The Power of Silence

Coming Home-Part II By Skylar Grey

Lilah's tired eyes squinted first to the eastern horizon, smells of salt water fresh and inviting after hiding away with the below-deck stench. Rooster's clipped caw spilled down at her from above and she thought temptingly about climbing up to him in order to make out a better view of the waters ahead. With a slight clench of her teeth she ignored him and instead made her way towards the stern, the thought pushed away by doubts and fears of rejection. Not of that from the ever-laughing boy, no-from her home.

But fears be damned-they would never turn her away, even if she deserved it. Even if she had herself turned away.

The sun was a sure, bright thing that continued to die in her peripherals. Lilah kept up that she allowed it to stay because of the little warmth it rendered, though the wild wind mercilessly stole it away before it reached her. When was the last time she wasn't cold?

She approached Joham and he glanced at her as his worn hands held steadily to the wheel. She knew why he was always glued here: it was more to hold himself upright and less so the ship. Before meeting him she always thought that in order to captain a ship one must themselves personify the very devil they traversed. But Joham's light hair and pale eyes warred with the stormy seas.

It was unnatural, the way those eyes reflected everything and nothing all at once. Lilah tried hard to steer clear of them. Eyes like that could only mean trouble.

"How much longer?" she asked, remembering the 'sir' too late. And after the question left her chapped lips she wished she could take it back. Did she really want to know?

For once she was glad for his endless patience. Her feet refused to shuffle as she waited for his answer. Maybe she still had time to turn and leave without ever hearing it, but-no. Fear had no place on a ship, less even in front of this man.

Lilah had a mask to maintain.

"One more sunrise," he said softly. He sighed as he regarded her messy appearance- coat thrown carelessly over slept-in trousers and a stained, wrinkled sweater. At least her soldier's cap hid her greasy mess of hair. She ignored his gaze. And his sigh. And his lack of judgment.

He could keep his pity. Lilah had always thought the captain hid his heart for the sake of his men, but she wondered now if it was for his own sake.

She started back towards her hiding place but he stopped her with a clearing of his throat.

"I'm not sorry for what you did." She felt his eyes drilling a hole in the back of her head. "What you had to do. Neither should you be."

She scoffed and didn't particularly care if he noticed. That he knew she hadn't forgiven herself was a surprise, though. Her eyes bit and tightened and she blamed it on the wind.

Back and forth, back and forth-she'd rocked herself along with the ship, along with her conscience. One minute she was alright, the next she wasn't. Some moments had her laughing with Rooster, some had her hurting and aching and wishing she couldn't. Feel. Anything. 

Joham had given her space in the days since it'd happened. It wasn't his orders, what she'd done. But he hadn't stopped her. And he hadn't stopped Peter. 

She knew it was in the log. She knew he had to put something down. She could visualize it-word for word-what he would have put. 'Lilah fought back and Peter was disabled and killed by her hand.' She knew Joham would have written without hesitation; of course, to him it was just fact. A passing day. Nothing more.

To Lilah it had meant much more than that. Sure, she'd spent the last eight months on the other side of the sea fighting for her homeland. 

But killing was different when you knew the man in front of the bullet. 

"I'm fine." She was going for light and breezy but no one was fooled. She tried to swallow without success and turned back to look at him over her shoulder, the collar of her coat digging into her cheek. A smile would be asking too much so she just cleared her face of emotion as much as she could. "Really."

"Just stay up here, would ya?" he asked quickly, before she could turn back. His Irish accent which he had all but buried slipped into the unexpected request. It certainly caught her off guard, and she stared past him at the wall of wood he was gesturing towards.

Staying would mean... more than she should want. But Joham had taken off his mask for a moment, and maybe she could, too.

Her feet carried her slowly back up the steps and she slid down against the wall, her legs splayed out in front of her. He didn't look back at her, but she saw his shoulders relax as he took a deep breath.

Soon the sun was lost to the sea and the moon was lost to the clouds. Lilah and the captain didn't speak to each other, but their company worked like magic to heal their own wounds. Hours passed. The cold was always there, nipping and whipping, but both stoics stayed where they were, silent and content.

Lilah's pillow was possibly still sodden from all the tears she'd cried and she waited for them to come yet again this night.

But as the sun circled the underbelly of the ship and rose up again from the sea; as the boy left his post for bed and climbed back up again and crowed suddenly; as the crew began busying themselves more and more, the tears never came.

She wondered at the loose tendrils of guilt that slowly disappeared with the night. 

She wondered at the possibilities of freedom that arrived with the light.

Finally, her back stiff and shoulders unburdened, she succumbed to sleep. But not before she glimpsed the distant, familiar towers of her home growing closer on the eastern horizon.

And instead of turning her eyes away, she smiled softly and imagined that her mother's eyes were focused on the ship. Waiting for her daughter to come home.

1056 Words