“Fine,” said Luke. “I hope you’ll both be very happy.”
“Thank you,” said Elliot graciously.
“You know, for about the one minute that it lasts,” Luke added, with a smug twist to his lips.
Elliot opened his mouth to say: hey, how dare you, it’s going to last forever, but then he shut his mouth. He had been bold when he knew, secretly, that there was no chance at all. Now he had a little hope, hanging in a fragile balance, and he was terrified that being overconfident would upset the balance and he would lose everything. It was terrifying to have something: he wondered if other people lived their whole lives in this strange state between exultation and absolute dread. He’d never had anything to lose before.
“You think so,” he muttered as Serene put her tray down, and then there was no opportunity to say anything else.
His feeling of panic eased as he looked at her: beloved and best, her eyes like water reflecting a morning sky and her hair like water shadowed by trees, dark but with a sparkle of light through the leaves.
She smiled at him. “Did you have fun gossiping?”
“I can’t describe to you how much,” said Elliot. “But I missed you.”
He leaned in and kissed her. He hoped it never stopped being so sweet it was almost painful.
“You missed archery practice,” Luke remarked, his gaze on Serene. “You never miss.”
Serene almost smiled, and Elliot was thrilled. “I was a little preoccupied.”
“That’s great, everybody already thinks we can’t obey regulations because of him,” Luke said. “Well, I’m going to practice archery some more. Someone ought to.”
He got up, pushing his tray aside. They stared at him in dismay.
“Luke, you have hardly eaten anything!” said Serene.
“I’m not hungry,” said Luke.
“Luke, please don’t develop an eating disorder,” Elliot begged. “We do not have any therapists in this world!”
“What’s a therapist? I said I’m not hungry!” said Luke.
Elliot paused. “Don’t eat any therapists. That’s not what they’re for.”
“Then I don’t know why you brought them up, other than the fact you always want to be talking about something stupid.”
Luke fixed Elliot with a look of definite dislike. Elliot reached for Serene’s hand, for comfort, but she was looking at Luke, who was now making his way out of the room.
“Okay, I know what’s going on,” said Elliot. “You said you were best bros with Luke, right? And obviously, as a supportive boyfriend, I respect your close bonds of platonic friendship. When one bestie starts dating and the other’s still single, conflict can occur. I read about this.”
Serene nodded seriously. “That makes sense.”
“Fortunately, I have a solution! You have to spend lots of time one on one with Luke and assure him of your continued platonic affection,” Elliot told her. “He just needs bro time.”
Serene regarded him with eyes that shone with what Elliot thought was tenderness. She shook her head. “I would never have realized all that. Masculine intuition is a wonderful thing.”
“I am pretty intuitive,” Elliot said, with beautiful simplicity. “And sensitive. And New Age.”
Serene leaned in, the light of admiration still in her eyes, and kissed him. Her mouth was soft and cool, and he felt warm all over.
“I’ll go now,” she whispered. “But I’ll see you tonight.”
Elliot’s brilliance thus left him alone at his lunch table. Many occupants of the room were staring. He sat smugly radiant until Peter cautiously approached.
“Whoa, you tamed an elf, good job, buddy,” said Peter.
Elliot eyed him with disfavor. “I didn’t tame her. She’s not a pet.”
“Oh, so she tamed you? I heard elves were into that.”
Myra was definitely Elliot’s favorite forever. “Nobody is anybody’s pet.”
“Um, I’m probably saying the wrong thing. Sorry, man,” said Peter. He put down his tray with a glum little thunk. “I don’t have much luck with girls myself. My dad says it runs in our family.”
“Er . . . how does he explain your mother?” Elliot asked.
“To tell you the truth, I think he means my mother. My mum’s family is from the Borderlands—generation of Waterwrits after generation—and you know my dad is from the world outside. It’s an adjustment, of course . . . you’d know . . . but my dad couldn’t go back, after the Border camp. Things are always a bit strained at home.”
