The sun beat down on a rock-strewn beach, instantly warming the shoulders of the soaked travellers that appeared on the beach. Therelin blinked as his eyes adjusted to the sudden light—moments ago, he had stood under the branches of weathered trees in the Keth rainforest. He glanced at Myandin, then followed his old master’s eyes to a nearby hill. The hill ran alongside the beach, curving until it blocked the beach from sight, almost perfectly rounded. Fog was flocking in the shadows of the hill and the trees that dotted it. The humidity wouldn’t help his clothes dry.
Myandin lifted his hand abruptly, and waved. Therelin looked back up the short hill to spot a woman emerging from the shadow of one cedar tree. She lifted one hand to serenely return Myandin’s gesture. When she got within ten feet of them, she glanced at both and asked, “Who are you?”
“Myandin,” the old Ketho man replied. “Telan or Norgin can vouch for me, though I haven’t been in several years. This is Therelin—his first time.”
“Ah,” the woman replied. She turned to Therelin, regarding him with deep set brown eyes amidst her long, wavy brown hair. She couldn’t have been much older than he was, though the wrinkles around her mouth might indicate otherwise. “Well, the first matter is the Vows—that you may not speak of our presence on this Isle or any of the things you may witness here. You may only accept… or leave.”
Therelin ran a hand through his short damp hair to rub water off his forehead. So, it’s an Isle, he thought. He could agree to respect their privacy. “I accept,” he said.
Myandin chuckled. “It’s not that simple.”
“The Vows are sworn by magic and may not be broken,” the woman explained to him. “If you follow me to undertake them, you may not turn back.”
Therelin looked down. What if he tried to turn back? Would they kill me? Is that implied? Still, she had not asked him to swear allegiances; he could make an oath of secrecy. “Lead on,” he said. He noticed Myandin nodding with approval in his periphery.
The woman led them up the hill. At the top, Therelin realized the island was no more than five miles across. The hill circled it like a wall—in the middle was built a small settlement, hidden from the ocean beyond. There were a few dozen buildings, built mostly out of wood. The townspeople were diverse in ethnicity and clothing. Many wore robes, including their guide. The woman brought them straight between the first few houses, greeting most of the people she passed with a wave or a word. She told one to find Master Norgin, and he ran ahead.
Their destination turned out to be a shrine of sorts, set apart with its stone walls and slanted roof. The structure consisted only of three walls—the fourth side was open to allow people to walk in or out. Therelin and Master Myandin followed the woman inside, just as an old bearded man arrived. Master Norgin—Therelin assumed—walked to a podium in the open entryway, while Therelin examined the interior.
A shelf ran along all three walls, at abdomen-height, covered by a silk cloth. On the cloth rested a white rope, thick with many layers of twine.
“Hold the Tether and repeat after Master Norgin, out loud,” the woman instructed.
Therelin raised an eyebrow. Master Myandin only watched as he reached out and touched the rope. It was vaguely warm—another trait instilled by magic? He gripped the rope in his fist and waited.
Master Norgin had a low, deep voice. “I agree to be bound by the following vows when absent from this Isle: I may not name the Isle out loud or in writing.”
“I agree to be bound by the following vows,” Therelin began, continuing as the man had spoken. He didn’t feel any different as he spoke—just damp, hungry, and like he was holding a warm rope. The vows went on: “I may not share details of any names, objects, or information gained on the Isle except with people who have taken the Vows. I may not speak of the Isle’s purpose—I may only refer to what transpires on the Isle by speaking in general terms, such as a ‘meeting’ or a ‘delivery’.”
Master Norgin waited for Therelin to finish each phrase. “And lastly, I may not speak of the Vows I have taken on the Isle, unless I am on the Isle.”
“I may not speak of the Vows I have taken on the Isle,” Therelin repeated, “unless I am on the Isle.”
Master Norgin nodded and closed the tome he had opened. He stepped back from the podium and started to walk away. The woman went too, heading off toward the hill where she had been posted.
“Welcome to the Isle of Dusk,” Master Myandin said, smiling.
Therelin let go of the rope and stepped back. He looked around. “What now?” He had said their words.
“That’s up to you,” Myandin said, stepping to the opening of the shrine.
“What does that mean?” Therelin asked. He had been promised answers. “Where are we?”
Myandin shrugged. “This is a meeting place of sorts—a neutral ground for anyone who practices the magic arts. The reason you have been so hard-pressed to find answers is because of the Vows you have just taken. Most people you have asked have been simply unable to speak to you about these matters.”
“Fine,” Therelin said. “So, what is the Conclave?”
Myandin glanced around nervously and stepped back into the shrine. Therelin followed him and listened to his answer closely. “That’s still a matter for privacy, but we appear to be secluded enough here. The Conclave is an alliance of like-minded magicians. They believe that their abilities—namely the often-elongated life spans of accomplished Masters—grants them the ability to steer events across a great number of years. Their goal is simple—unity across Gethra. The reason I am not among their ranks is simply put: I have no interest in cloak-and-dagger games or oaths that restrict you, and I do not believe that the results condone the causes—as most in the Conclave do.”
“And what hand does the Conclave have in the war across the Grey Sea?” Therelin questioned intently. Unity was an admirable goal, but Therelin doubted their actions were worth the results—especially after having his life threatened for simply asking about them.
“I couldn’t say. I haven’t talked to anyone in the Conclave in years,” Myandin muttered. “Before my recent visit with the rulers of Keth, you likely knew more about the war than I. No doubt you can learn something about that here on the Isle, though—or even by speaking to magicians off the Isle who are no longer bound to silence.”
All of a sudden, Therelin realized that was why he had been asked twice if he had ever been to—the Isle of Dusk. Maia in Saanazar and Master Gheran in Noress-That-Was had been unable to even name the Isle because of this “Tether.” Therelin considered what Master Nolicrin’s famed “neutrality” might be: he might not be part of the Conclave after all. His teleportation of Therelin had seemed a clue to the opposite.
Therelin turned back to his old master. “What can I find on the Isle? It’s a place for magicians, so is there a training hall? Archives?” he questioned.
Master Myandin nodded. “Oh, of course. I’ll bring you to Telan, after this. He—and several others—never leave the Isle. He’ll give you a tour. There’s a public garden, training yard with a dozen teachers that come and go, and a study filled with quintessential books. It might be worth asking if there are any renowned guests at this time—some famous figures you might like to meet, what, with your dreams of life beyond Keth.”
Renowned magicians? Therelin wondered. That certainly was worth asking. “Excellent.” Though he was still irked that Myandin had kept all this from him during his seven years as an apprentice, he had regained a little respect for his old master. Myandin had taken a stance against the actions of organizations with which he could not agree—and he was willing to help Therelin despite that. “Thank you,” he said, as he followed Myandin out of the shrine.