Yin and Yang: A Fool's Beginning (20 page)

Castor runs through basic theory with the Princess,
teaching her nothing I haven't heard before. So it provides me with
an opportunity to stand there and think.

And think I do.

Not about the Savior and the end of the world, but
about the mysterious Yin and her legendary Master, Castorious
Barr.

Though I should not have the time to spare, I declare
to myself that I will find out what's going on.

No matter what it takes.

Yin

I train late into the night.

I haven't eaten, I've barely drunk, and I'm wearing
the same burnt clothes from this morning.

I don't complain. I don't even speak.

I do exactly as I'm told.

I follow Mae's every move. When she furls her hand, I
furl mine. When she stands stiff and straight and conducts her
magic with elegance and poise, I try to do the same.

I shut my mind off to my anger. I push it out. It
makes my magic weaker and my emotions duller, but I still have the
power and grit I need to continue.

Though I draw an audience to begin with, as the hours
tick on by, most of the soldiers and guards wander off.

People still watch me though, right until Mae tells
me it's over for the day.

As I walk out of the square, my body heavy with
fatigue, I catch a glimpse of two men in white and black
uniforms.

Torches have been lit all around the square, and I
see the two of them standing off in the far distance.

Watching me.

Just the sight of them sends a flight of nerves
dancing through my stomach. Nerves that somehow manage to punch
through my fatigue.

The men don't do anything, though, and soon enough
I'm led back to my room.

I walk in to find a basin of water, food, and clean
clothes. Even the sooty blankets on my bed have been changed.

Silently I wash, dress, and eat.

Then
. . . I sit there and stare at the
wall.

I've never been in a position like this. And just
maybe if I hadn't gone after Castor yesterday, then I wouldn't be
in this position. If I'd just trusted he could free himself from
Yang's soldiers if he wanted to, and I'd stayed at home, then I'd
still be at home.

Instead I have nothing but a cold stone wall to stare
at.

Eventually I crumple my hand over my face.

I'm the Savior and I know the responsibility that
falls upon my shoulders. I have to spend all the time I can
training. But here I am, stuck.

. . .
.

Training.

I crumple my lips together as I realize that.

Today I learnt to fight mirage sorcerers, and though
I hated every minute of Mae's lesson this afternoon, I can't deny I
learnt a few things. Even though she's stuffy, painfully proper,
and powerfully arrogant, she's also pretty powerful.

My whole life I've trained only with Castor. While he
possesses enough knowledge to run an army, there's something to be
said of finding out what other people know.

Still, I might be learning a few things, but I'm
trapped, with Garl's threats to haunt me at night. I have no idea
where Castor is, or even if he's fine.

I'm just
. . . alone.

I flop down on my bed.

Then, without realizing it, I bring up my left hand.
I start playing with the bandage, plucking it up and rubbing the
fabric in my fingers.

When I realize what I'm doing, I stare down at
it.

Safely tucked away in my room, I remove the bandage
and stare at my completely undamaged hand.

How on earth did
blood appear over it without any injury? I didn't feel it. It
just
. . . .

I take an unsteady breath.

As the Savior, I know
I can do some unusual stuff. After all, though I'm not meant to be
able to, I can still do magic in this room. But
. . . bleeding without an injury? That's not an
ability—that's horrifying.

I grind my teeth together as I worry about what it
could mean.

If Castor were by my side, I’d ask him, and he would
know; he knows everything. If he doesn't know, he finds out.

I'm on my own, though. So, with no one to ask, I
eventually tuck my hand back under the bandage and lie down.

Though I am indisputably tired, it takes hours to
fall asleep. I stare at the wall, unwilling to close my eyes and
submit to the dark.

But the dark, and sleep, claim me. For they can't be
held back forever.

Captain Yang

I return to the barracks that night slowly. Though I
am bone-weary with fatigue, I wander the streets. I take in the
burning lanterns with their eerie flickering light. I walk close to
the river, listening to the quiet, calm movement of the water. I
walk the streets, staring past their lights and up into the lights
of the heavens, the stars beaming down with their distinct
glow.

I've never done this before—just wander the city at
night. I've always had purpose. The calm certainty of a Royal Army
sorcerer, the cold knowledge of someone completely in control of
themselves.

Well, I can't rightly hide from the fact I don't feel
in control anymore.

Though the record keepers promised that the
unsettling effects of the scroll would pass, they haven't.

I can still remember, in perfect detail, being drawn
in by the power of that scroll, my face pressing so close to it,
the blood almost smeared over my cheeks.

It makes me shudder just to think about it, and I
haven't shuddered in a long time. No, that's a lie—for the past day
and a half I've been shaking all over the place. Unsettled doesn't
even begin to describe what I feel now—undone does.

My life, once so calm and sure, is now something
else.

As I walk, I near the barracks. I see those enormous
sturdy walls, and though the sight usually fills me with strength,
tonight, for some damn reason, I shudder. It's my home, I tell
myself, but that does not shift my unease.

Walking through the gates, the guards on duty salute.
I return their salutes, though I can't quite manage to look them in
the eyes.

I want to return to my bed, lay my head down, and
forget.

No matter how much I try to forget, however, it won’t
change anything. Tomorrow Castor will bring Princess Mara to the
barracks to train her.

. . .
.

I feel sick with responsibility. It's like a shroud
has descended over me, one that chokes every breath with cruel
ease.

Shaking my head, I rush through the square.

Then I stop, because, despite the lights surrounding
it, I almost trip over something in the dark.

It doesn't take me long to realize it's a pair of
pretty little white shoes.

Despite everything, I laugh. Short, sharp, and
quiet.

