Tris & Izzie

by Mette Ivie Harrison

  Needless to say, he did not choose to go to the hospital. Instead, he slept on our couch, and Mark slept on the living-room floor in a sleeping bag. Branna shared the bed in my room. I guess Branna and Mark could have gone home, but they’d been waiting for us, and now they wanted to hang out and make sure things were okay with Tristan.

  The next morning, Branna asked, “What is this?” She was

  holding out the crocheted doll from the girl in Curvenal.

  “A gift,” I said.

  Branna sniffed it. “Who is it from?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Someone who had nothing else to give.”

  Branna looked as if she wanted to ask more, but she didn’t. She handed the doll back to me, and I put it on the shelf above my bed.

  Two days after we got back, Branna’s parents called and demanded to see her. Mark finally took her home. She didn’t really need Mom’s potions anymore.

  When they were gone and Tristan was asleep, Mom and I sat in the kitchen and argued about magic and whether we should come out in public about the truth. I wanted to tell people, to protect them from Mel Melot and others like him. Mom said we would be deluged with reporters and people who wanted love potions that worked better than the one I had tried on the Internet.

  “I don’t want to tell reporters about it. At least, not yet.”

  “Well, I’ve always said you could tell people that you know well,” said Mom. “As long as they agree to keep it secret.”

  “I know, Mom. It’s not a matter of calling the news-papers. Just telling more and more people. Not one or two.” I was thinking about Mark’s whole posse, for example, and a few others at school.

  It was only a start, but after I explained about Mel, Mom nodded. “You know, Izzie, I think your father would be proud of you.”

  “Does this mean you agree with me about the magic?”

  “Yes.”

  Later Tristan and I talked about it, too. “The people of Curvenal should be allowed to come out and live in the rest of the world. And other people should be able to go there and visit,” I said.

  Tristan thought about it. “I wouldn’t want the beauties of Curvenal to become cheapened,” he said. “All the magic there should be honored, not sold off to the highest bidder.”

  I could see what he meant. “But Branna and Mark could go there sometime. We could show them the black sails.” They were my best friends, both of them, and I wanted them to be able to see what I had seen.

  Mark and Branna came back over a couple of nights later, and I was surprised at how easy they were with each other. It was like they had been together for a year already, the way Branna seemed to anticipate what Mark was going to say, and how he moved to match her.

  I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen how right they were for each other. There is more than one kind of blindness, but I had recovered from mine without the help of potions.

  Mark and Branna sat on the couch, his hand on her leg, her arm wrapped around his waist. The jealousy, the competition, the anger were gone. We all had what we wanted, and we could just talk about what would happen next.

  “We can’t go back to school, obviously,” said Mark. “The school district has offered to bus us to Parmenie for the rest of the year.” He made a face. “Or we can do some online high-school classes and take work-study credits if we help with the cleanup and the rebuilding.”

  “How long do you think it will take?” I asked.

  Mark shook his head. “Six or seven months at least. We have to do the cleanup before we can really figure out how bad the damage is to the foundation. And the district wants to make sure any new building is up to modern earthquake codes, in case anything like this ever happens again.”

  “It won’t,” I said.

  Mark looked at me. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure,” I said.

  “No more magical creatures attacking you?” asked Branna. “How can you be sure of that?”

  “Well, I don’t think so,” I said. “Not this year, anyway.”

  Mom came in with a tray of drinks.

  “Um, I hope you don’t take this the wrong way,” said Branna, “but at this point I don’t think I want to drink any-thing I haven’t seen come out of a hermetically sealed container. Not unless I’m dying and have no other choice.”

  “It’s not a potion,” said Mom.

  “Or a love philtre,” I added. “Not that you need one, you two.”

  “It’s just lemonade,” said Mom. “And you can give me a truth serum for that, if you don’t believe me.”

  The next week, Tristan and I met Mark and Branna at the school. One of the teachers was there with a crew of kids, all of them wearing hard hats and orange vests. He didn’t let them use any of the heavy equipment, but they searched through rubble in the parking lot and made notes.

  Tristan was really interested, but I didn’t think it was for me. I felt a little adrift until Mom came up behind me.

  “Oh, you surprised me. I thought you would be at work,” I said.

  “I quit,” said Mom.

  My eyes went wide. “What? But that’s what you’ve always done. Helping people with magic.”

  “It was one way to help people. The best way I could think of at the time, when I was trying to keep you safe and not show my magic openly. But I think you’re right. It’s time for a change.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “Actually, I was hoping you would do it with me,” said Mom. “Along with some online classes so you graduate from high school on time, that is.”

  “I’m not a witch like you,” I said. “What use would you have for me?”

  “I’m going to look for people who have latent magic. At the high school, around town, maybe elsewhere.”

  “Latent magic?” I echoed.

  “Well, when we lived in Curvenal, everyone knew what magic they had from birth. But there has been magic in the world for a long time, and many people tried to conceal their magic. It’s possible there are thousands of people who have powerful magic just waiting to be revealed. And it could be dangerous if it comes out without them knowing what it is or how to control it.”

  “That makes sense,” I said.

