Chapter 30

We like to use the word “immortal” to describe any race that lives more than a thousand years. By those standards, elves are immortal. Dwarves are immortal. Their halfblood children are immortal, though on a lesser scale. Dragons, oni, demons, all immortal.

The thing is, they can all die. Some take more killing than others. An elf can be killed by anything that can fell a human, save for disease. They seem to be immune to that. Dwarves are impervious to fire and can’t easily be crushed, but the iron in their bones doesn’t make them stabproof. A demon isn’t dead until you’ve cut off its head and ground it to fine powder, but it can still die.

True immortals, those who seem to be immune to death itself, are far more rare. I’ve only met three others. Their stories are not mine to tell, and no two are the same. There are a few things we all agree on.

Dying is not fun. We still feel the pain of it. Not just the physical pain. There’s a moment of spiritual agony when the soul tries to move onto the next realm and is thrust back into the body.

There’s no good analogue to what that feels like. Electromancers are rare enough that you probably haven’t received a full body shock. It’s a bit like that, mixed with a sense of existential wrongness that hurts far worse than any physical injury. You’re keenly aware that you’re defying the natural order of things, and nature doesn’t appreciate it. It likes to give you a thorough scolding as you’re dragged back into your carcass, kicking and screaming the whole way.

Waking up from death is nothing like waking up from sleep. We all agree on that, too. One second, you perceive nothing, at least, not with your physical senses. The next, you perceive everything. It’s overwhelming.

Imagine the worst hangover you’ve ever had. Now imagine someone throwing open the curtain at brightest noon and firing a cannon next to your ear. That’s the level of sensory overload we’re talking about, but it’s not just sight and sound, it’s everything. None of us know why, exactly. Maybe it’s our brain making up for lost time. Maybe it’s the universe making reanimation as deeply unpleasant as possible to discourage those who seek out immortality. Who knows?

It’s not all bad, mind. When we come back, our bodies all reset to the moment we were left the cycle of mortality. Aches and pains that accrue over the years vanish. Teeth filled or replaced are back to normal. Careful to spit out the gold before you accidentally swallow it. It’s too valuable to waste, and no one wants to go digging through a latrine looking for it. Scars are replaced with new, fresh skin. So are tattoos, so if you’ve got any you’re fond of, save the drawings.

All in all, I actually felt pretty great when the sensory overload passed, and I was able to actually sit up.

That feeling passed as I whacked my forehead against something solid.

Kaze reeled back, clutching her nose.

“Shit! Sorry.”

Sparks of mana flowed into it, staunching the bleeding and resetting her displaced septum.

“Thank Soeh,” she breathed, oblivious to the pain. “I was worried that you, um. That you died.”

“I did,” I said. “And then I got better.”

“That you did. Hearing you don’t stay dead is one thing. Seeing it is another,” she said, her expression grim.

“How long was I out this time?”

“Minutes at most.”

“Oh, good. Nothing too weird happened, I take it?”

“You mean aside from the part where you went from returning to room temperature to breaking my nose with your thick skull with no warning whatsoever? No, nothing weird.”

She was angry. That was understandable. I gave her a hell of a fright.

“Sorry, I really am,” I said. “For what it’s worth, a few minutes isn’t bad at all. It gets really weird after a few days.”

“What could possibly kill you for a few days?”

“It takes a lot more than falling off a building, apparently.”

I flexed my hands. They were back to normal. There was no saving the gloves, though. I peeled them off and chucked them into a nearby fire. Most of the inferno was above us, well above, and fire burns up better than down. There were still glowing embers all around that would likely start a street level blaze before long. We’d need to move.

“I suppose it’s a good thing no one expected the city to survive the battle,” she said, helping me to my feet. She was far stronger than her slender frame suggested.

“How’s everyone else doing?”

“No one’s dead. At least, no one’s dead among Degle’s troops. The same can’t be said for the enemy. They lost two thousand heavy infantry in an instant.”

“Alas. I imagine it’ll take them some time to get their shit together.”

She snorted.

“Garan, you just blew a crater the size of a lake in front of their only way into the city, the walls of which survived the blast with apparent ease. Remind me to thank Pesden for the wardstone, by the by.”

“Did the wardstone survive?”

“Crumbled to dust,” she said.

“Yeah, mine too. He’ll need to do something about that with the next version,” I said.

“To be fair, I don’t think he had you in mind when he made them,” she said.

“I’m exactly who he had in mind. He should have known I’d stress test the damn things.”

“Gods. I don’t see how anyone could have predicted that. I thought I had the measure of your abilities after we fought.”

“Shooting stuff is the least impressive thing we’re capable of,” I said. “I don’t often get the chance to flex my muscles.”

“Casually rearranging local topography shouldn’t count as flexing one’s muscles,” she said, shaking her head. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Lady Flir calls the whole thing off now.”

“Nah. She knows me better than that,” I said. And, as horns sounded from outside the walls, added, “I know her better, too. She’s well and truly pissed now.”

“What next, do you think?”

“I reckon she comes after us hammer and tongs,” I said. “I guess we better warn Degle. The battle’s about to start in truth.”