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.