“I’m sorry,” said Elliot after a moment, and forced out: “I know what that’s like.”
Elliot put down Peter’s view of his romance to his bad home life, but to his surprise, he found most people had a similar reaction: they either wanted to congratulate him or were condescending in his direction.
He was the significant other of an elf, but he hadn’t expected to be made into The Significant Other rather than being Elliot. He hadn’t thought he enjoyed it when people looked at him with exasperation, but it was infinitely better than being looked past.
Not that people had stopped looking at him with exasperation. That was made very clear a few days later, when the dust of battle had settled in the camp, and the bloodstains in the dust had faded until you might think they were something else, unless you knew better.
One of Elliot’s dorm mates, Benjamin Rainfall, had died in the battle. Elliot remembered how he had always begged Elliot to blow out his candle, stop reading, and let him sleep. Elliot wished he had let him sleep now.
Elliot was walking from the library to his cabin, wearing an illicit hoodie against the winter chill and all alone because Luke and Serene were spending bro time together, when he saw Delia Winterchild going for Richard Plantgrown’s throat.
“Uh,” said Elliot, catching her wrist so she did not stab Richard. “Maybe we could indulge in some cutting repartee instead?”
“He was fighting on Whiteleaf’s side, you know,” Delia snapped. “I saw him kill Ben.”
Elliot was tempted to drop Delia’s wrist and walk away, but Whiteleaf and Woodsinger had a truce now. That meant they all had to have a truce as well.
“Fight’s over,” he said, and held on.
“And the wrong side won,” Richard snapped. “Because you sneaked around and made it happen. Don’t think I don’t know.”
Richard lifted his hand. Elliot didn’t want to let go of Delia, so he couldn’t shield himself. Elliot braced himself to be hit.
“Hey,” said Luke, swooping down on them. Elliot didn’t even know where he’d come from, he’d moved that fast. “Cadets shouldn’t fight each other. And they certainly shouldn’t put a council-training cadet in the middle of a fight!”
“He put himself in the middle,” Richard protested.
“Sorry,” said Luke, calmly scathing. “Are you telling me you’re having problems handling a council-training cadet?”
Luke regarded Richard with lofty Sunborn disdain until Richard growled something like a negative and slunk away.
“We didn’t need your help,” Delia barked at him, and stalked off. Luke watched her go with raised eyebrows.
“That girl,” he began.
“Delia Winterchild,” Elliot supplied.
“She’s always bad-tempered,” Luke remarked. “Now she’s starting fights and dragging you into them?”
She’s not bad-tempered, Elliot thought, remembering taking Delia’s hand in his when she came back from the wars and her brother did not. She just doesn’t like you. He thought Luke might have trouble understanding the concept.
He also felt an impulse to explain why Delia and Richard were fighting, but what was the point? Then there would be even more cadets who hated and mistrusted each other.
Elliot shrugged. “I guess she’s bad-tempered.”
“Oh,” said Luke, with a small grin, always pleased when Elliot agreed with him. “So you were standing up for her because you two have a lot in common.”
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“That’s it,” said Elliot, and grinned back at him.
“Stop wearing contraband,” said Luke, flipping Elliot’s hood over his hair. Elliot had barely seen Luke in three days, but possibly Luke had now had enough bro time and was ready to stop sulking.
“I’m a rebel without a cloak,” said Elliot. “I know Delia, actually. I like her.”
“Really,” said Luke, his voice colder.
“What?” Elliot snapped.
“You haven’t even been dating Serene a week,” said Luke, and stomped off.
Now Luke was being protective of Serene, as if Elliot would ever hurt her? Maybe that was what always happened, when you dated someone’s best friend. Maybe they would always see you as a potential enemy, always be ready to take their friend’s side against you, just in case.
