Tristram woke up with a thunderclap headache. It felt like he had attempted to catch a cinderblock with his forehead and had more or less succeeded. He groaned and rolled from side to side. The ground was hard underneath him but didn’t have the feel of a paved residential road. He thought this was strange but couldn’t put a finger on why. When he opened his eyes, unfiltered sunlight flooded his mind, and he groaned again. Slowly, the contours and shadows of his surroundings emerged from the blankness. The homes of his neighbours had apparently grown legs and walked off. In their place was a dense thicket of briar thorn sprawling under a canopy of yew trees. He looked down past his toes. Extending from his feet was a dirt road. He had to assume it continued from his head in the other direction. Just to make sure, he sat up and twisted around and looked.

“Yep,” he said to himself. “As I thought.” He got to his feet and dusted himself off. The feeling that something either wonderful or dreadful had happened began to stir in his gut like week-old Taco Bell. He put a hand to his head and scratched. The word ‘ambulance’ raced through his head, siren screaming, the font alternating blue and red. He furrowed his brow and then rubbed it smooth. His hand stopped. Engraved into his skin were lines and divets that he was sure he had not been born with. With a trembling hand, he traced them and found they formed letters, and the letters formed words. When he was sure he knew what they said, he let his hand drop to his side and it slapped against his thigh.

‘Yours to Discover.’ The motto found on all Ontario license plates.

“Woah,” whispered Tristram.

“Move a muscle and you’re dead!”

Tristram moved every muscle in his body, including some he really shouldn’t have, as he tried to jump out of his skin. From behind him, where the voice had accosted him, he heard the swift footfalls of someone sprinting. The footfalls were light, the voice was a woman’s. What’s more, it was a voice he knew better than he knew his own. All trouble and sadness lifted from his shoulders. His spirit broke free of the fetters of mourning. When he spun around, his face was as radiant as the sun.

In slow-motion, he watched as the aquamarine haired girl of his dreams bounded toward him. Blissfully, he ignored the large dagger with which she rushed at him, aimed directly at his heart. The ribbons in her hair were practical, made of canvass, and gave off no sparkles. But Tristram saw sparkles anyway. What he could not ignore, however, was the lack of a platinum tiara resting on her head. That and the murderous, slightly mad gleam in her eye as she ran him down.

“Saya?” he said. “Where’s your tiara?”

At hearing the name, the young woman stopped in her tracks, skidding on her heels until she was an arm’s length away from Tristram. The murderous gleam was gone from her eyes, and she looked wall-eyed, like a fish forcefully brought to the surface world. “How do you know that name?” she asked, voice somewhere between terror and disbelief.

Tristram looked down at the point of the dagger. The only thing between it and his left ventricle was a severely undeveloped pectoral muscle. “Got yourself a knife, huh?” He tried taking a step back, but the young woman took a step forward and pressed the point of the knife against his skin.

“How do you know that name?”

Tristram swallowed. “I’m a fan of yours.”

A jolt ran up the young woman’s spine. Her eyes widened.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Slowly, Tristram reached into his pocket and took out his small, thumb-length knife. He held it up so the miniature Saya dangled from the keychain like a Funko-pop hanging from a noose.

The young woman gasped and dropped her own knife. “How do you people keep finding me?”

“Well,” said Tristram, breathing a sigh of relief. “You stream almost everyday.”

The young woman wasn’t listening. “I left my family. I changed my name. I moved across the world.” She dragged herself to the side of the road and sat down with a thump. “Just get it over with.” She let her head hang. “I’m tired of running.”

Tristram looked up and down the road as if he needed an adult. He looked down at the blade she had dropped and, in it’s polished steel, his own reflection looked back up at him. He looked angry. “I have to say, you’re not the same in person,” he said to the back of her head. “Where’s the charm? Where’re the sparkles?” He took a step toward her and, in an imploring voice, asked, “Where’s the tiara?”

The young woman pushed herself up. “You know damn well where it is. I had to trade it off for security the last time you loons tried to scalp me.”

“Scalp you?” Tristram got down on one knee like what he imagined how a romantic hero might, and said, “Saya, I love you.”

The young woman spat in his face with such force that his head snapped back on impact. “Is that what you call it?” she sneered. “And don’t call me that.” She lifted her chin. “I go by Kaya now.”

Tristram wiped the remnants of her breakfast from his eyes and flicked his hand. “Kaya, are you by any chance part llama?”

“What?”

“Never mind.” Tristram got up off his knees. “Well, this was a huge disappointment.” He looked down at the miniature dangling from its chain. He bit his lip to stop it from trembling. “Why must reality fall so short of my expectations?”

“Hey, tough shit, man,” said Kaya, putting a hand on his shoulder. She stooped and picked up her knife and rubbed the blade on her thigh to wipe the dust off. “I feel you. You think I want to be out here way-watching for a few coppers?” She looked at her own reflection in her blade. “I came from royalty.” She drew in a breath, held it, and let it go. “Anyway, if you’re not gonna kill me then come over to the ditch here so I can stick you and get on with my day.”

Tristram looked up at her. “What?”

“C’mon. If I gut you here I’ll have to drag your lumpy corpse off the road.”

“I’m having trouble following you,” said Tristram, backing up. “Why do you have to do that?”

“I told you: I have to watch the ways.”

“What ways?”

“The one you’re standing on.”

Tristram looked down at the dirt road under his feet. “Watch for what?”

Kaya narrowed her eyes at him. “Trash.”

Sweat pricked the back of Tristram’s neck. “You don’t usually stab trash though, do you?”

Kaya tapped her chin with the tip of her blade. She made a show of thinking something over. “Nah. Usually we burn or throw it in the river.”

“Oh.” Tristram laughed without humour. “Is that so?”

“I mean, what did you expect?”

“Not to get stabbed, for one thing.”

“Listen… What’s your name?”

“Tristram.”

“Tristram. I don’t know where you’re from–”

“Toronto.”

“–but you can’t just go tramping down a way in Saltie territory and not expect bodily harm. It’s like playing mind games with an abboleth and not expecting to get mind blasted.” Kaya laughed as if the example were preposterous.

Tristram, who had understood maybe a quarter of what she had just said (a generous estimate), scrunched up his face and stared at her. “‘Saltie’? ‘Abboleth’?” He raised his eyebrows. “‘Tramping’?”

Kaya groaned. “Look. You can act like you’re not from this world all you want. It’s not gonna change the fact that your bloodless corpse will be lying in the gutter in a few moments.” She took a step toward him and tried to grab his arm. “Now, if you’d please come this way, I promise I’ll make it clean and quick.”

With surprising agility, Tristram sprang back like an overweight house cat. “Hands off, ‘Kaya’, if that is your real name.”

Kaya gave him a dead-eyed stare. “You know it’s not.”

“You know what else I know?” Tristram held up three fingers. “One, this world is mine to discover. I don’t know if you noticed, but it’s written clearly here on my forehead.”

“Oh, I noticed.”

“Two! I was sent here for one purpose--to serve you.” He flashed his most gentlemanly smile.

Kaya grimaced and took a step back, despite being the one holding the knife.

“And three,” said Tristram, in a voice soft as corduroy. “You’re not going to stab me.”

Kaya looked down at her blade and studied it. She looked up at Tristram and raised an eyebrow.