Tris & Izzie (17 page)

“You do not know my wife. She is strong, and she loves my daughter as I do.”

“Your wife is only a witch,” sneered Gurmun. “She can do nothing for your daughter.”

“Oh, you are wrong. Very wrong. But if you are so sure of yourself, Gurmun, then tell me your name. Your true name. Let me hear it as you would say it yourself.”

Gurmun bent down, and through his eyes I could see my dad become larger until he filled the serpent's vision. I could see that he was blind, and that his hands had been scorched, as well. His face was blistered and blackened with soot and dirt. But he winked. At Gurmun.

He winked in the same way he had winked at me when I was little and he'd caught me doing something I knew I shouldn't do. He would wink at me and then say nothing, as if to show that he trusted me.

I remembered it now, though I had tried to suppress a lot of my memories about my dad, because they were too painful to keep hold of.

But why would he wink at Gurmun like that?

Unless he was winking at me, in the memory, knowing that one day I would see it as he meant me to. He had known that when I came back to Curvenal, Gurmun would want to taunt me with his death. My father had saved this memory for me, the weak link in Gurmun's armor.

“This is not—” I heard Gurmun say as he tried to fling me out of his mind, but it did not work.

I continued to see into his memory.

“Or are you afraid of me? A man who is nearly dead and whose only child is a girl but five years old? A frail, little human thing who has barely the first idea of what magic is?” taunted Dad.

Gurmun flashed fire at him again, and Dad's hair was singed, and the leather on his breastplate began to smoke. He did not bother to try to extinguish it.

“No, you stupid human,” said Gurmun in the present. “No!”

But it was too late. This had all happened eleven years earlier. It had been waiting for me until I was ready, until I myself understood love and how it could never truly despair.

“I will tell you, human. Because I am afraid of neither of you, now or in the future.” Gurmun in the past inhaled, and then, breathing fire, he said, “Gurmun,” with a ringing sound that shook the whole earth as the giant had shook the school. It lasted for a long time, ten seconds at least, and my dad closed his eyes in pain at the sound, but he did not cover his ears.

“Thank you,” he said. And he fell down, dead.

I let go of Gurmun's mind then and found my own brief memories of that day, when Dad had left me in the cave. I could see his face in my mind and hear his voice as he called me I solde, three syllables, with a distinct accent that reminded me very much of Tristan's. My true name, I thought. Tristan had always said my true name the right way.

“What a sentimental scene that was,” said Gurmun mockingly. “Are you glad that you saw it once before you died?”

“I am glad that I saw,” I said. Then I lifted my head and stared into Gurmun's shining bright eyes with all my fire in my own eyes. “But I am not going to die. It is you who will die!”

I roared at him, using my magic to make the sound ring and to make fire billow out of my mouth as he had done. I made exactly the same sound that Gurmun had made, and I saw Gurmun shudder as he recognized his true name.

I moved toward Tristan and helped him pick up his sword once more.

“I am here,” I said. “And this is the last of the serpent. You have only to trust me.” But would he, after what I had told him? Had he known that it was a feint to fool Gurmun, and not him? Had he believed I would never tell him to give up his faith in me?

The moment I waited seemed very long.

And then. “I trust you,” said Tristan in a voice that was soft, but strong.

“Now hold me,” I said. “And hold up your sword.”

Tristan put one arm around me. With the other he put up his sword.

We were both still wet, smelling of fire, and he was wounded, blind, and staggering upright. But I had never been so happy or so certain of the future.

I used his sword to reflect and intensify my fire magic, and sent it over and over again to Gurmun.

Fire cannot destroy fire, but fire can destroy flesh, and it can destroy a true name. Once those two things were gone, Gurmun's fire was left without a source.

His body had been incinerated. The flakes of it swirled around us, adding to the ashy smell and the gritty residue covering the whole island.

I guided Tristan toward the place where the serpent's head would have been.

“Is this the right place?” I asked.

