Yin and Yang: A Fool's Beginning (42 page)

Instead I walk forward, keeping to myself.

Thankfully people hardly stare at me, and I stay
close enough to the shadows that they don't suddenly scream out
that I'm covered in blood.

Then, just as I'm walking behind a stall, I spy a
long coat. Thankfully the stall owner looks relatively rich, and is
looking in the other direction, so I duck forward, grabbing the
coat and moving on smoothly.

When I'm far enough away, I furl it around my
shoulders and hug it close to my chest.

Then
. . . I wait.

Yang told me to meet him out on the main street.

Here I am.

Waiting.

And waiting.

All the while fearing that he did not manage to get
out.

Captain Yang

It feels like hell lying my way out of the
barracks.

It's been my home for
as long as I can remember. A symbol
of
everything I stand for. Loyalty and protection, security and
strength.

Now it's just a question mark. I don't know what it
stands for. Maybe I never knew.

Once I leave the soldier, he opens the door, and I
lead the horse out onto the cobbled area behind the barracks. Then
things start to set in.

The enormity of what I am doing.

There is no going back.

No
. . . if I turn around right now, return the
horse, and raise the alarm that Yin has escaped, then maybe I could
go back.

But what's the point? There is every likelihood that
General Garl is after me.

It's just too late.

Plus, I'm not sure I could do that to her. I looked
her in the eye, after all, and told her I wouldn't betray her.

Some ragtag girl from the mountains. Someone I should
hold no loyalty for. A woman who, self-admittedly, stands for
everything I don't. She questions the legitimacy of the Royal
Family, the sanctity of the Kingdom. She holds nothing but
suspicion for authority, and is arrogant and forceful enough to
forge her own path.

. . .
.

Yet, now she is the only thing I have left.

I chose to flee with
her
. . . and I'm going to have
to live with that.

My life is now different, and I can’t stand here and
mourn the loss of what I once knew.

I have to forge ahead.

So I raise my chin, take my helmet off, secure it
under my arm, and I lead the horse forward.

As I do, I wonder where she has gotten to.

When I saw that the door at the back of the stables
was locked and bolted, I pulsed with fear.

Then
. . . I remembered who I was dealing
with. Yin. She might be a woman, and around these parts, we might
not expect much from women, but she is categorically one of the
strongest people I have ever met.

“She has found a way
out,” I whisper to myself under my breath.

But as I continue to lead the horse through the
narrow side streets that link up to one of the main roads of the
city, I start to doubt.

I twist my head around, checking for her everywhere,
stopping just short of calling her name.

Where is she?

. . .
She hasn't,
run-off on her own, has she?

I was sure I got through to her. I was sure I made
her trust me.

But as I search for her, I start to doubt.

Maybe it makes sense. I was the one who brought her
to the barracks, the one who turned a blind eye as General Garl
threatened her. I tried to manipulate her in the past, forcing her
to trust me so she would stop being rebellious.

But now I can’t deny how sick it makes me feel.

We reach the main road, and my stomach feels as
though it's in freefall.

Again I twist my head from side to side, but I can’t
see her anywhere.

The conclusion that she really has run off without me
seems undeniable now.

Just as my heart sinks lower than it ever has before,
I notice a woman in a thick coat walk up from the side.

I barely glance her way, then I realize she is
following me along, albeit at a distance.

Just as she walks under a lit lantern, she lifts her
head slightly, and looks right at me.

Despite the distance, I recognize her.

Of course I do. I
could probably recognize Yin at 1000 paces. It's not her appearance
anymore, it's
. . . something
more than that. A connection I can't really describe, and one I
don't have time to anyway.

Nodding at her, I angle my head, trying to
communicate nonverbally for her to follow.

I don't particularly want to ride through the city
with a cloaked woman as a passenger. I want to give us as much of a
lead as possible before General Garl figures out we escaped.

She seems to understand, and she drops back.

I turn my head around, and lead the horse through the
main street, trusting she's still following.

Then, when I reach one of the less populated roads, I
climb atop the horse, and start to ride. But slowly. While Yin is
incredibly fast, she is not that fast.

I reach the great
gates of the city, and as I see them looming up before me
with their enormous carved poles with dragons
emblazoned around them, I almost feel like shedding a
tear.

This is it.

Possibly the last time I will ever see them.

Turning around on my horse and craning my neck, I
stare up at the Palace atop the hill.

It's the last time I'll see that too.

The greatest wonder in all the lands. With its golden
pillars and its obsidian steps, it is a testament to the power and
wealth of the Kingdom.

Power and wealth I am turning my back on.

Literally.

Without pause, I force myself to turn forward, and I
tell myself I will never look back.

The guards at the city gates don't even question as I
make my way through. Why would they? I am a captain in the Royal
Army and a close friend of the Princess. To them, I am one of the
most loyal and trustworthy men they know.

They are completely wrong.

I don't even bother thanking them as they open one of
the much smaller side gates and let me through.

I do, however, turn and engage them in conversation,
hoping to give Yin time to escape.

If she were any other woman, or indeed, a man, I'd be
frightened right now. Terrified that she might not be able to make
it.

The gates into the Kingdom are meant to be some of
the most protected in all the lands. Tall and with watchtowers on
top, they are always guarded and well lit. They protect not only
against marauding barbarians, but against thieves wishing to find
their way into the city at night.

Yin is no thief. Well, not usually—I'm sure she
hardly paid for that jacket.

