Yin and Yang: A Fool's Beginning (5 page)

“No, I want you to
let him go. There are so many other soldiers to fight your war,” I
say. Or at least I try to. Despite my best efforts, my voice begins
to waver.

I hate showing tenderness. Tears are not for me.
After all, I won't have time to cry on the final day, will I? So
what's the point of getting into the habit now?

I can't afford to feel weak and small, but right now
I can't avoid it.

Whereas once the rain
hid my tears, now it can't, and they streak freely down my
face
. “Just let him go,” I try once
more.

Captain Yang stares
at me. His helmet is large, and hides the majority of his face, but
in that moment I swear his lips soften into a commiserating
smile
. “Don't fear—he will be treated
well. He is a war hero. We know his value, and we respect his
sacrifices.”

I curl my hands into
fists, hating that tears still tumble down my
cheeks
. “Just let me see him.”

Captain Yang nods. Then he reaches up and removes his
helmet.

For the first time I see his face in full. With pale
brown eyes tinged with gold, he is clean shaven, with neat cropped
hair and a handsome, gentle face.

I don't have time for men. Again, I kind of have
something much more important to worry about. Plus, that woman was
right—I'm not marriage material. With my unruly hair, lean figure,
and hot temper, I'm the equivalent of a bramble bush, and not a
soft rose petal.

So I don't blush. I don't step back and fan my face
at how attractive the Captain is.

I stare at him straight in the eyes.

“Show me my uncle,” I
demand.

Yang nods his head low, then moves his arm to the
left in a sweeping move.

“Captain,” one of the
soldiers says in a low, warning tone. “She's dangerous—”

Yang raises his hand in a silencing move once more,
and the soldier cuts off mid-sentence.

I stare at him warily.

Again Yang sweeps to the left with his arm.

Carefully I take a step forward, then another.

When the rain doesn't twist down to strangle me, and
the soldiers don't surge forward to pin me to the ground, I
uneasily walk towards Yang.

With a nod, he silently leads me through the
rain.

I can tell the soldiers are more than uneasy to let
us leave, but none of them say anything more.

The rain still thunders down, my sandals churning
through the mud and splashing it over my torn black pants.

I'm still cold, and I carefully run my hands up and
down my arms.

Yang watches me. In fact, Yang hasn't stopped
watching me from the moment he strode out of the rain and broke up
my fight.

He isn't overt about it now, though. But as we walk
forward, I can tell his head is inclined to the side, his pale
brown eyes surreptitiously gazing my way.

There's something very still about the man. He
reminds me easily of a mountain, sure footed and unable to be
moved.

“You're a sorcerer,”
he suddenly notes.

I don't answer.

What's the point? He saw the fight. He saw what I
did.

“Did your uncle teach
you that?” he continues. “Did he give you your bangle?”

I still don't answer. I do, however, run a hand over
my Arak glove.

“You're quite
skilled. You gave my men a run for their money.”

“Just take me to my
uncle,” I whisper harshly.

“I am. You have my
word.”

Though I've been steadfastly staring at my feet or
hands, I now let my gaze flicker up to his.

I want to fight it, but there's something calming
about his tone. Something trustworthy.

I take a breath.

The wind roars high in the mountains.

I feel connected to it as I breathe out. From the
rain to the mud to the lightning flashing high in the crags, I
suddenly sense that ever-present connection.

Gaea.

The original Goddess. The origin of all
summoned power, and that which I must call upon on the final
day.

With another calming breath, I see him watching me
attentively.

“What are you looking
at?” I ask defensively. “And where's my uncle?”

“Your uncle is here,”
Yang answers as he gestures towards a cart.

The cart is large, strong, and has metal bars over
the windows.

My heart pounds in my chest.

“Castor?” I cry. “Are
you in there, are you okay? What have you done to him?” I whirl on
Yang, “he's not a prisoner.”

Before my anger can burn through me and ignite the
ever-present power of my bangle, I see Castor walk around the side
of the cart. Though there are two soldiers with him, he isn't
bound.

My heart lifts.

Then my heart descends as I see the expression on his
face. At first he's surprised to see me, then I see obvious fear
flash in his eyes as he looks from my bedraggled form across to
Captain Yang.

“What are you doing
here, Yin?” Castor asks in a booming voice. Although he has no
power of his own, in many ways, he is far more powerful than most
sorcerers.

“I saw tracks leading
away from the house,” I answer in a stutter, trying to get all of
my words out at once, “what are they doing to you?”

Slowly Castor presses his lips together and stares at
me.

Which isn't the reaction I expect to see. On any
other day, if I had directly disobeyed Castor's command never to
venture into the village on my own, he would have spent the next
half hour berating me over my mistake. But now, he barely has
several words to share.

Again my stomach twists in a knot of nerves.

If I needed any more evidence that what was happening
here was serious, Castor provides it.

“You didn't mention
your niece was a sorcerer,” Captain Yang says as he takes several
steps away from me. Yet, as he does, he casts me one more careful
glance.

I would give anything to know what he's thinking.

Right now, I have nothing to give, because I'm about
to lose everything.

“You also informed us
that she is your apprentice,” Captain Yang says slowly as he looks
right at me, “in herbal medicine,” he adds carefully. “Is there
something more you wish to share?”

Castor looks straight ahead. He does not make eye
contact with Captain Yang, and nor does he glance my way. He sets
his features hard, as if he has cast them from stone.

“We were of the
opinion that the great Castorious Barr had not taken any
apprentices in the arts of war for over 20 years,” Captain Yang
continues.

Again, Castor does not answer. He stares right over
Captain Yang's shoulder, his eyes locked unblinkingly on the
driving rain beyond.

“Answer the Captain,”
one of the soldiers says, and he moves forward quickly to viciously
shove Castor in the shoulder.

