Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [78]
“You’ll see,” Raoden said with a secretive smile.
Galladon huffed as he picked up an armload of books and left the chapel. The Dula had been right about one thing: They could not count on new Elantrians being thrown into the city as fast as Raoden had first anticipated. Before Loren’s arrival the day before, five solid days had passed without even a quiver from the city gates. Raoden had been very fortunate to find Mareshe and the others in such a short period of time.
“Lord Spirit?” a hesitant voice asked.
Raoden looked up at the chapel’s doorway to find an unfamiliar man waiting to be acknowledged. He was thin, with a stooped-over form and an air of practiced subservience. Raoden couldn’t tell his age for certain; the Shaod tended to make everyone look much older than they really were. However, he had the feeling that this man’s age was no illusion. If his head had held any hair, then it would have been white, and his skin had been long wrinkled before the Shaod took him.
“Yes?” Raoden asked with interest. “What can I do for you?”
“My lord …” the man began.
“Go on,” Raoden prodded.
“Well, Your Lordship, I’ve just heard some things, and I was wondering if I could join with you.”
Raoden smiled, rising and walking over to the man. “Certainly, you may join us. What have you heard?”
“Well …” The aged Elantrian fidgeted nervously. “Some people on the streets say that those who follow you aren’t as hungry. They say you have a secret that makes the pain go away. I’ve been in Elantris for nearly a year now, my lord, and my injuries are almost too much. I figured I could either give you a chance, or go find myself a gutter and join the Hoed.”
Raoden nodded, clasping the man on the shoulder. He could still feel his toe burning—he was growing used to the pain, but it was still there. It was accompanied by a gnawing from his stomach. “I’m glad you came. What is your name?”
“Kahar, my lord.”
“All right then, Kahar, what did you do before the Shaod took you?”
Kahar’s eyes grew unfocused, as if his mind were traveling back to a time long ago. “I was a cleaner of some sort, my lord. I think I washed streets.”
“Perfect! I’ve been waiting for one of your particular skill. Mareshe, are you back there?”
“Yes, my lord,” the spindly artisan called from one of the rooms in the back. His head poked out a moment later.
“By chance, did those traps you set up catch any of last night’s rainfall?”
“Of course, my lord,” Mareshe said indignantly.
“Good. Show Kahar here where the water is.”
“Certainly.” Mareshe motioned for Kahar to follow.
“What am I to do with water, my lord?” Kahar asked.
“It is time that we stopped living in filth, Kahar,” Raoden said. “This slime that covers Elantris can be cleaned off; I’ve seen a place where it was done. Take your time and don’t strain yourself, but clean this building inside and out. Scrape away every bit of slime and wash off every hint of dirt.”
“Then you will show me the secret?” Kahar asked hopefully.
“Trust me.”
Kahar nodded, following Mareshe from the room. Raoden’s smile faded as the man left. He was finding that the most difficult part of leadership here in Elantris was maintaining the attitude of optimism that Galladon teased him about. These people, even the newcomers, were dangerously close to losing hope. They thought that they were damned, and assumed that nothing could save their souls from rotting away like Elantris itself. Raoden had to overcome years of conditioning teamed with the ever-present forces of pain and hunger.
He had never considered himself an overly cheerful person. Here in Elantris, however, Raoden found himself reacting to the air of despair with defiant optimism. The worse things got, the more determined he was to take it on without complaint. But the forced cheerfulness took its toll. He could feel the others, even Galladon, relying on him. Of all the people in Elantris, only Raoden couldn’t let his pain show. The hunger gnawed at his chest like a horde of insects trying to escape from within, and the pain of several