Act Two: Crossroads (Part Two)
two
“Let me ask you a few questions,” Yubi said.
"What's the problem?" Yakov asked curtly. His voice was muffled and cold under his helmet.
“I will ask every blood slave a question.” Yubi was a little angry. “You’re really being rude.”
Yakov fell silent.
Yubi didn't know if this meant agreement, but he didn't care. Traveling in the chilly, post-snowy morning, his face and ears were red with cold, and he wanted to huddle closer to the person behind him for warmth. But Yakov's thick, icy metal rings were colder than the snow. Even snow can melt with body heat, Yubi thought. He was already uncomfortable in the bumpy saddle, and could only awkwardly shift his position forward, adjusting his posture to give his aching legs a rest. But Yakov seemed quite unhappy about this. He pressed down on Yubi's waist.
“This is a very good saddle,” Yakov said, holding the reins. “Don’t move it.”
“Fine.” Yubi turned back to look at him, displeased. No need to guess, those messy blond eyebrows were definitely furrowed behind the metal frame. “I have questions for you to answer. First question, what’s your name?”
“Yakov,” said the owner of the name, “didn’t I tell you?”
“And the surname?” Yubi asked.
Yakov paused for a moment, seemingly hesitating about something. The horse walked a few steps in the snow, passing a few trees. "I have no surname," he replied.
“How come you don’t have a surname?” Yubi asked in surprise, turning her head to look at him again. “Everyone has a surname.”
"Don't move around, and don't keep turning around," Yakov said angrily, pressing him down again. "You're making the horse uncomfortable."
It seemed he wasn't going to answer the question, Yubi thought. That was alright; he had a long list of questions to ask.
"Next question, how old are you?"
39 years old.
Yubi wanted to turn back again, but this time he held back. "You're one of the oldest blood slaves I know," he yawned. "I've heard that it's rare for people outside to live to this age."
Yakov fell silent again. Yubi thought that perhaps his earlier words had offended him. He quickly raised a new question.
"Where are you from?" Yubi asked. "What is your hometown?"
“I have no hometown,” Yakov said.
"How can a person not have a hometown?" Yubi asked curiously, but couldn't help turning back again. "Where you were born is your hometown!"
Yakov finally couldn't take it anymore. He yanked hard on the reins, the bit bringing the horse to a stop. "Boy, I don't need to answer your questions. What good would it do you?" He stood stiffly on the horse's back, like a wall of ice. "If you insist on humiliating me, kill me like your mother killed someone, and go to Constantinople alone. If you don't want to, then stay quiet and obediently on horseback as I say."
"How did I humiliate you?" Yubi shouted angrily. "I just asked you a few questions! Asking where you were born is humiliating you?"
"Vampire children are really hard to frighten," Yakov thought with a headache. He had nothing to say, so he sighed and gently spurred his horse to continue on its way through the snow. But Yubi didn't let him off the hook because of his concession. "Tell me, Yakov. Where were you born?"
"...a place you've never heard of."
Yubi's red eyes darted around. "Where? Is it far from here?" he asked. "Is it marked on Schumacher's map?"
“No,” Yakov replied curtly.
“That’s very far,” Yubi said, sounding excited. “Where is it? South or north, east or west? What kind of place is it?”
“It’s not a good place.” Yakov reined in his horse with one hand and pulled out the map again with the other to find his way. He couldn’t help but glance at the edge of the map—it was a map of the surrounding mountains, and his birthplace wouldn’t be there. Yubi peeked out from under the map, his fur hooded collar pushed forward. “Show me, where is your hometown on this map?”
Yakov thought that he wouldn't have any peace on the journey if he didn't give Yubi an answer. So he casually pointed to the northeast on the map and then quickly put it back into the wooden box.
“Then your hometown must be very cold,” Yubi said thoughtfully. “Even colder than here.”
Yubi was right, Yakov thought. He secretly breathed a sigh of relief—the kid didn't seem to know anything special about that side of the road.
Soon, following the markings on the map, they successfully emerged from the forest and reached a muddy path. The sun had been out for a while, melting the snow into puddles of greyish snowflakes. Horse hooves trampled the snow, crushing it completely into the mud.
Yakov tensed. He was about to enter the village—where people lived—with two whole chests of gold, silver, and silk tied to his horse's rump. Yakov didn't trust either of them. They sat high on their horses, like conspicuous sitting ducks. But then Yakov remembered that he was now wearing a white robe with a red cross and chainmail, and he carried a sharp longsword. He should be able to handle this.
"Yakov, is that the village ahead?" Yubi asked, fidgeting and looking even more nervous than he was. "I've never seen a real village before."
“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Yakov said casually, as if talking to himself. “Nobody knows you.”
"Look over there!" Yubi suddenly straightened his back and looked straight ahead, startling Yakov, who followed suit.
There stood a pillar, signifying that the village was just a short distance ahead. A ragged monk, his head shaved and adorned with a wreath, clung to the pillar, refusing to let go. He shouted to a comically dressed bard beside him, "Bring me chains!" His frostbitten hands stretched towards the sky. "Tie me to the top of this pillar! I'll live here from now on! I'll prove my piety to the Lord and to the world!"
"Go ahead and suffer, no one will care," the bard said, leaning back with two flutes at his waist, looking on with amusement. "If you sleep here, you might get caught and eaten by a vampire tonight."
"Vampire...vampire!" the ascetic shouted, pointing at the poet's face and spitting everywhere. "Evil thing! You sing their stories, spread their atrocities, bewitch people, and disrupt justice. You will go to hell!"
“People are either eaten by vampires or killed by bandits,” the bard replied helplessly. “Except for you. You have nothing, yet you manage to protect yourself. You pathetic old madman.”
Having said this, the poet turned and saw Yakov and Yubi's horse. He immediately pulled the two flutes from his waist, put the mouthpieces in his mouth simultaneously, and played a fancy solo duet. He hopped and skipped towards them as he performed. "This man is truly remarkable!" said Yubi. "He can play two flutes with one mouth and press different notes with each hand!"
“He’s here to ask you for money,” Yakov scoffed coldly. “Give him a silver coin.”
Yubi was overjoyed to have received the guidance. He immediately pulled a silver coin from the small purse at his waist—which Yakov had told him to wear on his belt. "I think he's very capable. Can I give him a gold coin?" Yubi asked suddenly, with a whimsical idea.
“Don’t do anything foolish. Do as I say, give him a silver coin.” Yakov was so angry he was dizzy. “A silver coin is enough for this clown to show off for weeks.”
The bard approached, quickly played a few short tunes, then took off his hat and handed it to Yubi—clearly he knew who on horseback was the easygoing one. Yubi glanced at Yakov, then obediently tossed a silver coin from his palm into the comically large hat. The bard's eyes lit up immediately. "Thank you, kind sir!" he rattled off, running several steps alongside his horse. "With your kindness, you will surely be blessed by God, become a saint after death, and go to heaven!"
"Thank you! But I don't need it!" Yubi leaned back from his horse and said, only to be slapped back down by Yakov.
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