In Other Lands

by Sarah Rees Brennan

“Are you damaged, small child?” “I’m not hurted,” said the child. “Oh great, you can talk, that’s excellent!” “Of course I can talk,” she sniffed. “I’m almost six!” “Is that a normal age for people to talk at?” Elliot said. “I didn’t know. I think I was talking at that age, but to be honest with you, I’m extremely advanced, and I got on the talking train fast because I was in a hurry to reach cutting-repartee station.”

“He looks like a prince,” she continued wistfully. “Well,” said Elliot. “The monarchy are historically inbred.”

“Luke will come,” he assured her after a moment. “I know he will. He always comes, and he always protects people. He won’t stop until you’re safe.”

He had hold of her sleeve. She tugged it away and after a moment he felt her hand creep into his. “How did your hand get even stickier in a rock fall?” Elliot asked. “Never mind, I don’t mean to criticize, it’s just a habit of mine.”

He forced the child, sobbing and stumbling, out in front of him so at least his body would be between her and them.

Luke pulled his sword free, leaned his face and his free arm against the rock, and was suddenly sick. Elliot realised, after a stunned instant, that though Luke was past master at any number of instruments of death . . . he didn’t think that Luke had ever actually killed anyone before. That was how all Luke could do, all he was celebrated and adored for, ended up: these dead bodies in the dry path before them. Elliot grabbed the child’s hand tightly as Luke was gripping the hilt of his sword and went over to where Luke stood braced against the wall. He leaned against Luke, rested his cheek against Luke’s arm. He could feel Luke shaking. “You saved her,” he said. “You did it. The child’s safe. They didn’t hurt her, because of you.” It probably didn’t matter much in comparison, but he figured it couldn’t hurt to add: “I’m safe too. You did everything you could.” Luke took a deep shuddering breath. “Yeah?” Elliot took a step back and nodded nervously and so vigorously his hair tumbled in his face, a blinding red tangle, and he had to shake it out. By the time he had, Luke was smiling faintly—Luke thought Elliot’s total inability to deal with his hair was really funny, which Elliot resented usually but was grateful for this once—and then Luke swiped a hand over his eyes.

“Luke’s outside,” Serene said in a low voice. “Might you want to go out and say something to him? He’s a bit torn up.” She looked off into the distance. “Your first one’s the worst. It gets easier after that.” Does it get easier? Elliot thought, looking at her still pale face. Or is it just that you shut doors in your own heart and never open them again for fear of what is behind them? Serene had killed for him too. Serene was a child soldier, created in the same way Luke had been. The only difference was that Serene had killed before she ever met Elliot, had been damaged like that before he ever saw her. He remembered thinking that the grave, older air she had was beautiful, was something elvish and wonderful, and felt sick of himself. He wanted nothing more than to lift the sadness forever and see her smile, uncomplicated and happy, the child she should still be. “Was someone with you for your first?” he asked. Serene nodded. “My mother. She said—she said she was proud of me, and that I was brave.” “Hey, you are brave,” said Elliot at last. “And I’m proud of you too. Always. Thanks for saving me.” “Any time,” said Serene. He thought she might have liked to smile but found herself not able to do so. “Always.”

“Hey, it’s you,” he said. “Are you—doing all right?” “Fine,” said Elliot. “They say I’ll play the piano again. Well, they didn’t, they didn’t know what a piano was, but I’m going to be fine anyway.” “That’s good,” said Luke. “How about you?” asked Elliot. “Oh, you know me,” said Luke. “Great. Always great. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You think you’re so smart. Did it seem to you that those creatures were going to listen to reason?” “Well, I mean, maybe,” said Elliot. “We’re never going to know now, are we?” Luke was white under his tan. “Are you serious? I know what you think of me,” he said. “You’re always really clear on the subject. But is this the time to have a go at me?” “That came out wrong,” said Elliot. “Obviously, there were extenuating circumstances. There was the child—” “You know what, Elliot?” Luke demanded. “Could you shut up for once in your life and leave me alone?” He pushed himself off the wall and shoved past Elliot, fairly hard, on his injured side. Elliot went and leaned against the wall until the jolted pain in his arm subsided, and by then Luke was long gone. Elliot blamed himself for trying. He was not a comforting type of person: it was stupid, like a hedgehog trying to be a hot-water bottle. Of course he was only going to make Luke more upset.

