Eona - Alison Goodman [59]
Then our makeshift raft broke loose and Yuso and I spun back into the deadly plummet downhill.
CHAPTER NINE
YUSO’S GRIP TIGHTENED, his body locking mine against the trunk, as we plowed relentlessly toward the ridge of the slope. The flood had leveled everything, churning the earth into a thick mud that gushed over the edge.
“We’re going over!” Yuso yelled. “Don’t let go.”
We sheared the tops of scrubby bushes and a bank of foul debris. For a moment the drop hung before us, its base obscured by a cascade of muck—and then we plunged over, heavy mud raining down on us as we rode the sliding, falling earth into the gully below.
Screaming, I felt my hold slip on the slimy bark. All I could taste and smell was dirt. Yuso’s body lifted from mine. I slid forward, groping frantically for a secure hold. Then his strong arms pulled me free and we were falling together, his yell loud in my ear.
We hit, the impact jarring us apart. Blindly, I rolled and rolled, my gown wrapping my legs in a sticky weight. I slammed against something hard. The brutal stop sent a shock of bruising pain through my back. Around me was the sound of loud slapping, and my own hard breathing. I spat out dirt and wiped my eyes, blinking the world back into bleary focus.
A nearby mound of mud resolved into the shape of a dead horse. Next to it was a drowned soldier, still holding his Ji in a death-grip. I sat up—too fast, my head spinning—and backed away from their glassy stares. Cold mud oozed through my toes. I had lost both sandals.
“Lady Eona? Are you all right?”
Yuso’s voice. I jerked around. He was only a few lengths away, buried up to his chest in a deep pocket of sludge. Only one arm was free, held awkwardly in the air. Behind him, mud rained down over the ridge: the source of the slapping sound. It was getting faster and heavier.
I started toward him. “Are you hurt?”
“Stop! I don’t know the size of this hole.”
“Are you hurt? Can you get out?”
He had to get out—I didn’t want to be alone in the middle of all this destruction. For all I knew, Yuso was the only other survivor. I briefly wished it had been Ryko who had saved me. Was the islander even alive?
I fought back a rise of panic. Was Kygo alive? Dela? I did not even know if Ido had survived Dillon’s drain of his power. Although he must have—otherwise, the ten bereft dragons would surely have torn me apart.
“I’m not hurt, but every time I move, I sink,” Yuso said. “And there’s nothing to pull myself out with.”
I took another step.
“No, don’t!” The force of his cry drove him farther into the sucking mud.
I tensed, holding my breath as the level settled under his armpits. “All right, I won’t come any closer. But we’ve got to find a way to get you out. The ridge is going to come down”—I glanced up at the steady fall of mud—“on top of you.”
Very slowly, he shifted his head back to look, then gave a low, desperate laugh. “Don’t suppose you could hold it back with some of that power I just saw?”
“It wasn’t mine,” I said, scanning the devastated landscape for something to throw to him. Everything was camouflaged by a thick layer of brown slime. My eyes skipped over the dead horse and soldier, then flicked back. The Ji.
“You mean it was all the boy’s power?” Yuso was talking softly but rapidly, holding back fear with words.
“No, it was the black book,” I said. “It bound us together.”
I felt an echo of the book’s burning power in my mind. Without Kinra, I would not have survived its onslaught. My breath caught; did I still have her plaque? I plunged my hand into the slimy pocket of my gown. The pouch was there, still safe.
Gingerly, I edged across the mud to the dead soldier, testing each oozing foothold. What if he wasn’t quite dead? What if he had become one of the Halbo, a demon spirit of the drowned? I lowered myself into a wary crouch beside the body, but it did not move or clack its teeth.
“So the binding is true,