* *

Where the fields ended, and from there on toward the point, had been
an expanse of glistening white. Rawson remembered it plainly. So now,
when he found it a place of flaming crimson, he stared in amazement.
Across the full width of the valley a brilliant carpet had spread
itself, a covering of flowers. A blossoming vine had sprung up in the
few days since his arrival and had woven a thick mat of vegetation.

He wanted to go on out to the extreme end of the point. There they
would be alone. But Loah objected when he started to enter the red
expanse.

"No!" she said in quick alarm. "We must not cross. It is the Place of
Death. We will go around it, following the hills."

"We crossed it the other day when it was a plain of white salt,"
argued Rawson.

"But now the flowers have come. Even now it might be safe--but when
they die then nothing can cross here and live."

Loah could not give the reason. Dean gathered from what she could tell
that a gas of some sort was formed, perhaps by the decomposing
vegetation. Perhaps it combined with the sparkling white shale. But
all this was of no consequence compared with his own problems. He did
not argue the matter but followed where Loah led.

"Where is the shell?" he asked, when they stood at last near the open
mouth of the great shaft into which the air was rushing. "Where is the
machine that we came here in? I wanted to see it--thought perhaps I
could use it later on.

"The jana--the shell, as you call it--is safely locked in a great room
of Gor's house. Not all understand its use; it must be kept away from
careless hands."

* * * * *

Then Rawson put that thought aside. He took Loah's hand and led her
some distance away toward the shore. Beyond a rocky, crystalline mass,
where fragments had been heaped, the sound of the rushing air was
lost; only the flashing emerald waves whispered softly on the shore
beyond. And there in that quiet place, under the brilliance of the
central sun, Rawson told her of himself and of the great outer world.
He told her of his work, of everything that had happened, of how he
was only one of many millions of men and women like, and yet unlike,
the People of the Light. And at last he knew that she understood.

He had spoken softly, though he knew there were no other listening
ears. Loah had been seated before him on one of the white blocks. She
rose to her feet. Her eyes were troubled. Vagu