Elliot thought about being on different sides, and those loyal to Commander Woodsinger and those loyal to Colonel Whiteleaf. In his books about magic lands, the evildoers had horns, or at least had the decency to wear outfits composed entirely of black leather. Sometimes there was one traitor on the good side, but he didn’t remember any stories about teams who wore the same uniform splitting up and turning against each other. Usually the traitor was banished, too. People did not have to learn how to live with each other again, after trust was broken between them.
Elliot stood staring down the dark paths to the many cabins where the cadets slept. Every year, he thought, things got more complicated, and there were so many ways to lose.
The next day Commander Woodsinger left word for Elliot to come to her office. He found Luke and Serene already there, both standing to attention. Their offensively military posture shamed Elliot into a half-hearted salute.
“Hey, Commander,” he said. “Is this about getting medals? Because it’s not necessary, really, it was our pleas—”
Luke coughed pointedly.
“Shh, my dear,” said Serene, and put her hand on Elliot’s arm.
Elliot sidestepped her. “I will not shush,” he said, frowning. “When have I ever shushed?”
“Can I see you alone for a moment, Cadet Schafer?” asked Commander Woodsinger. “I trust that I have made my position on this subject clear to both of you.”
Serene and Luke cast vaguely concerned glances in Elliot’s direction, but Elliot had already figured out that there were not going to be medals, and in fact that he was going to be told off for some cruel and unjust reason.
It was also possible that they were not concerned for him, but concerned about what he might say to Commander Woodsinger once left alone with her. They were right to be concerned, but there was nothing they could do about it.
Elliot smiled at them sweetly as they went out. They both looked deeply apprehensive.
Commander Woodsinger did not start scolding him. Instead she fixed him with dark eyes and barked out a weirdly personal question.
“What do you love, Cadet Schafer?”
“Serene,” Elliot replied promptly.
Commander Woodsinger closed her eyes and visibly prayed for patience. She did not reach for any weapons when she opened her eyes, so Elliot figured her prayer was granted.
“What else?”
Elliot sunk down low in the chair, hands linked over his chest, and kicked the desk. To punish the desk even more, he eyed it darkly.
“So long as this goes no further,” he muttered. “Luke, I suppose.”
Commander Woodsinger breathed out through her nose. This sounded like an irate horse’s prayer for patience.
“What else?”
“Well, there’s Myra of the Diamond clan,” said Elliot. “I think I just like her a lot, though.”
“What more?” demanded Commander Woodsinger.
“I mean, I quite like Peter Quint, and Adara Cornripe, and the cranky medic who won’t tell me her name, and you,” said Elliot, “but meaning no offence, I don’t think that I’d classify any of that as l—”
“You’re misinterpreting the question, Cadet Schafer!” said Commander Woodsinger. “Fascinating though the complexities of your emotional attachments undoubtedly are. What do you hold allegiance to?”
Elliot frowned. “Well, Serene. And—”
“Do you love your country?”
“What, England?” asked Elliot. “Wow. Am I a poet in 1914?”
“What,” said Commander Woodsinger.
“What,” said Elliot.
“The Borderlands,” the commander clarified.
“I think I’m probably still British on my passport,” said Elliot.
“I hoped that after your years of training, you would have come to think of the Borderlands as your home.”
“It hasn’t been that long,” Elliot pointed out. “I’m only fifteen.” He chewed his lip thoughtfully. “Can a country be a home?”
“What do you think?” asked Commander Woodsinger.
Elliot tilted his head. “Clever.”
“I wish you were more clever,” said Commander Woodsinger. “I’d like it if you were even half as clever as you think you are.”
Elliot stared with his mouth open. He was ready to be disciplined, but he had not expected to be insulted.
“Are you aware that because of your reckless behavior Luke Sunborn left his squad—the squad that he was leading—in order to protect you, as an unarmed civilian?”
“Well, it’s not my fault Luke left his squad,” said Elliot. “I didn’t ask him to. That was his irresponsible decision, and you should tell him off for it.”
“I have already disciplined Cadet Sunborn,” said Commander Woodsinger.
“How could you?” Elliot asked. “He saved my life!”
