Elantris (67 page)

Sarene smiled, picturing the solemn Seon—essentially, a pagan creation—arguing with the head of the Korathi religion. “You didn’t arrive too late to see me get thrown into the city, Ashe. You arrived too
early.
Apparently, they only throw people in before a certain time of day, and the marriage happened quite late. I spent the night in the chapel, and they brought me to Elantris this afternoon.”

“Ah,” the Seon said, bobbing with comprehension.

“In the future you can probably find me here, in the clean section of the city.”

“This is an interesting place,” Ashe said. “I had never been here before—it is well masked from the outside. Why is this area different from the others?”

“You’ll see,” she said. “Come back tomorrow.”

“Come back, my lady?” Ashe asked indignantly. “I don’t intend to leave you.”

“Just briefly, my friend,” Sarene said. “I need news from Kae, and you need to let the others know I am all right.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Sarene paused for a moment. Spirit had gone through great efforts to make sure no one on the outside knew of New Elantris; she couldn’t betray his secret so offhandedly, even if she did trust the people Ashe would tell. “Tell them you found me, but don’t tell them any of what you see in here.”

“Yes, my lady,” Ashe said, his voice confused. “Just a moment, my lady. Your father wishes to speak with you.” The Seon began to pulse, then his light melted, dripping and reforming into Eventeo’s large oval head.

“’Ene?” Eventeo asked with frantic concern.

“I’m here, Father.”

“Oh, thank Domi!” he said. “Sarene, are you unharmed?”

“I’m fine, Father,” she assured him, strength returning. She suddenly knew that she could do anything and go anywhere as long as she had the promise of Eventeo’s voice.

“Curse that Seinalan! He didn’t even try to let you free. If I weren’t so devout, I’d behead him without a second thought.”

“We must be fair, Father,” Sarene said. “If a peasant’s daughter can be cast into Elantris, then a king’s daughter shouldn’t be exempt.”

“If my reports are true, then no one should be thrown into that pit.”

“It’s not as bad as you think, Father,” Sarene said. “I can’t explain, but things are more hopeful than anticipated.”

“Hopeful or not, I’m getting you out of there.”

“Father, no!” Sarene said. “If you bring soldiers to Arelon you’ll not only leave Teod undefended, but you’ll alienate our only ally!”

“It won’t be our ally for long, if my spy’s predictions are accurate,” Eventeo said. “Duke Telrii is waiting a few days to consolidate power, but everyone knows he’ll soon take the throne—and he is on very friendly terms with that Gyorn Hrathen. You tried, ’Ene, but Arelon is lost. I’m going to come get you—I won’t really need all that many men—and then I’m going to fall back and prepare for an invasion. No matter how many men Wyrn raises, he’ll never get them past our armada. Teod has the finest ships on the sea.”

“Father, you might have given up on Arelon, but I can’t.”

“Sarene,” Eventeo said warningly, “do not start that again. You are no more Arelish than I—”

“I mean it, Father,” Sarene said firmly. “I will not leave Arelon.”

“Idos Domi, Sarene, this is lunacy! I am your father and your king. I am going to bring you back, whether you want to come or not.”

Sarene calmed herself; force would never work with Eventeo. “Father,” she said, letting love and respect sound in her voice, “you taught me to be bold. You made me into something stronger than the ordinary. At times I cursed you, but mostly I blessed your encouragement. You gave me the liberty to become myself. Would you deny that now by taking away my right to choose?”

Her father’s white head hung silently in the dark room.

“Your lessons won’t be complete until you let go, Father,” Sarene said quietly. “If you truly believe the ideals that you gave me, then you will allow me to make this decision.”

Finally he spoke. “You love them that much, ’Ene?”

“They have become my people, Father.”

“It has been less than two months.”

“Love is independent of time, Father. I need to stay with Arelon. If it is to fall, I must fall with it—but I don’t think it will. There has to be a way to stop Telrii.”

“But you’re trapped in that city, Sarene,” her father said. “What can you do from there?”

“Ashe can act as messenger. I can no longer lead them, but I might be able to help. Even if I cannot, I still must stay.”

“I see,” her father finally said, sighing deeply. “Your life is yours, Sarene. I have always believed that—even if I forget it once in a while.”

“You love me, Father. We protect what we love.”

“And I do,” Eventeo said. “Never forget that, my daughter.”

Sarene smiled. “I never have.”

“Ashe,” Eventeo ordered, calling the Seon’s consciousness into the conversation.

“Yes, my king,” Ashe’s voice said, its deep tone deferential and reverent.

“You will watch and protect her. If she is injured, you will call me.”

“As I ever have, and ever will, my king,” Ashe responded.

“Sarene, I’m still going to set the armada in a defensive pattern. Let your friends know that any ship approaching Teoish waters will be sunk without question. The entire world has turned against us, and I cannot risk the safety of my people.”

“I’ll warn them, Father,” Sarene promised.

“Goodnight then, ’Ene, and may Domi bless you.”

CHAPTER 42

Hrathen was back in control. Like a hero from the old Svordish epics, he had descended to the underworld—physically, mentally, and spiritually—and returned a stronger man. Dilaf’s hold was broken. Only now could Hrathen see that the chains Dilaf had used to bind him had been forged from Hrathen’s own envy and insecurity. He had felt threatened by Dilaf’s passion, for he had felt his own faith inferior. Now, however, his resolve was firm—as it had been when he first arrived in Arelon. He
would
be the savior of this people.

