Chapter 6 Annalise
Chapter six
Annalise
We’ve barely started Combat Medicine, and I already know it’s going to be a struggle not to fall asleep during Healer Alric’s lessons.
We begin with an agonizingly slow tour of the infirmary, where the air carries the sharp tang of copper, layered beneath an almost aggressive sting of bleach.
The walls are that glaring, clinical white that makes your eyes ache if you stare too long and keeps you from ever truly getting comfortable.
Eight beds, each separated by thin off-white privacy curtains, line both sides of the room. Every treatment bay is fitted with a small table of healing potions, tools, and, unnervingly, a set of iron restraints that were permanently attached to the bed.
“Kinky, I like it,” Matt mutters under his breath, forcing Sasha and me to smother our laughter with poorly disguised coughs, ones we quickly blame on the pungent smell.
We all have to take turns peeking into a supply room where rows of shelves line the walls.
Every shelf is packed with potion bottles, herbs, and mystery vials of liquid—some glowing, while others are dull and muddy, together creating a conflicting smell that I can only describe as a combination of chamomile and tar.
As we circle back toward the front door, my hope for a breath of fresh air is quickly dashed. Instead of leaving, we turn right and pass through a door into a circular room lined with tall medical tables for lab instruction, each paired with two stools.
This is where we’ll spend most of our time for both Combat Medicine and Arcane Healing, should we decide to continue down that track after we submit our choices.
In a nice contrast to the infirmary, the walls in here are covered with standard and spelled anatomical diagrams—some disturbingly realistic and constantly shifting between the muscular and skeletal systems.
“Over the next two weeks, we’ll be splitting our time between lectures and practical demonstrations, so for now, you may sit wherever you like,” Healer Alric announces, his voice carrying but smooth.
“At the end of the week, you’ll be assigned your lab partners—and before anyone asks, no, I won’t change them so you can work with your friend. Yes, you will be sitting beside the same person for the rest of the year. And yes, your lab work will be graded jointly.”
Clearly, he’s been teaching for a while.
No one questions him, but everyone looks around, passing quick judgment on their potential partners.
“A supply list will be posted on the board before you leave on Friday. It’s between you and your partner to split the list and to gather materials before labs begin.
Missing supplies will not be excused, and if you come to me without them, you’ll be borrowing from the recruit next to you—and explaining why you should even be here if you are so incompetent, to the Dean. ”
He pauses, scanning the room with a serious look that says this has happened far too many times in the past.
“Now,” he steps around to the lab tables at the front of the room, “let’s talk about what’s going to be in the field kits you will work with daily.”
Unbuckling one of the standard-issue medical bags, he lays the contents out in neat, practiced rows.
“These are your basic tools. Over the next several months, you’ll get hands-on experience using every one of these—sometimes under pressure, sometimes in less-than-ideal conditions.”
He gestures to a set of gleaming metal instruments.
“Only Arcane Healers are authorized to handle alchemized tinctures and restorative tonics, so everything you’ll learn in this class focuses on non-magical treatment.
That means you’ll be mastering the fundamentals: stitching wounds with needle and thread, setting broken bones, cleaning and binding injuries, stabilizing a patient until a Healer can get to them, and other minor traumas.
You’ll be expected to do it quickly, cleanly, and most importantly, without killing your patient. ”
A few people laugh, but Alric’s arched brow tells me it’s a very real possibility.
“You won’t think it’s funny in a few weeks when you’re pulling shifts in the infirmary or when you are on duty as a medic for a Vanguard exercise.”
He snaps the medical bag closed and folds his arms. “Welcome to Combat Medicine, recruits. We’ll see if you can keep your hands steady when it matters. Dismissed.”
While terrifying that we will be not only learning to take care of these injuries ourselves, I can’t even imagine letting most of the other students come at me with a scalpel in less than a year.
Unfortunately, the reality is that none of this is hypothetical.
These wounds, these scenarios, they’re all real possibilities once we graduate.
Hell, they’re real possibilities now.
Any one of us could walk into class next week with half the injuries we’re going to be learning to treat—or not walk in at all.
Luckily, lunch times don’t sync up for everyone at once, so the hall is much quieter and there are open tables everywhere…including the one we sat at for breakfast.
Matt and I trade a look, and it’s settled.
We have this weird tradition of claiming “our” table everywhere we go—cafés, diners, even gas stations with halfway decent coffee.
Once, in high school, he made us wait thirty whole minutes for our spot to open up at our favorite taco restaurant at lunch because he swore sitting somewhere else would mess with his game-day mojo.
I’d call it superstition, but Matt’s not the superstitious type. He just wanted “our table” and knew it was the perfect manipulation because I would beat myself up if I made him sit somewhere else and then his team lost.
Asshole.
Walking up one of the double grand stone staircases to the second story after lunch, we head towards the East Wing to find the library. Shadows pool between the carved banisters along the hallway, stretching long and deliberate under the fractured light filtering through the stained glass above us.
The smell of parchment and stale ink drowns this wing, making it somehow feel older than the rest of the academy.
Like the years of knowledge held within the books have accumulated and aged the walls that hold them captive.
Iron sconces line the walls, their flames guttering faintly despite the absence of wind.
When we open the dark oak doors, they release a slow, heavy groan.
The sight that greets us as the doors swing fully open steals the breath from my lungs.
Beyond the threshold, the library rises in tiers of shadow and amber light.
Three stories of towering shelves carved from the same dark oak as the doors we just walked through.
Tall, sliding ladders that I have only dreamt of climbing and sliding on since seeing them in a movie as a child are scattered around bookshelves.
The heart of the room is open, a vast chasm of air that stretches all the way to the vaulted ceiling.
In its center spirals an iron staircase, coiling upward like a snake tightening around its prey, connecting the floors in striking elegance, an impossible defiance of gravity.
The lead librarian stands patiently waiting to greet us beneath a ‘Check-In/Out’ sign, before having us fill out paperwork for our new library cards.
Once we’re all done, she walks us through the process of checking in and out library books, which reminds me of doing self-check-out at the grocery store.
When the tour starts, I’m amazed by the impressive size of the library.
The first two floors are dedicated to academics: shelves packed with books that support our classes, kingdom history, battle philosophy, and about a hundred other subjects I’ve never even heard of but will need to start researching immediately.
The top floor catches me by complete surprise—it’s dedicated to light reading…Fantasy, Romance, Sci-Fi, Thrillers…more options than I had ever seen in our public library back in South Hollow.
Scattered around each floor are a handful of round wooden tables with four lightly padded wooden chairs at each. The shelves far outnumber the tables, and I can already tell how hard it’s going to be getting a table when all recruits have the same classes to study for.
By the time our tour is complete, our library cards have been printed and are waiting for us by the door.
A sense of calm follows me from the library as we file out into the fading light. I know it is only day one, and that calm won’t last, but for now, I let myself believe it will.