Act XIV: Dance of the Seven Veils (Thirteen)
Thirteen
On Monday, Yubi brought the remains into the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. He turned the doorkeeper monks and the key-holding nuns into blood slaves and then questioned them. “My lord, go to the underworld, where you can avoid being seen,” said the guide, an Armenian bishop. “You can find the ruins of the Temple of Aphrodite there.”
“May the goddess of love and beauty also be resurrected in this sacred place.” Yubi prayed expressionlessly. “I am her Adonis and her Cupid. I would rather weep for her for seven days and seven nights, just to ask her to return from the underworld.”
The blood slaves carried the sarcophagus and silver statue up the long staircase into a grotto further down from the chapel, handing the craftsmen prepared hoes and wedges. The vampire removed his helmet, lit a candle, and watched intently as they carefully broke open the silver statue. When he saw the blood-red, charred linen, Yubi's tears streamed down his face. He had thought his mother's head was completely burned away, reduced to ashes—but it turned out his sister's craftsmen had foreseen this day and cleverly constructed a hollow chamber within the statue. He removed the skull with his own hands, cradled it in his arms, and kissed it.
The blood slaves opened the luxurious coffin and, following the physician's orders, pieced together the fragmented bones into a complete skeleton. Finally, Yubi placed the head beside the top spine.
As the sun rose, the first night came to an end.
On Tuesday, Yubi summoned all the monks who had accompanied him and asked them to discuss the Dao with him.
"I have a question that I've never been able to understand." The vampire held his niece's small corpse in his hands, squeezing all her blood into the coffin, listening to the trembling of the skeleton and the melodious sound of the mother returning. "You are all the most learned scholars, the most devout believers. What do you think is true freedom?"
The monks exchanged bewildered glances, not daring to utter a word; some were even nauseated by the cruel and bloody ritual. “…True freedom is the result of following your conscience and guiding your will with law,” Bishop Dominic stepped forward. “True freedom should be justice.”
“That’s a novel idea.” Yubi sat down beside the coffin, curiously examining his appearance. “Why?”
"God gave humanity conscience and the law. True freedom, and the freedom of all, is freedom based on conscience and the law." Bishop Domenico dared not look up. "Having come this far, you should know best that freedom does not mean doing whatever you want, using power to trample on others, treating them as slaves and livestock… You are a kind and wise God, you are compassionate, you are merciful and loving…"
Yubi noticed the bishop's blood rising to his neck and heard his breathing begin to tremble. "Freedom sustained by conscience and law is so fragile, so easily broken, yet so incredibly difficult to maintain," he asked with pity. "First, when powerful evildoers act, determined to break conscience and law for their own selfish gain, oppressing and ruling others without empathy; second, when narrow-minded fools launch attacks, believing themselves to possess conscience and law yet failing to understand their meaning, using them as tools to eliminate dissidents. Not only between individuals, but also between nations, between religions, what can conscience and law do? Where is justice and freedom then? And if you happen to encounter someone without conscience, who misunderstands faith, and disregards law… like me, how can you protect your freedom?"
“But even the weakest of true conscience and reason still exist, Lord!” Bishop Domenico knelt at his feet, kissing his shoes in fright. “The fact that you can think about these things proves that you still have humanity, that your conscience and reason are calling to you! You yearn for freedom and justice!”
Yubi stood up and stared at his bald head for a while. Angels and demons seemed to battle and swirl above his head, silencing the surroundings. Finally, the vampire sighed softly.
“I’ll let you go. Thank you for your advice,” he said. “Next.”
The skeletons in the coffin listened to their debate all night. When the second night was exhausted, Yubi closed the coffin lid.
On Wednesday, Yubi gathered all his blood slaves before him. "I demand that all of you betray me," he said. "I will break your seals and set you free."
“You’re all alone here with no one to take care of you!” Nuk’s knees slumped onto the stone bricks. “Sir, where can I go without you?”