Elliot mainly sat in the corner and sulked over his broken arm. Eventually Serene and Luke came to sit with him, and they were all pretty quiet together.

Elliot might at this point have slightly broken into Commander Rayburn’s office and found a large file of deeds and treaties that he confiscated and took with him to the library, where he sat studying them and trying to project an air of innocence.

“Perhaps this treaty was overlooked by mischance.” “Yeeeeeeah,” Elliot said. “Perchance. Would you bet your honor on it?” “I would not,” Serene replied at last. “Would you go fetch Luke?”

Elliot wrinkled his nose and pushed at Luke’s shoulder. “Please stand farther away from me.” “This had better be important,” said Luke. “Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to let down the whole team, in front of everybody, because you whistled and beckoned? I’m not your dog.” Elliot suspected the whole camp would blame him and still love Luke, so he didn’t see what Luke’s problem was. “And yet you came,” he said.

“Well, elvish women are driven by powerful lusts that men cannot understand,” Serene said in matter-of-fact tones. “Let’s just leave it at that, shall we!” Luke implored. “Please go on, Serene, don’t stop, this is very interesting,” said Elliot. “Once a woman’s passion is roused it can be very difficult for her to stop until the act of love is completed,” said Serene. “Preferably several times over. How can an innocent man understand such desires? As I understand it, men are completely exhausted when they complete the act of love once.” “Well, not completely!” said Elliot. “After the first flush of youth,” Serene said sadly, “men are only able to perform the act once a night.” “Please talk about something else or maybe kill me,” said Luke. “I don’t want to live in this world any more.” “Thus, necessarily, a man must perform attentions upon a woman when he is no longer aroused, which is why for a man such acts are more about feelings of the heart than of other areas,” said Serene. “Else how can a woman be satisfied with just one man? Of course, the elves in the eastern woods have different arrangements—” “You know what would be amazing?” Luke said. “If we were kidnapped, bound, and gagged—the gagged bit is really important—and put to death by brigands like right now. Right now. Brigands!” He looked around. The woods at night offered the hoot of an owl, and the rustle of leaves in a breeze, but no brigands. “We’re sharing differing cultural points of view and information,” E...

First Luke yawned and stretched and rolled away from Serene, then Serene’s eyes opened. Her eyes were clear and she was alert in an instant, whereas Luke had to spend a whole lot of time looking dopey and rubbing his eyes. Elliot nobly refrained from teasing him.

Luke sidled closer to him and murmured in his ear: “Can you understand them? I do not like the way they are looking at us!” “Of course I can understand them. What, you don’t even know elvish?” Elliot asked. “Fine swordsister you are.” “What?” Luke asked, and Elliot snickered. After an exasperated pause, Luke said: “What are they saying?” “Are you sure you want to know?” “Yes.” “Quite, quite sure?” “Yes!” “Well, if you’re really sure,” Elliot said blandly. “That one with the black braid just said you were a pretty, pretty thing and looked like you’d be a fun afternoon.” Luke went a slow, horrified scarlet. Elliot beamed.

“Deh’rit,” Luke whispered, triumphantly. “She looked right at you and she said it! What does that mean?” Elliot thought about lying and saying that it meant “totally awesome, very handsome, in a respectful way,” but he was hoping Luke would submit to elvish lessons very soon and lying was no way to begin teaching him. “Uh . . . the closest translation would be that she called me a bluestocking.” “What does that mean?” “Um . . . like, a nerd,” said Elliot, and sighed. “Something along the lines of, someone who always has their nose buried in a book and who nobody wants to marry.” “Oh,” said Luke, and grinned. “Well, they’re not wrong on all counts then.”

Swift continued eyeing Elliot in a way he found upsetting and insulting. “He must have a really great personality,” she said at last. “You know, I really don’t,” said Elliot, impatiently and in elvish.

