The gravel path ended in the fissure of an entrance into the Forbidden Forest, skeletal trees looming in the night, furrowed trunks and spindling branches, while the night insects droned on, the only noise in the dreary silence.
I crossed the threshold, treading carefully, in fear of the same horrid beast that Rosalia wrote of in her book leaping from the shadows, mouth hinged open in grotesque fashion, ready to devour me.
I shook my head, in attempt to do the same with the thought, but it lingered, softly now, a whisper only, but it had remained there.
The path was a dark rattlesnake, barely visible black trails that meandered through undergrowth, clumps of bushes buried it that navigating the trail was quite the travail. Had it not been Crawford's habit to hike through these woods? if so, why had the path look like it had not seen a footstep in months—years, even?!
I worked my way along the narrow trail, leaves sliding across my bare forearms as I followed the path, illuminated only by my gas lamp and the moonlight that slipped through the lattice of leaves above.
My mind quickly conjured up dastardly creatures that formed the shadows inside the forest: Eshers, lycans, a Grim (though that was unlikely since they would not be able to sneak with their massive bodies) or any ghoul I had not encountered yet at my stay in Yarim. Sweat ran rivulets down my back, and I swallowed bitter bile.
It was not long until I chanced upon Crawford though the meeting was quite ignominious, no small part belonging to me.
Quite fed up with the horrifying features of the forest, I picked up my pace, shuffled and tripped upon a throng of reprobate bumpy roots which sent my bottom scraping across the lilies and mustards, and pickerelweeds and thistles. It was one of the few times I thanked the blood of a ghoul coursing through my veins for I had no need to worry of the poison. The mishap had greatly diminished my gathered poise like an edifice torn to piece, so I slogged along the path once more, craven and fearful as the voices had suggested me to be of keen alert.
Chills trickled down my spine at every few creaks of the tree trunks against the breeze, and I twisted and jerked at every click of the cicadas in the night. Something about the place seemed wrong, as if it were never truly the object of Crawford's habits. Had Edythe tricked me? Had her master ordered her to do it? Suspicions darted across my mind as swift as my eyes did the trees and when the gas lamp chanced upon a face in the midst of the unformed shadows inside the forest, I let out a gut-wrenching scream. Immediately, hands were on my mouth, and I gagged and choked instead. "Calm down, Anima," a familiar voice said. Crawford. I looked up and, indeed, it was he. "The ghouls will hear you. And why are you here, acting like you have seen a ghost!"
"I have seen worse than ghosts yet this forest terrifies me—it reeks of something evil; it is brimming with it! I can sense it, the slight prickle against my skin every step I take, the whisperings of the wind. I feel it, Crawford!"
"Ay, calm down, Anima," he said. "I understand your apprehension; it will take some time to be used to."
"You know of it?"
"Ay. The forest is a veritable open graveyard. Countless souls have met their end here, and they are restless and begrudging against the living world; someone has gathered them—" he made a fist with his hand, "turning those innocent souls into ghouls, into abominations…" he did not continue. Instead, he turned and said, "Come if you like."
"Where to?" asked I, though I had immediately trailed him.
"You are a hunter, are you not?" Crawford asked me instead of answering which irritated me slightly. "We hunt."
I did not answer. Rosalia's sentiments about the man before me were indeed true: he was a simple man, foolhardy, rushing blindly into danger. Though it was quite foolish, I simply sighed and went along with the man who was dauntless still, even in the face of the great evil that lay behind the trees that stretched up like blades into the sky.
"A Necromancer," I muttered, after I had clumsily fumbled through what I harked of minutes ago.
"Correct. A hag that inhabits the depths of the Forbidden Forest. It has been long since I had seen her, which I am grateful of since her sallow skin and rotting teeth are not at all inviting features…" he looked around, surveying the linings of pines that surrounded us, silence interposed only by our breathing and the night insects' droning on.
"We are near," he observed. I did not know how he distinguished the place; it looked the same to me, hollowed trunks that spiraled out like writhing snakes. "The hag will show yourself if she smells us. Are you ready? Of course you are, do not be a reticent stranger to me. You are a Hunter, Anima—though you must choose your faction well, and soon, else—"
Feet padded along the forest floor. Crawford ceased his statement, and summoned a blade that curved and sharpened to a tip, as well as a cannon, wrought silver in the forest moonlight. The crone howled. Crawford yelled. The voices whispered.