Act XIV: The Dance of the Seven Veils (Sixteen)
sixteen
Yakov thought he would see several Templar Knights with ruby swords in the chapel and prepare for a fierce battle—but instead, an unpleasant brown face was waiting for him outside the cave.
“You’re really giving me a headache.” Sylman sighed as he watched him leave, handing him a simple yet respectable robe. “But it’s better for you to have escaped here than to have starved to death in a dry well.”
The fact that this eunuch dared to appear in this dangerous place meant that Ambikia must also be monitoring it. Thinking this, Yakov instinctively stopped Yubi behind him—the vampire vanished into his robes as a puff of smoke, giving the soft fabric form. "Let's go," he said, putting a helmet on Yakov and then his own hood over his head. "I'll protect you."
“Let’s go,” Seleman said with a smile. “Be careful not to go where the master can’t find us.”
Inside the central chapel of the church, the two factions of heirs were locked in a heated argument, their tensions palpable. "You have deliberately violated the peace treaty with Saladin! This is not only a breach of dignity and etiquette, but also an outrageous act of folly!" the Grand Master of the Hospitallers roared. "This is contrary to the late King's will, and the vassals of Galilee, Nablus, and Ibelin will not support you!"
“These cowards,” the lord of Transjordan mocked them. “I’ve heard that the Regent has colluded with Saladin and secretly allowed the enemy army to cross our land. This is treason, this is apostasy!”
“The Count of Tripoli has always been a man who doesn’t keep his promises,” the Grand Master of the Knights Templar cursed viciously. “In my opinion, he wants to split the kingdom, wants to be king himself, and wants to be Saladin’s puppet.”
"We support Sibylla as queen, but we will never accept her incompetent husband as her co-ruler!"
"Saladin has returned from Cairo to Damascus and assembled an army of 100,000 men!"
Their argument gradually lost its logic, turning into emotional insults and accusations. Everyone stood fearfully and tensely before the Holy Tomb of Jesus, their spears and flagpoles standing densely packed like trees in a forest, about to be swept away and destroyed by a hurricane. Yakov pulled Yubi into that dangerous forest, looking up at the center of the commotion—the newly crowned Queen of Jerusalem sat beside her deceased son's tomb, her weak, low-born husband beside her, and a few Lombards sat in the front seats of her supporters. They all watched the commotion with cold indifference and stiffness.
Yakov suddenly spotted a small woman among them. She had her hair tightly wrapped in a headscarf and wore a veil, mysteriously concealing her face and preventing anyone from seeing the truth—the vampire's fingernails scratching at his palm reminded him of this.
“The master’s current name is Adliva di Monferrato,” Seleman introduced with ease. “After the war, you can go to northern Italy and choose a good place to live, such as Milan, Genoa, or Savoy. There are beautiful sea views there that rival those of Constantinople, and you will like them.”
Yakov glanced silently at Yubina—whose gaze was also turning towards him with a helpless look.
“Then I’ll excuse myself.” Seleman said dismissively to their silent protest. “Good luck.”
He left the two men, weaving through the clamor of the nobles and soldiers to get behind "Adeleva." "Where's Inart?" Yakov finally managed to lean down and whisper to Yubi, "Can you see him?"
“I didn’t see him, I only saw his blood slaves.” Yubi pointed to the Templar Knights’ ranks, “but I could sense him.”
"feel?"
“He’s trying to drain your blood.” Yubi turned and gripped Yakov’s fingers tightly. “With me here, he can’t do it.”
Yakov immediately tensed up. Just then, a heated argument erupted in the hall like boiling porridge – "Expel all protesters!" The Queen, scepter in hand, issued her first authoritative decree, "Those who divide the kingdom shall be punished!"
Her command finally unleashed a long-brewing hurricane that swept through the sacred church, neatly toppling all the upright spears and whipping out all the longswords hidden in their sheaths. Their sharp blades clashed in the raging ocean, stirring everyone into motion by the undercurrents: unarmed bishops and monks fled in disarray, hiding their scriptures and incense burners; knights and soldiers no longer considered this an inviolable holy site, intending to turn it into a river of blood once more; even nobles and royalty rose from their chairs, craning their necks to watch from a safe distance.
The time has come. Where is Inard? Who will he strike first? Yakov recalled the vampire's gaunt face, trying to find his figure hidden beneath the robe. Would that fanatical man truly wield the ruby-inlaid sword and once again brutally murder his loved ones?
"Hasn't he shown himself yet?" Yakov asked anxiously. "Why isn't he here!"
"He's not in the crowd!" Yubi said, hiding under his hood. "Maybe it's because the dome is too transparent... Vampires can't move as freely in the sun as mortals!"
Like a needle plucked at a string of thoughts, Yakov suddenly recalled many things from the past: how to assassinate a vampire? Hadn't he witnessed it firsthand? There would be an inconspicuous assassin, rushing out with the smallest, most convenient weapon when everyone was most relaxed. Who was this inconspicuous assassin? Who was Ambikia's most unsuspecting target? Who could wield the smallest, most convenient weapon?
Countless possible and impossible names flashed before Yakov's eyes. He immediately turned to look at Seilman—the eunuch was doing exactly the same thing as him, and their gazes collided in a chaotic blur.
