So it was that on the third day of festival Marid was presented with a letter bearing the seal of the Midnight Soil. He was awoken apologetically by his guards early in the morning. He crept out of his bed as the sun was making its own slow rise above the horizon. With bleary eyes, he considered the dark blue envelope, and its seal of silver wax. He prized the seal off gingerly.

‘Despite our current rivalries, I wish to provide you with information, for free. This generosity is prompted by the despicable betrayal I have suffered and I expect you will suffer. Do not tell any of this to the tall mercenary in your employ, for I believe she will be the enactor of your betrayal. Yes! The very mercenary you employ will no doubt wound your trust as mine has been wounded…’

The letter continued, hinting that his Brunhilde was actually in league with the cunning sorceress employed by the Midnight Soil. It begged him to come and meet the Nameless One as soon as possible.

Marid felt concern that this could hold any truth. He was surprised and impressed by the hand-writing, finding it to possess excellent calligraphy. If they were not so evidently opposed to the Glorious Emperor’s interests here in Elova, he might enjoy entering into correspondence with the letter writer. His fingers absentmindedly rubbed his hands, trying to play with rings that were not there.

He was sure that the Midnight Soil had his precious jewellery. Perhaps this was a trick to injure him more. What should he do? He peered out of his apartment window at the training courtyard, empty and dark. His overseers place was empty, behind it hung the immense rhino, his most precious trophy.

He was a man of action. He would go to this meeting. Perhaps he could threaten the Nameless One to reveal his own treachery. Trick or not, Marid would succeed.

He dressed quickly and summoned his palanquin. He was carried to the meeting place, a warehouse at the edge of the Midnight Soil’s territory. The doorway was open, and he instructed his men to take him inside.

He felt aware of every sound, he was ready to spot any foe. This must be how adventurers felt when they quested in new lands. He understood mercenaries a little more now, there was a thrill to the fear. He ordered his men to stop.

The Nameless One appeared from a darkened corner. He hobbled towards them in his robes. Marid’s men moved between the two of them. A Tireless One was shuffling behind the necromancer. Marid shivered. His inferiors had dealt with the trade agreements, he had never seen this man or his walking corpses in the flesh. He was disgusted at how casually a man could walk beside a dead thing. He sank back a little into his chair.

The Nameless One scowled at the guards. “I have something to show you, will you come out?”

“I will see it from inside here.” Marid tried to still the quiver in his voice.

“I am making no trickery. See here.” He gestured and the Tireless One walked right up to the window of the palanquin and stuck its head in.

Marid shrieked and almost kicked at its face, but it did nothing else. It just stared in, its blank and leathery face as impassive as a carving.

“Look into the eye.”

The creature smelt pungent, but not acrid, there were hints of spirits and flowers coming from it. Marid leaned in, the sooner he could get this thing away from him the better. In the eye he saw a picture, it was hard to make sense of, but as he stared it became clearer. He was looking into a room, lit by the creeping sun. Two figures were sleeping there. The sorceress, tiny and gold haired, and beside her the almost giant Brunhilde.

“You see. They pretend to fight for us by day, then at night they must laugh at us, sleeping side by side like lambs.” The Nameless One’s eyes were set with fury.

Marid’s belly was sick and his own eyes were ready to spout tears. He had trusted this strange barbarian, forgiven her ignorance of proper protocol and what did he have in return? Betrayal.

The Nameless One clicked his fingers and his zombie pulled its head out and shuffled backwards. “Give me some more of your time and I’m sure we can find a way to punish their arrogance.”

Marid had nothing to say at first. His world had been turned upside down. Here was his competition, similarly wounded in honour. His work in Elova had been something of a relief, away from the complicated politicking and vying for favour in the Glorious Emperor’s court. Now he was thrust back into a complicated mess of betrayal and shifting alliances. He sunk back into his chair and closed his eyes. He would like to go back and sleep till noon. But protocol must be followed and the barbarian must be punished. He leaned out of his palanquin. “What is your plan?”

