It was dark. The stars were out, smudges of brightness in a dark sky that seemed to be running, like streaks of white paint on a black background. Culaine whined and tried to lick the tears off Elliot’s face, but Elliot shoved him away. Good-bye to the stupid dog, good-bye to the tower and the nice, grumbling, easy, warm ways of a family. He couldn’t come back. He had been stupid, he supposed: just because he’d decided he was Luke’s friend didn’t mean that Luke was his.
“Elliot?” said Serene’s voice, behind him. Elliot jumped and scrubbed at his face with both hands, but it was a futile gesture.
Serene looked very uncomfortable, which made two of them. “What are you doing here?” Elliot snapped.
“I came looking for you,” Serene said slowly, approaching and sitting down by his side. “It was rather sad for me to be left without male company.”
It was good of her to come and sit, even awkwardly. She edged closer, and her warmth seeped through Elliot. She liked him better than anybody else did, or probably ever would, and Elliot loved her best of all.
“Uh, you do have Neal,” said Elliot. “Can’t shake him, last I checked. And plenty of other Sunborn suitors, I’m sure.”
“Ah,” Serene said. “But not the male company I prefer.”
Luke, Elliot supposed, and glanced bitterly over at her. Serene was looking at him, her face pale in the moonlight, her eyes grave. She looked remote as the moon, but she was very close.
She leaned in. His breath left him in a shocked rush, replaced by a feeling of light-headed disbelief, and the brief sweet warmth of her lips meeting his.
Serene leaned away, eyes still serious, still meeting Elliot’s without fear or wavering. She did not speak. She stood after a moment, and left his side without saying another word.
Elliot sat and stared after her slim retreating form until she disappeared into the night, then up at the stars. They were suddenly brilliant and clear.
The next morning was ungodly awkward.
Luke was very quiet, staring at his porridge with his arms crossed over his chest. Serene was also very quiet. Elliot could not tell from Luke’s face if he was upset at still having an intruder in his home, or from Serene’s face if she regretted any rash acts of pity-kissing that might have happened last night. He concentrated on being a good polite guest: he didn’t steal the little container of jam Luke had for his own porridge, even though he was used to it and the porridge tasted awful without it. He passed several excellent-guest remarks about how delicious the awful porridge was, and how nice the weather.
Everything became even more hideous because people kept stopping by the table, one of a dozen little makeshift tables out on the lawn, to congratulate Luke on his shining victory.
“Guess that Woodsinger wench is teaching you something, at that,” said Eric Sunborn, Adam and Neal’s father.
“Like my mother and my sister taught me before her,” said Luke, speaking mildly but also basically uttering treason. Sunborn women were meant to be regarded as an exception.
“Commander Woodsinger is not a wench!” snapped Elliot. “And I’m sure she’s very proficient at teaching weaponry and other terrible things.”
“How would you know, you sissy?” Neal hissed.
Elliot was about to snap back that he only had to examine the evidence—Luke was champion, and what was Neal?—but then he remembered that he couldn’t insult Sunborns while under a Sunborn roof. He bit the inside of his cheek and sulked.
Luke did not look in the least appeased by Elliot’s noble self-control. He glared at his porridge.
“Do humans call women wenches?” Serene asked. “That’s very humorous.”
Elliot jumped and stared at her. She looked just the same as ever, a beautiful enigma with no discernable thoughts about kissing.
Eric Sunborn gave Serene a squinty suspicious look and drifted away. Luke kept glaring at his porridge. Serene ate dried apricots and continued to be a lovely mystery. Elliot wanted to be back at school, very badly.
The one bright spot of the day was that Adam was sitting at another breakfast table with a broken nose.
Elliot disapproved of violence, but obviously Adam had decided to sexually harass someone else, someone who was totally okay with violence. That was what you got for having wandering hands, Elliot thought with satisfaction. Not everybody was as kind and forbearing as he was.
He beamed at Adam. Adam flinched away as if he were about to be hit again. Whoever had hit him, Elliot thought cruelly, it served Adam right.
