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people as well."
"Just look at them," Yoshida whispered, nodding towards the half dozen men
riding across the open steppe ahead of them. "Do you see any like us? No! I
see only people who look like Westerners."
"But I've seen no Westerners or black men, or Orientals, either," Imada
replied. "It seems like all the races were blended here to form one."
"But do you see any like us--any of the divine race of the sun?"
Imada shook his head.
"There, that proves it then," Yoshida said, as if he had presented an
unshakable argument. "We are alone here, surrounded by enemies, and our own
leader has sold us out."
Imada couldn't reply. Unlike the world he had left, this one at least did not
seem to be driven by any racial hatreds. If there was illogical hatred, it
seemed to be fueled by who followed which god or demigod.
They rode in silence for some minutes. After nearly a week out, Imada was
finally getting used to being mounted. He would have preferred to fly like the
single sorcerer who hovered above them as air protection, but he knew that
riding was part of their training. Air patrols might be more fun, but the only
way to really patrol a border was by mounted units which could see every
detail of the land up close and spot a track or sign missed by someone only a
dozen feet above.
The mounted patrol crested a low hill and halted. The flankers, far to either
side, rode in to join the rest of the group.
"The Golka Springs." Urba, the group leader, pointed towards a virtual garden,
blooming in the middle of ocean-like steppes.
The oasis was tucked into a narrow fold of land, and its warm scent beckoned
to them. It was a smell heavy with the promise of water, flowers, and quiet
repose.
The Tab needed no urging. The sweetness of the spring water was known to them,
and they were eager to reach it.
"We'll camp here tonight," Urba announced, "and start back for home tomorrow."
The Tals went straight to the nearest pool of water, and were drinking even
before their human companions had dismounted.
Imada felt that he was walking in a dream. The oasis was a riot of blooms that
completely covered the ground and coiled overhead, hanging down from the
branches of the trees, forming a cooling canopy of shade.
The shadows of evening had long drifted into the mantle of night. Yoshida had
the first watch, and the rest of the patrol was already asleep. But the
seductive beauty of the oasis would not let Imada rest. He could remember the
scent of the courtyard garden at home in the spring. He could remember sitting
in the moonlight, dreaming of what he would be when school was done, dreaming
of having a lover to sit beside him in the evening stillness.
Rising from his blanket roll, Imada slipped out of the encampment. Yoshida
barely nodded to him as he walked into the darkness. The sound of running
water attracted him, and he pushed through a sea of flowers to the edge of a
small pool fed by a tiny waterfall that cascaded down from another pool above.
The pool glowed with a soft phosphorescent shimmer that seemed magical. The
night air was warm, each breath a delicious joy.
Slipping off his clothes, Imada stepped into the pool. To his surprise it was
not cold but warm, as if heated. Lazily he floated out. Lifting his arm out of
the water he laughed with amazement as the shimmering water rolled oft him, as
though light had turned liquid.
For what seemed eternity, Imada drifted, letting the warmth wash away his
fears, his memories.
A hand touched his shoulder.
He turned, splashing, ready to cry out. A girl floated beside him, her head
above the water.
"It is said that the Golka springs," she whispered, "can enchant until all sad
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memories drift away, like snow melted by the morning sun."
She drew closer to him, and before he even realized it, her lips brushed
against his. Then, laughing softly, she pushed away.
She was the most beautiful woman Imada had ever seen, and her red hair floated
around her like a darkened halo. He wanted to ask who she was, why she was
there, but he almost feared that if he spoke, she would disappear.
Her face shimmered in the pool's soft phosphorescence, and her dark eyes
smiled at him. His gaze lowered and he saw that she was as naked as he.
She drew closer, and this time her arms drifted around him.
Smiling, she kissed him again, with a searching passion that made the blood
pound in his ears. Imada had been too embarrassed to join in the parties back
at the castle; he had wanted things to be different. And now this mystery, who
had seemed to drift to him out of a dream, coiled her body about his.
He felt the sandy bottom beneath his feet as the two of them stood chest deep
in the water, locked in passionate embrace.
Her hands drifted down his arm, her lips slipped away from his for a moment,
and he saw the wristband
holding his protective crystal drop into the water.
For the first time he spoke to her. "You shouldn't," he whispered. "I've been
told that I should never take it off."
"To protect yourself from me?" she asked innocently, and she leaned forward
again, kissing him eagerly, her body pressed up against his.
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