Yin and Yang: A Fool's Beginning (32 page)

My movements, though more fluid than they were the
first time I tried the fan dance, are not as free as what I
achieved yesterday. With the rain crashing down around me, I
completely let go. It was so invigorating. Now with a veil of fear
hanging between me and the world, I just can't engage.

We practice for a
solid 45 minutes before Mae is called away for a short while. She
snaps at me to continue
practicing, but
to be careful. Then she leaves.

It is the first time
I've been left alone to practice. Though I've been
practicing in secret in my room, my room does
not have the sheer amount of space the square does. I can jump and
leap and roll without fear of banging into any walls or beds. At
first, I can't take advantage of that though. My shoulders are
hunched in, and my moves small and ineffective. It's so strange for
me, considering how boisterous I usually am. But the specter of my
nightmares still hangs low.

I can't help but feel they are premonitions. It may
not happen today or tomorrow, but sometime soon the foot soldiers
of the Night will come for me. Without Castor, I will only have
myself to rely on.

That thought should fire me up. It should provide the
motivation necessary to push past my doubts and concentrate on
training.

Not today.

Today it makes me feel smaller than ever.

I continue to train. Except my heart isn't in it, and
my mind is far away, under the earth, waiting for the Night to seep
through the cracks and claim me.

Captain Yang

I wake early that morning. Very early. For two
reasons. Not only do I want to get some training in before most of
the other soldiers wake, but I want to go back to the library.

I want to find out
everything I can about the mysterious ritual Castor spoke of.
Though Yin told me her version, I can't believe it. No, I don't
want to believe it. I need something concrete, something I can
follow and
analyze. The amorphous idea of
just opening up to the magic within is confusing.

I dress quickly, not even bothering to don my armor
as I open the library before the first rays of dawn can reach it
through the high windows that line the building.

Perfectly silent,
even though there is nobody around to disturb, I pick my way
through the collection,
searching for any
reference of what I'm looking for.

I quickly become frustrated. Though there are many
mentions of spirits and magic, there's nothing like what Castor or
Yin mentioned.

By the time I make my way to the back of the library,
I am ready to give up.

Then something catches my eye.

A book has been left on the floor, and as I lean down
to pick it up, I recognize it. It's the book Castor plucked from
the shelf and pushed towards Yin yesterday.

At the time, I hadn't thought anything of it. It had
appeared as if Castor was reinforcing his order for her to study by
throwing any old book at her.

Now I can’t deny my curiosity as I run a hand over
its spine.

The Illustrated History of the Sun Kingdom, it
reads.

Just an ordinary book. One, in fact, I have in my own
small library.

I go to put it back on the shelf, but I stop. Without
really knowing why, I find myself opening it.

I flick through the pages, and something catches my
eye.

Sections are underlined, some of them even circled.
Far more interesting than that, they all pertain to Garl.

I now leaf through
with more interest, reading any sections that are
emphasized under my breath.

Could this be a coincidence? Could Castor have picked
some random book, or had he planned this?

Had he been trying to communicate with Yin?

Or me.

The thought hits me all at once, and I feel like
staggering.

He's been trying his
hardest to warn me about the General ever since he got here. Did he
plant this so I would find it? Does he think simply underlining
sections about Garl would
pique my
interest? Burn through my loyalty enough to force me to start
asking questions?

No.

It won't work.

I close the book and go to put it away.

As I make room in a shelf and push it in, I find my
fingers can't let go.

Wincing and forcing a breath through clenched teeth,
I step back. I try my hardest to tell myself that Castor is trying
to manipulate me.

It won't work.

Soon enough I turn and head out of the library.
Without fully realizing what I'm doing, I take the book back to my
room. I place it in my own small bookcase, removing my personal
copy. Then I return my personal copy to the library.

After I finish, I'm so surprised by what I've done, I
wonder seriously what's wrong with me.

General Garl is my superior. More than that, he was
my father's friend. In my father's absence, Garl has been somewhat
of a father to me. I owe him my loyalty. And sneaking around like
this is not loyalty.

Admonishing myself but unwilling to change what I've
done, I dress in my armor and head down to the square.

I need to train. Hard. As hard as I can. That will
bring back the measure of control I have felt slipping ever since I
returned Castor to the city.

Or at least I tell myself that will.

As I head down to the square, I am waylaid, and it is
only several hours later when the sun is high in the sky that I
find myself marching out over those familiar cobbles. Though it's
mid-morning, there is still a distinct chill in the air.

I breathe it in. Closing my eyes, I smile. It's only
half a smile though, and it doesn't reach up to my eyes. There is
too much to worry about to take any real joy in this bright
morning.

There are many groups
of people training in the square, there always
are. It's the reason for its enormous size and
location.

As I pause and stare
out at them all, I can't help but feel
. . . disconnected from them. It used to be that
my connection to the army was all that mattered. My loyalty for my
fellow soldiers, and, first and foremost, the Royal
Family.

That's what my father
instilled in me. Yet now, as I stare around at the soldiers
training
. . . I feel cold.
It's not a good cold. Not the numbness I associate with my magic
when it is in full swing. It's just . . . an empty
feeling.

Trying to chase it from my mind, I see a group of
Royal Army sorcerers training with swords. Magical swords. They are
a tricky weapon to master, and as the men leap, jets of power shoot
out from the swords erratically.

