BENEATH A BETHEL
Beneath A Bethel
By April-Jane Rowan
Published by Gurt Dog Press
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.
Illustrations and cover by Nem Rowan
Editing by Nem Rowan
Cover font by Typodermic Fonts
This book is a work of fiction and all names, characters, and incidents are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people or events is coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 April-Jane Rowan
Digital ISBN 978-91-986187-2-3
Paperback ISBN 978-91-986187-3-0
Hard cover ISBN 978-91-986187-7-8
To Noah and Linn,
For travelling beside me, one step at a time.
1
Everyone remembers the day they lost their teeth: the holy day of Floris.
The feel of the pliers pulling the teeth from bleeding gums. Eyes clenching shut, tears leaking traitorously from under their lids. The sound each one made as it fell into the glass bowl, solid and slick with blood. The echo of it sounding through the vast hall, met with the song of heavy breathing and keening. The agony of nerves being rent and severed as blood rushed down their throat, choking. Amid blooming flowers and flickering candles, the witnesses standing hushed and respectful until the final hymns, marvelling at the loss of innocence. Flowing blood coating their chin, fat droplets staining the embroidered smock that covers their shaking form.
Above all, everyone remembers the pride, the excitement that they are finally old enough to bear magic. No longer children kept from it for fear of misuse, but adults, soon to be taught to shape and control it. To bend the world to their will with wishes. Soon to be given new teeth, each one infused with magic, each one made solely for them.
No one more than I remembers that day, because though my Floris started full of pride and excitement, it ended in shame and filth. A day that should have been one heralding a new beginning, my first steps into adulthood instead became a twisted nightmare, a secret I could confide in no one for fear of being ridiculed.
For me, there was to be no grand hall, no flowers bursting from table-tops like wild creatures or candles heavy with scented smoke. Like so many others that grew up feral in the streets facing the Eldwen river, my family had not the money for such luxuries. In place of such grandeur, our own Floris ceremonies were held by the water’s edge, the snow turning to slush as the tide fought to keep flowing. Nor was it a singular event; lines of youths waited for the pain of the pliers, the joy of being welcomed into the watching crowd of adults. Bodies shivering and lips chapped as long, fur-tipped tails curled around legs to maintain warmth. I had always found the Floris ceremonies by the river beautiful when I was a child, trailing behind my father with impatience bubbling inside me as he walked to go witness.
The bright sunlight reflected off the surrounding snow as freezing air bit at nostrils and chilled lungs. Eldwen’s water created a song of its own as it rushed past and the surrounding snow-endowed mountains were like the walls of the Bethel where the wealthy youths lost their teeth. The cold snapped through the crowd, pulling at the thin smocks the young people wore as the blood shone like rubies, so vivid on the hard ground.
Inside my heart, however, crept a wish, one shared by all the children born to those streets. And it was this wish that led me through the alleyways in the gloaming hours, dashing towards the brightly painted front of the Bethel.
I should have been content with what I knew, happy with the hum of the Eldwen and the snow beneath my feet. But I turned my back on that known safety I had grown up with, and sought the splendour I had only seen in snatches through frosted windows. I wanted more and now I had someone offering it to me in the palm of his hand.
“Gillis!” I called, my voice echoing in the silent streets, the window shutters locked tight against the rough night wind, as the surrounding buildings loomed on either side.
Before he could turn, I collided with him, my breath pluming from my beaming mouth as his arms wrapped around me. He was warm, bundled in a long coat, the thick fur ruff at his throat puffed around his cheeks. His short, black fringe hung over one side of his forehead, tangling around his unpolished, curled horns. His white face always bore an expression of mischief, even when he was attempting to seem sincere, and tonight was no different. We had only known each other a few months, my evenings spent sneaking from the house and into his wanton clutches, but I felt as if it had been so much longer. We had both grown up beside the river and as a result we were used to stretching our means, our clothing patched and worn while our stomachs ached with a hunger never satisfied. This shared hardship had bonded us.
“Angora.” he grinned, exposing his dull, blue teeth, one front incisor chipped. His long, clawed fingers brushed my curled, black hair from my brow, touching my hairless, white face before grooming the thick fur at my own throat.
I stood on tiptoes, his mouth burning mine, hot and yielding. The wind danced with snow around us as we embraced, pulling at our clothes, sneaking beneath fabric until even our scalding kisses couldn’t stop us from shivering.
“Come this way, everything is arranged,” he spoke, breaking away and taking my hand instead so that he could tug me along the street, our shadows cast on the fronts of houses as we passed under burning street lights.
In the night, Elbridge took on the appearance of a collection of doll-houses, lines upon lines of tall, painted houses, their pastel shades worn on the edges by the intense weather. Fast-flowing streams cut through the streets, bridges rising over them at intervals. Shuttered windows dotted the fronts of every building, and the roofs were curved and scalloped. Shops teased their wares behind their shutters by the paintings adorning the door frames and walls as we passed. One showed plump cakes, another locally caught fish and on the corner we turned down, one sold the sturdy boots that we slipped over our clawed feet.
