In Other Lands

by Sarah Rees Brennan

“You like mermaids and centaurs and stuff, though.” “They’re not animals,” said Elliot. “I can talk with them, so they’re people. I enjoy intelligent conversation. You know, the polysyllabic kind. I realize you’re still at monosyllables, but I have faith you’ll get there one day.” “Uh-huh,” said Luke, not doing anything to justify said faith.

“The thing is,” Elliot announced. “I think I left the oven on in—” “Mum,” said Luke, rudely interrupting. “Can we have the key to the library?” “The library?” Elliot asked, diverted from his purpose.

He climbed onto the broad wooden windowseat built into the window, which was many-paned and also rose to a point, like a window in church. Luke climbed up to sit on the other side, and Elliot turned the pages until he found some of the drawings of the great naval battle four hundred years ago, made out in cerulean and gold, which he thought Luke would like. In return Luke said that he did think it was possible that the mermaids of the deep sea communicated through hand gestures rather than speech, and asked Elliot to read the awful bit about battle tactics again. There were accounts of notable seafaring voyages undertaken in the last century at the end, including the journey led by Captain Whiteleaf’s father twenty years ago. It was a long and fascinating book, and Elliot was surprised when Luke said that he had to set the table for dinner.

“You don’t know anything,” Elliot told him severely. “Statistically, you have to see that book being the only good one is not at all likely. The problem is you don’t get books. You tend to be an auditory or kinesthetic learner.” “Hey!” said Luke. Elliot was going to tell him that it wasn’t an insult, but then he decided it would be more hilarious not to. “I wish I had a radio,” he said. “They do readings of the classics on Sunday afternoons.” “What’s a radio?” asked Rachel, while Luke sulked about being called a kinesthetic learner.

They looked like practise sketches of Luke, before the artist had got him right.

The next day Elliot figured that Luke would probably wish to do one of the awful things he enjoyed, something outside involving weaponry, and so like an excellent and considerate guest he decided to entertain himself.

“Where have you been?” Elliot demanded. “Looking for you!” Luke snapped back. “How was I supposed to know you were off hiding in trees, you lunatic?” “Don’t be rude to me when you’re rescuing me, loser,” Elliot told him. “That’s terrible manners. You’re the worst.” Luke made an incoherent sound of rage, which for some reason seemed to encourage Adam Sunborn, who moved toward Elliot. Luke held up a hand. “You’re not doing it!” said Luke. “Where’s the honor in hurting someone who’s not as strong as you? What does that prove?” “It might stop him being such a brat,” Adam suggested. “Doesn’t,” Elliot contributed. “This is not the first time somebody’s ever wanted to punch me in the face.” Luke frowned for some reason, but supported him by saying: “That is obviously true. He’s extremely annoying.”

“Also, the value of someone does not rely on their ability to hurt others,” said Luke.

Neal said: “What value does he have, exactly?” Luke had to give it some thought, which Elliot found offensive. Eventually, he said: “He’s clever about some things. And he makes up songs.” “No, I don’t,” said Elliot, even more vastly offended. “Yes, you do,” said Luke. “You sang the song to me and Mum.” “That was not my song,” said Elliot. “That song belongs to the Beatles.” Luke rolled his eyes. “Elliot, beetles do not write songs.” “Uh, do you guys mind?” Adam demanded.

“Oh my God, what a little snot,” exclaimed Adam, and surged forward. Luke was suddenly in his way, pushing him back with a small shove that obviously made Adam more mad. Violence was like that, Elliot had noticed. One move toward it and all at once everything was allowed: anyone could be hurt, out of a mix of pride and anger and stupid disregard for the fact that you could be hurt as easily as someone else. “You think you can take both of us?” Adam asked. A corner of Luke’s mouth kicked up. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I really think I can.”

“You’re the elf girl, then?” asked Neal Sunborn. “I am Serene-Heart-in-the-Chaos-of-Battle. Keep a civil tongue in your head or lose it.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Elliot said conversationally to Luke. “If they’re your mum’s sister’s kids, how are they Sunborns too?” Serene frowned. “It makes perfect sense. Of course the children bear their mother’s name. The woman is the strong one, who bears the child and begins the family. You can’t be sure who any child’s father is.”

Adam and Neal looked defeated by the whole situation—having to fight a girl who was looking pityingly down on them, and the way people kept having conversations without including them. When Luke began to explain that while actually a lot of men took the Sunborn name when they married Sunborn women—having met Rachel and Louise, Elliot thought he understood—his mother and father were both born Sunborns, from different branches of the family, because the Sunborns were a vast clan and long might their glory shine, so on et cetera. Which made Serene start talking about the house of Chaos. At which point, Adam and Neal gave up and simply slunk away.

