Yin and Yang: A Fool's Beginning (18 page)

“What is that
supposed to mean?” I ask quickly, my heart skipping a
beat.

“Your decision will
affect more than you yourself.”

He's being deliberately opaque, but the twist of cold
nerves in my gut tells me his threat, though veiled, is real.

“If you threaten this
Kingdom—those that I care about and am devoted to protect—I'll find
someone you care about,” he says.

I grit my teeth as
hard as I can
. “I don't care about
anyone. I've always been a loner.”

“You trained under
the great Castorious Barr for years—were you alone
then?”

“What are you
saying?”

“That this army will
find a way; we always do. For we appreciate what is at
stake.”

“You're going to
threaten Castor?” I ask in stuttering disbelief. Then, unable to
hold it in, I let out a short, sharp laugh. “I'm one thing—but not
even your guards here would be able to take on Castor. Trust me,” I
say, my voice echoing around the square with power. “Plus, you need
him.”

Garl doesn't blink once. His grey, sallow skin
offsets the intensity of his gaze. A gaze that, if given hands,
would be right around my throat, squeezing the life out of me.

I swallow, but it isn't a dramatic move. As I do, I
call on my courage.

“Don't assume
anything. I warn you, unless you want to tap the depths of my
wrath, do not challenge me,” his eyes dart across my face, as if
he's daring me to make even the smallest sign of
rebellion.

I control myself.

I stand there and let him win.

Maybe this is a fight I can't afford to win.

To confirm that fact,
he leans back
. “You may consider yourself
a loner, but nobody is ever truly alone. We all have our weaknesses
and soft spots. If you challenge me, I will find yours. I will make
it bleed.”

With that, Garl turns
to walk away
. “You will be given
instructions. Follow them. You will be trained, and if you wish to
keep my favor, you will be diligent, silent, and loyal. Now, go and
have your injuries seen to and report back to the
square.”

“I'm not injured,” I
whisper as the enormity of what he's said hits me.

. . .
.

He's going to find my
soft spot and make it bleed. The people I've known, the friends,
however few
. . . if I don't do
exactly what he says, he's going to hurt them. I know he'll do it—I
see it in his eyes. I feel it in the way he looks at me. Garl is a
man willing and prepared to go to any extreme.

He could go after Castor, heck, he could even go
after my village, burn it down and destroy the home I love so
dearly.

. . .
.

I
. . . I have to do what he says. There's no way
out.

“Your hand is
bleeding,” Garl says as he walks away. “Go see the doctor, and
return to training. I trust I will not have to speak to you
again.”

As he walks away, I stare at my right hand, then my
left.

As I bring my left hand up, I practically jump back
at what I see.

While my face got a beating from those mirage
sorcerers, I can feel the bleeding has stopped, and my magic will
deal with the bruising soon enough. Yet as I stare at my left hand,
I'm met by a harrowing sight: it's covered in blood. Absolutely
covered. The whole palm and all my fingers, just dripping in blood
as if I've plunged a knife deep into my palm.

I shudder back.

I don't remember hurting myself. I don't remember
feeling anything at all. In fact, as I stare in horror at my
mysterious injury, I realize I can't feel it at all. There's blood
alright, but just no pain.

Eventually several soldiers walk up and mutter that
I'm to follow them to the medical facilities.

I let them lead me with no resistance. In fact, I
don't say a thing as I palpate my left hand, looking for any sign
of injury.

I can't find one.

. . .
.

I'm not cut.

So where did the blood come from?

Captain Yang

I don't know what I feel as I'm led all the way
through the palace and out into the east wing where the Royal
Family resides. My insides are as chaotic as a storm.

But I hold myself together somehow. It helps when I
exit out onto the great, spacious balcony that runs around one
level of the east wing. It has a splendid view, overlooking the
entire city, from the spires of the cathedral to the river that
runs through her center.

As soon as I walk out into the sunlight and air, I
feel a measure of the dark lift. That powerful sense of doom that
descended upon me when the scroll was opened, sails away.

Not all of it though. A seed remains. A seed it feels
I'll never be able to dig out.

After all, I've just learnt the stuff of
nightmares—the Night itself—is real.

Now I'm about to meet the woman who will hold it
back. Princess Mara.

Two guards lead
me
along the balcony, their strident
footfall muffled by the wind. Throughout the halls and great
atriums of the palace, every footstep felt like the beat of a drum.
Out here, though, everything returns to normal.

Or at least a measure of normal.

For as the guards lead me around the balcony, we
ascend a short flight of stairs and enter a section partitioned
with majestic potted plants. I spy blood red roses from the east,
delicate irises from our own lands, and the rare beauty of jeweled
desert orchids.

The wind picks up, but it doesn’t roar. It rushes
freely by me, bringing with it the refreshing scent of rain from
the mountains behind the city. It also whistles past my armor,
cooling my exposed hands and cheeks, and chasing away the lingering
touch of the Night.

Walking past a bank of luscious green plants, we
enter an enclosed area with a grand golden and white recliner.
Above it is a delicate red and blue shade umbrella, decorated with
beads that tumble and clink in the wind.

Sitting beneath is Princess Mara.

Beautiful, graceful, elegant Mara.

She looks up as we approach, then she jumps to her
feet, the bracelets around her ankles and wrists tinkling lightly,
banging into to the Arak device that holds her magic.

I watch a happy smile
spread her ruby lips. Then she claps her hands
together
. “You're here.”

I try to contain my own smile as I bow formally,
practically bending in half as I sweep my arm before me.

“Don't stand on
ceremony, please,” she says as she races to my side. She stops just
before me, but in a moment of hesitation, it seems as if she wants
to throw her arms around me in an embrace.

