Page 60 of Muerte
“And what does the Electi provide?”
“Guidance, protection, and leadership,” I answered.
Esther beamed at me. “You really memorized that in one day?”
“Honestly? I just recited one of the passages I read more than once.”
“But you…memorized it in order to do so,” Nicolette pointed out.
“It wasn’t that hard,” I replied, frowning as I realized how that sounded. “I’m not bragging or anything, I just meant it was easy to retain the information.”
“The Isle approves of you,” Esther murmured, a reverence in her tone that immediately made me uncomfortable. “I didn’t think I’d ever get to witness something so sacred twice in my life.”
"The Isle…approves?" I questioned slowly.
Esther leaned forward, her fingers interlaced and expression now serious. "The Isle isn't just a piece of land surrounded by water. It's alive in its own right. It feels, it senses, and most importantly, it chooses."
That was not the reply I’d expected. "You mean, like it has a consciousness? It’s a sentient being?"
"In a manner of speaking, yes," Esther nodded, her gaze searching mine for understanding.
"The Isle has a sort of... lifelike force. It's intertwined with our faith, our practices, and our livelihood. But this is a rare phenomenon. When someone is chosen, it's not just by the people, or by our Carnalis Dominus. It's by the very land we stand on."
As I processed this information, it dawned on me that Alexander must have been the last person chosen by this so-called sentient Isle. It seemed like exactly the kind of narrative he would be entwined with. I couldn't help but view it all with a critical eye. To me, it sounded more like a carefully crafted story used to justify and romanticize their customs, rather than an actual, tangible truth.
As Esther observed my reaction, a flicker of understanding crossed her face. "You don't believe me, do you?" she asked, her tone devoid of any anger or judgment. It was more of a statement than a question, reflecting her awareness of my skepticism.
Her expression was calm, as if she had anticipated my disbelief from the start.
I decided to stick with the truth. "No."
Nicolette smothered a snort, clearly amused. Esther stared at me a moment longer and then began to laugh.
“I completely get it,” she replied, sounding our age for once and not like Grandmother Willow. “Still, you memorized a good portion of it! I’m so proud of you.”
That, strangely enough, did matter to me, regardless of how different our areas of belief were. Still, this didn’t seem like something I should thank her for, so I said nothing.
“Do you want anything else?” Nicolette asked, gesturing to my plate.
“Is there mustard?”
She turned and retrieved a plump yellow bottle from the door of the refrigerator, the flared skirt of her midi dress floating around her as she did.
It was long enough that any damage Alexander had caused was covered. I looked shamelessly to see if I could tell how badly she’d been hurt. I couldn’t get the image out of my brain. Her flesh had been split apart. How she was moving about so fluidly was beyond my understanding, especially when I wanted to soak in a sitz bath.
“Here you go,” she chirped, setting it down beside my dish.
“What are you going to put it on?” Esther asked.
“My breakfast,” I replied simply, shaking the bottle.
Both she and Nicolette stared at me.
“That’s…an interesting combination.”
Right. Mustard on watermelon was strange, but kidnapping women and making them go through a latent satanic ritual was fine. I drizzled the condiment on my fruit and recapped the bottle.
I took a bite and relished the familiar flavors. The sweet juiciness of the watermelon intermingled with the tangy, slightly spicy kick of the mustard. I ate in silence, sipping from a glass of iced water that I allowed Nicolette to get me to humor their ideology. All too soon, Esther put the fertility smoothie and pills down beside my plate, reminding me of another objective Alexander had.