Yin and Yang: A Fool's Beginning

  Chapter 31

  Captain Yang

  I wake early that morning. Very early. For two reasons. Not only do I want to get some training in before most of the other soldiers wake, but I want to go back to the library.

  I want to find out everything I can about the mysterious ritual Castor spoke of. Though Yin told me her version, I can’t believe it. No, I don’t want to believe it. I need something concrete, something I can follow and analyze. The amorphous idea of just opening up to the magic within is confusing.

  I dress quickly, not even bothering to don my armor as I open the library before the first rays of dawn can reach it through the high windows that line the building.

  Perfectly silent, even though there is nobody around to disturb, I pick my way through the collection, searching for any reference to what I’m looking for.

  I quickly become frustrated. Though there are many mentions of spirits and magic, there’s nothing like what Castor or Yin mentioned.

  By the time I make my way to the back of the library, I am ready to give up.

  Then something catches my eye.

  A book has been left on the floor, and as I lean down to pick it up, I recognize it. It’s the book Castor plucked from the shelf and pushed toward Yin yesterday.

  At the time, I hadn’t thought anything of it. It had appeared as if Castor was reinforcing his order for her to study by throwing any old book at her.

  Now I can’t deny my curiosity as I run a hand over its spine.

  The Illustrated History of the Sun Kingdom, it reads.

  Just an ordinary book. One, in fact, I have in my own small library.

  I go to put it back on the shelf, but I stop. Without really knowing why, I find myself opening it.

  I flick through the pages, and something catches my eye.

  Sections are underlined, some of them even circled. Far more interesting than that, they all pertain to Garl.

  I now leaf through with more interest, reading any sections that are emphasized under my breath.

  Could this be a coincidence? Could Castor have picked some random book, or had he planned this?

  Had he been trying to communicate with Yin?

  Or me.

  The thought hits me all at once, and I feel like staggering.

  He’s been trying his hardest to warn me about the General ever since he got here. Did he plant this so I would find it? Does he think simply underlining sections about Garl would pique my interest? Burn through my loyalty enough to force me to start asking questions?

  No.

  It won’t work.

  I close the book and go to put it away.

  As I make room in a shelf and push it in, I find my fingers can’t let go.

  Wincing and forcing a breath through clenched teeth, I step back. I try my hardest to tell myself that Castor is trying to manipulate me.

  It won’t work.

  Soon enough I turn and head out of the library. Without fully realizing what I’m doing, I take the book back to my room. I place it in my own small bookcase, removing my personal copy. Then I return my personal copy to the library.

  After I finish, I’m so surprised by what I’ve done, I wonder seriously what’s wrong with me.

  General Garl is my superior. More than that, he was my father’s friend. In my father’s absence, Garl has been somewhat of a father to me. I owe him my loyalty. And sneaking around like this is not loyalty.

  Admonishing myself but unwilling to change what I’ve done, I dress in my armor and head down to the square.

  I need to train. Hard. As hard as I can. That will bring back the measure of control I have felt slipping ever since I returned Castor to the city.

  Or at least I tell myself that will.

  As I head down to the square, I am waylaid, and it is only several hours later when the sun is high in the sky that I find myself marching out over those familiar cobbles. Though it’s mid-morning, there is still a distinct chill in the air.

  I breathe it in. Closing my eyes, I smile. It’s only half a smile, though, and it doesn’t reach up to my eyes. There is too much to worry about to take any real joy in this bright morning.

  There are many groups of people training in the square, there always are. It’s the reason for its enormous size and location.

  As I pause and stare out at them all, I can’t help but feel… disconnected from them. It used to be that my connection to the army was all that mattered. My loyalty for my fellow soldiers, and, first and foremost, the Royal Family.

  That’s what my father instilled in me. Yet now, as I stare around at the soldiers training… I feel cold. It’s not a good cold. Not the numbness I associate with my magic when it is in full swing. It’s just… an empty feeling.

  Trying to chase it from my mind, I see a group of Royal Army sorcerers training with swords. Magical swords. They are a tricky weapon to master, and as the men leap, jets of power shoot out from the swords erratically.

  Now that’s something I could sink myself into this morning. Training with a magical sword. It would be just enough challenge to distract me from my mounting problems. So, walking over to them, I request one of their weapons and then find a quiet spot to train myself.

