Act IV: Under the Mask (Part Two)
two
"Stop!" Yubi shouted. "Why don't you stop? Put me down!"
"Straighten your back, lift your buttocks, find the rhythm!" Yakov shouted as well. "Don't squeeze so tight, relax your legs!"
He picked up a block of salt, spread his arms wide, and shouted loudly, raising his palms above his head before finally stopping the black-haired, white-hoofed Turkic horse. It was a young, spirited horse, still prone to panic; it snorted several times and paced around, stamping its hooves, before finally calming down and licking the salt with its tongue. Yubi tumbled dejectedly from his saddle, his palms sweaty. Yakov, however, didn't comfort him, but instead gently soothed the horse, stroking its long cheek. The horse, too, was sweating, a milky white liquid running down its body, surrounded by a hazy mist of steam.
"I don't want to learn anymore!" Yubi shouted. "I don't like running so fast!"
“This is a fine horse, don’t waste it.” Yakov took a cloth and wiped the horse’s sweaty body. “It would be a shame to use it as an ordinary trotting horse.”
"If you say it's a good horse, why does it listen to you but not me?" Yubi asked, sitting on the ground, unconvinced.
“If you go too fast, you’ll forget everything I taught you,” Yakov said. “You can’t squeeze the spurs that hard. It will hurt.”
“Why use this instrument of torture to command it!” Yube sighed. “Can’t we just not use the Spurs?”
“That’s not your concern,” Yakov said, his tone anything but gentle towards a horse. “You didn’t grow up with this horse. How can you make it understand your intentions without spurs?”
“Feelings can be cultivated.” Schumeer was sitting on a large rock by the roadside, painting the sunset and withered leaves. Yakov had given him half of his payment in advance so he could buy new painting supplies. He grinned, holding up the silver-tipped pen. “If you ask me, why don’t we name both horses first? The female Athena, and the male Apollo. What do you think?”
Hearing this, Yubi beamed with joy. But Yakov frowned and turned cold. He handed the reins to Yubi.
“Both are stallions.” The Slav slapped Yubi hard on the back. “One more time. Go to the river on the other side of the road and ride back.”
They avoided crowds and villages, choosing instead to follow narrow paths. Leaving Brasov and heading south across the Carpathian Mountains, they would soon be out of Transylvania's gloomy and unpredictable forests and mountains. They traveled along rivers through valleys, and the scenery had changed—the snow had softened, and the trees and grasses appeared vibrant and lively. The river had thawed, and torrents surged from the gaps in the ice. For the first time, Yubi saw a waterfall—icy water poured down from beneath a half-frozen, half-thawed ice sheet, covering the surrounding vegetation with white, translucent ice and snow, like works of art made of agate and diamonds. They fetched water there to drink and to water their horses. Yakov's hunting spoils became plentiful and varied—rabbits, pheasants, roe deer—and the surplus meat was cut into small pieces, hung over the campfire to dry, and stored as jerky.
"What kind of meat is this again?" Yubi took a piece of torn meat from Yakov's hand and brought it to his nose to smell.
“A waterbird caught by the river. White feathers.” Yakov continued tearing the jerky into small pieces.
Schumeer frowned, his nose wrinkling silently in disgust. But Yubi didn't care. He stuffed the shredded meat into his mouth, chewed it a couple of times with his cheeks puffed out, but quickly spat it out with a pained expression, throwing the scraps into the fire.
"How could you eat this?" Yubi rinsed his mouth with a water bag. "Yakov, you really should improve your cooking skills."
“You asked me for it yourself,” Yakov said dismissively. “If you don’t like it, try Schumeer’s.”
Yubi glanced at the oat grains in Schumacher's small pot and clicked his tongue in disinterest. He stood up and looked up at the chamois leaping on the cliff. "Can you catch that?" he asked.
“Unless it falls off the cliff itself,” Yakov said, “don’t even think about catching it.”
"It's really amazing!" Yubi exclaimed. "Even you couldn't catch it!"
Yakov was used to this sudden, flattering feeling, and simply asked in a calm voice, "It's amazing? It's not as amazing as you." He said, his tone devoid of any hint of praise or criticism, "When are you going to tell me about the ring?"
