Act 9: The Oathbreaker (Part 5)
five
“That was the first time I saw her die.” Anbicia removed the cigarette holder, the smoke obscuring her face. “After that, I just took it for granted.”
Yubi listened intently beside her. His body was stiff, his lips trembling. "And then?" he asked numbly, clutching his sister's cold fingers. "Mother... Mother can be resurrected?"
“Of course. Otherwise, where would Inart and you be?” Anbichia scrutinized his appearance. “It’s just that we’ll have to wait a few years, decades, or centuries until she’s had enough of her so-called painful ‘rest’.”
"Then how do we determine if it's enough?"
"How should I know? You should ask her yourself."
The young vampire felt fear and confusion; the questions weighing on his mind only grew stronger. "So…were you and Inarth like me when you were young, like ordinary mortals?" Yubi asked. "When did you learn how to perform true miracles?" He rattled off a string of questions. "I also wanted my own blood slaves, wanted to extend people's lives, cure their ailments…"
"Whom do you want to save?" Ambicia interrupted him from behind the smoke, "instead of whom do you want to control?"
Yubi felt his throat burning as if choked by the foul smoke, unable to speak. “Do you remember… I had a Jewish friend? He was a Venetian, and his eyes were gouged out during his execution…” He lowered his head, unable to meet Ambichai’s scorching gaze, “He wanted me… to heal his eyes.”
“A Jewish friend?” Ambicea chuckled. “Ha! No wonder you invited me to the banquet. You wanted to find a good opportunity, like Queen Esther tricked King Xerxes, to get me to grant your request…” She paused meaningfully, “or was it his request?”
Yubi stood there, mouth agape. He wondered whether he should argue or remain silent.
"Was it your Jewish friend who told you this story?"
"Yes. I've read about it in a book too..."
“Then I suspect he has three intentions, dear brother,” Ambicia interrupted him again without any politeness. “First, he not only wants you to heal his eyes, but also wants to remind you that the Venetians in prison are suffering the same fate as the Jews a thousand years ago. He wants you to find a way to save all the Venetians; second, he feels that his fellow countrymen have all been harmed by their enemies, that I am that foolish and blind Persian king, being deceived by ministers full of treacherous schemes, but he doesn’t realize that it is an all-knowing and all-powerful God punishing them, making them reap what they sow.”
“Thirdly, and most excessively and presumptuously.” Ambikia grabbed Yubi’s hand and pulled him in front of her, forcing him to look him in the eye. “Esther was a Jewish girl who concealed her identity and became queen. Mordecai warned her: ‘Do not think that you will be superior to all the Jews in the palace, lest you be spared this.’ Do you know what that means?”
Yubi tried to pull his hand back in alarm—he realized his sister was groping between his fingers, searching for the ruby ring.
“When you come to see me, you’ll know you’re not wearing that ring anymore,” Ambicia chuckled. “You should have taken it off long ago.”
"But if I don't wear it, I can't see the sun, and I can't grow up..."
"It's because your mother made you wear it all the time that you can't grow up," Anbichia rebuked sharply. "That's why you're seen as just another ordinary person, devoid of any supernatural powers, a foolish, naive, lowly mortal!"
Yubi felt a chilling, sharp pain pierce his ears with his sister's words. It was like a grain of ice, a shard of mirror, flowing from his brain to his heart, causing a blizzard to rage and freeze over. He suddenly remembered hearing something similar when he first met Yakov—"When did you finally grow up?" The pitiful yet hateful blood slave had questioned him in the dark attic, his bloodshot, icy blue eyes still vivid in his mind.
Yubishang remembered how he had answered the question back then. "My mother once told me to let things take their course..." But facing his sister, he hesitated. "Precisely because I will grow up, I should cherish the time before I grow up even more. The most important thing is to make myself happy..."
“Then you’ll never be able to be a god, never be able to perform miracles.” Anbikia nonchalantly shook off his hand. “This is your own choice.”
Upon hearing this, Yubi understood that Anbichya had rejected his request. "...Then why did you save Yakov in the first place?" he asked, clinging to a sliver of hope, making a final probe. "Why were you willing to see Batur and go to his tribe?"
“When you also have this power,” Anbichia didn’t explain. She just smiled, a hint of mockery on her face. “Then you will understand.”
The nobleman's courtyard garden was filled with rare and exotic plants. Yakov handed his sword sheath to Schumer so he could hold it and follow the path, lest he get lost. "What is this?" the Jew murmured. "It has a refreshing fragrance, like some kind of precious wood."
Yakov had never noticed these motionless things before and had to look up. The fountain was surrounded by lights, illuminating a tall pine tree. "There really is a pine tree," he said, "...with gray scales on its trunk, like a tower."
“Perhaps it’s gopher wood.” Schumer touched the stone pillar and sat down on the steps. “The courtyard here must only grow the most precious trees. You know, the annual rings of this tree are fine and dense, and it can only grow a finger’s width in ten years. Legend has it that Noah’s Ark was made of its wood.”
Yakov couldn't distinguish the species of pine or cypress, nor could he judge the truth of the matter. He muttered to himself, how much land and how many years would it take to build an ark from a tree that only grows a finger's width every ten years? "Is that so?" he said, gazing at the needle-like, bluish-gray leaves. "Since it has a fragrance, perhaps Yubi would be interested."
"You want to use its essential oil as a perfume?" Schumeer clicked his tongue in amazement. "That's incredibly extravagant."