“Don't,” Yang snaps
as he yanks his hand up in a stopping motion. “We are not here to
make enemies.”

“Then let him go,” I
say in a warning tone.

Though I have just been through one hell of a fight,
I can feel my energy returning. I can feel my anger and frustration
peaking too. How dare the Royal Army think it can come into this
village and round up all the men for its stupid little war. The
Carcas haven't attacked in years. The Queen is warmongering. Yet
the army feels it has the right to ruin people's lives based on
that lie.

As Castor has always told me, peace is never won by
war alone. True peace can only be achieved, not through endless
victorious skirmishes, but through managing people's expectations.
By stemming the tide of nationalism, by providing opportunity, and
snuffing out elitism in all its colors and shades.

Captain Yang arches
his neck and glances my way
. “As I have
told you, the Royal Army requires your uncle's
assistance.”

“To get to him,” I
begin, intending to tell the pretty boy Captain that he will have
to go through me first.

I don't get the opportunity.

“Yin,” Castor says in
a warning tone.

I should listen to my guardian, I know that. Yet, for
some reason, I can't. Maybe it's the memory of the fight, and being
pushed down into the ground, my soaking hair splashing into my
eyes. Or perhaps it's the distant muttering of the Night. Maybe
what’s really bothering me is that this stupid army can't see the
real threat. While they're playing war with the Carcas, the real
war is left to me.

I'm the Savior. I shouldn't have to hide in the
shadows. I shouldn't have to beg for these men not to take my
guardian away.

But as Castor always says, you aren't given your
life, you earn it.

To him, I've always had to prove myself as the
Savior. I've always had to try my hardest. He has never given me
anything based on who I am.

Right now I can't heed his advice. Right now, I can't
stem the anger at what these men are doing. They are making my life
harder, impossible even. Why? Because some pompous, rich, arrogant
Queen and her advisors are telling the Kingdom it ought to go to
war.

Soon I will face the end of the ages, and these
people are worried about pleasing a foolish monarch.

As those thoughts run wild in my mind, the power
brews within. I can feel it crackling up my spine, arcing between
my teeth, and burning deep in my heart, dispersing through my
bloodstream with every beat.

With the amount of force surging through me, soon my
skin will light up the rain-soaked streets like a star forming out
of my very body.

“Yin,” Caster warns
again, this time the control in his voice wavering. Without even
looking at him, I can tell that the stony expression he's been
sporting for the past five minutes is cracking.

I know he wants me to stop, to pull my head in, not
to show my true power. But what's the point? I've already showed
this pompous pretty boy Captain and his useless, arrogant soldiers
what I can do.

So where is the harm in showing them what I can
really do? Where's the harm in calling upon Gaea herself to imbue
me with the very spirt of all power?

If I can defeat this army unit, then Caster and I can
escape. We can travel the mountains and find some other village to
settle down in. I could cut my hair, he could shave his beard, we
could reinvent ourselves, hide away until the final year of the age
is upon us.

Captain Yang looks at me. Perhaps he can sense how
much magic is building within my bangle, but he doesn't do
anything.

“Captain, she is
charging,” one of the soldiers says. He is a tall man, with gaunt
features and keen, hawk-like eyes. If he can sense that I’m
building up force, it means he has an ability of his
own.

Captain Yang raises a hand. He doesn't turn to the
soldier who spoke, and nor does he suddenly send magic rushing into
me, shackles forming out of pure power.

No, he simply stands and stares.

I clutch my hands into fists, concentrating my
attention on my Arak band.

“Yin, no,” Castor
says in a forceful voice that vibrates through the air like a blast
from a horn.

In fact, there's such force in it, that just for a
second it manages to capture my attention.

“Let him go. He is
just an old man. You don't need him for your stupid war. The Carcas
haven't attacked in years,” I spit.

“I am afraid I can’t
let him go. I am afraid you are wrong: the Carcas have attacked.
They continue to do so, all along our northern and eastern
borders,” Yang says softly and calmly. “I am afraid he is not
simply an old man. He is one of the greatest warriors this kingdom
has seen. And in our time of dire need, we must call upon his
services once more.”

“I'm not going to let
you take him,” I say.

“Yin, don't,” Castor
tries, his voice now wavering with clear desperation.

I can barely hear him anymore. The rage has built to
such a level that I swear it's ringing in my ears, screaming at me
to do something about this injustice.

It's my responsibility to save the world, but if I
can't even save my guardian, then what good am I?

I act.

With a smooth, practiced move, I open my left palm,
and send a surge of force through the bangle and into my fingers.
Magic erupts over my skin.

It's bright. Fiendishly bright. It leaps high, arcing
like lightning.

I'm aware that the soldiers spring towards me, but
Captain Yang doesn't react. He is barely two meters from my side,
and he's facing me, those pale brown eyes locked on mine.

He doesn't move. He doesn't stop staring.

The soldier with the hawk-like gaze reaches me first.
With a mighty cry, he slashes my way with a kick. As he does, I see
two large rings on his middle fingers. Depicting twisted tree
roots, they are made of the sleek metal of the Araks.

I hear something crack up from the earth.

Roots. Great gnarled roots from trees and shrubs and
grasses and flowers. They come spewing out of the cracks in the
cobbles, gathering towards me in a fierce storm.

At first I shudder back in shock, but I don't have
time to be surprised.

I leap back, pushing easily into a flip. Where my
hands land on the stone, the power crackling over my palms shatters
them, sending great swathes of charcoal black singe marks
scattering everywhere.

The man with the sharp features and hawk-like gaze is
a plant sorcerer. He can call on the spirits of trees and grasses
and bushes, commanding them to aid him.

I have never met a plant sorcerer, and I've only
heard of them rarely from Castor's tales.