She stopped before the stone gate, staring at the city-within-a-city, her eyes wide and disbelieving. People talked and worked within, each bearing the cursed skin of an Elantrian. but each wearing a pleasant smile as well. None wore the rags she had assumed were the only available clothing in Elantris; their outfits were simple skirts or trousers and a shirt. The cloth was strikingly colorful. With amazement Sarene realized that these were the colors she had chosen. What she had seen as offensive, however, the people wore with joy—the bright yellows, greens, and reds highlighting their cheerfulness.
These were not the people she had seen just a few weeks before, pathetic and begging for food. They looked as if they belonged to some pastoral village of lore—people who expressed a good-natured joviality Sarene had thought unrealistic in the real world. Yet, they lived in the one place everyone knew was even more horrible than the real world.
"What ... ?"
Spirit smiled broadly, still holding her hand as he pulled her through the gateway into the village. "Welcome to New Elantris, Sarene. Everything you assumed is no longer valid."
"I can see that."
A squat Elantrian woman approached, her dress a mixture of vibrant greens and yellows. She eyed Sarene critically. "I doubt we've got anything in her size. Lord Spirit."
Spirit laughed, taking in Sarene's height. "Do your best, Maare," he said, walking toward a low-ceilinged building at the side of the gate. The door was open, and Sarene could see rows of clothing hanging on pegs inside. Embarrassed, she was suddenly aware of her own clothing. She had already stained the white garment with slime and muck.
"Come, dearie," Maare said, leading her to a second building. "Let's see what we can do."
The motherly woman eventually found a dress that fit Sarene reasonably well—or, at least, a blue skirt that showed her legs only up to midcalf. along with a bright red blouse. There were even undergarments. though they too were constructed of bright materials. Sarene didn't complain—anything was better than her filth-soiled robe.
After pulling on the clothing, Sarene regarded herself in the room's full-length mirror. Half of her skin was still flesh-toned, but that only made the dark splotches more striking. She assumed that her flesh tones would dim with time, becoming gray like those of the other Elantrians.
"Wait," she asked hesitantly, "where did the mirror come from?"
"It isn't a mirror, dearie," Maare informed as she sifted through socks and shoes. "It's a flat piece of stone-part of a table, I think—with thin sheets of steel wrapped around it."
Looking closely, Sarene could see the folds where sheets of steel overlapped one another. All things considered. it made a remarkable mirror. The stone must have been extremely smooth.
"But where—" Sarene stopped. She knew exactly where they had gotten sheets of steel that thin. Sarene herself had sent them, again thinking to get the better of Spirit. who had demanded several sheets of metal as part of his bribe.
Maare disappeared for a moment. then returned with socks and shoes for Sarene. Both were different colors from either her shirt or her skirt. "Here we are," the woman said. "I had to go over and pilfer these from the men."
Sarene felt herself blush as she accepted the items.
'Don't mind, dearie," Maare said with a laugh. "It makes sense you'd have big feet—Domi knows you need more on the bottom to support all that height! Oh, and here's the last thing."
The woman held up a long scarflike piece of orange cloth. "For your head," Maare said, pointing at the similar cloth wrapped around her own head. "It helps us forget about the hair."
Sarene nodded thankfully, accepting the scarf and tying it around her scalp. Spirit waited for her outside, wearing a pair of red trousers and a yellow shirt. He smiled as she approached.
"I feel like an insane rainbow," Sarene confessed, looking down at the menagerie of colors.
Spirit laughed, holding out his hand and leading her deeper into the city. Unconsciously, she found herself judging his height. He's tall enough for me, she thought almost offhandedly, if only barely. Then, realizing what she was doing. she rolled her eyes. The entire world was toppling around her, and all she could do was size up the man walking next to her.
‘`. .. get used to the idea that we all look like secabirds in the spring," he was saying. "The colors don't bother you all that much once you wear them for a while. Actually, after the dull monotones of old Elantris, I find them quire refreshing."
As they walked. Spirit explained New Elantris to her. It wasn't very large, perhaps fifty buildings in all. But its compact nature made it feel more unified. Though there couldn't have been many people in the town—five or six hundred at most—there always seemed to be motion around her. Men worked on walls or roofs, women sewed or cleaned—even children ran in the streets. It had never occurred to her that the Shaod would take children as well as adults.
Everyone greeted Spirit as he passed, calling out with welcoming smiles. There was true acceptance in their voices, displaying a level of loving respect Sarene had rarely seen given to a leader; even her father, who was generally well liked, had his dissenters. Of course, it was easier with such a small population, but she was still impressed.
At one point they walked by a man of indecipherable age—it was hard to put years with faces in Elantris—sitting on a stone block. He was short with a large belly, and he didn't greet them. His inattention, however, was not a sign of incivility—he was just focused on the small object in his hand. Several children stood around the man, watching his bent-over work with eager eyes. As Sarene and Spirit passed, the man held the object out to one of the children; it was a beautifully carved stone horse. The girl clapped ecstatically, accepting the piece with exuberant fingers. The children ran off as the sculptor reached down to select another rock from the ground. He began to scrape at the stone with a short tool; as Sarene peered closely at his fingers, she realized what it was.
