In Other Lands

by Sarah Rees Brennan

  Everyone sat around the table and discussed how much they were looking forward to weapons. Everyone looked happy, looked excited: looked as if they could not ask for anything more than a battle won.

  This world was stupid, and everyone in it was stupid. Elliot was stupid, too, for being happy in this house full of stupid people who were all going to get themselves killed. He shouldn’t even be here. Luke wasn’t even his friend.

  “And are you looking forward to camp, dear?” Rachel asked Elliot, beaming but vague. Elliot suspected she had no idea what went on in the council-training course at all.

  “Sure,” said Elliot, and when Rachel was no longer paying attention but Luke still was, he added: “Truce is over then. I’ll finally have peace and quiet.”

  II

  Elliot, Age Fourteen

  Elliot had to go home before he could go back to the Border. He spent another week with his father in his chair with his constantly empty glass, the kids down the road still on holiday, and his bags already packed.

  It wasn’t just because he wanted to go, though he did want to go. His packing was also extremely complex. Elliot had decided to think bigger than Sharpies.

  It was a long week. Even though the Border camp was a heathen hellhole dedicated to martial law, and even though he was carrying way too much stuff, Elliot felt his shoulders relax under his heavy burdens when he went over the wall and walked until he saw familiar fields, short towers, rough wood cabins and brown and blue tents.

  He felt in a good enough mood to wave to some of the students he recognized. Myra and Peter gave him a weird look and a wide berth, but Elliot thought that was more because some of his bags were starting to crackle and pop than that they didn’t like him anymore. His back was starting to feel uncomfortably warm: Elliot hoped it was his muscles being overtaxed, but he twisted his head around to look. Maybe the smoke was rising from a nearby campfire or something.

  He looked back around and up into Luke’s face.

  “Elliot, give me that bag,” said Luke.

  “Why are you bothering me, loser?” Elliot demanded imperiously. “Especially when I clearly have everything under control.”

  “People can literally see you for miles,” said Luke. “Captain Woodsinger is clearing the area!”

  Elliot waved his hand, partially to indicate his airy lack of concern and partially to dissipate the smoke. “I’m not responsible for other people being fussbudgets.”

  “You look like a snail that’s about to explode,” Luke said and made a grab for one of his bags. Elliot gave a pterodactyl screech of protest.

  Luke stepped out of range of Elliot’s grab and studied the bag. It did seem to be melting at the bottom a tiny bit. “What have you got in here?”

  “None of your business, loser. You know, you are not the first bully to ever snatch my bag from me, and I think keepaway is a terrible game, so—”

  Elliot had noticed that referencing his previous schooldays often made Luke give him his way, but apparently not this time.

  “Bet I’m the first bully who snatched your bag that was about to explode,” said Luke, and started to spin the bag by its strap.

  “Don’t throw it!” Elliot wailed as Luke whirled it over his head and threw it with all his might.

  As soon as the bag hit the ground, it loudly burst into flame.

  Elliot winced. “That’d be the microwave. In retrospect, the microwave was a mistake.”

  “What’s a microwave?” Luke asked.

  “Clearly some kind of volatile explosive weapon,” Serene deduced, strolling up to them and eyeing the small fire in the distance with her usual aplomb. “Elliot, you really must leave handling weapons to the experts.”

  After the explosions and everything, it seemed odd to remind Luke that according to the terms of the truce he could now stop hanging around so much. Besides which, sometimes Elliot said stuff when he was annoyed that he later didn’t mean as much as he’d thought he did at the time. Elliot realized the truce was working in his favor; he had no confidence that if Serene had to choose which of them to hang out with, it would definitely be Elliot. And Luke and Serene were both excelling in all their history and geography and mathematical courses, and if he didn’t watch them they might slip. He supposed he didn’t mind so very much.

  Being fourteen wouldn’t be so different from being thirteen, Elliot thought.

  It took him less than a week to realise how very wrong he was.

