Page 92 of Swordheart
Zale had gone pale. “I should not have asked,” they said. “I find a thread and pull it, sometimes, and I forget that there may be genuine emotions attached.”
“It is all right,” said Sarkis.How much did I give away, when I was talking? I know I did not weep or scream.He cleared his throat. “The bodies fell. They did not turn into fire or vanish into the sword. At least, not that I saw.”
Zale looked, if anything, more uncomfortable. “I see.” They took a deep breath. “Then, Sarkis, I fear I must inform you that you are probably dead.”
Sarkis stared at them for a moment, then burst out laughing.
“Of course I’m dead!” he said. “I’ve died more times than I can count. I just don’t stay dead for more than a fortnight at a time.”
“Oh good,” said Zale, with clear relief. “I was afraid that might be a shock to you. You never know how people will take this sort of thing.”
“He’s not dead, though,” said Halla. “I mean, he’s warm. And he’s got a pulse. And he eats and drinks and then… err—”
“Yes, we’ve been through what happens after the drinking once today already,” said Sarkis.
“To go back to that—” Zale began.
“Oh, by the great god. Am I to be required to fill another jar?”
“No, no. Well, probably not. Tell me, if you have a full bladder and then go back in the sword, do you still have one when you re-emerge?”
“I…” Sarkis had never given this much thought. “I do not spend centuries having to piss, if that’s what you mean.”
“Thank the gods,” muttered Halla. “Can you imagine? That would be dreadful.”
“No, no. But when you re-emerge, do you still need to? Or does the sword make all of that go away?”
“Oh, of course!” said Halla. “That’s a great question! If you eat out here, when you dematerialize, the contents of your stomach obviously go back in with you.”
“They do?”
“Well, think about it,” she said. “They must. You’ve been eating food for the last few days, but when we put you back in the sword, there isn’t a pile of half-digested potatoes suddenly hanging in midair, is there?”
Sarkis removed his hand from her arm and inched away from her on the wagon seat. She rolled her eyes at him.
“We’ll have to test it,” said Zale firmly. They grabbed a waterskin. “I’m going to need you to drink this.”
“Ofcourseyou are.”
Sarkis drank the water, even though he wasn’t remotely thirsty, and lowered the skin to see both Halla and Zale watching him closely. “I haven’t had anyone this concerned about my bladder since my mother trained me out of split pants.”
“Sorry,” said Zale, clearly not remotely sorry.
“But think how much we’re learning!” said Halla.
“The two of you are like kindred spirits. Horrible, horrible kindred spirits.” He took another swig of water.
The ox plodded down the road. The air crackled with frost. Brindle ignored them all with the air of long practice.
His companions were far too obviously waiting for his bladder to fill. Sarkis cleared his throat uncomfortably. “So I’m a ghost, you say?”
“I hope not,” said Zale. “If you’re a ghost then we might be practicing necromancy.”
Halla blanched.
“Is that a problem?”
“Necromancy is anathema in every civilized nation,” said Zale.