  As soon as I leap into the air and let my magic run into the hilt of the sword and then blaze down the blade, I get a thrill.

  The thrill makes it harder to feel the guilt haunting me over what I’ve done this morning.

  So I throw myself further and further into training, leaping as high as I can, and commanding the sword with all my power.

  In fact, I give in to the moment so much, that I don’t notice I’m slowly gravitating toward the left. With every leap I make, I land, and I shift in the same direction. The culmination is that I travel further and further from my original spot until I practically bump into a training soldier.

  I turn to apologize before I realize it’s her.

  Yin.

  She is… distracted.

  She looks up to note me, mutters “sorry,” then shifts away. She has a fan in her hand, but it isn’t crackling with nearly as much energy as yesterday. In fact, it’s barely got a spark in it. And to be fair, it’s the same with her.

  I’ve seen her withdraw before, but now she looks… haunted.

  Before I know what I’m doing, I stop and I ask, “you okay?”

  It takes her awhile to look up at me. “Training,” she notes dully.

  “I can see that. But are you okay? You look…” I can’t put it into words.

  She takes a step away and shrugs her shoulders. “I didn’t sleep well last night,” she says simply.

  All at once, I remember our fight. With everything that happened this morning, I plainly forgot that I petulantly slammed the door on her and told her she was a fool for offering me advice.

  Though I know I shouldn’t, I feel guilty. “Sorry,” I say before I can stop myself.

  She glances my way, and I notice her cheeks are ghostly white. That isn’t anything compared to her arms, her left arm especially. In fact, though she’s still insisting on wearing a bandage, her wrist is visible below her sleeve, and it looks like the color of ground up bone. In fact, it’s whitest around her Arak device.

  I let my sword drop by my side now. “You look… unwell. If you need to stop training, go back to your room.”

  “I’m fine,” she says.

  Before she can turn away, I shake my head resolutely. “You’re clearly not. You’re no use to anyone when you’re like this. Go back to your room. And… sorry if our fight stopped you from getting any sleep,” I muddle through my words. As I realize what I said, a wave of embarrassment washes over me.

  I should not be apologizing to her. So why can’t I stop myself?

  She looks up sharply now. “What? Our fight? Oh… I forgot about that. It’s fine. It’s not your fault. I just want to continue training. Ignore me,” she moves away from me, unfurling her fan as she does. But with a jerk of her shoulder, she drops it, and
it clatters to the ground.

  I’m closer, and I automatically lean down to pick it up. She lets me.

  Though I spend a lot of my time bemoaning the fact she’s unruly and tempestuous, now I can’t deny I’m worried at her sudden withdrawn behavior. Yes, she is silent, but I can’t say it’s pleasant.

  “Return to your room, and I will explain this to Mae,” I say firmly as I hold onto her fan.

  “I don’t want to return to my room,” she says, and for the first time her voice takes on an emotion other than withdrawal.

  Fear.

  I would be a fool not to recognize it.

  “. . . Why?” I ask ineloquently.

  She looks up sharply now, and it’s clear she feels she has given away more than she should. “Captain Yang, I’m fine. Please go back to doing whatever you are doing.”

  “You aren’t fine. You look like a ghost,” I point out.

  She shudders at my description.

  She also brings her left hand up and cradles it as if it’s hurting her.

  I note the move with a fearful kind of interest. “Is your… injury acting up?” I ask, incapable of saying the word injury with a straight face.

  She notices, and she shifts back, trying to hide her bandaged left hand under the crook of her arm. “Like I said, it’s nothing. You don’t need to worry about me,” she adds breathlessly.

  My hackles start to rise. It’s not just frustration at her truly irritating behavior.

  It’s more than that.

  “Why won’t you let anyone help you?” I ask defensively.

  Her eyes dart up, narrowing as she shows me her familiar indignation.

  It’s just a flicker of what it usually is.

  “Because you won’t stay,” she says.

  She could have said anything. She could have pointed out that I’m technically her enemy, and I brought her here against her wishes. She could have gone on another lengthy rant about how she distrusts the Royal Army.

  Anything.

  Except for that.

  “I need to rely on myself,” she adds quietly.

