“Where’s Luke?”
“With the other harpies,” said Serene casually.
Elliot frowned. “I doubt he’s—er, doing what harpies usually do to the bodies of their enemies.”
Maybe he was, though. Maybe it was like flight: maybe it was instinct. Whatever the case, Elliot hoped that Luke was at least being polite to the harpies, because as long as Luke could keep it together, this treaty was made. The trolls had made a fatal mistake. There was nothing like a common enemy to unite people.
Serene felt this was the case, too.
“Commander Woodsinger, can Cadet Chaos-of-Battle and I have a teeny, weeny look at the current draft of the treaty?” Elliot asked.
Commander Woodsinger, flushed with triumph and the exertion of battle, paused and finally nodded. “Try to keep your edits teeny weeny, all right, Cadet Schafer?”
Elliot did not make any promises. Serene sat beside him, leaning her chin on his shoulder, and they looked at the parchment.
“Oh, now that won’t do,” said Serene, pointing.
Elliot uncapped his ballpoint pen and opened his notebook.
A very happy time followed, in which he changed every word of the projected treaty. Several of the troop stopped by as they worked. Delia Winterchild delivered, with obvious reluctance and a troubled face, the news that Luke had saved her life during the battle.
“Of course he would do as much for any comrade,” Serene said innocently.
“So true,” said Elliot. “What a guy.”
Delia went off to think it over by herself. She had not been particularly kind to Luke since the harpy reveal. Elliot figured this would do her nothing but good.
Dale dropped by purely to check on Elliot’s well-being, because he was a sweetheart.
“I was looking for you all over,” he said, crouching down. “I know you can’t fight. I was really worried.”
“That’s so nice,” said Elliot, scribbling. “So unnecessary, but so nice.”
“Couldn’t you promise,” Dale said, and hesitated. “To stick by me, if you’re ever caught up in another battle? I wouldn’t ever let you be hurt.”
Elliot glanced up from the page, and into Dale’s kind eyes. He felt a pang of anxiety, as if something was badly awry, but Dale was only showing concern. It was good of him. It wasn’t anything to be worried about.
“Don’t worry about it,” Elliot said at last. “Luke and Serene take care of me.”
“Of course we do,” said Serene, smacking a kiss on Elliot’s cheek. “And we always will.”
Elliot wondered if he was imagining it that Dale went away looking slightly crestfallen.
“Despite the fact he is a warrior, he has a beautiful warm nature,” Serene remarked. “Manly and nurturing. I think that he is such an excellent choice for Luke’s sweetheart. I could wish he had a slightly more broadminded attitude to elves, but I think he is improving, and besides, men can be rather prejudiced sometimes, bless them.”
“Am I?” Elliot asked. “I mean—more so than women you know?”
“You are exceptional, and exceptionally dear to me,” said Serene, and Elliot could not help smiling. “I do not mean to insult Dale,” Serene went on. “I am ready to love him.”
So was Elliot. He had been trying for years, partly for Luke’s sake and partly for Dale’s own. It made Elliot feel guilty that he still found Dale painfully boring at times, especially when Dale was so good to him.
At times like these, warm with Dale’s regard and Serene’s, Elliot was prepared to admit the fault was his. If he was a better person, he would appreciate Dale more, and he would never dream that Dale’s kindness meant anything more than it did.
The mere idea was laughable. Elliot remembered how the kiss with Dale by the lake had ended, how Dale had been suffused with incredulous radiance to hear Luke Sunborn liked him. He had not given Elliot another thought. Serene had witnessed Dale expressing concern for Elliot tonight, and seen nothing amiss with it. Even Serene, who loved Elliot better than anyone in any world, knew that nobody would choose Elliot when they could have Luke.
And if that hurt sometimes, it was nothing Elliot had not known for years, and nothing he could not deal with.
