Act IV: Under the Mask (Part 3)
three
Sometimes, the fog rolling in from the mountains was so thick it resembled clouds—Yubi thought it was clouds. It wasn't that clouds fell onto the mountains, but rather that the mountains were so high they lifted people into the clouds. They crashed into the white fog, unable to see anything, and soon their clothes were soaked through. In the distance, the mountain slopes were shrouded in mist, and every now and then, a distant cross would appear. It stood both enormous and tiny, lonely and desolate on the mountaintop, leaving one in awe and awe.
"Who brought it up the mountain?" Yubi asked, staring at it. "What's the use of it?"
“Its purpose is to make you think about this. To think about how a devout and mad person could carry such a heavy thing up to the top of a mountain.” Schumeer also stared at it, his eyes filled with complex emotions. “When passersby look up and see it, they think it’s a miracle—not that God himself made the cross grow out of the deep forest, but that God can make people do this. That’s what we call a miracle.”
“…How can this be considered a miracle? The cross was carved and sculpted by humans, and it was also pulled up by humans.” Yubi thought with his head down. “Books, doctrines, and moral codes were also written and compiled by humans.”
“People do these things to show off to others!” Schumeer turned his gaze. “People feel that they belong to a certain group and share the same ideas as others. These ideas are strung together, refined, and told to others, and they become symbols and stories, religions and gods.”
Yakov thought that Schumer's words made it seem as if he himself was above human beings. "If that's the case, does that mean that no one in the world believes in God?" he scoffed. "It seems that you are not devout to your own God either."
“God is a flag, a language. To believe or not to believe is a choice.” Schumacher was not angry, but simply placed his right hand gently on his left breast. “God is in everyone’s heart, but everyone’s God is not quite the same. When you speak of God, you all become the same God.”
Yubi suddenly sneezed, pulling Yakov back to his distant thoughts. The southern valleys were much warmer, but Yubi was still wrapped in his large cloak lined with fox fur, shivering. Yakov felt helpless—perhaps because a few days ago, the pampered vampire had been angry with him and insisted on bathing in the icy river; perhaps because yesterday, Yubi had greedily asked him for some jerky, and he hadn't noticed what appeared to be a rotten piece; and even earlier, one day while riding, the clumsy nobleman had been thrown from his horse, seemingly hit by a light kick—in reality, Yakov felt annoyed and absurd: how could a vampire be sick? Couldn't he cure it if he took off that ring?
“There’s a monastery at the fork in the road ahead,” Schumacher suggested considerately as he examined the map. “Perhaps we could rest there and ask about the passes?”
Yubi sniffed and nodded repeatedly, but Yakov's eyebrows shot up again. "No way." Why do these two always seem to be conspiring to torture me? Yakov thought, "Jews, fake Templars, and a vampire. What a perfect team, one that every monastery would welcome with smiles?"
"I never knew you were so honest!" Schumeer chuckled and used the same trick again, tucking the small braids on his temples into his beanie to disguise himself. "Even the lord couldn't see your true face, so what chance do unarmed monks and nuns have of stealing your helmet?"
Yakov closed his eyes helplessly. In that short time, Yubi sneezed several more times. "Get on your horse yourself," the clumsy and self-reproachful guardian said, pulling his helmet back to hide his expression. "We'll go check on him."
A breeze picked up, and the thick fog dissipated. Yubi, holding the reins in one hand and clutching a handkerchief in the other, repeatedly wiped his nose. The horse's jolting distracted him, and his hand trembled; after wiping for a while, only a few drops remained. They were heading towards the cross at the summit. Ahead, halfway up the mountain, a courtyard appeared indistinctly—judging by its location, it must be the monastery on the Schumer map. The three rode slowly along the winding mountain path.
Yubi craned his neck to look, no longer caring about the redness and swelling on his nose—it was the first time he had ever seen a monastery. "The book says that princesses and princes who are harmed by villains are often blinded and exiled to monasteries..." he asked in a muffled voice, "Is that true? Are there princesses and princes here who have been blinded too?"
“Oh, no. What strange books have you read?” Schumacher replied in surprise, “The monasteries in the mountains are either only monks or only nuns. They live a secluded and ascetic life and cannot speak to the opposite sex casually.”
"Huh? Why?" Yubi frowned, thinking, "God doesn't allow his servants to love others?"
“Love and sex are different! Love is good, sex is evil. And it’s hard for people to suppress this evil!” Schumeer seemed reluctant to discuss this topic. He suddenly looked up, as if he had just remembered something. “Yakov, do you know these things? You can’t just talk to nuns like that!”
Yakov, who had been listening quietly, turned his head. "What does this have to do with me?"
“Knights Templar, they’re not much different from monks!” Schumeer said nervously. “If they don’t keep their vows, like forgetting to pray or give alms, that’s one thing, but if you can’t control your lust and get someone pregnant…” He swallowed hard, still shaken. “I heard about a monk in a monastery who was caught having an affair with a nun. The nuns cut off his penis, chopped it up, and stuffed it into his mouth…”
Yubi's face, which had been flushed, turned deathly pale halfway through the conversation. "I have no interest in these headscarve-wearing people," Yakov interrupted Schumer with a disdainful tone. "Say less."
