The Bone

She ran her spindly fingers over the bone, the long shaft bleached white from sitting in the sun. The barren slope was covered in a thin layer of dried grass, with shards of bold white bone sticking up to reach for the sun. The area was congested with burials, a long-forgotten graveyard of an ancient people.

She’d been out at the site for several months, the first time since the year previous, cataloging and organizing each burial and associated goods—mainly ceramic jars filled with ash and remnants of human remains. It was an interesting combination, burials paired with cremations. Perhaps the first of its kind, to her knowledge, though much of the world still remained unexplored. Though the most interesting aspect was exemplified by the remains in her hand.

She looked back at the bone, running her thumb along the ridge on the back of the shaft, following it down to its splintered end. It had been broken off to get at the marrow—a rich, buttery source of fat and food. Many of the burials in the area had such signs, a gruesome implication her research partner would try and sensationalize once back in civilization, if he’d had the chance. His vanishing at the site the previous season had quickly halted that notion. The place was solely hers now.

She massaged her thumb along the break, her skin catching on the rough edge and pulling on the thin outer layer before releasing with a pop. She took the bone and placed it in the cataloging bag beside her and carried the sack down the slope back to camp, a roughly constructed collection of canvas tents on a semi-flat area on the side of the ridge.

Once in the artifact tent, she removed her hat and brushed off her tan jodhpurs. Some would complain of a lady wearing such things, but she’d found the local people very accommodating. Not that she could say the same for her partner, though he was far less of a problem than he’d been back in England before the start of their expedition.

She sat down at the worktable and carefully laid out the bones from the burial she’d excavated. Unlike many of her peers, she tried to do the right thing and took meticulous care of the remains in her charge.

She picked up her favorite piece, the long bone that had the splintered end. It was a right femur, easily determined by the complete distal end. She took the measurements of the bone and made a rough sketch in her field notes. The bone had likely been broken by some kind of hard force, the most probable having been a large rock of some kind. She peered down at the fracture, created to remove the marrow. With the lack of healing and similar color to the rest of the bone, it likely occurred at the time of death or close after. Though, there was always the possibility that it occurred very shortly before death. She peered down the hollow of the bone. Though the idea of the marrow being removed while still alive was admittedly a gruesome thought, even for her.

However, she knew these bones like her own. The marrow was removed after death and was a treat, no doubt. She began to sort through the other bones, each one cataloged in detail in her notes and sketches. Each bone had been opened to get at the treat inside and many of the exterior surfaces showed careful de-fleshing, as though it were an art, not butchery.

She finally pulled out the skull. The cause of death was obvious. There was a massive fracture on the side of his head where he had been struck. The radiating, concentric fractures followed the sutures of the skull, cracking it into large pieces like an eggshell.

The bits of bone were delicately holding together, the lack of musculature making the fractures even more fragile. If she wasn’t careful, it would break into pieces under her gentle handling. She picked up her pencil and carefully sketched out the lines of the skull in her sketchbook for her notes.

Even without the face—the skin, eyes, and hair—she still recognized this human in the individual shapes and curves of the skull. The distinct brow ridge, the high forehead, and sharp cheekbones. She’d known that face since she was a student at university, before she was hired later as a professor and the two were reunited.

She brushed a fleck of dirt off the curve of the skull’s temple. He’d been precocious as a student, but arrogant and disdainful towards those he studied. Though he had been smart and a good researcher, so it had been no surprise the two of them had been paired up as a research team by the university. Their partnership that had lasted years before she’d realized his ethnocentrism and money-hungry tendencies would only get worse and not better with time. Little things that had added up, until her professional and moral sensibilities wouldn’t stand for it any further.

Her dear, old, partner. Wanting to sensationalize, ignore the culture, and sell the remains and burial goods to the highest bidder like they were nothing. Like they weren’t humans too. She’d put a stop to that quickly enough.

Placing him in with the ancient remains was the easiest way to hide the bones. Killing him the year previous and letting his bones bleach and wear so that to the layman, he was no different than the others. Breaking bones, de-fleshing, removing marrow, all carefully done to match the other skeletons. She’d even made a few replica tools to make sure the breaks and scratches matched. Breaking him down with stone tools was easier than expected; metal was not as superior as people assumed. She had debated what to do with all of the meat and marrow—well. She was never one for wasting food.

She carefully labeled the box with a new burial number and slid the package onto the shelf with the others that were waiting transportation back to England. This was her site. Her bones. She’d protect them, always.