Eona - Alison Goodman [57]
“Dillon, push it back,” I roared. “Push it back!”
A shrill animal scream cut through the booming rush. A horse broke out of a thicket near the churning wall, dragging Solly behind it by its reins.
“Solly, let go,” Vida yelled. She and Dela pulled the other two horses clear. “Let go!”
The stocky man released his hold and tucked into a ball, barely escaping the slicing hooves. The horse galloped past us—eyes rolling white—toward Ryko and the soldiers. All four men still stood gaping at the expanding water and debris, the horse’s pounding progress lost in the deafening rumble.
“Ryko, move!” Kygo yelled. But he was too far away.
The horse plowed into the middle of the group, stamping over Ryko and a screaming soldier. For a moment horror stole my breath; then the islander moved, rolling away from the frenzied beast. A few lengths away, the water swept up a chunk of mountainside in an explosion of cracking wood and earth.
Dillon looked up at his handiwork, his delight draining into sudden pallor. “It’s too big.” A fine spray of cool water wet my face and Dillon’s hair. He dropped my unbound hand, digging his freed fingers into his forehead. “It hurts,” he gasped. “Is it supposed to hurt?”
“Give me the book.” I dug at our pearl shackle. “Let me help you.”
“No!” He shoved me in the chest, pushing me back a step. “You want my power. Just like my lord.” He bared his teeth in a vicious smile. “Can you hear him? He’s screaming.”
I grabbed him by the front of his tunic. “Dillon, you can’t kill Ido. If he dies, we die.” I shook him. “Do you understand? We have to save him!”
“Save him?” Dillon spat the words. “I’m going to kill him. Before he kills me.”
His yellowed eyes bulged with hate. He would never save Ido. Never help me. I felt the roaring water around us falter, the fine mist gathering into drops that hit my face with ominous weight. Dillon was losing control.
I had one chance to get the book before he killed us all. But he was stronger than me in every way. What did I have left?
Sucking in a desperate breath, I slammed my forehead into his face. The impact jarred my head back in an explosion of bruising pain and streaming light. I heard Dillon howl as he recoiled, pulling me with him. Through a blur of tears, I lunged at the pale rope binding the folio to his forearm. My fingernails scraped the embossed cover and connected with the row of pearls. I rammed my fingers between gems and leather and pried open a gap, enough space to hook the rigid rope. My first yank loosened its straining resistance. On the second, half of the pearls lifted. Once more and I would have it.
I hauled, but instead of releasing, the pearls snapped back, clamping my hand against the leather binding. Dillon straightened, blood welling from a gash above his eye. Frantically, I tried to pull my fingers free, but there was no slack. Both my hands were bound to the folio, and the folio was bound to Dillon. His fist swung back, but I had nowhere to move. The savage undercut caught me in the delta of my ribs and slammed out my air. I doubled over, my breath locked in my chest.
I had lost my chance to get the book.
The pearls closed even more tightly around my fingers, sending burning pressure up my arm. Heat rose through me, unclenching my chest into gasping relief. Sour acid flooded my mouth as soft words seared my mind. The black book was calling me again, whispering ancient promises of perfect power—whispering a way to stop Dillon.
For a moment, the book’s treachery held us still, each caught in our own desperation.
“No!” Dillon screamed. “It’s mine!” His wild punches hammered my arms and chest.
All I could see in front of me was Dillon’s flailing madness and