Chapter Text
The war has humbled him and put him into a state of guilt.
Such is a thought made inside his head as the IV drips and the blinding light glows on the edges of this human’s place ceiling. His chest is yet still wounded and a white bandage wraps across his upper body. Today there are no spots of blood anymore and he is glad. He can go back now to his people. Even when his Hometree has gone by the fire the devil made.
He knows this very well. These little creatures are the sole problem but he just cannot help but to blame himself for the death of his people. He led an attack. He remembers the ire he felt when he knew that the Tree of Voices were destroyed. His connection with Sylwanin, it was gone. Of course he can connect somewhere else. But it will not be the same. But he can, yet he still attacked, despite being warned by Toruk Makto. (He was not yet then).
His ears perk up as he hears someone walking closer to the room. He lets his guard up, attentive to what might happen next.
“Hello.”
It is Max Patel, the doctor. Norm Spellman is behind him.
Norm addresses him by his title and once in a lifetime, he doesn’t like to bear that burden.
“You will be able to get to see the people now,” Norm says, as he checks something on the tiny screen. Norm’s human form was so little. One moon ago he probably would crush him, thinking he was one of the devils.
“When exactly?” He asks.
“Hm,” Norm mumbles. “After this IV is done.”
He nods. He feels ashamed all of sudden. He doesn’t want to see the people. Why should he? He has asked Jakesully to kill him. Why is he still alive?
There are flashing pictures in his mind. There was Saeyla, his student, being by his side when Ka’ani was looking for help. He fell from the airship. He shot an arrow. He got shot. This devil machinery. Who do they think they are to disrupt the great balance?
There is always anger inside of him. That was what Sylwanin said. If he were to be Olo’eyktan, he should lead less from his fiery heart but from the calmness of the mind. And he knew now that perhaps Eytukan was wrong in choosing him as his successor.
“How do you feel?” Max Patel asks. Perhaps he picks up something from his demeanor. Perhaps it is just a question they ask the injured.
“Blessed,” he answers, his ears cannot conceal his great despair.
“You recover well,” Norm Spellman says. “You listened when we asked you to rest, not like the others.”
He wouldn’t listen before the war. His hot headed stubbornness would think that to do so is a humiliating act. He knows better now that injured or not, it will not change anything if he doesn’t listen. There is a price you will pay for everything you do and such is already a burden for decisions one makes for oneself. And he made the decision for hundreds of people. And he decided to lead them to death.
“You should tend to the wound every day,” Max Patel says. “You can come here anytime or if you want to do it yourself you can. We can supply the bandaid you need.”
“As for hunting,” Norm Spellman adds, “you will have to slowly adapt. It will hurt at first but since you have healed mostly, you will be fine most of the time. But for a week or two it will sting.”
He nods.
Then the door opens and Tsahik is there. She mouths blessings and then asks both doctors to leave so she can have the time alone with the Olo’eyktan. She greets him with a motherly voice but also with sternness of what he recalls as someone tries to hide their own injuries in their heart.
“You will use the forest herbs from now on. Their technologies have done the work needed,” she says. “After that you will heal and you will lead again next to Toruk Makto.”
“The Hometree?”
“Jakesully is looking for the new one along with Neytiri. And the other. Your students help the most.”
He nods. He feels powerless.
“Eywa has chosen a path for you,” she says, in her looming voice. “You will still become the Olo’eyktan.”
“If that is what will minister the great balance,” he says, “then I must do it.”
Her palm touches his left shoulder. “Such is a great sacrifice.”