childishly, pointing without comment at one feature or another.
'The revelation is not yet done,' said the second man. All eyes turned on him. 'We have brought back Akkamaro for you, but a capital needs its ruler. There are none among you worthy of forging a new future for the Mekhani, so we bring to you another gift. Look upon him and weep for your enemies, shed tears of joy for your future generations. You shall have a Great King again, as you did in the forgotten past.'
A shape moved in the darkness of the archway.
'Kneel down and give praise to Orlassai, undying monarch, Great King of the Mekhani!'
The man that eased his way through the arch was barely a man at all. He stood almost twice the height of the two sigil-etched priests, with shoulders so broad he had to twist slightly to fit between the stones of the gateway. His eyes gleamed gold in the lantern light and his fingernails glittered as bronze. Like the other two, his skin was heavily marked with spiralling lines and convoluted runes; where they were wizened and frail, Orlassai was bulky and strong. Bloated muscles contorted beneath the Great King's skin as he moved towards the kneeling shamans. Veins like rope corded his flesh. His skin had the rough texture of tanned leather. Teeth like diamonds shone as he grinned at his new subjects.
Their new master had a boyish face, though much warped with prominent brows and hard-edged cheekbones. His head was bald, his scarred flesh bulging with bony nodules like a bag of pebbles.
The newcomer was clad in a high-collared robe of deep yellow, bright against his tanned skin. A belt of black bound the robe around his thick waist, its ends hanging with jewel-bound tassels. Gold and gems were hung on his wrists and ankles, and a chain of rubies and sapphires set into red gold adorned his bulging neck.
'I am Orlassai, reborn again in new flesh,' the Great King declared. His words, the sound of his voice, were like a flow of honey, mellifluous and beautiful. Nemasolai heard the love of his mother, the pride of his father in those tones and he wept again, filled with memory.
'Who here would swear allegiance to me?' Orlassai continued.
Nemasolai shouted out that he would, eager to make himself heard above the clamour of affirmation and praises offered by the other shamans. Orlassai stooped to one knee and extended his hand to one of the shamans abasing himself. Nemasolai felt a pang of jealousy that he had not been chosen for such attention as the Great King gestured for the shaman to stand with a five-knuckled finger. Nemasolai did not recognise the other man, who shuddered under Orlassai's golden gaze.
'What is your name?' asked the Great King.
'Akannasai, your greatness,' said the shaman, almost falling to his knees again, kept from doing so only by the intervention of the Great King, who placed a finger under Akannasai's chin and lifted his head.
'Will you obey me, Akannasai?'
'I will worship you as Great King, mightiest of lords,' gushed Akannasai. 'Your every word shall be the command that rings in my ears.'
'That is good,' said Orlassai. Nemasolai felt a thrill of pleasure at this simple praise, sharing Akannasai's dedication. 'My first order as your king is this: go to your people and bring them here to Akkamaro.'
Nemasolai was filled with an urgency to comply. He shouted more words of praise as he stood up, bowing his head over and over, backing away from the Great King without averting his gaze from the stunning apparition that had been brought before him. He heard the rapid pattering of feet around him and saw that some of the others had broken into a run, eager to bring the news of the reborn ruler to their tribes. With a last adoring, lingering look at Orlassai, Nemasolai also turned away and urged his aging frame into an awkward lope.
II
As the shamans disappeared into the night, Erlaan breathed a sigh of relief. The sense of adulation, the roar of so many hearts, the stink of their sweat had been almost overwhelming. Even now he could hear the slap of sandaled feet and the shamans' gushing whispers to each other.
Eriekh signalled for him to follow and mounted the steps up the face of the ziggurat, Asirkhyr just behind. Erlaan followed slowly, his long stride taking the time-worn steps four at a time. He marvelled at his improved body, enjoying the grace and power with which it moved; so different from the gangly pubescent form he had left behind. He remembered admiring the athleticism of men like Ullsaard and chuckled to himself. It would be others that longed to have what he now possessed.
'Everything Lakhyri promised was true,' said Erlaan. 'They were hanging on my every word, not a question of doubt in their eyes.'
'We have made you Orlassai reborn,' said Eriekh.
'Who was he? Was that true, what you said about an ancient Mekhani civilisation that was greater than Askhor?'
'It is true, Great King,' said Asirkhyr. The use of that title sent an almost sexual thrill through Erlaan. 'Many times have we raised up the savage tribes of men to be the masters of the world.'
'And what happened to the Mekhani? Why have I never heard of this?'
'They failed,' Eriekh replied. Both of the old priests were panting hard from their exertions, their haggard breaths like the rasp of saws in Erlaan's ears. 'The history of them all — Askhan, Mekhani, Erdutian, Connamite and many others — is kept in the Archive of Ages at the Grand Precincts.'
'I would have learnt all of this when I became king of Askh?'
The two men exchanged a glance with a meaning Erlaan could not read.
'The king of Askh is privy to all of these secrets,' said Eriekh.
'You said that they had failed,' Erlaan continued. 'Failed at what? Is that why you've done this, because Askhor has failed as well?'
Again there was that knowing exchange of looks, mixed with a hint of impatience at Erlaan's questions. Eriekh gave Asirkhyr a subtle nod of approval.
'Our masters, the eulanui, once ruled this world,' said Asirkhyr, his breathing so laboured now that Erlaan thought the hierophant might collapse. 'They… lost their grip on this realm. Since that time, many thousands of years ago, we have endeavoured to bring about their return. When we are successful, it is better that there is an empire ready for the masters to rule, for should they need to create one for themselves, it would not go well for our kind.'
'Our kind? The eulanui's sect?'
'Mankind,' Asirkhyr said quietly.
'And before you ask about it, let me tell you of the city,' Eriekh said with a wheezing sigh. 'We have not created it from thin air. It has always been here, since it was first built. When the Mekhani's enemies ravaged their empire and the grasslands had become desert, Lakhyri chose to save the city rather than see it swallowed by the sands or razed by barbarians. We moved it to a safer place.'
'A place that is here, but cannot be visited by normal men,' said Erlaan.
Eriekh glanced back, pleasantly surprised.
'Yes, something like that.'
'And the Temple…' Erlaan thought aloud. 'That is here as well, and in the Grand Precincts, and I suppose many other places that are one step aside from the world I knew.'
Eriekh actually smiled at this.
'Your understanding is correct, Great King,' said the priest.
'I do not understand much,' confessed Erlaan. 'But these eyes you have given me, they let me see things… differently. There are spaces within spaces, coiled up tight within the grains of sand, like a whole city hidden in the crack of a brick. The world normal men see is a vast empty space to the eulanui, and it is in these vast gaps that they dwell.'
They had reached the summit of the ziggurat. Eriekh waved a hand towards the golden throne, whose back was shaped like a great bird of prey with wings spread wide. Erlaan ran his hand over the smooth red cushion of the seat, feeling every tiny fibre on his fingertips. He turned and sat down to gaze across the vast city in the desert. It was larger than Askh, radiating out to duskwards in a semi-circle of boulevards. He could see splashes of green where parks broke the procession of white domes and coloured roof tiles.
