She heard the rustling crashes of high tide ebbing. The sand underneath her was dark and gritty with silvery flecks. The beach stretched out as far as she could see, and the night sky was black, all black with no stars. She was alone, but she felt eyes staring at her. At the edge of her vision, she saw men and women, but they faded under her direct gaze. A wide trail in the sand nearby drew her attention to a boat sitting further up the beach. A flat-bottomed boat dragged out of the water, waiting for her. A funeral boat.

“I haven’t finished!” she shouted out to the sky. “I have more to do.”

She had to approach the boat, see if it had another in it. But it was empty. The long bench inside was covered in cloth, and weapons and food lay beside it. Just the right length for her to lie down in, to slip into the sea and recount her tales to the sky so her ancestors could find her and guide her up.

“No,” she said. She leaned into the aft of the boat, pushing it down back into the water. The sand crunched under her feet. The sand hissed as the boat moved. She stopped and looked. They were still where they were. The boat would not be leaving without her.

It could be an adventure. To lie down and let the craft take her out into the waters. Her stomach churned; she had not fulfilled her geas though. She had been given great strength in exchange for killing a great foe. If she went up into the sky without completing her task, who would welcome her? Would she be scorned by her ancestors? Would they cast her into the great maw of the Moon, to be snuffed out forever?

The boat called to her, but in the distance, she saw light, faint but real. Like a lighthouse in the dark, warning of reefs. She would rather fight again than lie down and slip into the dark death. She had more stories to tell.

She ran towards the light. It was warm and sunny and familiar. Her eyes filled with tears at the brightness, but she kept pushing forward, until all she could see was the burning light. She could feel the heavy weight of the boat behind her, no matter how far she ran from it. She pushed further into the light, choking on the hot air of it.

She stumbled and fell, but instead of the sand she felt soft cushions underneath her. There was a dull pain in her side. Brunhilde ran her fingers gently across the wound there. There was nothing but tenderness. She twisted her body to see where the assassin had stabbed her. Her skin was dark grey and bruised, but it had closed completely, no scar at all. What a waste of a blow, she had hoped for a nice long scar to show where she fought a warrior from the sky.

The cushions beneath her bounced, and she heard the whinny of horses. She took in her surroundings. She was inside a wagon, the same one she had hidden. She felt underneath her cushions, it was all there, the riches. She sat upright and her side tensed up. No wound, but the muscles there felt like leaden toffee. She gasped and stretched, trying to work out the pain. But it still throbbed. She shook her dream from her mind, sand and lighthouses. Hope must be driving them south. She crawled forward and pulled open the entrance of the wagon.

“Hope?”

“You hope what?” a man said. A stranger had the reins of her horses. She grabbed him in a headlock.

“Friend, I’m a friend,” he gurgled.

“How did you get my wagon?”

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“Your lady-” he gasped.

“What lady? Dark-skinned, gold-haired?”

“The same! With a petty temper,” he gurgled.

She let go off him. “That’s Hope,” she said. “Where is she?”

“Riding behind,” he said, rubbing his neck.

Brunhilde saw that a carriage was riding behind them. “My apologies,” she said. She gave his shoulder a friendly and painful squeeze. He gasped in air.

They were moving slow enough that she could hop off the wagon, and wait for the carriage to come by. It was darkly lacquered wood, with fine looking horses pulling it. She grabbed onto the doorway of the carriage and peered in. Hope was lying out on the seat, lazily waving a paper fan by her face.

“Why am I being hauled with the luggage?” Brunhilde said.

“You’re awake!” Hope cried. She sat up. Her eyes shone a little with excitement or tears.

“So I am. A lightning bolt couldn’t fell me, so a little dagger in the side is nothing. Maybe I should wrestle lightning one day, that would be a story…”

“Are you going to hang outside the window like a red ape or will you come in like a civilised person?”

“How can I refuse a royal invitation?” Brunhilde opened the door and swung inside. She dropped down onto the backwards facing seat and grimaced in pain. “Look at this.” She raised her arm to show off her long bruise.

“I know what a nightblade wound looks like. You were lucky I stopped its magic.”

“You saved my life again. I have a double debt to repay,” Brunhilde said. She grabbed Hope and hugged her tight.

“You can save my life now by not squeezing me to death, you oaf,” Hope grumbled.

Brunhilde laughed and let her go. “How did your fight go? Tell me the story,” she said.

So, Hope told her how she had bested her opponent, and taken the coin from his robes. How she had seen a way home, with Brunhilde lying on the edge of death. And how she had stepped into the light-coffin and spat a trap into it. How she had given up the chance to return to the sky for a chance to save her friend and have some revenge.

“I sent it back up with a dark and twisted spell inside. A guaranteed painful death for whoever sent those assassins. I turned the Dead God’s coin into a carrier wave for an enchantment. The coin seeks its home, I made it seek the life of the nearest person. A very clever spell in such a short time,” Hope stuck her face out smugly and fanned herself.

“I understand nothing of that, apart from how you could have gone home, but chose to save me. Truly, you have my thanks.”

Hope said nothing and stared out of the window. Her moods were still confusing to Brunhilde, but she could understand her a little more now. Who could relax in a world where assassins rained down from the sky? She had a shadowed past that would not let her go. Whereas Brunhilde yearned for the day she could return home.

“You have some enemies,” Brunhilde said.

“Yes,” Hope said. They were silent for a while.

Brunhilde broke the glum mood. “But with a friend like me, no enemy is too great.” She cracked her knuckles.

“I rescued you, from the bottom of a crater,” Hope said.

“That’s team-work. When you fall, I’ll be by your side.”

“Hah!” Hope looked out of the window again. “I would like that,” she said in a quiet voice.

“We’ll find a way into the sky for you. By magic- or large birds. You know my cousin Gertrud found a nest of baby birds that were so big they could carry off a cow. Imagine the parents, large enough to carry a carriage. I wonder…” Brunhilde mused to herself.

“No bird can fly that high,” Hope sighed. She stretched out on her seat and waved her fan lazily.

The carriage came to halt suddenly. Voices shouted outside. Brunhilde popped her head out the window.

“Bandits,” she said.

“How quaint,” Hope said. “Stay here, I’ll deal with this.”

“Never. I bet I can beat more than you, even with this wound.”

“Stay here and rest.”

“Afraid of the bet? A skin of expensive wine to the winner.” She grinned.

“Fine, you stubborn ox.” Hope rolled her eyes. “But stay close to me.” She stuck her hand out. They shook hands, but their hold lingered. It was a bet, between friends and comrades in arms.

“You ran off last time. Princess, what would I do without you to protect me?” Brunhilde mock fainted against the door. She opened the door and hopped out, racing forwards to their wagon. “I’ll get more than half” she shouted back.

Hope raced out after her. Not because she was worried about the lumbering barbarian, but because she wouldn’t lose a bet to her.