Later that morning, Brunhilde came to the Zaytuni compound later, and was greeted with crossed spears.

“Marid has no need of your services,” one of the guards said.

“For today?”

“Marid has no need of your services,” he repeated.

Brunhilde cursed and waved her arms. Hope’s interference had cost her some easy coin. “Can I speak to Marid?”

“No,” the other guard said.

“Ah, goldhair, you’re like honey on arrow-flights.”

What to do? She wandered the streets of the city, breathing in the sea air and letting her curiosity take her where it would. In the squares of the city, they were building piles of wood to burn, along with smaller piles all around the greater one. She watched young men and women laughing together as they built the piles, they were already excited for what would happen in the evening. There were lingering touches and whispered secrets passing between them.

As she wandered, she came upon Yusuf and Miray, weighed down under wreaths of flowers. They were overjoyed to see her and she joined in their work. Her huge frame, with her striking red hair and battle-scarred arms was an intriguing sight to the locals. She accosted passers-by, forcing flower wreaths on them and bombarding them with tales of how Yusuf and Miray had journeyed from faraway lands to make them. She sold their stock that morning, and they were free to wander with her.

The crowds grew as the day lengthened and they ate in a market square, amongst tired dockworkers, excited youngsters and strutting nobles. Brunhilde watched the armed nobles with interest, but they ignored her. They were courting each other just like the commoners, but with fanciful clothes and whispered gossip.

Hope was somewhere in the city too, brooding on a rooftop. The petty business of playing mercenary had bored her, and now she was at a loss. As the evening came, she spotted Brunhilde walking with the children and she climbed down to the street. There was a moment when she would have turned around and ran back up to her hiding place, but Brunhilde spotted her and waved her over. She sauntered towards them as if she just happened to be walking in that direction.

“You’ve come to jump the fire?” Yusuf said.

“I suppose so. What else is there to do in this place?” Hope said.

The Flower Festival was in full swing. Brunhilde brought fat donuts for them all, and they munched on them as they walked through the city. Miray grabbed Brunhilde’s hand and led them to a square where a great bonfire was burning. Pipers and drummers played and their music merged with the hubbub of the crowd, making the air throb like a living thing. They could feel the power of the festival in the air, as alive as the bonfire roaring in the centre of it all.

From the edge of the crowd, Miray could only see the top of the bonfire licking up into the evening sky. She hopped up to see. “What are they doing?”

“Take a look.” Brunhilde grabbed Miray and lifted her up, to sit her on her shoulders.

“How are you so strong?” She clung on tight, but Brunhilde was as steady as an oak.

“It’s a secret story, maybe I’ll tell it one day,” Brunhilde said.

In the centre of the square, young men took long thin staves and plunged them into the fire roaring in the centre, waiting for them to light. The crowd cheered as each staff went into the bonfire. When the staves were lit, the men took them out and made a great show of lighting the smaller stacks of wood arrayed in a circle. The crowd cheered as each staff lowered onto its pile and clapped and whooped as they lit on fire.

When all the smaller fires were burning, the men gathered and ran round the circle, hopping over every flame. When they finished there was a great round of applause and they bowed deeply. After this it was a free-for-all, others from the crowd ran in to make their circuit of the fires.

“This brings good luck?” Brunhilde said.

“Yes, it’s passing over the heat of summer, and surviving. We did it back home as well. What do you do for midsummer?”

“We drink, and sing. And we wear flowers in our hair. Shall we jump the fires?”

She raised her hands for Miray to hold on to, their hands were both sticky with sugar but they grasped each other tight. Brunhilde raced around the circle, leaping each flame with huge leaps like a mountain goat. Miray shrieked and laughed the whole way.

“How about the big one?” Brunhilde said, turning to the centre bonfire. It was burning twice as tall as them.

“No, no!” Miray cried. “Can you even jump that?”

“Ah, maybe.” She took a step forward and Miray screamed. “Next year perhaps.” She turned back into the crowd, and Miray relaxed.

