Therelin was walking back up the path toward his makeshift camp when it started to rain. He had just picked a half-dozen herbs that he had not seen since his departure from Keth, as well as two handfuls of acai berries, a passion fruit, and a piece of redtree bark which strengthened the teeth when chewed. By the time he reached his leaf-strewn lean-to, his hand was smeared with dark berry juice and the bark had started to soften.
As he begrudgingly consumed his damp breakfast, he considered all that he had learned in Selram. The buildings dripped loudly from the pouring rain, their domed roofs streaming water down onto the dirt road so that it could flow down the slope, past Therelin’s camp, and back into the jungle.
The townspeople knew a great deal about the topics of conversation inside the Magister’s Chamber and gossiped about it willingly. Much of what they knew was already known to Therelin: siege had come to Bellasa and Aloor, and now to Starath. The Grey Sea roiled with pirates from the ominous and still-nameless armies of the Great Isle. Therelin also learned things he hadn’t known. Kedar City had fallen to strife, with the cult of Havard’s Brothers apparently siding with their kin-in-crime beyond the Sea, and fighting actively against the Atmos Septi in the City. Therelin wondered if Brother Iun had faced any such conflict, or if he was among the refugees that had fled from Kedar Isle towards Keth or Saanazar.
Therelin was just tossing the remnants of the redtree bark—helpful nutrients consumed—into the forest when he spotted a robed and hooded man leaving the waterfall eaves of Selram. He forded the river in the road and began to approach Therelin’s camp.
“Good day,” Therelin called hesitantly, unable to see who was within the cowl.
The man replied gruffly, “It’s hardly a good one.” It was Master Myandin, Therelin realized with relief. He had spoken with his teacher twice since his arrival in Selram, but only in passing. Their topics had included the weather, their mutual acquaintances in Keth City, and nothing of the secrecy Therelin sought to reveal.
But now Master Myandin had come to his camp with a travel pack thrown over one shoulder. He looked inside Therelin’s lean-to, then glanced back at his graduated pupil. “Are you ready?” he asked.
Therelin hurriedly collected his things—his herb pouches, his dry cloak, his staff, his Grey Sea coins, and the book that had come so far with him from Master Nolicrin’s desk. “I am now,” he told Myandin, ready for a march through the forest, if that was his master’s fancy.
Instead, he noticed Myandin’s eyes were closed. So, we’re Journeying then, Therelin thought, to this nameless place where everyone’s secrets lie.
Myandin spent a few moments silently focusing on their destination and the path to get there. Therelin waited patiently, wondering why so few words had been spoken about where they were going. Myandin seemed to view this adventure with contempt—not at Therelin, but at the elements with which he had chosen to remain unassociated. His decision to help Therelin, despite his clear opinions on the matter, restored some of Therelin’s respect in him.
Therelin had no idea how long this Journey would take, for he didn’t know the destination. He might be gone days or he might be gone months. Nonetheless, this was the time to forgo timeliness and caution. Now was the time for answers.
The rain beat down on the lean-to and the magicians. A moment passed and then the camp bore the brunt of the storm on its own.