Yin and Yang: A Fool's Beginning (43 page)

I try to feel
disappointed at that. I try to feel ashamed at what I'm doing, but
the sensation is shallow. And sitting underneath is
. . . excitement.

Excitement that I'm doing something that feels right.
And more than that, surprised that I'm doing something that
feels.

For so many years I purged myself of emotion and did
what I was told.

Now I am relying on that emotion to decide what I
want to do next.

“We will head to the
coastal village, I have to find out what Garl did,” I
say.

Yin is seated behind
me, one hand hooked on my arm for balance, the other resting on the
flank of the horse
. “All right,” she
says. “But what . . . do we do when we find the evidence
you're after?”

“I . . .
don't know. I just have to find out first.”

I trail off. Then, once again, all those millions of
thoughts return to my mind. Some of them about the Princess and the
Savior, but most of them about Yin. I'm dying to ask her what her
secret is, but I can sense that it's too soon.

She is clearly
confused about leaving Castor behind, and if I push too much, I
know what she will do. Snap at me. We might be the only
friends each other have, but I know that's not
going to stop Yin from standing her ground when she has
to.

So instead, I let us dwindle into silence. Just the
pounding sound of the horse's hooves as she races across a grass
field. Just the clink of my armor as it moves around me. Just our
breath as it drifts off into the cold night.

The further we get away from the city, the more the
cloud above thins, until the eerie silver glow of the moon is
visible from above.

I see the lay of the land before us. The fields
undulating and leading up to the mountains. If I turn, I can see
the glitter of the city so far away now.

This
. . . is it.

For a man who has always lived his life by a
particular set of rules and to a particular routine, I'm being
plunged into the dark.

There will be no more routine, no more rules. I won't
wake up early in the morning to train in the square, then wash and
have breakfast, and attend to my duties as a captain.

There will be no more meetings with Garl as we
discuss strategy and security. There will be no dinners at the
Palace with the Princess smiling over at me.

There will only be running. Living off the land,
reacting to what comes next.

A mix of apprehension and invigoration swells
together in my stomach.

As it does, I swear the horse starts to go faster.
With its pounding speed, I come closer and closer to a new
destiny.

One I am to decide for myself.

Yin

My life is so different now. I long for the
simplicity of the mountains. Training in the morning, helping
Castor in the afternoon, and wandering through the forests.

I knew that life, I was comfortable with it. And
within its structure, I could deal with the fact that I'm the
Savior.

Castor made it manageable. Every day he would train
me more, helping me to feel that just maybe I can go through with
this. That just maybe I can complete my destiny and bring the world
into a new age.

Now, I have nothing but questions. Nothing but
uncertainty.

This morning I couldn't have imagined that I would be
fleeing with Captain Yang of all people.

I thought that one day Castor might come back to me,
that one day he might knock on my door and pull me out of the
barracks, taking me back to the life I once knew.

Now I realize how naive that hope was. It was nothing
more than a childish wish.

My life will never go back to what it was.

It will only go forward.

Maybe I grip Yang's arm a little harder as I realize
that.

For the past several months, I've been fighting the
onset of the end of ages.

Sure, at the barracks I convinced myself to garner
any lesson I could to help me on my path.

But that doesn't mean I wasn't fighting it. Refusing
to open myself up to the possibility of what was right around the
corner.

Chaos.

The foot soldiers of the Night crawling out of the
cracks in the ground to claim me.

Now
. . . it's right upon me.

My life is quickening, pushing forward toward one
inexorable conclusion.

I shiver slightly. Trying to close the jacket around
me with one hand.

“We need to keep
going tonight,” Yang says from before me. “I'm sorry if you're
cold,” he adds.

I press my lips together and smile.

Three weeks ago, if Captain Yang had said sorry, I
would have known he was lying. A Royal Army sorcerer, I would have
convinced myself he was capable of nothing but spineless, immoral
manipulation. Trained from birth to purge his emotions, there would
be no way I would trust him.

Now, I can't stop my lips from curling at his words
and my heart from warming. As my heart warms, my skin does, natural
magic flowing through my veins and soaring into my limbs.

“Or you could just
warm yourself up with fire,” he suddenly comments.

“. . . You
can feel that?”

“Yes,” he
says.

. . .
.

While I have a connection to Yang, I can't ignore the
possibility he might have one to me.

While I can read him like an open book, is it
possible he can do the same when he stares upon me?

As a fire sorcerer, I'm used to showing my emotions.
There are still some, however, that I choose to keep hidden.

Not from Yang, apparently.

For the first time I truly wonder what my new life
will look like. On the run with a man I barely know, and one who,
up until hours ago, I wanted to punch more than talk to.

Still, there's nothing for it. There's no other
way.

I can only go forward now.

We ride well into the
night. Though I'm tired, and I still ache terribly from the
mysterious injury to my arm, I hold on. I don't complain. I just
keep going. A few times Yang asks me if I'm okay. I mumble a soft
reply, if any, and I go back to concentrating on keeping warm and
keeping upright. Though I'm tired, the las
t thing I want to do is fall asleep on a speeding horse and
fall right off. I'll be useless to Yang if I'm injured.

We don't pause until the first rays of dawn light up
the horizon. The colors that play along the wisps of cloud are
majestic, and they easily draw the eye. From oranges to purples to
flaming reds, they remind me how beautiful nature can be.

The Royal City is
meant to be attractive. The Palace, apparently, is meant to be one
of the greatest wonders in the world. With its obsidian steps and
its golden pillars, it is a testament to human wealth. While the
daw
n, as it dazzles the grass plains and
mountains behind, is a testament to natural wealth, to the
underlying beauty of the land, stripped back from the machinations
of men.