Elliot finished drawing up the treaty. Serene was leaning companionably against him and reading when Luke came up to them. His wings were folded and he looked a little pale and tired, but he was entirely whole and unhurt. Elliot lifted a hand in greeting and, since Luke was being quiet, informed him of all the things that were going right in the world. Serene and Luke had rescued Elliot from being squashed by trolls, and peace seemed assured.
“We’re going to have a treaty, as soon as the harpies are done,” Elliot continued blithely. “I bothered Commander Woodsinger and she let me see a copy of the treaty and it was a mess, but I have some notes here and I think we’ll all be secure and the harpies will find it satisfactory—I asked Podarge—”
“Oh yes,” said Luke. “As soon as the harpies are done doing what, exactly?”
There was a silence, broken only by the distant shriek of harpies, and if you listened closely, the sound of tearing flesh.
Luke was standing over Elliot and Serene. There was a strange light in his eyes.
“I guess you’re not thinking about that,” he said softly. “All you’re thinking about is all you ever think about . . . how clever Elliot Schafer is, and how stupid the rest of the world is. Because you’re a snotty little brat.”
Elliot abruptly stopped trying to think about anything from Luke’s point of view. “I’m sorry,” he bit out. “Are you—Luke Sunborn—actually telling me that I think too much of myself?”
“I just want to know why, exactly, you think you’re so superior. You can’t fight, you don’t have any friends—”
Elliot had one friend. He had Serene. The truce between them had never been anything else, to Luke, and maybe nobody but Serene at the Border camp really cared about Elliot at all.
It was nothing Elliot did not know, and nothing he had ever thought Luke would rub in. Luke had everything. He could at least have the decency not to sneer at Elliot for having so little, even if it was Elliot’s own fault.
“I can’t fight?” Elliot snapped, because that was the only thing he could bear to address. “Who cares? Who wants to? But I forgot: that’s what you base your life on. Being one of the Sunborns, being warriors as if war is ever anything but a terrible failure of peace. Oh, I’m Luke Sunborn, nothing matters but what a good little soldier I am and how excellent I am at games and how I look and how everybody worships at my feet, and you’ll never realize how little any of that matters—how could you? You’re too stupid and narrow-minded: too wrapped up in strutting around convinced of how fantastic you are, being handed every break in the world.”
“It’s not easy!” Luke roared back. “Being a Sunborn, having everyone expect you to do it right and be the best, it’s not—”
If Luke thought having a family who loved him was so difficult, he should try the alternative.
“Oh, poor baby,” Elliot sneered. “Being Luke Sunborn is so hard! Even when I get wings they look perfect! I take every benefit of being a Sunborn and act like I don’t even notice them! My loving family have expectations of me!”
He did not expect his voice to sound as savage and resentful as it did, as if he hated Luke, as if he always had.
“So that’s it? My family.” Luke nodded, calmly, as if he was simply confirming what he had long suspected. “You’ve always been jealous of them. And you’ve always thought I was stupid, but I’m not: I know what’s going on. It wasn’t about us being Sunborns, was it, Elliot? It was for the same reason you keep coming back to the Border, year after year, despite us not having any fancy eye pods. Nobody wants you in the human world, do they? Nobody ever did. I don’t blame them.”
Elliot should have laughed at Luke saying dumb stuff like “eye pods,” should have been able to brush this off and say that Luke did not understand anything.<
br />
Only Luke did understand what mattered. What Elliot had never spoken of, what he had tried to hide and flattered himself his friends did not know . . . it had been obvious all along. And Luke had revealed it, so simply, tearing away all the color and imagination of this world as if it were nothing but painted backdrops for the school play, leaving Elliot with nothing but the gray façade of his father’s house.
Nobody wants you in the human world, do they? Nobody ever did.
He was not able to laugh.
Elliot got up, and Luke watched him with wide wary eyes. Even looking at Luke was unbearable. Elliot’s blood felt as if it were on fire, burning and racing, as if it would char away his skin from the inside out and expose his bones. He’d tried as hard as he could, he thought, pretended as hard as he could, and it had not been enough. This was over. He was done.