“I’m sorry if I was short with you,” he said, as if the elves hadn’t started it all. “It’s just that I’m so worried about this, and I thought that if we found you, you would know what to do!” Swift visibly wavered, to Elliot’s secret amazement. “I only want to do the right thing,” Elliot proceeded, and fixed Swift with a limpid gaze. “Of course,” said Swift, almost reluctantly. “Poor dear.” Elliot nodded with conviction and felt his stupid hair wave about all over the place. “Honor’s so important,” he said wistfully. “I wish I understood this paper better. But I am such a silly thing! I need guidance.” “What is Elliot saying,” Luke whispered to Serene, “and why does he look so weirdly upset?” Serene, clever girl and mistress of Elliot’s heart as she was, shushed him.

“I get it now, Serene. He’s a taking little thing, in an odd way. Grows on you.” “That was maybe my first ever compliment from a lady,” Elliot said. “Thank you for making it absolutely awful. Oh my God.”

The most annoying thing, perhaps, was that the elven troop were obviously good people and were being kind to them, and yet Elliot felt subtly wrong-footed at every turn. He wondered if this was how Serene felt all the time, and he promised himself to bear it as well as she did.

“There are also simply some women, warriors and not, who can never be tempted by the shining hair and alluring chests of men,” said Serene. “Sure,” said Elliot. “Guys too. I mean, by women.” Serene frowned. “Are you sure?” “Yeah, a guidance counselor gave me a ton of pamphlets over this guy called Simon,” said Elliot. “I’ll show you some.” “It just seems so unlikely, given that men cannot truly feel the pulse of desi—” “It’s true,” Luke said abruptly, “and if you two start talking like you did last night in front of strangers I will put my head in the fire.”

“She would’ve gotten away with it too if she hadn’t boasted about it to a pretty little boy who went running to tell his papa,” Rush finished. “Golden-Hair-Scented-Like-Summer is a judgmental boring goody-two-shoes,” said Serene, flushing. “I heard Serene tried to kiss him and he slapped her,” said Swift, and burst out laughing. “THAT DID NOT HAPPEN,” yelped Serene, like any kid teased by her big cousin, and Elliot found himself liking the elves after all.

“Maybe you could stop defining us by, like, literary tropez,” said Luke. “Bluestocking.” “Tropes, oh my God, loser, of course you can’t speak elvish, you can barely speak English. It’s pronounced like tropes, not like St Tropez.”

Later that night Luke grumpily rolled his blanket over to Elliot’s and said: “Fine then. Teach me a few words of elvish.” Elliot grinned triumphantly in the dark. He’d thought the swordsister guilt trip would work.

“I wish I could grow a moustache like that,” Elliot said wistfully. “Probably a bad idea,” said Luke. “You can’t control the hair you’ve got.”

“The Sunborns do have a big library,” the general rumbled out at last, as if weighing the words for believability. “But . . . why on earth would you be in there reading, lad?” “Improve my vocabulary, sir,” said Luke.

“Besides, it doesn’t really matter, does it?” asked Luke. “We all want peace. Don’t we? Sir?” They couldn’t say they did not. Not one of them could actually say that.

“All right, sir. I know a lot of long words by now anyway.” This was too much. Elliot broke. “Oh, really, you do? Like what? I want you to be somewhat acquainted with the definition of this word,” Elliot demanded. Luke cast him a sidelong glance. “Provoking,” he said. “And I am pretty well acquainted with the definition of the word.” Elliot beamed. “Aw.”

Elliot meant to sit and sulk over the pointless waste of it all in his cabin until the very last moment. There was a knock on the door at one point, but he wasn’t done sulking and he ignored it. He did not make it to the very last moment. When he emerged from the cabin, it was to see the dust of the troops leaving: it was to find Serene and Luke already gone.

“Cadet Schafer, what do you need me for?” Captain Whiteleaf said nervously. “I mean, I don’t want a repeat of the—burning incident last year, and the commander has, has warned, I mean prepared me, for all your tricks. Just don’t . . . just don’t do anything. Go back to class.”

