Yin and Yang: A Fool's Beginning (36 page)

I’ve become more fluid, and thanks to Yang's
tutelage, my balance has improved. In fact, though I can't be sure,
I feel I have improved in nearly every single way.

If only Castor could see me now. He always complained
that I wasn't disciplined enough, that I couldn't focus when it
mattered. Well now, discipline and focus are all that get me
through each day.

As I pluck up my fan and begin to practice, I pretend
it’s a sword. I wish it was the sword, but only Captain Yang lets
me practice with one of those. And even then, I can tell he's
taking a risk.

It's frowned upon for a lady to be able to defend
herself properly, apparently. Sure, she gets a fan, and she is
expected to dance around in a dress, but giving her an actual sword
and armor would be a little too much like expecting her to
fight.

All ladies are capable of is standing there and
looking pretty.

Without Mae to snap
at me, I begin
practicing how Captain
Yang taught me to. His forms are much more fluid than Castor's.
Castor taught me to be heavy but quick, strong but agile. Yang,
however, blends everything into one continuous fluid
movement.

I feel I'm getting the hang of it.

I try to practice every night in my room, and
whenever Mae isn't there to snap at me. Still, I want Captain Yang
to replace her entirely, then I’ll be able to learn something
worthwhile.

Captain Yang. There I go again thinking of that man.
I swear, I'm thinking of him more than I'm thinking of the end of
the ages and my duty as the Savior.

I'm not just distracting myself willingly; no matter
what I do, my thoughts gravitate back to him like the moon orbiting
the earth.

I tell myself it's because he is the only person who
has shown any real interest or kindness.

As I continue to practice, I notice everybody else in
the square around me.

There's always more
soldiers about these days, and I gather it has
som
ething to do with the Princess'
regular visits.

I have no idea what
she’s doing he
re, but I know it involves
Castor in some way. He did mention he was training her. But why?
I've had it drummed into me that women are very rarely trained, and
only if they can offer the Royal Army something valuable. The
Princess is . . . well, the Princess. The Royal Family
are treated virtually like gods. Why would the Royal Army expect
anything of her?

Though I have more than one million questions,
there’s nobody to ask, so I keep to myself and mull over them as I
twist and turn and jump and leap. I do as Yang says, and rather
than follow the magic and overbalance myself, I push it out as an
extension of will.

I wonder if he would be proud if he could see me now.
But the fact is, I haven't seen him in more than five days. The
more the Princess comes to visit, the more absent he is. Does he
have something to do with her training? It makes sense; that's what
Castor and he argued about in the library all those weeks ago.

“It's not a sword you
know; it's a fan,” someone says.

I stop, letting the fan drop to my side, not caring
that it has a charge of magic in it, and I turn and I smile.

I shouldn’t be smiling so widely and genuinely, but I
can’t stop myself.

Yang comes walking across the square, his hands in
his pockets.

He looks tired. Bone weary, in fact. His eyes are
hooded in shadow, and his moves slower than usual.

My brow crumples in concern.

Yes, concern.

Several weeks ago, when I first met this man, I
wanted nothing more than to put my fist in his face.

But things change.

“Well, you could go
and get me a sword,” I suggest playfully.

He shakes his head, and I note again how tired he
looks.

“Where have you
been?” I ask carefully. At least I hope it's carefully, but my
voice teeters a bit.

Though he begins
looking at his feet, he raises an eyebrow
. “I thought you liked it when I left you
alone.”

“Of course I do,” I
snap defensively.

He nods
knowingly
. “Don't tell me you are
actually starting to take a shine to me?”

I blush. And when a
sorcerer like me blushes, you can see it two
kilometers away. My cheeks could fry eggs.

He clears his throat.

I shift about a bit,
trying to hide my flush
. “I still think
you're an idiot,” I snap automatically.

“Well at least some
things don't change,” he says. There's a sad note to his
voice.

I start to wonder where he has been for the past five
days. More than that, what has been haunting him recently?

The Captain Yang I met back in my village was nothing
but a calm, controlled Royal Army sorcerer. Cold and numb to the
world. His emotions were a tool to get other people to do what he
wanted.

Now I'm looking at a completely different person.
This Captain Yang is nothing more and less than a man.

“I've been
practicing,” I suddenly say.

He looks up at me and
slowly nods
. “I saw. You're doing great,”
he says.

It's awkward, but he doesn't take his statement back,
and I am quick to bite my lip, lest another incandescent blush
bloom across my cheeks.

We descend into silence. A particularly uncomfortable
one. It sees me trying to fix my hair, even though I usually don't
care what it's doing. The unruly stuff at the top of my head is
usually of no concern to me. Now I try to brush it into place.

“They tell me you're
exceeding expectations,” he says quietly.

“They do? All Mae
ever tells me is that I'm useless and have no hope of being
anything but a dirty little mountain bear. I've actually met
mountain bears, and that's not so much of an insult; they're quite
nice.”

Though Yang starts
looking at his feet distractedly, his eyebrows peak and he glances
at me
. “Mountain bears are quite nice?
They are vicious,” he laughs disbelievingly.

“I've always liked
animals. They are simple.”

He nods, his hands still in his pockets.

I want to ask what's wrong, but I know that won't
help him.

If it's something serious, he won't say, and even if
it isn't something serious, he will still keep it close to his
chest. Royal Army sorcerers, after all, aren't exactly known for
sharing their emotions.

There is one way I can help.

Distract him.

