Elantris (73 page)

Raoden nodded, keeping the melancholy out of his face. He didn’t know what means Sarene was using to deliver the supplies, but for some reason Raoden and the others weren’t allowed to retrieve the boxes until after their deliverers had gone.

“Stop moping, sule,” Galladon said with a grunt. “It doesn’t suit you—it takes a fine sense of pessimism to brood with any sort of respectability.”

Raoden couldn’t help smiling. “I’m sorry. It just seems that no matter how hard I push against our problems, they just push back equally.”

“Still no progress with AonDor?”

“No,” Raoden said. “I checked older maps with new ones, looking for changes in the coast or the mountain range, but nothing seems to have changed. I’ve tried drawing the basic lines with slightly different slants, but that’s fruitless. The lines won’t appear unless I put them at exactly the right slant—the same slant as always. Even the lake is in the same place, unchanged. I can’t see what is different.”

“Maybe none of the basic lines have changed, sule,” Galladon said. “Perhaps something needs to be added.”

“I considered that—but what? I know of no new rivers or lakes, and there certainly aren’t any new mountains in Arelon.” Raoden finished his Aon—Aon Ehe—with a dissatisfied stroke of his thumb. He looked at the Aon’s center, the core that represented Arelon and its features. Nothing had changed.

Except. When the Reod occurred, the land cracked. “The Chasm!” Raoden exclaimed
.

“The Chasm?” Galladon said skeptically. “That was caused by the Reod, Sule, not the other way around.”

“But what if it wasn’t?” Raoden said with excitement. “What if the earthquake came just
before
the Reod? It caused the crack to the south, and suddenly all of the Aons were invalid—they all needed an extra line to function. All of AonDor, and therefore Elantris, would have fallen immediately.”

Raoden focused on the Aon hanging just before him. With a hesitant hand, he swiped his finger across the glowing character in an approximation of where the Chasm stood. Nothing happened—no line appeared. The Aon flashed and disappeared.

“I guess that is that, sule,” Galladon said.

“No,” Raoden said, starting the Aon again. His fingers whipped and spun. He moved with a speed even he hadn’t realized he’d achieved, re-creating the Aon in a matter of seconds. He paused at the end, hand hovering at the bottom, below the three basic lines. He could almost feel …

He stabbed the Aon and slashed his finger through the air. And a small line streaked across the Aon behind it.

Then it hit him. The Dor attacked with a roaring surge of power, and this time it hit no wall. It exploded through Raoden like a river. He gasped, basking in its power for just a moment. It burst free like a beast that had been kept trapped in a small space for far too long. It almost seemed … joyful.

Then it was gone, and he stumbled, dropping to his knees.

“Sule?” Galladon asked with concern.

Raoden shook his head, unable to explain. His toe still burned, he was still an Elantrian, but the Dor had been freed. He had … fixed something. The Dor would come against him no more.

Then he heard a sound—like that of a burning fire. His Aon, the one he had drawn before him, was glowing brightly. Raoden yelped, gesturing for Galladon to duck as the Aon bent around itself, its lines distorting and twirling in the air until they formed a disk. A thin prick of red light appeared in the disk’s center, then expanded, the burning sounds rising to a clamor. The Aon became a twisting vortex of fire; Raoden could feel the heat as he stumbled back.

It burst, spitting out a horizontal column of flame through the air just above Galladon’s head. The column crashed into a bookshelf, immolating the structure in a massive explosion. Books and flaming pages were tossed into the air, slamming into walls and other bookcases.

The column of fire disappeared, the heat suddenly gone, and Raoden’s skin felt clammy in contrast. A few burning scraps of paper fluttered to the ground. All that was left of the bookcase was a smoldering pile of charcoal.

“What was that?” Galladon demanded.

“I think I just destroyed the biology section,” Raoden replied with wonder.

“Next time, sule, I recommend that you
not
test your theories with Aon Ehe. Kolo?” Galladon set down a pile of mostly burned books. They had spent the last hour cleaning up the library, making certain they doused any smoldering flame.

