My boots sink into the damp grass, each step sending cold seeping through worn leather. Crickets continue chirping their night songs, but their familiar melody grates against the haunting tune that fills my skull. A breeze rustles through autumn leaves, carrying the scent of decay and rain-soaked earth.
I pause, closing my eyes to better track the source. The song swirls inside my head, making it impossible to pinpoint its origin. Left? Right? Every direction is both correct and wrong at once. The world around me threatens to pull my attention as the melody backs off. "Come on," I mutter, wiggling my frozen toes in my boots. The physical discomfort helps anchor me to reality as I fight to separate external sounds from the internal chorus.
An owl's cry pierces the night. Startled, I jump, my hand tightening on my mother’s knife as my eyes snap open. The blade catches moonlight, throwing silver reflections into my face. The mysterious song shifts in response, its notes taking on an almost metallic quality. Redbrook has so far been one of the safest town I've performed in. Yet I blink the sharp light from my eyes, checking all around. No town is without its faults however, and a night after drinking is when the true colors of its people are shown.
Realizing I am still alone, I take another step, then another. Wet grass brushes the calves of my linen pants, soaking them further. The melody grows stronger when I face east, toward the Dravenmoor, an ancient, expansive forest that borders the village. Or does it? I turn west to the fields and plain with distant rolling hills, and the song seems to follow, as if it's playing tricks with my mind.
My feet carry me in a slow circle. The cold creeps deeper now, numbing my legs. I focus on that sensation, using it to ground myself against the pull of the music. There's a pattern here. It's following me, as if still trying to get my attention. If I can just get it to understand I am trying to search for it...
The song surges suddenly. The force of it hits me and I stumble. For a heartbeat, the notes align with something deep in my chest - that place where my own magic lives. Come, come. The certainty rings through me like a struck bell
My feet trace an uncertain path toward the eastern edge of town, where scattered cottages huddle against the looming darkness of the Dravenmoor. The song pulls me forward like an invisible thread, growing clearer with each step. Warm lights flicker behind the closed shutters of one cottage. A rare villager awake at this hour.
Could it be old Martha, whose husband disappeared this past spring, pacing? Or perhaps Milner's family, whose youngest daughter still hasn't returned from her impromptu journey to the capital? Are any of them the face behind the melancholy? The thought of finding another person like me, someone who understands what it means to carry music in their blood, makes my heart bear stronger.
I pause behind the shadow of an apple tree, studying the nearest cottage. The pungent, rotting apples around my feet make me pause. Should I knock? What would I even say? 'Pardon me, but I couldn't help but notice your magical singing.' The absurdity of it almost makes me laugh, but the song's mournful notes surge, strangling it my throat.
My fingers twist around the end of my braid. I could answer their song with one of my own, reveal myself first. But years of hiding, of careful silence except in the safety of taverns where magic can be dismissed as mere talent, makes me hesitate.
The melody shifts, taking on layers of such profound grief that tears spring to my eyes. What could drive someone to weave such pain into music? I've sung songs of loss before--they're crowd favorites in the taverns in between boisterous tunes--but this... this is profound and ancient, sorrow crystallized into sound.
It can't be any of the villagers. It's too... old.
A branch snaps beneath my foot, and I squeak and freeze. But the song continues unbroken, undisturbed by my presence. Something's not right. The notes seem to come from everywhere and nowhere, though growing stronger as my gaze drifts past the cottages to the forest's edge.
The Dravenmoor. The realization hits me like ice water. The song isn't coming from any of these homes --it's calling from within the forest itself.
Tales of the Dravenmoor flood my memory as I stare towards its depths. The forest stretches beyond sight, ancient trees rising like silent guardians against the star-scattered sky. My grandmother used to say it would take three months to walk from one side to the other--if anyone survived the attempt.
"Bigger than any kingdom," she'd whisper, her eyes distant. "Older than memory itself."
The wind carries the earthy musk of rotting leaves and something else, something sweet and cloying that makes my throat tighten. I've heard stories of travelers lured by pleasant aromas, cries of distressed loved ones, or promises of wealth, only to find themselves face-to-face with flesh-eating plants and beasts beyond imagination.