The woods grew thinner, and the chirping birds fell silent. Suddenly, a long, drawn-out cry, like that of a wolf or a falcon, rang out from the sky—Yakov reined in his horse and stopped.
“The Tatars.” His voice came stiffly from under the iron sheet. “I can hear their chants.”
"What?" Schumer's mouth dropped open. "What cell?"
Yakov remained silent, only pointing a finger towards the monastery ahead. At that moment, another mournful, long, trembling, low yet soaring sound came from that direction.
Yubi shivered again upon hearing the sound. "Is that a bird's call, or some other animal?" He pulled his fur cloak tighter around himself. "It doesn't sound like a human."
“They have a special kind of whistle,” Yakov said casually.
“How did you know that?” Schumeer was already trembling on the donkey’s back. His eyes darted around, he wrapped himself in his cloak, and hunched his shoulders. “Or, let’s turn back and go another way…”
Yakov glanced at him, perhaps secretly mocking the defenseless scholar beneath his helmet. "Change direction, camp tonight, and then get your throat slit in the wild?" He nudged the horse with his knee, loosened the reins, and rode straight ahead. "We're going to the monastery to ask about the passes. You said it yourself."
“Alas!” Schumacher sighed deeply, praying repeatedly in Hebrew, “I knew I would be filled with fear when you chose the eastern route!”
Before they even reached the entrance to the monastery courtyard, they heard the bleating of sheep, a continuous, undulating sound. Yakov gestured for Yubi and Schumer behind him to stop. He listened intently to the sounds ahead.
A Latin-speaking woman was talking to several Turkic-speaking men. Their tone was heated, as if they were arguing. "What are the Tatars saying?" Yubi whispered to Yakov, "I haven't learned Turkic..."
“They say the monastery owes him twenty sheep,” Yakov replied in a low voice.
“How could the monastery owe the Tatars sheep?” Yubi asked, frowning. He then wiped his nose.
Yakov suddenly realized that he was the only one present who understood everything. He dismounted, grabbed the two reins, and told both horses to walk lightly along the edge of the woods. The three of them quietly approached the low wall of the monastery and finally saw what was inside: a short, stout nun with a neat headscarf was standing with her head held high, facing three Tatars riding around on horseback outside. The low wall was covered with vegetation, the dilapidated wooden door was closed and barely functional, and a flock of sheep was surrounded in the courtyard, jostling and bewildered.
Yubi pinched his nose with a handkerchief, slid off his horse, and sidled up behind Yakov. He had seen Tatars in Brasov, but the ones at the monastery gate seemed different from those he had seen in the city—they didn't carry whips like horse merchants, but each carried a hornbill bow under their arm, their stirrup bags were full of arrows, and curved knives were at their waists; they looked dangerous and barbaric.
"Should we take a detour?" Yubi asked, her voice thick with a nasal tone.
“Then we’ll have to go back to Brasov,” Yakov said. “All those ten days of hiking would have been for nothing.”
“Shall we hide in the nearby woods?” Schumer suggested again. “The Tatars are migrating to graze their livestock; they might be gone in a couple of days.”
“It’s winter now,” Yakov added. “When the Tatars spend the winter, they don’t graze their livestock; they just stay in one place and raid other places. Like these few people.”
“You know so much!” Yubi praised him, but then quickly became worried. “…What should we do?”
Schumer, standing nearby, wore a suspicious expression. He glanced at Yakov, wanting to say something, but remained silent.
The argument at the gate was growing increasingly heated. "Ten sheep this year, why twenty?" The old woman tried her best to remain composed, surrounding the flock. The animals nudged her skirt, making it difficult for her to stand. However, the Tatars didn't understand Latin, only gesturing and shouting the same phrase. The leader, on horseback, reached out to pull at the creaking gate. "You can't come in!" The old woman's face flushed red beneath her headscarf. "This is a Christian monastery! Greedy heretics, get out!"
The verbal conflict escalated into a physical shoving match. The Tatar muttered something under his breath, drew his scimitar from his waist, and spurred his horse into a rampage, trying to smash through the flimsy wooden door—Yubi's heart pounded in his throat. He wanted to say something, but Yakov's hand was firmly on his shoulder—the meaning was obvious. He could only bite his lip and watch the chaotic scene unfold.
The unarmed nun, terrified, knelt among the sheep, clutching the crucifix from her necklace to her hands in prayer. The Tatar's first assault failed, so his companion yanked the reins, ordering the horses to circle and try again. Soon, a large crack appeared in the door, the sound of breaking planks sending chills down one's spine.
"Yakov, can you beat them?" Yubi couldn't help but ask, "Go and help them!"
“This is just a scout; there are definitely more Tatars around.” Yakov held him tightly. “We shouldn’t expose ourselves.”
Yubi looked to Schumeer for help, but his artist friend remained silent. He turned away in silence.
The gate in the low wall was about to crumble, and even the sheep seemed to understand the gravity of the situation, their bleating rising and falling in panic. The Tatar's scimitars gleamed coldly, and with one more thud of their hooves, they could charge straight in. "Lord!" cried the nun, "Your sword should punish them and establish your authority!"