Hope licked sugar from her fingers. Yusuf was jumping up like his sister had, trying to see over the shoulder of a couple in front of him.

“Like this.” Hope took his hand and elbowed the couple aside. She dragged Yusuf through the crowd to the front.

They emerged from the suffocating tangle of the crowd to see the central bonfire roaring away. The faces of the crowd were red with drink, joy and heat. Back home he had never seen a crowd so large, the noise was overwhelming. Hope tried to let go of his hand, but he held on.

“You wanted to jump the fires?” Hope said.

“Yes.” He stepped into the ring, took in a deep breath and stood up straight.

Hope waited for him to go. His leg quivered as he took a false-step forward. He stood back, then took a shuffle forward.

“Just go,” Hope said. She put her hand on his back, pushing him forward. He tensed up and pushed back against her. His eyes looked up at her with pleading.

She remembered her first Tomb Walk, when she had prepared to go through the catacombs of her ancestors and face their judgements. The fear of the unknown, standing outside the tomb entrance, her mother’s refusal to tell her anything of the trial. The harsh voice of her mother came to her. ‘Don’t embarrass your family. Stop wasting time.’

Hope hissed and softened her hand on his back. What would Brunhilde say? “Enjoy the fear, there is a story on the other side of it.” Nonsense. But Yusuf’s eyes brightened. “Do you want to stand here in your fear all evening, or do you want to know what it feels like on the other side?”

“I want to do it!” Yusuf cried.

“So, act like an adventurer, and run forth!”

He closed his eyes and prepared to run forward.

Hope grabbed him by the shoulders and knelt to face him. “Eyes open. Always face fear eyes open.” Her eyes were dark brown, with gold flecks glittering in them. It was the most beautiful and frightening thing Yusuf had seen in his life.

She turned him to face the fire, and let him go. His eyes bulged open wide, and he raced over the first fire. There was a moment of heat, and a sharp stab of terror into his heart. He was burning! But the heat was gone as soon as it came. He was across the fire. He laughed with excitement and the release of fear. He wanted to do it again. But could he?

Hope jumped over the first flame. “Keep going or I’ll push you in!” she called out.

His leap over the second flame was just as exhilarating as the first. Enthusiasm unleashed, he continued his circuit, running and leaping, shouting out nonsense words of joy. Hope raced after him, sharing his feeling. She had done something new, encouraged a child to conquer his fear. That was more exciting than jumping through fire. Lightness came to her spirit.

Brunhilde took a break on the edge of the crowd, with Miray still on her shoulders, laughing. She was hot and sweaty from the run. She caught sight of Yusuf racing around determinedly, hopping over each flame. And behind him, Hope with a look that she had never seen before. Joy as she raced after Yusuf. She smiled for the both of them.

After their fire jumping they danced and sang along, badly, with songs they didn’t know the words to. Exhausted and warm in body and heart they left the celebrations to return home. They made their way through alleys and side-streets to avoid the crowds.

“I jumped over fire with a princess.” Yusuf jogged Miray with his shoulder.

“Good for you. I was taller than everybody there,” Miray countered.

“Shush,” Hope said suddenly.

“Let them enjoy their night.” Brunhilde patted them both on the head.

“Listen, up there.” Hope dug her hand into Brunhilde’s arm. She was focused on the rooftop of a nearby building. A dagger of light formed in her other hand.

Brunhilde pushed in front of the children. She could hear it now. Something slithering and gurgling was up there. “Stay behind us.”

A gangly bow-legged shape dropped from the shadow of the rooftop. Then another, and two more. They moved with a disturbing loping motion, like puppets controlled by string rather than muscle. The smell of alchemical incense wafted from them, mixed in with a bitter earthy smell. The scent of the Tireless Ones, but mixed in with something else. The closest one opened its mouth, it distended like a worn leather bag, and gurgled a thick mucousy chuckle. It clawed the air with its long fingers, and leapt to the attack.