Page 237 of Disillusioned
“Tell who?”
“Whose blood has been spilled upon my doorstep?” said the voice again, even louder this time.
“The marquis,” Lilac stammered. Myrddin motioned for her to proceed as Garin stared at the lake’s surface, face pale. “Once a nobleman’s son, betrayer of the Breton crown. Rapist. Colonizing sympathizer. A Le Tallec,” she threw in, not knowing how specific the mysterious entity required the information.
The frothing tide stopped its slow ascent up the flat bank, pausing for a second. “ALe Tallec?” it spat.
“Yes,” Garin confirmed, appearing at Lilac’s side. “The youngest and only heir.”
Sinclair’s body lay still smoking, off to their left.
“Marvelous. What a treat,” the voice thundered, and the bubbling began again.
“Atreat,” Piper echoed, shuddering.
“Go on then.” Myrddin was basically rubbing his hands together. “Give him to the Bugul Noz.”
Lilac froze, a chill sweeping her body. Shehadheard of the Bugul Noz. He was a thing of their childhood folklore. A Breton deity—an omen, a shepherd of the shadows. Some said it was a benevolent monster, terribly ugly in its appearance but a friend to lost travelers.
“He’s waiting.” Myrddin gestured emphatically toward the water. “The Bugul Noz is aguardian, not a guide. To know its secrets—to access its library beneath the earth—you must pay the toll. One body per visit, unless otherwise stated.”
“What if we don’t want to access its secrets?” Garin growled.
“But he is persistent, and wishes to share them with you,” Myrddin said. “Or so I assumed, since the bubbling at the pond began moments ago. The Bugul Noz is an old—albeit distant—acquaintance of mine. I’ve never visited his collections, but I’ve heard they are grand. And he does send the nicest and most thoughtful letters. Like the owner of the Dawnshard, and much like Bastion’s Veiled Garnet, there can exist only one Bugul Noz at a time,” he added curiously. “They are solitary creatures, not by choice. Why don’t you pay him a visit?”
“What other collection does he own?” asked Piper with a skeptical frown. “Corpses?”
“Never you mind.” Myrddin ushered her back with a sweep of his robes. “Piper and I will remain here, watching over the pond. If anything goes amiss, I’ll draw you back myself.”
“But what about the ceremony?” Lilac asked, glancing back at the gates, and the front of the bailey. “Rennes, my outlying marches. What about Brocéliande?”
“They’ll hold their own.” Myrddin glanced toward the pond, its surface already darkening. “They have to. The Daemons will hold the enemy back—if they so choose—and your mortals will see just how much they could stand to uphold the treaty Francis put in place. No matter what happens, you two will be safe, at least. Our existence in the gloam tends to… bend. There, we existalongsidethe mortal realm. But not amongst.”
The gloam.
Lilac didn’t much feel like finding out the consequences of ignoring the Bugul Noz’s summons, especially with Kestrel’s silence to address when her wedding business was over.
She’d also be an idiot to turn down another second spent with him. Another adventure awaiting.
Garin’s eyes found hers and held them, as if searching for something. Despite his rigid posture, his brow softened in reassurance. “Nothing will touch you. Not tonight, not while I’m with you.” Without another word, he bent and hefted Sinclair’s slack, dripping corpse into his arms. The marquis’s limbs swung, and the dark stain of charred rot dribbled from his middle, down his fingers into the moss.
The moment Garin’s boots touched the water’s edge, the pond began to churn.
Shivering, they waded in, Lilac behind him, until the water was at their thighs—then, Garin dropped Sinclair’s body. Slowly, Sinclair floated out to the center of the pond where the remaining light had begun to grow warmer, like the color of flame; he sank quickly, the folds of his loose rags flowering outward before he disappeared entirely.
The surface went still. No ripples. Just silence, as if the pond had drawn in a breath.
Then, one by one, the lilies began to float outward, making room—a ring around the perimeter of the pool. From the center, a circular mouth of gray stone parted beneath the water, resembling an oddly shaped well with an opening before them. The water began to flow toward it, away from the entry, creating a path and revealing a staircase that spiraled down to the light.
“It has begun,” said Myrddin from the bank. Piper watched apprehensively beside him.
Lilac peered down into the newly opened passage. It smelled of salt, iron, and candle smoke. Of leather and parchment, and knowledge long buried.
She grabbed Garin’s hand, feeling his stiff form relax just a bit. “Then let us descend.”
43
The door closed behind them with a sigh. The air was different here, not cooler but older. Thicker. The way Brocéliande smelled after rainfall.
