The Wellspring Page 14

  “That’s settled, let’s sleep,” Marc finished, lying back against his backpack, folding his arms and closing his eyes.

  Brenna touched her arm and whispered an insect repellant charm before lying on her side, using her fashionable backpack as a pillow. And one by one, they all settled for the evening except for Yule and Hermes who rose and walked a little distance from the fire where they turned and Hermes stretched out a hand to the tiny encampment, speaking a protective spell that would dissuade most creatures from approaching the sleepers.

  ***

  “Follow me.”

  That was Prosser Teomond’s businesslike tone and Yule looked around, confused. These were his offices, not the jungle, and she blinked, momentarily confused. Prosser was a few feet ahead of her, going into his private office, and what had he told her to do? Follow him? She glanced around nervously, but none of the office personnel seemed to notice her so she hurried after him.

  "And shut the door,” he called over his shoulder as he went to his broad mahogany desk. Yule did as she was bade only because she was still confused about how she’d reached his office. Had he winded her there? She closed the door and turned to him, but her questions froze on her lips when she noticed the massive brass four poster bed presiding over the right side of the office.

  Prosser leaned indolently against his desk, watching her.

  Yule immediately averted her eyes, turning them toward her feet, feeling her cheeks burn. She wasn’t wearing the hiking boots, or the khaki gear. She wore a dainty pair of black pumps, no hose, and a dark green pencil skirt.

  "Drop your handbag and take off your clothes."

  Yule raised startled eyes to him. “I—I’m sorry?”

  “Don’t be sorry, simply do as you’re told.” His expression remained impassive, as if he’d asked her to fetch a book from one of the shelves. “I believe in the economy of speech with my—employees,” he explained. “I want there to be no doubts or room for interpretation when it comes to my orders. You’ll discover it beneficial if you don’t have to think too much.”

  “I think there’s been some mistake,” Yule apologized, hands clasped tightly on the little handbag she held just in front of her crotch like an unconscious attempt to shield that part of her even though his eyes remained fixed on hers.

  “Has there? Your application seemed concise enough and when we spoke I was convinced you wanted this position—very much. You knew the parameters before you came so you will do as you are instructed or you will be escorted off the premises. In that event the only mistake you’ll have made is not doing what you were told—and I’m told regret leaves a bitter taste on the tongue.”

  Yule willed her fingers to release the little handbag and it fell to the carpeted floor with a muffled thump, barely making a sound on the heavy pile. She watched her fingers rise until they vanished from sight at the collar of her almost Victorian blouse and she closed her eyes as her fingers struggled with the tiny pearl buttons, pushing each one free, exposing inch upon inch of quivering flesh with each abandoned button. Finally she reached the last one and paused, momentarily comforted by the thin, lacy white bra fairly glowing against her jungle-tanned skin as it peeked through the parting of her blouse, but she regretted having chosen the underwire support because it pushed her already full breasts up like an offering. She looked down and watched her unwilling fingers tug the blouse hem free of the waistband of the skirt then she unbuttoned the little cuffs around each wrist, slipped off the blouse and clutched it in front of her breasts.

  She felt the heat of his gaze and knew what he wanted her to do, but could she do it? She didn’t know if she could stand him being disappointed in her. Yule opened her hands and the blouse fluttered free like a silk winged moth. Her gaze still on the floor, she raised her hands to the front hooks of the bra, cheeks burning hotter with each clasp coming undone. She finally shrugged off the shoulder straps and the bra fell to the floor behind her. She kept her arms crossed at her chest even though she knew that wasn’t what he wanted.

  "That isn’t satisfactory, Miss Fiore,” he quietly chastised. “Lower your arms.” There was no please in his sentences or in his tone. He wasn’t asking, and he expected obedience. Yule slowly lowered her hands to her sides. “Were you afraid I might not like your breasts? They’re full, soft, and completely natural, just as they should be. I’m not a fan of caricature breasts perpetually pointed at the sky by implants.” He cleared his throat. “Continue with your task.”

