Elliot began to regret his decision as soon as he was separated from Serene and sent off to his sleeping quarters.
His sleeping quarters were a large bare wooden cabin with several bunk beds and chests full of clothes and—oh good—weapons. There were already other boys there, and two of them were conducting a fight with daggers. Elliot saw no evidence anywhere of plumbing, and it was freezing cold in magic land. Elliot had never given much thought to the importance of plumbing and indoor heating, and he had never wanted to long passionately for double-glazing.
Magic lands in books had always seemed close to nature, but in a nice way, without all the unpleasant details.
A dagger landed in the wall, far too close to him.
“Oh no,” Elliot moaned, and sat down heavily on his bunk bed. “This is magic Sparta.”
Forget fancy luxuries like telephones and toilets. The Border camp did not even have writing implements.
In his first class, Elliot was presented with a quill, which he promptly broke in two and threw against a wall. He’d brought a pencil with him in his pocket: he clung to it as his only hope and insisted on using it to take notes on the parchment provided. (Magic land also did not have notebooks.)
The first class Elliot took was—somewhat ironically—geography class, though they called it mapmaking, but the maps were of a world Elliot had never seen before. He stared, fascinated, at the lines and circles that formed strange mountains and lakes: at the alien names that he would learn, and the places he was suddenly determined to go.
He still would have been happier with a pen.
He would also have been happier if he’d been able to keep his hoodie and jeans, but this morning he had woken to find his clothes stolen and had thus been forced into the uniform of those in council training. The others called his clothes a tunic and breeches: Elliot called them a dress and leggings, and it looked pretty terrible combined with the fact that Elliot’s wild curly hair needed cutting and there was no hairdresser apparent in this magic land. If anyone from his old school had seen him, Elliot would have been destroyed on sight.
What would have made Elliot happiest of all was if he could see Serene, but she was nowhere to be found. The council course were being taught mapmaking, arithmetic, history, basic dwarvish, all about different species and their cultures, and several different types of law: for treaty making and property disputes and military discipline.
The council course seemed to have almost entirely different classes to the war-training course. Elliot looked for Serene in every class, and saw her in none. He had no idea how to find her, so at the end of the day he stuffed his new books (they were awesome) and his parchment (it was stupid, and nobody had listened to his impassioned speech on the topic of notebooks) into his bag, and went in quest of her.
The Border camp was all cabins, tents, a few stumpy towers like a couple of broken gray teeth in an otherwise toothless mouth, and endless fields. It was very difficult to navigate.
Elliot was fairly certain that he had gone around the same cabin twice, so in order to prevent the same thing happening for a third time he took out his house keys and made a small notch in the wall.
“Hey!” said a voice behind him. “You can’t vandalize the camp!”
“I do what I want,” said Elliot.
He turned and beheld the most horrible sight imaginable: his beautiful Serene and Luke Sunborn. They were actually walking together and obviously getting along, their arms brushing, their gold and dark heads bowed together. They were both wearing the uniform of the war-training cadets, and Elliot had to admit the leather and straps actually looked good on Serene. They looked like a natural pair, a matched set. They looked like a couple from a storybook.
Elliot’s despair was put on pause when Serene’s mouth turned up slightly at the corners and she said: “Oh good, Elliot. There you are.”
Elliot beamed. “Here I am.”
“You,” said Luke Sunborn. “Why are you still here?”
“I’m sorry,” said Elliot, and paused. “Who are you?” he asked. “Have we met before? What’s your name?”
Luke opened his mouth and no sound came out.
Elliot grinned. “Sorry. I guess you’re just not very memorable.”
“This is Luke Sunborn,” Serene informed him efficiently. “Luke, Elliot Schafer. Did I say that right?”
“Perfectly,” Elliot assured her.
“I know his name; they said it at roll call,” said Luke. “How do you know this guy, Serene?”
“He’s a new friend of mine, like you,” Serene answered, and Elliot was torn between delight and disgust as she continued: “I was hoping that you would both accompany me to Commander Rayburn’s rooms and support me as I make my petition.”
Elliot had several questions, like: Who is Commander Rayburn, how are we supposed to find these rooms, how are we supposed to find anything, what is your petition?
He did not voice any of them. He went to Serene’s other side, taking her offered arm and privately vowing that he would be amazingly supportive. Way more supportive than Luke.
“I wish to be enrolled in both the war-training and council-training courses,” said Serene. “I cannot be content with simply taking one. There is no such thing as too much learning and both have too much of value to offer me.”
“Absolutely not. Get out of here,” said Commander Rayburn.
Captain Woodsinger, Commander Rayburn’s silent, reliable second-in-command and the lady with a constantly serious expression and cornrows who had kidnapped Elliot, gestured them toward the door.
“With respect, sir,” Serene began.
“No,” said Commander Rayburn, a big burly guy in the standard excessive leather. He had an actual candle burning much too close to a stack of parchment on his desk. “The war-training course demands total dedication and extreme discipline. It leaves no time for anything else, certainly not another course. The council-training course also, I have no doubt, takes up considerable time. You would not be capable of studying both.”
Elliot noted the commander’s obvious deep commitment to the council-training course.
“With respect, sir,” said Serene. “And meaning no offence to you or my fellow cadets, but while it might certainly be too much for the delicate, I am a woman, and scientifically we have more endurance than men—”
Commander Rayburn’s face grew darker. Elliot tried to gesture to Serene to cease this line of reasoning.