Act 9: The Oathbreaker (Part 3)
three
Without waiting a moment, the three set off under the cover of night. They traveled without a single servant, hurrying along in silence, the creaking of their stirrups filling the terrible stillness. Half the distance to Constantinople was neither far nor near, but their anxious hearts made the journey anything but smooth and easy, and their pressing unease made them wish they could escape to never reach their destination.
Yakov led the way, carrying an ever-burning lamp. Unsurprisingly, he saw a familiar brown face at the back door of the Kanakakis mansion. “I expected you to visit, but not so soon,” Seleman said, bowing to Yubi and making way for them. “Please come in.”
The blood slave lit the way for his master—only then did he notice that Yubi was trembling with nervousness, his legs too stiff to dismount on his own. Yakov helped him down from the saddle and whispered in his ear, "What are you so nervous about?"
“Can you go for me?” Yubi gripped his robe tightly. “What if I… what if I mess everything up?”
“Why would Anbichya listen to me?” Yakov felt a wave of helpless sorrow. “You just said that you are different from us.”
“Will Schumer blame me? What if he never sees the light again…” Yubi’s feet landed unsteadily. “Something is crushing me… I have so many questions. God, I’ve never seen my sister so terrible… Can’t I come back in a few days?”
Yakov grabbed his finger. "I've told you everything you need to know." He touched the ruby ring on Yubi's left middle finger. The blood-red gem was warm and smooth. "If you can't do this, no one else in the world can. Since you're going to help him, this is your responsibility, and you must bear it yourself!"
He felt as if a long-dormant rain cloud had suddenly cleaved him in two with lightning speed at the point of the engraving. Yakov gritted his teeth and forcefully pulled the ring off—it felt like skinning a deer, scaling a trout, peeling a scab from his own wound, or ripping a hard fingernail from a bloodied finger—Yakov held the warm ring in his hand, and it took away all of Yubi's body heat. It was as if a delicate, fragile life had been grasped in his palm, and would vanish as soon as he let go.
"Are you still nervous?" Yakov asked.
“I feel much better.” Yubi looked up at him. “I realized that a bright view can also broaden my mind.”
A strange, suffocating regret gripped Yakov's neck, making his throat tighten. But he thought, this must be their best option. "I'll keep this for you," Yakov said, carefully tucking the ring into his chainmail, close to his inner breast pocket. He stared into those cold, red eyes, giving his final words of advice, "Don't forget my words. Be careful."
“I remember everything.” Yubi pushed his arm away. “Don’t worry.”
Vampire mansions are always more lively at night. Yubi thought, for the past eighteen years, he had lived like that too. He thought of his mother. His mother had long, silvery-white hair, like moonlight. When it touched the sunlight, it would ignite, turning into specks of black ash. If he wanted to be close to his mother, he had to immerse himself in the darkness and cold, giving up the light and warmth of day—but now, Yubi thought, he had grown accustomed to the sun so quickly. The clamor, the heat, the scorching heat of the human world made it difficult for him to choose between black and white.
Sellerman led him to an unfamiliar corridor. It was hidden deep in the center of the courtyard, not adjacent to a patio, nor with a balcony. No plant grew in that dim place, nor did any babbling brook make a quiet tinkling sound. "Any further on, you can only go alone." The veteran blood slave stopped before a tall door. "This is not a place I am allowed to enter."
Yubi glanced at him. The tall, valiant warrior was bowing humbly before him, as if devoutly praising a deity. "Alright." He withdrew his gaze, pushed open the door, and stepped into the cold darkness.
Seymman closed the door behind him. The last glimmer of light vanished.
Yubi continued forward. After a while, he came to a wide, descending staircase. The sound of his shoes on the stone bricks was so ethereal, echoing as if he were walking through an empty cathedral. It was as if another city had been built beneath Constantinople, Yubi wondered. Was he going to another water palace to confront the terrifying Gorgon? A strange, pungent aroma gradually settled in the air, and Yubi discovered that at the end of the stairs was a sea of mist, obscuring his vision like a cloud—his eyes were not afraid of the darkness, but they could not see through the mist.
“My dear brother,” Ambikia’s voice came from behind the clouds, “you must have a mountain of questions for me.”
Yubi pushed aside the drifting barrier, plunged into it, and headed towards the source of the sound.
He saw his sister, adorned with ornaments, reclining on a pure gold couch, holding a long tube in her hand—Yubi didn't know what it was. The tube was carved with intricate patterns and connected by a flexible tube to a tall pot, from which gurgled and flickered as if embers were burning—the only light in this deep underground world, making all the gold, silver, and jewels around it glitter, like countless mirrors endlessly extending this sparkling light from all directions.