Redbrook's boarder guard tower looms to my right, torchlight flickering against its stone and wooden walls. Even Lord Malrik the Purifier's soldiers, with all their weapons and bravado, keep to the perimeter. They're protecting travelers from the forest, and the world from what dwells within.
My fingers trace the rough bark of a boundary tree, twisted and stunted. In every town, trees along the boundary grow stunted, crooked. Many die young, leaving a ring of twisted death around the edge of the Dravenmoor. I'd overheard one night after singing how last spring, something dark and unnatural had rushed out, shadows twisting and screaming. The witnesses went mad before they finished describing what they saw. The captain of the guards, Hadley Hargraves, had sent the three of them to the capital for treatment. And a few winters ago, a creature with too many limbs dragged an entire hunting party into the shadows before the border guards reached the men. The guards found pieces of them scattered across five miles for days.
The song pulses stronger now, vibrating through my bones. Stories say the forest holds treasures beyond imagination: healing springs, magical artifacts, even the lost libraries of the ancients. But they also speak of things that were never meant to walk in our world. Things that hunger. Things that remember the time before humans claimed the land.
Movement catches my eye, something massive shifting between distant trees. Or perhaps it's just shadows playing tricks. The guards claim voices call their names from its depths, see faces in the mist that look like lost loved ones.
My grandmother's final warning rings in my ears: "The Dravenmoor doesn't just kill, child. It changes you. Twists you. Makes you into something else entirely. It takes from you."
I know it is folly to think someone like me could survive even an hour in the forest. Or to think that the guards would let me return once I ran into one of its horrors and managed to run back, screaming. My right fingers play along the bone handle of the knife as if it were the neck of my lute. If the song originated from here, then it certainly came from something of magic. Something more capable, more learned than myself by far.
I turn and shake my head, hurrying quickly back towards the perimeter of Redbrook and its tavern. I'm exhausted, and I can only successfully perform my magic if I am rested and focused. This song, whatever it is, is dangerous. Inhuman. Whatever it is, it's seen and experienced horrors I am not ready to learn about. Plowing through a carpet of fallen leaves, my feet squish inside my soaked boot, sending me into shivers. Shivering and chattering, I force myself to move faster. I scold myself for not bringing a cloak, every breath ringing me in a warm fog. All the more reason to hurry back to the tavern. I need to leave the area before any guards catch me this close to the border. I knew enough to not cause any trouble anywhere I went. Cautious enough to blend in wherever my feet took me. I never stayed too long in any one place. Other than that horrible day my entire family had been slaughtered, ripped from this world by Malrik himself, I managed to avoid his soldiers and guards. Yet the money in Redbrook was too tempting. The taverner put out a call for entertainers. Anything new and fresh to draw in a crowd. I knew how close it stood to the Dravenmoor and the presences of Malrik's forces. But the money had been too tempting. Yet I wasn't ready to leave. Not just yet. And that meant keeping a low profile. Keeping away from…
The song shifts as I move away, its mournful notes transforming into something that clutches at my heart. Gone is the ancient sorrow. In its place rises a desperate plea that makes my steps falter. Begging.
My magic stirs in response, an ember fanned in my chest. The mysterious melody wraps around that core of warmth, gentle as a lover's touch. It asks questions in notes and harmonies: Who are you? What do you carry? Why do you hide?
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"Stop it," I whisper, pressing my hand against my sternum where the heat builds. But the song seeps through my defenses, resonating with memories I've kept locked away. Mother teaching me my first spell-song. Father's deep laugh as I made flowers bloom with a lullaby. The way mother's and grandmother's voices blended on winter nights, weaving protection, and warmth, into our little home.
The mysterious song mirrors those memories back to me, transformed into pure sound. Bitterness paints my tongue, tingling static crackling along my skin. My own magic rises unbidden, attempting to harmonize with the strange melody before I can stop it.
A cool breeze carries the fresh scent of pine and something older, like ancient stones after rain. The song pulses in time with my heartbeat now, our magics tangling together. Braiding. Colors dance at the edges of my vision: deep purples and swirling gold, the colors of power and possibility.
"Please," I choke out, breaking my spell. I'm not sure if I'm begging for it to stop or continue. My fingers twitch with the need to shape notes, to answer this call that speaks to the very essence of who I am. The knife slips from my grasp, landing soundlessly in the wet grass.
