Yin and Yang: A Fool's Beginning (46 page)

I want to turn, want to reach out to him. Before I
can, something latches onto my hair and pulls me roughly to the
side. Without so much as a grunt, one of the illusionists throws me
to the ground, and I can feel their foot press into my neck as they
lock me in place.

“Yin, no,” Yang
screams.

For me. He lurches forward, hand outstretched, to
catch me.

The man I thought I could never trust, and now the
last man I'll ever see.

I can feel a blade
being pressed into the back of my neck, and suddenly Yang stops,
but I can see from the wide-eyed terrified look he gives me that he
can see the blade too
. “Let her up,” he
pleads.

Out of the air behind him, one of the illusionists
appears. And in a swift, vicious blow, he curls his knuckles into a
point, and slams them into Yang's coccyx.

Yang gasps and falls to his knees, teetering on the
spot until he can balance himself no longer, and falls to the
ground.

He faces me.

We stare at each other.

I watch the illusionist behind him pull out its knife
and press it into the back of Yang's neck.

It's over
. . . .

This is the end. I'm the savior, but I'll never get a
chance to fulfil my sacred destiny. These illusionists will take
that responsibility off my hands.

. . .
.

Though it shouldn't, that idea gives me a measure of
relief. I'm about to die, and all I can think of is that I'm being
let off the hook. That it's easier to let the illusionist slice me
through the back of the neck than it is to fight the Night and
usher in a new age for man.

Then something happens.

Just as I prepare to surrender to that fate, I watch
tears swell in Yang's eyes as he looks at me.

He doesn't look relieved. He looks as if he's about
to lose something.

I watch one of the
illusionists lean down close to Yang and whisper in his
ear, “the General can’t abide
traitors.”

“The General is a
monster,” Yang replies, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. “Let
Yin go. You can kill me. But let her go.”

“We intend to. The
General still has uses for her. You, however, Captain Yang, will
now meet your inglorious end. Die knowing you are nothing more than
a traitor.”

They're going to kill him.

And all he can do is sadly look my way.

“You'll be alright;
you'll get free,” he mouths to me.

Though he does not speak his words, I swear they
shake my heart. They push right through the submission that has
settled there. The desire to surrender to my fate.

I am the savior.

I endure then I fight.

Now, I will fight.

I do not hesitate further.

I draw on the sacred power within.

Just as the illusionist behind Yang tightens his arm
muscles, and I can tell readies to plunge the knife down, I push
out.

With everything I've got. With the very spirit of
fire itself.

I make no movement, call upon no spell.

I just merge with the fire. Not in my Arak device,
but in my heart, and I send it out in a great arc.

Castor taught me to fight. He trained me in the
various arts of combat.

But try as he might, he was never able to teach me to
feel. To develop within me the instincts of power. That connection
that bypasses knowledge and training, and accesses the raw force
within, undiluted and unconstrained by knowledge or tradition.

The true spirit of magic.

The true source of all power.

Gaea.

No, Yang taught me that, even though he doesn't
realize it.

Well, right now, I use it.

Without a movement, without a weapon, and without a
word, I let the fire fight for me.

It does.

It surges out, in one great explosion of force.

The illusionists have no time to plunge the knives
into our necks; the speed at which the fire slams out is beyond
their comprehension. The force with which it hits them is beyond
their ability to withstand.

Both of them are flung backward with so much force,
they twist in the air until landing and tumbling uncontrollably,
only coming to a rest far away in the dust and sand.

Though the fire burns around me in a great halo of
power, it does not burn me, and it does not burn Yang.

With wide eyes, he looks into mine, staring at the
flames like a man uncaring of how hot they may be.

Once the halo of fire around me dies, I push myself
up, then I lean forward, stretching a hand out to Yang.

He doesn't hesitate. He closes his palm around mine,
and together we pull each other to our feet.

Without hesitating, he runs over to the illusionists,
checking them as I stand ready in a defensive position to attack
should they rise again.

They don't, and with
a terse
, “they are down,” Yang strips
them of their weaponry. Then he makes a fist and holds it out as he
produces two sets of watery ropes and ties their hands and
feet.

Then
. . .

He turns to me.

He
. . . stares. Just like he did when we first
met.

So silent, so watchful.

But not cold.

The emotion cracks
his brow and makes his cheeks flare with heat
. “How did you do that?” he asks, his awe
obvious.

I don't answer. I don't need to.

“Thank you,” he
eventually says.

I look away, unable to hold his gaze.

I couldn't let him die.

But if he hadn't been there, I would have let myself
die.

The prospect of losing him, however, was what made me
fight.

“I can't believe Garl
sent them after us,” Yang says as he shakes his head. “Illusionist
assassins. I should have thought of this. I should have
. . .” Yang trails off, sighing morosely, blood dripping
down his chin. He's still holding one hand out, the fingers
outstretched as he maintains the watery ropes keeping the
illusionists in place. That doesn't stop him from turning towards
me. Nor does it stop his eyes from growing wide as he stares at my
left arm. “You're so injured. How are you standing? We need
to—”

He cuts off. Not because the illusionists suddenly
spring to their feet to continue the fight. But because I lurch
down to my knees, clutching my arm as pain shoots through it.

“Yin,” Yang shouts
desperately.

I
. . . can feel it.

As I lean in the blood soaked dust, that most dreaded
of senses returns to me.

The dark.

I can feel it crawling towards me. Slipping up
through the ground, its formless hands groping my way.

I can't speak, I can't breathe, all I can do is feel
the dark clawing its way closer.

