Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [74]
Hrathen stepped down from the podium, satisfied. He had only been preaching in Kae for a few days, but the chapel was already so packed that people had to line up at the back once the seats were full. Only a few of the newcomers were actually interested in converting; most came because Hrathen himself was a novelty. However, they would return. They could tell themselves that they were only curious—that their interest had nothing to do with religion—but they would return.
As Shu-Dereth grew more popular in Kae, the people at these first meetings would find themselves important by association. They would brag that they had discovered Shu-Dereth long before their neighbors, and as a consequence they would have to continue attending. Their pride, mixed with Hrathen’s powerful sermons, would override doubts, and soon they would find themselves swearing servitude to one of the arteths.
Hrathen would have to call a new head arteth soon. He’d put off the decision for a time, waiting to see how the priests remaining in the chapel dealt with their tasks. Time was growing slim, however, and soon the local membership would be too great for Hrathen to track and organize by himself, especially considering all of the planning and preaching he had to do.
The people at the back were beginning to file out of the chapel. However, a sudden sound stopped them. Hrathen looked up at the podium with surprise. The meeting was to have ended after his sermon, but someone thought differently. Dilaf had decided to speak.
The short Arelish man screamed his words with fiery energy. In barely a few seconds, the crowd grew hushed, most of the people sliding back into their seats. They had seen Dilaf following Hrathen, and most of them probably knew he was an arteth, but Dilaf had never addressed them before. Now, however, he made himself impossible to ignore.
He disobeyed all of the rules of public speaking. He didn’t vary the loudness of his voice, nor did he look members of the audience in the eyes. He didn’t maintain a stately, upright posture to appear in control; instead he hopped across the podium energetically, gesturing wildly. His face was covered with sweat; his eyes were wide and haunting.
And they listened.
They listened more acutely than they had to Hrathen. They followed Dilaf’s insane jumps with their eyes, transfixed by his every unorthodox motion. Dilaf’s speech had a single theme: hatred of Elantris. Hrathen could feel the audience’s zeal growing. Dilaf’s passion worked like a catalyst, like a mold that spread uncontrollably once it found a dank place to grow. Soon the entire audience shared in his loathing, and they screamed along with his denunciations.
Hrathen watched with concern and, admittedly, jealousy. Unlike Hrathen, Dilaf hadn’t been trained in the greatest schools of the East. However, the short priest had something Hrathen lacked. Passion.
Hrathen had always been a calculating man. He was organized, careful, and attentive to detail. Similar things in Shu-Dereth—its standardized, orderly method of governing along with its logical philosophy—were what had first attracted him to the priesthood. He had never doubted the church. Something so perfectly organized couldn’t help but be right.
Despite that loyalty, Hrathen had never felt what Dilaf now expressed. Hrathen had no hatreds so severe that he wept, no loves so profound that he would risk everything in their name. He had always believed that he was the perfect follower of Jaddeth; that his Lord needed levelheadedness more than He needed unbridled ardor. Now, however, he wondered.
Dilaf had more power over this audience than Hrathen ever had. Dilaf’s hatred of Elantris wasn’t logical—it was irrational