Yin and Yang: A Fool's Beginning (14 page)

Her head is held high and her footfall is measured.
Though she stumbles occasionally, she never lets herself fall.

It takes until she's
halfway across the square until I regain control of
myself
. “Show her back to her room,” I
demand as I point at the nearest two soldiers.

It takes the both of them a few seconds to relax.
Then they scurry off. As they do, I can see they look wary.

Who wouldn't?

Yin endured every blow Mae sent at her, while winning
the battle in secret and in silence.

“I will see to it
myself that she is dealt with,” Mae suddenly snarls in my ear as
she tries to jerk her feet free.

I still have a hold of her shoulder, and I can feel
how hard she struggles to yank her shoes from the cobbles.

Despite her efforts,
she takes the shoes off, growling as she does
. “She is untrainable. She has no place in this Army.” Mae
straightens herself up now she is free, and pats down her dress.
With a breath, she appears to compose herself, though I can still
feel her rage bubbling within. “I am sorry you had to see that,
Captain. I will inform General Garl myself. That creature is
useless to us.”

I don't reply. There's no point.

General Garl, I am confident, will find out what
happened here soon enough. Just as I am confident General Garl
won't agree with Mae.

Yin, though impetuous, arrogant, and gruff, is in no
way useless to the Royal Army. Someone with that much power is
precisely what an army needs.

Granted, Yin is a woman, but her power is the only
thing Garl will care about. After all, no matter how engrained a
tradition or taboo, at the end of the day, power is the only thing
people desire. If Yin can be trained, she could be an enormous
asset to the Royal Army.

If she can be trained. Considering the display she's
given though, I know Garl will not give up until he confirms
completely that she can't be.

Eventually Mae stalks off, and the rest of the crowd
slowly disperses, leaving me standing there next to a pair of
melted white shoes.

It takes me far too long to pull my mind off what
Yin's just achieved, and back to my plans for the day.

. . .
.

With a jolt I realize I have to head to the palace.
The record keepers are waiting for me.

Twisting on the spot and racing across the square, I
chide myself for being so stupid. Though Yin's display was truly
impressive, I should not have let it distract me, especially
considering how important my task is.

The legend of the Savior may be true, and the
Kingdom's own Princess may be the prodigy that fills that role.

. . .
Yet, try as I
might, I can't get Mae's melted shoes out of my head.

It's with muddled confusion that I make my way out of
the barracks and through the city. As I race to the palace, I use
every technique I know to purge myself of emotion.

And, slowly but surely, it works. I allow my feelings
to wash away until my cold, calm detachment returns.

It is only then I am ready to face what will happen
next.

Yin

I should be tired. After a training session like
that, I should be nothing more than a heap of pain and groans.

I'm not.

I let those soldiers lead me back to my room, and I
don't fight as they close and bolt the door from the outside.

I’m sure to keep my stance strong and my expression
stony until they leave. Then I cover my face with my hands and take
in a rattling, dramatic breath.

Then another, and another.

I stop, and I start to check my injuries. With
careful moves, I brush my hands up my arms, looking for burns and
cuts.

Though ostensibly my arms and chest should be little
more than burnt, charred lumps of flesh, I'm mostly fine. There are
red marks here and there, and I can see bruises peeking up from
underneath the soot covering my skin. Yet apart from those minor
maladies, I'm fine.

Castor taught me how to take a blow. He also taught
me to fight without armor.

And today, that came in handy. Still, I can't quite
believe what I achieved.

Flopping back on my bed and locking my wrist onto my
brow, I close my eyes and remember the fight.

Amongst all the details, a few stand out—the look on
Mae's face as she realizes I melted her shoes, and how Captain Yang
somersaulted through the air and blocked Mae's last blow.

I remember precisely how he moved. As he jumped
forward, he was strong and quick. As he called upon his magic, I
felt the air sing with its presence.

There's no doubting he's powerful. And
irritating.

Letting my arm drop from my face, I stare glumly at
the ceiling.

I want to see Castor. No, I need to see him. I have
no idea what I'm meant to be doing. Does he want me to fight? Or
should I be cowering in a corner pretending I can't do
anything?

What's going on here?

Letting out a groan of frustration, I ball up a fist
and strike it on the side of my bed. As I do, the smallest crackle
escapes along my thumbnail.

I look down at it.

Slowly I smile. It's more evidence that if I try,
I'll be able to overcome the enchantments preventing me from
conjuring magic in this room.

. . .
.

Then what?

Even if I could blast through this place and somehow
get away from all the soldiers and guards, what do I do when I'm
free?

I have no idea where Castor is. And worse than that,
I have no idea whether he'll flee with me even if I find him. In
fact, a horrible twisting feeling in my gut tells me he won't.

He had multiple chances to get away from those
soldiers in the village, then again when they transported us to the
city. Yet he didn't take them.

Something’s going on, and I have no idea what it
is.

Groaning, I turn to my side, the soot over my chest
and arms and cheeks marking my pillow and covers. Though it's
childish, that makes me smile. The stuffy Mae would be appalled at
me tracking muck over my bed. So I'm sure to rub my arms harder
against my mattress just to spite her.

Slowly, as I lie there, the adrenaline of the fight
abates. My limbs no longer tingle with power, and the ache of
slamming my chest into countless magical blasts starts to
build.

With the softest of whimpers, I curl up on
myself.

If I were at home, I would wander off into the forest
to collect some healing herbs. I'm not though. I'm trapped in a
room with no windows, no herbs, and no help.

So it's just me.

That's fine.

Because I'll manage. I’m the Savior, and I have no
choice.

Captain Yang

I reach the palace with a fine sweat covering my
brow. Plucking my helmet from my head, I neaten my hair and take a
calming breath.

