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measured_wordsI had to cut it because it was so long, but this is the much nastier part, so it works out @_@
***
"Now, lass, I think that may be enough for now. I'm old, and ye tire me out with your
incessant demands for 'more story, more story!'" I'm being cruel, I know, and the day is not yet passed, but I am old. And besides. I don't want to think about what comes next. Caitrin pouts. I startled her, I think, with my abrupt ending.
"Ach, granddad, it's nae true! I'd run myself through on me shiny new knight's sword before I'd whine at ye so! And besides, ye've got me enraptured now. And it's not even time for dinner yet." She bats her eyes prettily at me, still pouting.
"What's that ye were sayin', lass, about not whining?" I stand and stretch my old joints. "All this sitting around is nae good for me! One of these times I shall sit right down and never get back up."
"Dinna say such things, ye break my heart." She comes over, bending down to give her old granddad a hug. "Now what's put ye in such a foul mood? Do ye truly resent the attentions of swooning young ladies so?"
She does know me well, the sweet girl. And not a girl at all anymore, but a knight...
She's trying to cover her concern with her humor, I see, and she does alright with her coy smile and teasing voice, but her eyes give her away. I wonder why I am so transparent today. But I know the answer to that one too. "Bah, " I say, waving a hand dismissively. She's too young, I think, and not for the first time. That I've already committed myself to telling the tale is no comfort, either.
"Fine, then, no more story for today." She crosses her arms, looking as grown-up as she can. "But ye must at least answer my questions."
"So now I'm your servant, am I, missy?" She can tell I'm not really angry, which is good. I don't want to cut her too deeply.
"Aye, granddad, if that's what it takes." She crosses her arms for emphasis, and adds less sternly. "Ye've got to give me something to tide me over, at the least."
I sigh. Maybe, it will do, to hold her off. "Alright, lass, what is it you be wantin' to
know?"
"Why does Aneirin seem so nice when ye tell the tale? From what I remember from my classes- " she pauses to make a very unladylike face, "-he was some sort of depraved monster! But he seems so kind to young Jeremy, and so intelligent, the both of them. So what happens? What does Jeremy do when he finds out, as he *must* find out?"
I give her a wry look. Does she really think I'm that easily manipulated, or is she just desperate to know? Searching her eyes, I come to think the second. I should have been an Eshu, I sometimes think. And I sigh. It will come out, if not today, then tomorrow. But I can make a deal out of this yet.
"Aye, lass, I can tell ye that part of the story. Ye should know though that I dinna want to. It's not nice, and it's not pretty, and it is not for the ears of a lady. I promise, ye won't be any happier for having been told." I try to look serious. In point of fact, I am very serious. This isn't a tale for ladies, or the weak of heart, spirit, or stomach. And yet I know my Caitrin may be a lady, but she is none of those.
She sits back down on the bed. "Is it really so bad, granddad?"
"Aye, it is, and worse. And if ye will make me tell it now, ye must promise that ye'll not ask me for any more story today. I shall pick up again tomorrow."
She sits, in contemplation for a moment. She does understand, I think. The one thing the historians will never forget was Aneirin's faults... they never forget a butcher. "I swear, granddad. I think I must know, now."
"Ye may think so now, lass, but ye may regret it. And I will hold you to your oath." I too settle back down, and in grave tones, take up the tale again.
***
Jeremy grew to like and respect his teacher more and more. He was taught the art of
Delusion, so that he could walk out in the freehold without fears of being recognized, and begun to learn swordsmanship from Aneirin's knights. He proved himself a cunning and tenacious fighter and the finesse of fencing seemed to come quite naturally to him. In magic and history, he also continued to prove himself quite adept. Jeremy grew confident, and yet there were two things that troubled him. One was that he was unable to reconcile his own experience to some of the things he had read of House Balor, and yet the topic was not one he was comfortable broaching with Aneirin. The other was that because he did respect Aneirin so very much, he wished to know him better. This he felt no apprehension in mentioning, and so his teacher told him that he was, among so many other things, an artist. A performance artist, even.
"I render beauty even more beautiful, " Aneirin explained. "I can't really express in words the transcendent beauty I create. It would be best if you were to see it."
Once the invitation was made, Jeremy was quick to accept. The next night, as he was ushered into the forbidden section of the complex, he was not quite sure what to expect. They passed cells made of cold iron, but their House was immune to its effects, and it bothered neither of them. An emaciated dog pooka, clapped in irons, regarded them fearfully as they passed.
