The Wellspring (15 page)

“That’s the point I’m trying to make—you
wouldn’t know unless someone spilled the beans about him.” The
exasperation showed in his tone. “But can you have an instinct for
that? Wouldn’t your intuition toss a massive red flag at you?”

“Mine very well might,” Yule told him, having
given up trying to fathom where this line of questioning was
leading. “I’ve always had a fair instinct about stuff like that.
I’d probably kick him in the balls then go out for drinks with
Hermes to vent.” She wondered if she imagined him wince at
that.

“Charming, but I don’t believe the majority
of women share your insight—or sense for swift justice. In fact, I
would swear they wear sleep masks when they’re being—led astray
sounds too sheep-like.”

“Played?” suggested Yule, stoically.

“Yes, played. Urban, but apropos.” His lips
described an unbendable line of bronze. “Why do they run like
lemmings to the cliff’s edge, then cry foul when they realize
they’re in over their heads?”

Silence followed. He wasn’t looking at her,
he was watching the pareo draped woman endlessly pour her sparkling
crystal offering into the sapphire pool that reflected the sky
endlessly gazing upon it.

Yule saw this, intensely aware of the playful
breeze ruffling the man’s dark curls, feeling the same breeze
teasing up her legs, under her skirt. “I suppose some women are
attracted to danger,” she quietly ventured.

“And the rest are simply blind to it,” he
added, equally quietly.

Yule was about to offer a sharp retort to
that when she realized he hadn’t taken his eyes from the fountain.
What the hell was so damn interesting? She imagined it was old,
possibly ancient considering where it stood, and she admitted it
was effectively rendered, almost lifelike, from the slender hands
clasped firmly on the subtly phallic urn, to the folds of the pareo
clinging to her rounded curves, to the long hair curling loosely
over competent rather than excessively slim shoulders—and Yule
smiled, moving closer to see the face of the fountain maid. She had
a sudden inspiration that this sculpture was created from reality
rather than artistic fancy and to look upon the memorial of her
face would be akin to gazing through an ensorcelled mirror into the
past—and so she felt oddly uprooted and cast adrift in her own mind
because what she faced was exactly like looking into a mirror.

“That’s—that’s
me
!” she gasped.

“Imagine my shock when I saw you in my office
foyer,” Prosser spoke quietly from directly behind her. He slipped
his arms around her waist and whispered into her ear. “I only
half-believed the legend until that moment.”

“Legend?” Yule repeated, feeling as if she
were sinking into the sapphire pool, too lightheaded to fight to
the surface.

“Since magic cannot be created or destroyed,
where does it come from when we are born, and where does it go when
we die?” Sheirienu replied with a question as she entered the
center of the maze from the opposite side of the pool.

“And all of those Groves that have lost their
power—where did that power go?” Prosser whispered seductively into
her ear.

“No one. . . .knows,” Yule replied with a
faraway voice, uncertain she was speaking aloud until she received
a reply.

“There are all kinds of theories, but the
Tahain Grotto knows the answer,” Sheirienu told her certainly from
where she stood on the opposite side of the pool and she swept an
aristocratic hand toward the fountain. “The Wellspring.” Her hand
became a pointing finger and slowly traced a path to Yule. “You are
she, the Wellspring.”

“And I will be the Font, from which all the
power in the world flows,” Prosser told her as she sank into soft
midnight blue darkness. Yule wanted to tell them they’d made a
mistake, that she was a Stunt and if there was a more wrong place
to look for all the power of the world she didn’t know it. But the
blue enfolded her and took her thoughts away to gentle, wave washed
shores.

Where she was drowning! Stupid lemming! She
thought as she thrashed wildly to keep her head above water. Just
had to jump off that man-cliff, didn’t you? And see what it got
you?

“Stop fighting me!”

Why would Prosser be shouting at her in
Hermes’ voice? He was doing enough shouting in his own.

“She isn’t yours! I’m her destiny!”

Yes, that, and a lot of swearing too. And was
that Sheiri screaming at someone?

“Back off, Tahainian bitch!” Marc
shouted.

“Marc?” Yule fought her way up from the
depths of unconsciousness to discover Hermes and Marc standing in
the pool holding her between them. “What the hell—?”