“What are you doing here,” said Luke in a flat voice, who was staring at the ceiling. Elliot didn’t see why he needed a candle to look at the ceiling. It wasn’t going anywhere. Elliot came to a decision. “I’ve come to bother you.” “Isn’t it enough to bother me every day, all day? Do you have to bother me through the night as well?”

“Oh good, you’re here,” she said to Elliot. “You can administer manly sympathies and sweet comfort.” “I could,” said Elliot haughtily, “but I have no intention of doing so.” “I was worried that you would be fretting, Luke,” Serene continued. “I know how boys do.” “Get out of my room, both of you,” said Luke, and put a pillow over his own face.

He said, aloud into the night wind and with no one to hear: “I find war very annoying.”

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.

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.”

“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.

“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?”

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.”

“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.”

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.

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.”

“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.

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.”

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.”

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.

“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.” Which was Luke-speak for “she seems weird and mean.” “Also kind of weird and mean,” Luke continued, speaking even lower and keeping a wary gaze on Adara.

“Come on,” said Luke, and reached for his arm. “No!” said Elliot, and batted him away. “We’ve discussed this, Luke. No using your superior physical strength unless it’s an emergency. This dumb lake is not an emergency.” “Can’t you swim?” Luke asked. “I’ll teach you.” “Of course I can swim!” Elliot snapped.

“I can’t swim,” Adara put in. Elliot admired her tenacity. “See, Luke?” he said. “Your expertise is needed. You go teach Adara to swim. I will sit here and read my book. Everybody’s happy.” “Everybody?” Luke asked. “Really?” “You don’t count.” That came out a little meaner than Elliot had intended, so he looked up and checked on how Luke was taking it. Luke didn’t look upset exactly, but he was frowning, face slightly troubled under his sunny wet hair. “Why do you look like an unhappy turtle?” he asked. The problem was that Luke wasn’t stupid either. Elliot didn’t see why Luke couldn’t do him a favour and be distracted by the blonde Elliot had thoughtfully provided.

She stretched like a young, thin birch tree swayed by a wind, pulled her tight leather top over her head, and tossed it on the ground, leaving her smooth, pale skin entirely bare from the waist up. There was an echoing silence all around the lakeside suddenly, as jaws dropped in such perfect unison Elliot thought they should have made a tiny collective creaking sound. It was broken by Luke snapping: “You dropped your book.”

“Is there some kind of taboo against seeing a woman’s breasts in human culture?” asked Serene. “Breasts are functional. They feed children. Whereas I know many men cultivate their shoulder and abdominal muscles merely to attract the opposite sex. Their chests are the ones that are more decorative and which it is less modest to display!” “You know, she’s making another good point,” said Elliot.

Elliot understood why, even: the threat that they could take back last year’s leniency and force Serene to choose between war and council training was fairly obvious. But these people were meant to guide them and teach them, were meant to be fair and not show obvious double standards because it was easier to do that than to question what they were thinking and change how they behaved.

“The way,” Serene said, after a pause, her voice fierce so it would not shake, “they looked at me. As if my skin were sin, and theirs never could be, and I should have known.” “They’re jerks,” said Luke. “I’m sorry,” Elliot whispered.

“It’s the eppy tomb of suck,” Luke said. There was a pause. “The what?” Elliot asked. “The eppy tomb,” said Luke. “I read it in a book. It means, like, the very definition of—” “I know what it means,” said Elliot. “And it’s pronounced epitome.”

“But I am in an emotional state, and I must admit I do find myself somewhat uncomfortable in such close proximity to an unclothed gentleman.” “Yeah, Luke, you shameless hussy,” said Elliot, and cackled.

They did not go down to the lake again. Instead on their days off they spent time in the fields around the Border training camp. Sometimes Luke and Serene wanted to do weapons practise or a sport, and Elliot sat in the grass and read a book. Sometimes Luke made Elliot do exercise, which was simply bullying and he should be reported. Sometimes Elliot told stories or read aloud or sang to Serene and Luke, and sometimes they lay in the long grass and got into vicious arguments about the shape of clouds. Nobody ever took their shirt off, by silent mutual agreement. The others would come back from the lake wet and flushed and happy. Elliot wasn’t the least bit jealous, but he wondered if Serene and Luke were. Fourteen wasn’t horrible, but it was more complicated, and sometimes that felt like the same thing.

A troop of those in war training was sent, but since Serene was going Elliot petitioned to be allowed to go as well. Elliot presumed he was permitted to go because he had made such a powerful and inarguable case for himself, though he also heard Commander Rayburn mutter “the brat will just stow away again or do some other awful thing, why not just let him go and shut him up? Can nobody shut him up!”