"You need someone to guide and supervise you!" Daoud admonished, clutching his chest. "Am I not doing as well as Lord Yakov?"
"This is too dangerous." Naya sadly took his hand. "Have you already made plans for what will happen to you?"
Yubi's gaze swept over the faces of the blood slaves, one by one. "This is my command, and also my blessing." He pointed to the doorway leading to the ground. "Once you step out of this chapel, I will remove your marks. This is the only way to save your lives. If you refuse, then join your mother in facing death."
His blood slaves left one by one. First came the newly purchased Saracen slaves, then the maids and porters who had followed him from Constantinople. Finally, even the two Slavic cooks that Yakov had bought reached the gateposts.
Only Nuk, Daoud, and Naya remained. "Let's go," Yubi urged them one last time. "Just pretend this was all a nightmare, and go back to the world of light. From now on, forget all this, and you will be free."
The three blood slaves ultimately could not withstand the pain of the marking and the fear of death. They cut their wrists, collected clean blood for their master, and then quietly departed.
On Thursday, Yubi drank his last drop of blood.
On Friday, Yubi cried alone all day, calling her mother's name.
On Saturday, Yubi personally opened the coffin lid.
The candles in the chapel had burned out, but the vampire's vision remained bright. He stared at the stark white bones, speechless. What was missing? Yubi thought, perhaps resurrection required a baptism of blood. A sea of blood. He remembered what his sister had told him at his mother's funeral, what she had demonstrated—a drop of blood from each person, perhaps not enough.
Yubi stared at his sharp iron gauntlet. It was as if his eyes would become the flames of judgment, and his hands the instruments of torture. Perhaps he had no choice but to walk that path.
Sunday arrived. The weather was unusually clear, and the Easter celebrations were at their peak. The vampire, fully dressed and wrapped in layers of armor, emerged from the basement. He saw someone dressed as Jesus, wearing a crown of thorns and carrying a cross, returning to the tomb surrounded by a crowd—the sunlight was so intense it hurt his eyes. He retreated behind the cross-carved pillars of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, staring at the blood-red mortuary stone, lost in reverie about loneliness and death.
"Are you Lord Jubius?" a messenger asked him. "The third son of the Noctennias family?"
“I am.” Yubi stiffly turned her neck.
"I've come to deliver the Regent's decree." The messenger cleared his throat and unfolded a contract. "I've come to inform you of the result of your petition: Lud City and the four surrounding villages have reached the end of their term and should be reclaimed and returned to Baron Ibelin. Unfortunately, you are no longer the city lord, nor have you been allocated a new fief."
Yubi felt a blinding blur before his eyes. He opened his mouth under his helmet. “The Regent?” he asked. “I am petitioning King Baldwin himself.”
“Oh, you’ll find out soon enough.” The messenger took the contract and handed it to him, adding with pity, “You have a newly built mansion in the city, don’t you? I heard it’s large and luxurious, but it’s hard to say whether that’s still a good thing now. If you want to continue living there, you should pay taxes to Baron Ibelin. Can you afford the taxes for such a large and luxurious courtyard? I heard you still have a lot of debts to the Knights.”
Yubi recalled the countless nights he had spent lying in the fragrant mist with Yakov. "I'm not staying there," he said dismissively. "I don't want that house anymore."
"Oh? Do you have any relatives or friends, or any noble connections you can use? Or do you have acquaintances in the Knights of Favonius who you want to join the army? Otherwise, where do you live?"
“My sister is dead, leaving no inheritance,” Yubi replied numbly. “Everyone I knew in the Knights is gone.”
"...Then good luck to you." The messenger shook his head regretfully and took a few steps back. "Good luck."
