CHAPTER VI

THE SACRAMENT OF SCHLERIK-ITATA

Alan bent over his uncle, but the High Priest waved him away. “Touch him not,” said he sternly, and such command rang in his tones, that Alan stepped back involuntarily.

Again the scene was repeated—Sir John was prayed over, sprayed with the “waters of purity,” and incensed. As the sweet fumes found their way up his nostrils, he stirred. Alan rushed to him and embraced him. “It was only foolishness, Alan,” said he brokenly. “But the Argenta—my ship—I was so proud of her. Masters, you know how I felt? She was my all in my days of sorrow. And in my days of joy, when reunited we sailed in her, she was my joy.”

“I understand, Uncle John. But try not to mind—when one is in Rome—you know the rest. We are in Jupiter and we must do as the Jovians wish.”

Persoph the Jkak, came up to them. “Nay, grieve not,” said he kindly. “We have cleared this place of sin. An air bird to take the place of the one that has gone shall be placed at your disposal. Go you home. Cards will be brought you for the Sacrament of Schlerik-itata. I beg of you all—attend it. Nay, I command you. We will meet again within eight Kymos. Farewell. Farewell.”

Waz-Y-Kjesta, motioned to their bhor. “Come, my friend,” said he. “I will drive you back another way—we will drive along the shores of the secti, and watch the breakers roll in.” The sea shore was wonderful; the sea was blue, a deep, deep blue, and the breakers, flecked with foam, rolled in to a golden shore. They passed bays, promontories, caves and rocks—and they found the drive of bewildering beauty.

Alan asked, “What is the Sacrament of Sch—”

“Schlerik-itata?” supplemented the Waz.

“Yes.”

“My friend, you must wait until you witness it. You will understand us more fully when you have been to the home of Ak-Marn. Now to-night, there is a small party being given by Kulmervan and his fellow students at the Observatory. I have been asked to bring you all. Will you come?”

“With pleasure,” said Alan.

“The Jkak is sending you all a complete outfit, my friend. Your clothes are old, travel-stained and torn—they are sombre too. If you accept his present, wear to-night your brightest garments.”

“Will you help me to adjust them?” asked Alan.

The Waz drew himself up with a haughty air, but it as soon passed. “I was forgetting, my friend, that you know not our customs. The serving men will assist you. When you reach home, you will find your house fully staffed, and Quori, a most efficient steward and adviser.”

“What about meeting to-night for the party?”

“I will call for you as the Kymo sinks. You will have bhors sufficient for your use.”

When they reached home they found a note awaiting them from Mavis, asking them to come over and have lunch with her and Desmond, and they walked through the garden to the other house. Mavis was waiting for them, her cheeks dimpling and her eyes sparkling. “It’s a wonderful country,” said she. “I’ve nothing to do all day; the cooking and cleaning seem to go by clockwork. Morkaba is Baby’s personal attendant and mine; she has arranged my frock. How do you like it?” and she twirled round on one foot showing the soft draperies of Keemarnian dress.

It was of a soft green, embroidered with coloured silks and her hair was left loose flowing around her shoulders, and caught above her ears by a narrow fillet of gold that gleamed as she tossed her head.

“I like it much better than the frumpy old English fashions,” said she. “Desmond is not quite ready yet—he will look splendid.”

“We shall change later,” said Sir John, “and I shall be glad to get out of these stuffy and dirty garments. All the same I don’t fancy myself a cross between an imitation gladiator and a stained glass twelfth century saint.”

They thoroughly enjoyed their meal; eggs served in a wonderful salad of fruit and vegetables proved to be the staple part, and this course was followed by a baked grain, similar to barley, but of a bright green colour, deliciously creamy and sweet. There was milk to drink, and plenty of heavy cream.

“They seem to be almost vegetarians here,” said Mavis, “for although we have had plenty of milk, eggs and cream, I have not seen a sign of fish or meat.”

“All the better,” said Sir John, “after all that tinned stuff while we were on the Argenta—ugh!”

