Get an introduction to the world of ‘Music of Midnight’ and meet Miraya, an ancient sorceress with dangerous enemies.

The stars were out tonight. Overhead, they danced around a bright gibbous moon to light the way for Miraya, as her horse trudged up the soft mud of the coast road. It won’t be soft for long, she thought mournfully. That sky means ice. 

Her visions had shown her this a few weeks ago: that the weather would turn clear and crisp and blanket the mainland in frost and snow. Every year, Miraya prayed for a mild winter, but rarely were her prayers answered. This weather would mean death in the cities, she knew. Those not fortunate enough to have a roof and hearth froze to death in their dozens every year.

Miraya nudged her horse to a quicker pace, driving him as fast as she dared without calling attention to herself, until the city of Ashport rose in the distance, its twinkling lights not nearly as beautiful as those the First Mother had provided in the heavens. 

Soon, the pine forests on her left gave way to shacks, and the pebbly beaches on her right gave way to wharves. This city had grown a lot in the last couple of centuries, and she remembered when it was simply a collection of half a dozen fishing hovels, clustered around the river’s mouth. Now it was a bustling, albeit deprived, metropolis, and each time she visited, the outer slums seemed to have expanded a little further.

Miraya slowed her horse back to a walk as the first signs of life broke into the crisp silence of the still night. People traveling at speed looked as if they had somewhere important to be. And people who looked important drew far too much attention. It would go badly for her if she were to be noticed by the wrong eyes. Her enemies could be anywhere: down a shadowed alley, or in a ramshackle tavern… or, more likely, in a guardsman’s uniform or a merchant’s caravan.

They can see you, a voice in her mind whispered. They are watching.

Her heart skipped a beat, then restarted at a frantic pace, as she looked around for curious eyes, her rapid breathing misting in the frigid air. There was no one that she could see who had spared her more than a passing glance. Nonetheless, she pulled her cloak more tightly around her to shield her face and body from unfriendly eyes.

As she made her way up the main road and into the heart of the city, the signs of life grew steadily louder, as fishermen and dock workers made their way to work, though dawn was still a couple of hours away. Ashport sang with shouts and smells and hurried figures; the music of humanity – and all of it made Miraya nervous, as she fought the desire to turn her horse and bolt for the safety and silence of the forest beyond the city limits. They don’t mean to harm me, she lectured herself. At least… most of them don’t.

Stopping at a familiar inn, she called out to the stable hand. “Hello, Benny.”

The young man turned, and his face broke into a wide smile as Miraya lowered her hood a little so he could recognize her. “My lady.” He came skipping over and offered a hand for her to dismount.

Miraya placed her leather-gloved hand in his and climbed down. “How is your father? I hope his arm isn’t giving him too much trouble.”

“He tries not to show it, but I know he’s still angry at himself. Blames himself for our money trouble, with not being able to work as much. Are you here to rent buildings?”

Miraya’s eyes widened. “How did you know that?”

“Well, last year you arrived here the day the weather turned cold and rented out buildings for the homeless. I thought maybe you were doing the same now.”

“You are either too observant for your own good or I am too predictable for my own good. Either way, you’re right.” Miraya handed him a generous tip and winked her goodbye, causing the young man to blush furiously. Benny’s father had lost an arm in a fishing accident last year, and Miraya had cleaned out his infection with herbs and (unbeknownst to him) a little magic. But she could not regrow his arm, so perhaps her tip would help a little with the rent.

Miraya entered the inn’s common room with her hood pulled low once again, in case of watching foes. She hoped she might be mistaken for a scrawny street child in shape, so long as she kept her face hidden. To her great relief, not much had changed in the six months since she had last passed through here. The smell of wood smoke and fish stew still clung to the warm air, the fire still crackled in the slate hearth, audible over the hushed conversations of the same familiar faces sitting at their regular tables, drinking the same sour-smelling ale. Crossing the room to the bar, Miraya relaxed; she had helped most of the customers here with one problem or another over the years, and while her presence was very much noted, she received only friendly, respectful nods of acknowledgement.

“Evening, Tony.” Miraya greeted the innkeeper, an old man with keen eyes, whose wife she had cured of a fever last year.

“My lady, good to see you again. A room?” His eyes crinkled with the wide, crooked smile he gave her.

“Just for a few nights. And meals, please.”

After paying and eating her breakfast, Miraya curled up in the darkest corner still available in the lantern-lit common room. She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapped her cloak around all visible parts of her body and relaxed into the comfortable cushions of her bench seat. The room became even quieter as the morning wore on, as more patrons headed out to their jobs, leaving a hushed buzzing in which she could doze by the fire’s warmth. She could not have been dozing for long when a sound intruded into her mind from across the room and made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

It was laughter. Just laughter. But it was too loud. The regulars here all knew each other and respected the space, but this was a different sound. Arrogant. Several male voices rang with the surety that this world belonged to them.

Idiot. You should have gone straight up to your room to sleep, her subconscious scolded her.

She raised her head just slightly to get a clearer view of the source of the obnoxious conversation.

They mustn’t see your face! Your eyes! Her mind shouted.

She covered herself as best she could with her ale tankard as she observed the men. Five handsome, blond men in guards’ uniforms, some with their feet placed— rudely— on the table, others sat backwards on their chairs as they bellowed out laughter among themselves.

It’s them! Panic shot through her veins like ice.

She did not know them, not personally. They were perfect strangers to her, but she knew what they were. Their arrogant demeanor and richly made clothing gave them away; her enemies, they had hunted her for millennia, found and killed her many times, and here they were to do it again.

Frozen in place, she could only watch, as if her body were no longer her own. They were simply a group of wealthy men drinking. But one of them must have felt her gaze because he lifted his cold, blue eyes and found her in her dark corner. Miraya stared, horrified, as the man nudged his friend and then gestured towards her with what was, in her mind, a predatory stare.

Finally finding her body, Miraya stood slowly, careful to avoid any more suspicion. She knew that if a confrontation occurred here, her fond acquaintances would try to defend her honor from the strangers, and the strangers would hurt them. She placed her used bowl and mug down on the bar. “Thank you, Tony, but something has come up, and I need to leave. Keep my board and give my love to your wife.” She smiled to ease the worry and confusion on his face, then walked slowly towards the stable doors.

Miraya and her horse were both sweating hard by the time she pulled to a stop, now with several miles of forest between herself and the dangerous city streets to the northeast. To the east, a weak and snowy sun was rising. She wrapped her cloak tight around herself, but not from the biting cold. She felt exposed and vulnerable. Seen. 

They did see you. You need to run home. You mustn’t return to Ashport for at least a year, her careful inner voice whispered.

But even as she thought of escape, a snowflake made its way through the canopy to land on her hand as she gripped the reins. She could stay here forever, buried deep in the forest, where the pines crowded so tightly above her, she could easily pretend she was under the cover of nighttime, but then how many would die? Unless she could find somewhere for the city’s less fortunate to shelter from the cold, so many would perish over the next few weeks. One image from her vision sprang back into her mind: a mother, clutching her infant in some murky alleyway, still and dead, their lips blue with cold.

Miraya muttered a curse. She had promised her sister that this would be a quick trip, but setting everything up would take much longer if she needed to be even more careful than usual. Shivering, but not from the sleet now falling freely through the canopy, she turned her gelding around and began a slow weave through the ancient pines and back towards so-called civilization.