The transfer to the next tree a few minutes later, a western hemlock, went more smoothly. She got to stand and hoist herself up onto the new branch this time, which felt less frightening than dropping down.
Now she could see more of the goblin village. It reminded her of one of Kit’s sculptures, except evil instead of lovely: a junkyard’s worth of boards, scrap metal, and lights, probably held together more by magic than by nails. The things bouncing around on it and screeching at each other emphasized the ghoulish atmosphere. This was her first look at the goblins in person, and though she was still too far off to see them clearly, she could tell Skye’s drawing had accurately captured their repulsiveness.
One more tree to transfer onto, then the next move after that would be the drop onto the goblins’ decks. Livy kept glancing at the lair as she scooted along. Though it made her want to scream in agony, she was trying to decide which of those knobby creatures was Skye. The tribe did seem to pay special attention to a pair who was rolling around and rutting against each other, snarling at anyone who tried to join in. Grady and Skye, quite likely. A nauseating thought. Although not as nauseating as the idea of it being Skye and some other goblin.
Livy forced her aching thighs and bruised knees to speed up. Soon it came time for the drop onto the next tree, a spruce. In her hastiness to reach Skye, she dropped onto the branch without bracing her feet properly, and they slipped on the icy, curved bark. With a shriek, she plummeted under the spruce branch. She held onto it with her hands, but not securely enough; she hadn’t had time to find an ideal grip, and the moss was peeling off, crumbling away, under her gloves.
“Oh God, oh no no no,” she sobbed.
A powerful gust of wind surged through the forest. The trees swayed and sighed; tiny ice pellets struck her cheek. The wind lifted another branch just under her feet, holding it there long enough for her to shove her boots against it and push herself higher, wrapping her hands in a stronger grasp around the spruce branch. She hauled herself up onto it and clung to it, gasping. “Thank you. If that was you, air fae, thank you so much.”
Maybe they honestly wouldn’t let her fall, then. But she wouldn’t count on it. She crawled the rest of the path with extra caution, testing each patch for ice before shifting her weight onto it.
Finally she reached the end of her path, three or four feet above the outer railing of the goblins’ decks. The section below looked deserted at the moment, as most of the tribe was frolicking in the large central deck some twenty yards along, to her left. But other goblins could lurk in one of these huts atop the decks. She couldn’t see inside them, beyond a few glimpses through cracked, mismatched windows. Some huts were dark, while firelight glowed in others. On the outside walls, the goblins had strapped machetes, axes, bows and arrows, and other lethal tools, the way normal people hung kayaks and paddles upon garage walls.
So many ways they could kill her.
The golden frog zoomed into view. “Well done, Olivia Darwen. Dawn is in mere minutes. Remember, they will sense you as soon as you touch their dwellings, but we will do what we can to keep them from harming you.”
She swallowed. “I’m supposed to get Redring’s ring?”
“Yes. When you arrive, say to them, ‘I claim these three humans back, for they were wrongly stolen from my tribe.’ Then when you have the ring, give it to me, and we will use its magic to disband the goblins if we can.”
“If you can? Wait, three humans?”
“They have the liaison as well. He came to them.”
“What? Kit did? Oh my God.”
“He has not been transformed. They cannot do that to him. But they have tied him up and may hurt him further. So go, Olivia Darwen.”
“But how? How am I supposed to walk up to this deadly, strong goblin leader and just take her most treasured possession from around her neck?”
The frog looked somber. “Any way you can.”
Livy felt like she was ripping up all her hopes and tossing them into the winter wind. “Well, this is…this is just insanity.” But then, it had been insanity to think she could survive the path through earth, water, fire, and air, yet she had.
Joining her ripped-up hopes, she jumped through the wind, and landed on the goblins’ lair.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
SKYE HAD TO THINK A MOMENT TO REMEMBER HER NAME, AND SHE ONLY BOTHERED TRYING BECAUSE IT PIQUED HER curiosity. She recovered it, but it didn’t matter. She’d soon take a new one, after whatever item she stole from the first person she’d lure onto an enchanted path.
“I’ll make sure to steal something fun,” she told her mate, who held her across his legs, running his hands up and down her leathery body. “Something with a name I like.”
He laughed. “Good idea. I’ll do the same.”
Then they both tensed, along with the rest of the tribe. Everyone looked toward the huts on the northern side of the village. Skye looked too, from instinct, before she even knew why. A moment later her tribemates sent up the alarm.
“Intruder!”
“Someone upon our home!”
“Get the intruder!”
Skye and her mate stayed dazed upon the deck floor while the tribe dashed around, seizing weapons off walls and screeching commands to each other. Other than Skye and her mate, only Flowerwatch remained where she was, crouched over the chained-up liaison to shield him from being trampled. Ridiculously soft-hearted, that Flowerwatch.
“We have her! We have her!”
Seconds later, the tribe hauled in a woman by the arms and threw her down in the middle of the central deck, not far from Skye. The woman landed on her knees and lifted her arms in surrender, her gaze snapping around from the tip of one weapon to another. A circle of blades and arrows trapped her. By happenstance, Skye and her mate formed part of the circle, the only ones unarmed in it. Fear and resolute courage took turns on the intruder’s face. She was a mess, coated with mud and soot.
The liaison thrashed and emitted a muffled roar when he saw the woman, and something flailed in pain deep in Skye’s heart too. To soothe herself, she turned her face away and nuzzled her mate’s shoulder. He purred in satisfaction.
“What is this?” Redring sounded delighted. Skye looked up, encouraged by her leader’s voice. Redring pushed to the front of the circle and examined the intruder. “How in the world could you have gotten here, hmm? I suspect someone gave you help?” She amplified the last four words and directed them outward to the forest.
Gleams lit up in the surrounding trees—the hateful, stupid, weak locals. Skye and the rest of the tribe snarled at them.
“I claim these three humans back.” The intruder’s voice rasped as if she was exhausted, or ill. “They were wrongfully stolen from my tribe.”
“Oh indeed? Some fat frog has coached you well.”
A gold-colored gleam drew closer. Skye recognized it as a local leader, whom her tribe always just called the Fat Frog.