They stood on a pier with other craft lashed to it, small fishing yachts and rowboats. Nearby a huge trading ship was pulling into dock, low in the water. Their craft and pier swayed as the wash of the fat trading ship reached them.

“This is a huge trading port!” Brunhilde exclaimed. She was amazed and pleased at the sight of so many craft loading and unloading. There were battered old traders, new and fresh-looking yachts likely owned by nobles for pleasure, and countless smaller craft dotted along the river bend. On the outer bend of the riverbank, a city stood. It spread up the sides of a gentle valley slope. The buildings were white and grey stone, with flat roofs. They clustered like a child’s building blocks thrown down into the shape of a city.

In the centre of the city a looming building drew their attention. A palace built round a central spire, with circular levels and balconies teeming with plants and flowers. Unlike the rest of the city it was smooth black and white stone. The central pillar pointed to the heavens like a black fingernail. The palace jutted at least twenty stories into the sky.

“This is nowhere near where we should be,” Hope said.

They made their way along the pier to the dockside. Sounds of trade and labour filled the air. Captains shouting orders to their crew, merchants haggling for last-minute deals, quartermasters counting inventory. There wasn’t a space that wasn’t filled with cases of goods, stalls, warehouses or a sweating dockworker or messenger running through the crowds.

Further away from the docks there was a large market, of fish and other goods. Citizens wandered idly through the market, searching for something special.

“Where is this?” Hope said to a passing messenger boy.

“This is the north dock,” he replied, not stopping.

“No, what city, you scampering mouse?” Hope called after him.

“Valentia of course,” he added an insult that was lost as he disappeared on his way.

“Valentia? Valentia doesn’t exist,” Hope said.

“Valentia, the ruins of glory? They say that untold treasures of the Age of Storm are sprawled out on its streets for anyone who finds it.” Brunhilde surveyed the bustling market. “It doesn’t look dead.”

Merchants and citizens pushed past the two as they wondered at the sight of a supposed long-dead city. A seller with a heavy backpack that towered above him approached and held out a carafe of steaming tea. Despite his skinny body bending under the weight of the load like a reed weighed down by a dragonfly, his face was smiling with easy joy as he proffered the tea.

“A copper per cup?” he asked.

Brunhilde dropped a few coins into his palm and he smiled. With speed he unfolded a wooden board from his backpack, slid a web of struts underneath it and placed his carafe down one the sudden tabletop jutting from his waist. Another quick rummage and two cups appeared from his backpack, to settle gently on the table. He poured the tea in a long stream that gurgled appetisingly into the cups.

“A wonderful spice from the eastern jungle, I think you’ll find this the best tea in Valentia, honoured customers,” he said.

“This really is Valentia?” Hope asked. She lifted her cup and sniffed at the brew. It was warm and pleasant on the nose, for sure.

“But of course. There is nothing to be found outside the walls of this city that cannot be found here,” he said. He gestured to the market around them.

“City of a Thousand Joys?” Brunhilde said.

“But of course.”

“Home of a Million Dishes?” Brunhilde said.

“The very place.”

“The ruins of glory?” Hope asked.

“But- no, that one I have not heard. Perhaps another city carries that title.”

“What year is this?” Hope asked. She sipped her tea. It was surprisingly good, she had to admit.

“The second year of the swan,” he said with a smile. “My third wedding anniversary.”

“Congratulations. What is that in sidereal time?” Hope asked.

“I surely have no idea. Perhaps you count by the reign of the western Emperors? In that case, I believe it to be the thirteenth year of Emperor Ragussian.”

“I don’t know anything about western Emperors,” Brunhilde said. She was sipping her tea carefully, but kept burning her tongue.

“How far is the solar eye from north?” Hope asked.

“The what?” he replied with a helpful but useless smile.

“How many times has the heavenly vault rotated since the beginning of creation?”

“Probably a great many,” he said. His smile began to fix into a stressed grimace.

“It doesn’t matter then. We’ll wait till night-time,” Hope said. She looked up into the sky. When the stars appeared, she would get a better idea of where they were and if they had indeed visited a city that was deep in the past.

“Would you care for a refill?” he asked.

“Give me the whole carafe,” Hope said.

“I could only sell this for at least seven gold- if you want me to sell you some dried blocks.” He reached into his backpack. Seven gold coins rattled onto his wooden tabletop and his arms withdrew from his backpack. “Very good.” He lifted the carafe and Hope took it.

“Is it that good?” Brunhilde asked. She was still sipping and sniffing at the brew, unconvinced.

“It’s the closest to good I’ve tasted down here. Out here,” she said.

Brunhilde was placing her cup back on the table when Hope grabbed her arm painfully.

“Look, look!” Hope hissed.

Above the palace the air thrummed like heat haze. A strange but familiar dizziness gripped Brunhilde.

“Best not to observe the arrival, honoured guests,” the tea seller said. He was staring down his wooden ledge.

Hope ignored him, and Brunhilde stubbornly stared into the bizarre vision wavering above the palace. The blue air of the sky warped like bubbles settling against angled stone. Shapes popped into existence, intricate lines and jutting angles. Another city shimmered into existence, crystal and luminant. Despite the entire mass of another city hovering in the skies above Valentia, the marketplace was not shadowed. Sunlight refracted through the city above and even brightened Valentia with strange colours. The merchants and stalls were limned with beautiful colours like a painter taking artistic liberties.

