“He is many things - dangerous and devious, cunning and deadly, a good friend and an implacable enemy - but he comes from an age when a man's word was indeed precious.”

“Are you coming with us?"Black Hawk laughed. "Are you insane, or do you think I am? One immortal and three Elders,heading onto an island of monsters. I know who's not coming back from that trip."Mars worked his head from side to side, easing the stiffness. "He's probably right-he'd slow us down.""I'll be right here," Black Hawk said, "so that when you all come screaming back here,I'll be able to get you off the island."Even Hel laughed. "We'll not come screaming to you.""Have it your way.I'll be here,though. For a while,anyway," he added with a grin."I thought you would want to rescue your friend Billy," Mars said.Black Hawk laughed again. "Trust me, Billy never needs rescuing. Usually people need to be rescued from him.”

“But the truth is a double-edged sword; it is a dangerous thing.”

“When in doubt, we follow our hearts. Words can be false, images and sounds can be manipulated. But this...' He tapped his chest, over his heart. 'This is always true.”

“It is not easy to watch the world change around you. To see an entire way of life change and change and change again. It isn't easy to watch friends grown old and die, nor is it easy to be constantly moving on from place to place before people begin to wonder why you never age.”

“Or maybe he just rediscovered his humanity,” Niten said quietly. “Maybe someone reminded him that he is human first, immortal second.”“You said as if you are speaking from personal experience,” Perenelle said.”“I am,” he said softly. “There was a time when I was . . . wild.”“What happened?”He smiled. “I met a redheaded Irish warrior.”“And fell in love?” she teased.“I didn’t say that.”“You didn’t have to.”

“The small Japanese immortal sat cross-legged, his two swords resting flat on the ground before him. He folded his hands in his lap, closed his eyes and breathing through his nose, forcing the chill night air deep into his chest. He held it for a count of five, then shaped his lips into an O and blew it out again, puncturing a tiny hole in the swirling fog before his face.Even though he would never admit it to anyone, Niten loved this moment. He had no affection for what was to come, but this brief time, when all preparations for battle were made and there was nothing left to do but wait, when the world felt still, as if it was holding its breath, was special. This moment, when he was facing death, was when he felt completely, fully alive.He’d still been called Miyamoto Musashi and had been a teenager when he’d first discovered the genuine beauty of the quiet moment before a fight. Every breath suddenly tasted like the finest food, every sound was distinct and divine, and even on the foulest battlefields, his eyes would be drawn to something simple and elegant: a flower, the shape of a branch, the curl of a cloud.A hundred years ago, Aoife had given him a book as a birthday present. He hadn’t had the heart to tell her that she’d missed his birthday by a month, but he had treasured the book, the first edition of The Professor by Charlotte Bronte. It included a line he had never forgotten: In the midst of life we are in death. Years later, he’d heard Ghandi take the same words and shift them around to create something that resonated deeply within him: In the midst of death life persists.”