They drove in state to the students’ party. The Waz had constituted himself their guide, and they were very thankful for his services. The large ground floor of the Observatory had been converted into a veritable bower of roses. At one end, almost hidden by flowers, were the musicians—playing dreamy music on soft-toned, stringed instruments.

The Host in Chief, Kulmervan, with Waiko, stood on a raised dais at one end and received their guests, who were all announced by an usher who wore a kilt-like shirt and a flowing cape. As the strangers entered he announced from a card they gave him, first in his own language and then in English, “Sir John, Alan, Desmond, Masters, and Mavis.” No surnames were known on Jupiter, and so far they possessed no Keemarnian title. To Sir John they gave his prefix, although they did not quite understand it.

A great silence reigned when the announcement was made—Kulmervan left the dais and advanced toward his guests, and this mark of homage was acknowledged by clamorous cheers from all the others who were present.

“Welcome,” said he. “I witnessed your descent upon our land. Indeed, it was I who helped to focus our ray of attraction upon your vessel and helped to draw you into our atmosphere.”

“What are your rays?” asked Alan. “Surely you had never any cause to use one before?”

“Indeed, yes, my friend. Some time ago, some of our Keemarnians, while experimenting in the Heavens, found themselves outside our atmosphere. They never returned. Across the roadway between the red planet ‘Mydot’—Mars I think you call it—and ourselves, are many rapidly moving meteoric bodies. We fear that our gallant brothers met one of these, and were destroyed. Many men of science went after these lost ones but none ever returned. Through our wonderful glass, we saw one of our air birds in space; it was unable to reach home. Then was the great magnetic ray discovered. In the shortest space of time it was perfected, and played on the silent air bird. Gradually it was drawn nearer and nearer to our shores until it was within our atmosphere, and was able to land in safety. Since that time, if air birds venture too high, we have nearly always been able to save the adventurous spirits, and in your case, we brought you safely here.”

“It’s a wonderful invention,” said Sir John, “and I can imagine would have been of immense value to our airmen on earth.”

Kulmervan then presented them to Waiko, and Mavis was led to a seat of honour on the dais.

They spent a most enjoyable time, and the whole entertainment was very like what they were accustomed to on earth. Games were played,—games with balls and racquets, and balls and hoops, and between the games there was singing and dancing.

Refreshments were served in a hall adjoining, and consisted mainly of luscious fruits and dainty cakes and pastries. The many Keemarnians they met, invited them in turn to parties and entertainments, and they felt they had more invitations than they could safely accept. “Never accept,” whispered Waz-Y-Kjesta to them all, “unless you mean to honour your host with your presence. A refusal never offends, but to accept and then to disappoint, is unforgivable.” Suddenly in the middle of the dancing a trumpet blew loud and clear. The band ceased and the couples stood still. Then rang out a fanfare of royal welcome, and the guests rushed to the entrance hall in great excitement, waving and cheering. “It must be some one of importance who is coming,” said Desmond. “Perhaps it is the Rorka,” suggested Mavis. There was a roll of drums, and then, on a litter carried by six stalwart men, entered a girl of perhaps eighteen years. The cortége stopped and Kulmervan bent low before her, and kissed her proffered hand. She bowed ever so slightly, and he assisted her from her cushioned throne. She stood beside him, and proved to be quite small, not more than five feet in height, but of a beauty almost indescribable. She was very fair and fragile. Her eyes were purple-blue fringed with long, black lashes. Her fillet was of gold, and was enriched with gems the colour of her eyes, while her robe of blue hung in folds about her. Perhaps it was her lips that impressed the watchers most. A perfect bow—they were of a vivid scarlet that contrasted strangely with the delicate pink flush of her cheeks. Self possessed, calm and regal she looked as she graciously acknowledged the plaudits of the guests.

“Who is she, Alan?” asked Mavis. But he was unconscious of her question, he could only gaze and gaze at the beautiful apparition who had come so unexpectedly upon the scene.

Waiko bent in turn before the stranger who whispered something to him. Immediately he came toward Mavis. “We are honoured to-night,” said he. “The Ipso-Rorka Chlorie has journeyed from Pyrmo to welcome you. She heard of your presence and came at once.”

“Who is she?” asked Mavis.

