Yin and Yang: A Fool's Beginning (3 page)

But as I stand there and call out his name one last
time, hearing my voice echo loudly through the empty rooms and
halls of our house, I realize he simply isn't here.

Clutching a hand on my stomach, my fingers digging
hard into the smooth fabric of my tunic, I start to feel sick. My
muscles cramp, and sweat slicks fast across my brow and between my
shoulders.

I can't shake the feeling that something isn't
right.

So, backing off, I quickly twist on my foot and head
back through the wide open front door. Jumping the distance between
the top step and the last step, I land easily and skid across the
loose stones of our path.

I'm about to shout out his name again, hoping that he
is just out in the garden, or busy ferreting away in one of the
back sheds.

I stop.

About a meter to my left, I see an indentation in the
path. Horse hooves.

Searching the ground, I find others.

Then footprints. Large and heavy, they clearly come
from sturdy boots.

People have been here.

Though I've spent a long time in the woods, Castor
still hasn't taught me all there is to know about tracking. I know
enough, however, to realize a group of heavy-set, armored men have
been here, and in all likelihood, Castor has left with them.

For several seconds I stand there, curling my fingers
slowly into fists. As my nails dig easily into the soft flesh of my
palms, I feel the magic within. The power. It always reacts to my
emotion, especially despair. Not, of course, that my life is
usually filled with despair. But on the few occasions I have ever
felt true fear, the power I use to call on my bangle always flared.
Now as I stand there staring at those hoof prints, it is no
different. I feel sharp tingles race across my shoulders, down my
spine, and deep into my legs. With little effort, I could command
my bangle to send an arc of magic sinking into the ground, sending
mounds of earth more than a meter into the air.

That, however, won't bring Castor back.

Instead I close my eyes and tell myself that wherever
he is, he is fine. Castor is one of the most powerful warriors ever
to have lived. As the guardian of the Savior, he kind of has to be.
So, despite the fact it worries me he's left mysteriously with men
on horseback, I tell myself he'll be okay.

Then I stand there, slowly turning from the open
front door towards the bottom of the path.

Castor hates it when I don't follow orders, and he
has a strict rule about me wandering into town on my own.
Chaperoned is one thing, but he probably thinks that if I ever head
into the village without him, I'll tell the first person I see that
I'm the Savior, and when they predictably laugh in my face, I'll
summon the spirit of the Earth to consume them.

Yet I can't turn away and walk back inside.

Though I know Castor can look after himself, I can’t
deny how fast and strong the wind has become. It's no longer
whistling through the mountains—it's nigh on screaming. With one
look up to the horizon, I can also see clouds streaming in. No,
it's more like they're marching to the beat of a war drum. In the
few seconds I stare at them, they swell, turgid with snowy whites
and gunmetal greys. They promise a downpour, and with the wind so
ferocious, a storm to remember.

I breathe in.

I can't deny the sense of danger that fills me as I
do.

While Castor is always telling me to keep safe, he
also encourages me to follow my instincts. To do what my body tells
me is right. To heed the warnings and messages from within.

. . .
.

I walk up to the door and I close it. Then I turn,
jump down the steps, and continue down the path.

I might be contravening a direct order, but I'm
following an indirect one. My gut tells me to go, so I'm going.

The walk down into the village isn't one I take very
often. I don't have time to loaf about in the inn, nor do I have
the friends to keep me company as I do so. I'm the Savior. All of
my days are spent in training.

So as I head down the winding path that connects to
the old stone road that travels through our village, I notice
things have changed. The verge is well cut, and several trees have
been removed, possibly on the premise that Carcas warriors could
hide behind the branches or the blades of grass.

Though the woman this morning was irritating, her
talk of the growing threat facing the Kingdom wasn't one I hadn't
heard before. It seems that every patient Castor sees shares a
similar story. Once I even overheard from a traveler who came all
the way from the capital that they were planning to draft young men
into the army.

Though I usually ignore such stories, that one
flashes before my mind as I walk faster and faster.

Despite how chill the wind has become, I don't feel
cold; my nerves are igniting through me like fire. If I'm not
careful, my bangle will react, sending blazing power washing over
my whole body.

Though others in the Kingdom are sorcerers, my
abilities are unusual to say the least. My power is far more linked
to my emotions, and far more powerful in general. So as I race
forward, I try to control myself.

I tell myself I'm going into the village to find
Castor. I will not make a scene. I will simply check that he is
okay.

It doesn't take long to reach the village. Though the
walk is a circuitous one, that usually takes at least 20 minutes, I
race down the hill in less than five. Without pausing to think, I
easily throw myself down steep, bramble covered slopes, blasting
through the prickles if they dare scratch my skin. Then, when I hit
the open road, I sprint with all my might.

My arms are but a blur by my sides, and on several
occasions, I strike the ground with such force, my worn sandals
actually crush the pebbles underfoot.

The village is quite disbursed, and occupies a good
kilometer over the side of the hill. Old houses of stone and wood
are nestled into the trees, with cows and goats and sheep tethered
beside them.

Chickens usually line the road, only getting out of
your way if you threaten to trample them. Then giving you a surly
look as they squawk and flutter into the closest bushes.

It's quaint.

Or at least it's meant to be. But now as those
rolling clouds come thundering across the sky, every shadow deepens
and every sign or shop bell bangs in the powerful wind.

Powering my way down the road, the first thing I
notice is that the streets are bare.

Nobody seems to be around. Yet, as I concentrate, I
swear I can hear voices far off in the distance.

I sprint through the streets, and as I do, a fine
mist of rain begins to fall. As it strikes my shoulders and my
exposed cheeks and hands, it tingles, merging with the power
filling me from the bangle.

