Bursting Box Publishing

The two men guided me into a busy town that reminded me of so many different parts of home.  The smooth streets and yellow paved buildings reminded me of the nobleman’s center.  The metal framework that decorated fences and bridges was like that from the craftsman’s quarter.  The quaint little shops reminded me of the market, and great buildings of stone and statues reminded me of the cathedrals.

Yet the fact that all these elements were rolled together in this town only confirmed the falsehood.  I was sleeping, and this was all a dream.  Never before had I seen so many people moving so fast.  We walked, and were passed several times by giant contraptions of metal and sound.  At first, I feared they were some kind of beast, until I saw people inside them.  In town, these massive horse-less carts were everywhere.  There were even more contraptions with two wheels, and very little to hold them up.

Mica asked for us to wait for him while he went to a stall that smelled most desirous.

If this was a dream, I had to wonder how it looked so real.

“This is Tintagel?” I asked.

Mica’s eyebrows drew together with concern.  “Do you not recognize your home?”

I shook my head, “This isn’t my home.  I have never been here before.

Caden frowned, “What were you doing on the road, outside of town, if this isn’t your home?”

Unable to answer, I turned the question, “Do you live in Tintagel?”

“No.”

“Then what were you doing on the road, outside of town?”

His lip twitched.  “We’re backpackers from London, but while we’re on holiday, anywhere will do.”

“Who is to say that I am not also a—backpacker?” I said, straightening my back.

Caden smirked, “Where’s your backpack?  Your sleeping bag?  Your identification?”

Backpack?  Sleeping bag?  He spoke familiar words that were joined in unfamiliar ways.  I understood identification though, and my need to excuse myself.  “I was robbed.”

Mica joined us again with three pastries.  “You were robbed?  I’m so sorry!  You know what, that actually explains a lot.  All the more reason then–here, take this.”

He handed a pastry to me while Caden groaned.  “Don’t feed lost dogs.  It only teaches them to come back.”

“Caden,” he muttered, “you know the story of the good Samaritan.  It’s just one Cornish Pasty.”

I took a bite, surprised by the textures and flavors.  What did he call this?  A Cornish Pasty?  Hello, heaven.

“Mica,” Caden chided back, “I know you better than to believe it’s ‘just one Cornish Pasty.’  What else were you planning to do for this delusional stranger?”

Mica and Caden spent the next minute arguing without words.  Every time Mica’s mouth began to work around a word, Caden changed his stare of accusation.

“Please,” I said, “I do not wish to be a burden.  Only direct me to a map or someplace where I may find the location of Somnus, then I will be on my way home.”

“You need a map?  Perfect, here,” Caden slipped a folded rectangle of glossy paper from his pack and flapped it at me.  Turning back to Mica, he urged, “She’s fine, now let’s go.”

I opened the map, surprised by its confusing folds.  I was even more surprised by the land that greeted me.  I found Tintagel, Tregatta, Bossiney–what odd city names.  Even more confusing was the lack of mountains in the map depiction.  The map was mostly green, sectioned by squiggly yellow lines.

“Where are we?” I asked aloud.

Caden rolled his eyes, then leaned over to point near the center, at one label of “Tintagel.”  He then pointed at a nearby line with a boxy symbol.  “There’s the bus station.  It’ll take you wherever you need to go.  It should be just up this path towards town.”

Only when he leaned away did I notice he leaned against me.  I hadn’t felt him.