The Dula turned with a quizzical look.
"You don't really care about my studies, do you?" Raoden asked. "You just wanted to know if your book was useful."
"Why would I care about that?" Galladon scoffed.
"I don't know," Raoden said. "But you've always been so protective of your
study. You haven't shown it to anyone, and you never even go there yourself. What is so sacred about that place and its books?"
"Nothing." the Dula said with a shrug. "I just don't want to see them ruined."
"How did you find that place anyway?" Raoden asked, walking over to the window and leaning against the sill. "You say you've only been in Elantris a few months, but you seem to know your way through every road and alley. You led me straight to Shaor's bank. and the market's not exactly the kind of place you'd have casually explored."
The Dula grew increasingIy uncomfortable as Raoden spoke. Finally he muttered, "Can a man keep nothing to himself Raoden? Must you drag everything out of me?"
Raoden leaned back, surprised by his friend's sudden intensity. "I'm sorry." he stammered, realizing how accusatory his words had sounded. Galladon had given him nothing but support since his arrival. Embarrassed. Raoden turned to leave the Dula alone.
"My father was an Elantrian." Galladon said quietly.
Raoden paused. To the side, he could see his friend. The large Dula had taken a seat on the freshly watered soil and was staring at a small cornstalk in front of him.
"I lived with him until I was old enough to move away," Galladon said. "I always thought it was wrong for a Dula to live in Arelon, away from his people and his family. I guess that's why the Dor decided to give me the same curse.
"They always said that Elantris was the most blessed of cities, but my father was never happy here. I guess even in paradise there are those who don't fit in. He became a seholar-the study I showed you was his. However, Duladel never left his mind-he studied farming and agriculture, though both were useless in Elantris. Why farm when you can turn garbage into food?"
Galladon sighed, reaching out to pinch a piece of dirt between his fingers. He rubbed them together for a moment, letting the soil fall back to the ground.
"He wished he had studied healing when he found my mother dying beside him in bed one morning. Some diseases strike so quickly even Elantris can't stop them. My father became the only depressed Elantrian I ever knew. That's when I finally understood that they weren't gods, for a god could never feel such agony. He couldn't return home-the Elantrians of old were as exiled as we are today, no matter how beautiful they might have been. People don't want to live with something so superior to themselves-they can't stand such a visible sign of their own inferiority.
"He was happy when I returned to Duladen. He told me to be a farmer. I left him a poor, lonely god in a divine city, wishing for nothing so much as the freedom to be a simple man again. He died about a year after I left. Did you know that Elantrians could die of simple things, such as heart-death? They lived much longer
than regular people, but they could still die. Especially if they wanted to. My father knew the signs of heart-death: he could have gone in to be healed, but he chose to stay in his study and disappear. Just like those Aons you spend so much time drawing."
"So you hate Elantris?" Raoden asked. slipping quietly through the open window to approach his friend. He sat as well, looking across the small plant at Galladon.
"Hate?" Galladon asked. "No, I don't hate-that isn't the Dula way. Of course, growing up in Elantris with a bitter father made me a poor Dula. You've realized that-I can't take things as lightly as my people would. I see a taint on everything. Like the sludge of Elantris. My people avoided me because of my demeanor, and I was almost glad when the Shaod took me-I didn't fit Duladel, no matter how much I enjoyed my farming. I deserve this city, and it deserves me. Kolo?"
Raoden wasn't certain how to respond. "I suppose an optimistic comment wouldn't do much good right now."
Galladon smiled slightly. "Definitely not-you optimists just can't understand that a depressed person doesn't want you to try and cheer them up. It makes us
sick.
"Then just let me say something true, my friend," Raoden said. "I appreciate you. I don't know if you fit in here: I doubt any of us do. But I value your help. If New Elantris succeeds. then it will be because you were there to keep me from throwing myself off a building."
Galladon took a deep breath. His face was hardly joyful-yet, his gratitude was plain. He nodded slightly. then stood and offered Raoden a hand to help him up.
Raoden turned fitfully. He didn't have much of a bed, just a collection of blankets in the chapel's back room. 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."