Upon hearing this question, Yubi sat back down, falling silent and appearing hesitant and thoughtful.
“You’d better tell me sooner rather than later.” Yakov sliced meat with a knife, the blade clanging. “Once we’re down the mountain and on the steppe, I can’t keep this secret while also guarding against the Tatars.”
“Ah! It only takes two weeks to get to the Danube. Once you cross the river and enter Byzantium, you won’t have to worry about the Tatars anymore.” Schumer was building a small pot stand with stones, the firelight reflecting on his face. “Instead of thinking about that, you should think about how to enter the country. Do you have a pass?”
"Pass?" Yubi straightened up. "What pass?"
“A pass to the great Roman Empire!” Schumer grinned. “They need to verify your identity and assets, and confirm whether your guarantor is trustworthy. It’s a vast empire with strict systems in every detail, unlike a small town like Brasov where you can just slip in a couple of gold coins. The riverbanks are lined with guards, watching closely.”
"You have that stuff?" Yakov swallowed the bits of meat and bread with his drink.
“Of course I have one! Everyone born in Venice has a document from the Doge. But you can’t use mine.” Schumer even seemed proud of the way he stirred the porridge with a small spoon, his little finger waving proudly. “Logically speaking, Yubi is a nobleman; if he were writing a letter to some important figure in Constantinople, he wouldn’t need this. As for Yakov, when you got this chainmail, didn’t you rummage through your luggage and look for the Knights Templar’s documents?”
Yakov frowned. He was illiterate; how could he possibly know what was written on that scrap of paper?
Schumacher looked at the two men opposite him, one dumbfounded, the other utterly speechless. He shrugged. "Then you'll have to find a way to sneak across. That's not going to be easy."
“You have your way, and I have mine.” Yakov buried his head in the firewood and added more fuel. “A pass isn’t necessary; life is.”
After a hearty meal, Yakov leaned against a tree root, half-asleep. At the market in Brasov, he had bought two large iron padlocks to fasten to the lid of his chest; the keys, wrapped in cloth, were hidden in his small leather satchel and tied to his belt loop, so he could sleep more peacefully at night. The further south they went, the warmer the temperature became. Yubi didn't want to sleep next to him, only turning her back to him, curling herself up in her cloak to keep Yakov from staring at the ruby ring. But Yakov knew that when the night grew cooler, she would surely feel cold again, turning back in her sleep to hug his chainmail-covered arm, as if the soft body of his mother or maid was still beside him.
As soon as Yakov closed his eyes, Schumeer's map appeared before him. Mountains and rivers were lightly drawn and marked on the map, but the journey would be long and arduous, requiring several pairs of horseshoes to be worn down. Yakov couldn't help but think, how wonderful it would be if Yubi were as capable as his mother? Yakov indulged in a romantic fantasy: how wonderful it would be if Yubi could also become a giant bat, holding him with its claws, carrying him with its enormous wings, flying over city walls, over towering mountains, over grasslands and tribes, over castles and lords! But suddenly, a sense of inferiority and caution arose in his mind: if that were the case, what value did he have that would make him worth being taken away, and where would their destination be?
He tossed and turned, hearing Schumeer humming an unknown tune in high spirits. The humming soon faded into the chirping of forest insects and birds, then turned into a snore. Yakov glanced again at the two horses and the donkey. Yubi's young black horse was half-reclined in a pile of leaves with the Muse, while the large, chestnut Norman horse he had personally stolen stood straight in the darkness, alert. Truly a fine warhorse. Yakov couldn't tell if it was awake or asleep, and let out a long sigh, unsure whether to praise or pity.
Yubi rolled over beside him and hugged his arm. Yakov thought that the pampered little prince was finally getting used to camping and was falling asleep faster and faster. This was not unexpected. As in the previous nights, Yakov quietly and subtly moved his arm, trying to pull his sleeve out of the vampire's embrace without waking him.
Suddenly, Yubi's arms tightened like pincers. "Yakov, get up," a faint voice came from the crook of the chainmail arm. "I'll tell you about the ring now."
Yakov was stunned. In the darkness, he saw the black Turkic horse lying down, its beautiful, smooth tail swaying behind it like a cobra with its fleshy wings puffed out, dancing to lure its prey.
