Yin and Yang: A Fool's Beginning (16 page)

But I'm hardly safe now, am I? So either the most
loyal man in the world has suddenly abandoned his sacred task, or
he has something planned. Something I don't currently understand,
but something I should trust in.

He did ask me to trust him. And with little effort, I
can remember exactly how he looked at me when he pleaded with me
last night.

So, closing my eyes for a brief moment, I let my
hands drop, and I stare at my feet as I do.

For now I will offer no resistance. Okay, a little
resistance; these soldiers are so arrogant and chauvinistic that
somebody needs to tell them off. But I won't attack, I won't
escape, and I'll keep myself mostly contained.

They lead me out into the corridor, and it is only
then that I notice all of the other soldiers. They are carrying
proper weapons, and with one glance at their armor, I can see it's
the stuff they usually drag out for heavy skirmishes.

It's clear they're expecting trouble.

But I don't give it.

I walk forward quietly, my hands clasped, my messy
hair hooked over both shoulders so I can hide behind its bulk.

I don't bother asking where they're taking me; it's
clear they are in no mood to chat. So I wait. We head through
various narrow corridors, out into the square, and into a small
building I've never seen before.

It's more ornate than the drab buildings of the
barracks. The first thing I notice are the paintings on the wall.
In fancy, ornate, gilded frames are pictures of people I don't
recognize, but who I can guess the identities of nonetheless.

The Royal Family.

They are all lined up in a row, and from the frames
to their prominence on the walls, their importance is obvious.

That makes me want to hurl a fireball right through
every damn picture.

Castor taught me to
believe no man nor woman could claim to be above another. There are
no hierarchies in the world of souls. The trees and mountains and
wind and rain don't care if your parents were wealthy or held
claim
to a throne.

Blood, lineage, inheritance—it's all irrelevant. The
only thing that truly matters is our connection to Gaea, the spirit
of life and light.

Everything else is a distraction. From the wars and
kingdoms of man, to the tales they tell about themselves,
everything blinds the eyes to the true reality.

I can't exactly tell the stuffy soldiers leading me
around that, though. So I bite down on my tongue and wait.

They instruct me to take a seat, pointing over to a
simple bench set back at the far side of the room. It’s decidedly
the least decorative thing in here. Well, apart from me.

Once I sit, the soldiers watch me warily for a few
moments, then leave the room.

I push my back into the cold wall behind me and cross
my arms.

If all I can do in this ridiculous, confusing
situation is cross my arms at it, then that's what I'll do.

I wait a few minutes in relative silence, only the
sound of training from the square outside filtering in. I can hear
grunts and cries, and the voice of some gruff-voiced disciplinarian
snapping at his recruits to try harder. It vaguely reminds me of
Castor. But then again, Castor was a far better trainer than any of
these soldiers can ever be.

Despite the fact he possesses no magic of his own,
his knowledge of combat and strategy is so complete, I swear
there's a library where his brain should be. An angry library.

Sitting there, I start to swing my legs back and
forth.

Then, completely bored, I stand.

It's only then I notice there's someone in the
room.

Towards the door, there's a shape. Just an outline
really.

A presence.

But as I focus on it, I realize it's not
something—it's someone.

“What the—” I begin
as I take a step forward.

Something resolves right out of the wall. Whereas
once I saw little more than wood and paint, now I see a lithe man
in a jet-black costume. The black fabric covers him completely,
with only a slit for his eyes.

In my lonely mountain village, I didn’t have the
opportunity to learn directly about the many magics that exist.
What I learnt, I picked up from Castor's stories and the few
ancient scrolls he possessed. Everything else was hearsay and
fancy.

One story he told me, however, stuck. It was about a
tribe in the eastern islands who practiced a special kind of mirage
magic. According to Castor, they could manipulate the very air to
conceal themselves.

I thought my master was simply telling stories, but
now I realize he was right.

The man dressed in
black takes a step forward
. “You saw me,”
he says in a quiet voice that hardly travels.

I stare at him with my lips pressed open in
surprise.

Ordinary magic I know; it leaps through my bones and
blood. It sings to me. Via the Arak device on my left wrist, I am
always connected to it.

But this, this mirage magic—I have no base for
comprehending it. It seems so very alien, it feels as though I've
wandered into a dream.

The man takes several
steps forward, dipping his head to the side as he watches me.
Though I can see nothing more than his eyes, I can still register
the curiosity flashing within
. “There are
few talented enough to see my kind.”

I go to step back, but realize there's nowhere to go;
my legs are already flush against the simple bench behind me.

Instead I stand and stare.

“There's no need to
be alarmed; I intend you no harm. This was a test,” the man admits
as he half bows. Yet he never takes his eyes off me. No matter
where he moves, those two pinpricks of perfect clear blue are
locked on me like a boat tethered to jetty.

I fight the urge to run the hell away. Instead I
blink my eyes closed and summon the power within.

I took on the haughty
Mae, I defeated Captain Yang's soldiers
. . . kind of. So I can take on this man, I tell
myself.

Though he walks towards me, he doesn't do so
directly. He dips and weaves and watches, like a predator circling
its prey.

“What do you want?” I
hiss.

“Nothing. You are
merely being tested,” he admits again.

I draw in a stilling breath. As I do, I command the
fire to burn.

The man looks down at my hands. Obviously he can
sense I'm drawing on my power. Yet, he doesn't do anything. He
stares at me curiously.

“If this test is
over, then I guess I'm allowed to leave,” I ask, testing him as I
take several steps towards the door.

“Yes,” he says, his
head ducking to the side as he stares at me strangely once
more.

I bite down on the panic. I know this man is trying
to rattle me, and I will not permit myself to become unsettled.

