Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [167]
“Where?” Raoden asked with confusion. “Out of the city?”
“The. Lake.”
“I don’t know what you mean, old one,” Raoden whispered.
The man’s eyes moved slightly, looking at the door.
“Karata, grab that light,” Raoden ordered, picking up the old man. “Galladon, come with us. Mareshe and Saolin, stay here. I don’t want any of the others to wake up and find us all gone.”
“But …” Saolin began, but his words fell off. He recognized a direct order.
It was a bright night, moon hanging full in the sky, and the lantern almost wasn’t necessary. Raoden carried the old Elantrian carefully. It was obvious that the man no longer had the strength to lift his arm and point, so Raoden had to pause at every intersection, searching the old man’s eyes for some sign that they should turn.
It was a slow process, and it was nearly morning before they arrived at a fallen building at the very edge of Elantris. The structure looked much like any other, though its roof was mostly intact.
“Any idea what this was?” Raoden asked.
Galladon thought for a moment, digging through his memory. “Actually, I think I do, sule. It was some sort of meetinghouse for the Elantrians. My father came here occasionally, though I was never allowed to accompany him.”
Karata gave Galladon a startled look at the explanation, but she held her questions for another time. Raoden carried the old Elantrian into the hollow building. It was empty and nondescript. Raoden studied the man’s face. He was looking at the floor.
Galladon knelt and brushed away debris as he searched the floor. “There’s an Aon here.”
“Which one?”
“Rao, I think.”
Raoden furled his brow. The meaning of Aon Rao was simple: It meant “spirit” or “spiritual energy.” However, the AonDor book had mentioned it infrequently, and had never explained what magical effect the Aon was meant to produce.
“Push on it,” Raoden suggested.
“I’m trying, sule,” Galladon said with a grunt. “I don’t think it’s doing any—” The Dula cut off as the section of floor began to fall away. He yelped and scrambled back as the large stone block sank with a grinding noise. Karata cleared her throat, pointing at an Aon she had pushed on the wall. Aon Tae—the ancient symbol that meant “open.”
“There are some steps here, sule,” Galladon said, sticking his head into the hole. He climbed down, and Karata followed with the lamp. After passing down the old Hoed, Raoden joined them.
“Clever mechanism,” Galladon noted, studying the series of gears that had lowered the enormous stone block. “Mareshe would be going wild about now. Kolo?”
“I’m more interested in these walls,” Raoden said, staring at the beautiful murals. The room was rectangular and squat, barely eight feet tall, but it was brilliantly decorated with painted walls and a double row of sculpted columns. “Hold the lantern up.”
White-haired figures with silver skin coated the walls, their two-dimensional forms engaged in various activities. Some knelt before enormous Aons; others walked in rows, heads bowed. There was a sense of formality about the figures.
“This place is holy,” Raoden said. “A shrine of some sort.”
“Religion amongst the Elantrians?” Karata asked.
“They must have had something,” Raoden said. “Perhaps they weren’t as convinced of their own divinity as the rest of Arelon.” He shot an inquiring look at Galladon.
“My father never spoke of religion,” the Dula said. “But his people kept many secrets, even from their families.”
“Over there,” Karata said, pointing at the far end of the rectangular room, where the wall held only a single mural. It depicted a large mirrorlike blue oval. An Elantrian stood facing the oval, his arms outstretched and his eyes closed. He appeared to be flying toward the blue disk. The rest of the wall was black, though there was a large white sphere on the other side of the oval.
“Lake.” The old Elantrian’s voice was quiet but insistent.
“It’s painted sideways,” Karata realized. “See, he’s falling into a lake.”
Raoden nodded. The Elantrian in the picture wasn’t flying, he was falling. The oval was the surface of a lake, lines