Yin and Yang: A Fool's Beginning (45 page)

I try to tell her there's nothing there, but I can't
force the words out.

“I swear something is
following us,” she says in a small voice.

I turn once again, looking, but unable to see
anything.

“Just ride faster,” I
advise.

We do.

We barrel over the fields until we reach a sand
touched dirt road.

It is old, and
barely
recognizable. But here and there I
see way stones covered by creeping vines and clogged
grass.

. . .
.

A sense of doom starts to build. But it doesn't press
down from above, rather it feels as if it creeps out of the cracks
in the earth. Slowly drawing upward like a poisonous mist.

“It's around here,” I
say, unwilling to speak out loud, but hissing through a whisper
instead.

She nods, her hair flicking over her shoulder as she
turns around once more.

The horse starts to slow, and soon enough we reach an
open area.

There are no trees, no plants, just sand covered
dirt.

Without telling her, Yin stops the horse.

I have no way of
knowing whether we've reached the remains of the village, other
than the
spiraling fear that catches hold
of my heart.

I can't push it away. And with the power of the ocean
so nearby, it magnifies the emotion until I actually start to
shake.

Once the horse stops, I push myself off, stumbling as
I land.

“Yang,” Yin says as
she jumps down after me.

I don't say anything. I turn around, my mouth pressed
open as I scan that sand covered dirt.

“Is this the place?”
she asks in a small, shaking voice. In fact, she sounds so scared
that I look up and note her cheeks are as pale as freshly fallen
snow.

Can she feel it too?

Without speaking, I press down onto my knees,
brushing back the sand to reveal the dry dirt underneath.

I don't know what I'm expecting to find.

This is an open area devoid of trees. But that
doesn't make it the site of a once destroyed village.

It doesn't make it anything at all.

Then again, where are all the plants? Unless this
area was recently cleared, you would think there would be a few
sand grasses or beach flowers growing amongst the dirt.

There's nothing.

In fact, as I lean down and push the sand back, I
don't even spy any insects.

It's just
. . . dead. Everything is
dead.

I turn around to see
Yin standing right behind me. In fact she is pressing closer, one
hand locked on her arm as she stares fearfully around
her
. “This place feels . . .
wrong.”

She puts into words what I can't. But as I press up
off my knees and stand beside her, my wide eyes flickering around,
I realize she is right.

This place feels wrong. No, that's an understatement,
it feels like hell.

Barre
n, devoid of life, and
completely desolate.

At one point, Yin
gets so close that she bangs into my side. I don't push her back,
instead I offer a nod
. “We need to
. . . search, try to find any clues. I think this is the
village . . . . But I can't be sure.”

She looks terrified. No, more than terrified. She
looks as if she can see something I can't. Something
horrifying.

“Yin?” I ask as a
cold sweat washes down my back, and my arms and chest prickle with
fear.

“We should get out of
here,” she suddenly says.

“We need to find
evidence,” I begin.

“People were killed
here,” she suddenly says.

My brow scrunches
together
. “What do you mean?”

She grits her teeth
together
. “Gaea unsettled,” she
says.

It takes me a moment to really understand what she's
just said. Gaea is unsettled?

That's the second time she has suggested that she can
connect to the greatest spirit of all. Gaea herself. But any child
knows that's impossible.

Or it should be impossible. But I can’t discount she
is experiencing something as she recoils, her cheeks now so pale
it's as if every drop of blood has drained from them.

“Yin?” I ask in a
croaky, husky voice.

“Something so
horrible happened here,” she says, shaking as she clasps both hands
over her mouth.

The fear is palpable, and unable to stop it, it
starts to consume me too. My rational mind tells me we haven't come
all the way here, and I haven't risked everything, just to leave
now. Granted, this desolate space is eerie, but I'm an ex-member of
the Royal Army, and I can push past that. I can be objective when I
need to be.

Yet no matter how much I acknowledge that, I can’t
dampen the fear.

Yin takes several ragged steps backward, and she is
categorically more terrified than I have ever seen her.

“Just get back on the
horse, and head to the road. I'll . . . finish up here,
and come get you when I'm done,” I try to say bravely. But there's
no way I can control the pitching of my voice.

She shakes her head
vehemently
. “We have to get out of here
before it comes,” she says with a full-bodied shudder. “Before what
comes?”

She looks up.

Slowly. And until the day I die, I will always
remember her expression.

I've seen people terrified before. Working in the
army, I've seen my fair share of men dying, and sometimes facing
things far worse than death even.

But the way she looks at me. The vulnerability, the
terror, are purer and clearer than any I have ever seen.

“Before the Night
comes,” she says in a voice I have to strain to hear.

But there's no doubting what she said.

The Night. Just the mere mention of it forces my gut
to clench and fear.

The Night.

The same Night the savior must hold back. That
chaotic force that will end the age.

I faced it once before, I realize. The first time the
record keepers of the Palace showed me that scroll, the Night tried
to draw me into it. That cloying, smothering, overpowering
sense.

That which is opposite to light.

The Night.

I should tell her she
is just overreacting. I should tell her the Night is a myth. But it
isn't. I know that now. So I
. . . move forward, catch her by the wrist, and
run to the horse.

We are going to get out of here. I'm going to trust
my gut instincts and hers.

But we don't get the chance.

With a snap, she suddenly stares around, her eyes
pressing so wide I swear the skin is going to tear.

