Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [125]
“A true follower of Jaddeth will do anything to bring about His Empire, my lord.”
Well, at least he knows his Derethi doctrine, Hrathen thought with a mental shrug.
“Is there anything else, my lord?” Forton asked, coughing slightly.
“No. Get to work, and send the potions as quickly as possible.”
“Yes, my lord. I’ll get started immediately. Feel free to pray to me any time you need to.”
Hrathen frowned—he had forgotten about that little inaccuracy. Perhaps Forton’s mastery of Derethi doctrine wasn’t all that sound after all. Forton didn’t know Hrathen had a Seon; he simply assumed that a gyorn could pray to Jaddeth and that God would direct his words through the Seons. As if Lord Jaddeth were a member of the post.
“Goodnight, Forton,” Hrathen said, keeping the displeasure from his voice. Forton was a drug addict, a heretic, and a hypocrite—but he was still an invaluable resource. Hrathen had long ago decided that if Jaddeth would suffer his gyorns to communicate using Seons, then He would certainly let Hrathen use men such as Forton.
After all, Jaddeth had created all men—even the heretics.
CHAPTER 19
The city of Elantris glowed brilliantly. The very stones shone, as if each one held a fire within. The shattered domes had been restored, their smooth, egglike surfaces blossoming across the landscape. Thin spires stabbed the air like streaks of light. The wall was no longer a barrier, for its gates were left permanently open—it existed not to protect, but for cohesion. The wall was part of the city somehow, an essential element of the whole, without which Elantris would not be complete.
And amid the beauty and the glory were the Elantrians. Their bodies seemed to shine with the same inner light as the city, their skin a luminous pale silver. Not metallic, just … pure. Their hair was white, but not the worn-out dull gray or yellow of the aged. It was the blazing white of steel heated to an extreme temperature—a color free of impurities, a powerful, focused white.
Their bearings were equally striking. The Elantrians moved through their city with an air of complete control. The men were handsome and tall—even the short ones—and the women were undeniably beautiful—even the homely ones. They were unhurried; they strolled rather than walked, and they were quick to greet those they met. There was a power in them, however. It radiated from their eyes and underlay their motions. It was easy to understand why these beings were worshipped as gods.
Equally unmistakable were the Aons. The ancient glyphs covered the city; they were etched into walls, painted on doors, and written on signs. Most of them were inert—simple markings, rather than runes with an arcane purpose. Others, however, obviously held energy. Throughout the city stood large metal plates carved with Aon Tia, and occasionally an Elantrian would approach and place his or her hand in the center of the character. The Elantrian’s body would flash, and then disappear in a circular burst of light, his body instantly transported to another section of the city.
Amid the glory was a small family of Kae townspeople. Their clothing was rich and fine, their words were educated, but their skin did not glow. There were other regular people in the city—not as many as the Elantrians, but a fair number nonetheless. This comforted the boy, giving him a familiar reference.
The father carried his young son tightly, looking around with distrust. Not everyone adored the Elantrians; some were suspicious. The boy’s mother gripped her husband’s arm with tense fingers. She had never been inside Elantris, though she had lived in Kae for over a decade. Unlike the boy’s father, she was more nervous than distrustful. She was worried about her son’s wound, anxious as any mother whose child was near death.
Suddenly, the boy felt the pain in his leg. It was blinding and intense, stemming from the festering wound and shattered bone in his thigh. He had fallen from someplace high,