Act VIII: The Mother Goddess and the Queen (Part 4)
Four
Yubi thought he might have embarrassed himself.
He sat awkwardly in the recliner by the dining table, but the table was empty. "We just moved in." His gaze drifted toward the doorway—Naya, the only slave who understood Greek, had been sent to fetch some tea and fruit to entertain the guests; while Yakov was still busy by the stables settling the rest of the men, telling them to go where they were. "I'm sorry, uh, Mr. Ikonom…" he almost forgot Cicero's surname, "Your timing is unfortunate; I should make it up to you another time."
“It’s nothing.” Cicero wasn’t as reserved as he had been the other day. He folded his hands, relaxed in his seat, his fingers fidgeting as if counting something. “I came at an inopportune time, but with your compensation, it’s worth it.”
But I haven't even said how I'll compensate him yet. Looking at him like this, Yubi couldn't help but secretly resent the notary for being a two-faced opportunist. He's only speaking like this because I'm alone; if Isaac were here, he certainly wouldn't dare do this. "Why do you say that?" Yubi's gaze shifted uncomfortably from the doorway to the dazzling sea view outside the balcony—many of the room's decorations had been taken by the previous owner, only the bay view wasn't dilapidated. "What urgent matter brings you here?"
“I’ve brought you a housewarming gift.” Cicero took a book from his pocket. “I’ve heard that you enjoy anecdotes and myths, and I hope this will please you.”
Yubi took the heavy book and noticed its exquisite binding, with lines outlined in gold leaf. As the sun set and the room grew increasingly dim, he could barely make out a beautiful image on the cover: a handsome young man holding a water jug, and the title in Greek: *Gamimedes of Crete*. "You could have simply sent a servant with a book," Yubi said, setting down the weighty gift. "Why wait at the door yourself?"
“Actually, it was Lord Isaac who sent me, Lord Jubius.” Cicero laughed, his eyes narrowing into slits. “I have a lot of work to do here tomorrow, so I have to stay the night.”
“Work? Is it about real estate?” Yubi realized that a servant should have lit a candle—now he had to get up himself to find a flint. “The deed to this house has been signed…is there some other problem?”
“It is indeed a real estate matter.” Seeing the host get up, Cicero also moved to the balcony. “But not this house.”
"What does that mean? Sorry..." Yubi found the flint and tried to light a flame next to the lamp on the balcony. He was annoyed and embarrassed to find that his pampered hands couldn't even do this simple thing—how was a flint used again?
“Let me do it, Lord Jubius.” Cicero suddenly moved very close, his fingers lingering on the two stones, then he gripped Jubius’s hand tightly. The notary leaned down and whispered in Jubius’s ear, “I can tell you, sir. Tomorrow, you’re probably going to strike it rich…”
Yubi felt extremely uncomfortable. Why did this man have to get so close? "What does this mean?" He instinctively shrank back, wanting to distance himself from the half-bald head, but felt that would be impolite. Just as he was struggling with this, Yakov finally stormed in from the doorway, looking heavy and angry.
"Get out of my way!" The Slav grabbed the man's robe and threw him to the ground, cursing him in the few Greek phrases she had just learned, "Bastard!"
"I didn't teach him those words," Yubi thought. "Where did the Blood Slave learn all these swear words?" "He was just whispering to me, it's nothing..." Yubi took a step back, but secretly breathed a sigh of relief. "Please light the lamp for me, Yakov."
The Blood Slave glared at the disheveled official with resentment and hostility. "He's no good," he warned. "Stay away from him!"
Yubi nodded awkwardly—though he didn't understand Yakov's meaning. He went to help Cicero up anyway. "He thought you were going to attack me," Yubi said with an apologetic smile. "Forgive him, Mr. Ikonom."
However, he was pleased to find that the bald man finally stopped taking the opportunity to touch his hand.
They shared a slightly greasy late-night snack—it seemed the slaves Yakov had bought weren't very good cooks, but the food was still edible. Before going to sleep, everyone pretended to pray at the shrine before returning to their rooms. Yakov assigned the obnoxious notary a dusty attic room far from the master bedroom, while he himself insisted on staying at the foot of Yubi's bed to keep watch. "He said, 'Tomorrow I'll probably be rich…'" Yubi, having changed into her nightgown, asked Yakov, lying on the soft, smooth silk blanket, "What does that mean?"
The Blood Slave was clutching the wound on his neck to stop the bleeding. "How should I know?" He was shirtless, no longer caring about exposing his battered back. "Ambikia obviously has a lot to hide from you."
