Chapter 22
Yin
It’s a long night, and I toss and turn, restless. Every dream is nightmarish, just shadows chasing me through equally shadowy halls and corridors. Whenever I turn to fight, just as I’ve been taught, it doesn’t matter. My pursuers always overcome me.
They are stronger, faster, and smarter, and there is nothing I can do against them.
I go to bed with a pervading sense of powerlessness, and when I wake, that sense has become even more engrained.
I don’t have a chance to wallow in it, though; within minutes of waking, there’s a rough knock at my door.
I roll to the side and stare at it, offering it a defeated look.
Then the damn thing opens.
In walks Mae. She looks disgusted at finding me in bed. Though I want to point out that she barely waited a few seconds before opening the door, I don’t.
I hold my tongue. From now until the day I get out of here, I’ll have to keep my anger checked.
She walks into the middle of my small room, locks her hands on her hips, and looks down. She’s in the same delicate blue dress with that same jade comb holding her silver-flecked hair back.
“Get up,” she says through a snarl.
I comply.
“Neaten your bed, get dressed, and meet me in the square,” she adds with a huff.
I comply.
I don’t ask whether I’ll be fed, I just do exactly as I’m told.
Oh, if Castor could see me now. Though I was never exactly rebellious around him, I wasn’t a saint either. If I didn’t want to do something, sometimes I’d just take off and head into the mountains.
Now there are no mountains, and there is no escape.
Once I’m dressed, I try to do my hair as I’ve been instructed. Try as I might, I can’t figure it out. Getting frustrated and realizing I’m running out of time, I scrunch it together and tie it in a knot. Then, with a deep breath, I walk out into the hall.
Two soldiers are waiting there for me, with Mae nowhere to be seen.
They both shoot me disgruntled looks. Though my first reaction is to shoot one right back at them, I press my lips together and look at the floor instead.
“I see Garl has finally got you under control,” one of them mutters.
Though I want to keep staring at the ground, I can’t. My eyes flash as I look up. The soldier has turned from me as he leads me forward, but I glare solidly at the back of his head.
I want to point out Garl doesn’t have me under control… but he does, doesn’t he?
All he had to do was threaten me, threaten Castor, threaten my village. Now I have no fight left.
No… the fight is still there, burning steadily in the center of my chest like the molten heart of the earth itself, but I just can’t call on it.
That doesn’t mean I’ll let it go out. So Garl might hold all the cards now. Fine. But he will slip up. Just as he rightly pointed out I have a weakness, he will have one too. Given time, I will endure what he throws at me, and I will find it.
Then I’ll attack.
I won’t give in to him.
It’s with that attitude that I exit into the square. It’s early morning, and there’s a fine mist hanging at the edges of the building. With one look past the numerous rooms of the barracks, I note the mountains beyond are hooded in cloud.
It’s brisk, but that invigorates me. I’m used to snow and hail and frost, so a little morning chill won’t harm me.
Oh, and I can call upon the fire within any time to warm my hands and toes.
There are several other training sessions going on as I’m led into the square. The space is so enormous that you could easily train a force of a thousand men, and yet have plenty of room left over for a game of magic ball.
The soldiers guarding me continue to mutter amongst themselves, no doubt amused by my unconventional hairstyle. Well, that’s fine by me. Better they get distracted by my hair than my hand.
.…
I still have the bandage wrapped securely around it, with the hope that I’ll take it off in a couple of days. Though I wracked my brain last night to come up with some reason for what happened to me, I can’t find one.
How can a hand bleed with no injury? Does it have something to do with being the Savior?
These are questions I won’t find answers to anytime soon. Still, I let them distract me as I walk out to meet Mae. Once again she fixes me with a look that lets me know I’m worth just a lit bit less than slime.
“Take up position,” she commands.
I do as she says. It’s then I notice there’s a folded up fan lying close by. “What’s that for?”
“You speak—” she begins.
“When spoken to,” I finish with a sigh. “I am sorry,” I force myself to say.
Mae looks mildly mollified. Then she gestures to the fan. “Pick it up. Today, I will instruct you in the true combat arts of female sorcerers.”
I hold my tongue as I lean down and pluck up the fan. What exactly am I meant to do with it? Start a cracking bonfire and industriously fan the flames toward my opponent? While I’m sure that will give my guards something else to snigger about, I doubt it will be effective in an actual fight.
Mae waits for me to pluck up the fan, then, without a word, she produces one from under her sleeve and unfurls it in a pretty, dramatic arc.
I’m usually quite observant – Castor would have it no other way – but I had not seen that fan.
