Act XV, Hyperborea (Part 2)
two
“Don’t be afraid,” Yakov said. “It’s daytime now, and we’re at sea. No one can catch us.”
Yubi gripped his hand tightly, looking timidly at the blinding sun through her headscarf. They were standing on the deck, surrounded by the vast Mediterranean Sea, the brilliant sunlight bathing the entire surface, making countless silvery waves shimmer and roll.
"I'm not afraid." The vampire resolutely picked up the ring. "I have you by my side!"
Yakov was pleased with his courage, but also wary of the lurking danger. The Blood Slave watched as the ring drew closer and closer to the vampire's fingertip, his heart pounding in his chest, even prepared to perish together—as Yubi slipped the ring on, the magical ruby instantly made his blood rush, and the hand holding Yakov's suddenly warmed.
Nothing happened. No vampires emerged from the shadows, nor did blood slaves rush out from among the sailors with swords drawn. They only heard the sound of the waves crashing and the sea breeze blowing.
“…That’s great.” Yakov breathed a sigh of relief. “That way I can feed you all by myself on the way.”
The resurrected vampire beside him finally ripped off his headscarf, exposing his black hair to the sun. Yubi struggled to get his breathing rhythm, his eyes wide as he surveyed the bright surroundings. But a moment later, he staggered and collapsed onto Yakov—"What's wrong?" Yakov immediately touched his fingers. "Take it off!"
“It’s nothing, I just feel really sleepy…” Yubi murmured with her eyes closed, “I haven’t slept in ten years, I want to sleep.”
Yakov sat down on the edge of the deck and let Yubi's head rest on his lap as he fell asleep. Now, the waves were the softest cradle, and the sunlight the warmest blanket. He wanted to cover Yubi's eyes with his headscarf, but suddenly realized that he hadn't seen Yubi basking in the sun for ten years.
Looking at that bright face, he decided to let Yubi bask in the sun a little longer and sleep a little longer, so that he could enjoy every day under the sun.
The ship followed the exact same route it had taken on the way there, passing Cyprus and Rhodes, crossing the Aegean Sea back to Constantinople. They were incredibly lucky; not only did they avoid storms, but the sea breeze blew in their favor, as if they were protected and guided by Poseidon and Aiolos. "This is the smoothest voyage of my life!" the captain exclaimed upon reaching the Golden Horn. "We'll be there in less than half a month!"
“But we have no documents, and no letters of recommendation,” Yubi whispered to Yakov. “How are we supposed to get through?”
“There’s always a way.” Yakov pondered, gazing at the magnificent walls and harbor of the Queen of the Cities. “I’ll try offering more bribes.”
“We’re almost out of money too…” Yubi reached into the pocket at his waist and untied the knot to show him. “The horse sold for 30 silver coins, and the boat ticket and rations cost 10 silver coins. We still have to keep heading north and take another boat… By the time we get to Novgorod, we’ll be penniless.”
“Money can be earned back.” Yakov suddenly laughed. “You’ve never experienced true poverty, so what you’re going through is nothing.”
His words reassured the vampire, who then followed him out of the cabin. The Golden Horn had seen many owners, but the rosy sunset remained as beautiful as ever; war and massacre had left little trace. Yakov looked around the harbor, hoping to find a familiar face to help him continue his journey—following the flight of seagulls, he spotted a Rus' merchant ship: Slavic ships differed from Greek ships, being made of northern oak, smaller and shallower, with a statue of St. Nicholas at the bow. Yakov saw a familiar tall man carrying a shield and axe boarding the ship.
“Oleg!” he shouted immediately, making the man tremble. “Where are you going?”
Oleg recognized him and Yubi's faces, and his first reaction was to turn and run away—"You don't want Varangi's salary anymore, you won't serve the Emperor?" Yakov rushed forward and grabbed his braid, "Where do you think you're going?"
“I…I don’t know you…” Oleg grinned, his eyes darting around. “I resigned and went back to my hometown. I’m just going back home…”
"You still owe me a favor," Yakov said viciously. "What did you say when you borrowed money from me? You promised to do anything?"
"Please, have mercy on me, brother!" Oleg was in pain from being pulled, and his legs went weak with fear when he saw Yubi. "I... I'll give you back the gold coin... Good man, let me go!"
“That’s not enough,” Yakov said.
"Haha, let him go." Yubi laughed and walked around to face him. "We're going to Novgorod. Can you help us get through customs and find a fast ship?"
"I only beg you not to look for me when you get there, and please don't bite my neck or put that mark on me..." As soon as Yakov released him, Oleg bent over, shrinking his huge body into a humble ball. "Let me have a peaceful old age, Lord Jubius."
“Of course, as long as you don’t call me that anymore.” Yubi pulled Yakov’s hand and stepped onto his boat without further ado. “Yakov and I are your companions, so there’s no need to register us again, right?”
Oleg, with a bitter face, went to the captain under their watchful eyes and scratched his head, racking his brains to make up a lie. It seemed that his status as a member of the Varangian Guard had given him many advantages, because after a while, he sighed and returned to his cabin, back under Yakov's control.