“She’s awake!” Marc shouted.

“Yule, hold your breath!” Hermes ordered, and
she didn’t have time to ask anything more as the two men dove
toward the bottom of the five-foot pool—

And they fought to the surface in a lagoon of
teal and richer greens, startling colorful fish that darted away
from the sudden presence of humans in their midst. Yule had too
many questions savaging each other to comprehend any of them so she
locked them down in cages and focused on getting to the pink sand
shore, collapsing on her belly between the two men, panting.

Pink?

There weren’t any pink sand beaches—well,
there were, but only on..."The Shelf!” she gasped, struggling to
her elbows.

“It’s all right, this beach was swept years
ago, it’s safe,” Marc assured her, referring to the procedure used
to magically clear an area of spell-created weapons and traps.

“It’s safe? I’m safe?” Yule heard her voice
rising as she got to her feet, but was unable to stop it. “What the
hell is going on? What was going on at Atlantis? How did I get to
the Shelf?”

“Calm down, Yule. We brought you here,”
Hermes maintained a calm tone as he got to his feet beside her.

“We? We?” she demanded.

“One more we and she’ll have cried all the
way home,” Brenna’s smug remark brought Yule’s head around with the
speed of a striking cobra, but the smile did not become less
smug.

Standing beside her, Jory elbowed the willowy
redhead. “He means all of us, we brought you here,” he
explained.

And now Yule noticed two more things; the
Falmont brothers stood on the opposite side of Brenna, and all four
of them were pale. Even Brenna, despite her smug expression. She
looked at Marc and Hermes and corrected herself—all six of them
looked like hell.

"You brought me here from Atlantis? The six
of you pooled your power?” She received a nod from Alan Falmont.
“Why?”

“Because you were about to be offered up as a
sexual sacrifice on the Tahainian altar,” Marc explained.

“And as hot as that kind of ritual can be,
you’re not ready for it,” Hermes added.

“Not to mention it would make Prosser the
most powerful man in the world,” Jory inserted helpfully.

“Allegedly,” Hermes interrupted, looking from
Jory to Marc. “You still haven’t convinced me of that.”

“We can prove it,” Marc assured him. “All we
have to do is find the Archetypum.”

Silence.

Waves rolled up the beach. Seagulls wheeled
overhead occasionally crying. Yule usually thought they sounded
plaintive. Right now, she was sure they were having a laugh. Palms
rustled in the trade winds and Yule finally decided she could speak
without hysteria.

“And right after that we’ll have a look
around for Santa, the Tooth fairy, and Buddha,” she said dryly.

“Buddha was a real person,” Jory tentatively
ventured.

“Yeah, but he’s dead so he isn’t likely to be
hanging around here, is he?” she snapped irritably. Jory looked at
his feet. “I want someone to explain why the Tahain Grotto thinks
I’m the freaking Tooth fairy.”

“The Wellspring,” Jory corrected her before
ducking behind Brenna at a glare from Yule.

“Except for being a Stunt, you’re a pretty
good candidate,” Alex offered.

“Hey, watch your mouth,” Hermes cautioned
Alex.

“I wasn’t trying to be insulting,” he
replied.

“Alex is right,” Alan added. “She looks just
like the damn fountain. She could have posed for it.”

“So they want to have sex with me on a rock
because I happen to have a resemblance to a chunk of marble?
Clearly the Tahain Grotto has an excellent stash of drugs and they
know how to party,” Yule remarked incredulously.

“That isn’t the only reason, of course,” Alex
sounded offended on behalf of the Tahain Grotto. “There’s your
lineage, the placement of your Family Grove on the power map of the
world and how it aligns with the celestial charts—”

“Really?” Yule was surprised, but she waved a
hand. “Okay, that’s all pretty interesting, but as you pointed out,
I’m a Stunt. Stunt trumps Wellspring, right?”

“As interesting as this debate is, we need to
get off the beach before some broadcaster leaks a query to the
gossip channel questioning why my expedition was seen so far from
its base camp on a thoroughly swept portion of the Shelf,” Marc
interrupted. “Let’s get back to camp, change clothes, and rest
before we go into the jungle.”