“You’re doing this again! We’re only able to live here on our own thanks to our sister, aren’t we?” Yubi sat up, disgruntled. “She did grant your wishes, she didn’t spy on you, and she didn’t force you.”
“It’s not that simple.” Yakov angrily threw down the cotton cloth pressed against his wound. “It may seem that way, but you’re still dependent on her, using that damned Kanakakis identity. This can’t go on.”
“You have so many demands…” Yubi leaned back against the headboard. “We bought slaves, acquired property. Even Mother’s wealth was all in the chests, brought without missing a single piece. I can’t think of anything more I need…”
Wealth. Yakov wondered, was the problem really wealth? "You're thinking too simplistically," he couldn't help but warn Yubi. "We can't just sit around and do nothing, nor can we be bound by others. We must have our own connections and power; we must own more land, slaves, ships…"
“Good heavens, look at you,” Yubi exclaimed. “You’re no different from your sister, just like a lord.”
The words pierced Yakov's chest like a fine needle, infuriating him with their sharp, subtle pain. "If I don't do this, how can I fight her, how can I escape her control?" He turned back, his eyes bloodshot. "It's for you!"
“Okay…” Yubi fell silent, puzzled and worried. “So what are you planning to do?”
"Perhaps we should do some business."
"Business?"
“Yes.” Yakov turned his head, staring blankly at the foot of the bed. “Anything is fine, but it has to be your own.”
“I can’t think of anything right now,” Yubi yawned. “Let’s talk about it another day.”
The bedroom was upstairs from the living room, also with a huge balcony facing the surging waves of Golden Horn Bay. At first, Yubi felt like he was sleeping on a boat; the sound of the crashing waves was loud and disruptive—how could anyone fall asleep in such a noisy place? But after a while, he discovered that Yakov, who was sitting at the foot of the bed, had fallen asleep before him—a rare occurrence. Yubi thought that perhaps the rhythmic sound of the waves was a kind of lullaby. The sea breeze gently caressed his face, and soon he too became sleepy.
Half-asleep, Yubi recalled the mural of Aphrodite and Cupid on the wall of the drawing room. The goddess of love and beauty was born from the sea, emerging from the pure white foam. Her long, curly hair and beautiful figure reminded Yubi of his mother—his mother, Yubi thought. If his mother were still alive, he would have told his beloved mother everything he had seen and heard, and received precious support and love from her cold yet warm embrace. How he longed for those lips to still utter tender words—these unfulfilled wishes were chewed over day after day, until even the bitterness and regret had faded. Even in a dream, Yubi wished to an unknown god, that he could see his mother in his dreams.
The sea breeze suddenly picked up, whipping the gauze curtains beside the marble pillars wildly. Like a mural, a naked woman with long, curly hair descended from the balcony, landing silently. Yubi squinted, thinking perhaps he had fallen into a dream, about to be embraced by his mother—in the moonlight, he suddenly noticed that the long hair was fiery red. The girl was short, nimble, and slender—Yubi trembled as he got out of bed.
He kicked his legs, trying to wake Yakov. But Yakov was fast asleep, his arms hanging limply, his eyelids tightly shut.
On the balcony, the girl folded her enormous wings, her cold feet stepping onto the stone bricks, causing a thin layer of frost to rise. A wisp of dark mist trailed behind her as she floated to Yubi's bedside. "Sister..." Yubi's hands twisted the silk blanket into deep wrinkles, "Why did you suddenly come?"
“I’m so lonely! Come walk with me.” Anbichia took his hand, slipped off her ruby ring, and tossed it carelessly onto the blanket. “Let’s go somewhere only we can go.”
The night was their best cloak of invisibility. The vampires, carried by the sea breeze of Golden Horn, soared upwards, effortlessly traversing most of the tranquil bay. It was springtime, the chill of winter still lingering. Yubi, though naked, felt no cold. He gazed at his sister's body in the fierce wind—short and slender, unadorned, savagery and freedom emanating from her like breath, her crimson hair flowing like flames—a stark contrast to her stiff, shrouded figure in elaborate robes and burial garments.
"Where are we going?" Yubi shouted from the clouds.
“Go wherever you want.” Anbichia’s voice seemed to echo in his head. She gave him a mysterious smile. “I will follow you.”