“Agreed,” Raoden said, too happy to be defensive. “That just happened to be the one I was practicing—it wouldn’t have been so dramatic if I hadn’t put so many modifiers on it.”

Galladon looked back over the library. A dark scar still marked the place of the incinerated bookcase, and several piles of half-charred tomes lay scattered around the room.

“Shall we try another?” Raoden asked.

Galladon snorted. “As long as no fire is involved.”

Raoden nodded, raising his hand to begin Aon Ashe. He finished the character’s double box shape and added the Chasm line. He stepped back, waiting anxiously.

The Aon began to glow. The light started at the tip of the coast line, then burned through the entire Aon like flames sweeping across a pool of oil. The lines turned red at first, then, like metal in a forge, turned a bright white. The color stabilized, bathing the area in soft luminescence.

“It works, sule,” Galladon whispered. “By Doloken—you actually did it!”

Raoden nodded with excitement. He approached the Aon hesitantly, putting his hand up against it. There was no heat—just as the books had explained. One thing was wrong, however.

“It’s not as bright as it should be,” he said.

“How can you be sure?” Galladon asked. “This is the first one you’ve seen work.”

Raoden shook his head. “I’ve read enough to know. An Aon Ashe this big should be powerful enough to light the entire library—it’s barely as bright as a lantern.”

He reached up, tapping the Aon in the center. The glow faded immediately, the Aon’s lines vanishing one at a time, as if some invisible finger were undrawing them. Then he drew another Aon Ashe, this time including all the power-increasing modifiers he knew. When this Aon finally stabilized, it appeared slightly brighter than the first one, but nowhere near as powerful as it should have been.

“Something is still wrong,” Raoden said. “That Aon should be too bright for us to look at.”

“You think the Chasm line is wrong?” Galladon asked.

“No, it was obviously a large part of the problem. AonDor works now, but it’s handicapped in power. There must be something else—another line, perhaps, that we need to add.”

Galladon glanced down at his arms. Even against the dark-brown Dula skin, it was easy to make out his sickly Elantrian splotches. “Try a healing Aon, sule.”

Raoden nodded, tracing Aon Ien in the air. He added a modification stipulating Galladon’s body as the target, as well as all three power-increasing marks. He finished with the small Chasm line. The Aon flashed briefly then disappeared.

“Do you feel anything?” Raoden asked.

The Dula shook his head. Then, raising his arm, he inspected the cut on his elbow—an injury caused just the other day when he slipped in one of the fields. It was unchanged.

“The pain is still there, sule,” Galladon said with disappointment. “And my heart does not beat.”

“That Aon didn’t behave properly,” Raoden said. “It disappeared like before, when we didn’t know about the Chasm line. The Dor couldn’t find a target for its power.”

“Then what good is it, sule?” Galladon’s voice was bitter with frustration. “We’ll still rot in this city.”

Raoden laid a comforting hand on the Dula’s shoulder. “It isn’t useless, Galladon. We have the power of the Elantrians—some of it might not work, but that might just be because we haven’t experimented enough. Think about it! This is the power that gave Elantris its beauty, the power that fed all of Arelon. Don’t give up hope when we’re so close.”

Galladon looked at him, then smiled ruefully. “No one can give up when you’re around, sule. You utterly refuse to let a man despair.”

As they tried more Aons, it became more apparent that something was still blocking the Dor. They made a stack of papers float, but not an entire book. They turned one of the walls blue, then changed it back, and Raoden managed to convert a smile pile of charcoal into a few grains of corn. The results were encouraging, but many Aons failed completely.

Any Aon, for instance, that targeted either of them flashed away ineffectually. Their clothing was a valid target, but their flesh was not; Raoden broke off the tip of his thumbnail and tried to make that float, and was completely unsuccessful. The only theory Raoden could offer was the one he had expressed earlier.