  “I’m going to start with Branna,” said Mom. She nodded in her direction. “I thought I should tell you.”

  “You think Branna has magic?” I asked.

  “I wonder. She believed in it so easily when you told her. And the fact that she was drawn to you in the first place may mean something. And there’s that great-aunt with visions, the one she was named after.”

  “The rich one,” I said thoughtfully. You could use magic to get rich if you wanted to.

  “So do you want to help?”

  “I think so,” I said. I was glad Mom would have something else to do besides watch over me all the time. I was tired of that. And Tristan had taken over that job quite nicely now.

  I watched as Mom went over and tapped Branna on the shoulder. I didn’t hear what she said, but I saw Branna nod slightly, then nod again. She looked over at me.

  I gave her a thumbs-up sign.

  That night, Mark and Tristan came back to our house, looking tired but happy, dust all over them. Mark was repeating some joke I didn’t get, so I guessed they were friends again.

  “What about Mel Melot?” I asked. “Anyone heard from him?”

  “Actually, I heard he left town the day after the earth-quake,” said Mark.

  “Really? Why?”

  “Well, the rumors are that he started babbling about magic and giants and potions. His parents were feeling pres-sure to send him to a therapist, for post-traumatic stress or something like that. Because of the school falling down,” said Mark.

  “But they didn’t?” I have to admit, I felt a certain amount of satisfaction, thinking that Mel Melot had told a little too much of the truth himself in the end. It seemed fair that it got him into trouble.

  “He ran away first and took a bunch of fam
ily heirlooms with him. His parents swore out an arrest warrant against him because they were so valuable.”

  “Hmm,” I said. I guess his family really was scary.

  After dinner, Branna and Mark went home, and Mom left me and Tristan alone in the kitchen to do the dishes.

  “I am going to go look for my own apartment,” he said.

  “Not going to just live under bridges and overpasses, then?” I said, though I was really going to miss having him so close by all the time. I could see that it mattered to him, though. He had come from Curvenal, and that would always make him a little different from other boys my age.

  “This time I know I’m staying,” he said quietly.

  I took his hand and pulled him out to the porch, and we watched the sunset. We stared into the dark sky as the stars began to appear.

  “Are you thinking of home?” I asked Tristan.

  “You are my home now, Isolde,” he said. “Wherever you go, I will follow.”

  “Except if I ask you not to,” I said.

  He answered gravely, “Except then.”

  I laughed. “Good thing you don’t have to worry about that.”

  He kissed me, and it was a kiss of safety and happiness, and there was plenty of heat in it, too. Magical and non-magical.

  Epilogue—Two Years Later

  Tristan and I were standing on the rocks above the shore of Curvenal, Mark and Branna just behind us.

  “Is this it?” asked Branna.

  “This is it,” I said. Curvenal looked completely different from the way it had been the first time I was here. The ash was gone. Ruined buildings had been torn down and new ones put up in their places.

  Most important of all, the cage where Tristan’s parents had been held was gone. In its place was a new school.

  We heard children laughing behind us. They ran up and down the new playground that Tristan and Mark had built after fixing up Tintagel High. Tristan and Mark had learned a lot. Mark was planning to work construction here in Cur-venal. Branna had graduated early and was working on her teaching degree. She was going to do her student teaching in Curvenal, adding to the regular curriculum what she had learned from my mother about magic.

  “I guess I don’t really wish I had been here then. By all reports it was pretty awful,” said Branna.

  “Yes,” said Tristan tightly. This was only the second time he had come back, and it was still hard on him to be here.

  Mom was still out in the non-magical world. She had sold the house in Tintagel and was going around the country pretending to be a motivational speaker. Really, she was just looking for people who had magic.

  “I hope you never have to experience something like that, Branna,” I said. The battle with Gurmun had made me realize how much I loved Tristan, but it wasn’t something I thought of fondly.

  “Well, there was that little dragon that we had to deal with a couple of days ago,” said Mark.

  “What?” asked Branna.

  Mark shrugged. “It was going around torching things. Too little to be mean, but we had to do something.”

  I put my hand on Tristan’s shoulder. He was so tense it was like touching a statue of him. “Come on,” I said. “No point in brooding.”

  “I guess not,” he said. But he was quiet as we walked back to the school.

  “So, are you excited about going to Germany?” asked Branna.

  “Yeah. I’m excited about all the old magic we’ll learn about.” Branna’s great-aunt had turned out to be a witch, like Mom, and she had invited me and Tristan to come live with her while we went to the University of Heidelberg, which now was open about being one of the premier magical universities in the world. “The Rhine river maidens and the treasure, for a start. Maybe we’ll be able to find it.”

  “You’re not afraid that will be more trouble than it’s worth?” asked Branna.

  It was a good question. But before I could answer it, I suddenly saw a plume of fire rising in the distance, and my heart almost leaped out of my chest.

  “Gurmun,” I whispered. Could it be?

  Tristan put his hand behind his back and slipped out Excoriator.

  We looked up into the sky but didn’t see anything.

  “Ahem,” said Mark, directing our attention downward to another baby dragon, not more than two feet high. He went over and picked it up by the tail, swung it around, and knocked it unconscious, then used steel wire to wrap its mouth shut. He looked pretty competent at this by now.