Yubi looked down. The entire city lay clearly on the Bosphorus Strait, like a vast, complex labyrinth. A surge of inexplicable excitement and pride welled up within him, as if this city, a symbol of civilization and wealth, belonged solely to him, and he was the invisible king of this world. Like searching through a dragon's treasure heap, he sought to find the most beautiful, exquisite, and towering spot to settle—the two descended to the dome of the Hagia Sophia, and sat down, leaning against the golden cross.
“Mother’s funeral will be held here.” Anbichia looked up at the cross pointing straight to the sky. “You’ve chosen a good place.”
"Really?" Yubi looked down and exclaimed in amazement. "That's so tall. How could a building that tall be built?"
“People try every possible way to get to the sky,” Ambichia said. “Unfortunately, they don’t have wings.”
"Why are they so obsessed?" Yubi asked. "What good will it do to come up to heaven?"
“Because they believe that there are gods living in the heavens.” Ambikia’s fingertip gently touched Yubi’s chest. “The closer you are to the gods, the more you can talk to them, get their questions answered, and have their wishes fulfilled.”
Yubi understood his sister's meaning, but didn't quite agree. "That's not what they're after," he said, lowering his head. "I think they want to become gods themselves."
Ambikia smiled upon hearing this. She gently embraced Yubi and kissed his forehead. His sharp, pointed wings couldn't scratch the vampire's tough, cold skin, but Yubi still folded them away. He leaned against Ambikia's slender shoulder, seeking the feeling of being in his mother's arms—Yubi realized he had grown too tall, losing the right to be held small and delicate in her embrace.
“My dear brother.” Anbicia gently stroked his black hair, her movements sorrowful yet frivolous, as if she were caressing a small, fragile pet. “You are too young, your heart is as pure as a blank sheet of paper; yet you are wise enough to see through many ugly faces.” She said, “We are different from others. Just remembering this will solve many troubles.”
“What makes us different from others?” Yubi asked. “I think we have similar hearts, similar feelings and thoughts as everyone else.”
“We are the immortal rulers, and those who live only a day cannot take our world. No matter how fragile, incompetent, or sensitive you are, you still possess a noble power that no one else can attain.” Anbichia cupped his face. “You must remember this.”
Her gaze was so firm and powerful, Yubi thought; she must believe her words were absolute truth. Whether it was due to his shallow understanding or the virtue of humility, Yubi couldn't accept this. He thought again of his mother's death—an immortal ruler? But before him, his mother's head was undeniably rotting.
“I was thinking about Mother… Maybe you’re wrong.” Yubi pulled away from her sister’s embrace. “Maybe… I’m not like you yet, I’m not immortal enough, this world doesn’t belong to someone like me.”
“I didn’t say that remembering this point would solve all your troubles.” Ambikia laughed again, revealing sharp teeth from her bright red lips. “There’s still the final puzzle left, the ultimate puzzle that every living being in this world needs to solve for themselves.”
What is that?
“It’s the meaning of your life. It’s death.” His sister uttered the word very softly. “Would you like to try?”
Before Yubi could answer, he was grabbed by the arm and propelled straight upwards. Ambikia's wings flapped powerfully as they raced toward the moon. They pierced through thin clouds, emerging from swirling, unpredictable air currents that cut like knives, blinding Yubi. A terrible fear gripped him—not of blood or decay, but of eternal loss, of incurable regret, of profound longing and yearning, of a deadly allure and attraction that etched itself into his very soul, filling him with unbearable terror.
"Where are we going?" Yubi shouted, as if a gust of wind blocked his throat.
“See the edge of the world,” Ambikia said. “Go to a place close to the moon.”
What does the edge of the world look like? How far away is the moon? Yubi couldn't suppress his curiosity. They flew for a long time, until Yubi felt tired. The sky grew deeper and darker, yet the moon remained so distant. The wind blowing past his face grew gentler, and Yubi felt his body become lighter, as if he could be blown away like a cloud—he looked down and was horrified to find that the world he used to live in was covered by a sea of clouds, and the distant horizon stretched endlessly, its edges distorted and curved, gleaming with a faint light of dawn.
His sister no longer flapped her wings, and floated as lightly as if on water. “If I were to push you to the moon now,” Ambikia said, “you would cross the boundary between life and death, and never be able to return.”
"What?"
People often say that the souls of the dead will sink to the ground to rest. But they don't know that heaven is the real tomb.
Yubi couldn't understand his sister's words. As he pondered, a slender hand pressed against his shoulder, gently pushing him backward. Yubi was so frightened that he immediately spread his wings and struggled desperately—in this faraway edge of the world, in a place without wind, all his strength was gone.