  The absolute worst thing about being fourteen was that almost everyone else’s interest in girls had caught fire and caught up with Elliot’s at last, and thus Elliot was no longer the only one actively wooing Serene. Though he did flatter himself that he had got the head start, and made real progress. Plus he was easily the most cunning person in the entire training camp, and had several cunning courtship plans.

  He put one of them into action at one of their lunchtimes, when Serene had once more been waylaid by other boys. They were always offering to teach her how to do this or that warlike thing which Serene already did better than them, it made Elliot feel extremely unwell. But Serene was very patient with them. She even seemed to like it.

  She was standing near the food buffets with her tray empty and the small discreet elven smile on her face directed toward other men, and Elliot decided he could bear it no longer.

  “When Serene gets here,” Elliot informed Luke, “you have to compliment her.”

  “What?” asked Luke blankly.

  “I’d do it,” said Elliot. “In fact, I’m going to do it, I doubt I can restrain myself, she’s a perfect elven being. But I compliment her all the time; it doesn’t have the same impact coming from me.”

  “What?” asked Luke, even more blankly.

  “Do you want her to leave us?” Elliot asked. “Is that what you want?”

  “What?” said Luke. The blankness was now inscribed, as on a white page with red pen: “What horrifying thing are you saying, Elliot? What are you trying to imply?”

  “What if she wants to sit at someone else’s lunch table?” Elliot asked. “Some other table where she receives the adulation that is her due. If I am deprived of my only love and have nothing to do but stare at your stupid face, I’ll stop eating and probably go into a decline.”

  “Serene’s not going to leave us,” said Luke. “She and I are swordbrothers. Well, you know what I mean. We swore an oath on a blade and shared blood. It’s a warrior thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

  Elliot understood enough to feel hurt and left out, so he said: “Please do not discuss swapping bodily fluids with Serene in public. She is a lady! And ladies need to be wooed with soft words.”

  Luke made a face. “I’m not randomly complimenting Serene. That’s weird.”

  “It isn’t weird, it’s an ingenious scheme in which I thought outside the box and decided that the devilish competition I know and can keep an eye on is better than the devilish competition I don’t. Why are you being so difficult, Luke? I know you like Serene, so what is the problem with verbally expressing your appreciation? Why are you upsetting me?”

  “Why are you upsetting me?”

  “Why would flawless logic upset you, Luke? That makes no sense. If you don’t want to do this simple thing for me, I don’t think I want to eat my extra pudding anymore.”

  “Fine,” said Luke. “I don’t want you to keep taking my pudding anyway. I never said you could. I like pudding.”

  Elliot was Boy Scout levels of prepared to argue the matter further, but just then Serene arrived with her lunch tray, arrayed with the usual elvegetarian fare of lettuce, various vegetables, and flowers, plus her own pudding, because Serene had been corrupted by their disgusting human ways.

  “Hello, flower in the garden of my heart and nightlight of my soul,” said Elliot.

  “Elliot, Luke,” said Serene.

  Elliot was pleased: he privately kept track of when Serene said Elliot’s name first. But then Serene chose to sit on Luke’s side of
the table, which cancelled out the names and left them at a draw.

  “Hi, Serene,” said Luke.

  Elliot coughed and ostentatiously pushed away Luke’s pudding.

  Luke rolled his eyes and frowned. “Serene. Your, um, dagger work was seriously exceptional today.”

  “Why, thank you, Luke,” said Serene, gracing him with a small smile. She and Luke fist-bumped: Elliot supposed it was a swordbrothers thing.

  “Really, daggers? Really? You are useless. You are entirely without use,” Elliot announced, but since Serene seemed satisfied with Luke’s pathetic effort, and he believed even pathetic efforts should be met with rewards to encourage improvement, he deigned to reach over and draw the pudding back to his side of the table.

  Serene still got lessons with Captain Woodsinger occasionally, when the dark, serious captain felt they were required. Every time Serene went to see Captain Woodsinger, she came back a little steadier and more certain of her course. Elliot could not grudge Serene that, and could not be anything but grateful to the captain, even if he missed Serene’s company.