“Your position on this matter seems to be slightly contradictory.”
“It’s not,” said Elliot. “We saved the day, and that means that I wish you to overlook any slight irregularities. I would like to complain about Luke, as it is my hobby, but I don’t want anyone to be punished. Least of all me.”
“I’m afraid you are going to be disappointed, cadet,” said the commander. “I want you to tutor some of the first-year cadets in history and mapmaking.”
“Well, that’s just ridiculous,” Elliot said. “We’re punishing children now? What have they done?”
Commander Woodsinger did not look amused. In fact, she had the stern countenance of someone who was determined to be oblivious to jokes, impassive as a tree stump or a toadstool. Or as a blank screen: Elliot might be forced to live without technology, but that didn’t mean that he had to descend to nature metaphors.
“Your ‘irregularities’,” said Commander Woodsinger, a woman who could imply quote marks with devastating clarity, “could have led to your own death and that of others. That it turned out well does not mean that you are exempt from the rules, which are in place for your protection. And that of others.”
“It could be the rules need to be changed.”
“Or it could be there’s a reason I’m in charge, and not you,” said Commander Woodsinger.
It was on the tip of Elliot’s tongue to snap that without their support, she wouldn’t be in charge: but the alternative had been much worse. This was the difference between making a bargain and winning a victory. The other side was not getting punished, and Elliot was not getting rewarded.
Elliot would still rather make a bargain.
It wasn’t like Elliot wanted to be in control of a military camp, and he supposed since she did, she did have to enforce some sort of military discipline. Not that he was a soldier, but he was a student here. He’d entered into an implicit contract. He knew the rules.
“Fine, I’ll teach the brats,” he said. “But it still seems cruel to them, if you ask me.”
The commander unrolled a map. It was a map Elliot was entirely familiar with: he knew it from geography class, from Maximilian Wavechaser’s book and hundreds more like it.
“These are the Borderlands,” said the commander. “This is a land of magic and mystery: this is our charge
and our sworn duty to protect. This is a land to be loved and served, because nobody can understand it.”
“Well. Nobody has understood it yet,” said Elliot.
Commander Woodsinger looked as if her prayer for patience had not been answered, and she felt personally betrayed.
“Get lost, Cadet. Time’s wasting and I have reports of brigands in elven territory to deal with.”
Once he was finished with Commander Woodsinger, Elliot did not climb down the stairs. He climbed up, to the top of the brief tower, and he gazed down at the vast tapestry of the Borderlands. Like green silk spread as far as the eye could see, the grey satin of mist and sea at the edges, embroidered with the delicate blue of rivers.
Nobody can understand it, the commander had said, and the challenge echoed in Elliot’s bones, as perhaps the commander had wanted it to. A challenge was more familiar to him than love, and felt close to the same thing, as though one led to the other. He felt his heart beat to the double time of two words.
Not yet.
Teaching was as nightmarish as Elliot had expected.
“I hate children,” he announced at lunch after his first lesson, flopping down on the bench and banging his forehead against the table.
Serene patted his back. “I know, sweetheart.”
“I hate them all,” said Elliot. “I especially hate Cyril, who became overwhelmed by my, quote, harsh tone, unquote, and began to hyperventilate. But I also hate Daniel, who asks stupid questions, and Miriam, who is a little know-it-all, which would be fine if she knew it all, but let me tell you—she doesn’t!”
“They will be less annoying soon,” Serene soothed, her voice balm. “Children from your world, I have noticed, are often immature and ill-acquainted with the realities of this one. But they grow up fast once transplanted to the Borderlands.”
They did seem about ten years younger than Elliot’s class, rather than two. It made Elliot uneasy to think about.
“I’m pretty sure all children are just awful,” he said. “Cyril also hyperventilated during a reenactment of Star Wars I was doing. And I remember that awful sticky creature whom I fell off a cliff with. I never, ever want any.”
In Other Lands Page 21