“Why the highest lady in the land—the only child of our Rorka.”

Mavis went toward where the girl stood, and the Ipso-Rorka held out both her hands to the English girl. “Welcome,” said she, in a voice musical and low. “I hear you start soon to honour the Rorka, my father, with a visit. May I welcome you first?” In turn the others were presented to her, but her attention was all for Mavis—it was Mavis the woman she wanted to know.

And Alan? He had seen his ideal! Years before, he wondered whether he would ever meet her—and now he had. And a King’s daughter! And he a stranger in a strange world! How dare he even lift his eyes toward her. Yet he dared—and his pulses leapt madly as his eyes feasted on her beauty. Not once did she address him—not once did she even seem to notice him. Chlorie put her hand lightly on Desmond’s arm. “I will dance with you,” said she smiling, and Alan watched them lead the merry throng of dancing couples. The demon of jealousy, earth jealousy, was in his heart.

“Why are you looking so—how can I put it—so sad?” asked Kulmervan.

Alan laughed. “He has a wife,” he muttered. “Why does he take her from others?”

“But she has honoured him. It is not for us to choose for the Ipso-Rorka,” said Kulmervan.

“Yes, but she is so beautiful, so sweet, so glorious,” began Alan. Then he stopped suddenly. “Oh,” he continued, “what do you people of Jupiter know of love or hate? Your lives are too quiet, too humdrum to know aught of passion—”

“Teach me! Teach me!” cried Kulmervan leaning toward him. “Your face is drawn—your eye hard. Yet you look as if you could battle with the world. What is it?”

“Love and hate,” said Alan grimly. Then he laughed. “What a fool I am. Desmond is my cousin; we love each other like brothers. He has won Mavis—why should he not dance with the Ipso-Rorka? Mavis does not mind.”

But Kulmervan turned away in silence. Knowledge had come to him in a curious way. He saw passion, love, hatred, anger, jealousy all raging within a human heart. Unconsciously the feelings were photographed upon his too sensitive mind. Love that had only smouldered was now born in all its fury for the Princess Chlorie, the fair. And with love was born the twin, hate—hate for Alan, the man he feared might supplant him.

It seemed as if death, although burned and purified, had brought into Keemar unrest and sin. The prayers of the High Priest himself were unable to wash it away, until scourged and purified the earth folk themselves became less material and more godlike and true.

The day for the Sacrament of Schlerik-itata arrived at last and the strangers found themselves on the way to Ak-Marn’s palace.

Although the Aks had no administrative powers, as had the Jkaks, they were held in the highest esteem, for they were princes of royal blood.

Ak-Marn greeted them warmly. They saw that his dress was different from the usual male costume. He was in unrelieved white, and wore neither jewel nor ornament. The material of his robe, which hung with a long cloak to the ground, was almost like plush and there was something almost bridal about the costume. Yet Ak-Marn was an old man, with a beard of white, and grandchildren in plenty. Surely Schlerik-itata could not be the same as matrimony, thought Mavis.

The guests were eight thousand in number, and all wore their brightest jewels and their finest raiment.

There was singing and dancing and much gay chatter, and the whole scene was one of wonderful gaiety and joy. Refreshments were brought in, and Ak-Marn began to speak. The English people could now understand the Keemarnian language fairly well. It was easy, its grammar simple, and its pronunciation almost Latin.

“Friends,” said Ak-Marn. “I break bread with you. Two and ten Kymos have sunk since I quenched my thirst or satisfied my hunger. I’ve prayed to Mitzor, the Great White Glory and Tower of Help, to prepare me for my journey. My call came eighty and five Kymos since—I saw the figures in fire. I heard my call, and am prepared. I go with hope in my heart—with joy in my breast. I am to be envied, my friends, for my days have been long upon Keemar. I leave my loved one, Viok, and our children, and our children’s children in your care, my friends. When I am gone, cheer her with loving words—help her with kind counsel. I leave you with love in my heart. I leave you with the knowledge that our parting is not for long. Soon you will join me in the home of the Tower of Help. Remember that the eternities of time cannot be measured.”