On the second day, when Elliot was on watch, he left Luke sleeping as a hilarious prank to enliven the mountainous monotony, and laughed and laughed when they saw Luke’s furious face peering over at them from the mountain path miles above them. Then Luke jumped. The moment in which he was outlined against the blue sky, making an impossible leap, burned itself into Elliot’s vision even when he shut his eyes in horror. He opened them to see Luke landed, safe and sound and with Dale Wavechaser clapping him on the back. “Oh my God,” said Elliot, and sat down abruptly on a rock with his head in his hands. “Oh my God, your whole life just flashed before my eyes. Blond annoying smugness, weapons, weapons, annoying smugness, little kiddy weapons, right back until you were a fat smug baby. Oh my God.” Luke cleared his throat and gave Elliot a brief pat between the shoulderblades. “I’m okay.” Elliot thought Luke might be pleased that Elliot was upset. Elliot found this outrageous. “I don’t care!” said Elliot. “I care about gravity and how it doesn’t work that way! Does nobody else care about gravity? Why isn’t your leg broken? Why aren’t both your legs broken?” “Sorry to disappoint you,” Luke said dryly. “I’ve seen Luke jump from many similar heights before,” said Serene. Elliot thought he might actually have a heart attack. “Is that an abnormal ability for humans?” “Yes, you heedless elven wretch!” Elliot exclaimed. “No, Serene. Forgive me, Serene, I didn’t mean that, I’m overwroug...

“Nobody asked you to come,” muttered Darius Winterchild, Delia’s twin. “Nobody asked you to breathe out IQ-lowering air in my vicinity,” said Elliot, and glared at him until he went away.

Elliot gave him a look of withering scorn. Luke, used to it at this point, did not seem unduly affected.

“Oh dear, a child,” said Serene, moving backward with more alacrity than elven grace. “Could someone fetch a man to see to it?” The group stared at her, as one. “In elven society caring for the children is considered a task for the menfolk,” said Elliot, sighing and wondering why nobody else ever bothered to read a book. “Of course it is,” said Serene. “The woman goes through the physically taxing and bloody experience of childbirth. A woman’s experience of blood and pain is, naturally, what makes womenkind particularly suited for the battlefield. Whereas men are the softer sex, squeamish about blood in the main. I know it’s the same for human men, Luke was extremely disinclined to discuss my first experience of a woman’s menses.” Luke stared ferociously into the middle distance, obviously trying to visualize himself somewhere else, having an entirely different conversation. Serene patted him on the back. “Perfectly all right, I should have had more respect for your delicate masculine sensibilities.” “Thank you,” said Luke, sounding very far away. “What, you people expect women to tear apart their bodies and then go to all the bother of raising the children? That takes years, you know,” Serene remarked sternly. “The women’s labour is brief and agonizing, and the man’s is long and arduous. This seems only just. What on earth are men contributing to their children’s lives in the human world? Why would any human woman agree to have a child?” “The more she talks the more sense...

Elliot was not accustomed to the company of any children younger than himself, but he’d read that you were supposed to praise them and pat them on the head. “Well done for not eating any poisonous berries,” he said, gingerly patting. “Unless they were slow-acting poison, of course.” The child opened her mouth and gave an earsplitting howl. Elliot snatched his hand back and jumped away. “Elliot,” said Luke. “You’re not supposed to pat children on the face and ear.”

Elliot turned away with a loud sound of irritation. He was feeling exceedingly uncomfortable. This realization had come to him a time or three before, but the sight of Luke comforting a lost, lonely child made it hard to push away: that Luke actually was good and noble and kind and honest and true, that he was obviously a better and wiser choice for Serene than Elliot ever could be, and that Luke would never bully anyone. He should probably say something nice to Luke once in a while. And right, absolutely, he would. The very next thing he said would be something nice. He could say something nice any time he liked.

“Cadet Chaos-of-Battle and Cadet Schafer will help me, sir,” said Luke. “Ahahaha, wait just a minute,” said Serene. “Speak for yourself, you big traitor,” Elliot hissed.

“Luke, Luke,” Elliot said urgently. “Will you look after mine and Serene’s children? I’m starting to have some real worries about Jasper and Smooth-Skin-Like-Finest-Porcelain’s well-being.” “You’ve named your children,” said Luke, with extreme and offensive skepticism. “Yes, one elven name and one human name. I wish to be fair.” “You’ve named them Smooth Jazz?” “Look, apparently I’ll be raising them, let me have my fun,” Elliot snapped.

Will you do it or won’t you?” “I might if they’re like Serene,” said Luke. “Not if they’re like you.” He grinned. “I’m not dealing with five-year-old you. You’re a brat.” “I’m a delight,” argued Elliot, and when Serene hove into view he appealed to her. “Serene!” said Elliot. “Do you think I’m a brat?” “You’re a bit of a minx,” said Serene. “But in an insouciantly charming way, I think.”

“Back, Schafer!” barked Dale. Hearing that tone from normally good-natured Dale, Elliot’s eyes snapped to the front of the line.