  Luke was still oddly around at those times, when he didn’t have Trigon practise. Elliot wanted to question why Luke was hanging around, but he remembered Rachel Sunborn calling Luke her shy boy and thought it was true that Luke did not like his familiar routines changing or spending time with anyone but familiar people. Elliot supposed it was habit, even though Luke had a dozen other places he could be. He refrained from pointing this out to Luke and instead kindly spent their time together educating Luke about history. Luke was learning very little about it in his warrior training.

  “The Border guard were initially a far less military operation,” Elliot explained. “Records indicate that long ago the relationship between the military and their councilors was mostly equitable, with diplomats and soldiers working together to find solutions for their people.”

  “So that didn’t last?” said Luke. “Because it didn’t work?”

  Elliot’s eyes narrowed. “It was only as time passed, and the other species militarized in response to the humans, that councilors became the largely useless and disrespected body they are now. Basically, the military crushed their spirits.”

  He stopped declaiming from his position on his bunk to give Luke an accusatory glare.

  “Yeah,” said Luke. “I can see the spirit of every future councilor I know is really crushed.”

  Elliot hit Luke in the head with a pillow. Elliot was not used to administering violence, and he slightly misjudged the force he needed to use. Feathers exploded everywhere: all over the floor, the beds, themselves. Everywhere. It was like a feather-based apocalypse.

  “This would not have happened if I were in my own world,” said Elliot sadly. “In my world we have pillows and mattresses made of foam.”

  “I like feathers,” said Luke calmly.

  Elliot scowled at him. “That’s a weird thing to like, loser.” He sighed, thinking of the lost luxuries of civilization. “The best kind of foam is called memory foam.”

  Luke frowned. “How does foam remember things?”

  “Don’t make me talk about it,” said Elliot. “I will only get upset. I am upset enough that I am going to be finding feathers in my hair for weeks. Maybe months. Maybe years. You don’t understand what it’s like. It’s not just that it’s bizarre and pumpkin colored. It has the texture of a tangle of fried worms.”

  Luke suppressed a smile. Elliot thought smiling when other people were suffering was a terrible sign of sadism and Luke should be ashamed. Though Luke did win some points back for mercy, since he helped Elliot with the emergency feather removal.

  “It’s okay that it’s—bright,” said Luke. “It means I can find you, when you’re in trouble.”

  “I don’t know why you would suggest the possibility of me being in trouble,” said Elliot. “Because I am a retiring and bookish individual, and I don’t like being in trouble, in danger, or in proximity to weapons. You will never find me in trouble. You will find me in the library. If you can remember where that is.”

  Luke looked prepared to argue this, though Elliot was so clearly in the right, but just then Elliot’s roommates came back. They all greeted Luke with smiles and welcome, and when Luke was gone they all said very firmly that he was not allowed to come back.

  “No more weird scenes with your friends,” said Richard Plantgrown. “No more weird stunts with knives. We are all very tired. None of us slept well last year. This year we need to be sharper in battle, and we need to be able to focus on important things, like impressing the ladies.”

  “I don’t know why you think it’s my fault you can’t impress the ladies,” said Elliot. “Much more likely to be your personalities, or possibly the way this world has no way to disguise persistent body odor. Have you considered that?”

  His roommates clearly did not feel Elliot was being helpful.

  Being fourteen meant that if Elliot wanted to spend more time with Serene—which obviously he did, since she was the rose in the flower crown of the world—or Luke—which, all right, he did, though it was an embarrassing admission to make even in the privacy of his own mind—he had to do it outside his cabin. Elliot gave up on making friends with anyone in his cabin, and spent even more time in the library.

  Their advanced age meant they were accorded certain privileges, like access to the lake that had been out of bounds for thirteen-year-olds. Elliot wanted to ask if fourteen-year-olds were really much less likely to drown than thirteen-year-olds, but Luke and Serene had urged him not to do so.

