Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [106]
“I am not Taan,” Aanden finally said. “I am Aanden, Baron of Elantris!”
“If you wish,” Raoden said, taking the remnants of his sleeve and wiping it against the top of the fallen table. “Though I can’t imagine why you would rather be Aanden than Taan. This is, after all, Elantris.”
“I know that!” Aanden snapped. No matter what Raoden had said, this man wasn’t completely stable. The axe could fall at any moment.
“Do you?” Raoden asked. “Do you really understand what it means to live in Elantris, the city of the gods?” He turned toward the table, still wiping, his back to Aanden. “Elantris, city of beauty, city of art … and city of sculpture.” He stepped back, revealing the now clean tabletop. It was covered with intricate carvings, just like the walls of the chapel.
Aanden’s eyes opened wide, the axe drooping in his hand.
“This city is a stonecarver’s dream, Taan,” Raoden said. “How many artists did you hear on the outside complain about the lost beauty of Elantris? These buildings are amazing monuments to the art of sculpture. I want to know who, when faced with such opportunity, would choose to be Aanden the baron instead of Taan the sculptor.”
The axe clanged to the ground. Aanden’s face was stunned.
“Look at the wall next to you, Taan,” Raoden said quietly.
The man turned, his fingers brushing against a relief hidden in slime. His sleeve came up, his arm quivering as he buffed away the slime. “Merciful Domi,” he whispered. “It’s beautiful.”
“Think of the opportunity, Taan,” Raoden said. “Only you, out of all the sculptors in the world, can see Elantris. Only you can experience its beauty and learn from its masters. You are the luckiest man in Opelon.”
A trembling hand ripped the mustache away. “And I would have destroyed it,” he mumbled. “I would have knocked it down….”
With that, Aanden bowed his head and collapsed in a crying heap. Raoden exhaled thankfully—then noticed that the danger wasn’t over. Aanden’s squad of men was armed with stones and steel rods. Dashe and his people entered the room again, convinced that it wasn’t going to collapse on them any time soon.
Raoden stood directly between the two groups. “Stop!” he commanded, raising an arm at each one. They halted, but warily.
“What are you people doing?” Raoden demanded. “Hasn’t Taan’s realization taught you anything?”
“Step aside, Spirit,” Dashe warned, hefting his sword.
“I will not!” Raoden said. “I asked you a question—did you learn nothing from what just happened?”
“We aren’t sculptors,” Dashe said.
“That doesn’t matter,” Raoden replied. “Don’t you understand the opportunity you have living in Elantris? We have a chance here that no one outside can ever achieve—we are free.”
“Free?” scoffed someone from Aanden’s group.
“Yes, free,” Raoden said. “For eternity man has struggled just to fill his mouth. Food is life’s one desperate pursuit, the first and the last thought of carnal minds. Before a person can dream, he must eat, and before he can love, he must fill his stomach. But we are different. At the price of a little hunger, we can be loosed from the bonds that have held every living thing since time began.”
Weapons lowered slightly, though Raoden couldn’t be certain if they were considering his words, or just confused by them.
“Why fight?” Raoden asked. “Why worry about killing? Outside they fight for wealth—wealth that is ultimately used to buy food. They fight for land—land to raise food. Eating is the source of all struggle. But, we have no needs. Our bodies are cold—we barely need clothing or shelter to warm us—and they continue on even when we don’t eat. It’s amazing!”
The groups still eyed each other warily. Philosophic debate wasn’t a match for the sight of their enemies.
“Those weapons in your hands,” Raoden said. “Those belong to the outside world. They have no purpose in Elantris. Titles and class, those are ideas for another place.
“Listen to me! There are so few of us that we