Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [216]
“My lady is very astute. I am, of course, Domi’s humble servant—but I’ll admit that my mind sometimes wandered during the sermons.”
“So, who were you?” Sarene asked conversationally, finally asking the question that had bothered her ever since she first met Spirit weeks before.
He paused. “The second son of the Lord of Ien Plantation. A very minor holding in the south of Arelon.”
It could be the truth. She hadn’t bothered memorizing the names of minor lords; it had been difficult enough to keep track of the dukes, counts, and barons. It could also be a lie. Spirit appeared to be at least a passable statesman, and he would know how to tell a convincing falsehood. Whatever he was, he had certainly learned some excellent leadership skills—attributes she had found, for the most part, lacking in the Arelish aristocracy.
“How long—” she began, turning away from the wall. Then she froze, her breath catching in her throat.
Spirit was glowing.
A spectral light grew from somewhere within; she could see the lines of his bones silhouetted before some awesome power that burned within his chest. His mouth opened in a voiceless scream; then he collapsed, quivering as the light flared.
Sarene rushed to his side, then paused, unsure what to do. Gritting her teeth, she grabbed him, lifting his head up to keep the spasms from pounding it repeatedly against the cold marble floor. And she felt something.
It brought bumps to her arms and sent a frigid shiver through her body. Something large, something impossibly immense, pressed against her. The air itself seemed to warp away from Spirit’s body. She could no longer see his bones; there was too much light. It was as if he were dissolving into pure whiteness; she would have thought him gone if she hadn’t felt his weight in her arms. His struggles jerked to a stop, and he fell limp.
Then he screamed.
A single note, cold and uniform, flew from his mouth in a defiant yell. The light vanished almost immediately, and Sarene was left with her heart pounding a rhythm in her breast, her arms bathed in anxious sweat, her breathing coming deeply and rapidly.
Spirit’s eyes fluttered open a few moments later. As comprehension slowly returned, he smiled wanly and rested his head back against her arm. “When I opened my eyes, I though that time I had died for certain.”
“What happened?” she asked anxiously. “Should I go for help?”
“No, this is becoming a common occurrence.”
“Common?” Sarene asked slowly. “For … all of us?”
Spirit laughed weakly. “No, just me. I’m the one the Dor is intent on destroying.”
“The Dor?” she asked. “What does Jesker have to do with this?”
He smiled. “So, the fair princess is a religious scholar as well?”
“The fair princess knows a lot of things,” Sarene said dismissively. “I want to know why a ‘humble servant of Domi’ thinks the Jesker overspirit is trying to destroy him.”
Spirit moved to sit, and she helped. “It has to do with AonDor,” he explained with a tired voice.
“AonDor? That’s a heathen legend.” There wasn’t much conviction to her words—not after what she had just seen.
Spirit raised an eyebrow. “So, it’s all right for us to be cursed with bodies that won’t die, but it’s not possible for our ancient magic to work? Didn’t I see you with a Seon?”
“That’s different….” Sarene trailed off weakly, her mind turning back to Ashe.
Spirit, however, immediately drew her attention again. He raised his hand and began drawing. Lines appeared in the air, following his finger’s movement.
Korathi teaching of the last ten years had done its best to downplay Elantris’s magic, despite the Seons. Seons were familiar, almost like benevolent spirits sent by Domi for protection and comfort. Sarene had been taught, and had believed, that Elantris’s magics had mostly been a sham.
Now, however, she was faced with a possibility. Perhaps the stories were true.
“Teach me,” she whispered. “I want to know.”
It wasn’t until later, after night had fallen, that Sarene finally allowed herself to cry.