There was nothing left but the urge to make Luke sorry.
Elliot went searching among the cluster of troops standing away from the harpies, at the edge of the woods. He found Dale among them, talking, and he walked over, and silenced Dale with a kiss.
To his distant surprise, Dale responded. Dale kissed him back, kissed him beside the roaring campfire, and went with him into the wild dark of the woods.
The moonlight-cast shadows of branches painted black traceries on Dale’s skin. Dale’s mouth was eager and welcoming against Elliot’s, a little warmth in a long cold night.
Take that, Luke Sunborn, Elliot thought. I can take something from you, after all.
He was ashamed of himself, but that came later.
Elliot woke in the woods, to find dawn caught in the trees. He clambered up, adding clothes and subtracting leaves and dirt from his person. He left Dale as he made his way, not back toward the camp, but to the other side of the woods. He couldn’t stay where he was, and he did not know how to go back. The only place to go was farther away.
That was how he stumbled on the battlefield at the edge of the Forest of the Suicides.
Elliot knew intellectually what harpies did to the bodies of the fallen, at the end of a battle. He’d read about it. Reading was not the same as seeing it.
Elliot stared around at the torn flesh, dried blood, and settling flies. He tried to imagine how this scene must have looked when the blood was fresh and the sun was setting last night, when Luke must have seen it. He remembered how he had editorialized the accounts of harpies on the battlefield for Luke. Luke had not known what to expect at all. Luke must have seen this, and seen desecration, and monstrousness, and believed it was in his blood.
Then Luke had come back to them, and snapped at them, and Elliot had not given him any leeway. There had been a lot of times where Luke, the one who was usually less hurt and more secure, the happier one, had let Elliot get away with snapping at him, had defused situations Elliot was trying to escalate by just accepting whatever Elliot dished out, had not taken what Elliot said in the wrong way or assumed the worst of him. He’d been able to afford generosity. He’d also chosen to be generous.
Elliot had, he realized, been waiting for Luke to hurt him for years. Since the first day, he’d thought it was only a matter of time until Luke punched him. The more Luke mattered to him, the more Elliot expected to be hurt. When the blow had finally arrived last night, he had not thought about anything but the pain.
Except that Elliot should have known better: four years of friendship should have told him more than his childhood fears. Luke would never hit somebody who could not defend themselves. Luke would not taunt somebody about their broken home for fun. Luke had been wounded and lashing out.
Unlike Luke, when Elliot had been the one who was less hurt, he had not chosen to be kind.
Elliot understood, now, why Luke had been so edgy around Elliot since they all learned about Luke’s heritage. Luke had been really vulnerable, for the first time, and he had not trusted Elliot not to hurt him.
He’d been right not to trust Elliot. Look at what Elliot had done.
Elliot put his face in his hands. When he looked up, it was to find Serene standing beside him at the edge of the woods, gazing out on the battlefield. A shadow crossed her pearl-pale, tranquil face: it was the only sign she gave that the sight before her disturbed her at all.
“I was wondering where you were,” said Serene.
“Were you?” asked Elliot.
“Well, no,” said Serene. “Not really.”
“Right,” said Elliot. He looked out at the battlefield, rather than keep looking at her. That scared him less.
“I told Luke that the way he spoke to you was excessive, and that he owed you an apology,” Serene stated.
“You—you did?”
Elliot had not thought Serene or anyone else would care what Luke had said, after what Elliot had done.
“Then you made your startling appearance at the campfire with Dale,” Serene continued. “I have never seen gentlemen conduct themselves in such a fashion before. Except in certain woodcuts that my cousin showed me when we were young, but that is not important. I noticed that you then went off into the woods.”
Elliot winced. “About that . . .”
“Do not explain matters to me. I did not come down with the last fall of leaves at the season’s turning,” said Serene. “There is no need to carve me an explicit woodcut.”
“Not sure how to carve explicit woodcuts anyway,” Elliot murmured. “Though I might be willing to give it a hilarious try.”