  Yule’s shaking hands moved to the back of her skirt, unfastening the clasp and wincing at the long, slow buzz of the zipper in the overpowering silence of the office. The tightness of the slim skirt gave way and fell in a little fabric puddle at her feet. She stepped out of the little black pumps and daintily pushed aside the skirt with her toes.

  “White panties?” Prosser’s voice lost its dispassion and was teasing.

  “Magus?” Yule asked, wondering why he seemed amused. “They’re a set.”

  “Yes, of course. That makes more sense, but in the future you will wear black panties or none at all, regardless of your bra color.”

  "I—I don’t understand,” she confessed.

  “Given the position for which you’ve applied they’re hardly suitable, but I shouldn’t have been so surprised, given your lack of education.” His tone became impatient. “You won’t be entitled to them much longer and your understanding of it doesn’t matter. Continue.”

  His tone made it clear she was taking too long to accomplish her task and she hoped it didn’t mean disqualification for the job. She slipped her thumbs under the lacy waistband of her panties. She felt incredibly stupid that she couldn’t remember the position for which she’d applied. Yule unconsciously choreographed the tilt of her upper body to the sweep of her panties as she pushed them down the tanned curves of her thighs, standing on one foot then the other to step out of them.

  She stood in the middle of the office trembling with embarrassment as Prosser’s eyes slowly traversed her body from head to toe and back again. Was she supposed to do anything?

  “I understand you initially sought a position in the military, but this is not the body of a soldier before me.”

  Yule flushed at that. “I stopped training when I decided not to enter,” she explained. “But it won’t take too much time in the gym to get back into shape!” she hastily added self-consciously.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he scolded her. “If I wanted to look at ripped biceps and cut abs I’d flip through a fitness magazine. You have the soft, inviting curves a woman should have,” he assured her. “This is an instrument of pleasure you’ve brought to me—it only requires tuning.”

  Yule was about to say she didn’t understand, but she remembered what he’d told her and held back the remark. Something in his expression told her he approved and she felt real happiness tickle her spine. He held out a hand to her and she stepped immediately forward, giving her hand to him and allowing him to pull her close so that she stood with her legs straddling his. Gently, he took both her hands and raised them to her shoulders.

  “Interlace your fingers behind your neck,” he instructed, and she did, the position feeling awkward and wanton to her because it made her breasts jut out at him. “Now we can begin the interview process.”

  “Now?” In the back of her mind Yule imagined this would have been less complicated if they’d met for lunch at a café, but her capricious thought was interrupted by a sharp slap on her right buttock and her surprised eyes focused on his stern brown ones.

  “Yes, now. I want you to tell me exactly why you wish to work for me and how it will benefit me and you will not stop or become distracted no matter what I do.” This was an admonishment and Yule’s face flushed the same pink as the handprint on her buttock. “Do you understand?” This too was a jibe, but delivered in a gentler tone.

  “Yes, Magus. I understand.”

  ***

  Another sharp swat to her backside caused Yule to y
elp and sit up abruptly, looking around at the others who were breaking camp.

  “I was wondering if I’d have to dunk your head under the waterfall,” Hermes teased, clearly the one who’d swatted her. “It couldn’t have been that good a dream, sweetheart. You were talking about a job interview.”

  "Really?” Yule sighed and dug a hairbrush from her pack, quickly taming her locks and trapping it in a ponytail. “I don’t remember. Why can’t I have your dreams?” she complained to Hermes.

  “You can,” he assured her. “But first you’ll need to be a gay man.” He kissed her cheek. “Get your things together, we’re going inland.”

  They were ready to go in short order, having breakfasted on cereal bars and fresh water, and were beginning to string out toward the stone steps when they all stopped in unison, staring. Sunlight coalesced in an eye-watering sphere at the head of the steps. They shielded their eyes and Yule could make out a pair of darker forms within the glow that became clearer as the glow faded.