The Falmont brothers were still strong enough
to wind them all back to base camp then they, Brenna, and Jory
immediately sought the shelter of their individual tents to rest
while Marc pointed out the shower tent to Hermes and Yule
suggesting they get started while he found clothes for them to
change into.

By virtue of clever temporary piping, the
shower tent took advantage of a natural hot spring, directing
concentrated water flow into individual canvas stalls and Yule
allowed the water to ease the tension from her bunched muscles
while she slowly went over the flurry of recent events. Simply
assuring the Tahain Grotto that she wasn’t the Wellspring wouldn’t
suffice. When fanatics got an idea into their collective heads,
hard proof was all that would convince them they were mistaken and
the only way to do that would be to cooperate with them. She felt a
funny tension between her legs and told that part of her there was
no way in hell she was climbing onto an altar with Prosser
Teomond.

And why was Hermes agreeing to go on this
fairy hunt? Not that the Archetypum were fairies, fairies never
existed, but they were equally nonexistent now. It would be like
humans looking for living mastodons in a downtown mall. Sure, they
existed once, but the last historically accepted account of an
Archetypum was over ten thousand years ago, before the Sunder. He
didn’t believe what the Tahain Grotto purported—did he? But what
about Marc? She considered what he said to Hermes and frowned under
the spray of water.

Marc sounded like a believer.

“Marc left clothes for us on a bench right
outside the stalls, honey,” Hermes told her through the canvas,
making her jump. “Do you want me to wait for you?”

“No, you go ahead,” she told him. “I still
need to brush out my hair. Jory told me where our tent is. I’ll
find it, and I’ll try not to wake you.”

“The way I feel, a mastodon could stroll
through and I wouldn’t hear a thing,” he assured her on his way out
and Yule started at that. It was as if he’d been reading her
thoughts, but Hermes would never do that—would he? She shook her
head, turning off the water and getting out of the shower, wrapping
a towel around her body. It was just a coincidence, she didn’t need
to start doubting her closest friend. She collected the khaki
ensemble and hair brush (probably one of Brenna’s), and stepped
into a dry shower stall to change.

Footsteps outside the stall made her think
Hermes had returned for her and she began to pull back the stall
curtain when she froze, eyes wide. His back to her, Marc Woodmont
was peeling off his ocean soaked clothes in preparation to take his
own shower. She would have alerted him to her presence immediately,
but he’d already dropped his pants and she was staring at the
muscular globes of his perfect backside! She quickly and quietly
closed the curtain and told herself she could get out of there once
he started his shower.

She finished drying off and pulled on the
shorts and matching shirt, which were slightly too big, making her
sure one of the men volunteered a set of clothes since Brenna’s
would obviously never fit her. Everything about her was long and
sleek and built for speed, like a racecar. While Yule was—what? The
family minivan? She shuddered. Come on, you’re better than that,
you’re like a—luxury town car. I may not go as fast, but I’ve got
all the toys to give the most comfortable ride possible. She
started to giggle at her self-advertisement then clapped a hand
over her mouth. Marc is right across the divide from you! But in a
second the water spray started and she sighed in relief. He hadn’t
heard her. Now to make my escape.

She gingerly parted the curtain to peek
out—and froze like the marble fountain she so closely resembled. He
hadn’t closed the curtain to his stall. Barely eight feet away from
her, his back currently turned toward her hiding place, Marc
Woodmont stood naked under the spray of hot water!

Her eyes roamed guilty over his muscular
back, following a rivulet of water that tracked down his spine and
into the cleft of his firm buttocks. She felt her mouth go dry and
knew she had to get out of there, but wouldn’t he see her if she
moved? Then he was the one who moved, turning toward her, his head
tossed back, under the spray of water. Streams cascaded over his
broad chest, through the almost blonde patch of chest hair, down
over flexing abs, briefly pausing at his navel before parting
around the half-hard flesh nestled in a thatch of pale cocoa
hair.

You have to stop watching! she scolded
internally. What if you were the one showering and he was peeping?
It’s wrong and—oh, my Grove, what is he doing with his hand? she
asked silently as his right hand massaged his chest with liquid
soap then slid lower to firmly scrub his defined six-pack. Please,
don’t go lower! she silently begged. There’s something wrong with
my eyes and I can’t stop watching you so please, don’t go
lower!