"He broke an oath to me," Aneirin explained, and they continued onwards. He wore a white canvas apron over his usual style of fashionable dress. They came to a well lit room with natural stone walls like the rest of the complex, but there were two things that stood out immediately. The first was the trolley set with trays of wicked looking surgical implements. They reminded Jeremy of a film he'd seen, staring Jeremy Irons as twin gynecologists, who both went mad.
The second sight was no more reassuring. An Asian woman, still dressed and fairly attractive, was strapped down to a high surgical table that dominated the room. Draco stood looking over her, an unsettling leer on his face. Jeremy looked to his teacher, but the man was already lost in another world, an almost feverish look in his normally calm violet eyes. The woman struggled futilely against the straps as the Redcap stood by impassively and Aneirin inspected her.
"She's lovely, Draco," he commented. "Where did you find her?"
"Brothel in Thailand. She's clean, just been sold by her family. Being saved for a rich customer."
Aneirin looked down at her sadly. "My poor, dear girl," he intoned, his voice stocked with pathos. "If only you could understand me." The girl turned her wide eyes to stare at him, searching for help. Jeremy shifted uncomfortably in the background, denying the obvious. Aneirin continued, oblivious to his audience. "What sort of world holds people that sell their own beautiful daughters into such a terrible life?"
The girl seemed to notice the albino for the first time. Her eyes widened in terror, and she started wailing in a tongue he couldn't understand. He remembered reading somewhere that white was the colour of death in Asian mythology, and his discomfort grew. Aneirin misinterpreted her scream, and cooed soothingly. "Oh, shh-shh-shh... I've rescued you from that fate."
Jeremy looked to Draco for any hint of what might be to come. The Redcap was paying him no attention either, and licked his lips in anticipation.
"When I am done with you, you will never have to fear again," the other Sidhe continued. His voice was still as soft and soothing as ever. "Never cry, never be sad. I will take your beauty to its fullest extent." He began to remove her clothing, slowly, as if unwrapping a delicate gift.
Jeremy pursed his lips, his uneasiness increasing as he was unsure where to rest his eyes. He shifted his weight slightly, and tried to remain, for the moment, impassive. Aneirin looked the girl over, nodding in appreciation. "Such beautiful skin... Such small hips.... such perfect breasts." He traced a finger lightly along each part as he named them. "Your eyes... I always loved oriental eyes, you know. There is something about them, they add so much more mystery to a woman... The high cheekbones, sweetly curved lips... an elf-lord's dream come true." And the sympathy drained from his face. "But you are made ugly!" He struck her across the face, leaving a dark red mark. Her eyes welled once more with tears.
Jeremy flinched at the suddenness of it, hoping that it went unnoticed. The other two seemed very involved in their work, in Aneirin's art.
"You are made ugly by your appetite. You feel like nothing without a man. You hunger for a man. You want to feel him inside you, to make him give you children, whom you will poison with your false love!" He was ranting now, taken with a twisted energy unlike anything Jeremy had seen. "You are no creator! You are a destroyer!" He paused, looking almost wistful. "But I.. I can change all this. I can make you beautiful."
And then Aneirin turned to him. He was glad that his skin was so white, like marble, that his teacher could not see that all the blood had drained from his face. He felt cold and hot all at once, but froze. He managed to keep his face blank. "She has such beautiful eyes, don't you think?" The madman smiled queerly at him. Jeremy made himself nod, not trusting his voice. There was danger here, and not just for the girl. "But first, I must make her lose her hunger for men."
Aneirin strode purposefully over to the cart, and selected one scalpel from the many possibilities. "Pain purifies," he explained. "It cleanses out the poisons of the system, makes you think clearly. And I will cleanse her of her hunger." He walked back over to the girl, taking hold of one leg, and gesturing to Draco. Draco seemed to know exactly what was expected of him, and the two spread the poor girl's legs and strapped them into a humiliating position. But that was not the worst.
"A woman's hunger is derived from the pleasure she takes from the act. Take away the pleasure, and she will no longer hunger."
'No, ' Jeremy thought, as his idolized teacher moved in with the scalpel, 'he can't...' But he did. She screamed, and screamed, and Jeremy stared in gaping horror as Aneirin placed the bloody mass of tissue that he had just parted from her pubis on a bare table beside him.
It was like watching some sort of bad movie, a snuff film, only it was right there in front of him. Jeremy kept thinking that it couldn't be real, it was some sort of sick joke. And maybe that was right. It was certainly sick. Aneirin turned back to him after a contemplative pause, a blissful look on his face, and either oblivious to or unconcerned with the look of horror and disgust on his student's face.
"That's not enough, though," he babbled contentedly over the screams. Jeremy knew that he was utterly insane. "They have children, even without their pleasure. And then they fill their children's ears with poison." He moved up towards the girl's face, and Draco cheerfully pried her mouth open.