  I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything. I stand there with my hand held out awkwardly.

  “Just go away, Captain Yang,” she says with a note of finality as she turns from me and walks several meters away, taking up position with her back firmly directed my way.

  I keep looking at her for entirely too long. I don’t say anything, and I don’t act; I stand there and stare as if I am incapable of thinking of anything better to do.

  I’m a captain in the Royal Army. Entrusted with responsibility, competent, and trained, and right now I feel like… well, little more than a boy.

  There is something about Yin that unsettles me. Deeply.

  Yet, no matter how unsettled I become, there is always that flicker of curiosity burning somewhere inside. I go to it now, clutching hold of it as my eyes narrow.

  I’m not giving up.

  I want to know exactly what is wrong with Yin. How she can go from being one of the fieriest and bravest people I know, to being completely withdrawn. Did something happen last night?

  As I consider that, I can’t deny that my cheeks suddenly pale and a cold shiver crosses my back.

  It feels like a shadow shifting over me.

  It couldn’t be Garl, right? He hasn’t threatened her again, right?

  I catch myself. Again? Do I honestly believe he’s done so before?

  I can’t keep letting Yin and Castor cast aspersions against the General. The General is one of the greatest men I have ever met. In fact, it’s easy to say that I’ve modeled my life in part on him. So if he turns out to be… some kind of monster, what does that make me?

  It takes too long to sift through my thoughts, but no matter how much they assail me, they can’t get rid of the curiosity. So, soon enough I find myself marching forward.

  It’s not an angry march, just determined.

  She resolutely keeps her back to me and continues to practice. She doesn’t have the power nor the fluidity of movement that she did yesterday. In fact, she looks exactly like an uninspiring recruit. She keeps dropping her fan, and for some reason, her shoulders are permanently hunched in, throwing her off balance.

  I still have my sword in my hand, and I realize that far from getting any practice done today, once again, I’m letting myself be distracted.

  No. I’m not letting myself be distracted. I’m choosing it. I want to find out what’s going on here. As I decide that, some of the guilt shifts.

  I clear my throat.

  “Go away,” she says in a small voice that barely carries.

  “Open your shoulders. You’re throwing yourself off your balance.”

  She doesn’t reply. But as she twists on the spot, I see that she does look at me at least. With narrowed, wary eyes, she considers me quietly.

  “You need to keep every move centered otherwise you will never be able to follow through with any power,” I say.

  Again she watches me. As she does, I swear she tries to open her shoulders a little.

  I’m starting to realize that no matter what I say, short of a direct order, I am not going to make her go back to her room. As I watch her shift about, practicing as best she can, I realize maybe she’s doing what I am – trying to distract herself. From what, I can’t say. But the fact is apparent.

  So rather than trying to stop her, I’ll help her.

  “You need to change your center of balance. You press far too far forward. You leave yourself open to attack,” I note as a walk around her.

  She shoots me a grumpy look, but at least it isn’t a fearful one.

  “You’re trying to follow your power as you push it into the fan,” I suddenly note, clicking my fingers as I do. “That’s what’s overbalancing you. As you push the magic out, you try to follow it. You can’t. Just let it go. You need to remain centered and balanced,” I continue.

  That terse look transforms into an interested one.

  .…

  Does the great Yin realize I have something to teach?

  Even though I don’t want it to be, it’s a humbling thought. Despite the fact she’s unrefined, she is unquestionably powerful. I don’t need Garl’s interest in her to prove that fact. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. When I saved her yesterday from the fan, I felt how much magic she had pumped into it. It was almost unimaginable.

  Castor, it seems, did a brilliant job in training her.

  But perhaps not a perfect one. Despite how legendary the man is, he’s still only one man. The benefit of being somewhere like the Royal Army barracks is that there are many people to draw on. Many experiences, many styles.

  Yin tries to follow my advice, but soon trips, stumbling as she swears.

  If Mae were here, she would probably snap at Yin that swearing is not ladylike. Yet for some reason, I can’t help but slowly smile.

  She sees, and she rolls her eyes, but soon enough she gets back to practicing.

  “Your movements are too closed; they need to be more open. I know you have more power than that, use it,” I command.

  She presses her teeth against her lips, narrows her eyes, and looks more focused than before as she does what I say.