Dilaf backed down unhappily. The arteth grudgingly promised to hold no meetings or sermons without Hrathen’s overt permission. And, in exchange for being officially named head arteth of the chapel, Dilaf also consented to relieve his numerous odivs from their vows, instead swearing them to the less binding position of krondet. The biggest change, however, wasn’t in the arteth’s actions, but in Hrathen’s confidence. As long as Hrathen knew that his faith was as strong as Dilaf’s, then the arteth would not be able to manipulate him.

Dilaf would not, however, relent in his pursuit of Elantris’s destruction. “They are unholy!” the arteth insisted as they walked toward the chapel. This night’s sermon had been extremely successful; Hrathen could now claim over
three-fourths of the local Arelish nobility as Derethi members or sympathizers. Telrii would crown himself within the week, and as soon as his rule stabilized a bit, he would announce his conversion to Shu-Dereth. Arelon was Hrathen’s, and he still had a month left before Wyrn’s deadline.

“The Elantrians have served their purpose, Arteth,” Hrathen explained to Dilaf as they walked. It was cold this night, though not cold enough for one’s breath to mist.

“Why do you forbid me to preach against them, my lord?” Dilaf’s voice was bitter—now that Hrathen forbade him to speak about Elantris, the arteth’s speeches seemed almost emasculated.

“Preaching against Elantris no longer has a point,” Hrathen said, matching Dilaf’s anger with logic. “Do not forget that our hate had a purpose. Now that I have proven Jaddeth’s supreme power over Elantris, we have effectively shown that our God is true, while Domi is false. The people understand that subconsciously.”

“But the Elantrians are still unholy.”

“They are vile, they are blasphemous, and they are definitely unholy. But right now they are also unimportant. We need to focus on the Derethi religion itself, showing the people how to link themselves to Jaddeth by swearing fealty to yourself or one of the other arteths. They sense our power, and it is our duty to show them how to partake of it.”

“And Elantris goes free?” Dilaf demanded.

“No, most certainly not,” Hrathen said. “There will be time enough to deal with it after this nation—and its monarch—is firmly in Jaddeth’s grasp.”

Hrathen smiled to himself, turning away from the scowling Dilaf.

It’s over
, he realized.
I actually did it—I converted the people without a bloody revolution.
He wasn’t finished yet, however. Arelon was his, but one nation still remained.

Hrathen had plans for Teod.

CHAPTER 43

The door had been barred shut from the inside, but the wooden portal was part of the original Elantris—subject to the same rot that infested the rest of the city. Galladon said the mess had fallen off its hinges practically at a touch. A dark stairwell lay hidden inside, ten years of dust coating its steps. Only a single set of footprints marked the powder—footprints that could have been made only by feet as large as Galladon’s.

“And it goes all the way to the top?” Raoden asked, stepping over the sodden wreck of a door.

“Kolo,” Galladon said. “And it’s encased in stone the entire way, with only an occasional slit for light. One wrong step will send you tumbling down a series of stone steps as long—and as painful—as one of my hama’s stories.”

Raoden nodded and began climbing, the Dula following behind. Before the Reod, the stair must have been lit by Elantrian magic—but now the darkness was broken only by occasional thin spears of light from the scattered slits. The stairs circled up against the outer wall of the structure, and the lower curves were dimly visible when one peered down the center. There had been a railing once, but it had long since decayed.

They had to stop often to rest, their Elantrian bodies unable to bear the strain of vigorous exercise. Eventually, however, they reached the top. The wooden door here was newer; the Guard had probably replaced it after the original rotted away. There was no handle—it wasn’t really a door, but a barricade.

“This is as far as I got, sule,” Galladon said. “Climbed all the way to the top of the Doloken stairs, only to find out I needed an axe to go on.”

“That’s why we brought this,” Raoden said, pulling out the very axe Taan had almost used to topple a building down on Raoden. The two set to work, taking turns hacking at the wood.

Even with the tool, cutting through the door was a difficult task. Raoden tired after just a few swings, and each one barely seemed to nick the wood. Eventually, however, they got one board loose and—spurred by the victory—they finally managed to break open a hole large enough to squeeze through.

The view was worth the effort. Raoden had been atop the walls of Elantris
dozens of times, but never had the sight of Kae looked so sweet. The city was quiet; it appeared as if his fears of invasion had been premature. Smiling, Raoden enjoyed the sense of accomplishment. He felt as if he had climbed a mountain, not a simple stairwell. The walls of Elantris were once again back in the hands of those who had created them.

“We did it,” Raoden said, resting against the parapet.

“Took us long enough,” Galladon noted, stepping up beside him.

“Only a few hours,” Raoden said lightly, the agony of the work forgotten in the bliss of victory.

“I didn’t mean cutting through the door. I’ve been trying to get you to come up here for three days.”

“I’ve been busy.”

Galladon snorted, mumbling something under his breath.

“What was that?”

“I said, ‘A two-headed ferrin would never leave its nest.’”

Raoden smiled; he knew the Jindoeese proverb. Ferrins were talkative birds, and could often be heard screaming at one another across the Jindoeese marshes. The saying was used in reference to a person who had found a new hobby. Or a new romance.

“Oh, come now,” Raoden said, eyeing Galladon. “I’m not that bad.”

“Sule, the only time in the last three days I’ve seen you two apart is when one of you had to go to the privy. She’d be here now if I hadn’t snatched you when no one was looking.”

“Well,” Raoden said defensively, “she
is
my wife.”