“Take off your gloves,” Yubi whispered, not wanting to wake Schumacher, “and then hold my hand.”
"Why?" Yakov asked. "Just tell me."
"If you keep doing this, I'm not going to tell you anymore!" Yubi glared at him, annoyed. "Hurry up!"
Yakov rolled his eyes. He first glanced at the Jew, who was sleeping with his back to them, then scanned the surrounding forest and meadows under the night sky, and finally stared at the campfire for a while before slowly removing the iron glove from his right hand. "Take both off!" Yubi angrily reminded him. Only then did he awkwardly remove the other glove.
Two rough, dry hands, like cracked stones, were revealed, their nails grayish-white, their knuckles calloused. A pair of strong but unloved hands. Yakov suddenly felt an awkward embarrassment, as if he were naked. But Yubi, without hesitation, immediately grasped his fingers. The vampire's hands were soft, warm, and pampered. Holding them together, Yakov felt as if his own hands had become as delicate and smooth as Yubi's. He had thought his rough fingers could no longer appreciate such luxurious touch.
“Now, take off my ring.” Yubi looked up and stared into his eyes.
Yakov looked back at the red eyes, then at the two clasped hands. He fumbled for Yubi's left middle finger, and hastily slipped the ring off. In an instant, his other hand, which he was holding, suddenly turned icy cold, like a corpse just pulled from an ice hole—confirming Yakov's earlier suspicion. His disheveled eyebrows twitched slightly.
"Can you feel it?" Yubi said coldly. "Touch my chest again."
It was as if a lifeless corpse lay before him. Yakov thought, this isn't human. So, without hesitation, he placed his hand on Yubi's thin chest inside his cloak. Clearly, there was no heartbeat. Yakov's hand moved upwards to Yubi's neck; there was no pulse. Yakov then checked his nose with his fingers; of course, there was no breath there either—like an ice sculpture, no, a ceramic one. Yakov thought, even ice can melt.
“Like a corpse,” he commented briefly. “Like your mother.”
“Give me your knife,” Yubi said again, “the one you’re wearing on your waist.”
"what you up to?"
"Don't ask, just give it to me!"
Yakov hesitated for a moment, reaching for the scabbard on his belt to give it to him. But Yubi brushed his hand aside, snatched the hilt, and drew the dagger. Yakov's heart leaped into his throat, his markings pounding. "Don't be so tense!" Yubi said, while simultaneously slicing the blade against his own palm. "Judging from your expression, you're no different from other blood slaves."
Red blood flowed from the wound, only to quickly flow back in. In the blink of an eye, the knife cut had healed perfectly—just as Yakov had seen at von Brunel's mansion. The wound was so small, the recovery so rapid, that one might even suspect Yubi had simply performed a bluff. "See? Without the ring, I can't get hurt, and I can't feel any pain," Yubi boasted. "Look at how scared you are! I can hear your heart pounding like a drum, and I can see the blood rushing to your face."
"If you take off the ring, can you still hear your heartbeat and see blood?" Yakov's brows furrowed as if nailed together. "Why would you need me to look after you? You might as well throw away the ring and go on your way."
“That won’t do.” Yubi took the ring from his hand. “We’re traveling during the day, and if I take off the ring, I won’t be able to see the sun.”
Yakov was a little puzzled. He recalled the lyrics of the village bard when he first entered the castle, and then he remembered Yubi saying that he slept during the day—vampires couldn't see the sun, which seemed to be true. But he persisted, asking, "What would happen if you saw the sun? Would you be burned to death by the sunlight?"
“I’ve seen my mother standing in the sun…and I’ve tried it once too. It hurts a lot, and it makes my skin break out in sores and blisters. I can’t be seen in public.” Yubi stared at him. “…But there are other reasons.”
"If I don't wear this ring, I won't be able to grow up."
"Can't grow up?"
“Yes,” Yubi said. “My mother said that vampires don’t get old. I have to wear this ring, otherwise, even after 18 years, I’ll still be a baby, like I was just born.”
A strange, inexplicable feeling welled up in Yakov's heart, making him extremely irritable. He thought of Mrs. Camilla's young face and was about to say something when he heard Schumeer turn over again across from him. The two fell silent immediately. Fortunately, his painter friend wasn't woken up; he seemed to be having a nightmare and soon fell silent again.
