Act XII: The Destruction of Sodom (Part 12)
twelve
Karak Castle was on the other side of the Dead Sea, and Yakov had to cross the Jordan River to get there. He rode along the salty lake, seeing the rocks in the water etched with the long, winding patterns of salt crystals, like a vast, endless expanse of white amber, dazzling in the sun. Salt farmers stood barefoot on the salt flats they had prepared, their bodies covered in dark mud. They used their livestock to pull rakes, repeatedly turning the salt grains, trying to make the lake crystallize faster—it was a lucrative industry, earning them more taxes each year to the kingdom's tax collectors.
Yakov recalled a story from the Bible: Beneath this sea of despair and death lay a sinful city. Its inhabitants were dissolute and obsessed with male pleasure. They fantasized about committing adultery with angels, angering God and incurring the wrath of heavenly fire, which destroyed all living beings. Those who showed even a shred of righteous indignation were turned into pillars of salt, becoming a mark of shame.
The memory of this story unsettled Yakov. He stared intently at the endless salt flats along the water's edge, then looked away, then back—of course, nothing happened. His eyes didn't ignite, nor were his hands and feet turned into salt.
The blood slave, burdened with sin, scoffed contemptuously. He lightly spurred his horse into the stirrups, urging it to hurry towards Karak. With just a glance up, the outline of the fortress was already visible on the mountain.
Yakov entered the city, watered his horse, and waited at the city gate of Karak until the new moon rose.
Yesau appeared at the city gate carrying bread and a wine flask. "Have some," he said, offering a piece of bread to Yakov and putting the other in his own mouth. "We have a long way to go."
Yakov took the bread, carefully stuffed it into his pouch, and didn't touch it. "Where are you taking me?" he asked.
“I’m going to take you to an ancient ruin, south of the Dead Sea.” Yesau rode ahead. “The blood slaves gather there. I will introduce you to the others among us and share our secrets with you.”
"Aren't you afraid I'll tell all this to my master?"
"Then why aren't you afraid I'll lure you there and have everyone kill you?" Yesau took a sip of wine, then turned and handed the wine bag to Yakov. "Trust is mutual."
Yakov glanced sideways at the wine flask, took it from him, and took a swig. It was filled with sweet wine, which moistened his parched throat.
“However, I do have many questions for you.” Yesau smiled and took back the wine pouch. “Let’s talk as we walk.”
Night was falling. The knights lit torches, illuminating the salt-crystal-formed lakeshore and reefs, and an ominous smell of sulfur wafted through the air. Yakov looked up at the barren landscape. Everywhere were desolate hills and caves, with very few villages or signs of human habitation. The legendary apocalypse of heavenly fire had left an indelible scar here, while the shadow of the holy city of Jerusalem swayed across the lake, like a strong yet sorrowful tombstone reborn from despair; or a beacon that trampled ruins underfoot, a warning to the world.
“I have heard many things about you,” Yesau asked. “I heard that you were a slave from childhood?”
Yakov frowned upon hearing the question. "Yes," he replied.
"In that case, what do you think freedom truly is?" Yesau asked again. "I think you might be able to give me a more profound answer than others."
Why did he ask me such an obvious question? Yakov thought for a moment, his eyes darting around. “Freedom is not being enslaved.” His brow furrowed even more. “Freedom is not being oppressed by power.”
"According to you, freedom has different degrees." Yesau raised his torch. "Do you believe that the more powerful and influential a person is, the greater their freedom?"
“That’s right,” Yakov nodded. “That’s what I think.”
"Does the greater freedom of the strong necessarily come from the plunder of the weak and is built upon the unfreedom of the weak?"
"right."
"What if one day, the strong are no longer strong?"
Yakov suddenly recalled Batur's dying words to him, and Yubi's earlier judgment. "The strong are only strong for a time; justice does not exist." These were the words the young vampires he had personally trained had used to judge them. Yakov realized that Yesau had set a trap here, waiting for him to slip in.
He stopped talking.
“You’re clever; you’ve already figured out the crux of the matter.” Seeing his silence, Yesau turned his face in the firelight and smiled. “The strong, in order to maintain their freedom, must maintain their strength. Only then can they use power to force the weak to relinquish their freedom. In this way, the strong lose the freedom of being ‘weak,’ and are forced to exhaust their lives maintaining power. I think you should be very clear that this is the most exhausting and restrictive thing in the world. In that case, what freedom is there?”
Yakov's anger was barely concealed. "...In that case, what do you consider freedom to be?" he asked defiantly. "Do you perhaps believe that freedom has nothing to do with power?"
"Quite the opposite. I believe that freedom and power are two sides of the same coin, two names for the same thing." Yesau swayed leisurely on his horse. "If people want freedom, they must have power. It's just that people's powers are different, and freedom is often taken away. In fact, I don't completely oppose, and even support, your point of view."
“You’ve spouted a bunch of nonsense,” Yakov clicked his tongue. “You agree with me, yet you contradict yourself, ultimately concluding that freedom is nowhere to be found.”
“No, freedom can be found.” Yesau gently clenched his fingers together and made a gesture. “However, everyone needs to abandon greed, be content with what they have, and not plunder the freedom of others.”
