Act XV, Hyperborea (Part 4)

Four

Yakov untied his cloak, wrapped it around Yubi, and dragged her inside.

The room was fairly spacious, not as warm as outside, but at least the cold wind stopped relentlessly blowing into their ears. As soon as they entered, a huge fireplace came into view. "This fireplace takes up half the room!" Yubi exclaimed. "There's no bed, where are we going to sleep?"

Yakov released him, skillfully grabbed a handful of straw, swept the ashes off the stove, and then spread the wool cloak on top. "You must sleep on the stove here." He lifted Yubi up to the high stove—only then did Yubi realize that the top of this large stove was where he would sleep.

"I'm going to get some firewood so we don't freeze to death here tonight." Yakov rolled up his sleeves and went out. "Wait for me here."

“I’m not cold anymore now that I’ve taken off my ring, don’t go!” Yubi called out to him, wrapped in her coat. “Look, it’s getting dark.”

Hearing this, Yakov's eyebrows twitched slightly in surprise. "No," he said, "If you're not afraid of the cold, what about me?"

Yubi immediately shut up, cradling his frozen fingers in shame, and could only watch Yakov leave.

The vampire idly gazed at the wooden house. He thought of his former luxurious and warm mansions in Constantinople and Ludwig, with their servants, and felt both nostalgic for that extravagant life and self-reproach for never having worked for a living.

The house was fairly well-made; clay had been used to seal the gaps in the logs, preventing cold drafts from seeping through the walls and making the surfaces appear much smoother. But finding mosaics and tiles here was a pipe dream. Yubi didn't know how many gold coins those beautiful and expensive decorations had cost, but he knew that he and Yakov, relying solely on hunting here, would never be able to accumulate that enormous sum again; the long, distant river and the rugged swamps seemed like insurmountable barriers to these delicate and fragile goods. They couldn't be successfully transported from the south.

Besides the large fireplace, the room contained a wooden table and chairs. The tabletop was bare; it should have held oil lamps and tableware, Yubi thought. There were no Roman reclining chairs, nor Saracen's ornate carpets. The waves of the Golden Horn had once been a flowing painting on his balcony, the stars above the Dead Sea had once adorned his courtyard with twinkling light—but there wasn't even a window, and the ceiling was inexplicably pitch black. Yubi noticed a small, triangular wooden shelf nailed to the corner of the table, crammed into the southeast corner. He didn't know what it was for.

How was he going to take a bath? Yubi suddenly wondered. There was no marble-lined hot spring pool, nor anywhere to put a large enough wooden tub for someone to lie down in. He looked down into the cold stove—perhaps that would work if he used it to heat water. But the water would have to be carried in buckets from the nearby stream, and there was no aqueduct or tap available; not to mention that in a few days, the stream would freeze solid.

He kept all these delicate questions in his mind.

A moment later, Yakov burst in carrying firewood, steam rising from his head, and even had two hazel grouse hanging from his waist. "There's a cellar outside," he said, using a long stick to scoop out the ashes from the stove. "I found some firewood in there, a little damp, but enough to last the night."

Yubi stared wide-eyed as he added firewood to start the fire. "There's a cellar?" he asked immediately. "Is it big? What's it used for?"

"It's for storing grain and miscellaneous items." Yakov struck the flint with difficulty. "We'll rely on it to get through the winter."

"I'll go take a look later too."

"We'll talk about it when you're warmed up."

A tiny flame finally caught fire on the straw. Yakov held it in his palm, blew on it a few times, added more straw to the fire, and then tossed it into the middle of the pile of firewood. “Just like when we used to camp,” Yubi said, peering at him from above the fireplace, her ears covered. “You used to light a campfire like this so that Schumeer and I would have a warm place to sleep.”

“The stove heats up slower than the campfire.” Yakov sat on the ground, skinning a hazel grouse, and took two naan breads out of his pack. “It’ll keep burning all winter.”

Yubi watched as Yakov roasted the meat and then warmed a pot of water to soften the naan bread. He suddenly felt that watching Yakov eat was an exceptionally happy thing. Whether it was the fire in the stove burning too brightly or the aroma of the food that was so relaxing, he felt his frozen ears gradually thaw in his palms, and his stiff fingers and toes began to move with a tingling sensation. Finally, the snowflakes and ice crystals hidden in his hair melted into water, ticklingly trickling down his collar.

“I’m hungry too.” The vampire winked slyly. “Now that you’re done eating, it’s my turn.”

“Alright.” Yakov raised his icy blue eyes in the firelight, the flames dancing brightly within them.

The vampire wiped his hands, climbed onto the heated bed along the edge of the stove, his warm body carrying the scent of ashes and earth. Yubi wrapped his arms around his neck, wanting to remove the ring and plunge his fangs into his skin—a long-suppressed impulse surged into the vampire's mind, as if the fire beneath him was too hot, the flames shooting straight into his body, making him sweat.