Now that's something I could sink myself into this
morning. Training with a magical sword. It would be just enough
challenge to distract me from my mounting problems. So, walking
over to them, I request one of their weapons and then find a quiet
spot to train myself.

As soon as
I leap into the air and let my magic run into
the hilt of the sword and then blaze down the blade, I get a
thrill.

The thrill makes it harder to feel the guilt haunting
me over what I've done this morning.

So I throw myself further and further into training,
leaping as high as I can, and commanding the sword with all my
power.

In fact, I give in to the moment so much, that I
don't notice I'm slowly gravitating towards the left. With every
leap I make, I land, and I shift in the same direction. The
culmination is that I travel further and further from my original
spot, until I practically bump into a training soldier.

I turn to
apologize before I realize it's her.

Yin.

She is
. . . distracted.

She looks
up to note me, mutters “sorry,” then shifts
away. She has a fan in her hand, but it isn’t crackling with nearly
as much energy as yesterday. In fact, it's barely got a spark in
it. And to be fair, it's the same with her.

I've seen her
withdraw before, but now she looks
. . . haunted.

Before I know what
I'm doing, I stop and I ask
, “you
okay?”

It takes her awhile
to look up at me
. “Training,” she notes
dully.

“I can see that. But
are you okay? You look . . .” I can't put it into
words.

She takes a step away
and shrugs her shoulders
. “I didn't sleep
well last night,” she says simply.

All at once, I remember our fight. With everything
that happened this morning, I plainly forgot that I petulantly
slammed the door on her and told her she was a fool for offering me
advice.

Though I know I
shouldn't, I feel guilty
. “Sorry,” I say
before I can stop myself.

She glances my way, and I notice her cheeks are
ghostly white. That isn't anything compared to her arms, her left
arm especially. In fact, though she’s still insisting on wearing a
bandage, her wrist is visible below her sleeve, and it looks like
the color of ground up bone. In fact, it's whitest around her Arak
device.

I let my sword drop
by my side now
. “You look . . .
unwell. If you need to stop training, go back to your
room.”

“I'm fine,” she
says.

Before she can turn
away, I shake my head resolutely
. “You're
clearly not. You're no use to anyone when you're like this. Go back
to your room. And . . . sorry if our fight stopped you
from getting any sleep,” I muddle through my words. As I realize
what I said, a wave of embarrassment washes over me.

I should not
be
apologizing to her. So why can't I
stop myself?

She looks up sharply
now
. “What? Our fight? Oh . . .
I forgot about that. It's fine. It's not your fault. I just want to
continue training. Ignore me,” she moves away from me, unfurling
her fan as she does. But with a jerk of her shoulder, she drops it,
and it clatters to the ground.

I'm closer, and I automatically lean down to pick it
up. She lets me.

Though I spend a lot
of my time bemoaning the fact she's unruly and tempestuous, now I
can't deny I'm worried at her sudden withdrawn
behavior. Yes, she is silent, but I can't say it's
pleasant.

“Return to your room,
and I will explain this to Mae,” I say firmly as I hold onto her
fan.

“I don't want to
return to my room,” she says, and for the first time her voice
takes on an emotion other than withdrawal.

Fear.

I would be a fool not to recognize it.

“. . .
Why?” I ask ineloquently.

She looks up sharply
now, and it's clear she feels she has given away more than she
should
. “Captain Yang, I'm fine. Please
go back to doing whatever you are doing.”

“You aren't fine. You
look like a ghost,” I point out.

She shudders at my description.

She also brings her left hand up and cradles it as if
it's hurting her.

I note the move with
a fearful kind of interest
. “Is your
. . . injury acting up?” I ask, incapable of saying the
word injury with a straight face.

She notices, and she
shifts back, trying to hide her bandaged left hand under the crook
of her arm
. “Like I said, it's nothing.
You don't need to worry about me,” she adds
breathlessly.

My hackles start to
rise. It's not just frustration at her truly irritating
behavior.

It's more than that.

“Why won't you let
anyone help you?” I ask defensively.

Her eyes dart up, narrowing as she shows me her
familiar indignation.

It's just a flicker of what it usually is.

“Because you won't
stay,” she says.

She could have said anything. She could have pointed
out that I'm technically her enemy, and I brought her here against
her wishes. She could have gone on another lengthy rant about how
she distrusts the Royal Army.

Anything.

Except for that.

“I need to rely on
myself,” she adds quietly.

I don't know what to say, so I don't say anything. I
stand there with my hand held out awkwardly.

“Just go away,
Captain Yang,” she says with a note of finality as she turns from
me and walks several meters away, taking up position with her back
firmly directed my way.

I keep looking at her for entirely too long. I don't
say anything and I don't act; I stand there and stare, as if I am
incapable of thinking of anything better to do.

I'm a captain in the
Royal Army. Entrusted with responsibility, competent, and trained,
and right now I feel like
. . .
well, little more than a boy.

There is something about Yin that unsettles me.
Deeply.

Yet, no matter how unsettled I become, there is
always that flicker of curiosity burning somewhere inside. I go to
it now, clutching hold of it as my eyes narrow.

I'm not giving up.

I want to know exactly what is wrong with Yin. How
she can go from being one of the most fiery and bravest people I
know, to being completely withdrawn. Did something happen last
night?

As I consider that, I can't deny that my cheeks
suddenly pale and a cold shiver crosses my back.

It feels like a shadow shifting over me.