‘I have no time for riddles,’ said Anharat. ‘Tell me, and then be gone!’
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‘Death,’ said Emsharas. ‘When I cast the Great Spell in that tomorrow that is already four thousand years past, I shall power it with my life force. I shall die. Indeed, in this time I am already dead. That is why you could not find me. Why you will never find me. From tomorrow I will no longer exist!’
‘Dead?’ echoed Anharat. ‘That is impossible. We cannot die!’
‘But we can,’ said Emsharas. ‘We can surrender our souls to the universe. And when we do so the power we release is colossal. It was that power which dragged the Illohir from the surface of this planet and held them in the limbo that is Nowhere. But it was only the first step, Anharat. Not even my death could propel our people to the world I found, a world where we can take form, and eat and drink, and know the joy of true life.’
‘No,’ said Anharat, ‘you cannot be dead! I will not have it. I … I will not believe it!’
‘I do not lie, brother. You know that. But it was the only way I could think of to save our people, and give them a chance of life in the pleasure of the flesh. I did not want to leave you, Anharat. You and I were a part of each other. Together we were One.’
‘Aye, we were!’ shouted Anharat. ‘But now I do not need you. Go then and die! And leave me to my victory! I hate you, brother, more than anything under the stars!’
The shining figure of Emsharas seemed to fade under the power of Anharat’s rage, and his voice when he spoke again was distant. ‘I am sorry that you hate me, for I have always loved you. And I know how much you want to thwart me, but think on this: With all the power you have amassed what have you achieved? The Krayakin are returned to the void, the gogarin is dead, and an army awaits you outside the temple. Once you
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have killed the child you will need all your power to draw back the Illohir. After that you will be merely a sorcerer. The army will kill you, and all across the world mankind will unite against our people. But you will have thwarted me. You will have made my death useless and unnecessary. It will be your final victory.’
‘Then that will be enough for me!’ roared Anharat.
‘Will it?’ asked Emsharas. ‘Our people have two destinies, and both are in your hands, my brother. They can pass to a world of light, or they can return to the void. The choice is yours. My death alone could not complete the spell. But yours will. If you choose to be the third king to die then our people shall know joy. But whatever your choice I shall not remain to see it. We will never speak again. Goodbye, my twin!’
Emsharas stepped back and vanished. Anharat stood very still, and a great emptiness engulfed him. He realized in that moment what Bakilas had sensed the day before. His hatred of Emsharas was almost identical to his love. Without Emsharas there was nothing. There never had been. Throughout the last four thousand years thoughts of Emsharas, and the revenge he would know, had filled his mind. But he had never desired his brother’s death. Not to lose him for all time.
‘I love you too, my brother,’ he said. He looked around the temple, and saw that the humans were still frozen. Against the wall a young girl had her arms around a child, and upon the dais a teenage boy stood holding a sword. Behind him the queen had turned away, shielding her baby with her body. Bakilas was close by, his sword raised. The black warrior was lying sprawled beside the dais, his blood pooling on the mosaic floor.
Anharat blinked and remembered the journeys upon
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the cosmic winds, when he and Emsharas had been as one, twin souls, inseparable.
To die? The thought filled him with terror. To lose eternity? And yet what joy would there be in immortality now?