I only caught glimpses, Gillis’s hand tight in mine, pulling me forward so that the ice beneath my feet made me slip here and there. From here, the long, arching, central bridge that had given the town its name was hidden, but I could picture it in my mind, wreathed in moonlight, leading to far cities not governed by mountains and snow.
“Gillis, wait!” I called, trying to stay on my feet, his haste making a smile stretch across my face. “Slow down!”
He turned to grin back at me, caught up in the excitement as much as I was, the sound of our rapid beating hearts almost audible to my ears, like a song caught on the wind. My words had no effect, our speeding shadows following us across the shop fronts that became houses until we reached an alley, no different from all the others we had already passed. A single light lit the entrance, the houses either side pastel green and pink and the lamp-light flickering in the bitter cold. Beyond the light, darkness loomed, making the alley appear as a gaping mouth leading to a destination unknown.
“This way,” he breathed, steam rising from his mouth as he cupped his hands, blowing on his dark fingers to warm them.
A tangle of nerves and excitement squirmed in my stomach as I took hold of his hand, but my smile was full of trust. This was to be the most important night of my life and he was the only person I needed to witness it. I couldn't back out now, couldn't slink home to await my Floris beside the river with my parents watching. The hunger for more was gnawing at my heart, insistent.
Throwing tradition to the ground, we moved into the alley, our steps slow in the gloom. I let him lead me, tilting my head back to gaze at the sliver of sky between the tall houses, a river of stars following the same path as us, as if we walked on the sky and
I was peering towards the ground. They twinkled, the wind whistling above and pulling snowflakes in its wake. It was a peaceful night; the blizzards Elbridge was known for were visiting some far off place instead. Though cramped, our shoulders brushing the walls of the houses either side, it was warmer in the alley, our feet stumbling through forgotten rubbish and hard, packed snow.
A shaft of light beckoned us, spilling from an open door, one that had it not been left ajar would have been indistinguishable from the alley’s wall. Grime and soot coated its surface, staining his fingertips as he pulled it fully open. We slipped inside and immediately started descending the stairs within, a flickering glow illuminating one minute and casting shadows the next.
“I thought we were going to the Bethel?” I asked, glancing round at him as the shadows hid our expressions, darkness surrounding us.
“We are, through the cellars, so that no one will know of us being there. It’s the safest way,” he whispered, and when the lights spluttered back to life, he was smiling softly, his hands encouraging on my shoulders as they gently guided me down the stairs. His words made sense; of course we could not simply unlock the Bethel and stroll inside. How could I have doubted him?
The stairs curled around into the abyss, but sooner than I had thought, solid ground was beneath our feet, tunnels spreading before us as insidious paths. The walls were earthen, held in check by wooden beams, some buckling under the strain as cracks spread along their lengths. I reached out, running a palm down one, shocked by the cold ice encrusting the surface.
“What did you expect? That the ice would leave these cellars be?” Gillis chuckled, striding ahead of me, undaunted by the shadows. “If anything, the ice helps hold these tunnels together. It would be a bad day for Elbridge if the sun ever chanced to send her rays our way. Follow me.”
I skipped after him hurriedly, worried that I would lose him in the darkness once he stopped talking. His hand grabbed onto mine, fingers lacing and tightening so that I wouldn't stray, and I released a breath, the pressure in my chest easing.
We walked for what seemed like ages, me following behind him, my eyesight not as strong in the dark, and my feet stumbling over the rocks and slivers of wooden beams that littered the path. The air was thin, our breathing sharp and laboured as we roamed the tight space, the walls feeling as if they would crash in on us at the slightest provocation.
Finally, we reached another door, this one ill-set in its frame as the wood was warped and frozen. He pressed me forward, knocking my shoulder gently. Someone had used a knife to ease it open, the slashes raised under my hands as I pulled it ajar. Light spilled from within, so bright that I was blinded and forced to blink rapidly with my hands before my face. Gillis seemed less bothered, urging me inside and closing the door closed behind us.
When my eyes adjusted, I was able to take in the bare room, tightly packed, frozen mud and wooden beams, a cluster of lamps in each corner. The beams had been painted, swirls of pastel colours clashing together along their lengths, with golden teeth dancing across the riot of colours. Dried and dying bouquets of flowers hung from the ceiling, discarded petals having fallen to the floor, strewn across the dirt and blood encrusted bed beneath.
“Gillis…” I breathed, spinning to gaze at my lover, the man I had trusted with my deepest wishes. My mind was trying to understand, tripping over itself, too caught up with what my eyes were seeing.
There were no doors in this room, nothing that would lead to the Bethel above. The room itself was decorated in a vague attempt to match its splendour, paint layered and chipping.
“What...”I trailed off.
“You wanted your Floris to be like all the others and so it shall be. Here in this room, we can give you what you always wanted, Angora,” he breathed, his body blocking the way out, his hands spread and placating as his tail flicked back and forth, betraying his tense feelings.
“But this is…” I whispered, caught between horror and disbelief.
To lose my teeth in an empty Bethel, devoid of the spectacle but with the reverence of all of those that had been before me had been worth the risk. But this, a dark room underground, painted in mockery; I would have rather had the river and the blood-stained snow.
