the short Arelish priest stumble backward in horrified shock.
The Korathi priests came for Hrathen a short time later. They gave him a large, enveloping white robe to hide his disfiguration, then led him from the now empty chapel. Hrathen smiled to himself as he saw the confused Dilaf watching from his alcove, his eyes openly hating Hrathen for the first time.
The Korathi priests took him to their chapel. stripped him, and washed his now black-spotted body with water from the Aredel river. Then they wrapped him in a white robe constructed of thick, raglike strips of cloth. After washing and clothing him, the priests stepped back and allowed Omin to approach. The short.
balding leader of Arelish Korathi blessed Hrathen quietly, tracing the symbol of Aon Omi on his chest. The Arelish man's eyes betrayed just a hint of satisfaction.
After that, they led Hrathen through the city streets, chanting. However, at the city itself they found a large squadron of troops wearing Iadon's colors blocking their path. The soldiers stood with hands on weapons, speaking in hushed tones. Hrathen regarded them with surprise: he recognized men preparing for battle. Omin argued with the captain of the Elantris City Guard for a rime while the other priests pulled Hrathen into a squat building beside the guardhouse-a holding place, carved with Aon Omi.
Hrathen watched through the room's small window as rwo winded guards galloped up and presented Iadon's soldiers with a rolled-up sheet of paper. The captain read it, frowning, then turned to argue with the messenger. After this Omin returned, explaining that they would have to wait.
And wait they did-the better part of two hours.
Hrathen had heard that the priests would only throw people into Elantris during a certain time of day. but apparently it was a window of time, and not a specific moment. Eventually, the priests stuffed a small basket of food in Hrathen's arms, offered one final prayer to their pitiful god, and pushed him through the gates.
He stood in the city, his head bald, his skin tainted with large black splotches. An Elantrian. The city was much the same at eye level as it had been from the wall-filthy, rotting, and unholy. It held nothing for him. He spun around, tossing aside the meager basket of food and dropping to his knees.
'Oh, Jaddeth, Lord of all Creation,' he began, his voice loud and firm. 'Hear now the petition of a servant in your empire. Lift this taint from my blood. Restore me to life. I implore you with all the power of my position as a holy gyorn.'
There was no response. So, he repeated the prayer. Again. and again. and again…
CHAPTER 31
Saolin didn't open his eyes as he sank into the pool, but he did stop mumbling. He bobbed for a moment, then took a sharp breath, reaching his hands toward the heavens. After that, he melted into the blue liquid. Raoden watched the process solemnly. They had waited for three days, hoping against all that the grizzled soldier would regain his wits. He had not. They had brought him to the pool partially because his wound was so terrible, and partially because Raoden knew that he could never enter the Hall of the Fallen with Saolin inside. The mantra 'I have failed my lord Spirit' would have been too much.
'Come, stile,' Galladon said. 'He's gone.'
'Yes, he is.' Raoden said. And it's my fault. For once, the burdens and agonies of his body seemed insignificant compared with those of his soul.
They returned to him. First as a trickle, then as a flood. It took days for them to realize, and believe, that Sarene wasn't going to return. No more handouts-no more eating, waiting, and eating again. Then they came back, as if suddenly awakened from a stupor, remembering that once-nor so long ago-there had been purpose in their lives.
Raoden turned them back to their old jobs-cleaning, fanning, and building. With proper tools and materials, the work became less an exercise in intentional time wasting and more a productive means of rebuilding New Elantris. Piecemeal roofs were replaced with more durable, functional creations. Additional seed corn provided a chance for a second planting, one much larger and ambitious than the first. The short wall around New Elantris was reinforced and expanded-though, for the moment, Shaor's men remained quiet. Raoden knew, however, that the food they had gathered from Sarene's cart wouldn't last long. The wildmen would return.
The numbers that came to him after Sarene were much greater than those that had followed him before. Raoden was forced to acknowledge that despite the temporary setbacks they caused, Sarene's excursions into Elantris had ultimately been beneficial. She had proven to the people that no matter how much their
hunger hurt, simply feeding their bellies wasn't enough. Joy was more than just an absence of discomfort.
So, when they came back to him. they no longer worked for food. They worked because they feared what they would become if they did not.
'HE shouldn't be here. Galladon,' Raoden said as he studied the Fjordell priest from atop their garden-roof observation point.
'You're certain that's the gyorn?' Galladon asked.
'He says so in that prayer of his. Besides, he's definitely Fjordell. That frame of his is too large to be Aonic.'
'Fjordells don't get taken by the Shaod,' Galladon said stubbornly. 'Only people from Arelon, Teod, and occasionally Duladel.'
'I know,' Raoden said. sitting back in frustration. 'Perhaps it's just percentages. There aren't many Fjordells in Arelon-perhaps that's why they never ger taken.'
Galladon shook his head. 'Then why don't Jindos ever get taken? There's plenty of them living along the spice route.'
'I don't know,' Raoden said.
'Listen to him pray. sule,' Galladon said scoffingly. 'As if the rest of us hadn't tried that already.'
' I wonder how long he'll wait.'
'Three days already,' Galladon said. 'Must be starting to get hungry. Kolo?'
Raoden nodded. Even after three days of almost continual prayer. the gyorn's voice was firm. Everything else considered, Raoden had to respect the man's determination.
'Well. when he finally realizes he's not getting anywhere, we'll invite him to join us,' Raoden said.
'Trouble, sule,' Galladon warned. Raoden followed the Dula's gesture, picking out a few huddled shapes in the shadows to the gyorn's left.
Raoden cursed, watching Shaor's men slink from the alleyway. Apparently. their food had run out even more quickly than Raoden had assumed. They had probably returned to the courtyard to look for scraps, but they found something much more promising: the still full basket of food at the gyorn's feet.
'Come on.' Raoden urged, turning to climb down from the roof. There was a time when Shaor's men might have gone directly for the food. However, recent events had changed the wild men. They had begun wounding indiscriminately-as if they had realized that the fewer mouths opposed them. the more likely they were to get food.
'Doloken burn me for helping a gyorn,' Galladon muttered, following. Unfortunately. he and Raoden moved too slowly. They were too late… to save Shaor's men.
Raoden rounded the side of the building as the first Wildman jumped at the gyorn's back. The Fjordell leapt to his feet, spinning with near-inhuman speed and catching Shaor's man by the head. There was a snap as the gyorn cracked his opponent's neck, then threw him against the wooden gate. The other two attacked in unison. One met with a powerful spinning kick that tossed him across the courtyard like a pile of rags. The other received three successive punches to the face, then a kick to the midsection. The madman's howl of rage cut off with a whine as the gyorn placed another kick at the side of the man's head.
Raoden stumbled to a halt, mouth half open.
Galladon snorted. 'Should have realized. Derethi priests can take care of themselves. Kolo?'
Raoden nodded slowly, watching the priest return smoothly to his knees and resume his prayers. Raoden had heard that all Derethi priests were trained in the infamous monasteries of Fjorden, where they were required to undergo vigorous physical training. However, he hadn't realized that a middle-aged gyorn would maintain his
