Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [61]
“Now that you know who I was, you have to tell me who you were. It’s only fair.”
Galladon’s response was long in coming. They had almost arrived at the church before he spoke. Raoden slowed his walk, not wanting to break off his friend’s narration by arriving at their destination. He needn’t have worried—Galladon’s declaration was brief and pointed.
“I was a farmer,” he said curtly.
“A farmer?” Raoden had been expecting something more.
“And an orchard-keeper. I sold my fields and bought an apple farm because I figured it would be easier—you don’t have to replant trees every year.”
“Was it?” Raoden asked. “Easier, I mean?”
Galladon shrugged. “I thought it was, though I know a couple of wheat farmers that would argue with me until the sun set. Kolo?” The larger man looked at Raoden with an insightful eye. “You don’t think I’m telling the truth about my past, do you?”
Raoden smiled, spreading his hands before him. “I’m sorry, Galladon, but you just don’t seem like a farmer to me. You have the build for it, but you seem too …”
“Intelligent?” Galladon asked. “Sule, I’ve seen some farmers with minds so sharp you could have used their heads to scythe grain.”
“I don’t doubt that you have,” Raoden said. “But, intelligent or not, those types still tend to be uneducated. You are a learned man, Galladon.”
“Books, sule, are a wonderful thing. A wise farmer has time to study, assuming he lives in a country such as Duladen, where men are free.”
Raoden raised an eyebrow. “So, you’re going to hold to this farmer story?”
“It’s the truth, sule,” Galladon said. “Before I became an Elantrian, I was a farmer.”
Raoden shrugged. Perhaps. Galladon had been able to predict the rain, as well as do a number of other eminently practical things. Still, it seemed like there was something more, something he wasn’t ready to share yet.
“All right,” Raoden said appreciatively. “I believe you.”
Galladon nodded curtly, his expression saying he was very glad the matter was settled. Whatever he was hiding, it wouldn’t come out this day. So, instead, Raoden took the opportunity to ask a question that had been bothering him since the first day he came into Elantris.
“Galladon,” he asked, “where are the children?”
“Children, sule?”
“Yes, if the Shaod strikes randomly, then it should strike children as well as adults.”
Galladon nodded. “It does. I’ve seen babes barely old enough to walk get thrown in those gates.”
“Then where are they? I only see adults.”
“Elantris is a harsh place, sule,” Galladon said quietly as they strode through the doors to Raoden’s broken-down church. “Children don’t last very long here.”
“Yes, but—” Raoden cut himself off as he saw something flicker in the corner of his eye. He turned with surprise.
“A Seon,” Galladon said, noticing the glowing ball.
“Yes,” Raoden said, watching the Seon float slowly through the open ceiling and spin in a lazy circle around the two men. “It’s so sad how they just drift around the city like this. I …” he trailed off, squinting slightly, trying to make out which Aon glowed at the center of the strange, silent Seon.
“Sule?” Galladon asked.
“Idos Domi,” Raoden whispered. “It’s Ien.”
“The Seon? You recognize it?”
Raoden nodded, holding out his hand with the palm up. The Seon floated over and alighted on his proffered palm for a moment; then it began to float away, flitting around the room like a careless butterfly.
“Ien was my Seon,” Raoden said. “Before I was thrown in here.” He could see the Aon at Ien’s center now. The character looked … weak, somehow. It glowed unevenly, sections of the character very dim, like …
Like the blotches on an Elantrian’s skin, Raoden realized, watching Ien float away. The Seon headed for the wall of the church, continuing on until he bounced against it. The small ball of light hovered for a moment, contemplating the wall, then spun away to float in a different direction. There was an awkwardness to the Seon’s motion—as if Ien could barely keep himself upright in the air. He jerked occasionally, and constantly moved in slow,