Page 55 of Tristan
“What is it?” I say again, still waving the book.
“Geological magic. I’m trying to figure out how the Rogue Elves could have discovered us,” he says swiping the book from my hand,and I’m surprised by his offer of information. Is it possible something I said to Corrik has penetrated his stubbornness?
“Couldn’t you ask someone?”
“Is that how you solve all your problems? Ask everyone else?”
“No,” I say, offended. “It just seems rather time sensitive.”
His hard features relax. “I could, yes, but Father is already doing something about it, and he suggested I attempt to figure this out on my own since there is no danger in me taking the time to do so.”
I’m intrigued by this knowledge. Old as he is, Corrik is a student too. Makes sense though considering Elves live forever.
“So, have you?” I ask.
“Have I what?”
“Figured it out?”
“Not yet, but I think I’m close.”
“Maybe I can help.”
“Help? What do you know of magic? You can’t even read the words.”
“Give me that book back, hot shot.” I snatch the book back from him, pop a grape into my mouth and flip through the pages thinking on them a moment. “Ah. See this picture here? There are clouds over the sun. I envision—though I know little of magic, some kind of, I don’t know, ‘geological magic,’ might depend on the sun and clouds to hide our location so we can’t be traced?”
“In simple terms, correct.”
I flip the page ignoring his jibe at my intellect. “Anyway, that is for day, at night, the same thing must be done somehow involving stars because the stars are a guide. I know that from traveling with Father. The North Star, for instance, is a guiding star. The constellations can be used to track someone with magic I’m thinking.”
“Correct again, you’ve done well, but your analysis is of no use to me; I already know all of this information and have a far better understanding. You can’t help me.” It’s a dare. He wants me to keep going. I think I’ve impressed him.
“Essentially, we are dealing with time too; day and night, makes me think about the time in between day and night. When I was a little boy, Papa would tell me stories and sing me songs of his homeland. He is not of Markaytia, but several provinces over. A province called Nosklac. A particular rhyme, perhaps a ridiculous one, he sang to me, comes to mind when I look at the pictures in this book.‘Day turns to night, night turns to day, but the time in between is ours for play.’I don’t know what the pictures are, I didn’t even know what the book was until you told me, but when you did, it clicked into place in my head and that’s what I think. Whatever they did has got to do with the time in between day and night. A loophole, perhaps.”
Corrik is quiet and looks me over like he’s never seen me before. “That’s what you got from looking at pictures?”
I nod. “Am I close?”
“You are. The time between day and night is called twilight. Not a time for children to be playing so you are right, the rhyme is ridiculous.”
“I know what twilight is, I was explaining it like that to show you there are more ways to come up with an answer than simply reading about it. I meant the rhyme is ridiculous relative to the answer—not ridiculous to me,” I say. The rhyme means a lot, silly as it is. “It was just the thing to trigger my brain to finding what I thought might be a loophole.”
“Touché, D’orhai. You are correct—your strange method of derivation aside—it’s a twilight spell. I just don’t know which one or if it’s something new.”
“New? Can new magic be created?”
“Of course,” he says like it should be obvious and is high on himself because he still knows more than I do about magic.
I suppose it should be obvious though. There are always new ways of doing everything else, why not magic too?
I commence eating; I really am starving. Corrik spent a long-time last night showing me how much he cares for me. He likes to demonstrate his feelings with several rounds of sex. I don’t mind.
Corrik takes my lead for once and begins eating when I do.
“Thank you, for breakfast.”
“You’re welcome.”
