It was the first time Bly had been asked the question directly. And it was the first time he had to think about it. He let his mind assemble the facts in their proper order, and after a while he spoke:
"I do not know why, except that I no longer want to know either the touch or feel of a sword or knife. I do not want to harm anyone. Nor can I explain why I feel this way."
Suddenly one of the women made a sound of horror. They turned to her and saw she was staring in fascination at the torn part of Stanton's shirt where the sword blade had entered. Mary and several others gathered closer, and Mary parted the fabric to see the wound better.
"Look!" she exclaimed in wonder. "How deep it is."
For the first time, then, Bly Stanton saw the wound for what it was, a death wound. He wondered—had he become immortal?—not in the sense he knew, but in actuality, where death even by violence was not the end.
He put out his hand and said: "Let me have a blade."
Without hesitation, Mary handed him the blade which hung at her right side. Placing the point against the flesh, he put both hands about the hilt and plunged it deep into him with all his strength, until only the hilt was to be seen.
Miraculously, he felt no pain. The blade when Stanton withdrew the steel showed virgin as it had entered, and not a drop of crimson dyed the entrance it had made in the flesh.
One of the women put into words what they all felt: "This is magic. Death is gone forever now."
It was in that very instant that the soul of Miotis entered into the body of Bly Stanton.