Lake of Sorrows

“What a small circle you live in, Dr. Gavin; your tiny moral universe. It’s four people, in point of fact, or soon will be—you’ve forgotten yourself. And yes, something like this collar is worth four lives, four hundred lives, and many more. No matter what’s been done to thin the population, I think it’s impossible to deny that human beings still remain in constant, practically endless supply. You think me callous, unfeeling. That may be true, but I’m not unique. Governments and corporations routinely treat human beings like cattle—because the people allow themselves to be treated that way, to be led to the slaughter like dull-witted beasts. But I have the utmost reverence for the sacredness of human life and death. Those who’ve never shed blood with their own hands should never presume to judge me for what I’ve done. And you’d be surprised at the number of people who actually wish to die, though sometimes they don’t really know it. People like Ursula, who can hardly contain their curiosity about death, who enjoy pushing at the threshold, though they’re too frightened to make the final, fatal leap.”

He was moving closer, and Nora didn’t dare try to slip away. She tried in vain to see whether Brona Scully had made a break. There was no sign of the girl. Quill’s hand moved, and Nora felt the cold dagger blade flat against her cheek.

“Shall I tell you what surprised me most about killing someone?” Quill asked. “How the act itself has such breathtaking beauty. I didn’t expect to find the color of blood so astonishing—that glorious crimson. Have you ever been present at a death, Dr. Gavin? Even with those who aren’t the most—acquiescent—there is undeniable gratitude; you can see it in their eyes, just before the light passes. Do you know what this place, this patch of land is called?” His voice was low, almost hypnotic.

“Illaunafulla,” she said.

“Very good; someone’s been giving you lessons, haven’t they? You must also know what it means, then.”

“Island of Blood.”

“And how do you suppose it got that name? An island of blood in a lake of sorrows. We’ve given up thinking of the spilling of blood as a necessary part of existence. I can’t understand why. We go to such lengths to deny the intense joy to be found in death—the ultimate joy, really. And in your line of work, Dr. Gavin, I’m sure some part of you has felt it quite keenly, too. What’s the difference if you choose the time and manner for yourself, or someone else chooses for you? Death by sacrifice is a sacred privilege. Now kneel.”

Nora looked at the heavy dagger only inches from her face. She was not going to get down on her knees. She started to twist away, but the dagger handle made contact just below her left ear, and she went down on her side in the soft grass.

When she opened her eyes, her vision blurred, then came into focus. She was lying facedown in the grass, with her hands tied behind her. As he tested the knot that bound her hands, Quill whispered in her ear, “Haven’t you ever wanted something so much, Dr. Gavin, that you were willing to do anything to get it? I suspect there’s something you want above anything else in the world, right this minute. I’m so sorry I’m going to have to cut your opportunity short.”

As he dragged her upright, she saw the dagger in his right hand, a shiny blade with an ancient-looking handle. Her feet were free; maybe she could manage a well-placed kick. She lunged sideways, trying to catch him off balance, but he deflected the tackle and reached for something at the back of her neck. She realized what it was only as the ligature cut into her flesh and she felt three knots pressing into her skin. He pushed her ahead of him, onto the dock that led out into the lake.

Once they’d reached the end, he forced her to kneel and jerked the cord tighter, cutting off her air supply. She was starting to get light-headed. She thought of her parents, wondering how they would survive another murdered daughter, and she knew they would not. The ancients had it right; their gods were corrupt and demanding, childish and wrathful by turns. The idea of a benevolent deity was off the mark. She fought the darkness that welled up in her blood and tried again to wrestle free from Quill’s grip, but he was strong. She felt the cold blade against her throat.

At the same moment she heard a cry, like an animal’s throaty howl. Desmond Quill whirled around, pitching Nora forward and letting go of the ligature. She felt a rush of blood to her brain, and turned to see Brona Scully at the end of the dock, triumphantly holding the golden collar above her head.

Nora bent her knees and launched her feet at Quill’s ankles, aware of the dagger only inches above her head. He staggered sideways and fell to one knee, making a desperate swipe with the knife, but Nora kept her feet in motion, striking out at any part of him that moved. She heard Brona’s quick footfalls on the dock, and looked up to see her bring the heavy collar down on Quill’s head, stunning him.