Brunhilde shook her head. She was on the floor. She had blacked out at the sight of the city appearing in the sky.

“I warned you, honoured customer,” the merchant said. He helped her to her feet.

“That’s Vis-Dimmud,” Hope said. She was staring intently at the city above, and the palace.

“Only the royal family enjoy the secrets of the sky city. Certainly, I hear tales of wonderful magics and sights in the palace. But as a humble citizen all I can enjoy are the stories,” the merchant said.

Hope ignored him and pushed into the crowd towards the palace. Many buyers were gawping at the sight of the city above, but most of the merchants were carrying on their pitches, shouting to grab the attention of customers. They had seen this a hundred times before. Brunhilde strode after Hope. Hope darted through the crowd like a small schooner darting amongst reefs, Brunhilde pushed through like an ice-breaker and caught up with her easily.

“We’re going for the palace?” Brunhilde asked.

“We must be in the early Age of Rain, at least. Do you know what this means?” Hope said.

“We’re in the dream of a past time?”

“No. It means I have centuries to plot. If I can make contact with Vis-Dimmud I can trade my secrets for theirs, build up my power. Raise my own army from their golems. And then once centuries have passed, I can extract my own revenge. That little barge has gifted me with an opportunity I won’t waste.” She had a wild sound in her voice that Brunhilde had heard before. She was set on this course and nothing could turn her from it.

But something did stop her. At the edge of the market place where the open plaza ended there were streets and alleyways leading up into the city. Hope found herself standing on the edge of the market, striving to run forward. But her feet slid on the worn stone and she remained in place. Brunhilde tried to walk past her and found the same problem. No matter how hard they leapt or ran forward they were suspended on the spot.

Hope looked up at Brunhilde with despair. Her intense mood had gone and she looked lost and lonely, clutching the carafe of tea she had bought. Brunhilde grabbed the lid of the carafe and tossed it ahead. It skittered into the streets, not bound by the same force that was holding them. Hope was confused but then impressed.

“Clever idea. You’re not a complete fool after all. It’s only us that can’t move forward,” she said.

“I don’t know anything of magic, but I can see something is stopping us from escaping. Perhaps the city doesn’t like unannounced visitors?” Brunhilde said.

Hope stalked across the edge of the market, trying to find the shape of the barrier, it curved slightly as she walked. There was no pressure or resistance, just the absorption of any energy she spent trying to move forward. After walking a few blocks of streets and feeling out the barrier, she turned back towards the market. She was thinking and calculating in her mind. Brunhilde wondered at what the Princess had learned that allowed her to understand these magical formulae and mysteries.

“It’s the boat,” Hope said. She was seeing a great circle in her head, stretching around this area, and out there bobbing against the pier was the centre of the circle. The barge that had brought them here. “It won’t let us go too far from it.”

Brunhilde followed Hope back through the crowds. With the light from the city above the marketplace was even more vibrant. Even as people forced each other out of the way in the throng, there was laughter and good-humour. Life was a party; this was the greatest place in creation to be. There was nothing to be found that could not be bought or bartered for in this marketplace. Exotic birds sung and cawed from their cages, families munched on snacks as they wandered and shopped.

But Hope was fixated on their barge. As she embarked the gangplank, she felt a curious feeling. The carafe in her hands shuddered, and the moment her foot touched the deck of the barge it evaporated into smoke. There was a brief hint of its scent in the air, and then it was nothing.

Hope raised her hands and screamed to the heavens. She punched the roof of the barge and kicked the doorway with vicious blows.

“It’s a dream, just a vision,” she raged.

Brunhilde watched her tantrum, but it showed no sign of stopping. She put out her hands and Hope’s bloody fists pounded into them rather than the hard wood of the boat. Exhausted by her rage, Hope gasped for air as if she were on the edge of sobbing.

“Easy, go easy,” Brunhilde said. Though she had no idea how to calm the Princess, she understood how to soothe a wild animal. Rage was a beast that took residence in the unguarded heart. “We’re still here in Valentia, we can try something else,” she said.

“No, we’re not. It’s just a picture, a very clever weave. That tea is long-gone, we never drank it, we just dreamed it.” She hung her head and regained her breath. “This boat is an idle use of magic, for fat and lazy nobles to imagine what it was like to walk ancient cities.”

“So, the boat only moves on the waters, not backwards through the days?” Brunhilde said.

“It would seem so. I thought I was so close. What a life that would have been. To plot revenge centuries before the birth of my own mother. I would have enjoyed that.” Hope said. She wiped tears and snot from her face with a handkerchief.

Brunhilde slammed her fist on the roof of the barge. “Well then, let’s make our way south and forget this diversion.” She patted Hope gently on the back.

“No.” The sound of a wild idea came into Hope’s voice again. “Even if it’s just a dream this magic is more powerful than anything I’ve seen. To pull tastes and sights and sounds through the ages is next to impossible. You know how to sail?”

“Of course.” Brunhilde said.

“Let’s take the wheel, maybe I can force this thing to take us back. Truly sail the stream of time back to Valentia.”

“The idea terrifies me,” Brunhilde said, but she knew what was coming next.

“Those are my best ideas.” Hope grabbed Brunhilde and pulled her towards the wheelhouse of the barge.