Petty or not, Sarene told herself, Kae will have to be my focus. Elantris’s day has passed.
Several little bubbles of light floated along the outside of the wall—some of the first Seons Sarene had seen in the area. She was excited at first, but then remembered the stories. Once, Seons had been unaffected by the Shoad—but that had changed with the fall of Elantris. When a person was taken by the Shaod now, their Seon—if they had one—gained a kind of madness. The Seons by the wall floated aimlessly, like lost children. She knew without asking that the city was where such maddened Seons gathered, once their masters had fallen.
She looked away from the Seons, nodded to the children, and continued her trek up the enormous set of stairs. Kae would be her focus, true, but she still wanted to see Elantris. There was something about it—its size, its Aons, its reputation—that she had to experience for herself.
As she walked, she was able to reach out and rub her hand across the groove of a carved Aon sculpted into the side of the city wall. The line was as wide as her hand. There were no gaps where stone met stone. It was as she had read: the entire wall was one seamless piece of rock.
Except, it was no longer flawless. Pieces of the enormous monolith were crumbling and cracking, especially near the top. As they neared the end of their climb there were places where great chunks of the wall had torn away, leaving jagged wounds in the stone reminiscent of bite marks. Still, the wall was impressive, especially when one was standing on top of it, looking down at the ground below.
“Oh my,” Sarene said, feeling herself grow dizzy.
Daorn pulled against the back of her dress urgently. “Don’t get too close, Sarene.”
“I’m all right,” she said with a dazed voice. She did, however, let him pull her back.
Ashe hovered next to her, glowing with concern. “Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea, my lady. You know how you are with heights.”
“Nonsense,” Sarene said, recovering. Then she noticed for the first time the large gathering on the wall’s top a short distance away. There was a piercing voice rising over the group—one she couldn’t quite make out. “What’s that?”
The twins exchanged mutual shrugs of confusion. “I don’t know,” Daorn said.
“This place is usually empty, except for the guards,” Kaise added.
“Let’s have a look,” Sarene said. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she recognized the voice’s accent. As they approached the back of the crowd, Sarene confirmed her suspicion.
“It’s the gyorn!” Kaise said excitedly. “I wanted to see him.” And she was gone, shooting in to the crowd. Sarene could hear muffled cries of surprise and annoyance as the little girl pushed her way to the front of the group. Daorn shot his sister a longing look and took a step forward, but then looked back at Sarene and instead decided to remain beside her like a dutiful guide.
Daorn needn’t have worried about seeing the gyorn, however. Sarene was a bit more reserved than her young cousin, but she was just as determined to get close enough to hear Hrathen. So, her small guard at her side, Sarene politely—but resolutely—made her way through the crowd until she was standing at the front.
Hrathen stood on a small overlook built into the Elantris wall. His back was to the crowd, but he was angled in such a way as to let his words reach them. His speech was obviously intended for their ears, and not those down below. Sarene spared barely a glance for Elantris itself—she would study it later.
“Look at them!” Hrathen commanded, gesturing toward Elantris. “They have lost their right to be men. They are animals, having no will or desire to serve Lord Jaddeth. They know no God, and can follow only after their lusts.”
Sarene frowned. Shu-Dereth taught that the only difference between men and animals was mankind’s ability to worship God, or “Jaddeth” in Fjordell. The doctrine was not new to Sarene; her father had made sure to include an extensive knowledge of Shu-Dereth in her education. What she couldn’t figure out was why a full gyorn would waste his time with the Elantrians. What could he possibly gain from denouncing a group that had already been beaten down so soundly?
One thing was clear, however. If the gyorn saw reason to preach against Elantris, then it was her duty to defend it. It was possible to block her enemy’s schemes before she fully understood them.
“… as all know, animals are far beneath men in the eyes of Lord Jaddeth,” Hrathen was saying, his speech rising toward its conclusion.
Sarene saw her chance and took it. She opened her eyes wide, assumed a dull look of confusion, and—with her most high-pitched innocent voice—asked a single word.
