Yin and Yang: A Fool's Beginning (21 page)

Now I frown.

Her fan is ornate, mostly black with the prettiest
gold and blue winding design climbing the wood and flourishing over
the fabric.

She holds it easily.

She nods at me to unfurl mine, and I do, but a whole
lot less elegantly.

“Now, watch me,” Mae
says as she takes a deep breath that pushes her chest out steadily.
Blinking her eyes closed, she starts to move around in a fan dance.
With true grace and quite a bit of agility, she shifts back and
forward, moving the fan as an extension of her own body. With
powerful, echoing snaps, she closes and opens it in time with her
movements.

It's a beautiful
dance
. . . but I can't help
wondering what exactly it has to do with learning how to beat
people with magic.

Then, just as I get the impulse to cross my arms, I
see the tiniest flicker of power.

It's curling around
the fan. No
. . . it's inside
the fan. On closer inspection, I notice that the intricate design
winding all over the fabric and wood has channels within it. Right
now those channels are filling up with magic. Orange and gold, it’s
barely visible against the ornate design.

“What
. . .” I begin, moving back a little.

Mae attacks. She lunges forward, placing one foot
before the other and leaning into her stance as she swipes the fan
around.

A jet of super-heated magic bursts out and strikes me
right in the chest.

I know how to defend myself. I know how to draw my
magic in front of me like a shield, letting attacks disburse off an
invisible barrier of energy.

That doesn’t stop me from being flung backward.

The force of Mae's blow is so damn strong, I go
tumbling over myself until I land several meters away.

I'm still alive—I managed to draw up enough of a
defense to stop Mae's attack from bursting right through my
chest—but I am surprised.

Also, monumentally out of breath.

With a grunt, I push up, not bothering to stand as I
sit there, my hair tumbling freely over my shoulders and back.

I've trained hard all my life in magic, and I'd like
to think I know most of what there is about that sacred art.

I've never seen anything like this.

Mae actually smiles.
Though she's usually restrained, I see her ruby red lips part and
curl
. “Have I managed to surprise the
great bear of the mountains?”

A few nearby soldiers snigger at her insult.

I ignore them and
focus all of my attention on that fan
. . . . How could it store fire magic like that?
That's what happened, right? During the dance, Mae pushed her magic
steadily into the fan, and it stored it until she unleashed it in
an unholy blow.

Is it somehow an Arak device?

Again she looks
pleased with herself, then she snaps
,
“get up. Stop wallowing.”

Stop wallowing? I just received a blow that could
have killed an ordinary person.

Still, with a muffled groan, I stand.

I'm still holding my own fan, and now I bring it up
and inspect those gold channels carefully. As I do, I notice there
are blue ones as well.

Experimentally, I try
to force some magic through my hand and into the wood. While the
gold channels light up and glow like, fire, the blue channels
don't
. “What are these?” I ask as I point
down to them.

“Do not speak unless
spoken to. I have not instructed you on how to correctly channel
your magic into the fan yet,” Mae snaps.

Still holding the fan, I let it drop to my side.

Mae pauses for
several seconds, then huffs before saying
, “the blue channels are for a male sorcerer. When the fan
dance is done properly, both a female and male sorcerer are
present. If the dance is done correctly and balance achieved, then
both become more powerful than the sum of their parts.”

I dip my head to the
side, confusion parting my lips
. “How can
you achieve balance? Won’t the two sorcerers just cancel each other
out?”

Just as I think Mae
will snap at me only to speak when spoken to, she shakes her head
and sighs
. “There appears to be a great
deal you do not know. There is much to train you in.”

She seems
. . . just a little softer than usual.
Of course she still stares at me as if I'm the scum that collects
along a polluted river, but she also seems a little more
mollified.

“Now, take up
position once more. I will instruct you in how to correctly channel
your magic. But first, you must learn the correct movements of the
dance. You must be elegant, yet forceful.”

“Okay
. . .” I manage, not really understanding, but realizing
if I push Mae for more, she'll likely snap at me, or send me
tumbling over the cobbles with another devastating
attack.

“You will watch and
mimic my moves. Try to be graceful. You can’t jump around like a
mountain bear—you must draw upon your feminine qualities—if you
have any,” she adds with a huff.

Again more laughter from the soldiers. Yet, once
again I don't care.

I'm intrigued now. Castor has always told me to learn
whatever I can from whatever source I can. He used to instruct me
to go out into the mountains just to watch how the air moves
through the trees, or how the water moves itself seamlessly around
the rocks of the rivers and streams.

There are lessons everywhere, if only you open your
mind to them.

Though I had closed myself to Mae, now I realize
that, just maybe, there’s something to learn.

So, with a determined breath, I watch and I
mimic.

And
. . . I'm really bad at it. All the
moves I've been taught are strong, fast, and entirely lacking in
grace. I jump around and flip like . . . well, a
man.

A particularly gruff one.

Mae spends most of her time snapping at me to try
again.

So I do. For absolutely hours on end.

By the end, I've only
improved a fraction, and Mae couldn't be angrier
. “You will have to practice for years before you can
master this,” she says bitterly, though I hint just a note of pride
ringing in her high-pitched tone.

After all, she's just proved she's better than me,
hasn't she? I might have tricked her and melted her shoes to the
cobbles, but despite hours of training, I'm still hopeless at this
fan dance.

“Garl will be
disappointed by this,” Mae adds as she closes her fan and reaches a
hand out to take mine.

I don't give it to
her
. “I'll train harder,” I
say.

Mae blinks her eyes
rapidly
. “You must now return to your
room. You have trained for hours.”

