“So, when do we hunt this… Mumsimmar?” Hunter asked.

  “The preparations will take time,” the Sage said. “Months, even. There’s much to be done, least of which is to get you into proper shape.”

  “I thought we were trying to nip this in the bud.”

  “A few months will make no difference. Whatever power the godling gains will be a pittance compared to what we can muster in the same span.” She fixed him with eyes the color of arctic ice and smiled—a smile that, on a face less perfect, might have looked predatory. “And what better place to begin than with you, dear Transient?”

  Hunter’s face must have betrayed the pang of unease he felt, for the Sage’s gaze and smile softened.

  “You have nothing to fear from me, Hunter. In time, we shall become the closest of friends, you and I. It has been foretold.”

  “That may be so,” Hunter said, choosing his words carefully. “Still, you must understand, Sage. Some degree of hesitation is only prudent on my part. All this is… a bit too strange for me to simply shrug off.”

  “I told you before. Call me Jadzia, and I shall call you Hunter. Open yourself to me, and I shall open myself to you. That, in fact, is why I requested your presence today. But first, a measure of privacy.”

  She rose from her ornate chair and spread her arms wide. Hunter awkwardly kept his eyes fixed on the floor, avoiding her imposing silhouette—a detail she caught, and it only widened her smile.

  “Eris,” she called softly. “Come to me, my sweet.”

  A cloud of iridescent mist formed at her side, swiftly coalescing into the shape of a large, elegant bird. Its crested head was like that of an eagle, while it stilt-like legs reminded those of a crane. Hunter recognized it as a secretarybird. Together, the Sage and her avian minion walked in a slow, wide circle around the center of the room. In their wake, slender steles rose from the ground; spectral obelisks, twice as tall as a man, each bearing an eye at its top.

  Even from a distance, Hunter could feel the ritual’s power gathering, building with intensity. When the circle was complete, the Sage’s peacock let out a shrill cry, and the eyes came alive, bleeding slow, thin trickles of iridescent blood.

  “There,” the Sage said. “No one shall disturb us now.”

  She walked back to the center of the protective circle, right behind the chair Hunter was sitting on. The she let her hands rest on his shoulders, sending goosebumps up and down his spine.

  “Aumir told me he got a reading off you. You will permit me to take a peek for myself. No better way to build trust and answer questions than a proper heart-to-heart, dearest Hunter, don’t you agree?”

  Before he could say a word, however, the Sage pressed her fingers to his temples, and he felt the presence of her mind enter his.

  It was technically the same technique Aumir had used to get a reading—if only in the way a puddle and an ocean are both technically bodies of water. The Sage’s touch all but forced his Essence to surge through his channels, following the flow and pattern she dictated. There was no gradual synchronicity here; she simply seized control of everything he was, as though he were nothing more than a puppet.

  “There, there,” she whispered softly, as if to a pet. “I’ve got you.”

  And then Hunter felt the Sage’s spiritual eyes open, and for a moment he could swear his mind was about to implode under the weight of that revelation. Where Aumir bore a single eye in the middle of his forehead, Jadzia manifested dozens of spiritual orbs, encircling her like a halo, vivisecting Hunter’s spirit with their ethereal gazes.

  Blood trickled from his nostrils, all the way down to his lips and chin, burning hot and tasting of iron. Still, the Sage pressed on, scrutinizing every mote of his being with a brutality that was almost surgical.

  “You are remarkably strong of will, considering,” the Sage whispered. “Do not resist. You will only hurt yourself; and besides, it is futile.”

  Time passed: seconds, months, aeons. In the back of his mind, Hunter felt the presence of Biggs and Wedge struggling to reach him, to help him. They were easily repelled by the circle of steles, easily swept aside by the tornado that was the Sage’s spirit. Don’t hurt them, Hunter tried to say, but speech was way too far beyond him.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  And then, as suddenly as it had fallen upon him, the crushing pressure lifted. The spiritual link the Sage’s technique had established remained, as did her halo of lidless eyes, but their gazes no longer tore his spirit apart.

  “Take heart, dearest Hunter,” she said, and wiped the blood off his face with a handkerchief. “The painful part is all but done. As promised, we are now one, our spirits open to each other. There’s beauty to be found in such a union.”

  “We need to have a talk about consent,” Hunter grumbled, taking the handkerchief from her and wiping away the rest of the blood. He was nearly himself again now, his mind and spirit almost stitched back together.

  “If you insist,” Jadzia said, if only to humor him. She moved back to her throne-like chair and sat across from him, elegantly crossing her legs as she settled in. “As you can see, however, there are far more interesting topics for us to discuss.”

  She wasn’t wrong; he could glimpse her mind through the spiritual link they now shared, a million questions and answers bubbling just beneath the surface. It was a rare opportunity; by its nature, such a union dispelled the very notion of lying.