He’d thought he might enjoy spending more time with Peter and Myra, but he was in a slightly ruffled condition and during one lunch made Peter go off somewhere, he suspected to cry, and reduced Myra to staring at him with stunned eyes. “Sorry,” he told her, banishing himself from the lunch room for being an unacceptable human being. “I’m in a filthy mood. Sorry.” He hadn’t even said anything so very bad. Luke would not have been reduced to tears. Everybody needed to work on not being so thin-skinned all the time, he told himself, and went off to deliberately pick a fight with the remains of the Trigon team. He didn’t even realise that was what he was doing until he spat out another mouthful of malice at Richard Plantgrown. “Look,” snapped Richard, “you can be as much of a little snot as you want. Luke Sunborn told us if we laid a finger on you while he was gone, he’d have our heads.” “Luke Sunborn needs to learn to mind his own business,” snapped Elliot, and at least the others looked like they agreed with him there. “Besides, who’s going to tell him? Or are you all just such cowards the mere idea of Luke has you quaking in your—” Richard did hit Elliot in the face then. Very hard. Elliot hit the wall, and hot pain and blood bloomed, his own flesh breaking open against his teeth. He spat, and this time it was not malice aimed at someone else, but blood hitting the stone. It was still awful. “Wow, it’s been a while, hello old friend being hit in the face,” Elliot said, putt...

This magic land was all wrong. In the books, you had to destroy an evil piece of jewelry or defeat an evil-though-sexy witch or wizard. In the books, people did not hide documents and steal land and try to cheat dwarves and dryads. The whole world was stupid, and now he was stupid too. He didn’t understand how this could be happening, how they might be dying. He’d fixed everything. He’d done everything right.

Elliot turned and ran. He made it to the largest of the brown tents and stood for a minute just inside the flap, plotting a subterfuge to make his way inside. A grumpy voice, with that Sunborn ring of expecting absolutely to be listened to, rang out. “Will someone bring me Little Red?” Or the direct approach might work. “Hi,” said Elliot, darting in and around some medic trying to interfere with him. “You mean me, right? You wanted to see me?”

Louise let out a peal of laughter, then put her fingers to her jaw and winced. “Sorry, sorry!” Elliot said. “I don’t know the force of my own wit.”

“Ah, you’re so much fun,” said Louise. “Write Luke a letter tonight, okay? He’s nervous about taking over command.” “Ahahaha,” said Elliot. “Now you are the one who is being hilarious, because you did not leave a fourteen-year-old in command of armed forces.” Louise hesitated. “You have to understand. They’re doing better than okay. Better than all the grown men I have under my command. I couldn’t have left my men with anyone else. They wouldn’t have followed anyone else when there was a Sunborn to lead them.” “Obviously you’re delirious from some sort of medication,” said Elliot. “Or maybe I’m delirious, because you talk and all I can hear is la la la suicide mission la la la your fourteen-year-old brother!” “Serene’s there to help him,” said Louise. “I left the command to both of them, really.” “Serene is, what’s the word I’m searching for here, oh yes, ALSO FOURTEEN.” “What about you, Little Red?” asked Louise. “Getting tired of fiddling with those treaties? Going to leave it all to the grown-ups?” Elliot opened his mouth to argue. He knew that Luke and Serene were exceptional. He had been told that and had seen that over and over again. But shouldn’t the adults, if they loved them, if they were responsible for them and cared for them more than for anything else, the way adults were supposed to . . . shouldn’t they try to stop them saving the day, even if they could do it?

Of course Elliot was scared sick for Serene, but lonely in the night, at the coldest quietest hour, he had to make certain admissions. He had to admit that he was desperately worried about both of them: he had to admit that Luke was Elliot’s friend. It was so embarrassing. Luke could never know. Elliot decided that he was just going to be Luke’s friend very sneakily.

The name was repeated so often it began to seem like a thousand candles lit one by one and illuminating night into dawn; it began to seem like a hosanna: Sunborn, Sunborn, Sunborn.

“Alive?” snapped Elliot and Louise as one, the sound instinctive as crying out when hit. “The whole family,” said Rachel. “By which of course I also mean that gorgeous elf girl. She stood on the cliffs and fired until we had no arrows left, and every arrow hit a mark. Her kill count is in the hundreds. I’m kidnapping and adopting her.”