III
Elliot, Age Fifteen
Being back at school was marginally better, though Serene and Luke were off spending a lot of time together. Serene stopped by Elliot’s cabin once late at night by herself and Elliot’s heart leapt, but it turned out she only wanted to study some pamphlets to broaden her understanding of the human world.
Over the summer, a tavern had opened for the farming community around the camp and the Border guard alike. It was called the Elven Tavern. There was a sign outside that showed an elven warrior, though in oddly revealing armor that Elliot had never seen any elf warrior wear and striking a strange pose. Elliot brought the matter of the sign up with the tavern keeper.
“It’s empowering, innit?”
Elliot examined the sign some more. “What . . . putting your back out and getting stabbed in the midriff?”
“You have to strike a balance between being empowering and, you know, gettin’ actual customers,” said the innkeeper. It did not seem all that balanced to Elliot, but he added: “Tons of students come down bringing their sweethearts. That blonde cadet Adara, she’s brought three men in the last week.”
“She lives a life of daring and adventure,” Elliot agreed.
So the Elven Tavern was the hot new place to take a date. Elliot gave the matter deep thought, and then some more thought than it needed because he was very nervous. Finally he glanced across the library table at Serene, who was making a study chart like the babe she was, and mustered up the courage to ask: “Do you want to go to the Elven Tavern with me?”
Serene looked up from her task, gray eyes like the dawn. “Absolutely,” she said. “What a good idea.”
“Oh,” said Elliot, stunned by his good fortune.
Maybe Serene had been trying to do things the human way, he thought, as he sometimes tried to do things the elven way. Maybe she had been waiting for him to ask her.
“Luke could really do with some cheering up,” Serene continued. “Let me go fetch him.”
“Oh,” said Elliot.
And maybe it wasn’t Elliot she really wanted, and never had been.
They were not a cheerful group at the Elven Tavern that evening. Luke was sulking as usual, Elliot was dismayed by how terrible he was at romance, and Serene was appalled by the décor.
“I would be extremely surprised if any elves were consulted when the theme for this building was discussed,” Serene sniffed. “Ever. At any point.”
Elliot did not know what to do about it, when the girl he loved had kissed him and then decided she wished to spend all her time with Luke from that moment on. He did not know what to do about the fact Luke was still furious with him, even though Elliot had been carefully polite to him for weeks.
Trying to appease Luke was not working any more than trying to woo Serene. Elliot appeared to be terrible at manners as well as romance. He should possibly be locked up in a dungeon as one unfit for any kind of human companionship.
Serene excused herself. Silence reigned, a dark tyrant, over the table while she was gone.
“Why are you mad at me?” Luke asked abruptly.
Elliot stared.
“I’m not mad at you,” Elliot said. “Why would you think such a stupid thing, loser? Now I’m mad at you.”
“There is a statue in the bathrooms that I have strong objections about,” said Serene, returning. “Will you come and examine it with me, and then come and speak to the tavern keeper?”
“Sure,�
�� said Elliot.
“No, we will not go into the bathroom in a weird group!” said Luke.
Was this, Elliot wondered, how Luke wooed ladies? Not giving them all their own way. Treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen. He narrowed his eyes at Luke, and Luke lifted his own eyes to the ceiling.
They reached a compromise, and Elliot went in with Serene while Luke waited outside. Elliot had to agree with Serene that the statue was physically implausible.
It had also been defaced. Someone had drawn COMMANDER WOODSINGER on it in lipstick.
Elliot kept hearing more of the same kind of thing Eric Sunborn had said about Commander Woodsinger. Apparently Captain Whiteleaf had been suggested to replace her: Elliot thought that was a bad idea, on account of Captain Whiteleaf was a dribbling idiot, but his father, Colonel Whiteleaf, was such a very important man. People said he might be the next general.