My cheeks redden, and I tell myself it’s just the
bite of the constant wind.

Mara now clamps her hands firmly behind her back, and
rocks back and forth on her feet awkwardly. She can't seem to shift
her smile though; she beams up at me as if we're long parted
friends who have met up once more.

In a way, we are. I've known her for years. My father
was one of the head guards at the palace. I've seen Mara grow
up.

Now
. . . now she's the Savior.

Despite her warm smile and welcome, I can't forget
that.

My chest deflates slightly and my own smile slowly
drifts into a frown.

She watches me, and takes a breath, turning and
pushing her hair behind her ears.

She’s wearing golden anklets and bracelets, and a
white trimmed fitted blue dress with loose black pants. Her
lustrous black hair lies loose over her back, held back only by a
jade comb.

However, even her appearance can't make me forget why
I'm here.

“You . . .
know then. They showed you the scroll?” Mara doesn't turn to me,
her voice growing uncharacteristically tight.

She's one of the happiest, most carefree people I
know.

Yet here she is unable to face me. I know why.

. . .
.

She's the Savior.

The enormity of that fact suddenly hits me, and my
shoulders deflate, my skin feeling deathly cold.

She half turns over her shoulder, and though she
tries to hide her expression, I can tell it borders on morose.

For someone usually so cheerful, it's painful to
watch.

I can't lift her burden though, can I? No matter what
I do, I can't change the destiny that awaits her.

. . .
.

Again I'm hit by the reality of the situation. On the
last day of the age, Mara will have to summon the great earth
spirit and fight alongside her to keep the Night at bay. No army
will be able to assist her. No one else will be able to stand by
her side.

She’ll be on her own.

Her only hope will be her training. If she goes in as
prepared as she can be, she may have a chance.

Yet if the legends are true, and if Mara fails, then
there will be no more ages of the earth. The world will be plunged
into the perpetual Night, all creation crushed back into chaos.

“I . . . I
don't know what to say,” she admits with a heavy sigh. “Just
. . . thank you. It means a lot that you would agree to
help train me.”

I press my lips together, unable to say a word. If I
speak now, my words would be a jumble of breath and emotion.

So I stand there, staring at my boots, unable to even
face her.

“They tell me
training will have to begin as soon as possible,” she admits as she
runs a hand up and down her bare arm, her bracelets jingling
lightly with the move. “I want you to help plan and schedule them.
I want someone I really trust,” she says with a nod.

I nod back.

Then I move to shake my head.

I have to train Mara—the Royal Princess. That fact
slams into my gut like a blow.

She's a
princess,
a princess.
I'm going to have to train her like a common
soldier.

She’s meant to be protected from war, and yet she’ll
have to be trained far more thoroughly than any warrior in all the
Royal Army.

“Yang . . .
say something?” she turns and looks up at me, one hand locked on
her wrist. “Yang?”

“Princess—”

“I told you, don't
stand on ceremony—you can use my name.”

“Mara,” I swallow, “I
. . . I'll do everything I can.”

Though my words are
weak, somehow they make her smile
. “Thank
you,” she manages quietly. “Hey, this means I get to beat you at
magic,” she says as she playfully lifts her hand and sends a light
shower of sparks raining down beside me.

Despite how horrible the situation is, I smile. Then
once more as she sends another playful jet my way.

I laugh lightly, putting my hand up and easily
forcing the magic back.

. . .
.

The smile doesn't last.

I have to
. . . help her and organize the rest
of her training. I'll have to find warriors and sorcerers skilled
enough to show her what she needs to know.

This task is
. . . enormous. Unfathomable,
almost.

I start to flounder, but Mara just smiles harder.

“I thought you Royal
Army sorcerers weren't meant to have emotions,” she points out as
she hooks her hand behind her and leans in with a pressed-lipped
smile. Though I can tell she's still tense and sad on the inside,
she puts on a show of being easygoing.

“Ah . . .
sorry?” I suddenly realize what she said.

“You look nervous,”
she points right at me, “and I thought the great Captain Yang
couldn't get nervous.”

I open my mouth to protest.

She waves me
off
. “It's okay,” she says in a much
softer voice, “it's . . . okay,” she half turns
again.

I wish it were.

“So . . .”
she sighs deeply, “we're meant to begin soon. Apparently they've
found some great warrior to train me. They were going to let him be
in charge, but I demanded you be my overseer,” Mara notes as she
sweeps her arms in front of herself and starts to distractedly pick
at one of the plants before her.

“You did?” a shot of
nerves rekindles in my gut. For a Royal Army sorcerer, I'm being
alarmingly emotional. I try to believe that the record keepers are
right—and it's just a transient reaction to the scroll—but I can't
kick the feeling it's something more.

Maybe I'm feeling so much, because I've never
experienced so much in such a short time. Maybe all that training I
underwent for all my life isn't enough to prepare me for what I'm
going through now.

Then I stop. I realize what she said.

“Hold on. Do you mean
Castorious Barr?” I ask, a slight waver to my tone.

Princess Mara turns
and nods
. “Yes, that's his name, I think.
I'm meant to begin shortly. I'm so glad you're here though. I'm
sure this Barr fellow will be happier knowing a fellow soldier is
around.”

I don't say anything. I don't even raise an eyebrow.
I do, however, swallow.

Castorious Barr will not be happier knowing I'm
around. The last time I sat alone with him, he threatened to rip my
throat out and break me.

I don't, of course, share a word of this.

I stand there and nod.

“Are you ready?” Mara
turns, lets her arms drop loosely by her sides, and closes her eyes
for a brief moment. “Well?”