Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [103]
“I know.” Raoden agreed. “But it is a desperate one. A people who live in filth will feel like filth—if we are ever going to rise above our opinions of ourselves, we are going to need to be clean. Can you do it?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Good. I’ll assign you some workers to speed the process.” Raoden’s band had grown enormously over the last few days as the people of Elantris had heard of Karata’s merger with him. Many of the random, ghostlike Elantrians who wandered the streets alone had begun to make their way to Raoden’s band, seeking fellowship as a final, desperate attempt to avoid madness.
Kahar turned to go, his wrinkled face turning around the chapel one last time, admiring it with satisfaction.
“Kahar,” Raoden called.
“Yes, my lord?”
“Do you know what it is? The secret, I mean?”
Kahar smiled. “I haven’t been hungry in days, my lord. It is the most amazing feeling in the world—I don’t even notice the pain anymore.”
Raoden nodded, and Kahar left. The man had come looking for a magical solution to his woes, but he had found an answer much more simple. Pain lost its power when other things became more important. Kahar didn’t need a potion or an Aon to save him—he just needed something to do.
Raoden strolled through the glowing room, admiring the different sculptures. He paused, however, when he reached the end of a particular relief. The stone was blank for a short section, its white surface polished by Kahar’s careful hand. It was so clean, in fact, that Raoden could see his reflection.
He was stunned. The face that stared out of the marble was unknown to him. He had wondered why so few people recognized him; he had been prince of Arelon, his face known even in many of the outer plantations. He had assumed that the Elantrians simply didn’t expect to find a prince in Elantris, so they didn’t think to associate “Spirit” with Raoden. However, now that he saw the changes in his face, he realized that there was another reason people didn’t recognize him.
There were hints in his features, clues to what had been. The changes, however, were drastic. Only two weeks had passed, but his hair had already fallen out. He had the usual Elantris blotches on his skin, but even the parts that had been flesh-toned a few weeks ago had turned a flat gray. His skin was wrinkling slightly, especially around the lips, and his eyes were beginning to take on a sunken look.
Once, before his own transformation, he had envisioned the Elantrians as living corpses, their flesh rotting and torn. That wasn’t the case; Elantrians retained their flesh and most of their figure, though their skin wrinkled and darkened. They were more withering husks than they were decaying corpses. Yet, even though the transformation wasn’t as drastic as he had once assumed, it was still a shock to see it in himself.
“We are a sorry people, are we not?” Galladon asked from the doorway.
Raoden looked up, smiling encouragingly. “Not as bad as we could be, my friend. I can get used to the changes.”
Galladon grunted, stepping into the chapel. “Your cleaning man does good work, sule. This place looks almost free from the Reod.”
“The most beautiful thing, my friend, is the way it freed its cleanser in the process.”
Galladon nodded, joining Raoden beside the wall, looking out at the large crew of people who were clearing the chapel’s garden area. “They’ve been coming in droves, haven’t they, sule?”
“They hear that we offer something more than life in an alley. We don’t even have to watch the gates anymore—Karata brings us everyone she can rescue.”
“How do you intend to keep them all busy?” Galladon asked. “That garden is big, and it’s nearly completely cleared.”
“Elantris is a very large city, my friend. We’ll find things to keep them occupied.”
Galladon watched the people work, his eyes unreadable. He appeared to have overcome his grief, for the moment.
“Speaking of jobs,” Raoden began. “I have something I need you to do.”
“Something to keep my mind off the pain, sule?”
“You could think