“Out.”
Eying both warily as he passed, he kept his back straight and squared his shoulders.
It was several days after the attack and escape of the large dragon outside his prison.
Obviously, things were still tense on the island.
All the way through the complex, he remained ready in case one of his prison guards decided lash out at him, but neither did.
They walked him along corridor after corridor through the belly of the citadel, then up several sets of winding staircases and along several wider corridors where the architecture was distinctly different from that of the lower levels. Here the ceiling rested on carved arches capping equally ornate pillars. The walls were covered in massive paintings and tapestries. It was like one of the castles restored to the medieval period which he’d visited in Europe. Torches flickering in sconces lined the path, and the smell of the burning pitch was heavy in the air.
He was led to massive double doors. His guard with the spear thumped her weapon on the stone floor and the doors slowly whispered open on well-oiled hinges.
His shoulders tensed as the room opened to him beyond the doors.
He stepped in. The air crackled. The sensation of power whispered over his flesh and slithered down his spine.
The cavernous room was full of light from the large arched windows. At one end, set against a solid wall, was a raised dais where stood an ornately dragon-carved throne occupied by the upright figure of a woman. She was surrounded by what was clearly her guard. The space between him and the dais was filled with a circular version of the House of Lords. A podium faced him with its back to the dais, and from either side of that, semi-circular rows of seats faced the central raised witness box.
He took a deep breath. This couldn’t be good.
His eyes drifted away from the faces turned toward him up toward the banners hung from the ceiling. The familiarity of the symbols nudged him like an old memory.
His guards walked him to the enclosed witness box in the center of the room. As he made his way along the room, he realized he was the only man. The gate was opened for him to step up into it. It was made to face the speaker at eye level. The queen looked on from above her, her expression one of mild curiosity.
He was grossly under dressed in his khakis and Beatles tee-shirt.
He dropped his gaze and bowed before her.
He straightened, hiking boots planted at shoulder width, head high.
Maybe now he’d get a better understanding of what these people were all about. He’d barely been spoken to since he was ‘rescued’ from the little island that he now thought of as his and Kymri’s. Given what little he’d seen of the people here, and Kymri’s protective attitude over her people, and that his trip had led him straight to a prison, he hoped they weren’t going to decide he could spend the rest of his life there.
From his earlier interactions with Kymri, he understood now that his plan to document the legends of this culture put them at risk. And after having seen the beasts in the skies around his prison, he knew why.
Would they even consider letting him go home? He wasn’t optimistic, especially not when he considered the expressions of nearly every person in this room. It wasn’t looking good for him at all.
Kymri had pulled a knife on him over some batteries. The guards were armed. These people weren’t peace loving hippies. They have something great to protect. He swallowed, his head level as he faced the speaker and the queen, adopting the expression and posture he’d learned from his father when meeting a new semester of students at the university.
Don’t show an ounce of fear or they’ll eat you alive.
He drew in a deep steady breath, letting confidence and patience descend over him. His mother’s curiosity simmered below the surface. He was at the very heart of their culture. Not as an observer, but an experiencer.
He resisted the urge to look for Kymri among the unwelcoming faces. He hadn’t seen her among the other women. The desire to see her rose up so hard and fast within him he clenched his fists to control it and focus his attention on the proceedings before him. His life likely depended on it.
“Jori Mountainside, you have been brought before Her Majesty’s Council for the purpose of determining your motives in entering our territory uninvited.”
Fair enough.
The speaker launched into a summary of what he supposed was Kymri’s account of their interactions. Reports of his location were read out to the room at large. He wasn’t sure how they would know that as he hadn’t seen a single person other than Kymri, until his escort arrived the day he was moved off the small island. Then he recalled the mystery birds, and how they very likely were the beasts he’d seen outside his prison. Were they sentient enough to provide reports with that kind of detail?
The recounting went on, and his cheeks burned when the subject of his deepening relationship with Kymri was orated. His eyes darted to the queen; her curious gaze turned amused. He hadn’t expected that to be part of the report. He drew a deep breath to clear his surprise embarrassment, returning his attention to the speaker’s monologue.
“We have brought you here to account for these actions and provide your perspective of these events.”
He swallowed, considering how much to say. If he lied or held back, would they feed him to one of the beasts? He shuddered at the thought of being impaled on the spiked teeth and crushed by the powerful jaws.
The speaker’s brow rose at the long moment of his silence.
He cleared his throat, “the report is correct. That is what happened.”
She nodded, accepting his statement. “Why are you here, Jori Mountainside?”
Those were the words Kymri had asked him. Why was he there?
“I flew out over the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of Charleston, South Carolina to determine if the myths of the Bermuda Triangle and the mysterious beasts residing within it were true.”
No one spoke, waiting for him to continue.
Why?
He thought over his next words, “The plane I flew belonged to my mother. She bought it when I was a child, and it was the beginning of our adventures together. We traveled around the world, exploring mystical myths and locations, often traveling by that plane. My father wanted me to become an academic like he is. But after my mother disappeared 20 years ago, continuing on these explorative journeys were a way to keep her memory alive. So, it became my calling. I started doing video diaries and making documentaries. I record everything I do and photograph every place and its people so that it can be compiled into a book to be published and shared with the world. The income helps fund more projects like the one I intended to do when I ended up here.”
“You came here to exploit us for your personal gain.”
He jerked, stung.
“Madam, that’s not how I saw it when I took off from Charleston.”
“How did you see it?”
“I thought I might, if I was lucky, spot some ‘dinosaur age’ creature that would scientifically account for the mythical beasts. As for a potential culture—if anything, maybe an abandoned island with weather-worn hints of ancient peoples etched into the crumbling stones.” He swallowed, his throat as dry as the week he’d spent in the Sahara after his camel ran away. “I never thought I’d find both alive and thriving.”
“What places have you traveled to?”