made beasts out of gods. Jaddeth had simply taken what was in their hearts and showed it for the world to see. According to Derethi philosophy, the only thing that separated men from the animals was religion. Men could serve Jaddeth's empire: beasts could serve only their lusts. The Elantrians represented the ultimate flaw of human arrogance: they had set themselves up as gods. Their hubris had earned their fate. In another situation, Hrathen would have been content in leaving them to their punishment.
However, he happened to need them.
Hrathen turned to Dilaf. 'The first step in taking control of a nation. Arteth. is the simplest. You find someone to hate.'
'Tell me of them, Arteth,' Hrathen requested, entering his room inside the chapel. 'I want to know everything you know.'
'They are foul, loathsome creatures,' Dilaf hissed, entering behind Hrathen. 'Thinking of them makes my heart grow sick and my mind feel tainted. I pray every day for their destruction.
Hrathen closed the door to his chambers, dissatisfied. It was possible for a man to be too passionate. 'Arteth. I understand you have strong feelings,' Hrathen said sternly, 'but if you are to be my odiv you will need to see through your prejudices. Jaddeth has placed these Elantrians before us with a purpose in mind, and I cannot discover that purpose if you refuse to tell me anything useful.'
Dilaf blinked, taken aback. Then, for the first time since their visit to Elantris, a level of sanity returned to his eyes. 'Yes, Your Grace.'
Hrathen nodded. 'Did you see Elantris before its fall?'
'Yes.'
'Was it as beautiful as people say?'
Dilaf nodded sullenly. 'Pristine, kept white by the hands of slaves.' 'Slaves?'
'All of Arelon's people were slaves to the Elantrians, Your Grace. They were false gods, giving promises of salvation in exchange for sweat and labor.' 'And their legendary powers?'
'Lies, like their supposed divinity. A carefully crafted hoax to earn them respect and fear.'
'Following the Reod, there was chaos. correct?'
'Chaos. killing, riots, and panic, Your Grace. Then the merchants seized power.'
'And the Elantrians?' Hrathen asked, walking over to take a seat at his desk.
'There were few left,' Dilaf said. 'Most had been killed in the riots. Those remaining were confined to Elantris, as were all men that the Shaod took from that day forward. They looked much as you just saw them, wretched and subhuman. Their skin was patched with black scars, like someone had pulled away the flesh and revealed the darkness underneath.'
'And the transformations? Did they abate at all after the Reod?' Hrathen asked.
'They continue, Your Grace. They happen all across Arelon.'
'Why do you hate them so, Arteth?'
The question came suddenly, and Dilaf paused. 'Because they are unholy.' 'And?'
'They lied to us, Your Grace. They made promises of eternity, bur they couldn't even maintain their own divinity. We listened to them for centuries, and were rewarded with a group of impotent, vile cripples.'
'You hate them because they disappointed you,' Hrathen said.
'Not me. my people. I was a follower of Derethi years before the Reod.' Hrathen frowned. 'Then you are convinced that there is nothing supernatural
about the Elantrians other than the fact that Jaddeth has cursed them?'
'Yes, Your Grace. As 1 said, the Elantrians created many falsehoods to rein-
force their divinity.'
Hrathen shook his head, then stood and began to remove his armor. Dilaf moved to help. but Hrathen waved the arteth away. 'How, then, do you explain the sudden transformation of ordinary people into Elantrians, Arteth?'
Dilaf didn't have a response.
'Hate has weakened your ability to see, Arteth,' Hrathen said. hanging his breastplate on the wall beside his desk and smiling. He had just experienced a flash of brilliance: a portion of his plan suddenly fit into place. 'You assume because Jaddeth did not give them powers, they did not have any.'
Dilaf's face grew pale. 'What you say is-'
'Not bIasphemy, Arteth. Doctrine. There is another supernatural force besides our God.'
'The Svrakiss,' Dilaf said quietly.
'Yes.' Svrakiss. The souls of the dead men who hated Jaddeth, the opponents to all that was holy. According to Shu-Dereth, there was nothing more bitter than a soul who had had its chance and thrown it away.
'You think the Elantrians are Svrakiss?' Dilaf asked.
'It is accepted doctrine that the Svrakiss can control the bodies of the evil,' Hrathen said, unbuckling his greaves. 'Is it so hard to believe that all this time they have been controlling bodies of the Elantrians, making them appear as gods to fool the simpleminded and unspiritual?
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;