“Why?”
Hrathen stopped. She had timed the question so it fell directly in the awkward space between two of his sentences. The gyorn stumbled at the piercing inquiry, obviously trying to regain his momentum. However, Sarene’s placement had been too skillful, and the moment was gone. He turned around with harsh eyes to search out the one who had so foolishly interrupted him. All he found was a demure, perplexed Sarene.
“Why what?” Hrathen demanded.
“Why are animals beneath humans in Mr. Jaddeth’s eyes?” she asked.
The gyorn gritted his teeth at her use of the term “Mr. Jaddeth.” “Because, unlike men, they can do nothing but follow their own lusts.”
The standard follow-up question to such a statement would have been “But men follow their lusts as well,” which would have given Hrathen an opportunity to explain the difference between a man of God and a carnal, sinful man. Sarene didn’t oblige.
“But I heard that Mr. Jaddeth rewarded arrogance,” Sarene said with confusion.
The gyorn’s eyes grew suspicious. The question was just a bit too well placed to have come from one as simple as Sarene was pretending to be. He knew, or at least suspected, that she was toying with him. However, he still had to answer the question—if not for her, then for the rest of the crowd.
“Lord Jaddeth rewards ambition, not arrogance,” he said carefully.
“I don’t understand,” Sarene said. “Isn’t ambition serving our own lusts? Why does Mr. Jaddeth reward that?”
Hrathen was losing his audience, and he knew it. Sarene’s question was a century-old theological argument against Shu-Dereth, but the crowd knew nothing of ancient disputes or scholarly refutations. All they knew was that someone was asking questions Hrathen couldn’t answer quickly enough, or interestingly enough, to hold their attention.
“Arrogance is different from carnality,” Hrathen declared in a snappish voice, making use of his commanding position to take control of the conversation. “People’s service in Jaddeth’s empire is quickly rewarded both here and in the afterlife.”
It was a masterful attempt: he managed not only to switch the topic, but to draw the crowd’s attention to another idea. Everyone found rewards fascinating. Unfortunately for him, Sarene wasn’t done yet.
“So if we serve Jaddeth, our lusts are fulfilled?”
“No one serves Jaddeth but Wyrn,” Hrathen said offhandedly as he considered how to best answer her objections.
Sarene smiled; she had been hoping he would make that mistake. It was a basic tenet of Shu-Dereth that only one man could serve Jaddeth directly; the religion was very regimented, and its structure was reminiscent of the feudal government that had once ruled in Fjorden. One served those above him, who served those above him, and so on until it reached Wyrn, who served Jaddeth directly. Everyone served Jaddeth’s empire, but only one man was holy enough to serve God directly. There was much confusion about the distinction, and it was common for the Derethi priesthood to correct it as Hrathen just had.
Unfortunately, he had also just given Sarene another opportunity.
“No one can serve Jaddeth?” she asked with confusion. “Not even you?”
It was a silly argument—a misinterpretation of Hrathen’s point, not a true attack on Shu-Dereth. In a debate of pure religious merit, Sarene would never have been able to stand against a fully-trained
gyorn. However, Sarene wasn’t looking to disprove Hrathen’s teachings, just ruin his speech.
Hrathen looked up at her comment, immediately realizing his mistake. All of his former thinking and planning was now useless—and the crowd was wondering at this new question.
Nobly, the gyorn tried to cover for his mistake, attempting to bring the conversation back to more familiar grounds, but Sarene had the crowd now, and she held on to them with the viselike grip only a woman on the verge of hysterics could manage.
“What will we do?” she asked with a shake of her head. “I fear these things of priests are beyond common people such as myself.”
And it was over. The people began talking among themselves and wandering away. Most of them were laughing at the eccentricities of priests, and the abstruseness of theological reasonings. Sarene noticed that most of them were nobles; it must have taken a great deal of effort for the gyorn to lead them all up to Elantris’s wall. She found herself smiling wickedly at all of his wasted planning and coaxing.