Walking up the enormously long palace steps, I feel
my chest swell with pride. Our kingdom is the finest in all the
lands, and I'm honored to be allowed in the palace.

From its thousand carved steps lined with silver and
obsidian, to its gold-plated pillars, it is a testament to
achievement. It's unquestionably the most beautiful thing I've ever
seen.

As I walk up those steps and face the majestically
dressed palace guards, I let my pride swell.

It's one of the rare emotions I let myself feel. In
fact, I encourage it. I've been taught to encourage it. As a
sorcerer, you are trained to only let selective emotions pass
through your wall of control: loyalty and pride for your kingdom
and Queen. Everything else must be expunged. For all other feelings
have no place swelling in the heart of a soldier.

Maybe that's why I enjoy coming here so much; the
palace is one of the few places I feel truly alive, for it's one of
the only places I let myself feel anything at all.

Still, the thrill I get as I walk up those steps,
introduce myself to the guards, and am led inside, is
unmistakable.

Just as soon as that
thrill peaks, responsibility kicks in. Garl has sent me here in
order to convince me the legend of the Savior is true. Then
. . . I will directly guard the
Princess herself.

. . .
.

It's a fact I haven't truly considered until now.
With the distraction of watching Yin fight so powerfully and
unconventionally, I haven't had the opportunity to realize what's
ahead of me.

Now I can't turn away, because soon, I will protect
the Princess.

I feel my heart beating uneasily in my chest and am
all too aware of the blood thrumming through my body. Nonetheless,
I let nothing show.

A contingent of two palace guards leads me through an
enormous atrium. Though I've been to the palace before, I can't say
I've seen it all. In fact, if you gave me a week, I would be unable
to tap all its secrets. It's one of the biggest buildings in all
the Kingdoms. Sprawling and elegant, it has been added to for
millennia. There are secret tunnels, lost rooms, and whole sections
that can only be accessed by members of the Royal Family alone.

All of it is
stunning. Every pillar is carved and pressed with precious metal.
There are adornments everywhere, from snarling lion statues to
jewel encrusted boxes from faraway lands. Everyth
ing glitters with extravagant beauty.

I let those sights distract me as I march through
that cavernous hall. The sound of my heavy footfall intersperses
with that of the guards. In fact, it’s the only sound as they lead
me through a hall, and then another, and then another.

It takes almost 15 minutes before we reach the
records room. If I was impressed by the rest of the palace, this
place is arguably 10 times more incredible.

The palace guards lead me to an enormous, ornate set
of blue and black doors, mumbling at me that I have leave to enter
on my own. Then, with salutes, they march off, their boots echoing
through the hall like beating drums.

I stand before the doors, press my lips together, and
breathe.

My body is unusually tense, raw emotion unsettling my
firm resolve.

Although I'm not normally one for dramatic thoughts,
facing those closed doors feels a little like facing destiny.

Still, after another moment's pause, I push into them
and walk through. As I press one hand firmly into the ornate blue
and black metal, it parts before me like nothing more than cloud.
It doesn't even groan.

As the doors open, they reveal an enormous room. If
I'd believed the atrium was large, I now realize it's small in
comparison.

As I step out onto a mezzanine level, my gaze is
drawn forward. The room is domed, with mezzanine level after
mezzanine level circling around the sides of the building. And
everywhere, as far as the eye can see, are books and scrolls.

Their colorful spines look like gems all lined up in
neat rows, and they are lit up by the soft, muted light streaming
in from the enormous skylight above.

I stand there and stare, my hands hanging loosely at
my sides as I cast my gaze everywhere.

It takes me too long to hear several steps echoing
towards me. Turning to my left, I see two men walking up a twisting
staircase that leads down to the level below.

They are both wearing long white and red robes that
hide their feet and make it seem as if they are gliding along.

Both greet me with dour smiles, and both look
alike—old, with sallow, pale skin, and hooded eyes. I doubt either
gets much sun, and from the bored looks they give me, I imagine
they rarely meet other people too.

“Sirs,” I say as I
bow, feeling clumsy as my armor bulks uncomfortably around my
move.

Again I feel unsettled. Again I can't quite marshal
control over my emotions. My mind is a mess, and for some damn
reason I can't get Mae's burnt shoes out of my head.

“We were informed you
were meant to arrive,” one of the men says.

“Two hours ago,” the
other finishes.

I bow low and offer a
polite smile
. “I was unavoidably detained
at the barracks. You have my sincerest apologies.”

Both men stare at me as if I'm a blotch on one of
their perfect books.

“Whatever detained
you at the barracks can’t compare in significance to what we are
about to share with you,” one of them points out with a heavy
sigh.

I nod.

“Come,” the other
waves me forward.

Silently they lead me down several levels. All the
while, neither of them speak.

As I walk, I stare at the books around me. I can't
even begin to estimate how many there are, and nor can I begin to
imagine how much knowledge they must contain. Yet as we descend,
the books begin looking older and older. The brighter colors of
modern times are left behind as lines of sun-kissed scrolls meet my
gaze instead.

When we reach the very base of the room, and I walk
out onto a great black marble floor that has been polished with
hundreds of years of footfall, I shiver.

Not only is it cold
down here, there is a distinct sense of
. . . age. It feels as if I'm walking back in
time, and I'm about to face the very genesis of the Kingdom itself.
Perhaps even the Araks.

As we walk, the two record keepers lower their heads
in reverence, draw their arms in, and clasp their hands together.
They look as though they are about to go before the Queen.

I want to find out where we're going, and yet I can't
interrupt. There's something powerful about the silence that makes
me shiver at the thought of breaking it.