OASIS CORE
The ruins of the world poked up like broken teeth from the sand. The wind howled, snagging at bits of trash that fluttered in the aftermath of destruction. Everywhere, the desert crept in, sand pushing through broken windows, drowning ancient towers that leaned crooked out of the wastes. The life that clung on was life of the most scraggly and ugly sort, little patches of yellow grass clinging to rocky islands in the sandsea, lizards warming their bellies on the sun-heated stones. Here and there, stagnant salt-ponds gave rise to strange, luminous lanterns of circular fungal bodies that rose up into the air, buoyant, tethered to one another by nets of yellowish vine.
Water was practically forgotten. The sky was bleak and blue, an endless expanse without clouds. The sun beat down. The air shook and shivered, wracked with mirage heat.
A man stumbled through the desert. His clothes were torn, and blood ran from his wounds. The weapons on his belt, a crude axe and a long machete made of scrap metal, could not help him. The only weapon that could, the canteen flask on his hip, was empty. Pierced by a stray blow.
Ahead an old garrison tower emerged from the sand, the wind snarling around its blocky, sun-pitted stones. The vagabond stopped to rest in a little patch of shade where some green life had managed to grow, grasses crawling up around fallen chunks of stone, making a garden in the rust and decay. A finger of sunlight ran past him and prodded at a reflective surface. A tiny amount of moisture that had trickled down from above to collect into a pool.
He dropped, his whole body shaking, and dug his fingers into the shallow puddle, the skin on his hands dry and desiccated, scarred and scabbed. He lifted it to his mouth, but most simply slipped between his fingers. There was barely enough to wet his lips.
The man sighed, and collapsed. The sun’s heat had burrowed into his skin, and he felt as if he was being cooked alive, even in the shade. His world blurred and began to turn grey. There was nothing left, and no hope of finding anything for miles if he did manage to stand up, if he did keep walking.
He tried his best. That had to be enough.
---
The sound of water. A cool, crystalline splash.
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A stone of aquamarine blue collapsed into existence, dozens of tiny sparks of light collecting together and becoming material, forming a rough-cut gem, a sapphire eye. As the core was born, a vapor emerged from its floating body, collecting into a turning disk like the ring of saturn, a floating river of condensate water in orbit around the glittering core.
A spring rain fell, bringing new strength to the little garden in the shadow of the ruins, thin raindrops pattering over the rocks, giving life and succor to the tawny desert grasses. The lizards were alarmed, frightened. They'd never seen rain in their short little lives.
The stone’s first thoughts were vague and sleepy. It had just come into existence, and that was a very tiresome thing to do.
Just… A few… More minutes…
With the spiritual equivalent of a yawn, the floating crystal dipped down, landing in the center of the shallow pool, now large enough to be called a pond. The water sparkled with reflected light, looking almost luminous.
Within the shadow of the ruins, a strange and beautiful light bloomed, a kind of light unseen on this world for decades, nearly centuries. The light of a pleasant sun reflected on cool waters.
---
When the vagrant opened his eyes and felt rain tapping across his face, little droplets spilling into his beard, he didn't believe it at first. This--
It had to be a dream, didn't it? A hallucination at the end of his life. Water doesn’t fall from the heavens, not anymore.
But he was so thirsty that dream-water would do, and he lifted a sparkling palm-full to his lips, and drank. There was nothing sweeter. It poured down his cracked throat like winter made liquid, and for a moment, his body ached worse than ever, as if that first drink had woken it up to what it had been denied for so long.
The first taste cleared away any doubt or worry this was only a dream. Soon he was drinking again, and again, until his stomach was stinging, overfull and unaccustomed to the sensation. His hands dripped. The man laughed, an animal sound, this hyena sound, because he should be dead.
Dead and happy to be dead, rid of this world.
Instead, this. A miracle.
For the first time he looked up and saw what the little garden in the shade had become. Tall, waving grass lifted from among the rocks, and the lizards scuttled happily about to play in the water. They were bigger than before, their green scales grown into heavy armor, the frills of their neck vibrant with purple and pink colors. They flicked their tongues and snatched up colorful dragonflies come to drink from the bounty of water below.
In the center of the pool sparkled a single, beautiful gemstone.
He almost took it.
His hand reached halfway out.
Then he stopped, and paused.
He’d taken enough.
Awkwardly, he climbed up to his knees, and bowed his head. He wasn't a religious man, exactly, but he knew when he’d seen a miracle.
“Thanks, I guess. Whoever you are.”
And then, his legs finding their strength, he climbed his way to his feet and left, pausing as he mounted the next sand dune to look back and see the light in the garden still shining behind him - a promise this wasn't all a dream after all.