“A pipe dream,” Yakov couldn’t help but scoff. “Greed is human nature! You’re talking about heaven, a world of saints, but we’re living in hell.”
“You’re right. There’s always a dark side to human nature—but I don’t think we should ever judge human nature by good or evil. Everyone wants a better life, greater freedom, and a pursuit of greater happiness. People just try their best to satisfy both their physical and spiritual needs. Even sin is part of human nature.”
Yakov thought that if a priest were here and heard Yesau say this, he would lock him up in the inquisition and burn him at the stake. "Your kind of talk is called rampant hypocrisy," he commented. "You want to absolve people of their greed, yet you also want to deprive them of it."
“Haha, I’m just facing the truth.” Yesau wasn’t angry at all. “Besides, greed is not something that cannot be taken away—I mean, we shouldn’t try to eliminate humanity’s natural pursuit of freedom, but rather we should restrain everyone’s power,” he explained.
How can the power to restrict everyone be restricted? Yakov was completely confused. The two rounded a bend in the hill, and the horses, carrying firelight, disappeared into the deeper darkness.
“Let’s discuss another topic,” Yesau asked again. “Do you believe everyone is equal, Yakov?”
Yakov, his face serious, pondered for a long time. "People are not equal," he finally replied coldly. "People are different from birth. As long as these differences exist, equality is impossible."
"In that case, the power that people possess is also different from one another."
“Yes,” Yakov nodded. “Therefore, oppression and slavery are inevitable, and freedom will be taken away.”
"Do you agree that if the differences between people disappeared, oppression and slavery would disappear, and everyone would have equal freedom?"
These fictional and abstract words made Yakov uncomfortable. "...How could that be?" He grimaced under his beard. "There are kings and slaves; there are wealthy merchants and penniless beggars. There is no way to bridge the chasm between them."
"What if it's a slave revolt or beggars robbing people?"
“Then the slave will become the new king, and the beggar will become the new rich merchant.”
"Even yourself?" Yesau asked. "Even if you know the blood and tears of slaves and the suffering of beggars, would you rather use those you have defeated as new slaves and beggars, robbing them of their freedom?"
“It is precisely because I know all this that I insist on taking away their freedom.” Yakov squinted at him, looking at him like a wolf. “I am neither a saint nor God.”
"And what if you really were God, a deity?" Yesau met his gloomy gaze. "If you could really do everything, if you could establish your own order, and possess power far exceeding that of everyone else, would you still think that way?"
"Why do you keep asking me these meaningless, utterly illogical questions?" Yakov reined in his horse. "Do you spend your days daydreaming like some philosopher or monk who speaks in roundabout ways, imagining yourself as a god or a king?"
“You know what I’m talking about, Yakov.” Yesau also stopped in his tracks. “This is not a daydream, but a ghost in the night, a demon of the night. People in the world are so weak in the face of them, as if they were facing gods.”
Yakov froze. Yubi's face flashed through his mind—he felt as if he were back at Sancho's tombstone, pierced by the unavoidable question—the pain in his left chest, at the spot where it was etched. The Blood Slave fell silent again, unable to utter a sound. The two horses continued slowly forward, coming to an open sandy area. The brilliant Milky Way in the night sky appeared before him, like a curtain studded with diamonds, shimmering uncertainly.
“We’re almost there,” Yesau said. “Finally, let’s discuss the topic of gods and men.”
“You damned lunatics, you all treat vampires like gods.” Yakov gritted his teeth, clutching his wildly beating heart. “Not one of you is a real man of principle or thought. You just won’t admit that God doesn’t exist.”
“God exists, but not in the way you think,” Yesau answered him with unwavering conviction. “God is chosen and created by people. He is only God when people recognize him as God. Do not regard God as a terrifying force, but as a useful tool—that is the true nature of God.”
Yakov couldn't understand. He felt there was truth in the words, yet it was like a beautifully crafted and sturdy hollow jar—flawless and perfectly arranged, but seemingly cold and lacking something important inside. Yakov thought that he was, after all, a cold-blooded person, and should agree with these things. He suddenly realized, rather uncomfortably, that he seemed to be the most naive and innocent of all the blood slaves—more confused and bewildered than Yesau, Seleman, Naya, Christina, and even Father Ferenc, whom he had killed. He seemed to be blinded by something, becoming both sentimental and irrational.
Is it because of this engraving?
Suddenly, the faint sound of horses' hooves came from the shadows behind them. Yakov snapped out of his reverie, drew his sword, and stared intently in the direction of the sound.
"Who is it!" he shouted, throwing a burning torch at them.
The people in the shadows were thrown into disarray by fright, and the horses snorted in alarm. A familiar young face appeared in the firelight, his blank, dark eyes wide open against the dark background. "My lord, spare me..." He scrambled off his horse and lay prostrate on the sand. "I came to find you, my lord... I... I have something I must tell you..."
Yakov's heart sank. He had no choice but to sheath his sword.
"So you brought your attendant with you." Yesau smiled gently behind him. "In that case, let him see this secret as well."
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