Elliot liked watching her until he heard what she was saying and the cold that had been freezing him all night long trickled back into his blood. “Never mind that you missed out on the last bit of the fun, baby,” Rachel murmured. “There’s always another war.”

The lesson Elliot already knew droned on. The trees shook fistfuls of leaves in the wind like impatient customers waving sheaves of crumpled bills, and the wind whooshed and rustled and carried no other sound. Until it did. Until Elliot heard, faint and far away, the sound of an elven horn. He’d imagined such sounds before, but he saw Myra’s head jerk up. She’d heard it too. Elliot’s desk and chair went crashing onto the floor, the desk before him and the chair behind. Mr Dustlaid was startled enough to shout. “Sit back down, Cadet Schafer!” Elliot considered this, said: “No,” and raced out the door. There was nobody in sight yet, no sign of armies in the fields or over the hills. Elliot went for the woods, which would screen sight, climbing over the rise of a hill as he went around the last few clusters of trees. He wanted to see them, expected to see them, and was yet not quite prepared for the sight of them, the small band of faraway figures, little more than black dots in the green. Elliot squinted, hand over his eyes to block out the glare of the sun, to make sure it was them: he saw Luke’s hair shining like a helm, and then knew that the figure standing farther off from the troop but closer to Luke than anyone else must be Serene. In another moment he was sure of it, and sure she had seen him. She began to run, faster than any human could, racing elven-fleet across the grass. Elliot ran down the hill toward her, stumbling as he went, lent speed by the slope and not c...

People were already chanting, the same refrain: “Sunborn, Sunborn!” “No,” Luke said loudly, and the boys paused in the very act of pulling him onto their shoulders. He offered Serene a hand, courtly as if he were helping her into a carriage. “Serene was with me every step of the way. I did nothing she did not do as well, and better. Serene too.” Serene took his hand. Boys swarmed around her too, lifted them both up high into the air. Their shouts seemed to echo off the sky. Elliot was left to trail behind. As he did, he thought about Luke talking about literary tropes—the fearless hero, the valiant heroine, and where did it all leave him? Sidekick: a horrible indignity, Elliot refused to accept it. And the other idea was some sort of lurking, jealous figure: an Iago, a pathetic pseudo-villain waiting in the wings to plot and bring the hero down. He wasn’t going to plot against Luke, who had dumb daffodil hair and said “tropez,” for God’s sake.

Delia Winterchild had come back from the war. Her twin, Darius, had not. She trailed alongside Elliot, dragging her feet as the crowd raced triumphantly ahead. He looked at her and was almost ashamed that he was so glad his people had come home safe. “I’m really sorry,” he said. “He was a brave soldier,” said Delia, squaring her shoulders as if that gave her some comfort. “And he’s lying in the ground while everyone cheers for the untouchable Sunborns.” Elliot reached for her hand. She looked surprised, but after a moment she let him. Her hand was chilly in his. They walked back to the camp together. Elliot didn’t know why he was bothering to think about roles and stories. Any of their stories could end, any of them could stop being a hero and be put in the cold ground at the very next battle. And Rachel Sunborn had said there would always be another war.

“Aren’t you proud?” asked Dale Wavechaser at one point, and everybody looked at Elliot. He understood that Luke and Serene were both very good at using weaponry, this had been made very clear to him, but he didn’t really see what there was to be so impressed with about that. Elliot made a face, and said finally, weakly: “Doesn’t really have anything to do with me.” Which wasn’t great, but wasn’t “No, not proud at all, and also if anyone tells another of these stories I think I might be sick.”

“Did you get a chance to see the treaty?” he asked Serene, leaning over to her under the cover of the noise. “Oh, well, no . . .,” said Serene. “Not yet.” “Uh, she’ll get around to it,” Luke said, his eyebrows raised. “She has more important things to think of right now.” “More important than the terms of the treaty that got the other side to agree to peace?” Elliot asked. “But of course they would have signed no matter what, after the beating we gave them,” Luke said, casting an approving eye around, and his scattered troop preened at his praise. “Oh, of course,” said Elliot. “Because the astonishing fact that some people got killed in a battle would definitely have stopped everyone in their tracks.” “Elliot,” said Serene. “I will of course be most interested to hear about such matters another time, but you have to be aware we almost died.” The hall was much more quiet than Elliot would have liked. Elliot felt like everyone was paying attention, weighing him in the balance, and finding him unworthy. “I am,” said Elliot. “Very.” “Treaties are important, just—” “Just not as important,” said Elliot quietly.