  The man and woman were of equal height, perhaps a little more than six feet tall. Both had masses of black hair that flowed loosely over pale golden skin all the way to their knees. The woman wore a butter yellow pareo tied at the neck that hung to her ankles, the thin fabric clinging to the voluptuous curves of her body. The man wore a macaw scarlet pareo tied at his waist that also fell to his ankles leaving his broad, muscular chest bare save for a talisman on a gold chain hanging around his neck. Their eyes were almost inhumanly large and heavily lashed; the woman’s were the color of the tropical sky above them while the man’s echoed the rich sylvan depths behind them. Their feet were bare, their hair unadorned, and they bore no weapons visible to the small group of explorers. Yule wondered who was going to make the first attempt at communication when all of her companions gave inarticulate cries of pain and staggered back from the placid couple, leaving her standing alone to face them.

  “Whatever you’re doing, stop!” she cried out, desperately casting about for some means by which to protect her companions and finding nothing close at hand that she could use as a weapon.

  The other members of the expedition gasped in unison, in relief, and slowly straightened, paler and unnerved. They didn’t string out in a line this time, but clustered loosely together except for Hermes, who immediately returned to Yule’s side.

  “Are you all right?” she asked anxiously.

  “Yeah,” he exhaled as if recovering from exertion. “I don’t think they were attacking us.”

  “Then what were they doing?”

  “Reading your lives,” the strange woman replied and Yule experienced a moment of unreality. Although the woman’s lips moved, her voice didn’t correspond. It was like watching a poorly dubbed foreign film.

  “It’s a spell,” Marc explained. “She’s speaking her native tongue, but broadcasting to us in English so that we can understand.”

  “If she can translate it to English, why doesn’t she just speak it?” Yule asked, eyeing the austere woman suspiciously.

  “I do not speak English,” the woman replied even though Yule hadn’t addressed her. “The spell is intuitive and provides understanding for all of us.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well—it’s creepy,” Yule wouldn’t be intimidated and the man and woman exchanged a brief glance. Hermes laid a comforting hand against the small of Yule’s back.

  “My name—” Marc began, stepping forward.

  “Marc Woodmont,” the woman interrupted. “We know all of your names.”

  Brenna moaned as if in pain. “They didn’t read our lives, they read our minds! They stole our thoughts!”

  Jory blanched. “That’s why it hurt so much.”

  “All of you fought to conceal yourselves from us and so there was pain,” the woman conceded. “But we did not create the pain.”

  “All but one,” the man’s voice was like the distant roar of the ocean, his fathomless green eyes fixing on Yule.

  “That’s because she doesn’t have the power to protect her mind,” Brenna remarked bitterly. “Looks like being a Stunt finally had a positive side to it.”

  “Brenna,” Marc chastised.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Yule told him, feeling charitable toward Brenna because she’d just had her head split open and she figured that was something most magic folk were unused to since protecting your mind was among the first spells learned.

  “My name is Miololis,” the woman told them.

  “I am Famowin,” the man’s gaze hadn’t left Yule and she felt uncomfortably sure that he was introducing himself specifically to her.

  “We didn’t come here with ill intent,” Marc told them.

  “We know,” Miololis acknowledged. “And we did not intend for you to experience pain, but your barrier spells reacted badly to our reading. You must understand it was your own spells, not ours, that created the pain you felt.”

  “I don’t suppose it occurred to you to stay out of our heads and just ask questions?” Alan snapped.

  Famowin’s eyes moved to him and Alan flinched. “No, it did not. You are the strangers here,” he said this without animosity.

  “We needed to know you,” Miololis explained. “Before allowing you to see our home.”

  “That’s—reasonable,” Marc grudgingly allowed and Yule sensed he still stung from their easy access of his mind.

  “What we learned makes us curious as to what you think you will find here, but we are willing to be accommodating,” Miololis continued. “Please, be welcome.” The same glow in which the couple arrived now enclosed the expedition party, but from within they were not blinded by its brightness.