“Let me keep the fan,
and I'll train in my room. What's the harm? I can't do magic in
there,” I add, keeping my voice even as I do.

Mae looks as if she
wants to snap at me, but soon shrugs her shoulders, though
elegantly
. “Very well, but I don't see
the point—you're hopeless.”

I
nod
. “Are there any scrolls I could
borrow? I can study them and practice in my room.”

Mae
laughs
. “You can read?” she
challenges.

I don't answer.

I just look at her. I'm sure to make my stare
unchallenging, but at the same time I don't look away.

“Very well,” she
concedes. “It won't do you any good though. Still, I'll be sure to
bring you a scroll with lots of pictures.”

“Thank you,” I
say.

I endure Mae's laughter.

I can do this. I will not be defeated by this stupid
fan dance. Nor will I give Mae the satisfaction of setting me a
task I can't complete.

How hard can jumping around with a fan be,
anyway?

I get my answer when I return to my room and set to
work practicing on my own.

My room is tiny, and though I'm sure to push all the
furniture to the sides, that gives me barely a meter-squared to
move within.

Still, despite how frustrating it is when I keep
banging into the bed or the walls, I don't give up. Nor do I give
in to my growing weariness. I may have been training for most of
the day, but I just push back my fatigue.

When my legs become too wobbly to stand, I sit on my
bed and pore over the scroll.

Despite Mae's aspersions, I can very much read. I've
been taught how to analyze, think critically, and follow arguments.
Castor was also sure to school me in multiple ancient
languages.

So, for the rest of
the day I
switch between reading and
practicing.

I've taken off my dress, and wear nothing but my
loose black pants and singlet.

I don't expect to be disturbed, yet, late in the
evening, I hear a careful knock on my door.

Absorbed in one of
the books I've been given, and thinking it's probably Mae at the
door, I stand and say
, “come
in.”

I don't even look up as I turn a page and continue
reading.

The door swings open and I hear someone splutter.

. . .
.

Captain Yang. He's standing there, a surprised look
on his face as he stares at what I'm wearing, or, what I'm not
wearing.

I don't try to cover myself up. Seriously, I'm not
naked. I'm in full pants and a sturdy singlet. But from the look on
his face, you'd think I'm in nothing but an artfully arranged fig
leaf.

“Captain?” I bring my
book down, but I don't close it. “Do you want
something?”

“I . . .”
he trails off, looking extremely uncomfortable as he
does.

His usual calm control has been replaced by red
cheeks and a stutter.

“Yes?” I
prompt.

“Yin,” he takes a
breath, and as he does, he straightens his back, and locks his gaze
at eye level. That, however, does not stop his cheeks from glowing
red. “I have been instructed to ascertain how you are going,” he
manages, his voice steadily becoming more controlled.

“I'm training,” I
answer.

Though I know I'm not meant to be trite—not since
Garl's dire warning—I can't stop myself around Captain Yang.

It's not just that I
blame him for everything that's happened to me
. . . it's the man himself.

He's so damn calm and
controlled, and yet I'm rapidly learning t
hat's all an act.

In other words, he's fake. Easily the fakest person
I've ever met.

While the people in my village had often been
tiresome, at least they'd been genuine. Yang, on the other hand,
promised me everything would be okay. He gave me his word that both
Castor and I would be fine.

His word was worth nothing.

Hardly realizing I'm
doing it, I cross my arms, securing my book in one
hand
. “I'm fine,” I say, my words
biting.

Yang seems a little
more comfortable now I've hidden my singlet with my arms, and he
straightens up further
. “Garl has asked
me to report—” he begins.

I jerk back, my indignation easily giving way to
fear.

Captain Yang notices, and I can see surprise breaking
through his stoic control.

His pale eyes narrow
in confusion
. “The General,” he continues
in a somewhat unsure tone, “has asked for a report.”

“I'm fine. I'm doing
exactly as I'm told,” I say, dropping Yang's gaze and staring at
the floor.

Even though I'm not looking directly at him, I can
tell Yang is still surprised by my behavior. Maybe he's expecting
me to bite his head off.

I withdraw instead. He's not the only one who can put
up a barrier.

“Are . . .
you alright?” he asks, voice still hesitant.

“Yes. I'm doing what
I'm told,” I answer.

“Ah . . .”
he trails off, possibly looking for some reason to keep standing in
my doorway. “What happened to your hand?”

“Nothing.”

“It's got a bandage
on it.”

“I cut myself
yesterday,” I mutter quietly, “while I was fighting those
. . . mirage sorcerers. Or whatever they are.” I look up
briefly to see astonishment flicker in Yang's eyes.

“Wait, what? Do you
mean illusionists?”

“I don't know what
they're called, but they could make themselves invisible. I cut
myself, I fixed it up, end of story. You can tell Garl I'm doing
exactly what he wants. I might have stuffed up that fan dance, but
I'll train. I'll get better,” I don't look at Captain Yang as I
speak, preferring to settle my gaze on some innocuous patch of
floor by his boots instead.

“Really, he made you
fight illusionists?” Yang asks again, apparently stuck on that
fact.

“Yeah. They cut my
hand,” I add defensively as I tuck my bandaged palm closer to my
chest, hiding it as best I can.

“. . . Wow
. . . ah, I mean . . .” Yang trails off and
clears his throat.

Slowly I look up at him.

He looks different
somehow. There's a lot more emotion playing across his face than
the man I remember from the village. It's almost as if
. . . something's changed
him.

I should tell him to leave—that I've already
satisfied his curiosity and he can report his findings back to the
Garl—but I don't.