“Yin, what is it?” I
ask as she stares at that simple dirt path leading into the
village.

“Something's here,”
she gets a chance to say.

Then something snakes out of the darkness and strikes
me right in the chest.

I fall to the ground.

Yin

Illusionists.

For the past several hours, I've been unable to shake
the sense that something was following us. Now, as my terror could
not be greater, I realize what it is.

Those sorcerers I fought at the barracks.

Though I can't see them, I know they're there.

Then, before I can react, something coils out of the
darkness and collects Yang hard on the chest, making him slam hard
into the ground by my feet.

I shift to the side,
intending to loop an arm around his and pull him to his feet, but
he stares up into my eyes and screams
,
“no, get back.”

It's too late. I feel
something
materialize beside me, and then
a pair of black-clad, strong hands collapse around my
neck.

With a grip stronger than steel, the hands try to
strangle me.

I splutter, trying to draw in a breath as I flail
with my arms and legs.

“Let her go,” Yang
screams. But as he pushes to his own feet, I watch in horror as a
knife slices out of nowhere, collecting him along the side of the
chin. It slices open his cheek, blood splattering out in a great
arc.

But rather than
flinging him back, Yang somehow fights the force of the move, and
barrels forward. For a brief moment I hear him connect to
something. To armor of some description. But then he's thrown
backwards as a foot
materializes and
collects him right on his cut chin.

I try to scream at him to watch out, but I can't
speak.

I can't breathe. The hands keep pressing into my
neck, robbing me of my energy and magic as blackness builds at the
corner of my vision.

I fight it. I try to push my magic out, into my
hands, up into my throat, and into whoever is strangling me. But
it's hard. Something's blocking me. Pushing it back. Somehow
disconnecting me from my Arak device and the power within.

The illusionist.

With its hands around my throat, it's keeping my
summoning at bay. As if it can not only hide itself, but can hide
my true power from me too.

As unconsciousness threatens, I watch Yang stumble up
and lurch towards me, his face a picture of pure fear. He screams
my name, or at least I think he does.

I start to feel myself shutting down. I can no longer
scrabble against the grip around my throat, and my hands just
glance off, my arms collapsing beside me.

Then, Yang screams.

Such a deep, thundering move, it shakes the ground
itself.

Out of nowhere, a jet of water comes slamming into
me.

Somehow it rushes around my form, but it does not
rush around the illusionist. I can feel his grip as it is yanked
away from my throat and the man himself is pushed backwards.

I stumble to my knees, gasping, drawing in as much
air as I can.

Yang screams my name
again, but just as he does, and he flings a hand forward to catch
me, I watch as a fist appear
s beside him,
and collects him against the side of his head.

There's a sickening crunch, and he's thrown sideways,
more blood spilling from the wound along his chin.

It's my turn to scream his name. I thrust forward,
trying to catch him before he can hit the ground.

But somehow he manages to roll and stand, then he
sends another jet of water forward.

Though his aim is
good, and I can tell it should collect the illusionist right in the
chest, somehow that man twists in
midair,
the water breaking all around him, but not forcing him back. I
barely hear two feet hit the ground, then nothing.

Instinctively Yang and I back towards each other,
until our shoulders press together.

He doesn't say anything. Neither do I.

There is no reason to waste our breath.

There's only reason to fight.

Yang sends a burst of water out of his hands, and it
washes forward with incredible power.

Again I watch it slam against the invisible outline
of a man. But again the illusionist just jumps into it, somehow
absorbs the power, and lands.

I try to punch forward with a fiery shot of my own.
The illusionist is too quick, and by the time the magic spills from
my hands, I have no idea where he is.

Then I hear something.

Two things, in fact.
The unmistakable sound of knives being withdrawn
f
rom metal sheaths. I feel Yang jolt back
into me as he realizes what's about to happen.

The illusionists are going to kill us. Stab us.

They are not going to play around.

“Just attack,” Yang
says, desperation making his voice barely recognizable.

I don't hesitate. I send fireball after fireball
bursting out of my hands.

But with nothing to direct them at, they confuse me
further.

As fire and water dance around us, I stare into the
chaos, searching for the illusionists.

Here and there I hear their footfall, and the slice
of blades in the air.

But I can’t see them; I don't know where they
are.

Then, one dashes forward, and just as I jolt back
into Yang, I feel something move beside me. So quick, so powerful,
and so impossible to fight.

A knife slices half a centimeter from my face,
pressing down into my left arm.

I try to defend myself against the blow, try to push
magic into my body to bolster it, but I'm not quick enough, and I
don't have enough power to stop the knife from eating easily into
my flesh.

I scream, thrusting back just as magic crackles down
my injured limb.

“Yin,” I feel Yang
turn, lurching towards me.

But as he does, I can sense one of the illusionists
closing in on him.

With a knife to his back, they're going to skewer him
through the heart.

With as much force as
I can, I push forward, ramming my shoulder into Yang and forcing
him out of the way as a blade
materializes out of thin air and is plunged deep into my
already injured arm.

I can feel it go in, slicing between the muscle and
grating against the bone. Pain shoots through me. Faster, harder,
clearer than anything I have ever felt. It's as if I'm drowning in
the sensation.

Blood erupts from the injury, splattering out. For
the briefest moment, one droplet lands on something. One of the
illusionists. But just as quickly as I see it suspended there in
the air, the man wipes it off, and becomes completely invisible
again.

Yang calls my name, over and over again.