The Isle of Dusk was as quaint as it was secret. A dozen aged men and women lived peacefully within its ancient protection. They claimed the Isle was a mountaintop that had sunk in the molten remains of the Orrish. It had been Ular Graan, Therelin learned, that had declared the Isle a neutral ground for practitioners of magic. The same great magician that had brokered peace between the Old Empire of Noress and the Kingdom of the Orrene had sought peace among mages following a sub-conflict during that war. Therelin couldn’t find anyone to tell him specifics of this alleged sorcerers’ war.
Myandin departed less than a week after their arrival, hurrying home to his duties in Keth. They said farewells on good terms, though not as good as they had when Therelin first left his home. Myandin had made a choice that Therelin disagreed with—but it was not a choice made out of malicious intent. Rather, Myandin had done what he thought was best for his apprentice—and he had respected Therelin’s differing choice when the time came. They clasped hands and Therelin watched his old master wink out of sight.
The origins of the Isle were not all that Therelin learned during his first few weeks. As he examined a variety of familiar and new herbs in one old scholar’s garden, he was told of another alliance of magicians. Not unlike the Conclave, the Circle kept its members on a leash of secrecy. According to the gardener, the Circle didn’t care much for the civilizations of non-wizards. This group sought to further the capabilities of humanity as a species. Their dabbling had apparently led to past controversy—they rarely visited the Isle of Dusk anymore.
Therelin assessed every bookshelf he could—whenever he visited a new house on the Isle. Most of the titles were considered staple content for magicians, though Therelin had only read a handful. There was plenty to learn here—and he was certain a secret magicians’ sanctuary would hide even more important tomes.
He met Telan, one of the magicians Myandin had mentioned. Telan kept record of those who came and went from the Isle. When asked about the most prestigious current guest, he directed Therelin to speak with a woman named Tarka, at the comfortable cottage near the Isle’s single dock. Therelin also asked the middle-aged magician if anyone had ever breached the Isle’s secrecy. He was told sternly about an instance in 1399: a magician had infiltrated the Isle without swearing by the Tether. He stole accounts of the guests and a handful of codices—and was hunted down and killed before he could do much damage.
Therelin hated all the secrecy. As he walked through the pleasant village toward Tarka’s seaside quarters, he tried to frame the divide in his mind. A group of amiable magicians was a relief to find, but these organizations operating in lies and subterfuge…? To Therelin, this was the worst way a magician could affect society. Our abilities give us duty—duty to those with inability. Hiding our deeds from them is… simply wrong.
The cottage had a wide red door with a copper knocker. Therelin rapped it twice and waited. A servant opened the door, but didn’t speak. Therelin saw a cozy sitting room inside and an elderly woman looking out of the candle-lit shadows at him. She gave the servant a nod when he looked at her. The door was left ajar.
“Thank you,” Therelin said and closed it behind himself.
The woman, Tarka, looked him up and down. “A little early for the summit, isn’t it?” she asked. Tarka was of Raderan background, though her hair was wiry and white. Her skin was wrinkled and liver-spotted, but her eyes looked at Therelin full of sharp attention.
“Summit?” Therelin asked. “Pardon me—I’m relatively new to the Isle.”
“Ah,” Tarka said. “A few times a year, the magicians here hold a public summit. The next one is to be on the 1st of the 4th Moon.”
“Interesting,” Therelin said, earnestly “I should stay on the Isle until then, I suppose. Forgive my manners—I’m Therelin of Keth.”
Tarka nodded. She rubbed one cheek with frail fingers. “Nice to meet you,” she said.
“The honour is mine,” Therelin insisted. “I have some questions that I’ve been meaning to ask of someone with experience such as yours; I’m fairly new to the larger world of Gethra, and I’m trying to find my place in current events.”
Before he could go on, Tarka shrugged and said, “I spend most of my time here, so I learn a lot—even if I’d rather not.” She sighed. “Go ahead and ask your questions.”
“What do you mean by that?” Therelin asked, caught off guard. “What don’t you want to know?”
“I’m sure you’ve heard already that most magicians are part of one alliance or another, or a certain shared worldview,” she said. “In my case, my colleagues and I seek to learn more about Gethra beyond the maps. What lies west of Numa’nakres? What lies north of Tal’lashar, or across the ocean? It’s incredibly slow work, and the constant bickering of secret orders or malicious armies is more of a distraction than anything else. I mean no disrespect, though.”
“None taken—I can respect that,” Therelin assured her. He slowly sat down into a free armchair. Her servant had not gone far; Therelin suspected he was also a guard. “How do you hold to your goals without being manipulated? I also seek to remain separate from their schemes, but fear my own ignorance. I hope to change Gethra for the better, but I’d prefer to find my own way to do that.”
Tarka smiled. “Then you needn’t fear so much. Most of the plotters are so self-involved…. If you pose no use or threat to them, they’ll leave you be.”
“But what if my decisions—through ignorance—do pose a threat? And I’m not aware of it?” Therelin questioned. He leaned forward, forgetting about the servant-guard and the lapping sound of saltwater waves on the beach. He felt learning more of the Conclave had only revealed more of their power to him. He felt trapped.
“Outwit them,” Tarka said. “Or heed their warnings—which are usually quite clear—and find a different way to accomplish your aims. They told me to leave Ellakar when I was in danger; I wasn’t in their way or posing any threat, and they still warned me.”
“How can I outwit them if I’m blind to their schemes?” Therelin pushed.
Tarka lifted a hand for emphasis. “Then don’t be blind to their schemes! If you want to accomplish something that puts you at odds with a group—magician or not—you need to learn whatever you don’t already know,” she explained incredulously. She spoke as though she thought this was common sense. “Hire spies, risk your own skin, bribe people. If you want to play their game and win, then you have to play the game.”
Therelin shook his head and leaned back. He was certain that “the game” was detrimental to Gethra as a whole. These alliances are full of powerful people who are deciding events behind closed doors, he thought. The best case scenario involved them assuming what was best for other people. The Conclave and the Circle are like quiet totalitarian governments.
But unloading his frustration at Tarka would be rude. She did not represent these groups and had already expressed her wish to remain separate from them. “I understand,” Therelin said, instead. He redirected their topic: “I’ll take some of this to heart, and obviously, I will need to find some people I trust. My family and friends in Keth seem to be in grave danger as the war remains unchecked. Is there anyone here I should talk to that is involved in defence against the bandit armies?”
Tarka crossed her arms. She seemed bothered with him, but remained polite. “Perhaps you could speak with Master Byranim, who has been appointed to see that the Isle of Dusk remains unscathed from the conflicts.”
Even that isn’t an actual defence against the bandit armies, Therelin realized. They had just appointed someone to preserve their hiding place. He stood up. “I’ll seek him out,” he told Tarka. In the very least, Byranim might be able to point him the right direction. “Thank you for your time.”
The waves outside gleamed with the afternoon sun. It was hard to consider that men and women were bleeding for survival somewhere across them. What battles were fought today, Therelin wondered, while we chatted about deceitful mages? He walked quietly along the shore for a while, passing a few of the watchful sentries that always waited for the arrival of new magicians to their safe haven. He would learn as much as he could before the summit Tarka had mentioned, but he already knew—this was not a home for him.