This is no mere music meant to lure travelers to their doom. This is communication, recognition, one magical being reaching out to another. And gods help me, every fiber of my being wants to answer. Wants to find it and hold it.
I clench my fists. It takes all I have, forcing my feet to turn back toward the village. One step at a time. Every muscle screaming to turn back. The song wraps around me like silk scarves, each note a gentle tug urging me to move. Come. My magic pulses in response, an ember threatening to burst into flames. I can't help it as I begin to turn, my eyes catching the dark, three-story guard's tower.
A torch flickers atop the simple square, stone, and wood tower. At its base rests a squat open stable on one end and a storehouse and barracks on the other. The orange glow catches on polished armor, and I duck deeper into a shadow. Metal clinks as someone shifts position. Voices drift down from the tower's top They're changing watch. More guards will arrive soon.
My heart beats against my chest. I've spent years perfecting the art of invisibility, of being entertaining just enough to earn coins without drawing dangerous attention. One wrong move here could undo everything. Malrik's men are always watching for signs of magic, especially near the Dravenmoor's edge. Watching and cleansing with sword and fire.
The mysterious melody rises in protest as I retreat, its harmonies shifting to match my own magical signature. Colors burst behind my eyes. Deep forest greens threading through my usual gold and amber notes. The synchronization sends shivers down my spine.
"I can't," I groan, though every note of power in my blood screams otherwise. The chance to meet another magic wielder isn't worth risking capture. I've heard what happens in Malrik's dungeons or the magistrate's hands. All the stories laced with screams and torture. The chance of learning this exotic magic similar to my own is not worth the risk of death. "I'm sorry. Please, understand."
Boot steps crunch on gravel path between trees. A guard's laugh echoes across to me.
I press myself against the rough bark of a nearby tree, holding my breath as torchlight sweeps past. Fear tilts the world. I suddenly can't remember which direction to go, which shadows to run to. The song pulses stronger, as if sensing my fear. It weaves vows of protection, shelter, understanding. Come. No guards here.
But I know better than to trust a mysterious voice in the night, no matter how beautiful they sing, how enticing their promises. Especially those from the Dravenmoor. I've survived this long by being cautious, by never staying too long in one place. By keeping my magic confined to subtle tavern performances where it can be dismissed as mere talent. But the guards... I've never been as careless, as close as I am now to one. And at night.
?I grimace. Not suspicious at all.
The guards' voices grow closer. I sweep my hair behind me and slip away toward the village, each step feeling like I'm tearing apart something fragile and precious. My magic aches in my chest, mourning the connection even as my mind screams at me to run. Run to the forest. Run to the tavern.
I try to hurry, but my legs freeze. The song wraps around my limbs like thick iron chains, each note tightening its grip. My muscles strain against the invisible force as sweat beads on my forehead despite the cold night air.
"Move. Please," I hiss as I grit my teeth. My own power thrashes inside me, resonating with the forest's song. Tears from strain blur my vision. "I can't."
The melody shifts, becoming a symphony of longing and desperation that tears at my soul. Colors explode behind my eyes; deep violets and midnight blues threading through my usual golden hue. The forest's magic pulses against mine, two hearts beating in perfect sync.
"Stop," I gasp, but the word comes out as a sob. "You're hurting me!"
"Hey! You there!"
Light floods my vision as a guard's torch beam cuts through the darkness. My heart stops. The guard's boots crunch off gravel, crackling fallen leaves as he approaches. Plate and chainmail armor flashes in the torchlight.
"Don't move!"
His face comes into focus; young, maybe twenty, short blonde hair. Recognition flashes in his eyes as the torch illuminates my features.
Pure terror rips through me, shattering the song's hold like glass. My legs unlock and I bolt, crashing through underbrush to the north as the guard shouts behind me. The song transforms into a howl of fury that shakes the trees, its rage burning against my skin as I flee.
"Alert the captain! Woman at the boarder!"
More voices join the first, but I'm already gone. I dart between the shadows of trees and scrub with the practiced ease of someone who's spent a lifetime avoiding capture. The forest's fury follows me, its magic lashing out in waves of crimson and black that burn like lightning through my head and spine. I can't tell if it's trying to help or hurt me, but I don't have time to find out.
