Tris & Izzie (9 page)

W
hen the doorbell rang after dinner that night, I was surprised to see it was Tristan. He wasn't supposed to be out of the hospital until tomorrow, but he looked good, better than ever. His eyes were bluer, his smile brighter, and he looked great in his jeans and flannel shirt. I caught a glimpse of thick bandages around his chest under his shirt.

“Uh, hi,” I said. Not the wittiest thing ever, but it was all I could do not to get all hot and sweaty around him again. I needed to keep my head on straight. The love philtre could make me feel in love with Tristan, but did I have to act on those feelings? Maybe I could stay with Mark after all. That was surely the more sensible thing to do. He was the one I knew and trusted. I had only just met Tristan, and even if he had saved my life, I didn't know anything about him.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

“Of course,” I said, embarrassed that he'd had to ask.

He came in and sat down on the couch, his eyes on me the whole time.

I was suddenly conscious of how messy I looked. I had splatters of invincibility potion on my shirt, and I probably stank of vinegar. My hair was falling out of its barrette, and I was barefoot. Something about Tristan's being here made me wish I had on shoes and a nice jacket, as a kind of physical barrier between his body and mine.

“When did you get out of the hospital?” I asked, curling my feet against each other.

“Just now.” He glanced down at my feet and then at my face.

Did he feel the same urge to touch me that I felt for him? He certainly looked calmer than I felt, but I tried my best. “You came here instead of going home? What about your uncle? Isn't he waiting for you?”

Tristan held up his hands. “Please, give me a moment. I will tell you everything I know.” He took a deep breath. “But if you will not let me show my love, I must use some effort to contain it.”

I felt like an idiot then.

“Who is it?” asked Mom, behind me. Before I could answer, she came in. “Tristan. I saw you at the hospital, but I don't think we've ever been properly introduced. I'm Izzie's mother, Gwen.”

“Gwen,” said Tristan with a nod. “I am pleased to meet you.”

“Izzie has told me so much about you,” said Mom.

“I wish I could say the same about you,” said Tristan. “She won't talk to me much at all.” He winced, then closed his eyes and took a few labored breaths.

He looked like he should still be in the hospital. “Can I get you something?” I glanced at Mom. Like the invincibility potion, for example?

Mom shook her head. “It doesn't work on past wounds. It's only a preventative, not a palliative. It's like a polio shot—no use after you've already got polio.”

“How did you get here?” I said, looking out the window. I saw no car parked outside. Had his uncle dropped him off?

“I walked,” he said.

“From the hospital?” said Mom. “That's ridiculous.”

Knowing Tristan the way I did now, I didn't doubt it for a moment.

“That's over ten miles,” said Mom when Tristan said nothing. “And you're injured. You shouldn't have—”

“I need to rebuild my strength,” said Tristan. “I must be ready when an attack comes again. For Isolde's sake. And for the others.”

“What others?” asked Mom.

“You know them,” said Tristan, looking hard into Mom's eyes.

“Mom?” I said.

She sat down abruptly across from Tristan. “Curvenal,” she said.

“You said you were from Parmenie. You said your parents died in a car accident, and you lived with your uncle.” I stared at him, wondering what he'd told me that wasn't a lie. I guess a love philtre didn't make someone tell the truth.

Tristan looked away. I thought that would be a relief, but it wasn't. I felt sick and empty inside.

“My name is not Tristan, and I'm not from Parmenie,” he said in a strange, low voice. He had always seemed optimistic and confident before. Now he sounded beaten. “Though the part about my parents dying is true.

I wanted to put my arms around him. But I also needed to hear the truth, so I waited for him to tell the rest.

He sighed. “They were killed, sacrificed to the evil Gurmun in order to save my life and the life of another innocent.”

“I don't understand.”

“Gurmun is the name of the serpent that killed your dad,” said Mom.

I hadn't thought to ask Mom for its name. I didn't even know that magical serpents had names.