What she is, however, is the last known pupil of one
of the greatest warriors in the Kingdom. Castorious Barr. Though I
am fearful for her, that does not diminish the fact I know she'll
make it through. Even if she has to blast her way through the meter
thick front gate, she will do it.

There is no doubting the fire that burns within
her.

After all, she did the impossible, and managed to
conjure up magic in a room that should have made it impossible.

The enormity of that fact still hasn't hit me, for I
haven't had the time to truly assess it.

The number of
enchantme
nts hewn into the rock of that
cell should make it impossible for anyone to even call up a spark
of flame, let alone enough fire to melt a metal lock.

Who is she?

Really?

Why would Castor train her? I heard him mumble
something to General Garl that Yin was left with him as a child,
and he had nothing more than a moral obligation to look after her.
He did not seek her out, and neither did her parents grow fed up at
her power and beg him to take her of their hands.

If you believe
Castor, he trained her because it was kinder
than kicking her out on her own.

Now, I don't believe that. In fact, I doubt I ever
believed it.

Having seen the sheer ferocity with which he was
willing to protect her, I know it's something more than that.

Something big.

Though Castor is
undoubtedly an incredible warrior, and could teach any soldier how
to plumb the depths of their
power, he
couldn't make them as powerful as Yin.

She woke up from my sleeping spell, she managed to
hold her own against two illusionists, and she can conjure magic in
an enchanted cell.

Castor could not have taught her any of those things.
He could have refined her ability, yes, but he couldn't have given
it to her.

. . .
.

These are some of the questions that have been
assailing me for the past few weeks, questions I thought I would
never get the answer to. But now, I just might. Because, if she
trusts me enough to flee with me, perhaps she trusts me enough to
tell me the truth.

That possibility gives me a thrill. An undeniable
sense of excitement. I might just be trading the only life I knew,
but the one that awaits me may be far more exciting than any I have
imagined before.

I keep an ear out as I chat to the soldiers, and
force my senses to become as acute as possible.

I try to sense magic,
and to figure out if anybody is
practicing it nearby.

Sure enough, just at the edges of my awareness I feel
crackles and sparks.

Yin.

She is close by, and the more I chat to the soldiers
about inane things like the upcoming lantern festival, the closer
that spark comes.

I don't know how she does it, but at one moment she
is on one side of the gate, and in the next, she is on the opposite
side.

She gets through.

Just a darting shadow and practically silent
scrabbling feet.

Giving her a chance
to put some distance between her and the soldiers, I say my
goodbyes, turnaround, and
urge the horse
forward.

The night is a dark one. Overcast, there are no stars
in the sky and no moon to throw its silvery light over the
land.

Though the gate is particularly well lit, the further
I get away from it, the more my eyes have to adjust.

There is a long dirt path that leads up to the city
walls, parts of it cobbled, parts of it in need of repair.

A short distance from
the city gates is a bridge
over a running
creek, and then much farther along, a larger wooden bridge over the
river itself.

Well right now, when I know that I'm far enough away
from the gate that nobody can see me, I pull right off the road and
into a thicket of bushes.

“Are you
. . . here? I ask, speaking through clenched
teeth.

At first all I hear in reply is the soft hoot of an
owl sitting in a tree nearby.

Then, the slight sound of footfall.

I can't stop a shiver racing down my back. It could
be a spy, a soldier, a citizen, or it could be Yin.

The prospect
that
it’s her still warrants a shiver.
Not a fearful one, just an excited one.

I see her walk forward, my eyes having to squint to
adjust to the dark.

Shadow plays across her face, but I can easily
recognize the shape of it, the tapering chin, her wild hair, and
her strong form.

“We can't afford to
wait around this close to the city; we need to get out of here,” I
say quickly.

She nods.

Then she hesitates.

“You're not
regretting this, are you?” I ask quickly, stumbling over my
words.

“I suppose
. . . I'll never see Castor again,” she says,
sadly.

I let my hands clutch
tight
er to the reins, then I nod. Almost
immediately, however, I shake my head. “I can't answer that. I
don't know. He's . . . a determined man. If he wants to
see you again, he will. And trust me, he'll want to see you
again.”

“He abandoned me,”
she says in a far-off voice.

“No, he didn't.
Castor did everything he could to keep you safe.”

I watch her look up, and though I can’t see her exact
expression, I know what she is feeling.

Confusion, and yet hope.

“What do you mean?”
she tries in a light voice.

“I mean, trust me,
and trust him,” I say as I reach a hand out to her.

My stomach tingles, my hands feeling cold and hot,
and my back racing with nerves.

She considers my hand, then reaches up, grabs it, and
without waiting for me to pull her up, uses me as an anchor as she
jumps onto the horse.

I'm used to women needing help. I'm used to them
being polite.

I'm used to everything Yin isn't.

Yet, I can't stop
smiling as I grab hold of the reins, trust that she is balanced,
and
maneuver the horse out of the
thicket.

Then we face the night.

It's so thick, but there's just enough ambient light
that the horse can chart a path.

We push off into the dark.

Silently.

The both of us no doubt lost in thought. For there is
a lot to think about.

This time yesterday I was lost in my duty as a
guardian of the Savior. The most sacred duty in all of the
ages.

Now I'm fleeing with the woman I barely know,
shirking that responsibility, never to accept it again. Even if I
left Yin behind and returned to the Palace, there would be no way
the Princess would accept me again.

. . .
.