He closed his eyes, trying to feel for it, I guess. I didn't know if it would work, but suddenly, he stabbed forward, and I could feel that things had changed, that there was something missing that had been there before.

Tristan held up his arm, shaking with the weight of the sword.

“I think you can let go of me now,” I said.

He shook his head. “I don't think I can. Not now, nor ever after.”

We kissed then, and it was a kiss full of fire and magic. But mostly, it was a kiss full of love, because when magic is gone, love still lives on.

T
here was nothing near us but the sound of the waves sliding gently back and forth against the shore. The horizon was just beginning to turn pink with sunset. The sand was still warm, but I wanted nothing more than to go home, take another bath, and go to bed in my own room, where Mom could watch over me.

Only I had no idea how we were going to get there.

Our skiff was in splinters. Whatever other ships had once been here were gone now, or in pieces. And I saw no sign of people. Tristan had grown up here, so they had to be some-where. I didn't blame them for not coming out. Gurmun must have kept them terrified all these years, and even if they could feel his magic gone, how could they be sure? He had died at least once that I knew of, and then come back.

“Tristan? Can you hear me?” I asked.

He was breathing shallowly, and his face was pale. I put my hand to his throat to feel for his pulse. It was there, but it wasn't strong. Every time it skipped a beat, I held my breath. I had to get him back to my mom. I didn't know if she could heal his blindness, but I knew that he had no chance otherwise. I could live with him being blind if I had to, but I didn't know if he could. The warrior thing and all that.

I stood up and shouted, “Help! Is anyone out there?”

There was no response.

I looked up at the rocks, and I realized that I was only a few feet from the cave where I had been hidden by my father. I had a flash of memory that was my own. I had been standing over there when Gurmun rose up against my father. I had screamed and put my hands over my eyes. It had been different then. The smell, the sounds, the whole feeling of the place. It had seemed alive to me then, and now it seemed deserted, very close to death.

Gurmun had brought it to this, and I did not know if it would ever recover. But there was magic here. Other elemental sorcerers, perhaps, and those with metal magic like Tristan and witches like my mother, and maybe some with other kinds of magic I had not even heard about yet. If I had not been so tired, I would have been curious.

But for now, I was worried about Tristan. I had to get him help, and I had to do it immediately. I crouched down, knees bent, back straight. Taking a deep breath, I grabbed Tristan's arms and tucked myself under his body. I lifted him and staggered around for a few seconds. Then I felt the burn in my legs. It was a good thing Tristan wasn't as heavy as Mark.

I tried to use my magic for help, but the fire just made us both hotter, and once I was carrying Tristan's weight, I was plenty hot and dripping sweat. On the other hand, I liked the feeling that I was capable of carrying my boyfriend.

At least, until I tripped on a seashell, got it embedded in my heel, and almost dropped Tristan on his head.

But I didn't, and that's the important part.

I got past the old buildings and the rocks, where I could smell the last ashes of Gurmun in the air. Just beyond that, I stopped and took a rest. I was afraid of letting go of Tristan, because I wasn't sure that once I did, I would ever be able to get him up again. But I was also afraid that my heart was going to beat out of my chest, so I let him fall slowly and made sure there were no rocks under him when he hit the sand.

He opened his eyes for a second when he thunked down. “Oof,” he said, and then he was unconscious again.

I sat and rested. The sun was setting, and it was getting colder. I knew I could build a fire when I needed to, but for now, I just sat down, put my head on Tristan's chest, and listened to the beautiful sound of him breathing. Living.

“Tantris, Tantris!” I heard voices shouting.

It took me a moment to remember that was Tristan's real name.

Then I sat up as a dozen people approached us. A woman came forward and offered Tristan a water bottle. She was dressed in worn polyester hip-huggers that might once have had flowers embroidered onto them. Her top was loose and flowy, more gray than white. I wondered how long it had been since anyone in Curvenal had had contact with the non-magical world.

