However. discomfort wasn't what kept him up. There was another problem-a worry in the back of his mind. He was missing something important. He had been close to it earlier, and his subconscious harried him, demanding that he make the connection.
But, what was it? What clue, barely registered, haunted him? After his discussion with Galladon, Raoden had returned to his Aon practice. Then he had gone for a short look around the city. All had been quiet-Shaor's men had stopped attacking New Elantris, instead focusing on the more promising potential presented by Sarene's visits.
It had to be related to his discussions with Galladon, he decided. Something to do with the Aons, or perhaps Galladon's father. What would it have been like to be an Elantrian back then? Could a man really have been depressed within these
amazing walls? Who. capable of marvelous wonders, would be willing to trade them for the simple life of a famer? It must have been beautiful back then, so beautiful…
'Merciful Dome Raoden yelled, snapping upright in his blankets.
A few seconds later, Saolin and Mareshe-who made their beds in the main room of the chapeI-burst through the door. Galladon and Karata weren't far behind. They found Raoden sitting in amazed stupefaction.
'Sule?' Galladon asked carefully.
Raoden stood and strode out of the room. A perpIexed entourage followed. Raoden barely paused to light a lantern, and the pungent odor of Sarene's oil didn't even faze him. He marched into the night. heading straight for the Hall of the Fallen.
The man was there, still mumbling to himself as many of the Hoed did even at night. He was small and wrinkled, his skin folded in so many places he appeared a thousand years old. His voice whispered a quiet mantra.
'Beautiful,' he rasped. 'Once so very beautiful…'
The hint hadn't come during his discussions with Galladon at all. It had come during his short visit delivering food to the Hoed. Raoden had heard the man's mumbling a dozen times, and never made the connection.
Raoden placed a hand on each of the man's shoulders. 'What was so beautiful?'
'Beautiful..' the man mumbled.
'Old man,' Raoden pled. 'If there is a soul left in that body of yours, even the slightest bit of rational thought, please tell me. What are you talking about?'
'Once so very beautiful…' the man continued, his eyes staring into the air.
Raoden raised a hand and began to draw in front of the man's face. He had barely completed Aon Rao before the man reached out. gasping as he put his hand through the center of the character.
'We were so beautiful, once,' the man whispered. 'My hair so bright, my skin full of light. Aons fluttered from my fingers. They were so beautiful…'
Raoden heard several muttered exclamations of surprise from behind. 'You mean,' Karata asked, approaching, 'all this time…?'
'Ten years,' Raoden said, still supporting the old man's slight body. 'This man was an Elantrian before the Reod.'
'Impossible,' Mareshe said. 'It's been too long.'
'Where else would they go?' Raoden asked. 'We know some of the Elantrians survived the fall of city and government. They were locked in Elantris. Some might have burned themselves, a few others might have escaped, but the rest would still be here. They would have become Hoed. losing their minds and their strength after a few years… forgotten in the streets.'
'Ten years,' Galladon whispered. 'Ten years of suffering.'
Raoden looked the old man's eyes. They were lined with cracks and wrinkles, and seemed dazed, as if by some great blow. The secrets of AonDor hid somewhere in this man's mind.
The man's grip on Raoden's arm tightened almost imperceptibly, his entire body quivering with effort. Three straining words hissed from his lips as his agony-laden eyes focused on Raoden's face.
'Take. Me. Out.'
'Where?' Raoden asked with confusion. 'Out of the city?'
'The. Lake.'
'I don't know what you mean, old one,' Raoden whispered.
The man's eyes moved slightly, looking at the door.
'Karata, grab that light,' Raoden ordered, picking up the old man. 'Galladon, come with us. Mareshe and Saolin, stay here. I don't want any of the others to wake up and find us all gone.'
'But…' Saolin began, but his words fell off. He recognized a direct order.
It was a bright night, moon hanging full in the sky, and the lantern almost wasn't necessary. Raoden carried the old Elantrian carefully. It was obvious that the man no longer had the strength to lift his arm and point, so Raoden had to pause at every intersection, searching the old man's eyes for some sign that they should turn.
It was a slow process, and it was nearly morning before they arrived at a fallen building at the very edge of Elantris. The structure looked much like any other, though its roof was mostly intact.
'Any idea what this was?' Raoden asked.
Galladon thought for a moment, digging through his memory. 'Actually, I think I do, sule. It was some sort of meetinghouse for the Elantrians. My father came here occasionally, though I was never allowed to accompany him.'
Karata gave Galladon a startled look at the explanation, but she held her questions for another time. Raoden carried the old Elantrian into the hollow building. It was empty and nondescript. Raoden studied the man's face. He was looking at the floor.
Galladon knelt and brushed away debris as he searched the floor. 'There's an Aon here.'
'Which one?'
'Rao, I think.'
Raoden furled his brow. The meaning of Aon Rao was simple: It meant 'spirit' or 'spiritual energy.' However, the AonDor book had mentioned it infrequently, and had never explained what magical effect the Aon was meant to produce.
'Push on it,' Raoden suggested.
'I'm trying, sule,' Galladon said with a grunt. 'I don't think it's doing any-' The Dula cut off as the section of floor began to fall away. He yelped and scrambled back as the large stone block sank with a grinding noise. Karata cleared her throat, pointing at an Aon she had pushed on the wall. Aon Tae-the ancient symbol that meant 'open.'
'There are some steps here, sule.' Galladon said, sticking his head into the hole. He climbed down. and Karata followed with the lamp. After passing down the old Hoed, Raoden joined them.
'Clever mechanism,' Galladon noted, studying the series of gears that had lowered the enormous stone block. 'Mareshe would be going wild about now. Kolo?'
'I'm more interested in these walls.' Raoden said, staring at the beautiful murals. The room was rectangular and squat. barely eight feet tall. but it was brilliantly decorated with painted walls and a double row of sculpted columns. 'Hold the lantern up.'
White-haired figures with silver skin coated the walls, their two-dimensional forms engaged in various activities. Some knelt before enormous Aons; others walked in rows, heads bowed. There was a sense of formality about the figures.
'This place is holy,' Raoden said. 'A shrine of some sort.'
'Religion amongst the Elantrians?' Karata asked.
'They must have had something.' Raoden said. 'Perhaps they weren't as convinced of their own divinity as the rest of Arelon.' He shot an inquiring look at Galladon.
'My father never spoke of religion.' the Dula said. 'But his people kept many secrets, even from their families.'
'Over there,' Karata said. pointing at the far end of the rectangular room, where the wall held only a single mural. It depicted a large mirrorlike blue oval. An Elantrian stood facing the oval, his arms outstretched and his eyes closed. He appeared to be flying toward the blue disk. The rest of the wall was black, though there was a large white sphere on the other side of the oval.
'Lake.' The old Elantrian's voice was quiet but insistent.