“Yin,” Yang scream,
landing on his knees as he skids towards me, one hand still
outstretched as he keeps the illusionists locked up, but all the
rest of his attention locked on me. As his eyes desperately search
mine, he begs, “just hold on.”

“Get me out of here,
get me out of here,” I manage, using all the strength I have to
speak.

“I will look after
your injuries. Just hold on,” he begs again. Reaching forward and
collapsing a hand tight over my wounded shoulder.

I shake my head
fervently
. “You have to get me out of
here before they come. They're coming, Yang, they're coming,” I say
before I collapse.

“Yin.”

I shake.

I wait. Feeling them draw nearer, but unable to do
anything about it.

“Yin? Who are you
talking about?” Yang questions.

I can't answer.

I can't answer.

Then, I scream.

He collapses one arm around me, trying to hold me
against his chest, trying to comfort me.

But it's too late.

I can feel him snap
backwards as a strange, hissing noise sounds out behind
us
. “What the hell?” he
begins.

I see past him.

And what I see is the end of me.

Shifting up through the sand and dirt, darkness
solidifies into forms.

Faceless, eyeless husks. With long arms and an
exaggerated humanlike form, they reach forward.

It's too late.

I can't get away.

Whilst I was ready to submit to death when it was at
the hands of the illusionists, this is different.

The foot soldiers of the dark will draw me right down
into their realm, and forever more I will be trapped inside chaos,
punished for what I am.

I expect Yang to kneel there in terror, overcome by
what he sees. Though he does for a few precious moments, he
overcomes his fear.

He springs to his feet, standing before me, his arms
spread wide.

He should be terrified beyond measure.

He should have no idea what those dark husks are.

He should be unable to move.

Yet he's none of those things.

Ignoring his own injuries, he draws upon the water
within, and sends several bursts out, pushing the husks back.

Despite how weak he should be, his blasts are
stronger than they've ever been.

They collect into the center of those foul creatures,
and push them back.

I would help, but I can't.

The nearer the husks come, the more the injuries in
my arms burn.

But it is not a burning I am familiar with.

It is not a fire that invigorates me.

It's pure pain. Nothing but torture.

There's nothing I can do but wait and hope.

Though the husks continue to push out of the ground,
Yang doesn't stop. When one nears him, he leaps up and launches
towards it, sending a watery kick slamming into its face.

As another crawls towards me, stretching its hand out
to my throat, Yang comes spinning around and forces it back with a
wave of water.

The husks relentlessly attack, but Yang keeps them
back.

He calls upon power I didn't realize he had, the
force of his waves vibrating the ground beneath us.

He keeps them back.

But they keep coming.

“We have to get out
of here,” I manage.

We have to get out of here.

Yang hesitates for a moment, and I wonder if he's
ready to give up.

He isn't. He closes his eyes for half a second,
closes his fists together, and then spreads his arms out in the
quickest move I've ever seen.

Water rushes out from every direction.

It's as if the ocean itself has suddenly transported
right to us. As if the air has transformed and there is nothing but
Yang's magic.

That enormous swell of water washes out, and collects
every single husk, driving them all back.

Then Yang does not wait.

He rushes over to me, leans down, picks me up, and
runs forward.

We reach the horse, he places me on top, clambers
behind, and screams out.

The horse rushes forward, the sound of its hooves
deafening.

I feel Yang lean backwards, sending blasts of power
out as the horse gallops onwards.

Onwards and onwards.

Until finally, finally it feels as if the Night is
giving way to day.

The sun above feels warm again, and my eyes can see
the color and light.

He did it. We escaped.

Yang just keeps spurring the horse forward, never
letting up as we flee further and further from that destroyed
coastal village.

It takes a long time
before the horse begins to slow. Then, with the
gentlest voice, he tells me, “I need to bandage your
injuries.”

The horse stops, and I feel him get off. His heavy
armor clanking around him.

Tenderly he places an arm on my shoulder.

I look up, right into his eyes.

I expect to see some mix of fear and surprise and
shock.

What I see is
. . . something I don't
understand.

“It's okay,” he says
in a calming tone.

Then he helps me off the horse.

Though my arm is undoubtedly injured, it doesn't feel
like it did when the husks attacked.

They managed to call pain into it. But now we have
left them far behind, I can use my own magic to help heal it.

I'll need more though. Bandages, herbs, and rest.

Yang stands close to me as he helps me off the horse,
offering his shoulder as I lean heavily into it.

There's a moment when we are close enough to stare
into each other's eyes.

That moment drags on and on.

As it does, I feel lost in time. More than that, lost
in the balance. It reminds me of that extended feeling I only
glimpsed during the fan dance. That space beyond where I usually
live. A space of pure flow.

He’s the first one to pull away.

As he does, he latches a hand on my shoulder and
guides me gently into a seated position.

“We need to stop this
from bleeding,” he says as he winces and palpates the injury on my
shoulder.

I let him inspect the injury, and don't even dream of
pulling away, despite our proximity.

It takes a long time,
but I whisper a barely audible
, “thank
you. Thank you for saving me from those . . .
things.”

He looks up sharply.

At first I doubt he
can speak, then he manages
, “the Night.
It's called the Night.”

I jolt backwards, surprised.

“It's okay,” he
anchors a hand on my shoulder. “There is . . . a lot I
need to tell you. But the creatures back there, they belong to the
Night. I know you probably believe it's a myth, but it isn't
. . . . I know it's very hard to believe, but just let me
finish. The age is ending,” he says in a shaking voice. “As it
ends, the Night is setting in.”