If you’d asked me yesterday, I would have fervently exclaimed that I have nothing to learn from Mae. She’s arrogant and bitter, and can’t notice when you’re actually melting her shoes into the cobble.
Now I frown.
Her fan is ornate, mostly black with the prettiest gold and blue winding design climbing the wood and flourishing over the fabric.
She holds it easily.
She nods at me to unfurl mine, and I do, but a whole lot less elegantly.
“Now, watch me,” Mae says as she takes a deep breath that pushes her chest out steadily. Blinking her eyes closed, she starts to move around in a fan dance. With true grace and quite a bit of agility, she shifts back and forward, moving the fan as an extension of her own body. With powerful, echoing snaps, she closes and opens it in time with her movements.
It’s a beautiful dance… but I can’t help wondering what exactly it has to do with learning how to beat people with magic.
Then, just as I get the impulse to cross my arms, I see the tiniest flicker of power.
It’s curling around the fan. No… it’s inside the fan. On closer inspection, I notice that the intricate design winding all over the fabric and wood has channels within it. Right now those channels are filling up with magic. Orange and gold, it’s barely visible against the ornate design.
“What…” I begin, moving back a little.
Mae attacks. She lunges forward, placing one foot before the other and leaning into her stance as she swipes the fan around.
A jet of super-heated magic bursts out and strikes me right in the chest.
I know how to defend myself. I know how to draw my magic in front of me like a shield, letting attacks disburse off an invisible barrier of energy.
That doesn’t stop me from being flung backward.
The force of Mae’s blow is so damn strong, I go tumbling over myself until I land several meters away.
I’m still alive – I managed to draw up enough defense to stop Mae’s attack from bursting right through my chest – but I am surprised.
Also, monumentally out of breath.
With a grunt, I push up, not bothering to stand as I sit there, my hair tumbling freely over my shoulders and back.
I’ve trained hard all my life in magic, and I’d like to think I know most of what there is about that sacred art.
I’ve never seen anything like this.
Mae actually smiles. Though she’s usually restrained, I see her ruby red lips part and curl. “Have I managed to s
urprise the great bear of the mountains?”
A few nearby soldiers snigger at her insult.
I ignore them and focus all of my attention on that fan…. How could it store fire magic like that? That’s what happened, right? During the dance, Mae pushed her magic steadily into the fan, and it stored it until she unleashed it in an unholy blow.
Is it somehow an Arak device?
Again she looks pleased with herself, then she snaps, “get up. Stop wallowing.”
Stop wallowing? I just received a blow that could have killed an ordinary person.
Still, with a muffled groan, I stand.
I’m still holding my own fan, and now I bring it up and inspect those gold channels carefully. As I do, I notice there are blue ones as well.
Experimentally, I try to force some magic through my hand and into the wood. While the gold channels light up and glow like, fire, the blue channels don’t. “What are these?” I ask as I point down to them.
“Do not speak unless spoken to. I have not instructed you on how to correctly channel your magic into the fan yet,” Mae snaps.
Still holding the fan, I let it drop to my side.
Mae pauses for several seconds, then huffs before saying, “the blue channels are for a male sorcerer. When the fan dance is done properly, both a female and male sorcerer are present. If the dance is done correctly and balance is achieved, then both become more powerful than the sum of their parts.”
I dip my head to the side, confusion parting my lips. “How can you achieve balance? Won’t the two sorcerers just cancel each other out?”
Just as I think Mae will snap at me only to speak when spoken to, she shakes her head and sighs. “There appears to be a great deal you do not know. There is much to train you in.”
She seems… just a little softer than usual. Of course she still stares at me as if I’m the scum that collects along a polluted river, but she also seems a little more mollified.
“Now, take up position once more. I will instruct you in how to correctly channel your magic. But first, you must learn the correct movements of the dance. You must be elegant, yet forceful.”
“Okay…” I manage, not really understanding, but realizing if I push Mae for more, she’ll likely snap at me, or send me tumbling over the cobbles with another devastating attack.
“You will watch and mimic my moves. Try to be graceful. You can’t jump around like a mountain bear – you must draw upon your feminine qualities – if you have any,” she adds with a huff.
Again more laughter from the soldiers. Yet, once again I don’t care.
I’m intrigued now. Castor has always told me to learn whatever I can from whatever source I can. He used to instruct me to go out into the mountains just to watch how the air moves through the trees, or how the water moves seamlessly around the rocks of the rivers and streams.
There are lessons everywhere, if only you open your mind to them.
Though I had closed myself to Mae, now I realize that, just maybe, there’s something to learn.
So, with a determined breath, I watch and I mimic.