"Why don't you stay in Constantinople?" Yakov asked casually. "Why the sudden urge to return home?"
“I’m too old to gamble anymore.” Oleg grinned awkwardly, revealing a set of mottled yellow teeth. “Unlike you and Lord Jubius, I don’t grow old. I need to find a peaceful place to die.”
The small boat set sail for the Black Sea, heading along the coastline. Their luck hadn't run out yet; the treacherous and terrifying sea had been tamed, with no storms or reefs in sight—at first, it was. Yubi took to the skies at night and found the cities they had visited and the waterways they had traversed more than a decade earlier: Constanta was still vibrant, its harbor brimming with seafood grills and wine; the Danube was still tranquil and deep, with thousands of birds nesting on floating islands. Only many of the once-glorious double-headed eagle flags were now torn to shreds—Yubi remembered Schumeer telling him about Bulgarian independence. Now, the brutal wars and political maneuvering on land were all left behind, no longer worth considering.
“Further north, there are places you’ve never been before,” Yakov said, pointing to the distant traces of land. “The weather will get colder and colder.”
“Transylvania is cold too,” Yubi retorted. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“The real north is much colder than Bislansilvania.” Yakov’s lips curled into a stern smile. “Don’t exaggerate. In Novgorod, you have to light a stove to survive until September, and it’s already winter now.”
“But didn’t you live there?” Yubi snorted. “If you’re not afraid, why should I be afraid?”
Yakov shrugged, pointing only to Oleg's appearance—the disheveled Varangian had linings stuffed under his helmet, and his fingers were wrapped in layers of cotton. "Winter is coming," Oleg sighed, the air thick with frost. He handed Yakov a wool cloak. "If you're lucky, you'll catch the last boat of the year before the Dnieper freezes; if not, you'll stay in Kherson for a few months."
“Helson?” Yubi turned and asked, “Wasn’t Batur’s tribe located on that grassland?”
“Yes.” Yakov pulled a thick fur hat out of nowhere and put it on his head. “I was born there, but it’s not really my hometown.”
Yubi was so engrossed in imagining the cold and tranquility of the far north that he didn't realize how arduous the journey ahead would be.
The ship entered the Dnieper River from the Black Sea. The river flowed upstream, with numerous shallows. Whenever it ran aground, everyone had to disembark, dismantle the ship, load the cargo onto wagons, and pull them across the tall, grassy marshes. The pampered nobles had no idea how rampant the northern mosquitoes were: the moment they stepped onto the shore, they would rise like black clouds, buzzing like birdsong, enveloping men and horses, biting every exposed inch of skin, leaving welts that wouldn't heal for weeks. Yakov and Oleg had to work hard while remaining vigilant; if the sound of Tatar hooves approached on the horizon, they had to draw their swords and axes immediately. Even so, much was still stolen.
When the travelers arrived in Kyiv in October, they were greeted by the first snow of winter. "This is my limit," Oleg shook his head and waved his hand. "Any further north, you'll have to figure it out yourself."
After bidding farewell to the Varangians, Yakov bought a thick, heavy coat at the port and draped it over Yubi's shoulders. Yubi picked it up and noticed that the sleeves were surprisingly long, almost dragging on the ground. "If you're cold, tuck your hands inside," the Blood Slave instructed. "Don't unbutton a single button."
"And what about you?" Yubi held his stiff, red knuckles with heartache. "Maybe we should stop here too."
“No need.” Yakov tightened his wool cloak. “The river hasn’t frozen yet; we can still catch the last boat.”
Their boat grew smaller and smaller. They crossed the Daogava River and then the Lovati River. There were no mountains, the land stretched as far as the eye could see, the surrounding fields became increasingly open and flat, the snow beneath the wooden cartwheels grew thicker and harder, and the night overhead seemed longer and more endless—Yubi was surprised to find that in the northern winter, the sun was a luxury. Even at noon, the sunlight poured down like a southern dawn, weak and indifferent, offering no warmth. "In a few days, it will be a time when there is no daylight," Yakov said, holding him close to warm him, their clothes covered in snowflakes. "During the hottest part of summer, there is no darkness."
"Huh?" Yubi looked up and asked, "Really? Why?"
“Because it’s on the edge of the world,” Yakov said. “The priests say it’s a remnant left by God when He created the world.”
"Are you going into town?" The boatman, who was breaking through the ice, turned around and asked them in Slavic. "Ahead lies the land of the free, Novgorod."
“You decide,” Yakov asked Yubi.
Yubi wriggled out of his arms, climbed out of the hull, and looked north. The surroundings were vast and open. His gaze swept over countless snowflakes, reaching across the cold Lake Ilmen. Novgorod was a small city, its walls built of heavy wooden piles. The plains outside stretched as far as the eye could see, and the Volkhov River, like a shimmering diamond ribbon, meandered through the farmland and villages. In the night sky, a faint, colorful halo floated above the city, like a crown made of cold flames.
“They call this the curtain to the gates of heaven,” Yakov laughed behind him. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
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