“I'm Isolde,” I said.

The woman's eyes went wide. “You give us your name?” she said. “Your true name?”

Whoops. I'd forgotten that might be dangerous. But I hadn't said it the way my dad and Tristan had. I'd used the two-syllable pronunciation that I was used to being called by everyone at home who didn't know me well enough to call me Izzie. It was strange that I had two names, one that people knew me by, and one that I knew myself by, but I guess it was that way for Tristan and everyone else in Curvenal.

“There is no more need to worry about Gurmun, the serpent,” I said. “I have killed him, permanently this time, using the magic of his name. With Tristan's, help, of course. I mean, Tantris. You're all safe now.” At least, they were safe from Gurmun. I didn't know if there were other slurgs or giants around, but Gurmun must have kept a lot of them away while he was here. Curvenal might have to deal with them in following days but the magic they had here would probably be sufficient to deal with the smaller dangers that might come into the vacuum the serpent had left.

The woman started to cry. “Tantris did it. He did what he said he would do!” she said. “We all thought he would never return, but we should have known he had honor, like his father before him.”

A man dressed in an old jean jacket kissed my hand over and over again. “Isolde,” he said. His accent, like the woman's, was similar to Tristan's. Maybe it was an older kind of English, closer to the true language of magic. Other people started to close in, patting me on the back, touching my hair, saying things I only half understood. Then a little girl came running up and handed me a doll. It was a homemade doll, crocheted from yarn, with a crooked face and ragged hair.

“For you,” she said precisely.

I tried to give it back to her. I looked up and could see more of the town. The houses were small and looked like they hadn't been painted in ages. Maybe they had depended on magic to keep things nice, until the serpent came and took that, too. The doll must be the nicest thing the girl owned. How could I take that from her? I looked up at the woman, and she had her arm around the girl. “Take it,” the woman said. “I will make her another one.”

So I took it. I'd never been a hero before. It felt good, and also a little scary. I wondered what else they might think I could do. Make it summer all year round? Turn rain into money falling from the sky?

It sure looked like they could use money here.

I searched through my pockets and tried to take out some cash to hand to the mother, but she shook her head. “The serpent took much of our wealth,” she said, “and many people have left Curvenal. Now he is gone, we will have no problems. With our magic, we can build new homes, new schools, and people will come back.”

I nodded. They were on their way, then. I could think about Tristan now. “I need to get Tristan home to my mother. She's a witch, and I think she might be able to cure his blindness,” I said. “Or do you have witches here? There was magic everywhere here, wasn't there?”

“Witches, yes. But witches who can cure blindness from a serpent's poison, no. Your mother was always the best witch in Curvenal. We were very sad when she left us,” said the woman.

So Mom was the only one who could help Tristan. “We came here on a skiff, but it's ruined. Are there any other ships? Or planes? Or … something else?” I didn't know what, but I was hoping for something fast. I only knew we were far from home, and Mom always said her magic worked best if it was started as soon as possible.

“Isolde?” Tristan whispered.

I knelt beside him.

“You should go back,” he said. “With a black sail.”

“Why? What difference does it make if the ship has a black sail?” I asked.

“Not that kind of black sail. The people of Curvenal will help you.” Tristan insisted on getting to his feet, but he was still blind and weak. One of the men put an arm around him and helped him move farther up the hillside. I followed.

Now I could see dozens of smaller houses that had not been destroyed and the ruins of larger ones. It looked like a place that might have been a vacation community in the summer, so close to the shore and far away from the rest of the world. Maybe it would be like that again, and those people who had left would come back. I saw only a couple of hundred people. There might be more who were hanging back, but if all the ruined buildings had been inhabited at one time, the town had to have been twenty times larger than it looked now.

We passed a fenced-in area, and I expected to see animals in it, but there weren't any. It smelled of Gurmun, and I realized with a sick sensation that it had been a cage for his victims. Everyone else looked away from it as they passed, but Tristan, in spite of his blindness, seemed to realize that it was there and turned his face toward it.