Jeremy's dizzied thoughts turned to his mother. But he was frozen, by shock or by fear.
Aneirin's hands were already red with the poor girls's blood, but he didn't seem to notice. It contrasted grotesquely with his while apron, and Jeremy could see flecks of it on his shirt, and in his lavender hair. He peered into her mouth, and his brows furrowed. He selected a clamp and scissors from the cart, and nodded at Draco.
Jeremy knew what was coming next. Draco pulled out her tongue, clamped it and held it out of her mouth. As Aneirin moved in with the scissors, Draco reached over for a suction tube, like might have been seen in a dentist's office. He winked cheerfully at the albino as Aneirin laid the second severed organ next to the first. Jeremy swallowed a throat full of bile. The girl had, thankfully, passed out.
"Can't have her choke to death before she's pure!" The Redcap grimaced gleefully, clearly amused by the youth's discomfiture. His casual reaction to Anerin's ecstatic madness disturbed Jeremy more.
"Still, they have children!" he inveighed. "And they are never happy with their children, always urging them to do better, go farther." Aneirin was ranting again as he changed the blade on his scalpel. "Best to go to the source." He hovered briefly over her abdomen as Draco went about sucking the blood from her mouth matter of factly. Jeremy closed his eyes before she came under the knife once more.
'He's sick, ' he thought, 'they both are...' Before he realized it, he was out the door.
Moments later, Aneirin called after him.
"Jeremy! Where are you going?"
He sounded so earnest, rejected. Jeremy couldn't untense his jaw enough to answer, and he could feel his fingernails cutting into the flesh of his palms. He turned, though, and looked back.
"I'm not done yet... you haven't seen her made beautiful yet. Shall I call you when I'm
done?"
He felt his face twist, and turned away, racing from the room. Aneirin was coated in the poor girl's blood, now, wiping his stained hands distractedly on the bottom of his apron where the thick canvas hadn't yet been saturated.
Jeremy steered himself back to his room, and ran cold water over his face, trying to reign in his racing thoughts, trying to rinse the taste of bile from his mouth, the stench of blood from his nostrils. And in came his teacher, still in his blood soaked clothing, the scalped he had used tucked casually into the ties around his waist.
"Jeremy... Jeremy." He sounded confused. And Jeremy thought, not for the last time, that it wasn't fair. "I'm sorry. I don't understand. I seem to have upset you."
The youth shook his head, still deeply disturbed, though anger was growing in his breast as well.
He took a deep breath. "Don't ever talk to me about your 'art' again."
And then Aneirin was angry too, and it was fearful to behold. "You asked to see!" He screamed suddenly. "And I decided to let you." His voice was lowered now, but brimming with resentment. "I'm very sorry I did. I shared something very beautiful with you, and this is how you repay me?" His violet eyes flashed darker. "Scorn! You are scorning me, aren't you? Think you're better?"
Jeremy felt his own eyes flash wildly, and he sneered in disgust. "You have an amazing mind, Aneirin, but you are very, very, sick."
"I am not sick. I am an artist." Aneirin looked truly manic, his countenance wild and dangerous. Jeremy shook his head, in terrified bewilderment.
"I'd read.... but I *never* thought..." He had read, about how those of Balor's blood who showed no outward marks, no strange deformities, might appear normal, but often suffered from terrible insanities. Yet his mentor had seemed so normal, so intelligent, and he hadn't understood.
"What?" Aneirin paced towards him angrily, aggressively. "Tell me, boy." Jeremy stepped back, but the other reached out to grab him, shaking him by the shoulders violently. "I share everything with you. I teach you how to be great, let you read my books..."
"Let go of me," he cried, but the mania was still on Aneirin.
"You could be courteous enough to return the favour."
And he did let Jeremy go, shoving him roughly into the wall, leaping down on his chest, scalpel in hand. He was much stronger than the boy had imagined. He held the weapon to the boy's throat, and Jeremy froze, suddenly made painfully aware of how dangerous his situation truly was. Aneirin continued to fix him with his wild-eyed stare, but the boy could not or would not look away.
"You don't understand, do you?" He pushed the scalpel, lightly at first, into his student's milk white flesh. "Life-" He pushed harder, drawing blood. "Is-" And a bit deeper. Jeremy tried desperately not to breathe, although his lungs were burning, or swallow though his reflexes seemed to demand it. "Made-"
The scalpel's blade bit sharply, more painfully. "Get off me!" He tried to push the other man off, but he was too strong, too heavy, and had better leverage and the strength of his dementia to assist him in pinning Jeremy down. Instead, Aneirin drew the blade lightly across his throat.
