Brandon Sanderson - Elantris

Silently, Galladon nodded to Karata, and they picked Raoden up, ready to trek the last short distance to the pond. In few minutes he would be rid of both hope and despair.

Elantris was dark, even though dawn was breaking. The tall walls made a shadow, keeping the sunlight out, expanding the night for a few moments. It was here, at one side of the broad entry plaza, that the soldiers deposited Lukel and the other nobles. Another group of Fjordells was building an enormous pile of wood. hauling scraps of buildings and furniture into the city.

Surprisingly, there were very few of the strange demon warriors: only three directed the work. The rest of the men were regular soldiers, their armor covered with red surcoats marking them as Derethi monks. The worked quickly, keeping their eyes off of their prisoners, apparently trying not to think too hard about what the wood would be used for.

Lukel tried not to think about that either.

Jalla pulled close to him, her body trembling with fright. Lukel had tried to convince her to plead for freedom because of her Svordish blood, but she would not go. She was so quiet and unassertive that some mistook her for weak. but if they could have seen her as she was, voluntarily staying with her husband though it meant eertain death, they would have realized their mistake. Of all the deals, trades. and recognitions Lukel had won, the prize of Jalla's heart was by far the most valuable.

His family pulled close to him, Daora and the children having no place to turn now that Kiin was unconscious. Only Adien stood apart, staring at the pile of lumber. He kept mumbling some number to himself.

Lukel searched through the crowd of nobles, trying to smile and give encouragement. though he himself felt little confidence. Elantris would be their grave. As he looked. Lukel noticed a figure standing near the back of the group, hidden by bodies. He was moving slowly, his hands waving in front of himself.

Shuden? Lukel thought. The Jindo's eyes were closed, his hands moving fluidly in some sort of pattern. Lukel watched his friend with confusion, wondering if the Jindo's mind had snapped: then he remembered the strange dance that Shuden had done that first day in Sarenens fencing class. ChayShan.

Shuden moved his hands slowly, giving only a bare hint of the fury that was to come. Lukel watched with growing determination. somehow understanding. Shuden was no warrior. He practiced his dance for exercise, not for combat. However, he was not going to let the ones he loved be murdered without some sort of fight. He would rather die struggling than sit and wait, hoping that fate would send them a miracle.

Lukel took a breath, feeling ashamed. He searched around him, his eyes finding a table leg that one of the soldiers had dropped nearby. When the time came. Shuden would not fight alone.

Raoden floated, senseless and unaware. Time meant nothing to him-he was time. It was his essence. Occasionally he would bob toward the surface of what he had once called consciousness, but as he approached he would feel pain, and back away. The agony was like a lake's surface: if he broke through it. the pain would return and envelop him.

Those times he got close to the surface of pain. however, he thought he saw images. Visions chat might have been real, but were probably just reflections of his memory. He saw Galladon's face, concerned and angry at the same time. He saw Karata, her eyes heavy with despair. He saw a mountain landscape, covered with scrub and rocks.

It was all immaterial to him.

"I often wish that they'd just let her die."

Hrathen looked up. Dilaf's voice was introspective, as if he were talking to himself. However, the priest's eyes were focused on Hrathen.

"What?" Hrathen asked hesitantly.

— If only they had let her die…" Dilaf trailed off. He sat at the edge of the rooftop, watching the ships gather below, his face reminiscent. His emotions had always been unstable. No man could keep Dilaf's level of ardor burning for long without doing emotional damage to his mind. A few more years. and Dilaf would probably be completely insane.

"I was already fifty years old back then, Hrathen," Dilaf said. "Did you know that? I have lived nearly seventy years, though my body doesn't look older than twenty. She thought I was the most handsome man she'd ever seen, even though my body had been twisted and destroyed to fit the mold of an Arelene."

Hrathen remained quiet. He had heard of such things. that the incantations of Dakhor could actually change the way a person looked. The process had undoubtedly been very painful.

"When she fell sick, I took her to Elantris." Dilaf mumbled, his legs pulled tightly against his chest. "I knew it was pagan, I knew it was blasphemous, but even forty years as a Dakhor wasn't enough to keep me away… not when I thought Elantris could save her. Elantris can heal, they said, while Dakhor cannot. And I took her."

The monk was no longer Iooking at Hrathen. His eyes were unfocused. "They changed her," he whispered. "They said the spell went wrong, but I know the truth. They knew me, and they hated me. Why, then, did they have to put their curse on Seala? Her skin turned black, her hair fell out, and she began to die. She screamed at night, yelling that the pain was eating her from the inside. Eventually she threw herself off the city wall."

Dilaf's voice turned reverently mournful. "I found her at the bottom. still alive. Still alive, despite the fall. And I burned her. She never stopped screaming. She screams still. I can hear her. She will scream until Elantris is gone."

They reached the ledge, behind which lay the pool, and Galladon laid Raoden down. The prince slumped idly against the stone. his head hanging slightly over the side of the cliff, his unfocused eyes staring out over the city of Kae. Galladon leaned back against the rock face, next to the door of the tunnel that led down to Elantris. Karata slumped next to him in exhaustion. They would wait a brief moment, then find oblivion.

Once the wood was gathered. the soldiers began a new pile-this one of bodies. The soldiers went searching through the city, seeking the corpses of Elantrians who had been slain. Lukel realized something as he watched the pile grow. They weren't all dead. In fact, most of them weren't.

Most of them had wounds so grievous that it sickened Lukel to look at them, yet their arms and legs twitched, their lips moving. Elantrians, Lukel thought with amazement, the dead whose minds continue to live.

The pile of bodies grew higher. There were hundreds of them, all of the Elantrians that had been collecting in the city for ten years. None of them resisted; they simply allowed themselves to be heaped, their eyes uncaring, until the pile of bodies was larger than the pile of wood.

"Twenty-seven steps to the bodies." Adien whispered suddenly, walking away from the crowd of nobles. Lukel reached for his brother, but it was too late. A soldier yelled for Adien to get back with the others. Adien didn't respond.

Angry, the soldier slashed at Adien with a sword, leaving a large gash in his chest. Adien stumbled, but kept walking. No blood came from the wound. The soldier's eyes opened wide. and he jumped back, making a ward against evil. Adien approached the pile of Elantrians and joined its ranks, flopping down among them and then lying still.

Adien's secret of five years had finally been revealed. He had joined his people.

"I remember you, Hrathen." Dilaf was smiling now, his grin wicked and demonic. "I remember you as a boy, when you came to us. It was just before I left for Arelon. You were frightened then. as you are frightened now. You ran from us, and I watched you go with satisfaction. You were never meant to be Dakhor-you are far too weak."

Hrathen felt chilled. "You were there?"