Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [166]
Galladon took a deep breath. His face was hardly joyful—yet, his gratitude was plain. He nodded slightly, then stood and offered Raoden a hand to help him up.
Raoden turned fitfully. He didn’t have much of a bed, just a collection of blankets in the chapel’s back room. However, discomfort wasn’t what kept him up. There was another problem—a worry in the back of his mind. He was missing something important. He had been close to it earlier, and his subconscious harried him, demanding that he make the connection.
But, what was it? What clue, barely registered, haunted him? After his discussion with Galladon, Raoden had returned to his Aon practice. Then he had gone for a short look around the city. All had been quiet—Shaor’s men had stopped attacking New Elantris, instead focusing on the more promising potential presented by Sarene’s visits.
It had to be related to his discussions with Galladon, he decided. Something to do with the Aons, or perhaps Galladon’s father. What would it have been like to be an Elantrian back then? Could a man really have been depressed within these amazing walls? Who, capable of marvelous wonders, would be willing to trade them for the simple life of a famer? It must have been beautiful back then, so beautiful….
“Merciful Domi!” Raoden yelled, snapping upright in his blankets.
A few seconds later, Saolin and Mareshe—who made their beds in the main room of the chapel—burst through the door. Galladon and Karata weren’t far behind. They found Raoden sitting in amazed stupefaction.
“Sule?” Galladon asked carefully.
Raoden stood and strode out of the room. A perplexed entourage followed. Raoden barely paused to light a lantern, and the pungent odor of Sarene’s oil didn’t even faze him. He marched into the night, heading straight for the Hall of the Fallen.
The man was there, still mumbling to himself as many of the Hoed did even at night. He was small and wrinkled, his skin folded in so many places he appeared a thousand years old. His voice whispered a quiet mantra.
“Beautiful,” he rasped. “Once so very beautiful….”
The hint hadn’t come during his discussions with Galladon at all. It had come during his short visit delivering food to the Hoed. Raoden had heard the man’s mumbling a dozen times, and never made the connection.
Raoden placed a hand on each of the man’s shoulders. “What was so beautiful?”
“Beautiful …” the man mumbled.
“Old man,” Raoden pled. “If there is a soul left in that body of yours, even the slightest bit of rational thought, please tell me. What are you talking about?”
“Once so very beautiful …” the man continued, his eyes staring into the air.
Raoden raised a hand and began to draw in front of the man’s face. He had barely completed Aon Rao before the man reached out, gasping as he put his hand through the center of the character.
“We were so beautiful, once,” the man whispered. “My hair so bright, my skin full of light. Aons fluttered from my fingers. They were so beautiful….”
Raoden heard several muttered exclamations of surprise from behind. “You mean,” Karata asked, approaching, “all this time …?”
“Ten years,” Raoden said, still supporting the old man’s slight body. “This man was an Elantrian before the Reod.”
“Impossible,” Mareshe said. “It’s been too long.”
“Where else would they go?” Raoden asked. “We know some of the Elantrians survived the fall of city and government. They were locked in Elantris. Some might have burned themselves, a few others might have escaped, but the rest would still be here. They would have become Hoed, losing their minds and their strength after a few years … forgotten in the streets.”
“Ten years,” Galladon whispered. “Ten years of suffering.”
Raoden looked the old man’s eyes. They were lined with cracks and wrinkles, and seemed dazed, as if by some great blow. The secrets of AonDor hid somewhere in this man’s mind.
The man’s grip on Raoden’s arm tightened almost imperceptibly, his entire body quivering with effort. Three straining words hissed from his lips as his agony-laden eyes focused on Raoden’s face.
“Take. Me. Out.