Yin and Yang: A Fool's Beginning

  Chapter 39

  Captain Yang

  I can’t push her. I realize that as I walk away and begin looking for food.

  Plucking leaves and berries and mushrooms from the bushes and the forest floor, I collect them into my helmet. As I do, I think.

  Whatever secret she is holding, she’s been holding it for a long time. Maybe, just as she said, she doesn’t really know what Castor was up to. In fact, I can believe that easily. Castor seems like the kind of man to only ever tell you what he wants you to know.

  Still, I can tell she is holding something back. It’s not just my ability to read emotions; it’s my growing ability to read her.

  I watch her withdraw, and I felt it. It was as if she turned the fire back in on herself, trying to close herself down and swallow the spark.

  “Show her she can trust you, and she’ll tell you,” I speak to myself out loud as I continue to search the forest floor for food.

  I thank my lucky stars I was always a conscientious student. I learned survival well in the Royal Army. As a child, I was fond of coming into the forests and learning how to live off them, but as an adult, I haven’t had the time.

  And perhaps not the inclination. There is something about the wild nature of the woods that used to invigorate me, but that unsettles me as an adult.

  I prefer the cold, clean stone of the barracks to the unruly roots and gnarled trees of the forests.

  Now, I have no option.

  I take my time looking for food, realizing we may not come across an area as rich in sustenance for a while.

  My plan is to rest only as much as we need to, and then to plow on to the coastal village. I want to get there as soon as possible. I need to get there as soon as possible. I have to put the demons running through my mind to rest. I have to know just how guilty Garl is.

  Though I tell myself there’s no longer any doubt, I need tangible proof if I am ever to convince other people.

  I suddenly catch what I’m thinking and shake my head. If I am ever to convince other people?

  Who?

  The Royal Family? Other soldiers of the Royal Army?

  They would never believe me. Garl is a hero.

  As of last night, I’m a traitor.

  “Pull yourself together,” I tell myself tersely as I fill my helmet and return to the creek.

  At first, I can’t see Yin, and my heart flutters in fear, then I notice she is tending to the horse.

  The creature looks calm and at ease.

  I hang back and silently watch her. She looks so lost in her task that she hasn’t seen me. It takes several moments before she glances up and sees me there.

  Shock pales her cheeks. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “I just got here,” I lie.

  She seems contented and moves away from the horse.

  With a glance at her tunic and pants, I noticed she has washed and dried them, probably using her own magic rather than letting the scant sun do it for her.

  She has even washed her hair, though I can’t say it looks any neater. With a compulsive movement, she brushes it over her shoulder, then gets fed up and pushes it behind her. “Did you find any food?”

  I nod and hand her the helmet.

  She takes it, and gingerly sorts through what I found. “I would have liked an apple pie and a dumpling stew, but this will do,” she manages.

  I snort softly. “I’m glad.” Then I stop myself before I say she may never partake of such luxuries again.

  Silently, she sits down by the horse, and I watch as the horse maneuvers itself until it stands close by her side. The creature doesn’t seem perturbed at all as Yin bangs around loudly in the helmet, searching for all of the juiciest berries.

  “Once you’ve eaten, get some rest. I’ll stand guard,” I say as I walk over to the creek, glancing away from her as I drink some water and clean my face.

  “Let’s just push on,” she says without pause.

  “You’re tired,” I say as I sit forward on my haunches, turning over my shoulder to face her.

  She shrugs. “And so are you. But we still want to get as far away from the city as we can. I can keep riding, how about you?” She looks at me challengingly.

  I want to point out that last night she lost so much blood that it covered the floor, and that she hasn’t slept in over a day, let alone eaten.

  I don’t.

  I realize there’s only one response she’s going to accept. “Fine,” I eventually say.

  She leans over and hands me the helmet. “Then drink up, refill the bottles, and get on the horse when you’re ready,” she says as she stands, stretches her shoulders back, and mounts the horse in one fluid moment.

  “Hold on,” I stutter quickly, “I should ride the horse first; it knows me.”

  She turns around on her saddle, barely yanking on the reins to make the horse move with her. “It likes me better,” she points out flatly. “Now drink, fill the bottles, and you can eat while I ride.”

  I feel my mouth dropping open. There are so many things I want to say. But again, I know there is only one thing she wants to hear.

  “What, are you embarrassed to be seen riding behind a woman?” she challenges suddenly.

  “No,” I rally, “we are traitors. That’s the only thing people are going to care about from now on,” I remark, realizing it’s true once I’ve said it.

  It really doesn’t matter that Yin is a woman. The only thing that matters is that we do whatever we can to keep on the run. So even though it is a blow to my ego to let her ride, I have to appreciate it makes sense.

  She seems to have a natural affinity for the horse and can control it easily.

  .…

  But she is a woman, my traditional brain says.

  I’m a traitor, I reply.

  The rules have changed.

  I have to change with them.

  Silently I fill the bottles, drink, and mount the horse behind her.