"More beautiful because of its brevity."
The blood flowed from the cut, but not in spurts. It was not fatal. Aneirin dropped the scalpel, the madness gone from his eyes and replaced with stone and ice.
"Don't ask to see things you aren't ready for."
Jeremy put his hands to the wound as if to keep more blood from spilling out. How could he ever be ready for something like what he had seen from his idol tonight? Aneirin stood up and stepped back.
"Get up," he ordered coldly. The wounded Sidhe obeyed, one hand to his throat and one to the wall to keep balance, his eyes never leaving his master. "Come with me. We have to bandage that."
Aneirin lead him to a bath room, and had him sit. The boy sat in silence, mentally cursing his own naivety. He should have known, should have guessed. But it made sense. Of course it did. They were all marked, truly, by a power the mortal forms they had inherited from the Tuatha and the Sidhe could not contain. He thanked whatever gods his House was beholden to for his sanity, for his pale white skin and burning red eyes. He stared fixedly at the mirror in front of him as Aneirin the Butcher calmly bandaged his throat, his hands rinsed clean but clothes and apron still stained with the blood of the innocent, anonymous, Asian girl. And with Jeremy's as well. The boys own clothes, especially his shirt, were ruined as well, but it was the contrast of his blood against his skin that were the most sobering.
"This hasn't been a total loss, Jeremy," Aneirin advised, using the same voice as he might when advising a more appropriate form for a cantrip. "You must learn your limits, and sometimes, you have to do that the hard way." He smiled encouragingly at the boy, but its effect was killed by still-too-fresh memories. Jeremy eyes him apprehensively. "You did well, with the knife to your throat. I'm proud of you- you didn't back down or give up. I might have killed you if I felt you give up."
Aneirin gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder, but all Jeremy could think at the moment was 'why him?' He made a concerted effort not to flinch, and to keep his face expressionless.
"You'll do well, at your Sain Day. Very well." Aneirin's eyes glinted mysteriously, but Jeremy had already read about what his house required, that the initiate was expected to slice himself (or herself, for that matter) with a cold iron dagger, to prove their courage and strength. "Some wine?"
He gestured for his student, his victim, and now his patient, to follow him back out into the main room, where he filled two goblets from a glass decanter. It was a white wine. He handed one of the cups to Jeremy, who stared down into its depths for a moment before taking an experimental sip. For his part, Aneirin now seemed perfectly at ease, even pleased with the night's outcome, and with Jeremy in particular. The boy made an odd face as he swallowed, because it hurt to do so.
"If I were going to kill you, I wouldn't use poison, but it's good that you're being so
cautious."
Jeremy nodded slightly, and took another painful, bitter sip. He didn't want to risk raising Aneirin's ire again by seeming ungrateful. He thought briefly of the times his father had let him partake of wine, on holidays and special occasions. Everything seemed so mixed up... he welcomed the intoxicating effects and wished he could stand to drink more quickly.
"It could save your life some day," continued Aneirin, thoughtfully nursing his own glass, and watching his charge carefully. Jeremy winced at the third sip, feeling the wetness of the bandages continue to expand. He thought that by now Draco must be taking away the poor girl's corpse, to be disposed of in the Redcap's usual manner. It didn't bear thinking about, and certainly not mentioning. Aneirin cocked his head to the side. "Do you think I am hard on you, Jeremy?"
He gave his teacher a measured look. "Sometimes," he whispered.
The violet haired man crouched down and looked into the baleful red eyes of the boy he sometimes thought of as his surrogate son. The boy did not look away. "If I am, it is for your own good. In the end, no matter how many alliances you have made, no matter how carefully orchestrated your plan is, you may only have yourself to rely upon." He stood again, nodding once more in satisfaction. "Good night, Jeremy," he said, as he turned to leave, still dressed in his bloody clothes, still wearing his butcher's apron. Jeremy was left to nurse his wounds and his thoughts alone.
***
"And there, Caitrin. Now ye ken why they called him the butcher, and know ye ken what young Jeremy did. He did nothing, but he learned. He learned that beauty is an illusion, a facade, and beneath a pleasant face may lurk a monster. And before you ask, he never asked Aneirin again about his 'art', and Aneirin never offered to show him, and though they eventually did work together on Aneirin's experiments on childlings, to my knowledge Jeremy never once in his life raised a hand to hurt a woman who did not ask for or well deserve it. And that is all of this story I can bear to tell ye for tonight..."
She sits in silence for a moment before standing and slipping out the door. She says not a word, but pauses at the door, a slight hand held to her neck, to look back at me. And I think maybe she understands well enough to leave an old man alone with his dark thoughts.
