Act One: The Shadow of the Gods (Part Four)
Four
The skilled Jew quickly disappeared around a corner. Yakov didn't look for him, but silently picked up the gold coins from the carpet. He was tired and hungry, knowing he couldn't catch up with a lightly dressed man. Finding a way out, he decided to steal a horse and leave.
Unfortunately, Yakov discovered with dismay that he not only couldn't remember the way he had come, but he also couldn't find the warm little rooms where the others were. He dragged his heavy chainmail through the cold stone castle, and outside he could faintly hear the wind howling through the stone bricks, like the sobs of a woman or child, as if a thousand ghosts were floating outside, wailing and unable to find peace. Most of the rooms in the mansion didn't have fireplaces lit, and apart from avoiding the biting wind, the temperature wasn't any better than outside. Yakov passed through several strange and eerie narrow passages that seemed like secret passages, and then through several familiar-looking halls. Gradually, his wrist, which held the longsword, ached so much that he could no longer move it.
Yakov stopped thinking about looting. Being caught as a thief was better than becoming a lost wanderer. A strong sense of regret overwhelmed him. Damn it, Yakov thought, I should have run away before going up the mountain—but there's no going back.
As he walked, Yakov faintly heard a noisy, rapid sound of footsteps and laughter coming from the other side of a wall. He quickly pressed his ear against the stone bricks to listen and recognized the voice of Father Ferenc's page. The people were laughing and joking, making their way merrily on the other side of the wall.
"I'm here! I'm lost!" Yakov pounded on the wall with his iron gauntlet, his anxious voice echoing down the corridor, but no one answered. Yakov blinked nervously. "I've found a treasure trove! There's a chest full of jewels and gold coins!" he shouted, but still no reply. Footsteps and laughter continued relentlessly in one direction, undeterred by any distraction.
Yakov broke out in a cold sweat. He followed the sound along the wall, desperately trying to pinpoint their location. A moment later, he was overjoyed to find the view of the room had changed—he had entered a magnificent, high corridor. Huge stained-glass windows replaced half of the upper wall, light streaming through and casting colorful shadows on the stone floor. “Damn it, can’t you hear me? I’m right here, you deaf bunch!” Yakov shouted, looking up at the glass window. He leaned closer, only to find, to his dismay, that the lowest edge of the window frame was higher than his head. He couldn’t see what was happening on the other side.
The crowd seemed to settle behind the stained-glass windows, followed by the scraping sounds of tables and chairs against the stone bricks. People began to chatter amongst themselves. Gradually, the sounds of lutes and hand drums arose. The music grew more lively, and everyone joyfully pounded their fists on the table to add to the merriment.
A surge of hidden jealousy and resentment gripped Yakov. He raised his longsword and smashed it against the glass, not caring how much money he would have to pay. But the window was too high, and Yakov couldn't muster the strength to even crack it.
Undeterred, he took a few steps back, trying to use the momentum to push off the wall and try again—but to no avail.
Yakov tried several more times, trying to concentrate his force on a single point and even attempting to throw it. Unfortunately, neither the hilt nor the blade could damage the thick glass. He breathed heavily in frustration, listening to the cheerful sounds of revelry and feasting across the way, even a woman's laughter and panting—was that Camilla's voice? Damn it, maybe once they've all had their fill, they'll remember I even exist.
Yakov was exhausted. He sat down against the opposite wall, succumbing to the cold corridor, listening only to the indistinct, lively laughter, and gazing coldly at the magnificent windows.
Most stained glass windows are used in churches, and Yakov had only ever seen them in churches. When sunlight shines through them, the mysterious and holy light can feel like a spiritual cleansing. But these windows are placed in places where they don't receive sunlight, indicating that the owner only wanted to illuminate their stained glass with candlelight at night. Of course, these windows don't depict saints or angels; Yakov looked closely and discovered that the windows were decorated with a series of pictures.
The first painting, in the center of the window, depicts a woman with jet-black hair and blood-red eyes. Her body hangs brightly in the night, worshipped by a crowd of people dressed in animal skins, who offer cattle, sheep, and children as sacrifices to her over a bonfire on the hillside. The second painting shows this woman devouring living creatures, eating raw meat and drinking blood. She hides in a cave, far from the light, refusing to expose even an inch of her skin to the sun. In the third painting, the woman has become a corpse. People surround her, watching her head fall down the steps, her long, wavy hair turning from black to white, her tears turning into blood that flows into streams. The fourth painting is the woman's grave. Her hair is now snow-white, covering her entire body. In the grave, she embraces a bright, vivid red gemstone, its brilliance shattering the chains surrounding the grave into dust.
Yakov stared blankly at the patterns on the windows. He couldn't understand them. He thought, perhaps this was just another kind of pastime enjoyed by the extravagant and decadent nobles, a pastime he couldn't comprehend. More concerned than these bizarre tidbits was whether the roast meat and wine across the street were still warm. The loud, boisterous laughter and music grew increasingly louder, almost audible throughout the entire mansion. Yakov thought resentfully, "Why can't they hear me shouting?" He was so hungry that he could barely move without eating something.
Suddenly, all sound ceased. Yakov was startled and immediately scrambled to his feet.
First came a clanging sound of metal striking metal, as if a mutiny or murder had occurred on the other side of the window. Then, large spurts of blood, like blooming flowers, sprayed onto the opposite side of the stained glass window, turning even the shadows crimson. It started at the bottom, then moved to the top, as if a giant behind the window had grabbed people from the crowd, torn them apart, and used their blood as paint to scribble on the glass. Soon, the entire window was dotted with these red, explosion-shaped patterns, resembling fireworks at first glance. All the drawings on the window were stained red, and the flowing blood gave the glass paintings a life of their own, making them shimmer faintly.
Yakov trembled violently, barely daring to breathe. He gripped the longsword tightly, trying to stop his trembling hands, but to no avail. The surroundings were as quiet as a tomb, save for the mournful whistling of the wind and snow. Yakov watched helplessly as the blood flowed down the other side of the glass, past the intricate window frame patterns, and finally dripped down.
He turned his head and saw that the Jew who had slipped away from under his nose earlier—Shumer—was standing on the other side of the corridor, just as terrified as he was, limp and leaning against the wall.
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