Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [112]
“Hello, Father Omin,” Sarene said with a curtsey. “Am I bothering you?”
“Of course not, child,” Omin said, waving her over. “Come, how have you been? I missed you at the sermon last night.”
“I’m sorry, Father Omin,” Sarene said with a slight flush. “There was a ball I had to attend.”
“Ah. Do not feel guilty, child. Socializing is not to be underestimated, especially when one is new in town.”
Sarene smiled, walking between a set of pews to join the short priest next to the window. His small stature wasn’t usually so noticeable; Omin had constructed a podium at the front of the chapel to fit his size, and while he gave sermons it was hard to distinguish his height. Standing next to the man, however, Sarene couldn’t help feeling that she was towering over him. He was terribly short even for an Arelene, the top of his head barely reaching her chest.
“You are troubled by something, child?” Omin asked. He was mostly bald, and wore a loose-fitting robe tied at the waist with a white sash. Other than his strikingly blue eyes, the only color on his body was a jade Korathi pendant at his neck, carved in the shape of Aon Omi.
He was a good man—something Sarene couldn’t say about everyone, even priests. There were several back in Teod who absolutely infuriated her. Omin, however, was thoughtful and fatherly—even if he did have an annoying habit of letting his thoughts drift. He sometimes got so distracted that minutes would pass without his realizing someone was waiting for him to speak.
“I wasn’t sure who else to ask, Father,” Sarene said. “I need to do a Widow’s Trial, but no one will explain what it is.”
“Ah,” Omin said with a nod of his shiny hairless head. “That would be confusing for a newcomer.”
“Why won’t anyone explain it to me?”
“It is a semireligious ceremony left over from days when the Elantrians ruled,” Omin explained. “Anything involving the city is a taboo topic in Arelon, especially for the Faithful.”
“Well, then how am I going to learn what is expected of me?” Sarene asked with exasperation.
“Do not get frustrated, child,” Omin said soothingly. “It is taboo, but only by custom, not by doctrine. I don’t think Domi would have any objection to my assuaging your curiosity.”
“Thank you, Father,” Sarene said with a sigh of relief.
“Since your husband died,” Omin explained, “you are expected to show your grief openly, otherwise the people won’t think you loved him.”
“But I didn’t love him—not really. I didn’t even know him.”
“Nonetheless, it would be proper for you to do a Trial. The severity of a Widow’s Trial is an expression of how important she thought her union, and how much she respected her husband. To go without one, even for an outsider, could be a bad sign.”
“But wasn’t it a pagan ritual?”
“Not really,” Omin said with a shake of his head. “The Elantrians started it, but it had nothing to do with their religion. It was simply an act of kindness that developed into a benevolent and worthy tradition.”
Sarene raised her eyebrows. “Honestly, I am surprised to hear you speak that way about the Elantrians, Father.”
Omin’s eyes sparkled. “Just because the Derethi arteths hated the Elantrians doesn’t mean that Domi did, child. I do not believe they were gods, and many of them had inflated opinions of their own majesty, but I had a number of friends in their ranks. The Shaod took men both good and bad, selfish and selfless. Some of the most noble men I ever knew lived in that city—I was very sorry to see what happened to them.”
Sarene paused. “Was it Domi, Father? Did he curse them as they say?”
“Everything happens according to Domi’s will, child,” Omin answered. “However, I do not think that ‘curse’ is the right word. At times, Domi sees fit to send disasters upon the world; other times he will give the most innocent of children a deadly disease. These are no more curses than what happened to Elantris—they are simply the workings of the world. All things must progress, and progression is not