The Grimm Dossier

Chapter 43 - The Calling of Ravens

England, West Coast
Devonshire, Dartmoor
Woods of Dartmoor
5 November 1898, 10:00 p.m.

There was a loud rustling sound. Something was moving away over the telltale rustling leaves that at this time of year screamed out every movement like a bell-bright alarm. Kyle took a half step back, feeling the Doctor's larger back behind him. It was of the same tension that made Kyle's heart sprint, as hard and unyielding as a tree. It helped to tame his increasingly frantic heartbeat a little. It made him feel safe and Kyle had to admit to himself that every mage could use a man like Archer to shield one's back while he formed the formulas from his memory.

Another crackle of dead leaves, this time on Kyle's side. Instantly his mind was away from Archer again, its advantages and the danger of the present. Kyle raised the lantern. The light made the shadows swing aside and at the same time pushed far deeper black spots elsewhere. A few leaves still moved, one sailing to the ground from a thin branch. Something moved in the thicket, then it was at Dr. Archer. His arm shot toward the spot like a snake intent on snapping at a mouse. A wild storm of tension swirled inside him and Kyle pointed the staff into the darkness. Again the laughter swung up, then rustled again.

"It's circling us!" hissed Kyle. His fingers tightened around the piece of wood, longing for a way to finally release the pressure inside him! The most terrifying part was the draining seconds before the attack happened or the cursed curtain of uncertainty was finally lifted.

"What do you want? Who are you!" blasphemed Kyle into the darkness.

But again only derisive laughter answered. All at once, the darkness seemed to draw darker, as a waft of dense fog accompanied by biting cold moved in, causing the temperature around them to drop furiously. Kyle felt the sting of the countless needles on his cheeks, the unpleasant tug of the winter chill that had risen all too suddenly. Frost formed on the trunks around them, drawing up its white diamonds and shimmering flowers of shimmering ice crystals settled on leaves and bushes. The bog waters crackled under the sudden drop in temperature as a layer of thin ice stretched across them. 

The glass of their lanterns and the metal groaned, the flames in the glass cases desperately fighting to go out. White clouds now rose into the air in front of their mouths from their heated bodies, evaporating until the next breath condensed a new breath. Icy shivers, one after another, flowed over the men's skin, raising the fine hairs beneath clothing that all at once failed to warm the body and soul beneath.

"Where is the girl?" Dr Archer's voice thundered irritably into the darkness. Laughter rang out again, as mocking as if he had said something terribly stupid.

The wisps of thick fog drew tighter and tighter around them like a circle of lurking hunters moving in the shadows beyond. Ready to strike from ambush at any moment. Kyle clenched his jaws. Something in the air changed. It rolled over them like an invisible wave, at the same time pressing them down relentlessly. Kyle felt the grinding of his rows of teeth shifting over each other as his body and mind alike rebelled against it. Pressure rose in his chest, making his pulse tighten and his palms damp and clammy under his leather gloves.

"Kyle." The doctor's voice had an alarmed, dark tone. The mage knew what he was about to tell him even before the soldier spoke further.

"I know." He pressed out, trying to breathe calmly and concentrate. It was the same sickening feeling as when he had flown over the forest. The light of their lanterns flickered before his eyes and Kyle could hear his breath and heartbeat even louder than the sounds of danger around him. Was he wrong, or did it smell like sulfur and pumice?