  She is loosening up a little. Her shoulders are no longer as hunched in, and as she twists and jumps and leaps, there’s more balance in her moves, and she lands far more solidly, no longer wobbling like a leaf in the wind.

  There’s still something off kilter, though. As I watch her practice, I surreptitiously stare at that bandaged left hand.

  She is moving too fast and producing too much magic for me to see how white her skin is. Yet I swear it’s still the color of powdered snow.

  What has she done to it?

  Was I wrong? Did I simply fail to see the injury yesterday? Has it become infected?

  As I think through the possibilities, I draw into silence, and as I do, Yin’s moves become less centered again.

  She lands fro
m what should have been a solid flip, twists on her ankle, and teeters to the side. Though she rights herself before she can trip and slam against the cobbles, she looks bitterly disappointed.

  Not in me. In herself. Though if you’d asked me this morning, I would have said I have nothing in common with Yin, I recognize that emotion.

  I’ve spent the last several days being nothing but disappointed in myself. From questioning Garl, to being unable to control myself around Castor, I’m learning I’m much more emotional than I once thought I was.

  It’s clear that for whatever reason Yin is unsettled, she can’t forgive herself either. “Stop holding yourself back,” I suddenly advise, “I know you have much more power than that. And you have the whole square to practice in. Use it.”

  “I thought I wasn’t meant to. I’m just a woman, after all,” she says, her gaze darkening as she does, “I thought we were meant to stand still and look like statues.”

  I open my mouth. Then I close it. I have to be careful here. Though I have stepped in, I am not Yin’s primary trainer. Mae is. If I start teaching her things Mae won’t approve of, it won’t go down well.

  Yin stops practicing, and I can tell she wants to cross her arms, lean back against something, and glare at me. Considering there’s nothing to lean against and it appears as if her left hand is injured, she shakes her head instead. “Castor never cared that I’m a woman. All he cared about was whether I could learn.”

  I open my mouth again. I honestly don’t know what to say.

  There are certain traditions in the Royal Army, just as there are traditions in the Kingdom at large. I know them, in fact everybody knows them, so there’s no point in explaining them now.

  And yes, those traditions in part center on the proper behavior of women.

  But as Yin challenges me, I can’t find the words to support those traditions. The arguments that should be there, just… don’t sound right.

  She places her right hand on her hip and stares at me. “I don’t get it. Shouldn’t we all just try to be as powerful as we can be? We’re in the army, right? So why would you hamstring your female soldiers, just because you prefer them to stand still and look pretty? I’ve only been here for half a week, and have only been training with Mae for a few days, but let me tell you, you can’t properly defend yourself when you’re like that. You get armor,” she points at my breastplate, which is shining in the mid-morning sun, “you get a helmet, you get a sword,” she lifts her hand and emphatically gestures at the sword still in my left hand, “and I get a dress,” she plucks at the fabric. “And you expect me to go into battle? What kind of sense does that make? Do you want to lose? Or is it irrelevant to you if a woman dies?”

  I blink back my surprise now. I wasn’t expecting this. When I decided to help train Yin, it was a spur of the moment thing. I wanted to help distract her from whatever was going on in her head. Now her familiar fire is returning, and I’m not sure how to deal with it.

  “Nobody wants women to die,” I say, picking over my words carefully, my voice staccato and breathy.

  She snorts. Then she plucks at her dress again, emphasizing how thin the fabric is by scrunching it up between her fingers. “Then give me some armor. Or do you think I’m too weak to carry it around? If I am, I’ll get stronger. Men aren’t the only people who can get stronger,” she adds in a powerful voice.

  I swallow uncomfortably. “It’s just… not done. While there are women sorcerers in the Royal Army, when it comes to battle, they are never on the front lines. They are support troops. You don’t need armor, because you will not be directly facing enemies.”

  She stares at me, and she shakes her head. “Then why have us at all? What on earth are you doing with trained troops you can’t fully utilize? And how much does it cost you to make some freaking armor for us? Or is the cost not a monetary one? Is it a social one? An ego one? Are you that scared that a woman could prove herself to be equal to men, that you won’t give her the chance?”

