Read Online The Pillars of Creation by Terry Goodkind - Free Book Online
Authors: Terry Goodkind
Ads: Link
lives.
Jennsen picked up the bowl with the few remaining pieces of fish, tucked it under her cloak, held her breath, and, lowering her head against the onslaught, dove into the roaring rain. The cold shock of the downpour made her gasp as she splashed through the dark puddles on her dash to the house.
She made the house, her wet lashes turning the dim light of the oil lamps and firelight coming through the window to a blinking blur. Without looking up, she threw the door open as she ran in.
“It’s cold as the Keeper’s heart!” she called out to her mother as she raced in.
Jennsen’s breath left her lungs in a grunt as she crashed into a solid wall that had never been there before.
Rebounding from the collision, she looked up to see a broad back turning, to see a huge hand snatching for her.
The hand caught only her cloak. The heavy wool cloak stripped away from her as she fell back. The bowl thudded to the floor, spinning like a crazy top. The door bounced back from hitting the wall, banging closed behind her, trapping; her, just before her back slammed into it.
Gasping, Jennsen reacted.
It was wild instinct, not deliberate thought.
Jennsen .
Terror, not technique.
Surrender .
Desperation, not design.
The man’s blocky face was clearly lit by the fire from the hearth. He plunged toward her. A monster with stringy wet hair. Straining sinew and muscle twisted in rage. The knife in her fist whipped around, powered by stark terror.
Her cry was a growl of panicked effort. Her knife slammed into the side of his head. The blade snapped at midlength as it hit his cheekbone. His head twisted from the impact. Blood splashed across his face.
Swinging madly, his meaty hand walloped her face. Her shoulder hit the wall. A shock of pain lanced her arm. She stumbled on something. Thrown off balance, she tumbled past her footing.
Her face smacked the floor beside another of the huge men. He was like the dead soldier she had buried. Her mind grasped at snatches of what she was seeing, trying to make sense of it. Where did they come from? How were they in her house?
Her leg was draped over the man’s still legs. She pushed herself up. He was slumped against the wall. His dead eyes stared at her. The handle with the ornate “R,” sideways below his ear, reflected sparkles of firelight. The point of the knife jutted from the other side of his bull neck. He wore a wet red shirt.
Surrender .
With cold fright, she saw a man coming for her.
Gripping her broken knife, she scrambled to her feet, turning toward the threat. She saw her mother on the floor. A man held her by the hair. There was blood everywhere.
Nothing seemed real.
In a nightmare vision, Jennsen saw her mother’s severed arm on the floor, fingers slack and open. Red stab wounds.
Jennsen .
Panic ruled her mind. She heard her own short, choppy screams. Wet blood, splashed across the floor, glistened in the firelight. Whirling movement. A man slammed into her, driving her to the wall. She lost her breath. Pain crushed her chest.
Surrender .
“No!” Her own voice seemed unreal.
She slashed with her broken knife, ripping the man’s arm. He bellowed a vile oath.
The man holding Jennsen’s mother dropped her and made for Jennsen. She stabbed wildly, frantically, at the men around her. Reaching hands shot toward her from all around. A huge hand clamped her thrashing knife arm.
Surrender .
Jennsen gasped a cry. She struggled savagely. She kicked. She bit. Men cursed. The second man seized her throat in iron fingers.
No breath. No breath. She tried—couldn’t breathe—tried desperately—but couldn’t draw a breath.
He sneered as he squeezed her throat. Pain shot up through her temples. His cheek, slashed by her knife, laid open from ear to mouth, ran with gouts of blood. She could see glistening red teeth through the gaping wound.
Jennsen struggled, but couldn’t pull a breath. A fist slammed her stomach. She kicked him. He seized her ankle
Jennsen picked up the bowl with the few remaining pieces of fish, tucked it under her cloak, held her breath, and, lowering her head against the onslaught, dove into the roaring rain. The cold shock of the downpour made her gasp as she splashed through the dark puddles on her dash to the house.
She made the house, her wet lashes turning the dim light of the oil lamps and firelight coming through the window to a blinking blur. Without looking up, she threw the door open as she ran in.
“It’s cold as the Keeper’s heart!” she called out to her mother as she raced in.
Jennsen’s breath left her lungs in a grunt as she crashed into a solid wall that had never been there before.
Rebounding from the collision, she looked up to see a broad back turning, to see a huge hand snatching for her.
The hand caught only her cloak. The heavy wool cloak stripped away from her as she fell back. The bowl thudded to the floor, spinning like a crazy top. The door bounced back from hitting the wall, banging closed behind her, trapping; her, just before her back slammed into it.
Gasping, Jennsen reacted.
It was wild instinct, not deliberate thought.
Jennsen .
Terror, not technique.
Surrender .
Desperation, not design.
The man’s blocky face was clearly lit by the fire from the hearth. He plunged toward her. A monster with stringy wet hair. Straining sinew and muscle twisted in rage. The knife in her fist whipped around, powered by stark terror.
Her cry was a growl of panicked effort. Her knife slammed into the side of his head. The blade snapped at midlength as it hit his cheekbone. His head twisted from the impact. Blood splashed across his face.
Swinging madly, his meaty hand walloped her face. Her shoulder hit the wall. A shock of pain lanced her arm. She stumbled on something. Thrown off balance, she tumbled past her footing.
Her face smacked the floor beside another of the huge men. He was like the dead soldier she had buried. Her mind grasped at snatches of what she was seeing, trying to make sense of it. Where did they come from? How were they in her house?
Her leg was draped over the man’s still legs. She pushed herself up. He was slumped against the wall. His dead eyes stared at her. The handle with the ornate “R,” sideways below his ear, reflected sparkles of firelight. The point of the knife jutted from the other side of his bull neck. He wore a wet red shirt.
Surrender .
With cold fright, she saw a man coming for her.
Gripping her broken knife, she scrambled to her feet, turning toward the threat. She saw her mother on the floor. A man held her by the hair. There was blood everywhere.
Nothing seemed real.
In a nightmare vision, Jennsen saw her mother’s severed arm on the floor, fingers slack and open. Red stab wounds.
Jennsen .
Panic ruled her mind. She heard her own short, choppy screams. Wet blood, splashed across the floor, glistened in the firelight. Whirling movement. A man slammed into her, driving her to the wall. She lost her breath. Pain crushed her chest.
Surrender .
“No!” Her own voice seemed unreal.
She slashed with her broken knife, ripping the man’s arm. He bellowed a vile oath.
The man holding Jennsen’s mother dropped her and made for Jennsen. She stabbed wildly, frantically, at the men around her. Reaching hands shot toward her from all around. A huge hand clamped her thrashing knife arm.
Surrender .
Jennsen gasped a cry. She struggled savagely. She kicked. She bit. Men cursed. The second man seized her throat in iron fingers.
No breath. No breath. She tried—couldn’t breathe—tried desperately—but couldn’t draw a breath.
He sneered as he squeezed her throat. Pain shot up through her temples. His cheek, slashed by her knife, laid open from ear to mouth, ran with gouts of blood. She could see glistening red teeth through the gaping wound.
Jennsen struggled, but couldn’t pull a breath. A fist slammed her stomach. She kicked him. He seized her ankle
Similar Books