  “…but still, not all deception is built on lies,” Jadzia finished his thought aloud. “Yes, yes, I know. Some degree of hesitation is only prudent on your part. You’ve said so already, and I acquiesce. But keep thinking of this union of ours as a mind rape, mind you, and you might hurt my feelings.”

  “If it looks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck…” Hunter replied.

  “…it still could be something that’s very much not a duck,” Jadzia said with a dismissive wave. “I shall make up to you for this intrusion, dearest Hunter, and then some. This, I promise you.”

  “Did you see all you needed to see, at least?”

  “I did, and what a magnificent mess you turned out to be.” She put a painted fingernail on her lips, as if studying him. “But still, even the finest works of art were at some point just works in progress, I suppose.”

  “And what’s the verdict?” Hunter ignored her backhanded compliment—or was it a reverse insult? His head hurt too much to tell.

  “If we work together, we can fashion you into something exceptional. Beautiful, even, in its way. But you have questions, I can tell. Fire away, then, as you would say.”

  The first question that came to Hunter’s mind was a surprising one.

  “Why do you call yourself the Sage of Nine Hundred and Ninety-Nine Spirits?” he asked. It had been bugging him for a while. “I mean, why that specific number? Why not make it an even thousand and be done with it?”

  The Sage arched an eyebrow, and her lips curled into an enigmatic smile.

  “Bravo, dearest Hunter. Excellent question. It is because I cannot be the Thousand-Spirit Sage, for the Thousand-Spirit Sage was my teacher—the original master of Taravus. I call myself a sage of merely nine hundred and ninety-nine spirits out of humility, to remind myself that I have yet to equal my teacher.”

  “You don’t strike me as a great admirer of humility.”

  “Which makes it all the more important to remind myself of its virtue.”

  “Can you bear Witness to my ascent to the Iron Rung?” Hunter pressed on with the next question. “The Sage of the White Cloud supposedly could. I cannot help but notice you bear the same title.”

  “Sadly, no,” Jadzia said. “I would love to, but I am no Witness. Claiming the title of Sage does not imply such a gift. It simply means one has taken the first step toward divinity and created a paracausal realm.”

  “You know I have no idea what that is,” Hunter said. “So let’s make that my next question.”

  “A paracausal realm is a fragment of space where the natural rules of causation are bent or overridden by the will of its master. Put plainly, Taravus exists as it does primarily because I will it so, and only secondarily because of ordinary cause and effect.”

  “So you have to create a mini-world?”

  “Well…” The Sage considered. “Not necessarily. Paracausal realms can vary infinitely in size, nature, purpose, and complexity. There was famously a sage whose realm was only large enough to hold a single bowl of tea, its sole purpose to keep it from growing cold. Conversely, some claim Aernor itself is nothing more than a paracausal realm, ruled by the will of the Goddess.”

  She paused for a moment, studying him, her smile inscrutable.

  “But these are not the questions you really want to ask, dearest Hunter,” she said at last. “So go on and ask. No reason to act bashful.”

  “All this—this place, you, Aernor. This whole Elderpyre experience,” said Hunter, his words ponderous. “Is it real?”

  “That’s better. Getting warmer, now. In short: yes. It’s as real as real can get. But of course I would say that, wouldn’t I?”

  “That’s… no answer.”

  “And yet, it’s the only proper answer you can hope to have, all the same,” Jadzia said with a sigh. “What if I told you that right now your body lies in a bed on your world, Earth, somewhere on the other side of the universe, and your presence here is merely the projection of your spirit across the cosmos, puppeteering an artificial body? Would that make a difference?”

  “It should,” Hunter began.

  “But would it?” Jadzia cut him off. “Would it, really? Even if this realm is as real as yours, you can never hope to properly visit it. So how is your stay here different from a waking dream, bound to become little more than a fading memory once dawn breaks and its time is up?”

  To that, Hunter had no response.

  “Ask your question, dearest Hunter,” the Sage urged him again. “The true one. The proper one to ask of one such as me, in this rare time when the bond we share all but guarantees my candor. Ask me the question that would make your friend Fawkes proud.”

  Hunter knew which question she meant. It had been gnawing at him ever since he first laid eyes on the Sage. It was the question he’d been building up the nerve to ask—and the one he dreaded hearing the candid answer to.

  “Alright,” he said. “I’ll ask it. What the hell do you really want from me, Jadzia?”

  “Bravo, dearest Hunter,” she said again, and the smile she gave him could tempt a saint to sin.

  “I’d like to offer you an accord.”

  ?? Thank you for reading Elderpyre!

  If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving a review—it helps a lot!

  You can also support the story and read 20 chapters ahead on Patreon.