A vague sense of guilt and self-reproach began to sprout within Yakov. He clutched his iron-studded knight's belt, gazing at the magnificent carved beams and painted rafters overhead, and the clean, tidy balustrades of the long corridor. He thought of the months he and Yubi had spent immersed in a life of decadent comfort—how had Schumeer spent those months? Yakov wanted to ask many questions. How had Schumeer been arrested, how had he been blinded, how had he fallen to this state? He was clever and cunning; how had he failed to escape?
“…You mentioned this before, that you wanted to paint pictures of Tatars learning Greek to sell.” But in the end, Yakov only asked, “I haven’t seen any of them circulating in the market.”
Schumeer's lower face showed a wry smile beneath the bandages. "Look at your question." He tilted his head slightly, as if looking for Yakov. "If I were a Greek Christian, this would naturally be a profitable business. But what's the reality?"
Yakov's mouth remained closed beneath his beard, and it took him a while to utter a single sentence. "...I didn't expect that." He felt as if his tongue had become clumsy. "Sorry."
“I’m probably not the first person in the world to hear an apology from you.” Schumeer groped his way up the steps, stretching his legs and back. “Don’t treat me like this, Yakov. Don’t pity me like I’m a useless blind man, as if my later years are hopeless and I’m just waiting to die. People in prison hate this kind of pity the most, but they can’t refuse it.” He tried to lighten the mood with a light tone. “If Yubi were here, he might not agree with this. But since it’s you, you must understand what I mean, right?”
Yakov stared at the tall pines in the courtyard, watching the moon slowly climb to the treetops. "You think this way because you believe you can see the light again," he said bluntly. "But what if Ambicya rejects you, and Yubi can't help you either?"
“Even so, I still have my own value and place.” Schumeer’s voice rang out behind him with laughter. “The worst is over. At worst, I’ll just die.”
"Aren't you afraid of dying?"
“Everyone has to die,” Schumacher said. “What’s the use of being afraid?”
Yakov closed his eyes. He felt something profound, a deep ache taking root in his eye sockets. "It's best if you think that way," he sighed, looking down at the cobblestones on the ground. "I'm afraid you can't always think that way."
"Stop worrying about others." Schumeer stretched out his leg and gave him a light kick in the back. "You've really changed a lot, Yakov. You weren't like this when I first met you."
The Slav, being teased, silently accepted the assessment. He agreed—yet he wondered, what made him change? The warm ruby ring pressed against the inside pocket of his shirt. Yakov reached out and covered the rather prominent and important object.
The two fell silent, as if angels lingered in a beautiful courtyard, commanding each to remain solemnly silent. After what seemed like an eternity, as the half-full moon began its slow descent, familiar footsteps finally approached from the corridor. "It's Yubi," Shumel heard the voice before Yakov, "He's the only one who's returned..."
This perhaps foreshadowed a terrible outcome. Yakov pressed down on Schumer's shoulder, telling him not to move. The Blood Slave rose from the steps and went straight to his young master. As expected, he saw Yubi looking dejected from afar—Yakov dragged Yubi's cold body away from Schumer's ear, to a corner deep in the corridor. "...She disagreed, didn't she?" Yakov knelt down, studying Yubi's face. "What did she say?"
“…I will never wear that ring again,” Yubi said.
Yakov's heart sank; a burning pain, whether from a ring or an engraving, shot through his chest. "Why?" he demanded, gripping his master's thin shoulders tightly. "What did she tell you?"
"My sister says it's because I always wear that ring that I haven't grown up..."
"You bastard!" Yakov interrupted him angrily. "You'll never grow up if you don't wear that ring!"
"What does it mean to grow up, Yakov?" Yubi's eyes dimmed. "You once said that if I were a child from an ordinary noble family, my age, I would have already started a family and established a career, or even been to the battlefield. Is that right?" He lowered his head and continued, as if talking to himself, "Now, I think that growing up means taking responsibility, it means finding your own way to do what you want to do, instead of always seeking help from others and relying on their protection. Whether you succeed or fail, you have to bear the consequences yourself."
“I can’t always rely on others, as you once said. You also said that I should have things that are uniquely my own. That’s what growing up is all about; it has nothing to do with age or body shape, right?”
Yakov's mouth was open, his tongue was stiff, and he couldn't utter a word.
“I think it’s time for me to learn to be a real vampire, to live like my sister and mother.” Yubi looked into his eyes, as if a vast distance separated them. “As long as I don’t wear that ring, I can learn to perform miracles, control secrets, and manipulate authority much faster. Only then can I save Schumacher, and many more people like him…”
“No,” Yakov said instinctively. “It’s too early.”
"When will that be?"
"You don't even have a beard, yet you think you can act like an adult?" Yakov stood up, pointing at his face and scolding, "You're still just a brat!"
"And how old do you think my sister looks? And when did she take off that ring?" Yubi moved his finger away; the cold temperature made Yakov's joints ache slightly. "Look at those queens who have children and those generals who have fought on the front lines, how old are they?"
Yakov was speechless—Ambikia's youthful, girlish face flashed through his mind. He thought that the vampire had probably stopped growing after the age of fourteen or fifteen. He was forced to consider a terrible yet urgent question: if humans could live forever, at what age would they choose to remain? Time is like a never-ending river; once a person pours the years from their bottle into it, they can never scoop them back.
He hated his own decisiveness, and he also hated Yubi's insight.
Yubi bypassed the immobile, blood-slave-like body and walked towards the deep, dark corridor, towards the dimly lit courtyard. His figure, clad in a silk robe, reached the steps and called out to Schumeer, who was guarding there.
“I will find a way to heal your eyes.” Yubi’s voice was firm yet cold. “One day, I will personally heal your eyes.”
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