And… I’m really bad at it. All the moves I’ve been taught are strong, fast, and entirely lacking in grace. I jump around and flip like… well, a man.
A particularly gruff one.
Mae spends most of her time snapping at me to try again.
So I do. For absolutely hours on end.
By the end, I’ve only improved a fraction, and Mae couldn’t be angrier. “You will have to practice for years before you can master this,” she says bitterly, though I hint just a note of pride ringing in her high-pitched tone.
After all, she’s just proved she’s better than me, hasn’t she? I might have tricked her and melted her shoes to the cobbles, but despite hours of training, I’m still hopeless at this fan dance.
“Garl will be disappointed by this,” Mae adds as she closes her fan and reaches a hand out to take mine.
I don’t give it to her. “I’ll train harder,” I say.
Mae blinks her eyes rapidly. “You must now return to your room. You have trained for hours.”
“Let me keep the fan, and I’ll train in my room. What’s the harm? I can’t do magic in there,” I add, keeping my voice even as I do.
Mae looks as if she wants to snap at me but soon shrugs her shoulders, though elegantly. “Very well, but I don’t see the point – you’re hopeless.”
I nod. “Are there any scrolls I could borrow? I can study them and practice in my room.”
Mae laughs. “You can read?” she challenges.
I don’t answer.
I just look at her. I’m sure to make my stare unchallenging, but at the same time, I don’t look away.
“Very well,” she concedes. “It won’t do you any good, though. Still, I’ll be sure to bring you a scroll with lots of pictures.”
“Thank you,” I say.
I endure Mae’s laughter.
I can do this. I will not be defeated by this stupid fan dance. Nor will I give Mae the satisfaction of setting me a task I can’t complete.
How hard can jumping around with a fan be, anyway?
I get my answer when I return to my room and set to work practicing on my own.
My room is tiny, and though I’m sure to push all the furniture to the sides, that gives me barely a meter-squared to move within.
Still, despite how frustrating it is when I keep banging into the bed or the walls, I don’t give up. Nor do I give in to my growing weariness. I may have been training for most of the day, but I just push back my fatigue.
When my legs become too wobbly to stand, I sit on my bed and pore over the scroll.
Despite Mae’s aspersions, I can very much read. I’ve been taught how to analyze, think critically, and follow arguments. Castor was also sure to school me in multiple ancient languages.
So, for the rest of the day, I switch between reading and practicing.
I’ve taken off my dress, and wear nothing but my loose black pants and singlet.
I don’t expect to be disturbed, yet, late in the evening, I hear a careful knock on my door.
Absorbed in one of the books I’ve been given, and thinking it’s probably Mae at the door, I stand and say, “come in.”
I don’t even look up as I turn a page and continue reading.
The door swings open and I hear someone splutter.
.…
Captain Yang. He’s standing there, a surprised look on his face as he stares at what I’m wearing, or, what I’m not wearing.
I don’t try to cover myself up. Seriously, I’m not naked. I’m in full pants and a sturdy singlet. But from the look on his face, you’d think I’m in nothing but an artfully arranged fig leaf.
“Captain?” I bring my book down, but I don’t close it. “Do you want something?”
“I…” he trails off, looking extremely uncomfortable as he does.
His usual calm control has been replaced by red cheeks and a stutter.
“Yes?” I prompt.
“Yin,” he takes a breath, and as he does, he straightens his back, and locks his gaze at eye level. That, however, does not stop his cheeks from glowing red. “I have been instructed to ascertain how you are going,” he manages, his voice steadily becoming more controlled.
“I’m training,” I answer.
Though I know I’m not meant to be trite – not since Garl’s dire warning – I can’t stop myself around Captain Yang.
It’s not just that I blame him for everything that’s happened to me… it’s the man himself.
He’s so damn calm and controlled, and yet I’m rapidly learning that’s all an act.
In other words, he’s fake. Easily the fakest person I’ve ever met.
While the people in my village had often been tiresome, at least they’d been genuine. Yang, on the other hand, promised me everything would be okay. He gave me his word that both Castor and I would be fine.
His word was worth nothing.<
br />
Hardly realizing I’m doing it, I cross my arms, securing my book in one hand. “I’m fine,” I say, my words biting.
Yang seems a little more comfortable now I’ve hidden my singlet with my arms, and he straightens up further. “Garl has asked me to report—” he begins.
I jerk back, my indignation easily giving way to fear.
Captain Yang notices, and I can see surprise breaking through his stoic control.
His pale eyes narrow in confusion. “The General,” he continues in a somewhat unsure tone, “has asked for a report.”
“I’m fine. I’m doing exactly as I’m told,” I say, dropping Yang’s gaze and staring at the floor.