  Accustomed to travel by wind even though she was incapable of creating the spell by which is was accomplished, Yule was still unprepared for the alacrity of their travel and by retaining vision throughout. Normally there was an odd darkness between where you left and where you arrived, but one moment they were standing at the feet of the Goddess and the next moment they stood on a stone plaza.

  No, not a plaza, she corrected herself, staggered by the view. This was the top of a massive ziggurat—and it was not alone.

  To varying degrees of lesser heights, sibling ziggurats, most supporting lavish tropical gardens on their levels, surrounded this largest, eldest giant on all sides. As if in a dream, Yule slowly walked to the stone balustrade flanked by the expedition members who were equally dumbstruck.

  “Welcome to Shangrilonn,” Famowin announced without fanfare, as though he greeted them at a retail store’s entrance, but without the artificial enthusiasm.

  Far below—Yule guessed between fifteen to twenty stories—wide, tree lined avenues of emerald grass described symmetrical streets between and around the fantastic structures. Figures moved along these thoroughfares, but more commonly—tiny globes of golden light winked on and off in the streets, on the staircases, and in the gardens all over the city. The effect was like looking at distant, twinkling stars or flecks of gold in a miner’s pan. Sights had often been described as breathtaking, but until now Yule didn’t fully appreciate the expression. Her chest began to burn before she realized she was holding her breath and she exhaled then quickly sucked in a fresh lungful of intoxicating air.

  “It’s beautiful!” Yule finally gasped, feeling that description inadequate to the point of insult.

  Marc couldn’t drag his eyes from the incredible view as he spoke. “I should explain why we’ve come.”

  “We know why you are here,” Miololis told him.

  “They read our lives,” Hermes reminded Marc under his breath.

  “The Guides have assembled,” Famowin told them. “We shall deliver you to Second Staircase where you will ascend to the Eye.”

  “Or we won’t,” Hermes declined, turning his back to the glorious view, gazing defiantly at the impressive couple.

  “Hermes!” Yule gasped in dismay at his rudeness.

  “No,” he told her firmly. “This is all moving way too fast. I want a few questio
ns answered.”

  “On the contrary,” Miololis corrected him. “We have waited uncounted years.”

  “Waited for what?” Marc was distracted from the view.

  “Yule,” Hermes said simply. “They’ve been waiting for Yule.”

  “What?” Yule exclaimed.

  “Her? Why?” Brenna’s incredulity wasn’t lost on Yule in spite of her own surprise, nor was the reason for it; what in the world could these powerful, amazing people want with a magically stunted loser like Yule? For once, Yule didn’t feel a spark of anger at the thought of being a Stunt because it was true. And if she had no magic to offer them, what did they want from her?

  “Brenna,” Marc automatically chastised.

  “It’s all right,” Yule intervened. “She’s got a point,” she added, surprising Brenna. She stared defiantly at Famowin, who was still regarding her with too much interest, she thought.

  “Before we go anywhere with you, I want to know who these Guides are, where Second Staircase is, and what is the Eye?”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t make them angry,” Alex cautioned, even though the attractive couple remained stoic.

  “We haven’t come to cause trouble,” Alan supported his brother. “We came looking for—” He broke off, uncertain that he should admit for whom they searched.

  “We might as well say it out loud,” Hermes seemed to challenge the pair of tall sentinels. “We’re looking for some very special, specific people.” His dark chocolate eyes moved from the woman to the man. “Are you the Archetypum?”

  “We are Guardians, not Guides,” replied Famowin. “We do not hold congress with visitors. We deliver them to the Guides once we determine their intent and level of threat.”

  “But we’re not a threat!” Jory protested.

  “We know,” Miololis acknowledge with such assuredness that the group instinctively moved together.

  “Now we will bring you to Second Staircase,” Famowin informed them, and before anyone could protest further the golden glow encompassed them all and when it faded the stood upon a flight of stone steps nearly a story up the face of a five story ziggurat. That relocation wasn’t what gave the members of the expedition pause for concern.