Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [102]
“I assumed you knew,” Raoden said.
“What, sule?” Galladon demanded. “Assumed I knew what?”
“I’m sorry, Galladon,” Raoden said with compassion, turning around and sitting up. “The Duladen Republic collapsed.”
“No,” Galladon breathed, his eyes wide.
Raoden nodded. “There was a revolution, like the one in Arelon ten years ago, but even more violent. The republican class was completely destroyed, and a monarchy was instituted.”
“Impossible…. The republic was strong—we all believed in it so much.”
“Things change, my friend,” Raoden said, standing and walking over to place a hand on Galladon’s shoulder.
“Not the republic, sule,” Galladon said, his eyes unfocused. “We all got to choose who ruled, sule. Why rise up against that?”
Raoden shook his head. “I don’t know—not much information escaped. It was a chaotic time in Duladel, which is why the Fjordell priests were able to step in and seize power.”
Galladon looked up. “That means Arelon is in trouble. We were always there to keep the Derethi away from your borders.”
“I realize that.”
“What happened to Jesker?” he asked. “My religion, what happened to it?”
Raoden simply shook his head.
“You have to know something!”
“Shu-Dereth is the state religion in Duladel now,” Raoden said quietly. “I’m sorry.”
Galladon’s eyes fell. “It’s gone then.”
“There are still the Mysteries,” Raoden offered weakly.
Galladon frowned, his eyes hard. “The Mysteries are not the same thing as Jesker, sule. They are a mockery of things sacred. A perversion. Only outsiders—those without any sort of true understanding of the Dor—practice the Mysteries.”
Raoden left his hand on the grieving man’s shoulder, unsure how to comfort him. “I thought you knew,” he said again, feeling helpless.
Galladon simply groaned, staring absently with morose eyes.
_______
Raoden left Galladon on the rooftop; the large Dula wanted to be alone with his grief. Unsure what else to do, Raoden returned to the chapel, distracted by his thoughts. He didn’t remain distracted for long.
“Kahar, it’s beautiful!” Raoden exclaimed, looking around with wonder.
The old man looked up from the corner he had been cleaning. There was a deep look of pride on his face. The chapel was empty of sludge; all that remained was clean, whitish gray marble. Sunlight flooded through the western windows, reflecting off the shiny floor and illuminating the entire chapel with an almost divine brilliance. Shallow reliefs covered nearly every surface. Only half an inch deep, the detailed sculptures had been lost in the sludge. Raoden ran his fingers across one of the tiny masterpieces, the expressions on the people’s faces so detailed as to be lifelike.
“They’re amazing,” he whispered.
“I didn’t even know they were there, my lord,” Kahar said, hobbling over to stand next to Raoden. “I didn’t see them until I started cleaning, and then they were lost in the shadows until I finished the floor. The marble is so smooth it could be a mirror, and the windows are placed just right to catch the light.”
“And the reliefs run all around the room?”
“Yes, my lord. Actually, this isn’t the only building that has them. You’ll occasionally run across a wall or a piece of furniture with carvings on it. They were probably common in Elantris before the Reod.”
Raoden nodded. “It was the city of the gods, Kahar.”
The old man smiled. His hands were black with grime, and a half-dozen ragged cleaning cloths hung from his sash. But he was happy.
“What next, my lord?” he asked eagerly.
Raoden paused, thinking quickly. Kahar had attacked the chapel’s grime with the same holy indignation a priest used to destroy sin. For the first time in months, perhaps years, Kahar had been needed.
“Our people have started living in the nearby buildings, Kahar,” Raoden said. “What good will all your cleaning here do if they track slime in every time we meet?”
Kahar nodded thoughtfully. “The cobblestones are a problem,” he mumbled.