White Stag (Permafrost #1)(25)
The girl stood with her feet pointed inward and her elbow rotated toward the bowstring, one eye completely closed. Her arm shook as she struggled to hold the string against her chest.
I sighed. She wasn’t kidding when she said she was no good with a bow.
“Okay,” I said. “First, keep your feet straight. Don’t turn them inward toward your body. Your stance should be with feet parallel to each other or with closed hips.”
Rekke scowled, but nodded and straightened her stance.
“Also, keep your elbow level, don’t have it higher than the rest of your arm. Make sure it’s straight or else the arrow will go flying and you’ll bruise the inside of your arm.” I touched her arm, lowering it until it was level with the rest of her. “Keep your bowstring taut and change the anchor point from your chest to your chin,” I said, taking her hand and correcting her grip. “Make sure both eyes stay open—I know some teach you to shoot with only your dominant eye, but both eyes open increases the range of sight and strengthens the nondominant eye.”
She did as I said, shaking with the effort of holding the string back.
“Now, aim for the heart of that oak tree.” I pointed to a big tree a few meters away from us. “And shoot.”
She did. The arrow soared through the air and hit the oak tree with a dull thud. It hadn’t gotten quite in the heart, but it had been close enough.
Rekke grinned, showing sharp canines. Hel’s gates, why do they have to have such sharp teeth? The unease was washed away when the young she-goblin jumped in the air. “I did it!” she cheered. “All right, let’s try a few more times.”
* * *
WE SPENT THE hours until dawn shooting at every little thing that came in sight. Rekke was a fast learner, and each mistake I corrected was not repeated a second time. She kept getting closer and closer to her targets, until I was sure that if she handled a bow against an actual foe, they might have something to worry about. With a few years of practice, she could even be better than Soren, who while obviously skilled with the bow preferred his swords due to the problems his eyes had adjusting to light. That was if she even survived for another few years. I shook my head, not wanting such thoughts to weigh down the light feeling inside me.
As the sun started to peek over the horizon, we stopped. “We should get back before they miss us. And pick up some breakfast on the way,” she said.
I nodded.
But as we walked back, I noticed Rekke’s shoulders tense. She paused among the naked trees, and I stopped beside her, leaves crunching under my boots. “What is it?”
“I smell…” She frowned, unable to put a word to it. “I don’t know, something’s amiss.”
I inhaled deeply; the wind had a slight coppery tinge to it, almost like meat that’d been left out in the open too long. We were standing downwind so whatever it was, it was close. “Keep your weapon out, Rekke,” I said and started forward, an arrow already notched in my bow.
Rekke crept behind me, steps silent as a mouse. The rotting smell got worse as we went forward through a twisted patch of brambles and through a grove of skeleton trees. Near the trunk of one was a pool of dried blood. I looked up and swallowed when I saw the dead body of a goblin skewered and hung on the tree.
Rekke let out a gasp before containing herself.
“The Hunt’s first victims.” I bent to touch the dried blood. It was brown and cracking, maybe a day or so old. Ignoring the smell of death, I took another whiff of the air to see if any goblin scent remained. A bit of the sickly, icy smell lingered in the air. Along with a sweeter smell I couldn’t put a name to. “Rekke!” I barked.
“Yes?” She was shaking.
“Go back to the camp, get Soren and Elvira. The goblins who killed this one could still be around. Bring them here. I’m going to scout.”
“But you could be in danger too!” the she-goblin protested.
Not many of your kind would care about that. I shook the thought from my head. “This is the Hunt; we’re all in danger.”
Rekke nodded and took off the opposite way. I stood silently, trying to pinpoint where the sweet smell was coming from. My gut tugged uncomfortably. It was so strange and somehow so familiar. I stalked forward, bow still aimed before me.
Only when I saw the scent’s owners did I stop. A group of human men sat around what looked like a failed attempt at a fire. Fools. Normal fire doesn’t set in the Permafrost. My mouth fell open. There were humans in the Permafrost. While of course humans were brought to the Permafrost, going there of one’s own volition to hunt or explore was practically suicidal. There was a reason the creatures living in the Permafrost were so deadly. I couldn’t even recognize their scent as human, only something foreign. My stomach churned.
Despite their failure to light a fire, they were joking and conversing with each other, unaware of the danger of the land they were in. Stupid. The sweetness in the air burned my nose, and I held back a sneeze, not accustomed to the tickling sensation. The smell of other goblins burned my nose, but it was a good burn. This was uncomfortable. They were laughing, but not like how I’d come to know laughter. The sound roared deep from their bellies, scaring off any type of game in the area. It was unrestrained and free, unlike the held-back laughter of goblinkind, always wary that someone might hear. It was so unreal, so alien. But they were my people; I had to do something.