I've long ago given up doing anything with my hair.
It has become a riotous mess. Without anything to tie it down, it
jumps up and down around my face with every stride the horse takes.
Messy hair, however, is the least of my problems.

A few times I run a hand up my left arm, tentatively
touching my wrist and palm.

Did Garl really do that to me? I hadn't even thought
it was a possibility until Yang mentioned it.

I distinctly remember the hatred in Garl's eyes when
he threatened me. I have no questions that he is capable of doing
something like this; he has no compunctions to hold him back.

. . .
.

Still, I can't quite push away the possibility that
what's happening to me has something to do with the fact I'm the
Savior.

Even as I think that, I shiver.

“We will stop soon,
sleep for an hour or two, and continue,” Yang says as he half turns
around.

He is no longer wearing his helmet. In fact, he
wanted to throw it away, and he tried to. I stopped him, though.
Not because I thought he would regret it later, but because the
heavy helmet is be worth a pretty penny. Now we are both on our
own, we are going to need to take every step we can to survive.

Still, I can see how much he wanted to rid himself of
that symbol. With dragons emblazoned over the metal, no doubt it
reminded him of everything he just turned his back on. From the
Royal Army to the Royal Family, his armor is one of the last
symbols he has that connects him to his old life.

And me
. . . I have nothing. No, as soon as I
think that thought, I dismiss it.

I have something.

The training Castor gave me, the strength I learnt
whilst at the barracks. I have the power, in other words, to rely
on myself. That's all I need. Not fancy armor, not money, not the
trappings of success. Self-reliance.

True to his word, we
soon stop. He pulls up close to a babbling brook, taking the horse
down to the
bank and letting it
drink.

With a hand on the
creature's neck, I watch him as he stares past the creek, up to the
dawn above. Though I can't see his expression in full, the quality
of his gaze is
. . .
sorrowful.

I still can't believe he was willing to give up so
much for me. If not for me, then for a sense of morality I thought
he never had.

“Yang, thank you,” I
say suddenly as I take a few steps away and turn to face the dawn
myself.

“You don't need to
thank me. But . . . I would like to know more about you.
Now that we are . . . travelling partners, I want to know
who you are. Did Castor really just take you in off the street and
look after you because nobody else would? Why are you
. . . so strong? Did he teach you how to use magic like
that, or is it a natural skill?”

Once Yang gets started, it's like a dam has broken,
and question after question comes flooding out.

At first I'm surprised, then I slowly press my lips
together and draw them in.

I thought I had made my peace with the fact I've
given up my old life, that I've left Castor behind, and must now
forge ahead on my own.

Yet, now, as Yang questions me so eagerly, I can't
answer him.

Instead, my shoulders pressing together, I clutch one
hand on my stomach and turn from him to stare at the view
instead.

“Yin, please. Tell
me. It's not like I have anyone else to tell,” he says
bitterly.

Slowly I swivel my gaze to stare at him.

He looks different without his helmet. Or maybe he
looks different without that facade of cold indifference. He is no
longer numb; I can see the emotion rippling over his face just as
obviously as day compared to night.

Suddenly he sighs,
and that once eager look in his eye is replaced with a tired
wince
. “You must be fatigued. Ignore me.
Drink and wash,” he says as he glances down at my still bloodied
tunic. “I will go and see if I can find any food.”

He begins to walk away.

I should let him walk away.

I can't.

“Castor didn't take
me off the street,” I say in a stuttering voice, feeling like every
word is a drop of blood I'm freely giving up, “and he trained me
because . . .” I trail off.

“Because why?” he
prompts gently.

“Because he thought
that one day it might be important,” I manage, my voice so quiet I
doubt he can hear me.

“Why?”

Why.

Because I'm the Savior, the last of the sages, and
the only one who can save the age of light.

But how do I tell that to Yang? Like most other
people, he probably thinks the Savior myth is just that, a myth. If
I tell him, he's either going to laugh in my face or walk away from
me, thinking I'm crazy.

So I hold my tongue.

“He never told me. He
kept a lot from me,” I say slowly, and as I speak, I realize it's
true.

Castor was always holding back. He would always tell
me that he would reveal what I need to know when I need to know
it.

And ever since abandoning me for the Princess, I
realize how true that is.

Though Yang was
halfway through turning away, he stops. He doesn't say anything, he
stares at me for a few seconds
. “I know
what it's like to have people keep information from you,” he says.
Then he hesitates. He seems as if he's ready to tell me something,
but then he withdraws. “I'll go find some food. Wash
up.”

I nod, then I stand there and watch him walk
away.

In fact, I don't turn until he is completely out of
sight, behind a thicket of trees and bushes.

. . .
.

“I'm the Savior,” I
say in the tiniest voice possible.

He is far too far away to hear me.

“Captain Yang, I'm
the Savior,” I say again, as quietly as I can.

It feels good to say it out loud. It feels like
fighting against the secrecy that has kept me locked in my whole
life.

“You're the first
person I've ever told,” I continue whispering to myself, “but there
it is, I'm the Savior.”

I stare at the trees and bushes before me. From the
gnarled branches to the twisted roots and leaves, I wait for him to
suddenly dash out, his eyes wide.

Of course he doesn't; he never heard my
admission.

That doesn't diminish my desire.

I want to tell him, I want to tell someone, anyone. I
want help, more than Castor, someone else to rely on. Someone else
to share the burden with.