The Elder's Curse Andrew Walbrown (red scrolls of magic .TXT) 📖

someday discover that we have been poisoning ourselves and the environment around us? Will we someday be forced to migrate to a different land because we have exhausted all the resources here?

After spending so much time in the world of Amantius Jeranus and Ulam the Orc, I cannot help but question whether we live in a better time than they. We have medicines they did not, and for the worst of illnesses, some healers can perform spells far more advanced than at any time in history. We have railroads that can speed us across the entire continent, and our ships are larger and more resistant to the whims of the sea. Guns have replaced the bow and arrow, so even hunters are more likely to feed their families than ever before. Slavery has not been practiced, at least not legally, in centuries. Vampires, dragons, and other monsters have not been reliably reported upon in just as long, leaving both travelers and homemakers safer.

But with all these amenities, are we better off, or happier than our ancestors? Many thousands more die in wars now due to guns, while our medicines still fail to cure all that fall ill. Healers will only perform spells for the right price because even they must find a way to feed themselves. Railroads connect many cities but leave many others isolated and in economic despair. And although vampires, dragons, and the like have not been around in forever, that has not stopped kidnappings and murders. Perhaps I have spent too much time in Amantius’ world and have started to romanticize its simplicity. Perhaps that is the point of the whole series: to boil down the world’s intricacies into relatable themes.

When our ship, The Nightingale, turned the corner to sail up the coast towards Yawan, I saw the mountains where Durkan the Flamefang allegedly lived centuries ago. Although I did not truly expect to see dragons circling in the clouds high above those snow-capped peaks, I would be remiss to say I was not disappointed. Further up the coast I saw the formation of many of those fabled ash storms and was quite relieved that we were far enough out at sea not to experience them first hand.

Upon arriving in Yawan I was surprised to find the city to be almost the same today as it had been in The Elder’s Curse. Unlike the brick and wood buildings built throughout Human lands, the houses here are still made of baked mudbricks covered in hundreds of flowers, many of which I have never seen before. Sadly, the Great Obelisk no longer stands on the island at the mouth of the river. Instead, its ruins decorate the harbor as a reminder of the power of nature. According to the locals, a massive earthquake rocked Yawan a few generations ago, bringing down the Great Obelisk and some of the city’s weaker buildings. Upon further inspection I was able to see the carvings mentioned in The Elder’s Curse, detailing the Legend of Eemoneem and the story of the Kalikkis and Mwai fleeing into the Alakuum together. I am saddened, however, that I will never see the Great Obelisk in its full grandeur; if it still stood, it would be the tallest structure in the world.

To be quite honest, I am not entirely sure why I have traveled to Yawan. Sometimes I ask myself why I have chased these books, especially considering my chances of locating every volume are next to impossible. How could I find them all when I do not even know how many there are! There are at least five, of this I am sure, but what if there are more? What if I find book seven, or ten, or seventy-four? When will I know?

After reading about Amantius’ experiences with xenophobia, I was very surprised by the affable reception I received from the Kalikkis. I think that perhaps they are unfairly labeled as distant and impolite, when in reality they are just a fairly introverted people. That is perfect for someone such as myself, who has spent most of his life indoors, his only friends being the characters that lived between the covers of old books. The Mwai were equally pleasant as well, though their customs can be a little strange to outsiders. Thankfully, I have known a few in my time at the Academy.

After spending a few coins to indulge myself on camel’s milk and ebonbrier at a milkhouse named The “High” Council,I traveled to the Mwai side of Yawan. I was happy to see the streets full because I have learned from my studies that plagues nearly destroyed the Mwai on a few occasions throughout the centuries. It seems preposterous to me now, but as a fundamental truth with any population anywhere, consecutive good harvests coupled with generations of peace will produce an abundance of children. Multiply that by a thousand years, and even the most forlorn society will be resurrected.

I meandered the streets of the Mwai side of the river for hours before I came across the Yawani Academy of Wizardry. Unlike the Academy in Echona with its timeless towers spread across the five island cities of the Idatians, the Yawani branch was much smaller and far more condensed. If not for the directions given to me by a local, I may have never found it.

Upon passing through the main entrance to the Yawani Academy I immediately sought out the main library, believing the best chance of finding the third volume of The Accarian Chronicles would be there. For hours I skimmed ancient tomes and books, only to find nothing of value. Eventually, I was referred to the Master of Scrolls, an old Mwai name Raharz with long brown fur and one eye permanently closed. He led me down into the cellar of the library, a musky place choked with stale air. At the bottom of the stairs were a dozen or so Mwai researchers reading scrolls, applying their findings on straw dummies in a designated