Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [161]
Galladon dropped the nails back into their box with a skeptical shrug. The rest of the supplies weren’t quite as bad. The food was stale, but Karata had stipulated that it had to be edible. The oil gave off a pungent smell when it was burned—Raoden had no idea where the princess had found that particular item—and the knives were sharp, but they had no handles.
“At least she hasn’t figured out why we demand wooden boxes,” Raoden said, inspecting the vessels themselves. The grain was good and strong. They would be able to pry the boxes apart and use the wood for a multitude of purposes.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if she left them unsanded just to give us splinters,” Galladon said, sorting through a pile of rope, looking for an end to begin unraveling the mess. “If that woman was your fate, sule, then your Domi blessed you by sending you to this place.”
“She’s not that bad,” Raoden said, standing as Mareshe began to catalogue the acquisitions.
“I think it’s odd, my lord,” Mareshe said. “Why is she going to such lengths to aggravate us? Isn’t she afraid of spoiling our deal?”
“I think she suspects how powerless we really are, Mareshe,” Raoden said with a shake of his head. “She fulfills our demands because she doesn’t want to back out of her promise, but she doesn’t feel the need to keep us happy. She knows we can’t stop the people from accepting her food.”
Mareshe nodded, turning back to his list.
“Come on, Galladon,” Raoden said, picking up the bags of food for the Hoed. “Let’s find Karata.”
New Elantris seemed hollow now. Once, right before Sarene’s arrival, they had collected over a hundred people. Now barely twenty remained, not counting children and Hoed. Most of those who had stayed were newcomers to Elantris, people like Saolin and Mareshe that Raoden had “rescued.” They didn’t know any other life beyond New Elantris, and were hesitant to leave it behind. The others—those who had wandered into New Elantris on their own—had felt only faintly loyalty to Raoden’s cause. They had left as soon as Sarene offered them something “better”; most now lined the streets surrounding the gate, waiting for their next handout.
“Sad. Kolo?” Galladon regarded the now clean, but empty, houses.
“Yes,” Raoden said. “It had potential, if only for a week.”
“We’ll get there again, sule,” Galladon said.
“We worked so hard to help them become human again, and now they’ve abandoned what they learned. They wait with open mouths—I wonder if Sarene realizes that her three-meal bags usually last only a few minutes. The princess is trying to stop hunger, but the people devour her food so fast that they end up feeling sick for a few hours, then starve for the rest of the day. An Elantrian’s body doesn’t work the same way as a regular person’s.”
“You were the one who said it, sule,” Galladon said. “The hunger is psychological. Our bodies don’t need food; the Dor sustains us.”
Raoden nodded. “Well, at least it doesn’t make them explode.” He had worried that eating too much would cause the Elantrians’ stomachs to burst. Fortunately, once an Elantrian’s belly was filled, the digestive system started to work. Like Elantrian muscles, it still responded to stimulus.
They continued to walk, eventually passing Kahar scrubbing complacently at a wall with a brush they had gotten him in the last shipment. His face was peaceful and unperturbed; he hardly seemed to have noticed that his assistants had left. He did, however, look up at Raoden and Galladon with critical eyes.
“Why hasn’t my lord changed?” he asked pointedly.
Raoden looked down at his Elantris rags. “I haven’t had time yet, Kahar.”
“After all the work Mistress Maare went to sew you a proper outfit, my lord?” Kahar asked critically.
“All right,” Raoden said, smiling. “Have you seen Karata?”
“She’s in the Hall of the Fallen, my lord, with the Hoed.”
Following the elderly cleaner’s direction, Raoden and Galladon changed before continuing on