***
"Now, lass, I think that may be enough for now. I'm old, and ye tire me out with your
incessant demands for 'more story, more story!'" I'm being cruel, I know, and the day is not yet passed, but I am old. And besides. I don't want to think about what comes next. Caitrin pouts. I startled her, I think, with my abrupt ending.
"Ach, granddad, it's nae true! I'd run myself through on me shiny new knight's sword before I'd whine at ye so! And besides, ye've got me enraptured now. And it's not even time for dinner yet." She bats her eyes prettily at me, still pouting.
"What's that ye were sayin', lass, about not whining?" I stand and stretch my old joints. "All this sitting around is nae good for me! One of these times I shall sit right down and never get back up."
"Dinna say such things, ye break my heart." She comes over, bending down to give her old granddad a hug. "Now what's put ye in such a foul mood? Do ye truly resent the attentions of swooning young ladies so?"
She does know me well, the sweet girl. And not a girl at all anymore, but a knight...
She's trying to cover her concern with her humor, I see, and she does alright with her coy smile and teasing voice, but her eyes give her away. I wonder why I am so transparent today. But I know the answer to that one too. "Bah, " I say, waving a hand dismissively. She's too young, I think, and not for the first time. That I've already committed myself to telling the tale is no comfort, either.
"Fine, then, no more story for today." She crosses her arms, looking as grown-up as she can. "But ye must at least answer my questions."
"So now I'm your servant, am I, missy?" She can tell I'm not really angry, which is good. I don't want to cut her too deeply.
"Aye, granddad, if that's what it takes." She crosses her arms for emphasis, and adds less sternly. "Ye've got to give me something to tide me over, at the least."
I sigh. Maybe, it will do, to hold her off. "Alright, lass, what is it you be wantin' to
know?"
"Why does Aneirin seem so nice when ye tell the tale? From what I remember from my classes- " she pauses to make a very unladylike face, "-he was some sort of depraved monster! But he seems so kind to young Jeremy, and so intelligent, the both of them. So what happens? What does Jeremy do when he finds out, as he *must* find out?"
I give her a wry look. Does she really think I'm that easily manipulated, or is she just desperate to know? Searching her eyes, I come to think the second. I should have been an Eshu, I sometimes think. And I sigh. It will come out, if not today, then tomorrow. But I can make a deal out of this yet.
"Aye, lass, I can tell ye that part of the story. Ye should know though that I dinna want to. It's not nice, and it's not pretty, and it is not for the ears of a lady. I promise, ye won't be any happier for having been told." I try to look serious. In point of fact, I am very serious. This isn't a tale for ladies, or the weak of heart, spirit, or stomach. And yet I know my Caitrin may be a lady, but she is none of those.
She sits back down on the bed. "Is it really so bad, granddad?"
"Aye, it is, and worse. And if ye will make me tell it now, ye must promise that ye'll not ask me for any more story today. I shall pick up again tomorrow."
She sits, in contemplation for a moment. She does understand, I think. The one thing the historians will never forget was Aneirin's faults... they never forget a butcher. "I swear, granddad. I think I must know, now."
"Ye may think so now, lass, but ye may regret it. And I will hold you to your oath." I too settle back down, and in grave tones, take up the tale again.
***
Jeremy grew to like and respect his teacher more and more. He was taught the art of
Delusion, so that he could walk out in the freehold without fears of being recognized, and begun to learn swordsmanship from Aneirin's knights. He proved himself a cunning and tenacious fighter and the finesse of fencing seemed to come quite naturally to him. In magic and history, he also continued to prove himself quite adept. Jeremy grew confident, and yet there were two things that troubled him. One was that he was unable to reconcile his own experience to some of the things he had read of House Balor, and yet the topic was not one he was comfortable broaching with Aneirin. The other was that because he did respect Aneirin so very much, he wished to know him better. This he felt no apprehension in mentioning, and so his teacher told him that he was, among so many other things, an artist. A performance artist, even.
"I render beauty even more beautiful, " Aneirin explained. "I can't really express in words the transcendent beauty I create. It would be best if you were to see it."
Once the invitation was made, Jeremy was quick to accept. The next night, as he was ushered into the forbidden section of the complex, he was not quite sure what to expect. They passed cells made of cold iron, but their House was immune to its effects, and it bothered neither of them. An emaciated dog pooka, clapped in irons, regarded them fearfully as they passed.
"He broke an oath to me," Aneirin explained, and they continued onwards. He wore a white canvas apron over his usual style of fashionable dress. They came to a well lit room with natural stone walls like the rest of the complex, but there were two things that stood out immediately. The first was the trolley set with trays of wicked looking surgical implements. They reminded Jeremy of a film he'd seen, staring Jeremy Irons as twin gynecologists, who both went mad.
