Elantris

represented the southern forests.

The Aons were maps of the land, each one a slightly different rendering of the same general picture. Each one had the three basic lines-the coast line, the mountain line, and the dot for Lake Alonoe. Many often had a line at the bottom to represent the Kalomo River, which separated Arelon from Duladel.

Some of the features completely baffled him, however. Why did Aon Mea, the character for thoughtfulness have an X that crossed somewhere in the middle of the Eon County? Why was Aon Rii specked with two dozen seemingly random dots? The answers might have been held in one of the library's tomes, bur so far he had found nothing in the way of explanation.

The Dor attacked him at least twice a day now. Each battle seemed like it would be his last, and each time he seemed a little weaker when the fight was through-as if his energy were a finite well, dribbling a little lower with each confrontation. The question was not whether he would fall or not, but whether he would find the secret before he did.

Raoden pounded the map with frustration. Five days had passed since Sarene's departure, and he still couldn't find the answer. He was beginning to feel that he would continue for eternity, agonizingly close to the secret of AonDor yet forever unable to find it.

The large map, now hung from the wall near his desk, fluttered as he pushed it flat, studying its lines. Its edges were worn with age, and the ink was beginning to fade. The map had lived through Elantris's glory and collapse: how he wished it could speak, whisper to him the mysteries it knew.

He shook his head, sitting down in Sarene's chair, his foot knocking over one of her book stacks. With a sigh. he leaned back in the chair and began to draw-seeking solace in the Aons.

He had recently moved on to a new, more advanced AonDor technique. The texts explained that Aons were more powerful when drawn with attention not only to line length and slant. but line width as well. While they would still work if the lines were all the same width, variance in the proper locations added extra control and strength.

So, Raoden practiced as they instructed, using his fifthfinger to draw small lines and his rhumb to construct larger ones. He could also use tools-such as a stick or a quill-to draw the lines. Fingers were the convention, but form mattered far more than the utensils used. After all, the Elantrians had used AonDor to carve permanent symbols into rock and stone-and had even constructed them from wire, pieces of wood, and a host of other materials. Apparently, it was difficult to create AonDor characters from physical materials, but the Aons still had their same effect, regardless of whether they were drawn in the air or smelted from steel.

His practice was futile. It didn't matter how efficient his Aons were; none of them worked. He used his fingernails to draw some lines so delicate that they were nearly invisible; he drew others with three fingers side by side-exactly as instructed in his texts. And it was pointless. All his memorization. all of his work. Why had he even bothered?

Feet snapped in the hallway. Mareshe's newest technological advance was shoes with thick leather soles, studded with nails. Raoden watched through his translucent Aon as the door opened and Galladon entered.

'Her Seon just stopped by again, sule.' the Dula said.

'Is he still here?'

Galladon shook his head. 'He left almost immediately-he wanted me to tell you that she's finally convinced the lords to rebel against King Telrii.'

Sarene had been sending her Seon to give them daily reports of her activities-a service that was a mixed blessing. Raoden knew he should listen to what was happening on the outside, but he longed for the stress-free relative ignorance of before. Then, he had only needed to worry about Elantris; now he had to fret over the entire kingdom-a fact he had to stomach along with the painful knowledge that there was nothing he could do to help.

'Did Ashe say when the next supply dump would come?'

'Tonight.'

'Good,' Raoden said. 'Did he say if she would come herself?'

'Same stipulations as before, sule,' Galladon said with a shake of his head.

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 EIantrian, 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.