  He brought it up to Tristan. “Looks even younger than the last one,” he said.

  Tristan nodded. “There is an adult dragon somewhere nearby who is hatching eggs,” he said.

  “Hmm. I guess that will be my new project for the year.”

  “I could stay and help,” offered Tristan.

  I grabbed his arm and pulled him away. “No, you could not. I am sure there are plenty of dragons—or other magical and dangerous creatures—for you to fight at Heidelberg.”

  Tristan grumbled, but then he asked, “So, are you going to marry me yet?” I felt his breath against my ear. He had asked me before, but I had kept him waiting for the right moment.

  “Yes,” I said.

  He went very still for a long moment. “Are you serious?”

  “I’m serious,” I said.

  Mark and Branna must have been watching us, because they came over right away. “Make her happy,” Mark said. “Or you know I’ll make you regret it.”

  Branna gave Mark a loving look. “We’re thinking of get-ting married soon, too,” she said.

  I smiled. “I think you’ll be very happy.”

  “We will,” said Branna. “When you’re with the right person, it doesn’t matter what else happens. Dragons, giants, slurgs, and serpents. You can still be happy through it.”

  “I’m going to miss you, Branna,” I said.

  “I know,” she said. “I’ll miss you, too. But you’ve got important things to do. And so do I.”

  Later that night, Tristan held up Excoriator with one arm, his other firmly around my waist. We flew up and over Curvenal in a long circle and then headed east, over the big cities and out to the Atlantic Ocean. My magic gave us light, and his gave us speed.

  Author’s Note

  I was drawn to do a retelling of the Tristan myth because of the magical elements of the story, which make it stand out from other epic love triangles. I was fascinated by the magical love philtre made by powerful witch women, the giant to be slain, the serpent/dragon with the poisonous bite, and the magical tests of virtue given to Isolde. Tristan was also one of the first epics I read while studying German literature in college. Written by Gottfried von Strassburg in 1211, it is in many ways the first truly German piece of literature that has survived, along with a handful of other tales (including the Nibelungenlied and Parzival) written in the emerging colloquial language rather than Latin. When Richard Wagner was looking for German stories to retell, Tristan and Isolde was one that he used for his opera of that name in 1865.

  Gottfried’s epic begins with a prequel, the love story of Tristan’s parents, Rivalin and Blanchefleur. Their lives end tragically (but romantically), and then Tristan grows up in Cornwall and comes to his uncle King Mark’s court in Tintagel. Tristan is a musician and a trickster, and he is good at just about everything he tries. He is first introduced to the court by his skill at cutting up a deer (“excoriating” it). I have tipped my hat to this scene in the original with the name of Tristan’s sword.

  After proving himself in battle several times, Tristan goes to Ireland to deal with Duke Gurmun, who is demanding tribute of King Mark. Tristan proves himself a hero by slaying Gurmun’s monstrous brother Morold in single combat, and then finds himself battling a dragon-like serpent. He is nearly killed, but is found and saved by Isolde and her mother, Queen Isolde, both practitioners of herbal magic. He calls himself “Tantris” as a ploy to disguise his true identity, and when Isolde discovers the truth she is ready to kill him—li
terally—in his bath. But her mother and Tristan persuade her that it is time to forge an alliance with King Mark, and she eventually agrees to a betrothal. Queen Isolde sends a love potion to make young Isolde and King Mark happy in marriage, but on the ocean crossing, Tristan and Isolde accidentally drink it instead and fall helplessly and irrevocably in love.

  Nonetheless, Isolde marries King Mark, as is her duty. I have added the idea in my retelling that Brangane loves Mark herself. But in the original, Brangane is Isolde’s loyal companion throughout the epic and frequently helps Isolde and Tristan escape discovery from the king and others who are searching for ways to prove them false. One of the most memorable scenes is when the dwarf Melot catches the two lovers and demands that they be tried in court. In another case, Isolde is forced to hold a hot iron. If she lies, she will be burned, but she says the truth so cleverly that she does not give herself away. I have twisted this into Mel Melot, who has a truth potion he forces Isolde to drink.

  Gottfried’s romance is unfinished, but in most variants, Tristan marries Isolde of the White Hands, who appears later in the story, though he remains in love with the first Isolde. When Tristan has been wounded and can only be cured by Isolde’s magical herbs, the jealous Isolde of the White Hands fatefully tells him that she sees a black sail instead of a white one, which means that Isolde has not come for him. Tristan dies in despair, and then Isolde dies of grief when she finds him. I tried to make a happier ending in my version, as tastes in romance have changed with time.

  Still, I think the idea of this retelling is very much in the spirit of a medieval tale. Bards in that time borrowed freely from one another, and copying was seen as a kind of tribute. The way a storyteller became well known was to tell an old story to a new audience, adding details that would make sense to the new court and the storyteller’s patron. So, changing the ending and resetting this story in an American high school seems to me to be exactly what would make sense to Gottfried. I imagined him cheering me on as I reused, reinvented, twisted, and added to his original.