Elliot didn’t even know why he was surprised. Serene had always been a little more inclined to war than council, though brilliant at both: he just hadn’t wanted to see it. Now she had been away at the wars and knew viscerally that war was a matter of life or death. Now she was closer to Luke than she had ever been before; it was easy to see, even in the way they both reached for their cups in tandem. He didn’t know why he had expected Serene to be on his side.

Luke came in the door. Elliot thought of several things to say, including “I see we need a refresher course in how to knock” and “It was so lovely and peaceful when you were gone,” but he didn’t particularly want to be accused of callous indifference to heroes who had almost died again. He said nothing. “Are you not coming back?” Luke asked. Elliot made a noncommittal gesture. “I know that parties aren’t much fun,” Luke went on. “But it’s a tribute to bravery and sacrifice.”

“This is just like you,” said Luke. “Are you seriously going off to sulk over nobody wanting to talk about your dumb treaty? I know you think violence is a stupid last resort, but it was our only resort, and we did well. And you might not want to hear about anything we did, but other people do. People died, and you should show a little respect. And shut up about how unnecessary and useless war is for one night.” “I hope you’re enjoying your fight with Imaginary Elliot,” said Elliot. “Because I haven’t said a word since you came in.” “Well, why are you being so quiet?” “I can’t believe you just asked me that question. Are you aware that nobody in the history of time has ever asked me that question?” Elliot demanded. “Has it struck you that you are being a little hard to please right now, loser?” “What,” said Luke, and suddenly looked confused. “Are you trying?” Elliot had to admit that probably, from the outside, leaving a party early in a huff and then administering the silent treatment did not seem like he was trying especially hard. He considered Luke. He looked a little older than when Elliot had seen him last, and a lot more tired. “I am a bit,” Elliot said eventually. “I’m glad you’re both not dead, and I don’t want to fight.” “Oh,” said Luke. “Okay.”

“So you haven’t changed, then,” said Luke, who was sort of drooping with tiredness like a sad dandelion. “I’ve been told I’m taller.” “Still kind of titchy,” observed Luke, which was offensive, and then put his head down on the pillow. “Get up and go back to your celebration, you lump,” said Elliot. The one eye Elliot could see rolled. “I thought you were trying to be nice.” Elliot gave up on being nice. “Ugh, you’re the worst, leave and never come back.” Luke fell asleep instead. After about six minutes, there came a knock. “Who is that rapping on my chamber door,” Elliot murmured to himself. “What elf could it be? And when shall I read my letter? Nevermore. Come in, Serene!” She came in, looking a little abashed to be in a gentleman’s bedchamber. “Sorry I’m late,” she said, and came to sit on the bed. “I had to stop and have a look at a treaty.” Elliot almost hated himself for being so pathetic, but knew he was glowing just the same. “Yeah?” “It’s pretty good,” Serene told him, in her measured way. “I love the bit about the trolls cooperating on farming in the south fields in exchange for help with mining equipment.” Elliot shrugged modestly instead of saying “Oh baby, talk treaties to me.” “Well.” “How’d you do it?” asked Serene, lying down next to Luke, who stirred and slid his arm around her, with what even Elliot could tell was the ease of familiarity and long loving habit. “I poisoned Captain Whiteleaf,” Elliot announced proudly. Luke opened his one visible eye. “No...

Luke was filthy, Elliot noted disapprovingly, and even Serene looked slightly disarranged. Elves did not seem to get as smudgy as humans. They did not look like heroes but like sleepy, dirty children. Elliot felt like a little kid himself, confused and helpless, not able to deal with the world at all. Their heads were leaning together on his pillow, the gold and the dark, ruffled and mingling. Elliot felt like he should maybe smooth them or something.