Katie Cross - The Ronan Scrolls

The adventures of Ronan the Traveler first circulated around the reign of the 390th High Priest of the Western Network after the Mortal Wars, about the time that High Priest Isra Mona of the West had been deceased for three centuries.

Ronans many accounts were copied and distributed in secret for decades. False, incomplete copies abound. I, and many others, have given our lives to protect and expand his truths.

Now, at the sunset of my life, after dedicating myself to the cause of a magic I did not hold myself, I resign these writings to a place of ultimate safety and trust that they will be protected until the world is ready for the truth again.

Here is Ronans true story.

Signed,

Martorius

rd day, 4th week, 1st month of spring

Durston, Northern Network

They burned my brother on a stake.

For this reason, my grief and questions have driven me to study his mental condition, starting in the Northern Network. I feel I must scour Alkarra from top to bottom in my search to understand his life and decisions. My questions cannot be ignoredI feel restless in my heart and soul. He died from this strange ailmentor rather, because of it. His confinement was wrong. He was not crazy. Something was different, yes. But not harmful. Not dangerous.

Something gave him sight. I will figure it out in his name. This seems the best place to start.

Father disapproves. It is a wild search, he said with a heavy brow. Rodan was afflicted with madness.

I dont believe that, I said. You are an accomplished apothecary, respected through the entirety of the Western Network. You would have seen the signs.

At this, his eyes drooped, as if they ached. Perhaps I could have been softer, but I dont see how. Truth isnt soft. Perhaps my departure makes him feel like hes lost another son. He hasnt been well since Rodans violent death. He needs the solace that only comes with time. I can see it burning in his eyes, and this yearning for silence is something I understand. Besides, we can hardly meet each others eyes these days.

Perhaps he knows my awful truth.

I cannot forbid you, Ronan. He passed a weary hand over his face. You have always made your own decisionsthough usually in a laboratory or a library.

To that, I had no rebuttal. His concern is well founded: I am naive in the ways of the world. I have never slept under the stars or hunted for my own food or traveled on my own, despite being twenty-four years old and only a scholar.

Still, I go. I must. Redemption isnt free.

With me, I have brought four empty scrolls bound with leather. They curl snugly into a container also wrapped in leatherthis ensures theyll be safe in any weather. The container was Rodans. Two scrolls, the heartiest, will be for my observations; the other two for my scholarly notes, citations, data, and blessed, beautiful, irrefutable facts. These are the things we need the most. Its likely that years will pass before I find the answers I seek.

Was Rodan, my twin, mad? Or did he truly see the future?

Here are the facts on which I base my expedition:

1. My twin brother, Rodan, was burned on a star-shaped stake because he claimed to see the future.
2. His death is my fault.

2nd day, 1st week, 2nd month of spring

Durston, Northern Network

My trip begins without excitement.

I am in the North, a place I never imagined I would go, though I read extensively about it during my geological research several years ago. Already, I miss my island home off the coast.

Durston is where I have procured an innI find it to be a charming mountain town. Goats far surpass witches in number. The witches are quite fond of their smelly little flocks. Goats serve several practical purposes here, such as milk, food, and they use the hides as warm winter clothing. Their cheese is delicious on a fried cake, amongst other things.

The views of this wild mountain world are beyond words. Vocabulary fails me when I try to describe the rocky brilliance of these purplish peaks. Landslides occasionally plummet from the top of a peak in a spray of dust, like foam. Distant specks of something in flight lead the locals to make a sign and swear by the mountain dragons.

The locals are kind. They seem unafraid of my questions. When I ask about witches with special abilities, they are unbothered, unlike those at home. They shrug and say little. Perhaps they have not seen many. Some witches watch me from a distance.

Several possibilities occur to meperhaps these witches are curious, frightened, or dont want me here. Only one of the witches seems intent on studying me, and appears wherever I go. Its a male, with a thick, dark beard and beady eyes. I believe I first incurred his attention at a pub, when I asked the owner about witches afflicted by madness and claiming to see the future.

Perhaps I am paranoid.

For now, I sleep in a makeshift tent on the ground beneath the northern stars. The ground is hard, lumpy, and cold. My stomach already hurtsI wrongly assumed what food I packed would last longer. Exertion truly does sharpen the appetite.

The locals have warned me about mountain dragons, but Im confident I could be little more than a snack, with my thin arms and meager bodythat Rodan used to make fun of constantly. Dragons shall not be a problem.

Tomorrow, I will speak to the local village chief and ascertain what she knows.

3rd day, 1st week, 2nd month of spring

Durston, Northern Network

Mountain dragons accosted me all night, screaming and tearing through the sky overhead. As I write, my hands shake and my teeth chatterI feel lucky to be alive. The terror of hearing them outside my makeshift tent, as if they would rip me apart, forced me to plunge into the forest and hide. The darkness blinded me as I ran. Bloody lash marks run all over my arms and hands. Sheer luck brought me back to my tent and scrolls.