overarm, matching how she'd thrown his stone. It hesitated on the surface for a moment, trembling, before it sank.
"Then why do I spend every day considering?" asked the goddess of knowledge.
Seri frowned.
"If the riddle is arbitrary," said the goddess, "then surely I am wiser than any rock. And if it is not, then surely that rock is less wise than one which has a purpose."
They both stared at the pond until the sun reached its zenith and the goddess of knowledge departed to attend to her duties.
The next day, Seri found the goddess of knowledge again watching the pond.
"Oh goddess," said Seri, "I believe I know who is wisest." He picked up a rock and prepared to skip it. "It is I."
This was a wise answer, for it captured the true essence of the riddle.
"Impossible," said the goddess of knowledge. "You are but a wizard-child, studying at the feet of a fool who prizes power above all. Your wisdom is naught compared to that of a child."
"Perhaps," replied Seri. He threw his rock onto the water casually, without any spin. As it held in the air, he brought his magic to his chest and pushed it outwards, freezing the pond's surface. The rock clattered along the ice, bouncing many times.
"I have skipped a stone," said Seri. "Therefore, I am wisest."
"If you are wisest," countered the goddess of knowledge, "then why do you come to this pond every day to ponder who is wisest?"
"Why indeed?" said Seri. And then he left, satisfied, never to return.