Then bread was broken, and there followed the “Feast of the Sacrament,” and the most intimate friends of Ak-Marn drank to his “future”—drank to his coming “joy.” And Alan and Sir John were no longer mystified. They realized that what they in their materialism knew as “Death” was nigh—but not Death, the slayer of happiness, Death, the dread reaper, but Death in a kindly form, a death that gave life—a death that was glorious.

“I thought at first that the Jovians were of a finer nature than ours,” said Alan.

“If they have conquered Death, they must indeed be high,” said Sir John thoughtfully.

“Who is Mitzor?” asked Mavis.

“The God of our Fathers, my dear. The God of Abraham and the God of the New Testament. Whatever their religion and ritual is, they worship the same God as we do,” said Alan.

“Are you sure?”

“Quite.”

When the feast was ended, the guests, one by one, bade farewell to their host. It was a long tedious business, as no one was permitted to pass without at least a few personal words from Ak-Marn who was seated on a raised chair near the doorway. And as each woman passed out, she was crowned with a wreath of beautiful, freshly cut flowers, from which hung a filmy white veil, while the men were given long white cloaks with hoods which they drew over their bare heads. Mavis bent her knee, and held out her hands to the kindly old man. “My child,” said he. “Our beautiful ceremony is so far meaningless to you. Go home—pray to Mitzor the Mighty that He may refine and cleanse you, that when your time comes you may be reincarnated to Him, through the medium of his Sacrament. Farewell.”

To Alan he spoke long and quietly. “My son,” said he, “you are in a strange world, you are young, you are carnal. Ah,” as Alan would have protested, “we of Keemar, my Alan, are not as of your world. We know not sin as you know it. Our first parents, Menlin and Jorlar, were placed in a garden—” Alan started—“Yes, my friend, as your parents were. They succumbed not to temptation—so they lived in happy solitude for many years. Then Mitzor in His great kindness gave them the knowledge of Love—Love without sin. They mated. Their love grew. Children of love were born sinless into our world. Child bearing was a glory; motherhood the highest estate. They knew neither sin nor sorrow, and so in love our populace grew.”

“Do you mean to say you are sinless here?” asked Alan incredulously.

“My son, it is not an estate for us to glory in, for the merits do not belong to us, but to our first parents. No—real sin has never entered here, but we live in dread of its coming. In a far off country—in Fyjipo—there is built a large palace behind high walls. If anger, or lust, or impatience is shown by any one of us, an order is given and the offender is taken to the Hall of Sorrows to purge away his sins. Should a madness come upon us, for such we reckon these failings to be—we are kept safe until it has passed, and until we can no longer contaminate our fellow creatures.”

“It’s a wonderful country,” said Alan. “Where we come from, is all sin and misery and—”

“Nay, tell me not. I go on a journey. I shall face my Mitzor. I charge you, should you or your friends feel this madness coming on you, hide yourselves, I beg, in the Hall of Sorrows. Stay there until it has passed, and preserve the purity and happiness of this land. Farewell.” The cloak was fastened round Alan’s shoulders, and he too left the kindly presence.

Waz-Y-Kjesta was waiting for them at the outer hall. “Go home,” he whispered. “Your bhor awaits you. I beg of you, eat no more this night, but in the early dawn, while Kymo still sleeps, put on your cloaks, and the Lady Mavis her veil, and go you to the Temple of Mitzor. Farewell.” It was a very solemn party that retired to their rooms that night, yet the full mystery of the Sacrament had not been unfolded to them.

It was dark when they arose, and in a dim twilight they drove to the Temple. They had never before been inside it, and it was with much trepidation that they waited on the threshold. It was a very beautiful building of pale blue marble—the colour of the sky. An enormous dome rose up in the centre of the square body of the Temple, and at the four corners, minarets with gilded tops finished the picture. A flight of fifty steps led up to the doors which were of a burnished metal, and studded with precious gems. Just inside was an antechamber, where the guests waited in silence until they were ushered to the seats that were allotted to them. The inside was wonderful. Mosaic walls representing allegorical tales gleamed in the dim light; the roof was of gold, and marble pillars supported it down the long aisle. An enormous altar rose up at the further end upon which were carved in marble cherubim and seraphim. In the sanctuary, if such it could be called, was a small white throne of marble, with heavy, white curtains draped at either side. It was placed in such a position that although it did not intercept the view of the altar, which was high above the nave, yet it could be seen by every one in the building.

