The Wellspring (18 page)

“Do you think it’s a good sign or a bad one
that we haven’t heard a single war drum or stumbled into any
ancient traps?” asked Alan as he used a stick to poke at the outer
embers of their campfire.

“Personally, a little activity of some kind
would be better than this—anticipation,” Brenna complained with a
little shiver.

“You want someone to attack us?” scoffed
Yule.

“Not attack,” Brenna clarified. “Contact,
maybe a warning imp, just something apart from this—nothing.”

“There might be nothing because there’s no
one here to do any of those other things,” Jory ventured.

“That helped,” Brenna enthused with blatantly
false cheer.

“Settle down,” Marc scolded gently. “I
understand that it’s unnerving to find these monuments to a
civilization, but no civilization. This area may be untraveled in
present day, abandoned and forgotten since the Old War. Tomorrow
we’ll continue inland and maybe we’ll find answers to our
questions. Let’s get some sleep.”

“I’ll take first watch,” Hermes volunteered.
“Even if there aren’t any Archetypum hanging around, we know there
are big cats, and there could be other predators to worry
about.”

Marc nodded. “Wake me in two hours and I’ll
take second watch.”

“I’ll take third,” Alex volunteered.

“We will,” Alan corrected.

“Good, it’ll be dawn by then so next night,
Jory and Brenna can take first watch,” Marc volunteered them.

“What about Yule?” the redhead
complained.

“Do you think she can hold off one of those
big cats with a stick?” asked Jory.

“She’s right, I should help,” Yule
acknowledged. “I’ll stand watch with Hermes."

“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 yelp 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.”