Ocean Galaxy Light Balls
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The first time I saw the Light Ball, it was a tiny white dot on the horizon. The second time, it was a little bigger and slightly higher in the sky, but still just as hard to make out.
Then it grew into the size of my fist, then larger than that, until finally, I could see its spherical shape clearly—a perfect sphere about the same diameter as my own head, or perhaps even smaller, for it floated so far above me that it made no impact at all upon the sea and yet had an effect like that of a massive boulder.
It glowed with a pale luminescence; it seemed to be glowing brighter as my mind’s eye watched it grow in size, and when it was big enough for me to discern individual colors within the ball, each color represented a different light.
There was a yellowish tinge around its outside rim; inside that were several concentric circles of brilliant red; beyond that was blue, a dark indigo that was darker than any night sky I had ever seen—the blackness of space itself; and then there was green.
It was like looking up at the universe through the most powerful telescope I had ever laid eyes on, except that this instrument of observation was floating right over the water in front of me.
I felt as if I should have been scared by such a vision, but instead, my heart pounded in excitement, for here was proof that what I had always thought was possible was actually true: we live in the future!
I was sure of it now that I knew that people who lived a thousand years ago might have witnessed something very similar, though, of course, they would not have understood exactly what they were seeing because their minds did not know how to comprehend a world where everything could be explained in terms of physics.
But the more I stared at this incredible spectacle, the less fearful I became, and eventually, I realized that if I kept my attention fixed on it, I could almost forget about the danger of being stranded alone on an alien ocean in the middle of nowhere.
“What are you doing out here?” said a voice behind me—one voice, speaking many tongues. At least I think that’s what she said, though I couldn’t understand a word. “This is not your world anymore,” she continued. “You can never come back.”
But how do you know? I wanted to say, except of course that I had no words for that sort of thing.
“Your world has passed away,” the woman told me. She spoke the tongue of those who lived in this part of the globe—or maybe one of the languages from the far side of the world where her own people came from—and I didn’t recognize anything other than English among what she had said.
But I recognized the language immediately after that, as soon as she finished talking—because she was addressing a group of people on shore, who all looked like they had just come from a long trek overland. “You will all die here,” the woman said.
And I wondered whether she meant that these men and women would all perish as a result of the shipwrecking, or perhaps that some of them already had perished before they were washed up on this shore.
“How did you survive?” I asked. I was trying to keep the conversation going, hoping that if I pretended to understand what she was saying, she’d go on chatting with me, but apparently, she couldn’t see my lips moving. Or maybe she thought it was rude of me not to say anything while she was talking.
“We escaped,” she answered. “But we cannot stay here any longer than necessary—it’s too dangerous—so we’re heading inland.”
“Where’s that?” I asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said impatiently, and I guessed she must have been annoyed that I hadn’t responded immediately. “There’s no point in discussing it.”
I waited for her to tell me which direction we should start walking, but she didn’t seem to want to talk anymore. So I decided to try asking about something else: “So, what’s your name?” I asked.
For some reason, the woman turned her back on me and walked away. Her companions all followed suit, and they left me standing alone on the beach with my mouth open and my eyes wide, wondering what had just happened.
It took me some time to get control of myself again, to calm down enough to realize that although it might have appeared as though I had conversed with the woman, I had only understood a single word out of her whole sentence and that one word was spoken in a language I didn’t know. The rest of the conversation had been lost on me completely.
But I wasn’t about to lose hope that I was hearing the voices of my ancestors, even if I had only gotten a glimpse of them for a moment. My mind was racing with ideas about what else I might have missed, so I decided to ask the next woman who came along—the same blonde-haired lady I remembered from before—whether the woman with a British accent had said anything else.
But she didn’t seem interested in answering questions; instead, she started walking away toward the village. She stopped to look back at me once, but then shook her head and kept walking.
“Hey!” I shouted after her. “You didn’t answer my question.”
