Chapter 24
Yin
I wake early in the morning and begin training again. As I do, waving my arms as gracefully as I can, I try to be more fluid, as Yang put it. Though I hate to be taking the advice of that man, I know what’s at stake here.
.…
Plus, in the absence of Castor, I need to keep training. I might not be able to do a fan dance on the final day of the age, but mastering it could give me an edge. I could learn something important.
It’s with that attitude I keep training.
It’s also with that determination that I keep pushing against the magical barrier in my room.
The more I practice, the easier it becomes to call on my magic. Though I still can’t conjure up a proper blast, I can at least set sparks crackling over my hands.
I can also send those sparks into the fan.
That, right there, may be the opportunity I’ve been waiting for.
If the fan can hold my magic, conceivably I could use it to escape. All I would have to do is sit for a few hours, pumping the little power I can conjure into the channels over the fan, then use the thing to blow the door up.
I can’t risk doing it yet – Garl’s warning is still ringing in my ears – but it’s still an advantage.
I will gather my opportunities until I have enough to defeat him.
Soon enough I hear a knock on my door, and I wait for the thing to swing open.
Though my heart skips a few beats as I wonder if it’s Yang, it isn’t.
Mae stands there, dressed impeccably as always.
I’ve tried a little harder to comb my hair back, and though I’m proud of what I’ve achieved, Mae snorts. “You will never be beautiful, but the least you can do is try to be neat,” she snaps as she stalks over and straightens my sleeve. Then she mutters something unkind as she tugs my hair into submission.
I stand there and stare out of the open door, shooting a challenging glare at the amused guard outside.
When Mae is finished, she snaps at me to bring my fan, and I follow her back into the square.
Though I’ve been at the Royal Barracks for several days now, I’ve barely seen the place. I get shepherded from my room to the square, then back again. The routine doesn’t change.
Today as I walk out into the brisk morning air, I notice there are more soldiers standing around than usual.
Perhaps word has gotten around at how inept I am, and they’ve all come to see.
Before I can conclude that, however, I note that they seem different somehow. They aren’t wearing the same gold and red armor.
“What’s going on?” I ask, forgetting my place.
“Though it is none of your business, we will be honored today by a visit from Princess Mara.”
“Oh,” I mutter as I walk on by, staring at the extra guards but no longer thinking anything of it.
“Now,” Mae gestures down the steps into the square, “go and take up position.”
Before she can add some insult, she turns around as a guard hurries up to her.
I watch them both as I trundle down into the square.
The guard talks hurriedly, and before I know it, Mae starts walking away with him. When I move to follow, she snaps at me to “stay,” as if I’m little more than an obedient dog.
Sighing, I tuck my fan under my arm.
The morning is a chilly one, and with one look up to the clouds, I see they’re laden with rain. Billowing and navy blue, it looks as if it will be heavy rain, too.
As a chill wind picks up through the yard, I start to swing my arms, the boredom setting in.
I look around and stare at the guards amassing over on the other side of the square.
Why could one person need so many people to look after her? I know the Princess is meant to be important, but it looks as if there’s a small army over there.
Are they worried she’s going to trip over and bump her perfect little chin? Or maybe they think she’ll get worried if she doesn’t see at least 1000 men at her beck and call.
I hate royalty. I hate the idea of it. Your blood doesn’t make you better than anyone else. Nor does it give you the right to make others bleed on your behalf. That’s what the Royal Family does. They send soldiers off to war to fight on their behalf, demanding their subjects sacrifice their lives so… what? The Royal Family can amass more wealth?
Castor has always told me to distrust them. He’s told me on numerous occasions they are nothing more than leeches living off the women and men of the land.
Crossing my arms as I stare at the guards, I sigh loudly.
Then again.
Time goes on, and Mae doesn’t return. When I ask one of my own guards whether I can go back to my room, he just snaps at me to shut up and wait.
So I do.
Then it starts to rain.
Heavily.
In fact, it’s as if the heavens open up and release a sea upon the earth.
I watch my guards shelter further under the awning that covers the steps and leads down to the square.
I, however, stand there, allowing myself to get sopping wet.
The rain soaks through my light clothes in seconds.
I don’t shiver, though, nor do I move to wipe the rivulets from my cheeks and chin.
I just let it rain.
It rains so damn heavily I feel like I’m in my own world, cut off from all those guards and soldiers by a veil of continuously falling water.
Tipping my head back, I smile as I let the water drive into my cheeks and lips.
It’s invigorating.
The smell of it fills my nostrils, and the constant bite of the driving droplets makes my skin tingle.
Staring up at the downpour, the clouds rolling and boiling like smoke from a fire, I laugh, letting my head drop forward.
I watch the water spread out below me, darting toward the cracks in the stone as it moves back toward the earth.
It moves so quickly, so efficiently.
It always takes the shortest path. No flourish, just flow.
My lips press together as I feel the fan in my hand all of a sudden.
Become fluid like water – that’s what they’ve been telling me.
So I watch the water.
I see just how easily it moves around things.
But it isn’t graceful – it doesn’t prance around like a lady with a fan. It flows, never stopping, constantly moving beyond and around and through.
It doesn’t follow any set of prescribed movements – it reacts to each obstacle, finding a new way to flow around it as it does.
There’s no dance – there’s just constant, deliberate movement.
As I stare, I understand.
Without being told, I start to train.
I don’t care that no one has told me to start, and nor do I care that I have an audience.
I just move.
It’s up to me to draw what lessons from nature I can, and I mustn’t ignore this one.
I might be trapped, but that does not mean I can’t learn.
As I start to move, I push all distraction from my mind. The whole world could be looking at me, but it wouldn’t matter. All that matters is capturing the moment before it slips away.
I focus all my attention on my Arak device. Though you are taught as a sorcerer to conjure magic seamlessly – connecting so much to your bracelet that it feels indistinguishable from your own arm – now I concentrate on it. I link to the spirit of magic trapped within the metal, and I invite it into my every movement.
I don’t try to dance. Mae is right – I’m never going to be elegant nor graceful. My body isn’t built for it. It is, however, built for power.
I let my magic build, the force moving with the fan as I furl and unfurl it.
I don’t follow any distinct set of movements. Yet from the scrolls I read last night, I know the fan dance requires a prescribed set of steps.
Instead, I take to heart the underlying lesson. Move with fluidity, no
t force.
Though I’ve never bought into all the traditions that surround gender, I know force is reserved for a male sorcerer, while a woman is meant to be more receptive and supportive. This entire fan dance is built around that duality.
But underneath that, is a lesson.
I know how to be forceful, but now, as I attune to the water washing around me, I understand flow.
I’ll need to learn both if I want to defeat the Night.
At first, I’m awkward, just jumping and leaping about like a child at play.
I should feel foolish – with so many potential onlookers, I should stop right now.
I don’t.
Because I don’t care.
Sparks start to play along my fan, and I can feel how much magic it’s absorbing. But the power doesn’t burst out. It builds and builds and builds.
I’m calling upon the force within, but it is not dancing around me – it’s concentrating, virtually unseen. For the first time in my life, I can practice without being distracted by the white-hot brilliance of my magic. The distraction of its hissing, crackling, sparking power.
The rain drives around me as thick as a watery shroud.
Perhaps it hides my display from everyone else, maybe it doesn’t.
But again, I don’t care.
In fact, I keep moving. I won’t stop until someone tells me to.
I might be trapped, but from now on, it will be on my terms.