Elantris (Elantris, #1)

by Brandon Sanderson

ELANTRIS was beautiful, once. It was called the city of the gods: a place of power, radiance, and magic.

“Every pain, sule,” Galladon whispered. “Every cut, every nick, every bruise, and every ache—they will stay with you until you go mad from the suffering. As I said, welcome to Elantris.”

“This is Elantris, sule. There’s no such thing as help. Pain, insanity, and a whole lot of slime are the only things you’ll find here.”

The hunger makes men do strange things.”

With the destruction, Elantris had lost its glory. The Elantrians had changed from brilliant white-haired beings to creatures with splotchy skin and bald scalps—like sufferers of some horrible disease in the advanced stages of decay. Elantris had stopped glowing, instead growing dark.

“Now who’s taking things lightly?” Raoden said with a smile. “You’re a bad influence, sule. Dead people aren’t supposed to be cheerful.

“The first step in taking control of a nation, Arteth, is the simplest. You find someone to hate.”

You will find that hate can unify people more quickly and more fervently than devotion ever could.”

“Ah, sule,” Galladon said with a shake of his head. “You still don’t understand, do you? This is Elantris, city of the gods. What need have gods of such mundane things as lamps and oil? Look at the wall beside you.”

it is human nature to believe that other places and other times are better than the here and now.

As was often the case, the most outspoken man was the least discerning.

“People do a better job when they assume they’re important.”

“No, Karata, I don’t want to ‘lord over’ Elantris. But I do want to help it. I see a city full of people feeling sorry for themselves, a people resigned to viewing themselves as the rest of the world views them. Elantris doesn’t have to be the pit that it is.”

“You made it sound as if we wanted to be in here. Like it was a privilege.” “And that is exactly the way we should feel. After all, if we’re going to be confined to Elantris, we might as well act as if it were the grandest place in the entire world.”

“Nobility is in one’s bearing as much as it is in one’s breeding. If we act like living here is a blessing, then maybe we’ll start to forget how pathetic we think we are.

This dream you have, this crazy idea of an Elantris where we grow food and we ignore our pain … I want to see you try to create it. I don’t think you can, but I think you will make something better of us in the process.”

“Sule!” Galladon cried. “By Doloken, you’re not dead?” “Of course I am.” Raoden laughed and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “We all are—at least that’s what you seem to be fond of telling me.”

“Elantris will change,” Raoden said. “If not, then those who come here after us will plant the next season.”

“Remember, the past need not become our future as well.”

All things must progress, and progression is not always a steady incline. Sometimes we must fall, sometimes we will rise—some must be hurt while others have fortune, for that is the only way we can learn to rely on one another.

Those people gave in to their pain because they couldn’t find purpose—their torture was meaningless, and when you can’t find reason in life, you tend to give up on it.

“A man can force himself to hate if he wishes, especially if he convinces himself that it is for a higher good.”

Truth is the one thing you can never intimidate.”

Raoden exhaled. “I only saw her through seon,” he mumbled. “I didn’t realize she was so beautiful.” “You recognize her, sule?” Galladon asked in surprise. “I … think I’m married to her. That could only be Sarene, the daughter of King Eventeo of Teod.”

“We’re not dead, Galladon, and we’re not damned. We’re just unfinished.”

“You would never do something that foolish, my lady,” Ashe declared. Then he paused, hovering uncertainly in the air, his Aon so dim it was translucent. “All right,” he finally admitted. “You are indeed that foolish.”

“What?” Sarene demanded. “It’s just that I was considering something, Sarene,” the old man said, smiling. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone, male or female, that’s quite as opinionated as you are.”

Give men an honest choice, and I believe they will choose wisely.”

Sarene followed the sound. Her eyes found Spirit—or at least someone wearing Spirit’s clothing. He had pale Aonic skin, sandy brown hair, and keen blue eyes. Spirit’s eyes. But his face didn’t show any signs of Elantris’s taint. He tossed a rag on the table, and she could see the brown stains on one side—as if he wanted them to believe he had simply wiped away his makeup to reveal a completely different face underneath. Telrii gasped, stumbling back against the wall. “Prince Raoden!” he choked out. “No! You died. They told me you were dead!” Raoden. Sarene felt numb. She stared at the man Spirit, wondering who he was, and if she had ever really known him.

After a few moments, he realized something. “I’m not, you know.” “Not what?” “Your husband. At least, the relationship is disputable. The betrothal contract said our marriage would be binding if either of us died before the wedding. I didn’t die—I went to Elantris. Though they’re essentially the same thing, the contract’s words were very specific.” Sarene looked up, concern in her eyes. He laughed quietly. “I’m not trying to get out of it, Sarene,” he said. “I’m just saying we should make it formal, just so everyone’s mind is put at ease.” Sarene thought for a moment, then she nodded sharply. “Definitely. I’ve been engaged twice during the last two months, and I never got a wedding. A girl deserves a good wedding.” “A queen’s wedding,” Raoden agreed.

“Show yourself to me.” “My face?” Raoden asked. Sarene nodded. “You’ve seen it before,” he said hesitantly. “I know, but I’m getting too used to this one. I want to see the real you.”

“You’re a lucky woman, having a man who can change faces at any time. You’ll never get bored.” Sarene snorted. “I like this one just fine. This is the face that loved me when it thought I was an Elantrian, all rank and title abandoned.”

“Revenge is always a foolish motivation,

Despite the deaths, despite the near-complete destruction of Kae, they were happy. Fjorden had been cast out and Elantris had returned. The days of the gods had come again.

“My lord, my lady,” said a stoic voice. Raoden’s seon, Ien, floated in through the doorway. “It is time.” Sarene grabbed Raoden’s arm in a firm grip. “Walk,” she ordered, nodding toward the doorway. This time, she wasn’t letting go until someone married them.

“Was it everything you hoped for?” Raoden asked. “You said you have been anticipating this moment for your entire life.” “It was wonderful,” Sarene replied. “However, there is one thing I have looked forward to even more than my wedding.” Raoden raised an eyebrow. She smiled mischievously. “The wedding night.”

“for though I had more contact with the man Hrathen than most of you, I did not know him. I always assumed that I could come to understand a man through being his enemy, and I thought that I understood Hrathen—his sense of duty, his powerful will, and his determination to save us from ourselves. “I did not see his internal conflict. I could not know the man whose heart eventually drove him to reject all that he had once believed in the name of what he knew was right. I never knew the Hrathen who placed the lives of others ahead of his own ambition. These things were hidden, but in the end they are what proved most important to him. “When you remember this man, think not of an enemy. Think of a man who longed to protect Arelon and its people. Think of the man he became, the hero who saved your king. My husband and I would have been killed by the monster of Dakhor, had Hrathen not arrived to protect us. “Most important, remember Hrathen as the one who gave the vital warning that saved Teod’s fleets. If the armada had burned, then be assured that Teod wouldn’t have been the only country to suffer. Wyrn’s armies would have fallen on Arelon, Elantris or no Elantris, and you all would be fighting for survival at this moment—if, that is, you were even still alive.”

“When you speak of this man, let it be known that he died in our defense. Let it be said that after all else, Hrathen, gyorn of Shu-Dereth, was not our enemy. He was our savior.”