“Others have…” I breathed, gesturing at the blood-stained mattress and cushions, the gore having soaked beneath, rendering them hard and thick.
“Take off your coat and lay down, Angora,” he ordered, his voice losing its soothing tone, becoming sharp.
I felt as if I was watching this through a fog, unable to understand how our bright love had lead to this dank room, to his eyes flashing with warning. I did as he bade me to, slipping my worn coat from my shoulders so that it pooled on the floor, exposing the thin embroidered smock I wore beneath, one that had been stitched by my mother, year upon year for this very day.
“Your boots, now,” he demanded, slipping his hand into his own pocket and pulling out a rusted pair of pliers, plain and ugly, along with a chipped glass bowl.
“I’ve changed my mind, I think we should go back, I don't—” I sobbed, tears beginning to cascade down my cheeks, my revulsion and terror clawing at my chest, my breaths ragged. “This isn't… This isn’t what I wanted.”
“Forget the boots, just lay down,” he snapped, all façade of warmth dropping from him, leaving only impatience in its wake. That mischievous look that had so charmed me was gone and I didn't recognise the person standing before me. “Now!”
“Please Gillis, please can we leave…” I begged, even as I slowly crouched, dropping onto the mattress where the smell of blood overwhelmed me, causing me to gag. It flaked underneath my hands, tiny shards of the blood of forgotten souls staining my hands and knees red. “Please, this isn't what I wanted…”
Suddenly he was before me, pressing me down into the mattress and straddling my waist, his face set in resolve, the fur at his neck bristling. I choked on my snot and tears, holding my hands up to ward him off but he was far stronger, pinning them under his legs as I squirmed.
Only then did I begin to scream, the hollow sound echoing through the tunnels, running through them as I could not.
His fist connected with my cheek, the pain startling me into silence long enough for him to slip the pliers into my mouth, the metal sliding off my saliva-coated teeth. I screamed around them as he found purchase and began to pull, ripping loose my first tooth and tossing it into the bowl beside us.
There was pride in remaining silent during your Floris; youths practised to hold the pain inside by cutting their fingertips, opening wounds and breathing deeply. Many managed to control all but the barest of whimpers and moans, while the few that could hold everything within themselves were celebrated. My own fingers were riddled with scars from my years of practice, but here, in this cold, filthy room, I would find no pride, silent or otherwise. My screams ripped free from me without shame.
As I was forced to lay down, my mouth began to fill with blood, and Gillis’s hands expertly sought out my teeth, pulling and tearing them from my gums. The blood ran down the corners of my mouth as I retched, my tongue trying to force him from my mouth. Words were lost to me now, the pain throbbing through my body and screams engulfing them, but in my mind, a single word repeated.
Please.
I clung to it as a mantra, knowing that if I kept the chant going endlessly in my mind that at some point, it would have to be answered. At some point this would stop; at some point this would have to end.
The lamps cast the room in shadows, making patterns on the walls as if I really was surrounded by a crowd, as the agony built to a roar in my ears, mocking the songs I should be hearing, the songs my family and others would have sung me into adulthood. The chime of my teeth hitting the glass bowl replaced my screams, my throat too full of blood and my mind too slow to maintain them. My limbs were leaden; his weight upon me no longer needed to hold me down as my body succumbed to the pain, my vision blurring, my nostrils widening as I involuntarily tried to breat
he.
Please.
Gillis stopped, the pliers pulled from my mouth and his weight leaving me as, timidly, I sat up . Dumbly, I turned my head, blood fountaining from my mouth like the river I had betrayed. The pain was so intense, a deep throb running from my head to the tips of my fingers and toes, and all I could do was lay back down and stay as still as I could, my mouth gaping and breathing heavy. If I didn't move it would abate, it would numb.
He was wiping his blood-stained hands in a dirty cloth he had pulled from his coat. That same cloth he then used to wrap around the bowl, covering my teeth and placing them in his pocket.
For all the paintings and flowers, there had been no reverence in this act.
I should have been full of joy, the pain passing as an after-thought, as I glowed with love and excitement. It should have been gentle, willing and kind. Instead, I had been robbed, forced and broken. Something that should have been wonderful had been twisted, my guts wrenching with sickness.
I thought he would leave, just abandon me here with, what I realised now, had been our false love. No one could do such an act to someone they loved. I had been a fool, seduced by sweet words and twinkling eyes. Such a fool. And, judging by the blood that surrounded me, not the first either. A long line of youths had been tricked into confessing secret desires, only to have them turned against them.
He did not leave however, and instead pulled a long, slim blade from his pocket, one as worn as the pliers. I saw it through the pain and fog, my mind’s mantra having not abated even in the lull of agony. Now though, a sharper thought broke through, more urgent, and it replaced my plea with a vengeance, spinning through my mind.
No.
NO.
I rolled onto my side, heaving my shaking limbs into action as he moved towards me, reaching out with his free hand to grab me. My skin was coated in blood and I managed to wrench myself free due to it, stumbling towards the door.
Beneath a Bethel Page 1