Yakov thought that if he were a true Templar Knight, he would be wielding the power of the sword of God as described in those words. Unfortunately, the red cross on his cloak held no sublime meaning for him. The wooden door was indeed smashed by hooves, and the Tatars, grinning maliciously, charged into the courtyard, scimitars in hand. Yakov noticed that Yubi's shoulders, beneath his gloves, were no longer struggling. The vampire simply awaited the impending tragedy. For some reason, this made him uneasy, and he even considered reaching out to cover Yubi's eyes—Yakov immediately dismissed the thought. The horrific scenes the vampire's child had witnessed were far more comforting than this.
They were prepared for bloodshed. Suddenly, a black-robed figure roared and leaped out from the inner courtyard, blocking the kneeling nun. Weapons clashed with a resounding clang.
Yubi reacted like a puppet suddenly brought to life. His eyes widened, and he gasped nervously. Suddenly, he pulled away from Yakov's grasp, bent over to cover his nose, and let out a muffled sneeze—not a loud one—in his handkerchief. However, the black horse beside him snorted and kicked. Immediately afterward, the donkey beside Schumer brayed loudly, its comical sound echoing along the edge of the woods.
"Who's there!" The fully armored figure in black robes shouted nervously, his voice muffled beneath his helmet. He straightened up, revealing a white octagonal cross on his chest. "Show yourself!"
Several more men in black robes with white crosses rushed out of the courtyard, each carrying a weapon. Yakov exchanged a glance with the panicked Yubi, shoved the sickly vampire behind him, and drew his sword. He led his horse slowly out of the forest's cover, ignoring Schumeer, who was still clinging tightly to the Muse's mouth. The three of them bumped into the main road and approached the doorway. The Tatars, surrounded from both sides, nervously circled their horses, raising their scimitars and urgently cursing something incomprehensible—Yubi, worried, hid behind Yakov, looking up at Yakov's cross helmet. He wondered, could Yakov defeat the Tatars?
Unexpectedly, Yakov said something Yakov couldn't understand and exchanged a few words with the Tatar leader in a foreign language. The bandits gradually calmed down and lowered their scimitars.
"What are you saying?" the black-robed man asked in surprise. He helped the nun up. Now, the sheep crowded around him.
“I asked him if he usually only asked for ten sheep.” Yakov turned to the nun and asked, “Do you give the Tatars ten sheep every year?”
“We had an agreement. If there were ten sheep each year, they wouldn’t come to the convent.” The nun’s tunic was covered in mud. She made the sign of the cross with her plump fingers, her voice filled with indignation and sorrow. “God is my witness, I never lie! Nobody told me it would suddenly become twenty sheep this year!”
Yakov nodded, then turned to the Tatar on horseback and spoke in Turkic. As they spoke, the leading Tatar, his face flushed and his brow furrowed, sheathed his scimitar. He and Yakov argued back and forth, occasionally exchanging barbs. Then, Yakov stepped into the yard, grabbing sheep by their necks and pulling them out—Yubi counted them with wide eyes; ten sheep were driven out and surrounded the Tatar's horse.
“Ten heads,” Yakov said to the nun, standing in front of the monastery’s dilapidated wooden door. He then turned to the Tatar and said a word—Yubi thought, that must be the Turkic word for ten. He silently memorized the word.
The Tatar leader of the squad, his chest heaving with rage, stared intently at everyone's faces. He grabbed a pendant from his chest and put it to his lips—only then did Yubi realize that the pendant was made of iron, like a small, delicate musical instrument. The Tatar raised his hand and fiddled with the pick that was sticking out from his lips.
The eerie sound he'd heard earlier in the distant valley exploded before his eyes. The sound sent chills down Yubi's spine, making his hair stand on end. Was this the special whistle Yakov had mentioned? The vampire shuddered again, glancing around. He then noticed several people hiding in the corner of the courtyard—women with tightly wrapped white headscarves were also trembling, peeking furtively towards the door; some were young girls, others were hunchbacked old women.
Fortunately, the terrifying whistle stopped, and the three Tatars rode away on their horses, leading the ten sheep that Yakov had brought out, along the other side of the mountain road.
Everyone stood there, watching the flock of sheep warily. Only when the last wagging sheep's tail disappeared over the hillside did the people hiding behind the wall dare to come out—not only the nuns, but also lepers with their faces wrapped in bandages, walking unsteadily.
The man in the black robe standing beside the nun sheathed his sword and removed his helmet. A familiar, handsome face appeared beneath. He had dark brown hair and youthful green eyes.
“I thank you, the nameless knight of the Zatschtnikov family. You are truly a savior sent by God, averting a terrible disaster.” Pascal thanked him solemnly in his Latin with a French accent. “What did you say to the Tatars?”
“I translated your words to them. I also said that he wanted ten more sheep to embezzle and deceive their Khan.” Yakov sheathed his ruby-inlaid longsword in its leather sheath. When he spoke Latin, his tone returned to its coldness. “If that’s the case, the Tatars won’t come back this year; if not, perhaps they will return with more people in a few days.”
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