The extreme cold and loneliness instantly engulfed him. He was about to slowly drift towards the moon.
"I don't want to die!" Yubi cried out, but no sound came out of her throat. "Sister!"
He fell backward uncontrollably, but fortunately, Ambikia managed to grab his hand. With a gentle pull, they embraced, bending downwards like shooting stars. For the first time, Yubi felt that falling was such a blissful experience; the world felt like a giant hand, embracing his return with boundless strength. He wanted to cry, but his eyes were dry—Yubi reached out to touch them and found that, like his mother, he too was shedding blood-red tears.
“The world is a wonderful place, you should make the most of it!” Ambikia laughed wildly and purely. “When your feet are on the ground, you are its master, its king!”
They plunged back into the soft sea of clouds, a membrane that seemed to separate dreams from reality. Yubi saw the ocean and land, mountains and rivers, once more. The bells of Hagia Sophia rang at midnight, calling everyone from their first slumber to the morning prayers praising the gods. They spread their wings and, along with the gulls and falcons, glided across the entire Bosphorus Strait under the cover of night. Yubi's eyes were so bright—he could see every ship, every sailor on that wide strait; he could hear every breath, every surge of the waves. He remembered the profound fear he felt when he first saw the sea, and he recalled his mother's last words: death is a means of symbolizing life.
Yubi no longer felt the hard, cold hand his sister had placed on his shoulder—for he now felt the same hardness and coldness. He saw a catapult covered with a cloth being pushed onto the deck of a merchant ship. The ship sailed out of the Golden Horn and anchored in the middle of the strait, waiting for dawn after the long night.
The siblings returned to the balcony of the villa, and Ambikia kissed his forehead again.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” his sister said kindly and cheerfully. “I’ll come again before Mother’s funeral.”
“I was also happy to be with you, sister.” Yubi looked up at the curly red hair fluttering in the moonlight. “Goodbye.”
As quietly as she arrived, the sea breeze gently carried her away.
Yubi felt a pang of melancholy. He suddenly didn't want to wear his mother's ring anymore, didn't want to return to that fragile, warm body. He raised his hand and touched his neck. In Brasov, it was where Christina had brutally pierced him with a knife. Yubi couldn't help but wonder, which was more like true death? Was it feeling the surging life sharply drain away with the pain, or being trapped in an endless, long night of waiting?
He walked barefoot down the marble stairs to the drawing room, staring at the wall painted with Aphrodite. His faint footsteps finally woke Yakov—the Blood Slave rushed down the stairs, saw his naked body, and angrily and anxiously berated him. "Where's your ring?" Yakov grabbed his cold wrist. "What are you doing wandering around here naked?"
“My ring and clothes are on the bed.” Yubi stared at his face in the darkness. “My sister came by.”
Upon hearing this, his blood slave visibly felt the blood rushing through his veins. Yakov forcefully dragged him back upstairs, turned to light a candle, and nervously fumbled on the silk carpet. Fortunately, he quickly found Yubi's robe and ring. "Put it on." Yubi noticed a thin layer of sweat on Yakov's forehead as he tried to slip the ring onto his finger—but Yubi grasped his rough hand, preventing him from doing so.
"Don't you want to know what my sister told me?" Yubi asked, tilting her head.
They were standing on the balcony, and Yubi recalled the balding, sweaty hands of the notary—he tried to feel Yakov's hands with the same force, tracing the shape of his fingernails. Yakov's thumb and the base of his fingers were covered in calluses, Yubi thought, if he were standing among the slaves, he could easily tell his origins.
Yakov's hand trembled. "What did she say?"
“She said that her mother’s funeral would be held at the St. Sophia Cathedral.” Yubi led Yakov to the bedside. “She also said that I should enjoy the world to the fullest and use the world. Because we are the masters of the world, the kings of the world.”
He was overjoyed, ecstatic. Like opening Pandora's box, desire poured out like a rainbow.
“And what about me?” Koyakov refused to move. His Slavic, icy blue eyes were filled with resentment. “You are the masters and kings of the world. And what about us?”
Yubi opened his mouth in surprise, speechless. Hesitation seemed to tear him apart, sending him half to heaven and half to hell. Yakov stepped forward with heavy steps and took his hand for the third time.
“This is something your mother left behind.” The blood slave reattached the ring to his finger, pressing it firmly. “Don’t just throw it away.”
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