“Our bodies are frozen in the middle of being changed, Galladon,” he explained, watching a sheet of paper hover in front of him, then burst into flames. Linked Aons appeared to work. “The Shaod hasn’t finished with us—whatever’s keeping the Aons from reaching their full potential is also stopping us from becoming true Elantrians. Until our transformation is finished, it appears that no Aons can affect us.”

“I still don’t understand that first explosion, sule,” Galladon said, practicing Aon Ashe in front of himself. The Dula knew only a few Aons, and his thick-fingered hands had trouble drawing them precisely. Even as he spoke, he made a slight error, and the character faded away. He frowned, then continued his question. “It seemed so powerful. Why hasn’t anything else worked that well?”

“I’m not sure,” Raoden said. A few moments earlier he had hesitantly redrawn Aon Ehe with the same modifications, creating the complex rune that was supposed to form another column of flame. Instead, the Aon had barely sputtered out enough fire to warm a cup of tea. He suspected that the first explosion had something do with the Dor’s surge through him … an expression of its long-awaited freedom.

“Perhaps there was some sort of buildup in the Dor,” Raoden said. “Like a pocket of gas trapped in the top of a cave. The first Aon I drew drained that reserve.”

Galladon shrugged. There was just so much they didn’t understand. Raoden sat for a moment, eyes falling on one of his tomes, a thought occurring.

He rushed over to his stack of AonDor books, selecting a large volume that contained nothing but page after page of Aon diagrams. Galladon, whom he had left behind midsentence, followed with a grumpy expression, peeking over Raoden’s shoulder at the page Raoden chose.

The Aon was extensive and complex. Raoden had to take several steps to the
side as he drew it, the modifications and stipulations going far beyond the central Aon. His arm ached by the time he had finished, and the construction hung in the air like a wall of glowing lines. Then, it began to gleam, and the sheet of inscriptions twisted, turning and wrapping around Raoden. Galladon yelped in surprise at the suddenly bright light.

In a few seconds, the light vanished. Raoden could tell from the startled look on Galladon’s face that he had been successful.

“Sule … you’ve done it! You’ve healed yourself!”

“I’m afraid not,” Raoden said with a shake of his head. “It’s only an illusion. Look.” He held up his hands, which were still gray and spotted with black. His face, however, was different. He walked over, regarding his reflection in a polished plaque on the end of a bookshelf.

The garbled image showed an unfamiliar face—it was free from spots, true, but it didn’t look anything like his real face had before the Shaod had taken him.

“An illusion?” Galladon asked.

Raoden nodded. “It’s based on Aon Shao, but there are so many things mixed in that the base Aon is almost irrelevant.”

“But it shouldn’t work on you,” Galladon said. “I thought we decided the Aons couldn’t target Elantrians.”

“It doesn’t,” Raoden said, turning. “It targets my shirt. The illusion is like an article of clothing—it only covers up my skin; it doesn’t change anything.”

“Then what good is it?”

Raoden smiled. “It is going to get us out of Elantris, my friend.”

CHAPTER 50

“What took you so long?”

“I couldn’t find Spirit, my lady,” Ashe explained, floating into her carriage window. “So I had to deliver the message to Master Galladon. After that, I went to check on King Telrii.”

Sarene tapped her cheek with annoyance. “How is he doing, then?”

“Galladon or the king, my lady?”

“The king.”

“His Majesty is quite busy lounging in his palace while half of Arelon’s nobility waits outside,” the Seon said with a disapproving tone. “I believe his largest current complaint is that there aren’t enough young women left on the palace staff.”

“We’ve exchanged one idiot for another,” Sarene said with a shake of her head. “How did that man ever acquire enough wealth to become a duke?”

“He didn’t, my lady,” Ashe explained. “His brother did most of the work. Telrii inherited upon the man’s death.”

Sarene sighed, leaning back as the carriage hit a bump. “Is Hrathen there?”

“Often, my lady,” Ashe said. “Apparently, he visits the king on a daily basis.”

“What are they waiting for?” Sarene asked with frustration. “Why doesn’t Telrii just convert?”