The second sight was no more reassuring. An Asian woman, still dressed and fairly attractive, was strapped down to a high surgical table that dominated the room. Draco stood looking over her, an unsettling leer on his face. Jeremy looked to his teacher, but the man was already lost in another world, an almost feverish look in his normally calm violet eyes. The woman struggled futilely against the straps as the Redcap stood by impassively and Aneirin inspected her.
"She's lovely, Draco," he commented. "Where did you find her?"
"Brothel in Thailand. She's clean, just been sold by her family. Being saved for a rich customer."
Aneirin looked down at her sadly. "My poor, dear girl," he intoned, his voice stocked with pathos. "If only you could understand me." The girl turned her wide eyes to stare at him, searching for help. Jeremy shifted uncomfortably in the background, denying the obvious. Aneirin continued, oblivious to his audience. "What sort of world holds people that sell their own beautiful daughters into such a terrible life?"
The girl seemed to notice the albino for the first time. Her eyes widened in terror, and she started wailing in a tongue he couldn't understand. He remembered reading somewhere that white was the colour of death in Asian mythology, and his discomfort grew. Aneirin misinterpreted her scream, and cooed soothingly. "Oh, shh-shh-shh... I've rescued you from that fate."
Jeremy looked to Draco for any hint of what might be to come. The Redcap was paying him no attention either, and licked his lips in anticipation.
"When I am done with you, you will never have to fear again," the other Sidhe continued. His voice was still as soft and soothing as ever. "Never cry, never be sad. I will take your beauty to its fullest extent." He began to remove her clothing, slowly, as if unwrapping a delicate gift.
Jeremy pursed his lips, his uneasiness increasing as he was unsure where to rest his eyes. He shifted his weight slightly, and tried to remain, for the moment, impassive. Aneirin looked the girl over, nodding in appreciation. "Such beautiful skin... Such small hips.... such perfect breasts." He traced a finger lightly along each part as he named them. "Your eyes... I always loved oriental eyes, you know. There is something about them, they add so much more mystery to a woman... The high cheekbones, sweetly curved lips... an elf-lord's dream come true." And the sympathy drained from his face. "But you are made ugly!" He struck her across the face, leaving a dark red mark. Her eyes welled once more with tears.
Jeremy flinched at the suddenness of it, hoping that it went unnoticed. The other two seemed very involved in their work, in Aneirin's art.
"You are made ugly by your appetite. You feel like nothing without a man. You hunger for a man. You want to feel him inside you, to make him give you children, whom you will poison with your false love!" He was ranting now, taken with a twisted energy unlike anything Jeremy had seen. "You are no creator! You are a destroyer!" He paused, looking almost wistful. "But I.. I can change all this. I can make you beautiful."
And then Aneirin turned to him. He was glad that his skin was so white, like marble, that his teacher could not see that all the blood had drained from his face. He felt cold and hot all at once, but froze. He managed to keep his face blank. "She has such beautiful eyes, don't you think?" The madman smiled queerly at him. Jeremy made himself nod, not trusting his voice. There was danger here, and not just for the girl. "But first, I must make her lose her hunger for men."
Aneirin strode purposefully over to the cart, and selected one scalpel from the many possibilities. "Pain purifies," he explained. "It cleanses out the poisons of the system, makes you think clearly. And I will cleanse her of her hunger." He walked back over to the girl, taking hold of one leg, and gesturing to Draco. Draco seemed to know exactly what was expected of him, and the two spread the poor girl's legs and strapped them into a humiliating position. But that was not the worst.
"A woman's hunger is derived from the pleasure she takes from the act. Take away the pleasure, and she will no longer hunger."
'No, ' Jeremy thought, as his idolized teacher moved in with the scalpel, 'he can't...' But he did. She screamed, and screamed, and Jeremy stared in gaping horror as Aneirin placed the bloody mass of tissue that he had just parted from her pubis on a bare table beside him.
It was like watching some sort of bad movie, a snuff film, only it was right there in front of him. Jeremy kept thinking that it couldn't be real, it was some sort of sick joke. And maybe that was right. It was certainly sick. Aneirin turned back to him after a contemplative pause, a blissful look on his face, and either oblivious to or unconcerned with the look of horror and disgust on his student's face.
"That's not enough, though," he babbled contentedly over the screams. Jeremy knew that he was utterly insane. "They have children, even without their pleasure. And then they fill their children's ears with poison." He moved up towards the girl's face, and Draco cheerfully pried her mouth open.
