Chapter 25 Kailin #2
The next hour was a blur of routine tests.
I'd lost fifteen pounds since arriving at the Citadel, and that measurement had been taken right after the three-day pilgrimage, which I had done fasting.
All together, I was down twenty-two pounds, which was almost one-sixth of my pre-pilgrimage weight.
Next, my blood pressure was measured and deemed a little too low but not worrisome, and my heart rate a little too fast, but not troubling either.
Blood was drawn from my arm and labeled for analysis.
Thoran listened to my heart and lungs, checked my reflexes, and examined my eyes and throat.
Throughout the examination, Morah watched with those sharp eyes of hers and asked questions about my ability and what I had done during the night of the attack on Podana.
Ravel nodded from his chair, encouraging me to share those details with the healers. It felt strange telling these people things I rarely talked about, but if I wanted to get better, they needed to know how and why I was feeling the way I was.
Finally, Thoran stepped back. "Physically, you're relatively healthy. Underweight, certainly, but no signs of disease or infection. Your vitals are good."
"Then why am I so exhausted all the time?"
"That's where Healer Morah comes in." He gestured to the older woman. "I have a feeling your condition isn't purely physical."
I frowned. "What do you mean?"
Morah came closer, her sharp eyes studying me with unnerving intensity. "May I?"
I nodded, not sure what I was agreeing to.
She pressed her fingers to my temples, and I felt a strange warmth spreading through my skull. It wasn't unpleasant, but it was foreign, like someone else's presence brushing against my mind.
"Fascinating," Morah murmured. "Your channels are wide open. No wonder you're exhausted."
"Channels?"
She stepped back. "Energy channels. The pathways through which shamanic power flows. Most people's are narrow, barely functional. Yours are like rivers in flood season."
"Is that bad?"
"It's extraordinary. And exhausting." Morah exchanged a look with Thoran. "She's bleeding energy constantly. Every time she uses her abilities, she's draining herself with nothing to replenish what she loses."
"The prophetic dream," Ravel said from his chair. "That's what depleted her."
"It's not just the dream," Morah said. "She's been forming connections with simple animals and with dragons, projecting her consciousness into other minds. Each time, she pours out more energy than she takes back in. It's like running a marathon every night and never eating enough to recover."
The analogy made horrible sense. No wonder I felt hollow.
"Can you fix it?" I asked.
"I can't, but I can teach you to manage it." Morah pulled a vial from her basket. "This is a restorative tonic. It won't solve the underlying problem, but it will help your body recover faster. Three drops in water, morning and evening."
I accepted the vial, studying the amber liquid inside. I hadn't seen anything like that in my grandmother's store, and I was a little suspicious of it.
"The real solution is the dragon bond," Thoran said. "Once you're bonded, the dragon will act as a reservoir. Their energy will flow into you, sustaining you through the depletion. It's why bonded shamans can do things that would kill unbonded ones."
"The Day of Volition is still weeks away," I said.
"Until then, you take the tonic, you rest as much as possible, and you stop using your abilities unless absolutely necessary." Morah's tone brooked no argument. "No more prophetic dreams. No more animal connections. Nothing that requires you to project your consciousness outside your body."
I thought of the sleeping draught Saphir had given me. "What about the tea? The one that induces prophetic dreams?"
"Absolutely not," Thoran said firmly. "That tea forces your channels open even wider. In your current state, another session like Podana could kill you."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
"But what if the Shedun attack again?" I asked. "What if my warning could save lives?"
"Your death won't save anyone," Ravel said from his spot. "And that's what we're talking about. Death, Kailin. Not exhaustion. Not weakness. Death."
I looked at him, saw the concern in his dark eyes, and felt something crack inside me.
"I understand," I whispered.
"Good." Morah handed me another vial. "This is a sleeping draught. It will help you sleep deeply and prevent prophetic dreams. One dropper full before bed."
I accepted it numbly.
"I want to see you again in two weeks," Thoran said. "In the meantime, I will send a note to your conditioning instructor to excuse you from training. You will get to sleep an extra hour each morning. Gaining back at least some of the weight you've lost should be your top priority."
On the one hand, I was relieved that I would be excused from Captain Odinah's grueling training, but on the other hand, I knew that it would amplify my alienation from the other cadets. I was already being treated differently. I could only imagine the looks I'd get for sitting out conditioning.
I missed being the Kailin whose only uniqueness had been getting accepted into the Dragon Force training academy, but destiny cared little for what I wanted.
To her, I was just a tool, or rather a thread in the vast tapestry she was weaving.
"Thank you." I slid off the examination table.
"Take care of yourself, Kailin." Morah surprised me by pulling me into a quick, grandmotherly embrace. "Elucia needs you alive. You will not do her any good from the grave."
Apparently, Morah was just as blunt as my grandmother. Was that a generational thing? Back when these two had been young, our people had it much tougher than we do today, and they couldn't be bothered with euphemisms or mincing words.
After Ravel and Thoran clasped each other's hands and promised to get together, we were off.
The flight back to the first-year quarters was quiet. I sat behind Ravel again, my arms around his waist, the two vials secure in the pocket of my uniform.
"How are you feeling, Little Warrior?" Onyx asked in my mind.
"I've been better," I admitted. "I'm tired of being tired and scared."
"Fear keeps us alive. Heroism is not the lack of fear. It's doing what's right in spite of it."
"I'm also tired of being called a hero."
Onyx chuffed. "There could be worse insults."
"I guess."
As Onyx made a wide circle to align for landing, I rested my forehead against Ravel's back and let the wind wash over me.
Below, the Citadel sprawled, a fortress carved from the mountain.
So many people depending on defenses, on warnings, on prophecies that I wouldn't be able to give them in the foreseeable future.
When we landed, Ravel dismounted and helped me down. His hands lingered on my waist a moment longer than necessary.
"You heard what they said," he told me. "No more prophetic dreams. That's an order."
I chuckled. "You can't order me not to dream, Commander."
"I can order you not to drink that damned tea.
Those were the doctor's orders. I'm going to inform Saphir about Thoran and Morah's recommendations for your recovery.
" His hands tightened on my waist. "Kailin, you're no good to anyone dead, and since you are supposed to save the world, you have to live. So, no tea until after you've bonded."
"No tea," I said. "I'm not taking what they said lightly. I don't want to die."
"Good." The relief in his eyes was unmistakable. "Now go rest. You're excused from training until the day after tomorrow. You are allowed to get out of bed only to eat and shower."
I didn't like that at all. Instead of wasting away slowly from the drain on my mental energy, I would simply die of boredom.
"But I need to train—"
"That wasn't a request, Cadet." Ravel stopped me before I could remind him that the physician had given me no such instructions, and given the set of his jaw, I knew that arguing would be futile.
I swallowed my retort and saluted. "Yes, Commander."
He watched me walk toward the entrance, and I could feel his gaze on my back the entire way. When I finally glanced over my shoulder, he was still there, standing beside Onyx, backlit by the morning sun.
For just a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like if things were different. If Ravel weren't a commander and I weren't a cadet, if we had met under different circumstances and on a different world, and if I weren't in love with Alar.
Then I shook my head and stepped inside, leaving that thought behind. As my grandmother used to say, what-ifs were pointless.