Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [215]
Spirit nodded. “Taan was one of the most accomplished sculptors in Arelon before the Shaod took him. After coming to Elantris, he lost track of himself for a while. He came around eventually.”
They left the sculptor to his work, Spirit showing her through the last few sections of the city. They passed a large building that he referred to as “the Hall of the Fallen,” and the sorrow in his voice kept her from asking about it, though she did see several mindless Shaod Seons floating around above its roof.
Sarene felt a sudden stab of grief. Ashe must be like that now, she thought, remembering the mad Seons she had occasionally seen floating around Elantris. Despite what she’d seen, she’d continued to hope through the night that Ashe would find her. The Korathi priests had locked her in some sort of holding cell to wait—apparently, new Elantrians were only thrown into the city once a day—and she’d stood by the window, wishing he would arrive.
She’d waited in vain. With the confusion at the wedding, she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d seen him. Not wanting to enter the chapel, he’d gone ahead to wait for her in the throne room. When she’d arrived, had she seen him floating inside the room? Had she heard his voice, calling out amid the other shocked members of the wedding party? Or, was she simply letting hope cloud her memories?
Sarene shook her head, sighing as she let Spirit lead her away from the Hall of the Fallen. She kept looking over her shoulder, glancing upward, expecting Ashe to be there. He always had been before.
At least he isn’t dead, she thought, forcing aside her grief. He’s probably in the city somewhere. I can find him … maybe help him, somehow.
They continued to walk, and Sarene intentionally let herself be distracted by the scenery—she couldn’t bear to think of Ashe anymore. Soon, Spirit led her past several open areas that—looking closely—Sarene realized must be fields. Tiny sprouts were appearing in careful rows piled in the dirt, and several men walked among them, searching for weeds. There was a distinct smell in the air.
Sarene paused. “Fish?”
“Fertilizer,” Spirit said with a chuckle. “That’s one time we managed to get the better of you. We asked for trike knowing full well you would find the nearest barrel of rotten fish to include in the shipment.”
“It seems like you got the better of me more times than not,” Sarene said, remembering with shame the time she had spent gloating over her sly interpretations of the demands. It seemed no matter how twisted her attempt, the New Elantrians had found uses for all of her useless gifts.
“We don’t have much choice, Princess. Everything from pre-Reod Elantris is rotten or befouled; even the stones are starting to crumble. No matter how defective you may have thought those supplies, they were still far more useful than anything left in the city.”
“I was wrong,” Sarene said morosely.
“Don’t start that again,” Spirit said. “If you begin feeling sorry for yourself, I’ll lock you in a room with Galladon for an hour so that you can learn what true pessimism is.”
“Galladon?”
“He was the large fellow you met briefly back at the gates,” Spirit explained.
“The Dula?” Sarene asked with surprise, recalling the large, broad-faced Elantrian with the thick Duladen accent.
“That’s him.”
“A pessimistic Dula?” she repeated. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
Spirit laughed again, leading her into a large, stately building. Sarene gasped in wonder at its beauty. It was lined with delicate, spiraled arches, and the floor was crafted of pale white marble. The wall reliefs were even more intricate than those on the Korathi temple in Teoras.
“It’s a chapel,” she said, running her fingers over the intricate marble patterns.
“Yes, it is. How did you know that?”
“These scenes are straight out of the Do-Korath,” she said, looking up with chiding eyes. “Someone didn’t pay much attention in chapel school.”
Spirit coughed to himself. “Well …”
“Don’t even try and convince me you didn’t go,” Sarene said, turning back to the carvings. “You’re obviously a nobleman.