Hrathen watched his carefully arranged gathering dribble away. He didn’t try speaking again; he probably knew that if he yelled or fumed, he would only do more damage than good.
Surprisingly, the gyorn turned away from the scattering people and nodded appreciatively at Sarene. It wasn’t a bow, but it was the most respectful gesture she had ever received from a Derethi priest. It was an acknowledgment of a battle well won, a concession given to a worthy opponent.
“You play a dangerous game, Princess,” he said softly in his slightly accented voice.
“You’ll find I am very good at games, Gyorn,” she replied.
“Until the next round, then,” he said, waving for a shorter, light-haired priest to follow him as he climbed down from the wall. In this other man’s eyes there was no hint of respect or even tolerance. They burned with hatred, and Sarene shivered as he focused them on her. The man’s teeth were clenched tightly, and Sarene got the feeling that there wasn’t much holding the man back from grabbing her by the neck and hurling her off the side of the wall. She grew dizzy just thinking about it.
“That one worries me,” Ashe observed by her side. “I have seen such men before, and my experience has not been favorable. A dam so poorly constructed must eventually collapse.”
Sarene nodded. “He was Aonic—not a Fjordell. He looks like a page or attendant of Hrathen’s.”
“Well, let us hope that the gyorn can keep his pet under control, my lady.”
She nodded, but her response was cut off by a sudden peal of laughter from beside her. She looked down to find Kaise rolling on the ground with mirth; apparently, she had managed to hold her outburst until the gyorn was out of sight.
“Sarene,” she said between gasps of breath, “that was wonderful! You were so stupid! And his face … he got even redder than Papa after he finds out I’ve eaten all of his sweets. His face almost matched his armor!”
“I didn’t like him at all,” Daorn said solemnly from beside Sarene. He stood near an open part of the parapet, looking down toward Hrathen as the man descended the enormous flight of stairs to the city. “He was too … hard. Didn’t he know you were only acting stupid?”
“Probably,” Sarene said, motioning for Kaise to stand up and then brushing off the girl’s pink dress. “But there was no way for him to prove it, so he had to pretend that I was serious.”
“Father says the gyorn is here to convert us all to Shu-Dereth,” Daorn said.
“Does he now?” Sarene asked.
Daorn nodded. “He also says he’s afraid Hrathen will be successful. He says the crops didn’t do well last year, and a lot of the people are without food. If the planting this month doesn’t go well, next winter will be even harder, and hard times make people willing to accept a man who preaches change.”
“Your father is a wise man, Daorn,” Sarene said. Her confrontation with Hrathen had been little more than sport; people’s minds were fickle, and they would quickly forget this day’s debate. Whatever Hrathen had been doing was only part of something much larger—something to do with Elantris—and Sarene needed to discover what his intentions were. Finally remembering her original reason for visiting the wall, Sarene took her first good look at the city below.
It had once been beautiful. The feel of the city, how the buildings worked together, the way the roads crossed—the entire mass was … intentional. Art on a grand scale. Most of the arches had collapsed, many of the domed roofs had fallen, and even some of the walls looked as if they had little time left. Still, she could tell one thing. Elantris had been beautiful, once.
“They’re so sad,” Kaise said next to her, on her tiptoes so she could see over the side of the stone safety wall.
“Who?”
“Them,” Kaise said, pointing to the streets below.
There were people down there—huddled forms that barely moved. They were camouflaged against the dark streets. Sarene couldn’t hear their groans, but she could feel them.
“No one takes care of them,” Kaise said.
“How do they eat?” Sarene asked. “Someone must feed them.” She couldn’t make out many details about the people below—only that they were human. Or, at least, they had the forms of humans; she had read many confusing things about the Elantrians.
“No one,” Daorn said from her other side. “No one feeds them. They should all be dead—there’s nothing for them to eat.”
“They must get it somewhere,” Sarene argued.
