Act Two: Crossroads (Part Seven)
seven
Yakov thought of that exquisite Venetian mirror. If he were to look into it now, he would surely see his haggard face and dark circles under his eyes. His heart pounded in his chest like an alarm bell. "You'd better go get some sleep!" Schumeer urged him. "I'll keep watch for you!"
This, however, reminded Yakov. He picked up the section of rope he had previously dropped, pressed Schumeer down, and looped the rope directly onto Schumeer's hand. "What are you doing?" Schumeer asked, his eyes wide.
"To prevent some greedy Jew from stealing my things and running away," Yakov said. He quickly tied the knot and then tied the other end of the rope to Yubi's bedside.
Schumer didn't complain for long; soon he leaned against the wall and fell asleep again. Yakov calculated the time; Schumer hadn't slept more than him and Yubi last night. Now he was the only one awake in the room.
He didn't squeeze onto the tattered straw bed with Yubi, but instead found a spot near the door and lay down on the ground. He didn't dare take off his chainmail, and held his longsword to his chest, gripping the hilt tightly in his right hand. He even considered putting on his helmet, but it was too uncomfortable, so he had to take it off and hold it with him as well.
Yakov was surprised to find himself unable to fall asleep. He thought it must be his tense nerves that were keeping him restless. He closed his eyes tightly, but even then, he couldn't relax the muscles in his brow and eyelids. Horrible images of blood-stained windows and the dazzling treasures hidden in the stables, mixed with the faces of Yubi and Camilla, danced before his eyes. He wearily opened his eyes again and saw that the sun was already setting outside the small window; it was past noon. Yakov thought he needed to think of something pleasant to help him fall asleep. He forced himself to close his eyes again.
What is good, what is suitable for dreaming? Yakov thought, now he was a rich man, a knight, he should indeed enjoy himself. He recalled his most chaotic and decadent days, when he spent his days in taverns, giving any money he had to gamblers, bartenders, or prostitutes. Once, luck seemed to smile upon him, and he took that money to the most beautiful girl in the brothel. The girl was also a Slav, blonde and blue-eyed. She had her own room, incense burning, tapestries hanging. She was also a shrewd businesswoman, supple, and had a sweet tongue. Yakov lied to her, saying he was a Rus' prince, not a slave or mercenary. The girl didn't expose his lie, but touched his brow bone and stroked his eyebrows. "Sir, your eyes are so beautiful, like icebergs at sea," she said, taking the money from Yakov's pocket. But Yakov gave it to her willingly.
He tried to recall the feeling of the girl undressing him and pressing her body against him. Yakov was almost asleep, feeling comfortable. The girl quietly and gently removed his helmet, then carefully pried open his iron gauntlets and moved his longsword. Then, her soft hands went around his neck, searching for the buckle on his chainmail. The girl was clever; she quickly figured out how it was secured and successfully opened his collar, exposing his chest and neck. A pair of cold, sharp-nailed hands pressed against them, feeling the throbbing veins in his neck.
Yakov suddenly awoke. He found that it was already dark, and the embers in the small stove burned half-dead, casting a hideous shadow on the sloping beams. He looked down and saw a vampire, as cold as a corpse, lying on top of him, its mouth open, two sharp fangs cleverly bent out of its mouth, gleaming coldly, examining his bare neck.
"Why are you awake?" Yubi immediately pressed his face down to stop him from struggling. Yakov saw the eerie red light emanating from those red eyes, which made him drowsy again, half-asleep. He tried to close his eyes again.
“Yakov, I’m hungry. I haven’t had any blood to drink all day.” Yubi buried his face in the crook of his neck, something wet and cold licking his veins. “You have to remember to feed me blood at least once a day.”
Yakov felt relieved. It was his duty. He thought, Yubi is a vampire, of course he has to drink blood, what else can he do? So he closed his eyes, quietly and obediently stretching out his neck, making room for him. Yubi hesitated for a long time, not taking a bite. He sniffed around there, finally choosing a spot and pressing his fangs against it.
Like a needle piercing paper, with a gentle bite, two sharp teeth plunged into Yakov's veins. Yakov felt a slight pain, but more so a pleasure and intimacy, reminding him of his virginity on his wedding night. Yubi's lips covered him tightly, skillfully sucking through the two small openings. The warmth of her body flowed into his mouth with his blood, giving Yakov a strange, chilling sensation. For some reason, Yakov felt a little shy. It was like surrendering his body and soul to his master, a joy of devotion, a blissful enslavement…
Alarm bells rang in his mind, a scene of utter chaos. Yakov awoke with a second start. Two teeth were embedded in him like rusty nails, the pain making his jaw chatter. He grabbed Yubi's shoulders and shoved him away recklessly. The vampire's fangs didn't retract in time, slashing a large gash across his neck. Yakov clutched at the wound; blood flowed. Fortunately, the wound wasn't deep.
"You're insane! Are you out of your mind?!" Yubi covered her mouth, spitting out a mouthful of blood. "My God, this tastes awful. Do you have to make your blood taste this bad? I've never tasted blood this bad before..."
Yakov thought, "Is my blood hard to drink? Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" He felt both disappointed and relieved. "What did you do to me?" he pressed.
“I’m just trying to make you feel better, to make your blood taste better!” Yubi glanced at Schumeer, who was slumped over the headboard. The Jew seemed unawakened, his mouth agape and drooling. Yubi muttered again in a low voice, “Blood tastes good when people are happy, and it tastes bad when they are in pain.”
"So I not only have to give you my blood, I have to give it to you willingly and happily?" Yakov found it absurd. Extreme anger made him want to laugh. "Why should I?"