Yubi, annoyed, wished the messenger would leave quickly so he could have some peace and quiet. The fallen nobleman leaned against a doorpost, watching the herald scurry into the sunlight outside the church—the sound of a choir drifted from the street, and the monks' incense burners jingled. Yubi peeked from the shadows by the door: another funeral procession, but this one was exceptionally large and ornate, carrying a sky-blue cross embroidered in gold thread. The symbol of Jerusalem, Yubi thought, a large cross and four smaller crosses. He glimpsed more flags behind: white with a red cross, black with a white cross, white with a green cross, lions, stripes, eagles, and saints. Armored knights jostled among the flagpoles and horses, while veiled nobles wiped away stray tears with handkerchiefs.
The bells of the Crusader's bell tower rang out above his head, joining all the bells in the city. "Rest in peace!" a deacon shouted in the street. "The defender of Jerusalem, King Baldwin, has been called back by the Lord to dust!"
The leper king was dead, and Yubi realized with a start that he could no longer respond to his petition. He watched the procession enter the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and pass by him. First came the monks carrying crosses, banners, and relics; then the nobles and their families guarding the royal banner and coffin; flanked by knights of the Order of the Templars, followed closely by funeral servants and followers. The vampire paid no more attention and turned toward the crypt—suddenly, four burly Templar Knights blocked his way. Four bright red fangs, etched on their hearts, shone forth, their shapes clearly visible.
“We were sent by Ambikia.” One of them rushed up to him. Then, the remaining three surrounded him. “Come with us.”
Yubi quickly glanced at the longswords at their waists—all four knights used the same style of scabbard, and strangely all of them had wrapped strips of cloth around the hilts, covering up all the decorations.
“Go back and tell Inard,” he commanded, pointing to the knight’s heart. “This trick is too clumsy.”
The simplest way to deal with mortals is to turn them into your blood slaves. Yubi thought this was the most merciful method, giving them a chance to escape the vampire conflict and save their lives—the vampires watched as their marks covered the knights' existing ones, but the pain on their faces only lingered for a moment. The knights remained as immovable as stone giants.
"Don't bother me." Yubi tried again in surprise, "Get away!"
This attempt failed once again. The knights reached out to grab him, their other hand drawing their swords. The tightly wrapped strips of cloth slipped hastily from the hilts, revealing familiar rubies: four in total, identical, coming from all directions, indistinguishable from one another.
Which one is real? Or are they all fake?
Yubi dared not gamble, and could only dodge and weave, turning into a wisp of black smoke to escape the knight's grasp—before, he had only dragged along in a light silk robe and turban, but now, the heavy and sturdy armor slowed him down, and a deep-seated fear erupted from the depths of his heart. Death! Yubi suddenly realized that when faced with it, the instinct for survival burst forth like a volcanic eruption, as if nothing in the world could withstand it.
He hid on the second-floor observation deck leading to the Frankish Cathedral, trying to manipulate the knights' blood from above, wanting it to gush out from their mouths, noses, eyes, and ears. This was the easiest and quickest way to kill, easily defeating even the fiercest warriors—Yubi thought, but then he discovered an invisible force protecting the knights, blessing their blood—the young vampire finally realized the true purpose of blood slaves in war, and a chill ran through him, as if he had fallen into an ice cave. In the blink of an eye, the enemy had climbed the stairs, their terrifying longswords bared and clawing.
"Where are you hiding?" Yubi cried out in despair, "Inart!"
He pushed over the large candelabra and statue of the saint standing beside the altar, and scrambled downstairs. The slanting morning sunlight pierced his helmet, making his hair and ears smolder with black smoke—Ignoring the pain, Yubi looked up into the long corridors flanking the Corpse Stone: the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, like other churches, was laid out in a cross shape. At the center was a large chapel, with a circular aisle connecting the north and south sides; his mother's coffin was placed deep within the chapel to the south, and Jesus' empty tomb was built under the dome to the north; to the east was Golgotha, and to the west was the Corpse Stone. Yubi glanced to his left; the funeral procession of the Leper King was surging towards the Holy Sepulchre and the chapel; yet he was also reluctant to leave his right, fearing that his mother's remains would suffer misfortune first.
