S. Welles - To Ocean's End

“And it can’t wait ‘til morning?”

Roxie thought for a moment. “Sorry. No.” Without realizing it, she’d already opened the inner door and had a hand on the screen door.

Grandma set her pencil down. She frowned and stared at Roxie over the rim of her glasses, her frown lined by wrinkles. “You thought the answer was close last night and the night before. Go back to your room.”

“I can’t!” Roxie blurted, then cringed. Defying her grandmother was something she lacked the gall to do. She respected her grandmother’s judgment, and right now understood that wandering around cities at night was stupid. But tonight Roxie felt like she had no option but to go out.

Grandma rose from her chair, put her fist on her hips, and scrutinized Roxie, who noticed her grip had grown slick on the door handle. She wiped her hand on her capris and braced herself for the incoming berating.

Grandma took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “You’re lucky your eyes glow, or else I’d never believe you.”

Roxie felt the warmth behind her retinas fade, meaning her eyes had stopped glowing.

“Be careful.”

Relief blossomed in Roxie’s chest, but was replaced by an urgency to get moving. “I will.” She slipped out the back door, which screeched in protest as it swung shut, and Roxie headed into the forest, her eyes aglow once again. No wind rustled the leaves, and the crickets and tree frogs hushed themselves as she traversed their part of the forest. Roxie shot her glowing-eyed gaze in the direction of any minute rustling and twig scraping nearby but, to her relief, no raccoons, foxes or opossums decided to give her a heart attack.

Roxie reached the other side of the woods and entered a run-down section of Buffalo, a part she knew well enough from all her recent trips into the city. She wasn’t a big fan of cities, even though she’d been through those particular streets a zillion times without incident.

The pull guided her past the soup kitchen and its flock of homeless people, a collection of ragged dogs waiting for their next meal.

Minutes later, Roxie found an intersection connected to an alley without working lights. She couldn’t recall walking past a lightless street on previous wanderings. Common sense told her to go find another way, but the pull in her mind implored her in that dark direction. Okay, now my brain decides to lead me a different way! The pull had normally guided her to take a turn a couple of blocks ago, but not tonight.

Roxie made it to the middle of the intersection, half in darkness and half in light, when she saw the silhouette of a tall, muscular person that seemed to be looking straight at her. Was that a knife in his hand? The sight of blood all over a sidewalk flashed in her mind. She backed away, then started running.

Roxie just made it onto the sidewalk when someone grabbed her arm and forced her to turn around. She felt the delicate touch of something sharp press against her throat. Before she could contemplate her own mortality, or even how her attacker had managed to sprint across the intersection so fast, she almost went deaf. A thunderous bang from overhead echoed through the entire block, and a wave of wind swept out in all directions from where they stood. Streetlights flickered, then everything returned to normal. What the heck was that?

She’d reached to cover her ears but dropped her hands. “Please!” she begged. “Don’t kill me!” She felt lightheaded and started to slump in a faint, but her captor’s strong grip caught her arm. She heard a shuffling sound from behind, and feared an accomplice joining in on the catch.

Without letting go, her captor pulled her behind him and brandished his weapon in the direction of the shuffling. Roxie peered around his shoulder, level with her nose, and saw an aged man fidgeting under a tattered blanket. The hobo regarded both of them with a fearful expression. He raised his blanket to his chin and scrunched lower against the brick building. Roxie regarded her captor with equal fear, who then turned his head to check the intersection behind them. She noticed his eyes. They were glowing red.

His eyes glow too! She stared at them, unable to believe what she was seeing.

The big man released Roxie’s arm. “I’m not going to kill you,” he said in a voice that for some reason made Roxie feel safer. He secured his dagger in its sheath. “Is your arm all r—?” After taking a step back, he stood very still with his arms at his sides, and mouth barely open. He openly studied Roxie’s face.

Roxie gazed at the man’s face and watched his eyes lose their glow, just like she’d seen her own do countless times in the mirror. The first time she had seen her eyes glow was at age five, during a frightening thunderstorm. Her shocked grandmother had carted her to the bathroom to show Roxie her eyes. Young Roxie had blamed the glowing on the storm, despite what Grandma had said. Later on she learned the glow was linked to her emotions.

“Yeah, my eyes glow, too,” Roxie said. “Yours weren’t a trick of the street light or something, were they?” She sorely hoped not.

“No, mine work just like yours. Is your arm alright?”

Just like yours. This time Roxie’s mouth fell ajar. “No way!” She looked into the man’s deep blue eyes. “All this time… I’ve never seen… Man, I wish you could show me again. You don’t have any control over it either, do you?”

He shook his head. “It’s caused me problems sometimes,” he said with a rueful grin.

“Boy do I know that feeling.” Roxie had resorted to home schooling through eighth grade in order to spare herself, her peers and teachers, and Grandma a lot of awkward grief. She studied the stranger with the aid of a dim streetlight. The man was a half a head taller than she, bore a clean-shaven face and scalp, and had broad shoulders and lots of muscle. He wore a T-shirt, cargo pants and combat boots, all black, and he had a backpack and canteen slung over one shoulder. His belongings, along with the small sheath strapped to one arm, gave her the distinct impression that he wasn’t from her part of the world. But that didn’t matter. They were two of the same… something. “Are we aliens?”

“Pardon?”

“Aliens. You know: people from another planet.” As soon as Roxie said it, she realized how absurd she sounded. She felt her cheeks flush.

The man let out a soft laugh and shook his head. “No. We’re Aigis.”

“But you’re an alien, right?”

“No; just an Aigis.”

“Are you from Earth?”

“No.”

“Then that makes you an alien. What planet are you from? And why do you speak just like I do?”

The man laughed again. “I’ve learned how to quickly adapt to contemporary dialects. What’s your name?” Then, eyes widening as if he’d just remembered something, he took off his pack and laid it on the ground. He unzipped the side and started rummaging around.

“Rox, sir,” she replied. “And yours?”

“Aerigo.”

Interesting name. “What’s ‘Aigis’ mean?”

“Shield of the gods.”

Roxie stood dumbfounded, unsure how to interpret that information. “What’s that mean?”

“A lot of things. I’ve been looking for you for the past two weeks. I need your help.”

“Why?”

“I was instructed to find you and train you.”

“Really? By whom?”

“Someone named Baku. He’s our ally.”

“Bah-coo?”

“Correct.” Aerigo stood and turned to face Roxie, a glass bottle in his hand.

Eyeing the bottle, Roxie began to ask about what she needed to train for, but she cut herself off and instead said, “Wait! Two weeks?” That’s how long the pull in her mind had been bothering her. How much of a coincidence could it be if Aerigo had been looking for her just as long?