But I laugh.

I might be bemoaning the fact my life has changed
irrevocably, but I'm not the only one in this boat.

Yin, a simple mountain girl, is here with me. Her
quiet life has now ended. From now on, she will be a soldier in the
Royal Army. If she can learn to behave as they wish.

Just thinking about her shifts my focus. Instead of
worrying about the impossible weight of responsibility, I start
wondering how she did during her training sessions. Did she pass?
Or did they already kick her out. Or worse?

Hurrying across the
square now, I get the suicidal idea of going to check on her in her
room. It is easily 2
AM, but I still want
to pop my head in the door.

Of course I don't, though. Not only would she rip my
head off, the other soldiers would rightly wonder what I'm
doing.

No.

I resolve instead to see her tomorrow. That
distraction gets me through the night.

Yin

It's a long night, and I toss and turn, restless.
Every dream is nightmarish, just shadows chasing me through equally
shadowy halls and corridors. Whenever I turn to fight, just as I've
been taught, it doesn't matter. My pursuers always overcome me.

They are stronger, faster, and smarter, and there is
nothing I can do against them.

I go to bed with a pervading sense of powerlessness,
and when I wake, that sense has become even more engrained.

I don't have a chance to wallow in it though; within
minutes of waking, there's a rough knock at my door.

I roll to the side and stare at it, offering it a
defeated look.

Then the damn thing opens.

In walks Mae. She looks disgusted at finding me in
bed. Though I want to point out that she barely waited a few
seconds before opening the door, I don't.

I hold my tongue. From now until the day I get out of
here, I’ll have to keep my anger checked.

She walks into the middle of my small room, locks her
hands on her hips, and looks down. She's in the same delicate blue
dress with that same jade comb holding her silver-flecked hair
back.

“Get up,” she says
through a snarl.

I comply.

“Neaten your bed, get
dressed, and meet me in the square,” she adds with a
huff.

I comply.

I don't ask whether I'll be fed, I just do exactly as
I'm told.

Oh, if Castor could see me now. Though I was never
exactly rebellious around him, I wasn't a saint either. If I didn't
want to do something, sometimes I'd just take off and head into the
mountains.

Now there are no mountains and there is no
escape.

Once I'm dressed, I try to do my hair as I've been
instructed. Try as I might, I can't figure it out. Getting
frustrated and realizing I'm running out of time, I scrunch it
together and tie it in a knot. Then, with a deep breath, I walk out
into the hall.

Two soldiers are waiting there for me, with Mae
nowhere to be seen.

They both shoot me disgruntled looks. Though my first
reaction is to shoot one right back at them, I press my lips
together and look at the floor instead.

“I see Garl has
finally got you under control,” one of them mutters.

Though I want to keep staring at the ground, I can't.
My eyes flash as I look up. The soldier has turned from me as he
leads me forward, but I glare solidly at the back of his head.

I want to point out
Garl doesn't have me under control
. . . but he does, doesn't he?

All he had to do was threaten me, threaten Castor,
threaten my village. Now I have no fight left.

No
. . . the fight is still there, burning steadily
in the center of my chest like the molten heart of the earth
itself, but I just can't call on it.

That doesn't mean I'll let it go out. So Garl might
hold all the cards now. Fine. But he will slip up. Just as he
rightly pointed out I have a weakness, he will have one too. Given
time, I will endure what he throws at me, and I will find it.

Then I'll attack.

I won't give in to him.

It's with that attitude that I exit into the square.
It's early morning, and there's a fine mist hanging at the edges of
the building. With one look past the numerous rooms of the
barracks, I note the mountains beyond are hooded in cloud.

It's brisk, but that invigorates me. I'm used to snow
and hail and frost, so a little morning chill won't harm me.

Oh, and I can call upon the fire within any time to
warm my hands and toes.

There are several other training sessions going on as
I'm led into the square. The space is so enormous that you could
easily train a force of a thousand men, and yet have plenty of room
left over for a game of magic ball.

The soldiers guarding me continue to mutter amongst
themselves, no doubt amused by my unconventional hairstyle. Well,
that's fine by me. Better they get distracted by my hair than my
hand.

. . .
.

I still have the
bandage wrapped
securely around it, with
the hope that I'll take it off in a couple of days. Though I
wracked my brain last night to come up with some reason for what
happened to me, I can't find one.

How can a hand bleed with no injury? Does it have
something to do with being the Savior?

These are questions I won't find answers to any time
soon. Still, I let them distract me as I walk out to meet Mae. Once
again she fixes me with a look that lets me know I'm worth just a
lit bit less than slime.

“Take up position,”
she commands.

I do as she says.
It's then I notice there's a folded up fan lying close
by
. “What's that for?”

“You speak—” she
begins.

“When spoken to,” I
finish with a sigh. “I am sorry,” I force myself to say.

Mae looks mildly
mollified. Then she gestures to the fan
.
“Pick it up. Today, I will instruct you in the true combat arts of
female sorcerers.”

I hold my tongue as I lean down and pluck up the fan.
What exactly am I meant to do with it? Start a cracking bonfire and
industriously fan the flames towards my opponent? While I'm sure
that will give my guards something else to snigger about, I doubt
it will be effective in an actual fight.

Mae waits for me to pluck up the fan, then, without a
word, she produces one from under her sleeve and unfurls it in a
pretty, dramatic arc.

I'm usually quite observant—Castor would have it no
other way—but I had not seen that fan.

If you'd asked me yesterday, I would have fervently
exclaimed that I have nothing to learn from Mae. She's arrogant and
bitter, and can't notice when you're actually melting her shoes
into the cobble.