The seats allotted to Alan and his party were very near the front where rails of gold separated the Sanctuary from the people’s part of the Temple. Music floated on the air—soft like babbling brooks and the song of birds; now bursting out into thunderous praise and mighty worship.

Suddenly there came a solemn hush; a bell tinkled; the organ played softly, and there came the sound of boys’ sweet voices raised in ecstasy: from a door at the side of the choir a dozen acolytes walked dressed in their garments of white. The procession started down the nave. After these boys came priests and deacons, and then Misrath, the High Priest walked in front of a raised throne. On this sat Ak-Marn, his eyes closed and his hands clasped in prayer. Behind him walked his wife and their children. Their faces were radiant, it is true; yet there was a touch of sadness in his wife’s gait. Then followed more priests and acolytes, all singing hymns of joy.

The procession wound round the Temple, and back through the middle aisle, and through the rails into the Sanctuary. Ak-Marn was led to the marble throne; his wife alone of his family had followed close behind, and now his arms were around her. Their lips met in one long kiss, then with a bowed head she left his side, and took her place with her family in the very front seats.

The organ thundered. Voices rang in a mighty pæan of praise. Then silence! Misrath came forward and offered prayers to Mitzor—prayers of offering, prayers of supplication. A mighty wreath of freshly cut flowers was placed upon the altar. It was to be a burnt offering, and as the smoke of the sacrifice arose on the air, the white curtains were drawn around the figure of Ak-Marn and he was hidden from view. Then singing rent the air; the acolytes incensed the throne, until it was entirely covered by the perfumed smoke, covered like a pall.

Alan watched in wonder. The grandeur of the prayers, the singing, the mystic curtains drawn around Ak-Marn appalled him. Misrath’s voice rose above the music.

“Children of Keemar,” he intoned. “One more brother has been caught by the mantle of Mitzor, and has left this world for ever. He has gone to Glory, gone to Happiness—gone to Mitzor Himself. Peace be unto his house. Peace be unto his wife. Peace be unto his seed for ever. We bid him—farewell.”

There was a great silence. The censers were stilled. Gradually the smoke of the incense cleared away from the marble throne, now gleaming in the rising rays of the Kymo.

Misrath touched the cords of the enveloping curtain, and drew them back. The little white throne was empty! Ak-Marn had returned to the bosom of his Creator! But stay! On the floor, as if shed in the hurried flight of its owner, lay the bridal robe of Ak-Marn. The High Priest raised it, blessed it, sprinkled it with the waters of purity, and Ak-Marn’s wife received it in her arms. Then the mighty congregation rose and sang one last song of praise, and at the end, quietly left the building. And the last view Alan had of Ak-Marn’s wife was of a solitary figure, dressed like a bride, clasping the little white throne that was the last resting place of her loved one.

“I don’t understand,” whispered Mavis hoarsely, as they were being driven back to their home.

“My dear, he is dead,” said Sir John.

“Dead? If that is Death, then it is something to welcome and not to dread,” she answered softly. There was a faraway look in her eyes. “What a wonderful Sacrament! Death that is no sorrow—only a parting for a little while, and then—reunion.” She clasped her husband’s hand. “Belovèd,” she murmured, “if Death comes to us like that, then can we have no real sorrow any more. Its shadow cannot cause us pain or grief. What do you think, Alan?”

But Alan did not answer. He was thinking of two deep blue eyes, a laughing mouth, wilful golden curls that flirted on two soft, pink cheeks. He was longing to crush the lithe and sweet body close to his, and smother her roses with kisses. The knowledge and fear of Death had lapsed; Jupiter had eradicated it,—but with its extinction had come love. Love, stronger a thousandfold than Death. He looked upward to where the Sun, Kymo in all his glory, was shining. The whole world was bathed in a glory of light. Yes, Jupiter had conquered death, and before him lay life and love!