Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [34]
It was bald, and at first Hrathen thought its skin was dark, like that of a member of the Jindo noble caste. However, he could see splotches of light gray on the creature’s skin as well—great uneven pale masses, like lichen on a stone. He squinted, leaning forward against the parapet. He couldn’t make out the Elantrian’s eyes, but somehow Hrathen knew they would be wild and feral, darting around like those of an anxious animal.
The creature took off with its companions—its pack. So this is what the Reod did, Hrathen mused to himself. It made beasts out of gods. Jaddeth had simply taken what was in their hearts and showed it for the world to see. According to Derethi philosophy, the only thing that separated men from the animals was religion. Men could serve Jaddeth’s empire; beasts could serve only their lusts. The Elantrians represented the ultimate flaw of human arrogance: they had set themselves up as gods. Their hubris had earned their fate. In another situation, Hrathen would have been content in leaving them to their punishment.
However, he happened to need them.
Hrathen turned to Dilaf. “The first step in taking control of a nation, Arteth, is the simplest. You find someone to hate.”
“Tell me of them, Arteth,” Hrathen requested, entering his room inside the chapel. “I want to know everything you know.”
“They are foul, loathsome creatures,” Dilaf hissed, entering behind Hrathen. “Thinking of them makes my heart grow sick and my mind feel tainted. I pray every day for their destruction.”
Hrathen closed the door to his chambers, dissatisfied. It was possible for a man to be too passionate. “Arteth, I understand you have strong feelings,” Hrathen said sternly, “but if you are to be my odiv you will need to see through your prejudices. Jaddeth has placed these Elantrians before us with a purpose in mind, and I cannot discover that purpose if you refuse to tell me anything useful.”
Dilaf blinked, taken aback. Then, for the first time since their visit to Elantris, a level of sanity returned to his eyes. “Yes, Your Grace.”
Hrathen nodded. “Did you see Elantris before its fall?”
“Yes.”
“Was it as beautiful as people say?”
Dilaf nodded sullenly. “Pristine, kept white by the hands of slaves.”
“Slaves?”
“All of Arelon’s people were slaves to the Elantrians, Your Grace. They were false gods, giving promises of salvation in exchange for sweat and labor.”
“And their legendary powers?”
“Lies, like their supposed divinity. A carefully crafted hoax to earn them respect and fear.”
“Following the Reod, there was chaos, correct?”
“Chaos, killing, riots, and panic, Your Grace. Then the merchants seized power.”
“And the Elantrians?” Hrathen asked, walking over to take a seat at his desk.
“There were few left,” Dilaf said. “Most had been killed in the riots. Those remaining were confined to Elantris, as were all men that the Shaod took from that day forward. They looked much as you just saw them, wretched and subhuman. Their skin was patched with black scars, like someone had pulled away the flesh and revealed the darkness underneath.”
“And the transformations? Did they abate at all after the Reod?” Hrathen asked.
“They continue, Your Grace. They happen all across Arelon.”
“Why do you hate them so, Arteth?”
The question came suddenly, and Dilaf paused. “Because they are unholy.”
“And?”
“They lied to us, Your Grace. They made promises of eternity, but they couldn’t even maintain their own divinity. We listened to them for centuries, and were rewarded with a group of impotent, vile cripples.”
“You hate them because they disappointed you,” Hrathen said.
“Not me, my people. I was a follower of Derethi years before the Reod.”
Hrathen frowned. “Then you are convinced that there is nothing supernatural about the Elantrians