Yin and Yang: A Fool's Beginning (37 page)

“But I followed the
moves I've been taught,” I complain as I wipe soot from my face and
stamp out the last of his sparks.

He keeps laughing.

I want to tell him to shut up, but that would be
against the point.

I asked him to show me the fan dance because I wanted
to distract him. And guess what? It's succeeding. So it's better to
be humble and just let him laugh.

When he's done, he
reaches out his hand and takes the fan off me
. “It takes a lot of practice for two people to be able to
do this. There's a lot of . . . trust involved,” he says
carefully.

My initial reaction upon hearing that word is to
snort. Every time he's used it in the past he's been trying to
manipulate me.

Now I control myself. I actually hear what he's
trying to say.

“You have to rely on
the other person. You have to trust they’ll be able to hold your
magic,” he says as he gestures to the blue and red channels in the
fan. “You have to trust that they'll be there when you need them to
be.”

I nod, locking my
hair behind my ears as I do. Considering I just roughed it up as I
extinguished Yang’s sparks, I know it’s a
fuzz ball.

I try to run my fingers through it, but they get
stuck.

“This time, just
watch what I do and follow,” Yang says as he unfurls the
fan.

I take several steps back, align myself with him, and
then do exactly what he does.

As he shifts forward, so do I. As he furls out an
arm, I do too. As he steps to the side then flips, I follow.

I'm like his mirror, mimicking him perfectly with
barely half a second's pause.

Something strange
happens as I do that. It's almost as if
. . . the barrier between us crumbles.

It's getting smaller and smaller and smaller. In
fact, I can barely feel it anymore. It's like I'm inside his head,
and he's inside mine.

Suddenly that half a second pause between us feels as
though it disappears entirely. I'm moving exactly when he is. No
pause, no wait.

No
judgment. I don't stop to consider what he's doing. I don't
question him at all.

I follow. No, we follow each other.

I start to move a little on my own, inventing my own
moves, yet he still follows.

Through it all, I never look away. I stare at him,
and unblinkingly, he returns my gaze.

It should be the most confronting experience I've
ever had, yet it's not.

It’s the opposite.

It's truly invigorating. Opening. Enriching. It's
like it gives me a glimpse into a world I never knew existed.

A world of perfect balance.

Without even realizing it, he throws me the fan, and
I catch it, and this time, I don't lose control.

I hold it, and I move, and as I do, my magic moves
into it.

It’s seamless. Unstoppable even.

Now we no longer face each other. Without a word, I
shift to the side, and so does he. Somehow he follows my movements
even though my back is to him and his to mine. I shift forward,
furling the fan out, and he does the same with his arm. Then I flip
to the side, and he follows with perfect timing.

Time passes, I'm sure it does, but I no longer follow
it. The only thing I'm connected to is him. To the balance between
our two movements.

The point between force and flow.

I throw the fan back to him, then after a while, he
throws it back to me. I lose track of how many times we repeat
this, until finally, finally we stop.

Taking one step, our backs meet. Then, naturally, I
let the fan drop.

It's not charged and crackling like it was that day I
practiced in the rain.

It's
. . . glowing. A mesmerizing, deep,
pulsing light, the likes of which I’ve never seen
before.

Slowly I let my arms drop, and then I feel him take a
step away from me.

It takes a long time to turn, cradling the fan as I
do.

I wasn't expecting that. Heck, I'm still not entirely
sure what I just experienced.

I thought the fan dance might teach me something, but
it has taught me a lesson I'm not prepared for.

Over the past several weeks, I've tried to truly
understand what balance is. Well now I realize it’s something far
more mysterious than I ever thought possible.

Yang doesn't say
anything for a while, in fact, nor does he make eye contact. He
just looks
. . . completely
lost in thought.

Is he still embarrassed? Is he worried somebody might
have seen?

I notice as he draws his hands up and turns them over
slowly, staring at them carefully, paying particular attention to
his Arak band.

His lips are parted, his eyes narrowed, but his
expression isn't one of shame or anger.

It’s total surprise.

“That felt
. . . I . . .” he trails off.

“I . . .” I
trail off too.

We look awkwardly at each other.

“I didn't realize it
was so . . . powerful,” I break my silence.

“It can be,” he says,
choking over his words.

“I've never felt
. . . so balanced, so in tune with my magic and my Arak
device,” I say as I stare down at the fan. It's still glowing, and
I wonder how long it will hold its charge for. Is it dangerous?
Will we have to find some way to discharge it into the sky
again?

Perhaps Yang can read my mind, because he leans down
and takes the fan off me. It is a particularly gentle move. He
shifts past me and takes it so carefully, I'm barely perturbed by
his presence.

“This
. . .” he looks at the fan as he turns it over in his
hands.

“Is it
dangerous?”

He eventually shakes
his head
. “It's . . . you don't
have to worry about it.”

“Why not? I thought
you'd told me it's dangerous to build up too much of a charge? That
. . . well, it looks pretty charged.”

“It's balanced,” he
says, and I can hear how startled he is. His words are high and
shaking, his eyes wide open as he continues to stare at the
fan.

“So it is
safe?”

“Yes.”

“Don't we need to
discharge it?”

“Leave that to me,”
he says as he lets the fan drop to his side. He spends a long time
staring at the ground between us until he lifts his gaze to meet
mine. “That's a fan dance,” he says with a swallow.

Considering his expression and the emotional charge
in the air, I'd been expecting him to say something different.

I swallow too.