"...So you really are 18?" Yakov asked.
“Absolutely true.” Yubi nodded. “My mother told me to wear this ring and not take it off until I grow up.” He suddenly looked away. “…If I hadn’t disobeyed her and kept taking it off, I might be as tall as you now.”
A mocking smile flickered across Yakov's lips, then vanished just as quickly. He thought, some boys do grow taller late, not reaching their full height until they're sixteen or seventeen. But Yubi might not be like that. He thought of himself—when he was twelve or thirteen, he was already taller than most of the slaves in the Batur tribe, looking almost like an adult.
"When will you grow up?" Yakov asked. "When will you feel that you no longer need this ring?"
Yubi was silent for a moment. "I don't know," he said softly, "...not now, anyway."
Yakov stared at his face, silent. “Let me see it.” He held out his hand, palm open. “Your ring.”
Without hesitation, Yubi placed the ruby ring directly into Yakov's hand. Yakov took it, holding up the wondrous little object to examine it in the firelight. The blood-red gem shimmered with a translucent glow. He then noticed that the ring's setting was open, the back featuring a pair of soft, unidentified metallic arcs—meaning its size could be adjusted, allowing anyone to wear it. A strange desire arose within Yakov, like an evil seed.
"What would happen if I wore it?" Yakov suddenly asked.
“How should I know?” Yubi shrugged nonchalantly. “But I secretly tried it on other blood slaves when I was a kid. They all said nothing happened.”
Yakov was eager to try. He hesitated, then slipped his finger into the open ring—unfortunately, as Yubi had said, the ring was just an ordinary ornament on his hand. He felt nothing.
“What are you expecting? After all, you’re just a human being.” Yubi smirked indifferently. He snatched the ring back from Yakov’s hand, slipped it back onto his left middle finger, and squeezed it firmly. The air around him instantly warmed up again. “Alright, now you know my secret.” Yubi jumped up and walked lightly towards the tree roots. “You don’t need to rush me or ask me anymore!”
Yakov also rose from the fire. He glanced in Schumeer's direction—the Jew was sleeping in a strange posture, his arm raised to cover his eyes, his mouth wide open, snoring, looking no different from a donkey burying its face in the hay.
He thought his rigid and coarse heart could remain completely unmoved, so he lay down to sleep with Yubi at the tree roots. Soon, Yakov drifted into a deep sleep. In his dream, Yubi had grown into a man, not much shorter than him. The newly grown vampire spread a huge black membranous wing, causing the sun to hide and day to turn into night. His face lost its last trace of childishness, becoming as cold as a marble statue. He grabbed Yakov with his hands, which had long, sharp black nails. Yakov thought, "Is he going to take me over everything, away from everything, to establish a new order?" But those beautiful, mature features quickly twisted and split, turning into a terrifying, blood-red maw, with sticky, scarlet fangs piercing into Yakov's body, causing the vampire slave to howl in agony.
Yakov reached out and, unwillingly, grabbed the bloodthirsty monster by the neck, squeezing it tightly with all his might.
Suddenly, the monster reverted to its familiar form—Yubi stared at him with those large, red eyes, limp and boneless. Yakov was terrified, gripping the boy's dying, slender neck and pressing him firmly to the ground. He suddenly realized his palms were covered in blood—a gaping hole in Yubi's neck, from which blood gushed, staining the fine, white cotton fabric of his nightgown crimson.
The intense pain from the engraving made Yakov sit up, his eyes bloodshot. He turned to look at the innocent face in his arms, completely oblivious to the pain. Yubi was sleeping peacefully, her arms wrapped around his. Her breaths were rhythmic, her chest rising and falling, so full of life.
This heartwarming and lovely scene, however, fueled a terrifying urge to destroy and kill within Yakov's chest. He remained silent, staring intently at the vampire beside him. But contrary to his wishes, and naturally, Camilla's last words made him feel as if his body had been stripped of its strength, leaving him utterly drained and devoid of any energy.
Yakov gritted his teeth and endured the rest of the night, utterly exhausted. But eventually, he regained his composure and welcomed the peaceful sunrise the next day. As dawn broke, the nightmare no longer seemed so terrifying.
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