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Were these people an undocumented culture? He found it hard to believe they were, and yet, the ‘legend’ of the Bermuda triangle wasn’t just a legend for him anymore. There really was something that affected digital and magnetic equipment. And given Kymri’s attitude about protecting her people...
Maybe he’d hit the treasure chest of discoveries.
Outwardly, he maintained his impassive stance, looking straight ahead to where they were pulling up to dock. On the inside, he was roiling havoc. It was real, or he was delirious after too long on the island.
His eyes scanned the docks for Kymri. She was nowhere in sight. Her lack of presence tempered his excitement with concern.
Jori’s escort led him through the harbor front, by-passing a central market. Markets were one of those places that stood the test of culture and time. Stalls, colors, sounds, smells. The market thrived with trade - they obviously weren’t a completely closed society; some stalls had books, magazines and newspapers, while others had jeans, sneakers and various other types of clothing, and one entire stall was dedicated to cosmetics— bright shades of nail polish pulled his attention. The colors reminded him of Kymri. The small sampling of the population which he could see were all dressed in loose cotton clothes in every color one could think of.
There was no time to see much else, as he was led directly to a path that climbed up toward the citadel. As soon as he passed through the thick gate posts most of the city sounds fell away, and the roar of the ocean became muffled beyond the stone barrier.
Walking some distance along a cloister around an open courtyard with fruit trees and walking paths, he was taken through another gated wall to a low building resembling a barracks - or a prison. His heart dropped.
“These will be your accommodations until the council decides otherwise.”
The door closed behind him. The lock sounded unnaturally loud in the confined space.
He stared at the room. As far as prisons went, it wasn’t so bad. The room was fairly wide, with a bed, table and chairs. Plenty of fresh air and light filtering in through the stone lattice lining the upper portion of the wall. Despite the fact there were no windows facing outward, he could hear the sea beyond. He dropped his backpack on the bed. Through a side door, there was a semi-open space, walled in the same stone lattice. Light and air passed through, but visibility was hindered. A low, sloped roof sheltered the space from the intense tropical sun.
He hoped they would bring him something other than fish and coconuts to eat, if they fed him at all. For all he knew they’d taken him here to forget about.
He drew in a deep breath, deflecting thoughts of imprisonment.
He’d get through this. He always did.
A third door opened into a small, rough bathroom. He kicked off his shoes, worked the levers to get the water flowing, then stripped down and reveled in the first shower he’d had in forever.
“Tell me which barracks he’s in.”
“Not until they’ve finished searching his vessel and the reports are in.”
“You won’t find weapons, I already searched it.”
“We will see.”
Kymri scowled, pacing the office of her superior, Guardian Liaison Launia.
“Sit. Don’t push your luck, Kymri, my patience only extends so far.”
She cast her a glance, quickly reading the seriousness of her statement, and settled into the nearest chair so they could still talk.
“Your mother has been to see me.”
Kymri didn’t respond.
“She’s working to have you reinstated as soon as all of this passes.”
Her brow went up. “I know you’re close friends, but she meddles too much.”
The older woman shrugged, “She means well, and only wants what is best for you Kymri.”
“Does she? I wonder sometimes that she can see beyond her own ambitions.”
“Careful, now.”
She swallowed her next retort, turning her attention back to the wide-open windows.
“If there’s nothing found, you have nothing to worry about—you know this,” Launia said.
