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“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?”
Jori thought a moment. There’d been so many throughout his life. Once he began his litany, it went on for some time. Mountainous villages in the east where his mother taught him to climb so they could see the tombs of the ancients. He learned how to wield a machete in the Amazon jungle during an expedition to find deep valley pyramids. Sand blown desert villages abandoned millennia ago. There was one visit to the far north, he shuddered and avoided that memory. He hated the cold almost as much as thieving polar bears. Other locations, other remote islands. All places that held ancient mysteries attached to them.
“And the beasts? You found them at each place?”
Jori smiled then, “No Ma’am. Not one.”
“Then why would you continue to travel to so many places, failing your purpose?”
Again, he thought about his response.
“My mother started us on these journeys, I never had the chance to understand why. But when we traveled, although we went to many places, she always took me into the vicinity of where the creatures were said to have lived. Maybe it was for safety? I couldn’t say for sure. We usually visited the villages in the general area, meeting the people and learning their cultures. There were incredible experiences to have grown up with and I count myself fortunate to have been exposed to so many different places and types of people.”
“What manner of creatures was she seeking?”
“They all seemed to be variations of dragons.”
“Your mother had a deeply ingrained obsession with dragons?”
Jori shrugged, “They were her passion, yes. She made a lot of art centered on them.” He held up his forearm, “I had some of her pieces turned into tattoos—this one here,” he pointed and traced the image, “seems to match the constellation in this territory, which isn’t visible anywhere else on earth that I’m aware of.”
There were a few murmurs among those gathered on the stands.
“And now that I’m in this room, the symbols on these banners look familiar. It’s possible they too are in her artwork.”
“If this is true, that would mean that your mother has knowledge of this place.”
“I would have to agree, Ma’am. But I wasn’t aware of this until after I arrived here and began to notice the similarities.”
Movement on the dais caught Jori’s eye. The queen raised a hand and one of her guard leaned in to hear her speak. The guard stepped forward “Madam Speaker, the queen wishes to know how old Jori Mountainside is.”
“Please answer Her Majesty,” the speaker said to Jori.
“Thirty-Two.”
The queen spoke to her guard again. “Madam Speaker, Her Majesty would like Jori Mountainside to approach the dais.”
The speaker inclined her head, and Jori’s escorts stepped forward. One opened the booth and moved aside so he could step down, then they both fell in place beside him as they walked around the speaker and approached the dais.
There was shift in the feel of the room as he moved toward the woman on the throne.
The hair on his arms rose and the air around him was alive like he was approaching high voltage generators. His lizard brain whispered ‘predator,’ which set him on edge. He forced his hands to relax at his sides, preventing them from curling into fists. As an afterthought, his gaze drifted along the wall of well-armed guards.
They stopped, and he looked up into the queen’s face.
She was beautiful, in a way that had little to do with the charge of power that surrounded her. Most arresting were her eyes; he was close enough now that he could see that the unusual color held an inner luminescence that denoted her as not quite human. She blinked and the glow faded, making her appear human again. With that distraction gone, he studied her features, which held some familiarity to them.
Had he met her before? The possibility was highly unlikely. That familiar nudge pushed at him, as it had the symbols on the overhanging banners. Had his mother painted or sketched this woman?
The queen’s eyes were glued to his face.
She stood.
The sounds of a room full of people behind him pulled at his attention. He didn’t dare turn around. He didn’t know if he was expected to kneel or bow or lower his gaze before her, so instead he stood as he was, feet planted at shoulder width, hands loose at his sides, waiting.
She stepped forward and down several steps, stopping so that she remained above him.