My long sleeve hides it from view, and I compulsively
tug it further down as I rush forward.

It seems that practically everybody in the village
has congregated around the town square. It's little more than an
old statue of a tired looking warrior triumphing over some fiendish
looking enemy. Apparently it depicts some famous soldier from long
ago who hailed from the village.

Well right now, I practically gasp as I see modern
soldiers standing underneath it.

Close by horses are tethered, and with one look I can
see they belong to the army. Glistening clean red, gold, and black
armor adorns their heads and flanks. While normal horses have a
kind, gentle nature about them, these beasts look like thunder
tamed by saddles.

While the horses themselves are impressive, it's
nothing compared to the soldiers. All are large men, and all wear
heavy armor. Also gold, yellow, and black, they have breastplates
and helmets and gauntlets and boots. Even from a distance I can see
that all are adorned with specific engravings that provide
protection against magic.

What are they doing here?

I can hear women sobbing, and as I push my way
through the crowd, I notice that all the young men of the village
are lined up close by the soldiers.

Conscription? Was that traveler right? Have the army
come all the way up to our village to draft young men?

As I near, I notice there are several old men lined
up, too.

Though I barely know anyone by name, I recognize them
from the injuries Castor has treated, and quickly conclude that
barely any of the older gentlemen are fit for war. In fact, hardly
any of the younger men are either; they are flighty, undisciplined,
and untrained. If the army intends to use them, then it really must
be desperate.

I reach the edge of the crowd, and as I take a step
beyond it, someone growls at me.

I turn around to see a whopping great man in enormous
armor. He has a sword strapped to his back, and the gauntlets along
his hands, wrists, and arms are studded with spikes.

I've never seen something so ludicrous. Training with
Castor has taught me that you win battles not based on brute force,
but on speed, on cunning, and on willingness.

So I'm not in the least bit intimidated as this man
takes another heavy, rattling step my way.

“Get back, woman,” he
snarls.

I barely look at
him
. “What's going on here?” I ask as I
stare around, trying to catch the gazes of the people closest to
me.

“I said, get back,”
the man says as he reaches me. Without warning, he lays one greasy,
heavy hand on my shoulder and shoves me back. Or at least he tries
to shove me back. I pivot on my foot and step lightly to the side,
and his move sends him stumbling to my left.

Again, I barely
glance at him as I turn to the woman closest to
me
. “What's going on? Have you seen
Castor?”

On the words have you
seen Castor, she stops ignoring me, and her eyes grow
wide
. “They've taken him and some of the
other men into the hall,” she says just as the man gets to his feet
behind me.

With a growl, he
tries to grab my shoulder again. Once more, I dodge past
him
. “What do you mean they've taken him
to the hall? What's going on here?”

“This is
conscription,” another soldier says as he marches up to my side,
presumably to help his fumbling friend.

“Conscription? What's
that got to do with Castor?” I demand.

“If by Castor you
refer to Castorious Barr, then his services are in demand by his
Queen. The Royal Army needs his expertise once more,” the soldier
says in a rumbling voice. “Now stand still.”

I can't believe this. Castor is being conscripted?
He's an old man. While I know from experience he's just as deft on
his feet as a mountain lion and twice as strong, these men
shouldn't know that.

I blink rapidly, sweat collecting over my top lip and
between my fingers.

They have to be joking, right? Castor is 70 years
old. They can't possibly be drafting him into the Royal Army.

But then I see past the soldiers to the half-open
door of the hall. They begin leading men out. Right at the back, I
see a flash of grey beard.

It's Castor. I'm sure of it.

They are leading him away.

I act.

“What are you doing?”
I scream as I muscle forward, straight past the two soldiers. “He's
an old man. Just leave him alone.”

I rush out, and I feel the leaner soldier snap
towards me.

Again I easily dodge him.

“Leave him alone,” I
scream, craning my neck as I try to catch another glimpse of the
men they are leading from the hall.

“Get back here,
woman,” one of the soldiers snarls from behind me.

I may be just a woman, but I'm clearly more than the
man can handle, as no matter how hard he tries, he can't grab
me.

There's quite some distance between the hall and me,
and filling that distance are military horses and soldiers. That
doesn't faze me though; I dart forward, as light on my sandals as a
cat on its paws.

At one point, a soldier atop a horse tries to ride
into my path, but with one look at the horse, it stops.

I told you, I have an affinity with animals, and even
though these military horses are harder and gruffer than the
creatures I'm used to, that affinity still stands.

I almost reach the hall.

Then one of the guards outside jumps clean off the
top step, lands, and launches at me.

The guy grabs me roughly by the shoulder. Yanking me
back, his fingers dig hard into my flesh. He twists me around, then
shoves his face close to mine.

“This is a restricted
area,” he says, his putrid breath breaking against my cheek. “You
are interfering with military business, woman.”

“You have my uncle in
there,” I hiss back. “He's just an old man.”

“Well, that old man
is coming with us. And unless you want to join him, shut
up.”

I stare into his eyes.

He towers above me, and though he's not as enormous
as some of the other soldiers, I can tell by the way he moves he
knows how to handle himself. Attacking him would be a mistake. In
fact, everything I have done so far has been a mistake.

I know how important I am, and I know how critical it
is that I keep my secret.

Yet I can't stand this.

“Let me go,” I warn
through clenched teeth.

He shakes
me
. “I said shut up, girl.”

I know I have to keep control. But as I stare up at
that man's arrogant, hateful expression, I snap.

With one smooth, practiced move, I shove him off. I
pivot on my hip, pushing my shoulder into his and knocking him
backwards.