“An accord,” Hunter said. “What kind of accord?”

  “A simple one,” the Sage started to explain, still wearing her sweetest smile. “For the remainder of your days in this world, however many they may be, I will cater to your every wish. You will be my honored, personal guest, free to explore every wonder and pleasure Taravus has to offer at your leisure. All I ask in return is this: when that time is over and you return to your Earth for good, I want this here body of yours left to me.”

  So there it was, the Sage’s ask. Hunter cocked an eyebrow, considering her offer, looking for the catch—because there had to be a catch. Fawkes’s words echoed in his head: Everybody wants something. So did his late father’s: There’s no such thing as a free lunch.

  “Why?” he asked. “What do you want to do with it?”

  “Puppeteer it, much as you do,” Jadzia said without hesitation. “For reasons too scholarly and pedantic to delve into now, my own body is bound to Taravus, even as my heart aches to see Aernor once more. I simply wish to inhabit this Transient body of yours, and I do not mind waiting a few months until your business with it is concluded.”

  Hunter furrowed his brow as he tried to concentrate to the spiritual link he shared with the Sage, to peek into her intentions. She was telling the truth, that much was certain. Was she, however, telling the whole truth?

  “I can practically hear you think, you know,” she said. “What’s the catch, as they say, you wonder. There is no catch. You have something I want, and I’m willing to pay an honest price for it. That is all, plain and simple.”

  “And, to make sure I understand this right, what do I get in return?”

  “Anything you wish. I cannot offer you something you can take back to your own world, of course. What I can do, however, is make sure the rest of your stay in mine is as pleasant and memorable as I can make it.”

  He had to give it to her; she was making it sound like a win-win. And if he had understood the extent of the Sage’s power, at least while in Taravus, the only true limit to what he could get out of this deal would be his own imagination. Which brought to mind another of the axioms his dad had lived by: if something sounds too good to be true, it probably is.

  “If I refuse,” he asked, “what happens to this body once I get back to Earth for good?”

  Jadzia shrugged.

  “What happens to a puppet once its strings are cut? Who knows? It might fall where it stands. It might simply vanish. Or Herne might lay claim to it. I’d prefer if we did not have to find out. Is it really important, though? I was under the impression that you would be done with it for good, in any case.”

  “And what happens to me, before that? If I refuse your offer, I mean.”

  He didn’t need to explain to Jadzia what he meant. Even if their minds werent’ currently connected to a spiritual level, the implications of the question were plain as day.

  She pursed her lips and stared at him, and he could feel her thoughts churning.

  “You don’t have to answer me now,” she finally said, smiling. “There is still time. It can be a bit jarring, such a request; I understand that. Take your time with it. All I ask of you today, is to give it proper consideration.”

  “That much, I can promise,” Hunter said, and he meant it.

  “Good man. Let us return to the other matters we should be attending to, then. Namely, the hunt for Mumsimmar, your role in it, and how to best prepare you.”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  ***

  The further theit discussion veered from her request, the more the Sage defaulted to an aloof, vaguely patronizing temperament. She’d gotten back to scrutinizing Hunter’s mind and spirit, dozens of spiritual eyes floating freely around her form in an ocular halo, every single one of them trained on her guest.

  All that probing felt invasive and unsettling, but the Sage had assured him it was a necessity. She inspected, assessed, and evaluated every inch of his spirit, clinical and detached in her manner. She occasionally paused to dictate some note or another to Eris, the secretarybird, who was waiting on her like a literal secretary. Hunter didn’t know the language she spoke, but her cool, dispassionate tone left no doubt that her words were an impersonal cataloguing of him.

  “Fascinating,” she said at some point.

  “What is it, doc?” Hunter asked, making a half-hearted attempt at humor born more of awkwardness than wit. “Will I live?”

  “My dearest Hunter, you are a study in contradiction.”

  “Ugh… thank you?”

  “You are so genuinely human in your passions and aspirations, it borders on the mundane,” she went on, self-absorbed in some kind of almost academic fascination. “Fallible. Error-prone. Imperfect.”

  “If you’re trying to compliment me,” Hunter said, deadpan, “you’re doing a piss-poor job of it.”

  If Jadzia heard him, she gave no sign.

  “You dream of brave new worlds, of heroic deeds, of larger-than-life adventure,” she went on. “And yet you do little to actually live up to those dreams. You lament your lack of freedom, yet you’re eager to follow. You’re being punished for being a criminal, and yet you only possess little in the way of cunning or ruthlessness. You even fancy yourself a master of your make-believe Earth games and strategies—yet the way you’ve built up this new self of yours is nothing if not directionless.”

  Her words cut deep; the more Jadzia spoke, the further Hunter’s stomach sank. Worse still, he couldn’t summon enough ire, enough indignation, to tell her to go to hell. There was no malice in her words, no ill intent. The Sage saw through him, almost literally. She was simply describing what she perceived, and it was what he already knew he would see himself if he ever worked up the nerve to face the proverbial mirror.

  “This is not to say your choices are without merit,” she concluded, her tone softening as though to cushion the barrage of ego-crushing blows that was her assessment. “Being merely human is no great sin, as far as great sins go. It’s simply not compelling enough to inspire any minstrels’ songs, if I may put it that way.”

  “Where does that leave us?” Hunter asked, drained of any enthusiasm. He suddenly wanted to log out, lie on his bed in the Happy Motel, and sink into a deep, long, dreamless sleep.

  “Do not lose heart, dearest Hunter,” she said with a warm smile. “My offer is still valid, and it is far from a mundane one. You would be wise to consider it.”

  “About the godling’s hunt, I meant.”

  The Sage raised a long, immaculate fingernail to her pursed lips, as though pondering how best to answer his question.

  “As I said before, even the greatest works of art were once merely works in progress,” she said at last. “Let us see whether we can finish you before we set off for the hunt—or at least give you some direction. There is something you could do, I reckon. A part to play. A small, if vital, one.”

  “Well, I’m all ears.”

  “A conjuration. A bargain with a powerful spirit. This role was meant for Aumir, but I see no reason you couldn’t take it on. You lack the required skill and experience as you are now, but a month or two of tutelage should suffice. After all, I did promise Aumir I would help you make sense of your smattering of aptitudes and capabilities, such as they are.”

  Hunter’s record of bargaining with powerful spirits wasn’t exactly great. Learning more about how to better deal with the Lord of the Hunt, however, was exactly why he’d followed Aumir to Taravus in the first place. If that was what it took, then that was what he’d do.

  Baheep, as Aumir would put it. So be it.

  “Sure,” he shrugged. “When do we start?”

  “Soon.” The Sage rose from her ornate chair to show him to the door. “Our session here was a fruitful one. I shall take a few days to study my findings further and outline a curriculum for you to follow. In the meantime, you are, of course, free to enjoy your stay in my humble abode. I have assigned one of my Callanthines to you, as you may know. She will see to nearly anything you require to make your time in Tor Taravus a pleasant one. All you need do is ask.”

  “Alright,” Hunter said, following her. “I’ll make sure to.”

  As they reached the door, Jadzia turned around and took his hand in hers.

  “Mundane or not, dearest Hunter,” she said with her most stunning of smiles, “knowing you has proven to be a great pleasure.”

  Her eyes never leaving his, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek, then bade him farewell and sent him on his way.

  It would be long before Hunter would stop thinking about that kiss, long before he could stop feeling it on his skin, burning like a cold brand.

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