"One of my nails!" she said. "He's using one of the bent nails I sent you."
"Hmm?" Spirit asked. "Oh, yes. I have to tell you, Sarene, we had quite a time figuring out what to do with that particular box. It would have taken far too much fuel to melt them all down, even assuming we had the tools for smelting. Those nails were one of your more clever adaptations."
Sarene flushed. These people were fighting to survive in a city deprived of resources, and she had been so petty as to send them bent nails. "I'm sorry. I was afraid you would make weapons out of the steel."
"You were right to be wary," Spirit said. "I did, after all, betray you in the end."
"I'm sure you had a good reason," she said quickly.
"I did," he said with a nod. "But that didn't matter much at the time, did it? You were right about me. I was—am—a tyrant. I kept food back from a part of the population, I broke our agreement, and I caused the deaths of some fine men."
Sarene shook her head, her voice growing firm. "You are not a tyrant. This community proves that—the people love you, and there cannot be tyranny where there is love."
He half smiled, his eyes unconvinced. Then, however, he regarded her with an unreadable expression. "Well, I suppose the time during your Trial wasn't a complete loss. I gained something very important during those weeks."
"The supplies?" Sarene asked.
"That too."
Sarene paused, hoIding his eyes. Then she looked back at the scuIptor. "Who is he?"
"His name is Taan. Spirit said. "Though you might know of him by the name Aanden."
"The gang leader?" Sarene asked with surprise.
Spirit nodded. "Taan was one of the most accomplished sculptors in Arelon before the Shaod took him. After coming to Elantris, he lost track of himself for a while. He came around eventually."
They left the sculptor to his work, Spirit showing her through the last few sections of the city. They passed a large building that he referred to as "the Hall of the Fallen." and the sorrow in his voice kept her from asking about it, though she did see several mindless Shaod Seons floating around above its roof.
Sarene felt a sudden stab of grief. Ashe must be like that now, she thought, remembering the mad Seons she had occasionally seen floating around Elantris. Despite what she'd seen, she'd continued to hope through the night that Ashe would find her. The Korathi priests had locked her in some sort of holding cell to wait—apparently new Elantrians were only thrown into the city once a day—and she'd stood by the window, wishing he would arrive.
She'd waited in vain. With the confusion at the wedding, she couldn't even remember the last time she'd seen him. Not wanting to enter the chapel, he'd gone ahead to wait for her in the throne room. When she'd arrived, had she seen him floating inside the room? Had she heard his voice, calling out amid the other shocked members of the wedding party? Or, was she simply letting hope cloud her memories?
Sarene shook her head. sighing as she let Spirit lead her away from the Hall of the Fallen. She kept looking over her shoulder, glancing upward, expecting Ashe to be there. He always had been before.
At least he isn't dead, she thought, forcing aside her grief. He's probably in the city somewhere. I can find him . . . maybe help him, somehow.
They continued to walk, and Sarene intentionally let herself be distracted by the scenery—she couldn't bear to think of Ashe anymore. Soon. Spirit led her past several open areas that—looking closely—Sarene realized must be fields. Tiny sprouts were appearing in careful rows piled in the dirt, and several men walked among them. searching for weeds. There was a distinct smell in the air.
Sarene paused. "Fish?"
"Fertilizer," Spirit said with a chuckle. "That's one time we managed to get the better of you. We asked for trike knowing full well you would find the nearest barrel of rotten fish to include in the shipment."
"It seems like you got the better of me more times than not," Sarene said, remembering with shame the time she had spent gloating over her sly interpretations of the demands. It seemed no matter how twisted her attempt, the New Elantrians had found uses for all of her useless gifts.
"We don't have much choice, Princess. Everything from pre-Reod Elantris is rotten or befouled: even the stones are starting to crumble. No matter how defective you may have thought those supplies, they were still far more useful than anything left in the city."
"I was wrong," Sarene said morosely.
"Don't start that again," Spirit said. "If you begin feeling sorry for yourself. I'll lock you in a room with Galladon for an hour so that you can learn what true pessimism is."
"Galladon?"
"He was the large fellow you met briefly hack at the gates," Spirit explained.
"The Dula?" Sarene asked with surprise, recalling the large, broad-faced Elantrian with the thick Duladen accent.
"That's him."
"A pessimistic Dula?" she repeated. "I've never heard of such a thing."
Spirit laughed again, leading her into a large, stately building. Sarene gasped in wonder at its beauty. It was lined with delicate, spiraled arches, and the floor was crafted of pale white marble. The wall reliefs were even more intricate than those on the Korathi temple in Teoras.