“I see Yesau!” Yubi’s voice rang out. “He’s coming this way with a group of Templar Knights…and he has another mark on his chest!”
"It can't be him! With the mark, it can't be him!"
"What?"
"Vampires can see markings. The ring must be in the hands of the least likely person to have it!"
"...How could someone who isn't a blood slave possibly possess something so important?"
“If he was a follower of Inard, and if the target of the assassination was Ambikia,” Yakov rushed toward the center of the hall, “then it must be so!”
“But there are too many people… Yakov, it’s daytime now. Even if we find the ring, we can’t take it or defend it!”
Ambichai was squeezed among a group of nobles, trying to slip into a nearby room. She was so small she was almost swallowed by the commotion. Yakov glanced around—the nobles were either Franks or Lombards. He spotted a Saracen among them, probably an envoy sent by Saladin. Suddenly, an ancient legend resurfaced in his memory. He remembered the story of the Garden of Eden and the Death Knights he had heard forty years ago when he first met Ambichai.
"Assassin!" Yakov shouted, rushing forward and pushing through the fleeing crowd, grabbing the naked man's collar without regard for anything else. "Khasasin!"
The captured envoy stared wide-eyed, bewildered and terrified. "This barbaric knight!" he cried, his hand reaching for his waist. "What nonsense are you spouting?"
Before he could draw his weapon, Yakov had already flipped him over and pinned him to the stone floor, searching him. Ambikia, supported by Seleman, strode out arrogantly; Yubi, hooded, hid in a corner; in the center of the hall, the sound of something like bats flapping their wings was approaching, hidden amidst the hurried footsteps of the Templars.
The scorching sun made Yakov sweat—he had found a Damascus steel dagger, studded with various gems, on the Saracen.
"This man is my comrade who committed murder and fled," Yesau's shouts were drowned out by the fighting. "Arrest him and confiscate his murder weapon!"
“Give me the knife.” Seleman shielded Ambicya behind him and held out his hand. “Give me the knife, Yakov.”
Yakov frantically searched for the mechanism on the dagger, for the blood-red gem among all the stones. As he discovered the clasp, he suddenly found his lungs unable to breathe easily, his joints stiff as unpainted tire tracks, his mind clouded, his vision blurred—he had gambled correctly; all doubt vanished. Yakov felt sharp, intermittent pain emanating from the mark on his chest, like being subjected to intermittent torture—as he trembled, his calloused, cracked hands peeled the obsidian-based ruby ring from the dagger, several longswords and spears were already embedded in his body. He heard Yubi scream behind him.
Yakov gripped the ring tightly in his hand.
“You’re crazy, you can’t take it away from me.” Sellerman grabbed his arm and forcefully pried his fingers apart. “Give it to me.”
Yakov offered no resistance, but simply opened his fist—and countless identical ruby rings magically scattered across the ground.
Ambikia roughly pushed his blood slave away and stared blankly at the pile of rings; Yubi's voice stopped, his mouth agape, unable to speak.
This was the first time Yakov had ever seen vampires so stunned. In that instant, he felt an overwhelming sense of exhilaration, as if he were Prometheus stealing fire, or Sisyphus deceiving Death. Even if he were bound to a cliff and had his liver pecked out by an eagle, or condemned to push a boulder uphill for eternity, he would never regret it, never back down! Thinking this, Yakov couldn't help but burst into laughter, laughing so hard he almost fell over, drool dripping from the corner of his mouth.
While Anbichia and Yubi were stunned, a cloud of black mist swept through the chaotic footsteps and reached his feet, taking away all the fakes and genuine items.
Ambikia's face beneath the veil gradually contorted. The petite vampire walked up to Yakov, who was laughing so hard he was almost exhausted, and glanced resentfully at his younger brother's innocent face.
"Don't let them leave here." Her shoe kicked Yakov hard, knocking him to the ground. "I'll handle this myself."
As he lay in a pool of blood, Yakov saw his mirror-like reflection: he had aged, yet seemed unchanged. It was as if the past decade or so had returned to him in an instant, making him wiser, more mature, more honest, more able to see the truth of things, and more willing to embrace and accept them. He saw that after Yubi's face appeared in the reflection, it looked remarkably like Camilla's shadow. "Yakov..." the vampire knelt beside him, heartbroken and remorseful, pleading, letting the blood slowly return to his body, "I fear your death, I fear your aging, I fear your suffering. Be my blood slave, Yakov..."
The blood slave moved his fingers, slowly unbuckling the leather strap around his neck and removing his chainmail. He lowered his head, examining the marks etched on his chest—what had just happened? Yakov wondered, what price had he paid? He tried to search his memory for the commands, for the precious thing he had traded his freedom for.
"You must be loyal to my child, cherish his spirit, and protect his mind. You must not let him grieve or be lonely, nor let him become arrogant or ignorant. You will be his hands, feet, ears, and eyes, and you will escort him to the very end."
Yakov found himself still only remembering that sentence, only caring about that sentence, only agreeing with that sentence. He got up and touched his beard and face—they hadn't become loose, nor had any new wrinkles appeared. He was still strong and agile.
The blood slave looked towards the chapel to the south, recalling the cold, heavy stone coffin in the underground grotto. "I will not be your blood slave," he rebuked. "I do not need to be your blood slave to protect you."
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