Even though I’m not looking directly at him, I can tell Yang is still surprised by my behavior. Maybe he’s expecting me to bite his head off.
I withdraw instead. He’s not the only one who can put up a barrier.
“Are… you alright?” he asks, voice still hesitant.
“Yes. I’m doing what I’m told,” I answer.
“Ah…” he trails off, possibly looking for some reason to keep standing in my doorway. “What happened to your hand?”
“Nothing.”
“It’s got a bandage on it.”
“I cut myself yesterday,” I mutter quietly, “while I was fighting those… mirage sorcerers. Or whatever they are.” I look up briefly to see astonishment flicker in Yang’s eyes.
“Wait, what? Do you mean illusionists?”
“I don’t know what they’re called, but they could make themselves invisible. I cut myself, I fixed it up, end of story. You can tell Garl I’m doing exactly what he wants. I might have stuffed up that fan dance, but I’ll train. I’ll get better,” I don’t look at Captain Yang as I speak, preferring to settle my gaze on some innocuous patch of floor by his boots instead.
“Really, he made you fight illusionists?” Yang asks again, apparently stuck on that fact.
“Yeah. They cut my hand,” I add defensively as I tuck my bandaged palm closer to my chest, hiding it as best I can.
“. . . Wow… ah, I mean…” Yang trails off and clears his throat.
Slowly I look up at him.
He looks different somehow. There’s a lot more emotion playing across his face than the man I remember from the village. It’s almost as if… something’s changed him.
I should tell him to leave – that I’ve already satisfied his curiosity and he can report his findings back to the Garl – but I don’t.
I can’t.
So I stand there, half staring at the floor and half at him.
“I saw you training today,” he notes through a suspiciously uncomfortable swallow. Isn’t he meant to be a cold-hearted Royal Army sorcerer? Isn’t he meant to flow around emotion like water around stone?
I don’t reply.
“You’re not… that bad. It’ll just take some time. The fan dance requires fluid movement, or at least from the female sorcerer. You’ll get used to it.”
Is he… trying to make me feel better? Is he encouraging me?
Why? So he can manipulate me more? Does he want me to trust him just so it’s easier for him?
I let my arms drop, and though I’m not meant to, I stare at him with a challenging look in my gaze. “What do you want?”
He looks taken aback.
“Did Garl tell you to be my friend so I can become more pliable? Well, tell him his threats are sufficient. I won’t dare disappoint him. He doesn’t need you to try to get me on-side.”
“Ah… what?” Yang shakes his head, looking genuinely confused.
“Tell General Garl, I won’t dare disobey him,” I step forward, right into Yang, grabbing the door beside him and leaning forward. My fingers are so tight around the metal, and my anger so hot, I could easily burn right through it.
Though Yang starts shifting back, he doesn’t actually step back.
So, still right up close to him, I look into his eyes with all the determination I can muster.
“I’ll do what he says. I’ll train, and I’ll fight his little battles. But don’t you dare think I’ll ever be truly loyal. I’ll go through the motions, but you won’t change my heart. I will do whatever I can to save Castor and my village. I don’t care about my life,” I say with a huff, “and you can tell Garl I can endure anything he throws at me. So are we done here?” I ask as I shift the door forward, moving it as close to Yang as I can without actually slamming it into him.
He is standing right in the doorway, after all.
At first, he opens his mouth, his usually handsome face contorted with what looks like genuine confusion. Then he stops, and he looks at me.
I could go toe-to-toe with him, I really could.
My stomach clenches for some reason, and I step back, still locking my hand on the door, though.
“What did he say to you? No one is going to threaten Castor or your village; we’re not monsters.”
I start smiling, and it isn’t a happy move; it’s disbelieving. Can this guy really think I’m that stupid?
“I’m done speaking to you,” I say as I push away from the door and turn from him.
It’s so childish, but it’s the only thing I can do. I can’t attack him, and god knows I can’t shout at him – other soldiers would hear, and my disobedience would soon make it back to Garl.
So I just turn, pretending he isn’t there.
.…
He stands for a while. Then, without a word, he closes the door, and I hear it being bolted behind him.
I press my lips together and stare at the wall. Slowly but surely my eyes fill with tears. I try to hold them back, pressing my lips together all the tighter, but it won’t work.
I hate that I’m getting emotional. More than that, that it was the arrogant Captain Yang that unsettled me.
I can’t fight it. So eventually I give in and flop on my bed.
I wallow.
Yet despite how horrible it feels to be trapped and at the mercy of the treacherous Garl, I don’t stay defeated for long.
When I’m ready, I stand back up, I pick up my fan, and I train.