“Ever since he was roused from his slumber,” said Tristan, “he has demanded a yearly sacrifice of one virgin male and one virgin female.”

I blushed at the word, stared at Tristan, and blushed even more. “Why?” I finally managed to say.

“He was angry that he was put to sleep by magic centuries ago, and angrier still that your father tried to murder him after he had been woken.”

I could feel myself becoming hot again, even though I tried to keep my magic from coming out like that. “I meant, why virgins?”

“Oh,” said Tristan simply. “Because Gurmun believed the magic of virgins to be the most powerful in Curvenal. By killing them and taking their magic for himself, he would keep us all in slavery forever.”

“And so far, it has worked,” said Mom.

“For eleven years,” said Tristan.

Eleven years
, I thought. That was how long it had been since Dad died; that was how long I had been ignoring my magic and trying to live as if I was just a normal, non-magical girl in a normal, non-magical world.

“All this time, the sacrifices have been chosen by lots cast among the youngest and healthiest of the unmarried of Curvenal. And this year, the lot came to me. I was ready to die for my people.” Tristan clenched a fist, and I couldn't help myself: I put a hand on his fist and felt the heat in my body dissipate.

“But my father would not let me,” said Tristan. “He had raised me as a protector, for the one who would come to save us all from Gurmun. He took my place, he and my mother together, giving up their powerful magic to the serpent. They died so that I could come to you, Isolde, and bring you back with me.”

He looked up at me and his eyes turned to slits. “I hated you when my father insisted that he would die in my place for your sake. I hated you when I had to say good-bye to my mother and leave her unprotected. Can you imagine what that moment was like for me?” asked Tristan.

I held tight to his hand, feeling my own strength increase. I didn't think that had anything to do with the love philtre, but I wasn't sure. “I didn't know that people were dying,” I said softly. “I didn't know the serpent was real. I didn't even know about my own magic, Tristan. You have to believe me.”

“I do believe you. Now that I have met you, I see the truth in your eyes. You are full of power and honor. That is what I meant when I said that we were the same, you and I. We belong to the world of magic. We must return to Curvenal and fulfill our destinies.”

I dropped his hand. The idea of going back to the serpent was suddenly too much for me. I knew I should go. I had told Mom off for leaving Curvenal to the serpent. And now I was afraid. I had the invincibility potion, but it wouldn't be enough. It was one thing to protect myself against evil magical creatures. It was something else entirely to go out searching for them. Maybe I wasn't the person Tristan thought I was after all.

“But first,” Tristan continued, “I must have my sword. I do not have the magic that you do, Isolde. But the sword holds the magic of my father, and his father, many generations back. It was forged a thousand years ago, and it has come to me at this time of urgency.”

I was so busy watching his lips and listening to the music of his voice that I didn't realize he was asking for something until Mom responded.

“Of course. I'll get it,” she said.

And then she left.

I shifted uncomfortably. “About this serpent in Curvenal …,” I said.

Tristan looked away, and his mouth, his kissable mouth, twisted. “You are afraid. That is understandable. But I will be at your side.”

It turned out that something else the love philtre didn't give you was courage. And I kissed Tristan. I couldn't resist the need to feel his lips against mine, and I was pretty sure that after I said what I had to say, I wouldn't get the opportunity again.

We broke apart, breathing hard.

Then Tristan put his hand around my head and pulled me close again. He didn't kiss me. He just held me, running a hand down my face and neck and then up again.

It felt wonderful and terrible at the same time. I wanted more.

“Gurmun must die,” he said roughly.

I shivered. I didn't know how to use magic except to make myself sweat and enhance my mom's potions. I could not defeat a serpent that had killed my father. I didn't think I could kill a garden snake right now.

Mom came back in and handed Tristan his sword. Tristan pulled it from its scabbard, and it seemed to sing as it caught the light in the living room. It was as tall as he was, and I could not see how he had hidden it at the football game.

Then he slid it behind his back, and it disappeared.

