Page 62 of Mistress of Bones
“Ah, but they do!”
Isile leaned toward her and whispered theatrically, “Beware, sirese, the topic is a difficult one.”
“Bah,” Norel said dismissively. “The topic is not difficult, it’s people’s minds that refuse to bend.”
“Explain, please,” Azul said.With all haste.She didn’t like the newfound dread squeezing her chest.
Norel stepped closer, making a tight triangle out of the three of them and turning them into cohorts, conspirators. “I have concluded, my dear girl, that bones eventually decompose just as flesh does. It is our insistence in using animals and liquids to strip the bodies to the bones that blinds us to the fact that bones, like muscles and skin, fade too. The flesh returns to the soil, and the bones—our essence—return to our gods.”
“But how do our bones return to the gods, when the gods are said to be the Anchor chains?”
“Prepare yourself,” Isile warned.
“Be silent, Manzar, or go draw something,” Norel said, irritated.
“I must stay and make sure you don’t corrupt Del Arroyo’s mind,” he answered amiably.
“Here is the thing, Sirese Del Arroyo.” Norel became eager again. “I don’t believe Anchor is the gods’ bones.”
Azul’s eyes widened. “You don’t?”
“What kind of god would allow the desecration of their body in such a way?” he asked. His eyes followed Azul’s fingers as she touched her earring. “Why would they allow themselves to be mined and soldand traded? Allow their essence to be turned into pretty pieces of glamour?”
Azul was at a loss for words. What a most reasonable point he made. She felt unclean by acknowledging it. It was one thing to believe the gods were no longer around, another to doubt their very bones. Wearing Anchor—well, that was a way to honor the gods, wasn’t it? A way to have their protection at all times, in case they weren’t completely gone. If the gods hadn’t wanted their bones broken down and used, they would’ve made them unbreakable, wouldn’t they?
“What about animal bones?” she asked. “Those last very long—forever?”
“Animals are animals, a single step above flora. We are human—our bodies are infused with souls, not simply instinct. We are completely different species.”
“Then bones, our bones, how long do you believe them to last? Before they… decompose?” With sudden clarity, Azul realized this would explain how they managed to keep so many bones in Cienpuentes’s ossuary.
Norel’s face lit up. “An excellent question. You are, indeed, De Gracia’s sister. I theorize it should only take about five to ten years to see the first signs of decay, depending on the strength of the person’s essence and how attuned they are to the gods. Then at least another twenty or twenty-five years for significant loss of mass.”
“And how do you measure this attuning? Do you mean to say those who don’t believe take longer to decay?” Azul asked with sharp hope.
“Belief is irrelevant in this case.”
“How can it be? Wouldn’t the person’s essence resist being joined to something they didn’t believe in?”
“Ah, but see here, belief is simply a turn of the rational mind. A thought. Essence, however, is tied to our impulses, our morality. Neither the gods nor your essence care about what your mind believes. It doesn’t matter if you think the gods don’t exist—they care only about the burden of your actions. What do gods care if you have utter faithin them but then go on to commit heinous acts? The gods don’t need you to believe in them. They exist beyond our rational mind.”
“So, a wrongdoer’s essence is tainted? It needs more time to be diluted into something the gods can accept as opposed to someone who lived a good, moral life?”
“Just so!” exclaimed Norel.
Azul did not share his delight. Isadora hadn’t had faith in the gods, but her actions, her morality, had always been well intentioned. According to Norel’s theories, this virtue would make her bones disappear faster.
“You are looking pale, Azul,” interrupted Isile. “Would you like to sit?”
“No, thank you. But maybe something to drink?”
“Of course,” said Norel, now worried. “Let me fetch you a glass.”
Azul gave him an encouraging smile and used the time it took him to bring her a drink to compose her thoughts. Time, the eternal enemy. There she’d been, chatting and socializing, assuming it was simply a question of days to get to her sister’s bones.
But what if she had been running late all this while? If Norel were correct and bones started disappearing in five years, would there be anything left of Isadora by now?
Norel handed her a glass of golden liquor. She sipped it cautiously, her fingers shaking, cold sweat gathering on her nape.