So he withdrew his sharp teeth and placed only his soft lips on the throbbing veins in Yakov's neck.

“…I want to do something else.” Yubi gripped the ring on her finger tightly. “Would you like to?”

Yakov said nothing. But he nodded, allowing Yubi to stick close to him.

Yubi was overjoyed, extremely excited. He thought for a moment, then, like a child waiting to unwrap a gift box, he was at a loss, as if his anxiety had turned into a burnt smell, piercing his nostrils and making it hard for him to breathe—what was that smell? Yubi realized that something pungent was squeezing between his and Yakov's breaths, choking his eyes and throat, making his eyes water and causing him to cough uncontrollably.

Without a word, Yakov released him and jumped down to look at the stove. Thick smoke was billowing out, shooting straight up the wall to the ceiling—now Yubi knew how the dark ceiling had come about.

“This firewood is too wet,” Yakov said. “Let’s open the door and let the smoke out.”

A gust of cold wind, swirling with snowflakes, rushed in through the open door. "It's so cold!" Yubi cried out in disappointment. "All the warmth just vanished as soon as the door opened!"

“It will take several days to modify the stove,” Yakov thought, arms crossed. “We can’t stay here for the next few days.”

Yubi stared at his face with suspicion and frustration—Yakov, seeing the young man's expression, finally couldn't help but laugh out loud with schadenfreude, until Yubi threw the fur hat in his face.

“Go visit the neighbors,” Yakov said. “Ask them to let you off the hook for a few days.”

The two stamped their feet to warm themselves, then jogged out the door and headed north along the path. Their eyebrows and eyes were frosted over with moisture, and even their collars around their mouths and noses were frozen solid. "Is this even a village?" Yubi wondered. He thought a village should consist of several houses built together, and one should be able to see chickens, dogs, pigs, and sheep when they went outside. They counted their steps, walking for quite a while across the boundless plain, before finally spotting the edge of the cemetery in the darkness, and a small house beside it with smoke rising from it.

Is that even a house? Yubi frowned. It was more like a shack, or a dugout. It was extremely low, built in the middle of a birch forest, with a moss-covered roof and a threshold buried in the ground, both overgrown with weeds.

“This house is so different from the others!” Yubi asked. “Is a witch really living here?”

“This is inhabited by a Chude person,” Yakov replied.

“I’ve been wanting to ask you this for a while now, who are the Chu people?” Yubi turned to look at him. “What do they look like?”

“They don’t look particularly special,” Yakov thought for a moment, “but they speak a different language than the Slavs.”

"Will they understand what we're saying?" Yubi anxiously wrung her hands in her sleeves. "How do we ask them for help?"

“How will you know if you don’t try?” Yakov pushed him to the wooden door.

Why aren't you going?

“I’m not good at asking for help. You can’t expect me to do everything myself.”

Yubi had to agree. He stood awkwardly on the threshold, hesitating for a long while. Before knocking, he saw a string of small animal bones and unfamiliar herbs hanging on the door, and a sense of unease crept in: What if this really was a witch, practicing witchcraft?

"...Is anyone home?"

The vampire called out in broken Slavic, his sleeves rolled up, and knocked on the door—which immediately opened. A soft, warm current washed over his face.

A short, withered old woman peeked out from behind the door, her enormous nose visible. She had been eavesdropping for who knows how long. Her sharp eyes darted back and forth, scrutinizing the two of them shivering in the snow. Yubi was startled by her eerie gaze and began to stammer.

“We…we are your neighbors.” He chose his words carefully. “We…our stove is broken, and we would like to stay here for the night.”

Will she understand? Will she be afraid I'm lying, or afraid of Mrs. Yako's imposing stature? Yubi stood there, worrying about many things. Were we being impolite? Should we bring gifts? Had we offended her?

"Come in." Fortunately, the homeowner opened the door a crack to them. "Hurry up! Don't let the heat escape."

"Th...thank you."

Yubi brushed the snow off his hat and coat at the door before Yakov pushed him inside—the door was so low that even he had to duck to squeeze through. His foot slipped, and he realized the leveled ground had sunk considerably lower than the outside, making the space much larger: it was a primitive hut with a campfire on the floor, a pot on top cooking soup, and planks laid out as a bed; yet the smoke from the fire escaped just through a crack in the roof, and the surroundings were inexplicably clean and cozy, the bedding spotless, the kitchen utensils immaculate, everything perfectly organized. Yubi was surprised to find one side of the room filled with chickens and geese, and two enormous, rough-haired dogs enthusiastically nuzzling his feet, their tails and neck bells jingling incessantly, constantly trying to put their paws on him.

“Thank you.” Yubi sat down happily, stroking their heads and chins one by one. “You are as generous as a saint!”

The old woman grunted reluctantly upon hearing this. "You are not allowed to pray in my house," she warned harshly, "or I'll turn you into animals and eat you!"