CHAPTER XVI
THE PERFECT WORLD
Many hundred times the Kymo rose and set, and Ak-Alan and his wife, beloved of all Keemarnians, lived in peace and happiness. A son and daughter had been born to them, and now the time had come when the Rorka had received his call, and through the Sacrament of Schlerik-itata would make his exit from the world, and enter into glory.
“My son,” said he, “the voice came in my sleep last night. My room was bathed in a wonderful whiteness when the messenger from Mitzor called me. ‘When the Kymo reaches the full for thirteen days make ready—for on the fourteenth thou shalt meet the Great White Glory.’ I must now set my house in order. You will reign jointly with Chlorie. I can safely leave my country in your hands.”
“Father,” said Alan, “must you really leave us?” He was troubled. “Oh it’s terrible.”
“But why?” said Chlorie. “I shall miss my father it is true—for I love him dearly. But how can I wish him here, when his happiness lies yonder?”
“I don’t understand,” said Alan miserably. “Death is so sad.”
“But it is not—death—” said the Rorka. “I am simply—‘going away’.”
“That’s just it. You are going away, and you are never coming back.”
“That is true, my son. I am never coming back—but you will eventually come to me. Why mourn? To mourn is selfish.”
“It’s no good,” said Alan. “I suppose I am of coarser clay. I can’t believe that I could ever ‘pass yonder’ through the Sacrament of Schlerik-itata. I come from another world. Suppose I die—oh you don’t know death as I do—but suppose it comes to Keemar through me, and afterwards through my children.”