  I swallow again. I know the arguments I need to draw on. They’re the same arguments I’ve been taught my entire life. Women have a place. They are weaker than men, less intelligent, certainly less objective. While they have a place at home and a necessary position in society as mothers, they have no place on the battlefield.

  Though I want to say this to Yin, I can’t.

  .…

  I know exactly how she is going to react. She isn’t going to be convinced, and worse than that, she’s going to try to prove me wrong.

  Perhaps she knows what I’m thinking, because she tilts her head to the side and shakes it once more. “What’s more important to you? Winning a battle or preserving your own sense of masculinity?”

  “Both men and women have positions. The Royal Army,” I begin.

  “Is clearly satisfied to give itself a disadvantage. Who cares what tradition says? I’m telling you that I’m better off practicing to win, not practicing to be like a woman.”

  “I…” I trail off. I have been uncomfortable before – I haven’t always been the cold, calm, emotionless Royal Army sorcerer I want to be. Right now, I’m completely floundering.

  I have no idea what to say. Other than… it just feels wrong.

  It just feels wrong.

  “Whatever you’re thinking, it isn’t good enough. I’m telling you, Captain Yang, I don’t need this,” she gestures with her fan, closing her left hand around it, and for the first time not cradling it as if it’s injured, “I need that,” she points to my sword. “So why can’t I have it?”

  She looks directly at me, and though I try to meet her gaze, I can’t. Instead, I shuffle back, neatening my helmet with one hand as if that will help me somehow.

  “Mae keeps telling me I don’t know my place. She’s right. Because the place she wants me to fit into doesn’t make any sense. How can you expect me to save people if you won’t let me save myself from your outdated views?”

  .…

  As she says the term “save people,” something happens to her voice. It takes on such a strange quality that I can’t begin to describe it. It’s not just otherworldly, it’s almost… divine. It’s such a peculiar way to describe it, but nothing else fits. It seems bigger than her, bigger than me, bigger than everything.

  Coming from a source beyond mere humans.

  .…

  Suddenly I’m reminded of the odd comment she said yesterday. In order to regain a true understanding of my magic, she wanted me to talk to Gaea.

  But humans can’t contact the Great Spirit.

  Yet as I listen to her reverberating words, I wonder if just maybe Yin can.

  As soon as I think that, I dismiss it. It’s impossible. Only the Savior can summon Gaea.

  “Don’t just stand there, say something. Tell me why I can’t be like you,” she says directly, still pointing at the sword.

  “. . . Because it isn’t done,” I say, “because it doesn’t feel right.”

  She looks… disappointed.

  It makes me feel sick. Guilty even.

  “That isn’t a reason, Captain Yang,” she says in a small voice, “it’s an excuse. I can’t save people if you won’t let me,” she says again, her voice becoming even smaller. She also starts to lose the confidence her argument has given her. I watch her start to withdraw again, her left hand dropping to her side as she slowly stares down at it.

  She looks defeated.

  So I hand her my sword.

  I don’t know what I’m doing.

  I know it’s wrong; all of my training tells me it is. Yet, I hand the sword over anyway. Something compels me to. It’s not the same compulsion that seized me yesterday when I told Castor everything I knew about Yin. This one is different. It seems to be flowing through me from a higher source.

  The true spontaneity of soul.

  She looks up, her expression startled.

  “Take it,” I say simply.

  She does.

  Though the sword is heavy, her ar
m and shoulder brace against it, and her fingers close around the hilt. She holds it with her left hand, and I see, right before my eyes, as the white skin between the bandage and her bracelet becomes gradually less pale.

  “I… what do I do?” she asks suddenly.

  It’s my turn to laugh.

  She wanted the sword so badly, and now she’s asking for directions?

  As soon as I laugh, she tilts her head back and huffs. “Stand back,” she commands me.

  I draw my hands up in fake surrender and take several steps away. “I hope I don’t need to tell you that the sword is much more dangerous than the fan. You need to be very careful. Please don’t chop your legs off,” I add.

  I’m not one for humor. I’m a cold-hearted Royal Army sorcerer, and my father instilled in me that only one thing matters in life: serving the Royal Family. Loyalty to the cause.

  I can’t quite help but chuckle as she shoots me a challenging glare.

  “I’m not going to chop my legs off. If anything, I’ll chop yours off,” she adds with a huff.