  “Let’s go,” she says with a grunt, then pushes the horse forward.

  She doesn’t even have to pull on the reins, in fact, she barely touches it, resting a hand on the back of the horse’s mane instead.

  The horse barrels forward, and I have to grab a hand around something to hold on.

  That something is Yin’s waist.

  It takes me a moment to realize what I’m doing, and I jerk back. The move is so sharp, I almost fall, my helmet half full of food falling with me.

  Yin just reaches around, locks me in place, and secures the helmet at the same time.

  “Are you trying to fall off?” she chides.

  “I just… I have nothing to hold onto,” I say with a cough.

  She snorts. “You had no problem with me holding onto your armor last night. Now get a grip on my tunic,” she says, “and eat your food. We will reach that coastal village before you know it…. As long as you tell me where it is,” she adds.

  Without letting me pull away, she guides my hand until it’s locked onto a section of her tunic.

  It’s… one of the most uncomfortable experiences of my life. A man should not hold on to a woman’s hips as she rides a horse.

  Then again, a man should not betray his entire kingdom and run away with a prisoner.

  As uncomfortable as it is, I keep a hold of her tunic, and maneuver the helmet between us and eat my fill.

  With every movement of the horse, her hair whips over her shoulder, and I have to lean to the side to avoid it as it tickles over my cheeks and forehead.

  There is no avoiding it, though, so soon enough I just get used to it.

  The horse somehow seems faster. Though it has run all night and should rightly be exhausted, Yin is pushing it on, and the horse doesn’t seem to mind.

  Which is yet another mystery to add to the growing pile of questions I have about her.

  If you had asked me several weeks ago, I would have confidently proclaimed that I had never met somebody as annoying as Yin. As outrageo
us, as uncouth. But even then I would have had to admit I’ve never met somebody as amazing either.

  From her power to her will, she is no ordinary woman. No, she is no ordinary person.

  As the world around us flashes past, I’m drawn in to the colors and forms. The dusty greens of the drying grass fields, the earthy browns of watery pools of mud, and the radiant blue of the sky above. If I wasn’t on the run from the Royal Army, this day would be pleasant indeed. A picnic by a river, and an invigorating horse ride in the fields.

  But the closer we get to the coastal village, the more my stomach cramps with nerves.

  .…

  What if I don’t find anything?

  No evidence whatsoever of the massacre, just indications of a natural disaster?

  What if I turned my back on Garl for nothing?

  Maybe Yin can sense my growing hesitation, because once or twice she turns around and looks at me. She doesn’t say anything, she just looks at me. And every time she does, it’s as if she can pull me right out of the pit I’m sinking into.

  The sun seems to grow brighter, the air fresher, and the world around more beautiful.

  A few times, however, I notice Yin turn around with a confused expression on her face. She twists on the saddle until she looks behind us. Sometimes she even maneuvers around me, as if she’s trying to spot something along the path we just trod.

  “What is it?” I hiss.

  She doesn’t answer. Her face just crumples further with confusion.

  “Yin?”

  “It’s nothing,” she manages, “or at least I hope it’s nothing.”

  “What do you mean?” I now ask as I turn around and survey the grass fields behind us. I see nothing but the gently swaying grasses and the trees beyond. In the distance, covered in cloud, a few mountain peaks, and above I watch birds darting on the wing.

  “It’s nothing,” she repeats to herself as she turns around.

  Though it seems as though she is right, and there’s nothing behind us, that doesn’t stop nerves from prickling quickly down my cheeks and sinking into my chest.

  The closer we get to the coastal village, and the more the grass fields thin, the more she turns around.

  “It’s not nothing,” I interrupt. “What do you see?”

  “That’s just the problem, I’m not seeing anything. But I… sense there’s something out there,” she says.

  What she is saying sounds paranoid. I’ve been on enough missions and in enough battles to know that soldiers can be spooked by the shadows. With the adrenaline and pressure of fighting, you can overreact to every creak of a stick and slither in the grass.

  But this is Yin. A woman who can wake herself up from a sleeping spell and break herself out of a magical cell.

  I can’t dismiss her fear. As I sit there with her, one arm hooked on her hip, I start to feel it myself.

  I turn too, but as I survey the field, I can’t see anything.

  The horse goes faster and faster, and we get closer and closer to the coastal village.

  I start to see a sliver of the ocean before us. That glittering line of blue. So inviting, so mesmerizing.

  I can even smell it. Drawn along by a brisk wind, the unmistakable scent of salt fills the air.

  As a child, I loved nothing more than going to the ocean. It was such a rare treat that I remember every holiday with pure joy. Joy, my father always told me was an emotion unfit for a Royal Army sorcerer.

  But as a Royal Army sorcerer there is something about the inherent power of the ocean and being close to that much water that fills me with wonder. Invigorates me, excites me.

  It is the base of my power, and as I draw closer, I can’t help but feel it.

  But Yin now turns around in her saddle once or twice a minute, her face awash with fear.

  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.

  Barren, 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 with 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,” s
he 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.