Elliot supposed that was nice for Captain Whiteleaf, but the man was still an idiot. He suspected Commander Woodsinger thought so too, since she was now sending out missions with leaders who were actually competent, and captains like Whiteleaf were relegated to training and teaching.
Captain Whiteleaf proved he was an idiot by giving them the worst ever lecture about mermaids three weeks into term, in the military-history class, which was one of the few the war-training and council-training courses took together.
It was always nice to sit beside Serene, and Elliot could admit it was even nicer to have Luke at the desk on her other side. It was not nice to listen to an idiot.
“The hostilities between mermaids and man arose from that incident. Given the draining of their home lake, the Grayling clan of mermaids might thus be said by some to have a legitimate grievance,” said Captain Whiteleaf. “But then the sea mermaids began to murder innocent sailors. The only question is, did the sea mermaids join the Grayling clan in their mission of vengeance because they were bribed by the Graylings, because they have some dark purpose of their own to fulfill, or simply because they have an innate love of violence and destruction?”
“Sorry in advance for my insolence and lack of cooperation in class, but you phrased that question incorrectly,” said Elliot, and noticed Luke had his hand up. “Luke, put your hand down. This question insults your intelligence.”
Luke kept his hand up.
“Your arguments are based on a false hypothesis. The thing is that some mermaids are able to swim in both fresh and salt water,” said Elliot. “We don’t know for sure whether the Grayling clan are exclusively fresh-water mermaids or if they can survive in both. So you can’t say for sure that the Grayling clan weren’t responsible for the initial sea attacks. Your father Colonel Whiteleaf, wrote about them: the mermaids who perpetrated them were never identified as being from any clan. And of course after we started attacking all the other mermaids, they defended themselves.”
“It hasn’t been definitively proven that some mermaids are able to survive in both,” said Captain Whiteleaf.
“Almost every in-depth report we have on mermaids suggests it,” said Elliot. “Please see Maximilian Wavechaser’s A Thousand Leagues Across a Sea of Blood. It’s an excellent book. It even mentions your father, Captain Whiteleaf, at the end and in some supplementary materials I found in the library.”
Dale Wavechaser gave Elliot a thumbs-up for praising the Wavechasers. Elliot ignored this because he was embarrassed to be associated with Dale in history class: Dale was very bad at history.
“In any case,” said Captain Whiteleaf. “Cadet Sunborn, I commend you on raising your hand and not shouting out insubordinate remarks. Whenever you have something to say in the classroom, always do so.”
“Can I speak now?” Luke asked. “It’s not so much of an answer to a question as a personal announcement.”
Elliot glanced over at him. Luke looked a little pale under his tan. Elliot wondered if perhaps Luke needed to go to the infirmary and felt guilty about talking so much. People’s stupidity could always be corrected another time.
“I’m—I like guys,” said Luke, staring at his desk. “Romantically.”
Elliot put his hand up so fast he almost dislocated his arm. Captain Whiteleaf was staring and nodded, possibly on stunned autopilot.
“Since when?” Elliot demanded.
Luke put his hand back up. “Since always.”
Elliot put his hand up in retaliation. “That’s absurd.”
Luke put his hand up and waited for Captain Whiteleaf to nod and say apprehensively: “Er . . . Cadet Sunborn . . . is this going to be a question?”
“Yes,” said Luke. “What is wrong with you? Not you, sir. Cadet Schafer, sir.”
“I don’t understand your question, and I have one of my own,” said Elliot, putting his hand back up as a formality and not looking at Captain Whiteleaf. “If that’s true then why don’t I know?”
Luke looked mulish about the face. “You do know because I just told you!”
“Excuse me,” Dale Wavechaser said. “Excuse me, sir.”
Everybody turned to look at him. He had apparently been waving his hand in the air for some time. He was very flushed.
“Yes?” Captain Whiteleaf gazed upon Dale as a shipwreck survivor seeing rescue in view.
“Me too, sir!” said Dale. “I like boys romantically too.”