“I've been looking up
more about the fan dance,” I say as I unfurl my fan in a neat move.
“Isn't there some ancient form you can do with a partner? One where
you keep swapping the fan around, throwing it to each other and
charging it in turn?”

He stops looking at
his feet, his eyebrows crumpling further together
. “Yes . . . . Why?”

I can tell I'm being awkward, but I don't care.

Sometimes you just have to dance in the rain while
everybody is watching.

Without pause, I
close the fan and hand it to him
. “Well,
show me.”

His cheeks slacken
and his mouth opens slowly
. “Show you. I
. . . don't think you quite understand what you're
asking.”

I start to get
defensive, but just huff instead
. “I'm
asking you to show me how it is done. I don't care if I'm stepping
on some tradition. I just want to know what it looks like. I'm here
to learn, so teach me.”

He clears his throat,
and now he takes his hands out of his pockets as he clasps them
carefully but firmly before him
. “Yin,
the fan dance is usually done before marriage. It balances male and
female energy. When two sorcerers intend to form a union, then
. . .” he trails off.

I can feel my cheeks
starting to blush again, but I lift my head and stare at
him
. “It's also done as a ritual for
Gaea. That was its intended purpose originally. It had nothing to
do with marriage; that's the modern concept. At least, that's what
it says in the books I've read. The dance is about bringing the
flow and force of magic into balance, and nothing more. Tradition
came along after and attached gender to it. It doesn’t matter that
I’m a woman and you’re a man, the original dance was only about
magic.”

He coughs uncomfortably.

I still hold the fan out to him, but he looks at it
like it's a snake.

“I can't,” he says,
losing that confident edge completely and looking exactly like an
uncomfortable boy.

“You can. A while ago
you asked me how to reconnect to the spirit of your magic. Well,
maybe this will help. I just want to see it done. I just want to
. . . learn whatever I can. Please?”

He still looks like I'm asking him to do something
incredibly embarrassing, but as he winces, he accepts the fan.

I grin wildly.

Yes, I grin. At Captain Yang. But it doesn't
matter.

I want to see this dance.

“Okay, but I am not
doing this in public,” he says as he looks to the side at all of
the other soldiers in the square. Though they are well out of
earshot, I know that if we start to practice, they’re close enough
to see.

I nod
excitedly
. “I don't care. I just want to
see it.”

He sighs, and it's
very deep and resounding
. “I don't know
why I can't say no to you,” he says under his breath, then he
stops, and straightens up as he realizes what he said. “Just come
on,” he says as he waves me forward.

After muttering something to my guards, he leads me
across the square.

I feel more alive than I have in weeks.

“There are several
other training squares, though a lot smaller,” he notes as we walk
up the stairs and down towards a small corridor. Walking through
it, we exit via a door into a much smaller paved area.

It's far more ornate than the one we left. In fact,
as I stand there and stare at it, I slowly circle on the spot, my
mouth open as I survey all of the intricate details. From the
carved pillars to the golden blue awnings.

“Yes, it's nice,
isn't it?” he points out as he walks roughly into the center of the
square. Then he does something odd. He jumps up a little, and
angles his head high towards the only window with a view of the
courtyard.

“. . . What
are you doing?” I ask after a while.

“Trying to see
whether Garl is in his office. I really don't want any witnesses.
People could get . . . the wrong impression.”

“You wouldn't want
anyone to think you're marrying a mountain bear,” I say
sarcastically.

He stares at me.

He looks
annoyed
. . . and something
else.

That something else makes my back tingle.

“Okay, I don't think
he's in. In fact, I'm pretty sure he's at the Palace. So
. . . just pay attention. I'm only going to do this
once,” he says quickly.

I put my hands
up
. “Okay. You have my full attention,
Captain Yang.”

He crumples his
eyebrows together and looks at me tersely
. “Right.”

“Right,” I
repeat.

He winces, takes a step back, and unfurls the
fan.

“I shouldn't be doing
this,” he says, clearly speaking to himself.

“Then you'd better do
it. There's nothing like breaking a rule,” I add, kind of
babbling.

He raises an eyebrow
and shakes his head
. “Just pay
attention.”

Then he begins.

It isn't what I'm expecting.

I have in my head that he'll start leaping around
like the male equivalent of Mae. All refined and graceful, but with
a bit more strength to his moves.

That's not what he does.

He
. . . simply moves.

There’s no other way
to describe it. He doesn't jump or roll or run. It's just
. . . amazing.

I think my jaw drops open.

I watch magic build around him, twisting up his arms
and legs as his Arak device glows. His power travels into the fan.
It moves so fluidly and seamlessly, it's like it's not moving at
all. It's as if it's already where it needs to be, and space bends
around it. In fact, as I think that, I realize that's how Yang is
moving himself. It's as if he's not moving at all, and yet moving
everywhere at once.

It's so confusing, because it's something I've never
seen before, something I've never experienced.

“All right, I'm going
to throw the fan to you, and you need to follow the moves we
practiced,” he warns.

I'm not ready for it, and kind of stumble forward,
but at least I catch the fan as he throws it towards me.

I try to practice what I know.

The exact jumps and leaps, the exact movements of my
feet and arms. But it all feels so unnatural, and as I muddle my
way through, I notice the charge of magic in the fan begins to
wobble.

Then, with nothing but a pop, it explodes out in a
gush of sparks.

I splutter, patting wildly at my hair as it begins to
singe.

Yang laughs. It's a full bellied, proper laugh.

I stand there with my
mouth open, staring at him
. “What
happened?”

“You lost the
charge,” he says through a lingering chuckle.