She stopped and glared at me. Then she turned around and went off in another direction entirely. When she was no longer anywhere near me, I sat down and leaned against a large tree stump.
What had just happened? I was positive that I had been talking to someone, even though I couldn’t recall a single word they’d said. What had made me think that? Was it my imagination, or was I really having conversations with some of the people who lived a thousand years in the past?
Had I imagined hearing English, even though it had been foreign to me? If that wasn’t true, what did it mean? What was I supposed to do? Where was I supposed to go now? I felt confused and disoriented.
A little while later a man came walking my way, and I saw his face right away because he was carrying a large pack on his back. As soon as he caught sight of me, he began walking over, though he looked kind of surprised to find me there.
He was tall and lean and wore a white tunic with blue trim, and a sword hung at his waist. His hair was thick and black, and there were several streaks of grey through it, as if he had recently turned fifty. He seemed to be about forty years old, but that could have been my imagination as well. I’m not good with ages and ages and ages.
His eyes widened when he got close enough to see that I was naked. They darted all around my body, but they never actually settled on what they were looking at until I stood up. That was when they finally locked onto my crotch. His eyes grew wide and full of alarm, and he took a step backward.
I realized he probably thought I was some sort of beast; that was what the villagers had done, after all. And maybe that was why he kept glancing back toward the woods, making sure nobody was following him. It didn’t take long for him to decide that nobody was, however, and then he approached me again.
“I don’t know where you come from,” he said in English, “but we do not speak your language here. Please stop speaking it. We are trying to live in peace with ourselves, without your filthy foreigners around us.”
He didn’t sound angry, exactly, but there was certainly an edge to his tone, as though he knew I was wrong somehow, or that I didn’t understand how things worked around here. I was pretty much speechless. I couldn’t believe the guy would speak to me like that.
He was acting as though I were some kind of barbarian who didn’t belong anywhere near these people. But maybe he really was from another land, and maybe he was a lot nicer than the others I had already met.
I wasn’t about to let him walk all over me, so I stood up and squared my shoulders. I took a deep breath and tried to keep my voice steady and even because I wanted to appear as dignified as possible.
“Listen,” I said, “maybe you didn’t notice this earlier, but I’m standing right here. There’s nothing dirty about my being naked. You should get used to seeing naked people around here, whether they’re male or female, young or old.”
“We don’t care how you look, we just want to be left alone.”
That was definitely more than a hint of anger in his voice. It sounded like it had grown into something closer to rage.
“You can leave all alone if you want. Nobody is forcing you to stay here or to live among us. Just go on home, or go somewhere else altogether. This place isn’t big enough for everyone and it will only cause problems for everybody if you make yourselves even more unwelcome here than you already are.”
He stared at me for a long minute, his mouth open and his hands clenching and unclenching by his sides. Then he opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. After a moment he closed it again, and his shoulders slumped forward, as though I had taken away his reason for living.
Finally, he turned around and went back the way he had come. I watched him walk off and then turned back to the village.
After a few minutes, the woman who’d talked to me walked over to me and knelt down next to me. She was dressed similarly to the man, only instead of a tunic she was wearing a skirt that went nearly to her ankles, and she was barefoot.
Her skin was dark brown, almost olive-colored, and she had the same thick black hair that her husband did. Her smile was warm and friendly as she gazed at me.
“I am Marisa,” she said, “and that man who frightened you was named Tomas. He has always been a little…strange, and sometimes he takes offense at the strangest things. Now, if you will excuse me, I must prepare the evening meal. I hope we shall meet again. Would you care to join me tonight? It might be nice to have another guest besides Tomas around our table.”
I glanced toward the man, who was still staring angrily away in the direction that the stranger had gone, and shook my head.
“No thank you, but perhaps sometime in the future we could talk.”
She bowed slightly to me, then returned to the house before either of us could change our minds. I stood there for a minute watching her walk away. The sun had dropped lower in the sky, leaving the clouds above it lit up orangey gold and crimson, and the light reflected off them and made everything sparkle in the late afternoon.