  Despite her threat, I laugh again. I laugh, not at the prospect that I am about to become a legless man, but at the fact her countenance has changed completely.

  She’s no longer withdrawn. The fear that once laced every movement and every word have lifted. All it took was to give her a weapon.

  “Did Castor ever let you train with one of those?” I ask as I gesture to the sword. “Because you’re not quite holding it right,” I notice, starting to wonder whether this is a good idea.

  “No. We trained with sticks occasionally, but we didn’t have any weaponry as fancy as this,” she notes as she taps the metal of the hilt experimentally. Then, before I can stop her, she touches the blade.

  She yanks her hand back in surprise, drawing her finger up and gasping as blood trickles from it.

  “It’s very sharp,” I say as I take a step forward and hold my hand out. “You do know what a sword is, right?”

  She crams her finger into her mouth and sucks it, glaring at me as she does. “Yes,” she says around her finger, her voice muffled. “Now stand back.”

  I’m seriously starting to wonder whether this is a good idea. I don’t need to add to my already growing problems. If I accidentally let Yin skewer herself with a magical sword, I imagine Castor wouldn’t wait too long to kill me.

  No, break me first, slowly, as he has warned on multiple occasions now.

  That thought makes me shiver, and a cold sweat trickles down my back. “You need to be very careful. I… perhaps this isn’t a good idea,” I realize.

  She lifts the sword in one arm, heedless of the weight, and points it at me. It’s not a particularly challenging move, and I honestly don’t think she’s going to thrust forward and plunge the thing through my chest. It’s just… determined.

  “It feels like the fan,” she notes as her eyebrows compress in concentration, “I can push my magic into it.”

  I start to nod, then I shake my head. “No, it’s not exactly like the fan. Each weapon is weighted differently, and can store different amounts of magic.”

  “Right,” she says, as she lifts the sword up, and before I can stop her, does a figure of eight. Though her control isn’t perfect, her move is strong. In fact, I note with the smallest smile that her strength is now back in full. Before, when she practiced with the fan, her moves were languid and weak. Now the fire is burning brightly once more.

  I sigh deeply. I’m not going to get that sword back off her, short of trying to knock her out and pulling it from her grip.

  So perhaps… I could just train her with it?

  At that uncomfortable admission, I close my eyes and wince.

  A part of me thinks I am going insane. Another part of me is just following the curiosity. That feels… good.

  I take several steps back. “Okay, your movements are going to have to be a lot more solid. You can’t afford any grace with the sword. And your balance must be perfect. When you fill it with magic, it will become heavy. If you don’t correctly center your body, you will find yourself tipping forward. It will make you a very easy target for somebody who is more practiced with their weapons than you are.”

  “Got it,” she says confidently, as she does another figure of eight, this time controlling the blade better as it whistles through the air.

  “It will take more than one go to get it,” I grumble lightly. “You need to push your mind into the tip of the sword. Treat the entire blade like an extension of your magic,” I say.

  “Right,” she says quickly, pressing her eyes half closed as she concentrates.

  Before I know it, magic erupts down her arm, through the hilt, and along the blade. It’s hot, it’s glowing orange, and it’s far too quick.

  “No, no, no,” I put my hands up quickly. “Not so fast. You have to control it. The sword is not like the fan. It’s much more sensitive to your mood. It is much easier to lose control of. You need to build up a charge steadily. And once you’ve learned to do that, then you can do it more quickly.”

  “I can do this,” she says as she does another figure of eight, magic blazing over the blade now, making the channels and runes engraved into the metal glow like 1000 candles.

  I sigh desperately. “Yin, listen to me. Please,” I add.

  She actually stops. It surprises me.

  “Stop jumping ahead. Let me teach you what I know,” I counsel.

  She nods her head, and again it surprises me.

  She is actually listening to me.

  “Okay, now, begin slowly,” I emphasize the word slowly.

  She nods.

  Then… I go completely against the tradition of the Kingdom and the Royal Army and show Yin how to use a magical sword.

  Of course we draw a crowd. It’s not just because of how quickly Yin learns and how competent she is, it’s because I’m teaching her something I shouldn’t be.

  Yet nobody stops us.

  They judge, but they don’t stop us.