"Why should I! You just need to lie down obediently, not interrupt me, and not struggle, and you can enjoy yourself! It's your own fault for refusing to do it and for resisting!" Yubi argued with him, her neck stiff. "This is the first time I've seen a blood slave like you. Other blood slaves are scrambling to do things, but you refuse!"
Yakov hated this kind of rhetoric more than anything in his life. He stood up, his eyes blazing with rage, looking like a terrifying demon in the dim firelight, like a high wall covered in spikes. Yubi was terrified, all his bravado vanished, yet he stubbornly held his head high to confront him, completely oblivious to his own unreasonable behavior. "How dare you treat me like this!" his voice trembled, his lips shaking, "If I don't drink your blood, whose will I drink!"
“Why don’t you turn him into a blood slave too?” Yakov said, pointing at Shumel. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Jew shudder, but still keep his eyes tightly shut, trying to pretend to snore. “He would definitely be more willing to take care of your every need than I am, and be even more considerate, wouldn’t he? It would save me the trouble of ‘fighting’ for this honor of serving you!”
"I don't know how!" Yubi's eyes welled with tears of anger, but she forced them back. "No one has ever taught me how to do this. How am I supposed to know how to turn a person into a blood slave? You're all I have left!"
Yakov suddenly felt a pang of heartache. That fleeting moment of compassion instantly transformed into a numbing, agonizing pain. He thought, he had wronged the child. Realizing this, the pain intensified, forcing him to abandon his confrontation and sit down, massaging the mark on the left side of his chest as he gasped for breath. Yakov discovered he was gradually grasping the pattern: whether the mark activated or not depended entirely on his true inner thoughts. The more he felt he was disobeying orders, the more severe the punishment would be. Yakov looked again at Yubi's pitiful, aggrieved face. He thought, these vampire creatures are truly as the bards sang, insightful about human nature, pointing directly to weaknesses. At the same time, he regretfully realized: he was far less heartless than he had imagined.
"So what can you do?" Yakov asked. "What did your mother teach you?"
Yubi stood there, biting his lip, silent, as if enduring immense humiliation. He stared stubbornly into Yakov's eyes. Yakov thought, this kid isn't entirely brainless. He doesn't want me to know his true nature. It's just a pity that such a low-level cover-up belongs only to those who have nothing. He can't even tell a lie.
"You can't do anything, can you?" Yakov squinted at him. "Camilla can make a whole room of people unable to hear me scream. She kills them, leaving their blood all over the walls and floors. She can say a word to me and brand me, turning me into a blood slave, unable to defy her dying wish. Oh, and I guess she can also turn into a giant white bat."
"Your mother is a terrible monster. And you can't do anything?"
"I'll learn it all when I grow up," Yubi said softly.
"Aren't you old enough?" Yakov continued to probe him sarcastically. "Even a child from an ordinary noble family, by the time he grows to your height, should have spent several years learning horseback riding and swordsmanship, and perhaps even seen battle a few times. Your mother is dead, and you can't even find the steward or tax collector. You can't even continue living in the castle; you have to go to your sister's house."
"Without your mother, you can only turn to a stranger like me. What will you do without me? When will you finally grow up?"
Although Yubi was facing away from the firelight, Yakov could still see that he was stiff and blushing with shame. But those red eyes refused to look away. This reminded Yakov of stories about training falcons: hunters would take eaglets from their nests, put heavy iron shackles on their talons, and offer them fresh, red flesh to their beaks. "Not all eagles survive," the hunter said. "Some starve to death, refusing to accept any food; others accept it, sharing their vision with humans, becoming their eyes and wings. As for whose eyes are brighter, whose wings are fuller, does anyone care? If you truly want the freedom to soar, you wouldn't let yourself be born without ever having the chance to fly. An eagle needs to open its beak and eat meat to survive."
Yakov wondered, what would Yubi choose?
Yubi's lips trembled for a while before he spoke. "Mother said to let nature take its course." He said firmly, "She said that precisely because I will grow up, I should cherish the time before I grow up even more. Who says that it has to be terrifying and cruel, killing many people? She said that the most important thing is to make yourself happy, not to rush to grow up or rush to prove your strength to others. This is the same whether she is here or not."
Yakov was speechless. His anger subsided, and he let out a long sigh, a strange sense of relief washing over him. Yakov thought to himself, this child is either excessively naive or frighteningly strong. Sometimes it's the same thing. How could he not resent his mother? Seeing his privileges vanish and him reduced to this state, why doesn't he give in? And how long can he hold on?
"...Have you eaten enough?" Yakov asked.
“No,” Yubi said honestly. This seemingly comforting question finally made him lower his head, his expression hidden in darkness. “But I don’t want your blood anymore.”
Yakov inwardly mocked himself and Yubi. It wasn't for Yubi's sake, but to make himself feel better. He convinced himself to stand up, find the empty soup bowl, and then pick up the longsword from the scattered straw on the ground. "You're not allowed to use that bowl. It's too dirty; I'll throw up," Yubi immediately ordered, looking up. "Go find me a clean cup."
“Didn’t you say you didn’t want my blood?” Yakov took the wooden bowl that had contained the vegetable soup paste, removed his gloves, rolled up his sleeves, and exposed his wrist. His brow twitched slightly, and with a swift stroke of his longsword, blood trickled into the bowl, pooling into a puddle. “Who said it was for you?”
Yubi looked troubled as he watched Yakov quickly treat his wound, then leave the bowl of murky blood to dry before lying back down to sleep with his longsword. He walked over in his heels, his face contorted with disgust, but he reluctantly lowered his head to taste it, letting out a retching sound.
“I really feel like throwing up. This blood is so murky and cold,” Yubi complained. “But it still tastes much better than before.”
Yakov turned his back to him, closed his eyes, and remained silent. He felt no joy at the successful training of the hawk.
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