  Apparently they liked the lake.

  Elliot did not like the lake.

  He would have liked a different lake, full of shadows and with leaves hanging above the water and whispering secrets to each other. This lake was crowded with people, and they were barely wearing any clothes and celebrating their discovery of hormones.

  The first Saturday they were allowed to go down to the lake, Serene was immediately separated from them and surrounded by a crowd of boys clamoring to get to be the one who taught her how to swim. Apparently the elven way was more about floating and communing with the spirits.

  Serene laughed and held court to indulge the forward human boys. Elliot sniffed and skulked off to secure himself a sunbed (sunbeds in this backward land were basically old wooden bedframes, but beggars could not be choosers) in the shade. He had cleverly chosen a large and fascinating-looking book about mermaid customs, and planned to be wrapped up in it all day. He had been saving it for just such an occasion.

  The way girls did their flirting was different.

  There were far fewer girls than boys in the Border camp, and they seemed to want to gather in groups, not around a lone boy like the boys crowded around Serene (like lions around an antelope that had been cut off from the rest of the herd, Elliot thought bitterly). The herd of girls looked at the boys, selected one, looked at him and discussed him. And the boys didn’t quite dare approach the whole group of girls, so they formed their own group and then the two groups were in a stand-off that involved a lot of casual hair-tossing and muscle-flexing.

  Presumably rebels from both sides would break away and unite at some stage. Elliot’s plan was to do his reading.

  None of the girls were whispering or staring at him: stupid war training had given most of the other guys a lot more to flex, and even the few other guys in council training did not have the short issue, or the ginger issue, or the prickly-like-the-unholy-offspring-of-a-hedgehog-and-a-cactus issue to contend with. And Elliot’s heart was pledged to Serene forever, anyway, so he didn’t care. But he still wasn’t taking his shirt off so the girls could actually make flexing comparisons.

  Luke, of course, was the clear winner in the who-the-girls-were-staring-at Olympics.

  “He’s always lovely to me when we talk, but he never stays. If I could just get him to stick around,” sighed Adara Cornripe, who was golden of skin and hair, the best at daggerwork of anyone in the war-training course,
and considered the prettiest girl in the Border camp. Though Elliot figured this gave him his fifty-second piece of proof that people were blind, stupid, and prejudiced against elves.

  Elliot was suddenly struck by another cunning plan.

  “I find that telling him to go away helps with that,” Elliot offered. “He is very contrary.”

  Adara stared at him. “Who asked you?”

  “You were speaking quite loudly, and I’m a yard away,” said Elliot. “If you wanted to keep your conversation a secret, may I suggest whispering about it on some lonely midnight? And if you wanted me to politely pretend about anything, I’m sorry, have you met me? But suit yourself. I’m sure tossing your hair as if you’re a pony being bothered by flies will work eventually.”

  Adara made a face at him, but looked thoughtful. Elliot had noted already that she wasn’t stupid, or he wouldn’t have spoken up at all.

  When Luke left Dale Wavechaser and the rest of the admiring posse of war-training guys (Elliot thought of them as a kind of armed Greek chorus), Adara straightened up on her sunbed, threw her hair back, and called out with sultry daring: “Go away, Luke!”

  Luke’s eyebrows hit his forehead, backed up, accelerated, and then hit his forehead again. “Ooookay,” he said, and carefully skirted around the girls’ sunbeds, giving Adara the widest berth possible and also some serious side eye, until he reached Elliot.

  “Aren’t you coming in?”

  “Don’t bother me now, loser, I have a very serious and important question to ask Adara,” said Elliot. “Now, Adara, you said that, and it actually worked. How did you do it? Was it like this: Go away, Luke? Or was it more like this: Go away, Luke?”

  Adara shot him a look fit to kill.

  Luke lowered his voice. “Maybe you shouldn’t talk to her? I have no idea what I did to upset her. She seems a bit touchy.”