There was a light in Dilaf's eyes: the concept was not new to the arteth. Hrathen realized. Suddenly his flash of inspiration didn't seem quite so brilliant.
Dilaf regarded Hrathen for a moment, then spoke. "You don't really believe it. do you?" he asked, his voice uncomfortably accusatory for one speaking to his hroden.
Hrathen was careful not to let discomfort show. "It doesn't matter. Arteth. The connection is logical; people will follow it. Right now all they see are the abject remnants of what were once aristocrats-men do not loathe such, they pity them. Demons, however, are something everyone can hate. If we denounce the Elantrians as devils, then we will have success. You already hate the Elantrians: that is fine. To make others join you, however, you'll have to give them more of a reason than 'they disappointed us.' "
"Yes, Your Grace."
"We are religious men, Arteth, and we must have religious enemies. The Elantrians are our Svrakiss, no matter if they possess the souls of evil men long dead or evil men now living."
"Of course, Your Holiness. We will destroy them then?" There was eagerness in Dilaf's face.
"Eventually. Right now, we will use them. You will find that hate can unify people more quickly and more fervently than devotion ever could."
CHAPTER 7
Raoden stabbed the air with his finger. The air bled light. His fingertip left a glowing white trail behind it as he moved his arm, as if he were writing with paint on a wall-except without the paint. and without the wall. He moved cautiously, careful not to let his finger waver. He drew a line about a handspan long from left to right, then pulled his finger down at a slight slant, drawing a curved line downward at the corner. Next he lifted his finger from the unseen canvas and replaced it to draw a dot in the center. Those three marks-two lines and a dot-were the starting point of every Aon.
He continued, drawing the same three-line pattern at different angles, then added several diagonal lines. The finished drawing looked something like an hourglass, or perhaps two boxes placed on top of each other, pulling in just slightly near the middles. This was Aon Ashe, the ancient symbol for light. The character brightened momentarily, seeming to pulse with life; then it flashed weakly like a man heaving his last breath. The Aon disappeared. its light fading from brightness. to dimness. to nothing.
"You're much better at that than I am, sale," Galladon said. "I usually make one line a little too big, or slant it a bit too much. and the whole thing fades away before I'm done."
"It's not supposed to be like this," Raoden complained. It had been a day since Galladon had shown him how to draw Aons, and he had spent nearly every moment since then practicing. Every Aon he had finished properly had acted the same way, disappearing without producing any visible effect. His first acquaintance with the legendary magic of the Elantrians had been decidedly anticlimactic.
The most surprising thing was how easy it was. In ignorance he had assumed that AonDor, the magic of the Aons, would require some sort of incantation or ritual. A decade without AonDor had spawned hordes of rumors; some people. mostly Derethi priests, claimed the magic had been a hoax, while others, also mostly Derethi priests, had denounced the art as blasphemous rites involving the power of evil. The truth was that no one, not even the Derethi priests, knew just what AonDor had been. Every one of its practitioners had fallen to the Reod.
Yet Galladon claimed AonDor required nothing more than a steady hand and an intimate knowledge of the Aons. Since only Elantrians could draw the characters in light, only they could practice AonDor, and no one outside Elantris had been allowed to know just how simple it was. No incantations, no sacrifices, no special potions or ingredients; anyone who was taken by the Shaod could perform AonDor, assuming. of course, they knew the characters.
Except. it didn't work. The Aons were supposed to do something-at least. something more than flash weakly and disappear. Raoden could remember images of Elantris as a chiId-visions of men flying through the air, incredible feats of power, and merciful healings. He had broken his leg once, and although his father had objected, his mother had taken him to Elantris for healing. A bright-haired figure had reknit Raoden's bones with barely a wave of her hand. She had drawn an Aon, just as he was doing, but the rune had released a powerful burst of arcane magic.
"They're supposed to do something," Raoden said again, this time out loud.
"They did once, sule. but not since the Reod. Whatever took the life from Elantris also stole AonDor's power. Now all we can do is paint pretty characters in the air."
Raoden nodded. drawing his own Aon, Aon Rao. Four circles with one large square in the center. all five connected by lines. The Aon reacted as all of the others had, building as if for some release of power, then dying with a whimper.
"Disappointing. Kolo?"
"Very," Raoden admitted, pulling over a chair and sitting down. They were still in Galladon's small underground study. "I'll be honest with you. Galladon. When I saw that first Aon hovering in the air in front of you, I forgot about everything-the filth, the depression, even my toe."
Galladon smiled. "If AonDor worked, the Elantrians would still rule in Arelon-Reod or no Reod."
"I know. I just wonder what happened. What changed?"
"The world wonders with you, sule," Galladon said with a shrug.
"They must be related," Raoden mused. "The change in Elantris. the way the Shaod started making people demons rather than gods, the ineffectiveness of AonDor…"
"You aren't the first person to notice that. Not by far. However, no one is likely to find the answer-the powerful in Arelon are much too comfortable with Elantris the way it is."
"Trust me, I know," Raoden said. "If the secret is to be found, it will have to come from us." Raoden looked over the small laboratory. Remarkably clean and free from the grime that coated the rest of Elantris, the room had an almost homey feeling-like the den or study in a large mansion.
"Maybe the answer is in here, Galladon," Raoden said. "In those books. somewhere."
"Perhaps," Galladon said noncommittally.
"Why were you so reluctant to bring me here?"
"Because it's special, sule-surely you can see that? Let the secret out, and I won't be able to leave for fear it will be pillaged while I am gone."
Raoden stood, nodding as he walked around the room. "Then why bring me?"
Galladon shrugged, as if not completely sure himself. Eventually he answered. "You aren't the first to think the answer might be in those books. Two men can read more quickly than one."
"Twice as quickly, I'd guess." Raoden agreed with a smile. "Why do you keep it so dark in here?"
"We are in Elantris, sule. We can't just go to the lamplighter's store every time we run out of oil."
"I know, but surely there's enough. Elantris must have had stores of oil before the Reod."
"Ah, sule," Galladon said with a shake of his head. "You still don't understand. do you? This is Elantris, city of the gods. What need have gods of such mundane things as lamps and oil? Look at the wall beside you."
Raoden turned. There was a metal plate hanging on the wall beside him. Though it was tarnished with time, Raoden could still make out the shape etched into its surface-Aon Ashe, the character he had drawn just a few moments ago.
"Those plates used to glow more brightly and steadily than any lamp, sule," Galladon explained. "The Elantrians could shut them off with a bare brush of their fingers. Elantris didn't need oil-it had a far more reliable source of light. For the same reason, you won't find coal-or even furnaces-in Elantris, nor are there many wells, for water flowed from pipes like rivers trapped within the walls. Without AonDor, this city is barely fit to be inhabited."