"What is this?" Yubi walked forward, bewildered.
“A novelty.” Ambicya pulled him to sit on the couch, intimately wrapping his arms around his stiff waist. “A few days ago, a Saracen sent me this gift, saying it can relax the mind and make one forget troubles. However, it has some side effects.”
"Side effects?" Yubi saw his sister's hand circle around him, taking the long tube into her mouth. With each breath, large amounts of steam billowed from her young yet aged mouth and nose. "...What kind of side effects?"
"They say this stuff is highly addictive; once you take a puff, you can't forget it." Anbicia scrutinized him with her upturned eyes. "Would you like to try it?"
She held the intricately carved tube to Yubi's lips—Yubi turned his head away in fright and pushed her hand away. "...My troubles can't be easily forgotten," he said softly, "let alone become addicted."
"It's better not to try." Ambikia casually tossed the ornate tube to the ground. "It's of no use to me, and perhaps it's the same for you."
The gold and iron inlaid sculpture fell to the ground a few times, tumbling into a corner. The charcoal fire burning in the kettle quickly went out, plunging the enclosed underground hall into complete darkness.
“What do you want? What do you ask for?” Anbicia’s soft hand stroked his ribs. “Tell me.”
Yubi thought it was perhaps time to break the silence and ask Ambicea the questions she needed to ask. But his mouth was too clumsy to speak—the Old Testament story Schumeer had told him kept replaying in his mind. What had Queen Esther done again? “I…” he grasped his sister’s groping hand, “I think I’d like you to come to my place for a feast…”
Unexpectedly, Ambikia burst into laughter at the answer. She laughed so hard she released Yubi, collapsing onto the hard, cold golden couch, her headdress falling off and her hair disheveled. "What kind of answer is that?" she laughed for a long time before finally raising her head, revealing sharp teeth beneath her lips. "What kind of feast do you have to offer me? Do you expect me to drink the blood of your slave and drain his life force?"
“No!” Yubi was terrified. He couldn’t tell if his sister was joking or threatening. “You…you saved his life, remember?” He finally rose from the uncomfortable, hard golden couch, knelt before Ambikia, and grasped her small, cold, red-nailed hand—this was the first time he had ever shown himself in such a humble posture. Yubi wondered, was he doing the right thing? Could he evoke sympathy, pity? This had become the most crucial matter, how tragic and powerless he felt! “…Sister.” He hoped that his equally cold body temperature could awaken a sliver of empathy in her for her fellow human being, “I beg you, can you perform that miracle again, save one more person?”
"Oh?" Ambikia tilted her head and looked at him, seemingly stunned by his pitiful act. "Why don't you perform that miracle yourself?"
Yubi felt a chill, like an icy thorn, pierce his heart—were these words an insult? "...I'm still too young." He didn't know if these words sounded like a weak excuse to Ambikia, but honesty was his only trump card. "I have so many questions, I...I don't understand how miracles are performed!" Like someone falling into a well, he gripped his sister's hand tightly like a rope. "I want to know what Mother wouldn't tell me, why she died, why she abandoned me, why she rose again! What are blood slaves, what are vampires, what are miracles, what are gods?"
"Please, sister!"
Ambicia rose from the couch and examined his humiliated appearance. "Raise your head," she said.
Yubi did as he was told. Ambikia's gaze passed through his eyes, seemingly piercing the back of his soul, scrutinizing another person. "Please, sister," he murmured numbly, moving his lips as he repeated it.
“Bloodlines are truly wondrous; even I am not immune,” Ambikia exclaimed. “Let me tell you about her.”
The vampire retrieved the pipe, wiped it clean, and lit new charcoal in the pot. A gentle warmth filled the dungeon.
“When I was your age, living with my mother, there was no Jesus Christ in the world, and the cross meant nothing more than an instrument of torture. Gods were still capricious and easily angered; no one thought they should be merciful and loving.” Ambikia spoke slowly, mist swirling around her tongue. “Back then, we were more free to do as we pleased. The weak had not yet developed their own backbone and had to depend on the strong for survival. The wrath of thunder was proof of power, not shallowness or lack of cunning.”
Yubi was held in her arms, their two corpse-like bodies pressed together, the silk and gold as cold as ice. "Where did you live then?" he asked. "Did you see the sun then?"
“We live in Rome.” Ambicia’s smoke drifted into Yubi’s eyes. “Like you, if you want to see the sun, you have to bear the aging of life and become as fragile as a mortal.”
She said I was her first child.
"What exactly was her thinking that made her so determined to have offspring?"
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