His parents had died here, I thought. And he had not been able to save them.

It was too dark for them to show me the black sails, so we went home with the woman whose daughter had given me the doll. We ate lentil stew for supper. The woman apologized, saying that they didn't have anything better, because all the farm animals had been eaten by Gurmun long before.

I told her the stew was the most delicious thing I had ever had, and I wasn't exaggerating. Maybe it tasted better because I was so tired, or because there was magic all around us.

The woman set up an old pull-out couch for us, and my dreams were strange that night—about me doing lots of heroic things with my magical powers—but when I woke up, I didn't know if any of them were possible. I'd find out, I guessed, once we got home and I had a chance to think of something besides bare survival.

The dream made me understand better why people would want to live in Curvenal, though. With all this magic around, the air felt lighter, brighter, and, well, more magical. Like there were more possibilities in life. I didn't know how it would be for people who didn't have magic. They might not feel any difference at all. But for people who did, like me and Tristan, Curvenal would call to them now that Gurmun was gone. I was sure of that.

In the morning, Tristan came out with me and limped toward a cliff that looked over the water. I could see a lot of magical creatures out there now: mermaids in the water, just peeking their heads out, and centaurs on the shore. There were fairies with gossamer wings and what looked like trolls. Those were the ones I recognized from my old dream of Gurmun devouring magic.

But there were also creatures I didn't remember, ones that I thought were one thing when I looked from one angle, but then they moved and seemed like something else. Goats that were also snakes, giant butterflies that could blink in and out of existence (or just my vision), what looked like a baby dragon about four feet tall, and the black sails.

There was a whole flock of them, in the air above the water. Huge birds with delicate, billowing wings, they looked like black ship sails while they were in flight.

Tristan must have sensed they were there, because he put his fingers to his lips and whistled to one.

It floated down beside him and spread its wings on the ground, stretching out some hundred feet. I was cautious, wondering if these things were really tame.

“This is how I got to Tintagel,” he said. “Now you can return.” He waved and seemed pretty cold toward me.

“Wait a minute. You're sending me back without you?” What had happened? I thought we were in love and all that. True love, burning forever, nothing could stop it, not even Gurmun.

“I can be of no use to you now,” said Tristan. “I will live out my days here, and my people will pity me, but honor me for my sacrifice.”

“You mean because you're blind?”

He would not answer, but he pressed his lips so hard they went white.

“No way. You are coming with me. My mom can heal you, and you have to finish high school, anyway.” What chance did he have of getting a good job if he didn't even have a high-school diploma? And he needed a good job, because the whole magic thing didn't seem like it was going to pay very well for either of us.

“But what if she cannot heal me?” he asked.

“Then we'll both learn to live with it. Love conquers all, didn't you know that?” I tugged on his arm and guided him to the waiting black sail. There was just enough room for the two of us on its back.

“I do not want your pity,” said Tristan.

“I don't pity you. I pity anyone who has to deal with you if you ever get sick again. Talk about a bad patient,” I said, teasing him.

Tristan hesitated for a moment, then gave me his big smile again. How I loved that smile. “I love this island. I think a part of me will always be at home here.”

“Maybe we'll come back someday,” I said.

“When the pain has healed,” said Tristan.

“When my mom has—” I started, but then realized that wasn't the kind of pain he meant. He meant the pain of having his parents die for him.

I guess I understood that pretty well. My dad had died for me. It wasn't something you got over easily. I thought I could handle it now, most of the time. But for me, it wasn't as fresh.

“There are things for us to do in the regular world,” I said. “Important things.” Like opening the non-magical world back to magic, if Mom said it was okay now that Gurmun was dead. It would have to be done carefully, and only to those who were trustworthy enough not to misuse magic.

Whether the world was ready for magic was another question. Maybe Mom and I would have to talk about that later.