The knights were coming down the stairs, in hot pursuit—they were coming from the right.
Without a second thought, Yubi led them toward the king's coffin. The armor and clothing were too heavy and conspicuous, so he slipped out, transforming into a bat and hiding inside the bishop's robes, being led into the small, sacred tomb. Hymns began to play, candles were lit, and the crown and scepter were placed squarely in the center of the altar. Yubi was relieved to find that the four knights had followed and lost his bearings. Just as he was about to catch his breath, the bishop emerged from the low tomb, brushed his sleeves, and was suddenly exposed to the bright sunlight streaming through the dome. His wings and back fur burned as if on fire, and he screamed.
“A bat.” He heard the bishop wave his hand to shoo him away, and the pursuers swarmed in. “Get this thing away!”
Yubi scrambled towards the pillars, his claws gripping the patterns on the crosses, and scrambled deeper into the darker corridor. He bypassed the funeral procession, walking naked along the circular path southward. Passing the shrines and altars of Golgotha, a wicked thought suddenly crossed his mind: he should turn all of them into his blood slaves—kings, nobles, bishops, knights—making them his scapegoats—just as all vampires are supposed to do. Wasn't the vampire war simply the endless covering of the mark, the relentless struggle for blood slaves? If it was for his own survival, for his mother's resurrection, could any evil deed be justified, forgiven?
Thinking of this, the burning pain in Yubi's back seemed to lessen considerably. He hid in a crack in the ceiling, his sharp nails extending from his fingertips.
The footsteps of the four knights echoed crisply and long through the corridor. They cautiously surveyed their surroundings, leaving no corner unchecked, appearing well-trained and fearless, like assassins specifically trained to hunt vampires. Yubi had not given up his efforts to seize their mark. He repeatedly grappled with his brother, whose whereabouts were unknown, testing whose will was stronger and whose vision was clearer and broader—finally, Yubi seized an opportunity, dragging the lone knight into a cramped monk's hut and removing his helmet.
His claws pressed against the enemy's artery, and he watched with satisfaction as the blood slave finally revealed a forced, humiliating expression of pain. "Give me your sword!" Yubi commanded without hesitation.
Unexpectedly, the vampire saw a long-lost expression on that face: the knight was Germanic, but his features resembled those of a Slavic person; he must be of mixed race. He gritted his teeth, his eyes gleaming with a defiant resolve, and his hand trembled as he thrust the blade toward Yubi's heart—Yubi thought, just like Yakov when he had imprisoned him, with an iron ring around his neck. As if nothing in the world could ever enslave him, could ever command his worship.
The vampire effortlessly kicked the sword away, then tore through the knight's chainmail, wool lining, and etched flesh with his fingernails, his fingers tracing the ribs to grasp the heart. It throbbed powerfully, like a bird struggling in his hand—Yubi crushed it with all his might. Blood splattered into his mouth, landing on his tongue with a familiar bitter taste.
He abandoned the corpse, picked up the longsword, and flicked the switch on the hilt to remove a ring. Yubi stared at the warm, blood-red gem, examining it closely for a while, but couldn't tell if it was real or fake. He had no choice but to raise the sword and behead the knight—such a predetermined death could no longer be reversed by any miracle. The vampire dragged the headless corpse through the door, only to find the other three knights had vanished without a trace, seemingly defeated and fleeing.
“I will not fall into your trap. Your blood slaves will either be my sustenance or a sea of blood offered to my mother,” Yubi murmured. “You send one, I will kill one; you send a hundred, I will kill a hundred. I will never sit idly by and wait to die, I will never surrender. Inart, your freedom and justice cannot defeat me!”
The sunlight above the dome seemed to dim because of his wicked resolve. Yubi looked up and saw the first solar eclipse he had ever witnessed.
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