All around me the villagers were busy with their daily chores; chopping wood, carrying water from a well up a hill, gathering nuts from trees and bushes, and hauling them back down. I had to admit that I envied them for having such simple lives. They had no idea how lucky they were, and maybe it was better that way.
They were going about their business when I started walking through the village. No one seemed to pay me any special attention; I suppose they weren’t used to seeing naked men walking around. One or two of the children ran up to me and called out, “Hello! Hello!” and waved their arms.
I smiled and waved back to them and they all scampered off into the shadows under the huts, laughing happily.
As I walked farther along the path, I noticed a young boy about my age coming toward me carrying a basket full of fruit.
“Hi there!” he shouted over his shoulder. “What do you think?” He held out his basket as though offering me a taste test.
“It looks delicious,” I said, nodding toward his basket. “Where’d you get it all?”
“From my mother’s garden,” he replied proudly, “and I picked the berries too. Can you carry it all to my mother for me? She told me to bring them to her as soon as I got home.”
“Sure. What’s your name?”
He grinned up at me. “You know my name, it’s not very hard.”
“I’m Jake,” I replied. “And you are?”
He paused for a second, his face scrunched up in concentration as though he was trying to remember. Then he shrugged his shoulders.
“You can just call me Jake if it’s easier for you.”
I laughed and shook my head. “Sorry, I couldn’t do that to you. You’re a good kid, don’t ever forget that.”
He blushed and nodded, his eyes growing round with surprise at my sudden outburst. Then he looked down and took hold of the handle of the basket, looking up at me shyly.
“Okay. Thanks, Jake.”
I took a quick look around, making sure no one was watching, then bent down and picked up the basket before hurrying after him. By the time I caught up, I saw that he was already halfway across the village so I followed behind him until I reached a large hut.
It was painted bright red, like most of the houses here, with green trim and roof tiles that matched the paint. There was a wooden porch with three benches on either side of it, and on top of them sat two women. As I approached, one of them stood up and waved at me. The other stayed where she was, watching me intently as I came closer.
The first woman wore a simple tunic and leggings that showed off her shapely legs, and as I drew near to her I could see that she had a small waist and a firm pair of breasts beneath her thin top. Her hair was blonde, short, and curly, and her blue eyes were sharp and intelligent.
“Hello, Jake!” she said with a broad smile. “Didn’t I tell you that you would be coming this way today?”
I chuckled and nodded to her. “I’m sorry. It slipped my mind. Are you Maria?”
She smiled wider at me. “Yes, I am Maria. And you may call me Mother.” She gestured to her companion, who stood up slowly and walked out onto the porch to greet me.
“Jake, I would like you to meet my oldest daughter, Anna. She is the one you are supposed to marry.”
She looked me up and down as if examining me for any flaws, and I felt embarrassed under her gaze. Then she stepped forward and extended her hand toward me. When I reached out and took it gently, she pulled me close to hug me quickly. I didn’t know what to say at first, but after I pulled back and smiled awkwardly at her, she gave me another smile before turning away.
Mother turned back to me and smiled widely. “Well, let me take these wonderful berries inside so my mother can start cooking them for dinner. We will eat in an hour or so, but please come and join us if you have time.” With that, she went back into the house and began picking up the scattered fruit from the ground while Anna followed close behind her.
I stood there for a few minutes, just watching them, thinking about all the things we had in common. Both our fathers had died during the war. Neither of our mothers were alive anymore, having been murdered by soldiers during the uprising against British rule.
But despite all of that, both Maria and Anna lived in relative safety, free to go wherever they liked without worrying about being attacked by raiders or other dangers.
It took me less than an hour to get home, walking through the village until I came upon the house that belonged to my father and stepmother, Mary and John. It was much bigger than any of the other homes and had more windows to light it up better.
They had built it together after they got married, and now it was just the two of them living there, along with their three children—my older brother, Thomas, my younger sister Sarah, and myself.
The End