Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [36]
The most surprising thing was how easy it was. In ignorance he had assumed that AonDor, the magic of the Aons, would require some sort of incantation or ritual. A decade without AonDor had spawned hordes of rumors; some people, mostly Derethi priests, claimed the magic had been a hoax, while others, also mostly Derethi priests, had denounced the art as blasphemous rites involving the power of evil. The truth was that no one, not even the Derethi priests, knew just what AonDor had been. Every one of its practitioners had fallen to the Reod.
Yet Galladon claimed AonDor required nothing more than a steady hand and an intimate knowledge of the Aons. Since only Elantrians could draw the characters in light, only they could practice AonDor, and no one outside Elantris had been allowed to know just how simple it was. No incantations, no sacrifices, no special potions or ingredients; anyone who was taken by the Shaod could perform AonDor, assuming, of course, they knew the characters.
Except, it didn’t work. The Aons were supposed to do something—at least, something more than flash weakly and disappear. Raoden could remember images of Elantris as a child—visions of men flying through the air, incredible feats of power, and merciful healings. He had broken his leg once, and although his father had objected, his mother had taken him to Elantris for healing. A bright-haired figure had reknit Raoden’s bones with barely a wave of her hand. She had drawn an Aon, just as he was doing, but the rune had released a powerful burst of arcane magic.
“They’re supposed to do something,” Raoden said again, this time out loud.
“They did once, sule, but not since the Reod. Whatever took the life from Elantris also stole AonDor’s power. Now all we can do is paint pretty characters in the air.”
Raoden nodded, drawing his own Aon, Aon Rao. Four circles with one large square in the center, all five connected by lines. The Aon reacted as all of the others had, building as if for some release of power, then dying with a whimper.
“Disappointing. Kolo?”
“Very,” Raoden admitted, pulling over a chair and sitting down. They were still in Galladon’s small underground study. “I’ll be honest with you, Galladon. When I saw that first Aon hovering in the air in front of you, I forgot about everything—the filth, the depression, even my toe.”
Galladon smiled. “If AonDor worked, the Elantrians would still rule in Arelon—Reod or no Reod.”
“I know. I just wonder what happened. What changed?”
“The world wonders with you, sule,” Galladon said with a shrug.
“They must be related,” Raoden mused. “The change in Elantris, the way the Shaod started making people demons rather than gods, the ineffectiveness of AonDor….”
“You aren’t the first person to notice that. Not by far. However, no one is likely to find the answer—the powerful in Arelon are much too comfortable with Elantris the way it is.”
“Trust me, I know,” Raoden said. “If the secret is to be found, it will have to come from us.” Raoden looked over the small laboratory. Remarkably clean and free from the grime that coated the rest of Elantris, the room had an almost homey feeling—like the den or study in a large mansion.
“Maybe the answer is in here, Galladon,” Raoden said. “In those books, somewhere.”
“Perhaps,” Galladon said noncommittally.
“Why were you so reluctant to bring me here?”
“Because it’s special, sule—surely you can see that? Let the secret out, and I won’t be able to leave for fear it will be pillaged while I am gone.”
Raoden stood, nodding as he walked around the room. “Then why bring me?”
Galladon shrugged, as if not completely sure himself. Eventually he answered, “You aren’t the first to think the answer might be in those books. Two men can read more quickly than one.”