Jeremy's dizzied thoughts turned to his mother. But he was frozen, by shock or by fear.
Aneirin's hands were already red with the poor girls's blood, but he didn't seem to notice. It contrasted grotesquely with his while apron, and Jeremy could see flecks of it on his shirt, and in his lavender hair. He peered into her mouth, and his brows furrowed. He selected a clamp and scissors from the cart, and nodded at Draco.
Jeremy knew what was coming next. Draco pulled out her tongue, clamped it and held it out of her mouth. As Aneirin moved in with the scissors, Draco reached over for a suction tube, like might have been seen in a dentist's office. He winked cheerfully at the albino as Aneirin laid the second severed organ next to the first. Jeremy swallowed a throat full of bile. The girl had, thankfully, passed out.
"Can't have her choke to death before she's pure!" The Redcap grimaced gleefully, clearly amused by the youth's discomfiture. His casual reaction to Anerin's ecstatic madness disturbed Jeremy more.
"Still, they have children!" he inveighed. "And they are never happy with their children, always urging them to do better, go farther." Aneirin was ranting again as he changed the blade on his scalpel. "Best to go to the source." He hovered briefly over her abdomen as Draco went about sucking the blood from her mouth matter of factly. Jeremy closed his eyes before she came under the knife once more.
'He's sick, ' he thought, 'they both are...' Before he realized it, he was out the door.
Moments later, Aneirin called after him.
"Jeremy! Where are you going?"
He sounded so earnest, rejected. Jeremy couldn't untense his jaw enough to answer, and he could feel his fingernails cutting into the flesh of his palms. He turned, though, and looked back.
"I'm not done yet... you haven't seen her made beautiful yet. Shall I call you when I'm
done?"
He felt his face twist, and turned away, racing from the room. Aneirin was coated in the poor girl's blood, now, wiping his stained hands distractedly on the bottom of his apron where the thick canvas hadn't yet been saturated.
Jeremy steered himself back to his room, and ran cold water over his face, trying to reign in his racing thoughts, trying to rinse the taste of bile from his mouth, the stench of blood from his nostrils. And in came his teacher, still in his blood soaked clothing, the scalped he had used tucked casually into the ties around his waist.
"Jeremy... Jeremy." He sounded confused. And Jeremy thought, not for the last time, that it wasn't fair. "I'm sorry. I don't understand. I seem to have upset you."
The youth shook his head, still deeply disturbed, though anger was growing in his breast as well.
He took a deep breath. "Don't ever talk to me about your 'art' again."
And then Aneirin was angry too, and it was fearful to behold. "You asked to see!" He screamed suddenly. "And I decided to let you." His voice was lowered now, but brimming with resentment. "I'm very sorry I did. I shared something very beautiful with you, and this is how you repay me?" His violet eyes flashed darker. "Scorn! You are scorning me, aren't you? Think you're better?"
Jeremy felt his own eyes flash wildly, and he sneered in disgust. "You have an amazing mind, Aneirin, but you are very, very, sick."
"I am not sick. I am an artist." Aneirin looked truly manic, his countenance wild and dangerous. Jeremy shook his head, in terrified bewilderment.
"I'd read.... but I *never* thought..." He had read, about how those of Balor's blood who showed no outward marks, no strange deformities, might appear normal, but often suffered from terrible insanities. Yet his mentor had seemed so normal, so intelligent, and he hadn't understood.
"What?" Aneirin paced towards him angrily, aggressively. "Tell me, boy." Jeremy stepped back, but the other reached out to grab him, shaking him by the shoulders violently. "I share everything with you. I teach you how to be great, let you read my books..."
"Let go of me," he cried, but the mania was still on Aneirin.
"You could be courteous enough to return the favour."
And he did let Jeremy go, shoving him roughly into the wall, leaping down on his chest, scalpel in hand. He was much stronger than the boy had imagined. He held the weapon to the boy's throat, and Jeremy froze, suddenly made painfully aware of how dangerous his situation truly was. Aneirin continued to fix him with his wild-eyed stare, but the boy could not or would not look away.
"You don't understand, do you?" He pushed the scalpel, lightly at first, into his student's milk white flesh. "Life-" He pushed harder, drawing blood. "Is-" And a bit deeper. Jeremy tried desperately not to breathe, although his lungs were burning, or swallow though his reflexes seemed to demand it. "Made-"
The scalpel's blade bit sharply, more painfully. "Get off me!" He tried to push the other man off, but he was too strong, too heavy, and had better leverage and the strength of his dementia to assist him in pinning Jeremy down. Instead, Aneirin drew the blade lightly across his throat.
