The Wellspring (19 page)

“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 questions 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.

Two bronze columns described a terraced,
welcoming gauntlet between which it was apparent they should make
their way. Men and woman were interspersed equally, their brightly
colored pareos contrasting starkly against golden skin and long
black hair. Every woman seemed possessed of frank beauty and every
man fairly radiated health and physical prowess. Unlike the
Guardians, many of these men and women chose to adorn themselves
with flowers, bird plumes, shells and even precious metals and
gemstones to varying degrees.

The Guardians ascended and the expedition
team followed. Each sculpted face they passed turned upon them with
benevolence, blue or green eyes clear and unquestioning of their
presence, and oddly reassuring. Yule recognized the expression from
when she was a little girl, frightened by some new unknown and her
mother or father would soothe and comfort her fears with exactly
the same expression in their rich green eyes. As they ascended it
occurred to Yule that she didn’t see anyone with brown eyes, or
even hazel. While varying in shades of pale moss to richest
emerald, or arctic ice to unfathomable cobalt—every pair of eyes
they passed was clearly green or blue.

Yule imagined a psycho-archaeologist would be
deeply interested in the phenomenon, but she was more concerned
with the immediate matters at hand, trepidation growing in spite of
the paternal comfort in the rows upon rows of eyes. What if these
people practiced some kind of ritual sacrifice? What if her parents
found these people and were trying to escape with their discovery
only to be killed by these seemingly peaceful folk to keep their
existence secret?

Hermes touched the small of her back in a
gesture intended to convey his promise to protect her and Yule
wondered if he was reading her thoughts, sensing her emotional
turmoil, or if she was simply that easy to read. Her questions came
to an end when they reached the final level and faced another
plaza, though smaller, like the one atop the immense ziggurat upon
which they’d landed and in the center—

Yule and Brenna gave startled cries of fear,
both stepping back from the immense curve of a living eyeball!
Hermes caught Yule before she toppled off the upper step and Alan
prevented Brenna from colliding with Famowin.

“It’s only glass,” Jory told them, as much to
assure him as the women. He swallowed back the cry he nearly made
in unison with theirs.

The pupil was blackness eternal, focused upon
them. The iris glinted with the blues and greens of a peacock’s
plume, a mosaic of blue and green gemstones they saw as they drew
closer. The brilliant white of the outer eyeball was achieved by
ground coral rubbed onto a white chalk outer shell. Even as their
educated minds unwound the essence of the construction, their
instincts still warned that this cyclopean creation could see
them.

“Enter,” Famowin instructed. “The Guides
await.”

Marc glanced around at the others and it was
silently agreed that he would be the first to step through the
iris, which was in fact, a doorway covered with heavy drapes of
obsidian silk. One by one the expedition team filed after him into
the Eye.

Yule blinked several times as her eyes
adjusted to the lesser light within the curved chamber. Clouds of
small, shining creatures that circled endlessly near the highest
part of the chamber ceiling created this strange, aqua
luminescence. The Guides consisted of another man and woman, and
for a moment Yule thought Famowin and Miololis had winded in ahead
of them, then she noticed small differences in their aspects and
realized these were strangers.

“I am Honoa and this is Lualin,” the man
introduced them, his mouth also moving with the dubbed effect of
the translation spell. “We know who each of you are. Be seated.”
The center of the chamber was sunken and the floor of that area was
covered by carpets, the inner rim layered with fat, colorful
pillows. The Guides stepped into the sunken area and seated
themselves, waiting.

Marc looked around at the group and made a
small gesture that they should do the same. Yule and the others
cautiously stepped into the pit as if they feared it might collapse
into some hidden hole, but the floor remained solid and the pillows
were quite comfortable to lean against. In a short time they were
all settled in the circle.

“There is much to say, but little time in
which to say it,” Lualin told them. “We will give you the
information you need and we will make it as painless as
possible.”

“There’s going to be pain?” Brenna was
clearly not a fan of that idea.

Marc laid a comforting hand on the redhead’s
arm. “These are powerful people,” he explained. “The speed with
which they can disseminate information may be faster than our magic
allows us to accept it.”

“Everybody prepare for some friction burns,”
Hermes warned, and Yule saw the taut expressions on the people
around her. She started when Hermes took her right hand and gave it
a small squeeze. “Don’t worry. You didn’t feel anything when the
Guardians took our wholes lives from our heads so I don’t think
you’ll feel anything when thoughts are put in.”

“Was that supposed to be comforting?” she
asked wryly, receiving a rueful smile that suddenly vanished in a
rictus of pain as Hermes paled and his hand tightened on hers. The
expression was mirrored on every face in the circle save for the
Archetypum and—and hers! Yule felt nothing other than worry for the
people with whom she came, and she didn’t have any new influx of
memories either—

And the history of magic folk crashed upon
her like an ocean wave curving over to encapsulate an unwary
surfer.

Shangrilonn luxuriated under the tropical sun
like a big cat after a particularly satisfying meal. Beauty, grace,
and power showed in every wave on the beach, every breath of air
through the palms, and in every line of the astonishingly beautiful
people dwelling there. They were people of peace and introspection,
devoted to the positive aspects of magic, their Eye turned always
toward—

Atlantis, the younger, more impetuous
sister-island, seethed under a sun that warmed her toes to tropical
deliciousness, but left her head temperate. Handsomeness, fluidity
and strength manifested in every storm on its rocky shores, every
staggering edifice that rose above its tulip trees, and every
physical aspect of the savagely lovely people living there. These
were people much influenced by their closer, neighbor-normal folk,
and they dedicated themselves to amassing power and wealth, driven
by the fierce beating of the Heart.

As disparate as they seemed, Yule felt the
incredible bond between them. They were all magic folk, born of the
same Wellspring, bound on the same voyage in life, united in power
and ultimate purpose until—

War!

The shock and pain of it ripped so violently
through Yule that she moaned aloud and tried to back away from what
she saw. In their quest for power, the Throne of Atlantis tried to
seize control of Shangrilonn. And the golden people, peaceful, but
by no means powerless, rose up in defiance. Groves were drained dry
of power—entire Families became extinct—and when faced with the
imminent destruction of all of the magic in the world and the
people who worked it, the Archetypum united their power for a
single strike—tearing out the living Heart of Atlantis and
concealing it in Shangrilonn!