In that moment, he was amazingly handsome and powerful and brave. I loved him so much—almost enough to go with him. But not quite.

I swallowed hard and stepped away from him, looking to Mom for help.

“You said your name wasn't Tristan,” Mom said.

How had I forgotten that part?

He shook his head. “It's Tantris,” he said quietly, as though it was a big secret. “Tantris,” he said again, with very precise pronunciation. His eyes were bright, and they bored into mine.

I nodded. Why was he making such a big deal out of that?

Mom went very still. “The son of Rivalin?” she asked.

Tristan—Tantris, whoever he was—nodded.

“And he is dead now?” she whispered.

“One week today,” said Tristan. “As soon as he died, I came searching for you. The sword led me.” Mom turned to me, looking very sad.

“Who was this Rivalin?” I asked impatiently.

“Your dad's best friend,” she said. “You and Tristan used to play together when you were children.”

I had no memory of that. I shook my head. It felt like everyone was trying to pressure me into doing more, being more than I was right now. It wasn't my fault that I was unprepared. Dad hadn't been here to teach me, and Mom had purposely kept me in the dark. Then Tristan had done the same, pretending to be an ordinary boy who was in love with me when really he had come to take me back to Cur-venal with him. “You are a liar,” I said to Tristan—or who-ever he was—and I slapped his face. The stupid thing was that even as I felt the sting of contact, I wanted to throw myself at him. I didn't want to think about anything but us being together, no matter what the cost.

“Isolde, forgive me,” said Tristan, and his voice was so humble that a part of me wanted to do just as he asked.

The part of me that wasn't thinking straight.

No wonder I had fallen in love with Mark. Mark, who was part of the regular world, who had nothing to do with magic. Mark was absolutely truthful. He was just what he seemed to be: the basketball captain at Tintagel High. I would never be surprised by him. That was the life I wanted: one of calm and certainty. Not this life, with Tristan and magic and serpents.

I was going back to Mark if he would have me. I wasn't going to let Branna have him—not when he was everything I needed.

“Just go,” I said to Tristan. “Just leave me alone. And don't tell Mark anything. I think you owe me that much.”

Tristan reached for my hand, and I jerked it away from him. I was not going to be fooled by my feelings again. They were from the love philtre. They weren't real.

Mom intervened. “Izzie, you may be upset with him, but I'm not going to send Tristan away like this. Were you planning on just walking home?” she asked him.

“Home?” he said distantly. “To Curvenal?”

“No. To your home here. With your uncle?”

He shook his head.

“Another lie?” I asked.

“Surely such a small lie cannot matter. When it comes to matters of import, I have always told the truth. I love you, Isolde. And I believe in you.” Tristan's voice grew sharp on those last words.

“Believing in a lie does not make it true,” I said.

Ever practical, Mom said, “But where have you been living? You must have somewhere to stay.”

Tristan shrugged. “I have been sleeping here and there, under stairways, in alleys, or in underpasses. Or not sleeping at all. Even when I am lying with my eyes closed, I see things in my mind, real or imagined, that are too terrible to sleep through. I see a future in which Gurmun devours all those in Curvenal with magic, and he is still not sated. He will come for those in the unmagical world next. He will kill, and kill, and gain no magic. You cannot imagine the havoc he will wreak if he is left to satisfy his appetite for power.”

“This is your new story to manipulate me into doing what you want?” I said scornfully.

“A story is not always a lie,” said Tristan. “Some stories are truer than truth.”

Truer than truth? That sounded like something liars made up to tell people who found them out.

“Are you going now? Or should I call Mark to make you leave?” Mark wouldn't do it himself, but his posse could handle the job while he watched.

“I will leave,” said Tristan. He limped toward the door.

I wanted to go after him, but I didn't. That was magic driving me, and I didn't want magic anymore. “I don't want to see you at school,” I warned him. “I'll tell them that you went back to Parmenie.”

Tristan nodded. “Just … be careful,” he said. “I could not bear it if something were to happen to you and I was not there to save you again.”