"More beautiful because of its brevity."
The blood flowed from the cut, but not in spurts. It was not fatal. Aneirin dropped the scalpel, the madness gone from his eyes and replaced with stone and ice.
"Don't ask to see things you aren't ready for."
Jeremy put his hands to the wound as if to keep more blood from spilling out. How could he ever be ready for something like what he had seen from his idol tonight? Aneirin stood up and stepped back.
"Get up," he ordered coldly. The wounded Sidhe obeyed, one hand to his throat and one to the wall to keep balance, his eyes never leaving his master. "Come with me. We have to bandage that."
Aneirin lead him to a bath room, and had him sit. The boy sat in silence, mentally cursing his own naivety. He should have known, should have guessed. But it made sense. Of course it did. They were all marked, truly, by a power the mortal forms they had inherited from the Tuatha and the Sidhe could not contain. He thanked whatever gods his House was beholden to for his sanity, for his pale white skin and burning red eyes. He stared fixedly at the mirror in front of him as Aneirin the Butcher calmly bandaged his throat, his hands rinsed clean but clothes and apron still stained with the blood of the innocent, anonymous, Asian girl. And with Jeremy's as well. The boys own clothes, especially his shirt, were ruined as well, but it was the contrast of his blood against his skin that were the most sobering.
"This hasn't been a total loss, Jeremy," Aneirin advised, using the same voice as he might when advising a more appropriate form for a cantrip. "You must learn your limits, and sometimes, you have to do that the hard way." He smiled encouragingly at the boy, but its effect was killed by still-too-fresh memories. Jeremy eyes him apprehensively. "You did well, with the knife to your throat. I'm proud of you- you didn't back down or give up. I might have killed you if I felt you give up."
Aneirin gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder, but all Jeremy could think at the moment was 'why him?' He made a concerted effort not to flinch, and to keep his face expressionless.
"You'll do well, at your Sain Day. Very well." Aneirin's eyes glinted mysteriously, but Jeremy had already read about what his house required, that the initiate was expected to slice himself (or herself, for that matter) with a cold iron dagger, to prove their courage and strength. "Some wine?"
He gestured for his student, his victim, and now his patient, to follow him back out into the main room, where he filled two goblets from a glass decanter. It was a white wine. He handed one of the cups to Jeremy, who stared down into its depths for a moment before taking an experimental sip. For his part, Aneirin now seemed perfectly at ease, even pleased with the night's outcome, and with Jeremy in particular. The boy made an odd face as he swallowed, because it hurt to do so.
"If I were going to kill you, I wouldn't use poison, but it's good that you're being so
cautious."
Jeremy nodded slightly, and took another painful, bitter sip. He didn't want to risk raising Aneirin's ire again by seeming ungrateful. He thought briefly of the times his father had let him partake of wine, on holidays and special occasions. Everything seemed so mixed up... he welcomed the intoxicating effects and wished he could stand to drink more quickly.
"It could save your life some day," continued Aneirin, thoughtfully nursing his own glass, and watching his charge carefully. Jeremy winced at the third sip, feeling the wetness of the bandages continue to expand. He thought that by now Draco must be taking away the poor girl's corpse, to be disposed of in the Redcap's usual manner. It didn't bear thinking about, and certainly not mentioning. Aneirin cocked his head to the side. "Do you think I am hard on you, Jeremy?"
He gave his teacher a measured look. "Sometimes," he whispered.
The violet haired man crouched down and looked into the baleful red eyes of the boy he sometimes thought of as his surrogate son. The boy did not look away. "If I am, it is for your own good. In the end, no matter how many alliances you have made, no matter how carefully orchestrated your plan is, you may only have yourself to rely upon." He stood again, nodding once more in satisfaction. "Good night, Jeremy," he said, as he turned to leave, still dressed in his bloody clothes, still wearing his butcher's apron. Jeremy was left to nurse his wounds and his thoughts alone.
***
"And there, Caitrin. Now ye ken why they called him the butcher, and know ye ken what young Jeremy did. He did nothing, but he learned. He learned that beauty is an illusion, a facade, and beneath a pleasant face may lurk a monster. And before you ask, he never asked Aneirin again about his 'art', and Aneirin never offered to show him, and though they eventually did work together on Aneirin's experiments on childlings, to my knowledge Jeremy never once in his life raised a hand to hurt a woman who did not ask for or well deserve it. And that is all of this story I can bear to tell ye for tonight..."
She sits in silence for a moment before standing and slipping out the door. She says not a word, but pauses at the door, a slight hand held to her neck, to look back at me. And I think maybe she understands well enough to leave an old man alone with his dark thoughts.