Locking my hair
behind my ears, I nod, a little too
enthusiastically
. “I got
that.”

He swallows again. Is there something stuck in his
throat?

“You . . .
did good,” he manages, wincing once he's done.

“Did . . .
it help you?” I suddenly ask.

“Sorry?” he
stutters.

“To reconnect to your
magic?” I ask quietly.

He doesn't say anything for a long while, then he
turns away. He looks up at the General's window high above. After
he seems satisfied, he looks at me again.

He nods.

That's all he does.

Then he turns and walks away.

Without a damn word.

I stand there startled.

So it's over? He can't say anything more? Not even a
goodbye? Is he that ashamed? Nobody saw us. Plus, what is there to
be embarrassed about? We completed the fan dance in its original
spirit; as an act of balancing magic, of force and flow, as a gift
to Gaea. Who cares what tradition has grown up around it, if that's
what it meant for us?

Or at least, that's what it meant for me.

I think.

“Come on, we have to
get out of here. I have no idea how long we've been here,” he says
with a shaking breath, “so I have no idea how long it will be
before Garl gets back.”

Though I want to be mad at him, I can't. Not now, not
after that. I'm still buzzing with the power from the dance. More
than that, I still feel like I could take on the world.

He leads me out of the courtyard, then carefully
through the hallways and doors until we make it back to the square.
As he does, he takes off his helmet and tucks it close to the
closed up fan, trying to secure it in his arms.

What is he doing?

Once we reach the square, there are too many soldiers
for me to ask directly.

“Excuse me,” he says
as he walks up to one soldier, “do you know what time it
is?”

“One o'clock,” the
man says with a salute.

I watch Yang's
expression as the shock whitens his cheeks. “Are
you sure?”

“The bell rang only a
few moments ago,” the soldier notes with another salute before he
walks away.

“We were there for
two hours,” Yang says quietly, keeping his voice low as we walk
past another group of soldiers.

Two hours?

I've lost track of
time before, especially when I'm doing something exciting. But
that
. . . is
insane.

We both look at each
other worriedly. In fact, as we exchange that glance, it reinforces
how
. . . connected I still
feel to him.

It's as if I know what he's going to do before he
does it.

“How the hell did
that happen?” he asks quietly.

“Is it
. . . normal?” I question.

He doesn't even bother to look at me. Instead he
latches a hand on his mouth, the fingers gripping hard into his
chin.

“No,” he
answers.

His answer gives me a thrill. It should terrify me,
but it doesn't.

As the Savior, I have to find tools powerful enough
to help me with my sacred task. Before today I thought I had felt
power, I now realize I hadn't.

This experience is so astounding, it gives me a new
kind of hope.

Yang, however, doesn't seem as pleased. He's shocked,
and as he quickens his pace, worried too.

We make it back to where I was training, only to find
one of my guards still hanging around.

As he sees Yang
marching forward, he stops slouching against a pillar and gives a
salute
. “Sir, General Garl is looking for
you. Where have you been, anyway?” The soldier asks as he looks
directly at me and raises an eyebrow.

Yang clears his
throat
. “Training,” he says in a
snap.

“Training, ha?” the
guard notes with a slight smile.

“Yes, soldier,
training,” Yang emphasizes the word soldier. “Now, stop wasting my
time. Where is General Garl?”

The soldier stiffens
up
. “He's up at the Palace,
sir.”

Yang's shoulders
visibly deflate
. “Very well. And where is
Mae?”

“Also at the
Palace.”

“I see. Take
. . . Yin back to her room.” Yang nods at the soldier,
then turns, and I can see he tries his hardest not to make eye
contact with me. But he fails. Just for a second, he gazes at me,
and I can see how . . . confused he is.

Confused and maybe just a little intrigued.

Is he shocked by what happened before? Was it
normal?

I don't get my answer. Instead Yang turns, doesn't
say goodbye, and marches off.

Then I have to endure my guard looking at me
sideways. In fact, his gaze darts from the top of my head down to
my toes, then slowly back up again. Eventually they focus somewhere
around my chest.

I don't bother
crossing my arms. Instead I say directly
,
“your eyes seem stuck. Do you want me to punch you in the side of
the head to unstick them?”

He snarls at me.

I smile.

Then he leads me back to my room.

When the door is closed and bolted behind me, I don't
sit. I stand there and stare at my hands.

They still feel so full of magic.

Experimentally, I unfurl my fingers.

Sparks leap over
them. It's as if the enchantments holding my summoning
at bay no longer exist.

They can't hold me back any more.

If I wanted to, I could send a shot of magic into the
wall and shatter it completely.

In fact, I feel more powerful than I ever have,
because I feel in balance, in tune. As if I'm resonating with the
essence of magic itself.

I've never truly connected to Gaea before, but now I
swear I feel her presence all around me. It permeates everything,
and for the first time I can see that.

But that's not all I've connected to.

Yang.

I still can't get him out of my head, even though he
left minutes ago. It's as if he's right by my side, as if we're
copying each other's movements without realizing it.

“What is going on?” I
ask slowly and quietly.

The walls don't answer, but my heart does. And so
does my Arak device. It sends a burst of crackling magic ploughing
through my veins, and it's more invigorating than anything I’ve
ever felt.

A new emotion.

A new kind of trust.

I don't practice. I
don't feel I need to. Inst
ead I sit in
meditation and think about what's just happened and what might
come.

Captain Yang

I should be a mess by the time I reach the Palace. I
should be flustered, guilty, confused.

I'm not.