I skirt along the edge of the boarder trees. Tall weeds and brushes reach for me, embracing. Hoping to mask my form and shadow. I try to avoid crashing through. But I can't only be so quiet, I can't let them track me back to the tavern. My breath comes in ragged gasps. I'm small and fast, the guards will be weighted down in armor and weapons.
I'm nearly safe. A little more, and I can turn toward--
A sound grips my chest and freezes my blood.
The thundering of hooves against packed earth, crashing through the weeds.
"Shit," I gasp under my breath, heart thundering and aching. There's no time to be cautious. Pushing myself harder, I glance at how far I am from the village's edge. I need to cut back across, work my way back east into Redbrook before he catches up to me. The streets and houses will hide me, just another villager strolling home from the tavern. This would be easier if the night were cloudy, the darkness a cloak to shield me. I loathe the moon's betraying light, yet I have little choice. Gathering what remains of my nerve, I veer towards a cluster of tall, lean pines forming a thin line on the southeast side of Redbrook, their branches promising safety.
I've made it only a few steps when it pierces my heart and mind with the precision of an archer's arrow. Sharp notes of betrayal slice through my consciousness. The lilting notes begging for aid twist like a knife in my gut. I can't tell if it's part of the creature's story or meant specifically for me, a personal plea I'm trying desperately to ignore.
"I can't!" I shout at the woods, stumbling to one knee as leaves crunch beneath me. Behind me, the heavy thudding of hooves grows more distinct, more threatening. Up, I need to get up. Run!
"You! Halt!"
Gritting my teeth until my jaw aches, I push myself back into a sprint. He's close—too close. He's shouting more at me, but I don't dare listen or look back. Maybe if he doesn't see my face, doesn't recognize me...
The anger of the song grows, swelling like a storm tide. I stagger under the weight of it. Nearly lose my footing on the treacherous ground. But it's enough of a delay for the horse to draw closer, its roaring breath almost at my back.
I don't have a choice. I can't outrun them, not like this. I won't be taken. I won't! Not like grandmother. Not like mother!
I spin mid-step. Barely able to speak, the words are more a carrier for the notes that burst from my throat. Throwing all my desperate intentions into the sounds, weaving them with fear and determination.
"No! Stay away!"
The horse rears in front of me, its screams deafening. Sharp pain explodes against the side of my head, stars bursting behind my eyes. I'm rolling across wet grass, gasping for air that won't come. Dirt and weeds fill my mouth, and I spit frantically as I tremble, climbing to my hands and knees like a newborn fawn.
I can't help looking back, though every instinct screams against it. The notes of danger affected the horse exactly as intended—too well, perhaps. It lays stunned on its side for a second before rolling to its stomach, climbing unsteadily to its hooves. It's huffing and trembling in the moonlight, t whites of its eyes visible even at this distance. Beside where it fell lies a groaning form. The torch sputters beside him, allowing a brief illumination of his face, twisted in pain. He seems as dazed as I am, maybe more. I press trembling fingers to the side of my head. Wet. I'm hoping it's dew from the grass but the ringing in my ears and the way my stomach heaves says otherwise. Staggering a step, I lower my hand. I need to see if the guard is still breathing. Still alive. His chest rises with a great gasping breath as his eyes flutter open. I turn to flee, but not before I see a trickle of blood run from his dark hairline. His eyes rove, searching, landing on me with dangerous intent before widening in horror.
It takes longer than it should have to reach the tavern, my path weaving like a drunk's. I stop once to throw up the ale and my pre-performance supper, hands braced against rough bark of the tavern walls as my body betrays me. The headache and swimming vision confuse me in the darkness of night, making familiar paths strange and threatening. If anything good came from the horse's blow to my head, it stopped the torturous melody, leaving blessed silence and a slight ringing in its wake. Trembling and afraid, freedom from the haunted notes allows my fatigue to crash around me in full force, a wave I can't fight any longer. By the time I return, most of the tavern is empty but for a few stubborn drunkards the taverner is struggling to boot out. I don't spare him a glance as I climb the stairs on shaking legs and collapse onto the welcoming cot, every muscle screaming in protest.
It doesn't take long for me to pass out, my dreams filled with haunting images and a song that I know, with bone-deep certainty, is much more than a simple tune of magic. It's a warning, a prophecy, perhaps a curse—and somehow, I'm caught in its web.