Whatever the Royal Army wants, I won't give it to
them.

I take one wary step towards the door. It's only
about ten meters away. I can tell from the lack of shadows
filtering underneath, that there's no one standing behind it.
Ostensibly, I could leave.

Before I make another move, I swivel my gaze back to
the strange man. He's still watching me like a prowling cat.

Grating my teeth together, I take another step.

This has to be a trap, I tell myself. As soon as I
turn my back on this guy, he's going to attack me.

Yet, the door is just there. I could get out. Heck,
for all I know, the square outside could be empty, and I could make
a good go at getting out of this place entirely.

Though I've already concluded that escaping isn't
safe, now, in the heat of the moment, my mind is reassessing
that.

The longer I stay in these barracks, the riskier it
is. At any time I could do something to accidentally reveal my true
identity. Plus, without access to Castor, I have no idea what he
truly intends. Maybe he's expecting that I'll flee—maybe he's
counting on it.

I hate this place, and I hate the arrogant,
pride-filled soldiers and guards too. They live a life I've been
taught to reject. From their fascination with protecting the
wealthy dictators they call the Royal Family, to their
warmongering, they live lives that curl my toes.

I can't stay
h
ere. I can't put up with their ‘tests.’
I have to escape and get back to my real task.

With those thoughts running through my mind, I
snap.

I push forward, running for the door.

It's only when I near it, that I realize there's
another mirage sorcerer in the room.

Without thinking, I fling myself to the side. My body
knows what to do, and my mind follows up with a grunt.

Just as I dodge to the ground, rolling over the
well-swept floor, something snakes out of the air.

That something is a fist.

It wasn't there moments before—and neither was the
body it's attached to.

There's another one of those sorcerers in the room.
This entire time, and I hadn't noticed.

As I scrabble to my feet, I realize the other mirage
sorcerer has disappeared. No door has been opened, and no window
has been kicked in.

No. The man has slipped back into nothingness.
Somehow using magic to hide himself from my eyes.

I stand in the center of the room, twisting on the
spot as I desperately survey my surroundings.

My eyes are so far open, I swear I'm going to crack
my cheeks, but I can't close them.

I have to figure out where those two sorcerers are so
I can attack.

All of a sudden, I feel a rush of air from behind me,
and I push forward into a flip. I narrowly miss a foot as it comes
swiping out of thin air.

Just as soon as it materializes, it disappears.

My heart is a mess in my ribcage, beating so wildly I
fancy it will pop.

But it doesn't, and I
find the courage and
gall to jump to my
feet and keep searching for those men.

They could be anywhere. Worse than that, there could
be more than two. For all I know, there's one in every single
chair, behind every piece of furniture, and lined along the
walls.

Getting more and more desperate, I launch myself into
a series of acrobatic flips, actually jumping clean over a table,
just to ensure I keep on the move. If I stay in the same spot, I'll
be a sitting duck. If I have any hope, I have to keep moving, and
preferably erratically.

As I conclude that, I suddenly change direction and
leap directly up as if I'm trying to attach myself to the ceiling.
As I jump, I swear I see the slightest flicker of a shadow at the
far end of the room.

It's so quick and indistinct that it could easily be
a trick of the light.

I aim towards it, letting loose with a kick.

Though this room is nice, it won't be when I'm
finished with it. It looks like I'm going to get a chance to burn
through those pictures after all.

I time my kick perfectly.

Though the move is powerful, it strikes nothing but
air.

“We aren't over
there,” I hear the two men say.

Their voices echo from everywhere.

Instinctively I send magic bursting out in all
directions. It singes the floor, blasts up the ceiling, and rattles
the windows.

“Come with us,” they
say.

I have a second to shake before I feel someone grab
me by the collar as someone else kicks my legs out from underneath
me.

I slam into the ground, but before I have a chance to
fight back, someone strikes me hard across the jaw.

Then I'm dragged across the room and thrown out the
door. It's opened by an invisible hand, and the same invisible hand
tosses me out without care.

I stumble, unable to gain my balance, and I crash
down the steps until I'm back in the blasted square.

The stone underneath me is hard. I know from my fight
this morning with Mae, that the same stuff is enchanted.

It would have to be, after all—with the amount of
sorcerer training going on here, you would need to protect the
buildings, lest they be blown up every other day.

As I fall, it takes me barely a moment to right
myself. I stumble to my feet, ignoring a drop of blood that issues
from a cut just above my brow.

It doesn't matter how much I bleed if I can't find
those two mirage sorcerers.

Staggering back I whirl around on the spot. Though
I'm focused on identifying the mirage sorcerers, I can't help but
notice I have an audience.

Again.

I’m used to fighting alone with Castor. My fight with
Captain Yang's troops yesterday was the first time I'd displayed my
powers in front of others.

For the second time today it looks as if I'm going to
have to perform in front of a silent, judgmental crowd.

Great.

Just as I dart back once more, I feel another whoosh
of air from behind, and something strikes me hard across the back,
sending me flying.

I slam face first into those cursed stones, my lips
cracking as I do.

Castor taught me never to show my back to an
opponent. He didn't mention those opponents could be invisible.

Trying not to groan as I get up, I force my mind to
focus.

There must be a way to tell where those mirage
sorcerers are; I sensed one before, and I can do it again.

I still my mind by drawing in a deliberate, slow
breath.

Then I leap forward, plunging into a roll. As I jump
up, I see the flash of a foot where I had once been.

I can tell they’re circling me, keeping their
distance until they see an opportunity.

It's what I’d do.

Out in the square, there's less furniture to get in
my way, but that doesn't mean I suddenly unleash with a tower of
magic. Though I could let loose with my power, something holds me
back.