Act XV, Hyperborea (Part 3)
three
Before entering the city, Yubi had seen a cross standing inside the city walls. "Do the people here also believe in Christ?" he asked in surprise. "If they believe in Christ, why are they called savages?"
“Not everyone believes in Christ,” Yakov said. “And this Christ is not quite the same as the Christ of the South.”
"Like the Latins and Greeks, who were different?"
"Not really."
"What's different about it?"
“You’ll understand in a while.” Yakov pulled him off the ship. “Christ, Allah, God, they’re all just names. As for what people call those names, naturally everyone has a different opinion.”
“Just like Schumacher once said,” Yubi said thoughtfully, “'God is a flag, a language. To believe or not to believe is a choice.' Is that right?”
Yakov thought about it carefully for a while. "I don't like that way of putting it," he said. "If you ask me, there's something that everyone has in their heart, and there's no need to give it a name or worship it."
“What is that?” Yubi stared at him wide-eyed.
Yakov sighed helplessly. "...Just like your name," he replied vaguely.
"Oh!" Yubi smiled broadly at his embarrassed expression. "I understand, it's true freedom!"
"Alright, stop fooling around." Yakov patted his back and pushed him away. "We need to find a place to stay before dark."
This wasn't exactly a small town. While it paled in comparison to the magnificent or sacred cities of Constantinople and Jerusalem, in Yubi's eyes, the existence of such a city in this desolate, freezing, and sparsely populated region was nothing short of a miracle: most of the houses were made of wood, yet there were also tall stone cathedrals, plastered white and adorned with exquisite frescoes; the streets were paved with planks, layered upon each other, preventing them from turning muddy after snowfall; Yubi even spotted Franks and Greeks living in their own special districts, selling fashionable goods they had brought from afar. Everyone moved among the houses, their smoke rising, creating a vibrant atmosphere despite the approaching winter.
"This is wonderful!" he exclaimed. "It's quite lively here!"
Yakov slowly pulled out the purse and shook it near his ear—only then did Yubi realize that the small suede package was empty, floating lightly without making a sound. The former nobleman finally remembered something, snatched the purse from Yakov's hand, and opened it: inside was only a single, lonely silver coin.
“We can’t afford the land in the city,” Yakov said, pointing to the crowded wooden houses by the roadside. “The cheapest one costs at least three silver coins.”
"...What about those outside the city?"
“If you live in a village, you have to pay taxes to the lord; if you live in a monastery, you have to pay taxes to the church.” Yakov shook his head with his arms crossed. “I don’t know how to farm or do handicrafts, and I don’t want to recite scriptures.”
Fine beads of sweat were practically forming on Yubi's forehead. "Where will we live?" he asked. "How will we survive? How will we eat?"
Yakov laughed at his anxious look. “When I was your age, no, even younger than you, I also disembarked alone, penniless, and came to this land of freedom,” he reminisced. “Back then, I made a living as a mercenary, and I spent most of my earnings on drinking. Later, I deserted and became a bandit, and that’s when I met you and your mother.”
“…And now?” Yubi grabbed his hand. “We came here to escape the war, you shouldn’t go and fight!”
“Of course there are ways,” Yakov said, “but life will be tough, and I’m afraid you won’t be able to handle it.”
“I’m not afraid of hardship!” Yubi looked at him firmly. “I’m willing to endure any hardship!”
A strange, complex expression crossed Yakov's face, half approval and half worry. "I'm going to become a hunter and find a secluded place to live," he said, pointing to the hazy forest in the distance outside the city. "I can support myself and have enough blood to feed you."
The vampire recalled the taste of animal blood—and he immediately understood the meaning of "suffering".
"I do." But he still said, "I believe in you."
The days in Novgorod are too short. They asked their way from the church to the market, from the docks to the village, weaving through streets lined with dried fish and salt blocks, trudging through muddy paths overgrown with frost and dense woods. Before they knew it, dusk had fallen, and Yubi clutched the last silver coin tightly in his hand, making it burn. "This is the cheapest one," the monastery scribe told them before nightfall, leading them to a dilapidated wooden hut. "This used to be a mill. The waterwheel had to be repaired every time it froze, so it was left to rot completely—I don't know which foolish miller would build a mill in this remote place; who would come? So it was abandoned for many years."
Yubi alighted from the carriage and braved the wind and snow to walk around to the back of the cabin. It was compact and small, next to a cold stream. He stepped into a dense patch of grass and felt as if he were a tiny sprite who had fallen into the fluffy golden hair of a giant, having to lift his feet high with every step. Looking down, the old dirt path was filled with vegetation; looking ahead, the edge of the forest was less than a hundred paces away.
“The earlier rooms are better,” the scribe advised. “These are too remote; nobody comes here often. It’s inconvenient to go to the city, and we’re also worried about wild animals attacking us.”
“I’m not afraid of wild animals,” Yakov said, pointing to his longsword. “The fewer people, the better.”
"If you're worried about the price, you can get a loan from the monastery," the scribe added helplessly. "With a few more silver coins, you can earn it back in a few months."
“The loan is non-negotiable.” Yakov frowned.
“Alas, you should also worry about your neighbors.” The scribe reluctantly pulled a stiff birch bark contract from his pocket. “Most people in this village are Christians, but there are still some Chude people who believe in paganism… The nearest house has an old woman living there, and everyone says she’s a witch who knows barbaric witchcraft. Aren’t you afraid of being cursed?”
Witch, sorcery, curse? Yakov almost laughed out loud at the words—he watched the vampire clumsily trudging through the golden grass, only to collapse after a few steps, sprawling in a thin layer of snow. Suddenly, he remembered his golden dreams, and the scent of ambergris seemed to fill his nostrils.
“This will be beautiful in the summer,” Yakov said abruptly. “This grass really looks like wheat, doesn’t it?”
The scribe was completely baffled by his question. "...This is foxtail grass, you can't eat it like wheat!"
“I know,” Yakov nodded. “Where does that witch you’re talking about live?”
“…Continue north along this road, and you’ll reach a cemetery.” The scribe replied hesitantly, “Nobody wants to deal with heretics, and nobody wants to go that way.”
Yakov nodded, watching as Yubi got up and returned to them, her sleeves rolled up. "That's pitiful of her," Yubi said. "I think it's good."
“I think so too.” Yakov took the warm silver coin from Yubi’s hand. “This is it.”
He handed the silver coins to the scribe. The monk finally stopped arguing and took out a pen from his sleeve, making corrections on the birch bark. "Very well," he said, handing the contract to Yakov and lifting an old wooden bolt from the carriage. "This land from the river to the forest is yours."
Yakov took the latch and thanked the scribe. Before the carriage had even creaked away from the dirt road, Yubi jumped onto his back and hugged his neck tightly.
"Are you hungry?" The blood slave turned around. "Isn't it too early?"
He noticed that Yubi was shivering, his eyelashes and eyebrows frosted over. "...I'm so cold, Yakov," Yubi managed to squeeze out through his trembling teeth. "It's so cold!"
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