“After this incident between you and Dale Wavechaser, Luke’s paramor . . .” Serene said slowly. “I still feel that the way Luke spoke to you was excessive, and he owes you an apology. Just because he is finding adjusting to a harpy lifestyle difficult does not mean he is allowed to mistreat his friends.”
“You don’t understand,” Elliot said. “We never told you. We’re not friends.”
He told Serene all about the truce he and Luke had agreed on in the library so long ago. Serene listened.
When Elliot was finished, Serene said: “May I ask a few questions?”
“Yes,” said Elliot.
“So this truce was all your idea,” said Serene.
“Yes,” said Elliot.
“And you kept bringing it up,” said Serene.
“Yeeees,” said Elliot.
He felt like this was coming out wrong, somehow.
“And you think Luke’s the one who’s not really friends with you,” said Serene.
“Yes!” said Elliot, and Serene continued to look at him. “May . . . be.”
He was reminded, suddenly, of how Luke turned up all the time: at lunch tables where Elliot was, at the play Elliot had insisted on joining. Serene would have wanted Luke to look out for Elliot when she wasn’t there, but it was ridiculous to imagine she would have cared if Luke ate lunch with Dale. Elliot thought about following someone around for years while they made clear they wanted nothing to do with you.
That could not be what was going on. Luke had no reason to do that. This was something Elliot would do, Elliot would suffer. Never Luke.
“Yes,” Elliot said again.
Elliot was right about this. He had to be.
If he was not, then he had not just been cruel to Luke last night. He had been cruel to Luke for years.
“No,” said Serene. “This is stupid. Why do men always overthink—no, I beg your pardon, Elliot, I did not mean that.”
The Serene of years ago would not have cut herself off and begged his pardon for what she had not quite said. Elliot would really like to meet Golden one day, though he flattered himself he’d had a hand in changing her as well.
She took a deep breath. “I confess I do not know why you thought any of this, or understand why you have been acting in this fashion.”
Elliot looked out at the still, terrible battlefield, at the bodies and the flies. He wanted to say, because I’m terrible, but Serene knew him, knew about Dale, and had still come after him. She wouldn’t agree with him.
Maybe it wasn’t t
rue.
“What Luke said about the human world . . .,” Elliot began carefully. “It was true. Did you—know that?”
Serene was quiet for a moment. “I hadn’t thought it out like Luke must have,” she said. “But I did suspect something was wrong. You never talked about your home.”
“My mother left when I was a baby,” said Elliot.
Serene sniffed. “Lahrame. Only dishonorable women abandon men and children who they should be responsible for. But I know it happens, too often, and I am so sorry.”
Elliot parsed out the elvish word she had used, colloquial and unfamiliar to him. He thought it meant something like “deadbeat.”
“It’s actually more common for men to abandon than women in my world,” he said. “I guess that’s because society trains your men, and our women, to feel they are ultimately responsible for the children. But of course both genders . . . I’m sorry. I’m getting sidetracked. Home wasn’t good. I don’t make friends easily. Not just because of home, but because of me. I might have got some things wrong and done some things wrong. Last night, for instance. Among many other times.”
Elliot shrugged and turned away from the battlefield. He had to go back to the camp sooner or later. There was a treaty and its final details to be worked out.
Serene’s quiet voice held him still.
“I have often wondered. . . .” Serene began, and then corrected herself. “I have often worried that . . . being a woman, I can be oblivious to other people’s feelings, and I am less able to talk about and deal with emotional situations. I have sometimes thought that if I were a man, or—or perhaps a human woman, I would have been able to treat you with more tact and sensitivity when we were younger. Or that I might have observed the trouble between you and Luke sooner, and known how to mend it. If I were different, perhaps everything would have been better between us three.”
“I can only speak for myself,” said Elliot, and took her arm as she held it out, in courtly fashion. “But I have always felt that it was a privilege to be your friend, and I have never wanted you to change in any way at all.”
In Other Lands Page 44