Captain Whiteleaf looked hideously betrayed. Shot through the heart, his pallid demeanour suggested as he looked at Dale. And you’re to blame.
Dale blinked innocently at him, and then concentrated a hopeful gaze on the back of Luke’s head. Oddly, that was what made Elliot believe it: of course if this was true, then Luke would immediately have someone offer to be his boyfriend in five seconds flat.
Elliot spun to the sound of Serene’s small, polite cough. Captain Whiteleaf bitterly nodded permission, having obviously abandoned all hope.
“This is not a question so much as a comment, sir.”
Captain Whiteleaf gave a hollow laugh. “Of course it is.”
“I wondered, sir, if anyone had attempted to capture a Grayling mermaid and prove Cadet Schafer’s hypothesis,” she said.
Captain Whiteleaf started, suddenly a man finding hope in a hopeless place. “You have a comment about the lesson?”
“Why yes, sir.” Serene nodded gravely. “I had already vouchsafed my comments to Cadet Sunborn on the other matter under discussion in private.”
It was true, then. Luke had told Serene.
Elliot put his hand down and was silent for the rest of the lesson. Captain Whiteleaf was almost embarrassingly happy as a result.
Elliot didn’t know why he had assumed Luke would’ve told him. He was such an idiot: he kept forgetting that Luke wasn’t his friend.
“Is it true?” asked Peter next class. Peter was excused from some lessons in geography and history because his mother was a master mapmaker, and looked disappointed to have missed the whole thing. “What they’re saying about Luke Sunborn?”
“It is true!” said Myra. “I mean, I was there, I heard it all.”
“I assume it’s true,” Elliot said. “Luke doesn’t lie.”
There was a long, awkward silence. Elliot fiddled with his pens. Myra slowly dipped her quill in the inkpot, and stroked her mustache with the feathery end.
“So you didn’t know?” Peter asked slowly. “Isn’t that a bit weird?”
“No,” said Elliot. “Seems totally reasonable to me. Did you know?”
“Well, I, well, no,” said Peter. “But that’s different. I would have thought you would know.”
“Why?” asked Elliot. “He’s your classmate too. I cannot be expected to know every little detail about every one of my classmates, Peter. Surely you see that.”
He fixed Peter with a severe gaze. Peter nodded humbly.
“People get to choose who to tell their secrets to,” said Elliot. “You know—people whom they trust and feel comfortable with. That’s all right. That’s fine. I understand that. Nobody’s owed anyone else’s se
crets.”
“That’s true,” Myra said, and favoured him with a smile. “I think that’s very mature of you, Elliot.”
Elliot smiled, comforted, and made Myra his favorite between Myra and Peter for the rest of the day.
He really could understand. Elliot was not sure that he would have told himself any secrets: it wasn’t like he was conspicuous for his ready sympathy and emotional depths. And the fight he’d had with Luke about Adam looked different now, when Elliot was not just a guest who was behaving badly but someone who Luke might’ve thought was judging and condemning Adam for something Adam and Luke had in common.
Elliot was slow to learn, that was all: he always had been, well before he ever came to the Border camp, when he kept hoping that his dad would start liking him and kept doing everything wrong so his dad never did.
Serene might hate him too. Perhaps that was why there had been no repeat of the kissing incident, even though Elliot had waited and watched and hoped and tried. Perhaps they had both decided he was worthless.
It didn’t matter what they thought. It was no use Elliot sitting around making himself wretched over it. This wasn’t even about Elliot feeling bad: if Elliot had been the one to make Luke feel bad, it was his responsibility, and it was Luke’s feelings that mattered. Elliot had to do something. Elliot had to make it up to Luke.
Elliot had to find him first. He searched the halls, the practise rooms, the Trigon field, and finally wound up outside the cabin Luke shared with several other guys who always gave Elliot the disapproving side-eye as if he had grievously insulted their leader. This loyalty was even more impressive, Elliot told himself, on a new quest to be understanding and kind, considering he didn’t think Luke knew their names.
In Other Lands Page 17