Kaise shook her head. “They’re dead, Sarene. They don’t need to eat.”
“They may not move much,” Sarene said dismissively, “but they obviously aren’t dead. Look, those ones over there are standing.”
“No, Sarene. They’re dead too. They don’t need to eat, they don’t need to sleep, and they don’t age. They’re all dead.” Kaise’s voice was uncharacteristically solemn.
“How do you know so much about it?” Sarene said, trying to dismiss the words as productions of a child’s imagination. Unfortunately, these children had proven themselves remarkably well informed.
“I just do,” Kaise said. “Trust me. They’re dead.”
Sarene felt the hair on her arms rising, and she sternly told herself not to give in to the mysticism. The Elantrians were odd, true, but they were not dead. There had to be another explanation.
She scanned the city once more, trying to put Kaise’s disturbing comments out of her mind. As she did, her eyes fell on a particular pair of figures—ones who didn’t appear to be as pitiful as the rest. She squinted at the figures. They were Elantrian, but one seemed to have darker skin than the other. They crouched on the top of a building, and they looked mobile, unlike most of the other Elantrians she had seen. There was something … different about these two.
“My lady?” Ashe’s concerned voice sounded in her ear, and she realized that she had begun to lean out over the stone parapet.
With a start, she looked down, realizing just how high up they were. Her eyes unfocused, and she began to lose her balance, transfixed by the undulating ground below….
“My lady!” Ashe’s voice came again, shocking her out of her stupor.
Sarene stumbled back from the wall, squatting down and wrapping her arms around her knees. She breathed deeply for a moment. “I’ll be all right, Ashe.”
“We’re leaving this place as soon as you regain your balance,” the Seon ordered, his voice firm.
Sarene nodded distractedly.
Kaise snorted. “You know, considering how tall she is, you’d think she’d get used to heights.”
CHAPTER 9
If Dilaf had been a dog, he would have been growling. Probably frothing at the mouth as well, Hrathen decided. The arteth was even worse than he usually was after visiting Elantris’s wall.
Hrathen turned to look back at the city. They had nearly reached their chapel, but the enormous wall surrounding Elantris was still visible behind them. Atop it somewhere was the infuriating young wom
an who had somehow gotten the best of him this day.
“She was magnificent,” Hrathen said in spite of himself. Like any of his kind, he had an unquestioned prejudice when it came to the Teoish people. Teod had banished Derethi ministers from the country fifty years ago following a small misunderstanding, and had never consented to let them back in. The Teoish king had come quite near to banishing the Fjordell ambassadors as well. There wasn’t a single known Teoish member of Shu-Dereth, and the Teoish royal house was infamous for its biting denunciations of all things Derethi.
Still, it was invigorating to meet a person who could so easily foil one of his sermons. Hrathen had preached Shu-Dereth so long, had made such an art of manipulating the public mind, that he hardly found challenge in it any longer. His success in Duladel a half year ago had proven that one could even cause nations to crumble, if one were capable enough.
Unfortunately, in Duladel there had been little opposition. The Dulas themselves were too open, too accepting, to present a true challenge. In the end, with the shambles of a government dead at his feet, Hrathen had found himself disappointed. It had been almost too easy.
“Yes, she is impressive,” he said.
“She is accursed above all others,” Dilaf hissed. “A member of the only race hated by Lord Jaddeth.”
So that was what was bothering him. Many Fjordells assumed that there was no hope for the Teos. It was foolishness, of course—a simple justification that infused Fjorden’s historical enemies with theological hatred. Still, many people believed it—and apparently Dilaf was among them.
“Jaddeth hates no one but those who hate Him,” Hrathen said.
“They do hate Him.”
“Most of them have never even heard His name preached, Arteth,” Hrathen said. “Their king, yes; he is most likely cursed for his injunction against Derethi priests. However, the people haven’t even been given a chance. Once Arelon falls to Lord Jaddeth, then we can worry about penetrating Teod. The country won’t last long with the rest of the civilized world pitted against it.”