Skyrun

Chapter 27; A matter of the past.

As it happened, the cargo ship was carrying-- fittingly enough-- a load of cargo.

Who would have thought.

Either way, by the time the ship was taken and the prisoners either tied up or, in some cases, thrown directly into the brig, Valentine had gathered up her crew in the belly of the ship and ordered them to begin bringing the goods aboard their own ship

Thus, that was how they spent their time well into the night, their backs breaking from lifting heavy chests of gears and spare parts for airships, chests of gold, and barrels of ale. And when they have everything they bothered to see as significant, they let the dejected crew of the cargo ship go, sending them on their miserable way through the star-speckled sky.

Standing at the railing of the ship near the wheel, Liam watched the other aircraft drift away, keeping his eyes fixated on it till it was just a speck among the stars.

Yet he was so focused on the ship that he failed to notice Sinclair sneaking up behind him till the man tapped him gently on the shoulder, telling him to move aside.

Grumbling, Liam agreed, shifting over to make room for the quarter master.

There was a beat of quiet, broken only by the gentle sound of a late-autumn breeze flickering against the side sails of the ship, making them shudder.

Liam shivered in the sudden cold, hunching over ever so slightly as the iciness washed over him, sending goosebumps trailing up his skin.

"Cold?" Sinclair commented lightly. 

Liam shrugged, hoping he wasn't shaking visibly. "I suppose it's to be expected up here.... Strange, don't you think, since we're closer to the sun?"

The quarter master chuckled slightly, "I'm not sure that's how it works." Then, with a singular smooth movement, he removed his outer jacket, handing it to Liam almost casually. "Here. Being cold is something I do quite well."

Frowning in confusion, Liam accepted the jacket, draping it about his shoulders as though it were a cape.

On him, it was several sizes too big and hung loosely over his thin frame, nearly drowning him in the soft fabric. This close, it smelled of Sinclair as well; spicy and warm, like cinnamon and vanilla.

Shaking his head to clear it of these thoughts, Liam found his mind drifting back to today's battle and Sinclair's words while they had been fighting.

"You said you regretted killing my friends," the boy said suddenly. "I always thought..."

"That I'd forgotten about them?"

"Sort of. I know I have, and they were my friends for years."

"I never forget any of the men I kill."

"Do you have any idea how horrid that sounds?"  Liam replied, watching as Sinclair chuckled and shook the hair out of his eyes, brushing it aside with a slender, brown hand. 

"I suppose it does sound rather bad, doesn't it? And yet it is true-- I can not forget your friends' faces. Not during the day. Not at night, when I attempt to sleep. I've done awful things, Hawk. And that was no exception."

"Might I ask, why did you do it? If it was so awful for you, why do it at all?"

"I suppose because witnesses would be a danger to Valentine," he fixed Liam with a harsh look, "And I would do anything for Valentine, if only to keep her safe."

There was an icy pause then, indicating that the conversation was over. And in that pause, Liam gazed at the quarter master, feeling as though this man was a puzzle he could never figure out how to solve.

Why, he claimed once that he loved no one and yet he obviously cared a great deal for Valentine if he was willing to do something like that. 

He risked his life daily for her, no doubt saving her life several times in the process and, Liam realized with a start, he had done the same for him as well.

There had been signs, he remembered now; such as when Sinclair had handed him one of his swords back on the island when they were being attacked by ghosts, or when he had caught him before he fell off the edge of a ship during that storm.

Even now when he gave the boy his jacket.

Whether he admitted it or not... Sinclair did care. And though Liam dared not bring the matter up for fear of how it would make the quarter master feel, the entire idea made him feel almost warm inside.

Looking at the young man once more, Liam watched as Sinclair scowled as another stray hair blew into his eyes and with a swift motion, he quickly tucked the rebellious strand behind his ear... only for it to spring free once more.

Finally, after having decided that he'd seen enough of Sinclair struggling with his unruly locks, Liam piped up with, "I could braid that for you."

"Don't be absurd."

"I'm not! Girls would come from all over the village back in my hometown just to have me braid their hair."

"Did you ever court any of them?"

"No... I mostly did their hair for the dates they were about to go on."

Sinclair barked a laugh, clear and almost musical in sound, and something about it made Liam want to laugh as well.

"That is the most pathetic thing I have ever heard." the quarter master said as he turned about, facing his back to Liam. "Still, it simply means you must know what you are doing... I'll cut your hands off if you don't."

"Duly noted."

Grinning, Liam took a handful of Sinclair's silver locks, surprised at the lack of tangles despite the manner in which the wind had whipped them about. In this light, the dim shimmer of a pale moon, his hair looked as though it was woven from starlight itself, shifting from a steel grey to almost white depending on how one looked at it.

Thus, wrapping the hair around his fingers, Liam began to braid, his hands moving in confident motions as he wove strands over one another, then back again, under this time.

On and on he went--over, under, over, under-- till at last he came to the end of Sinclair's hair, the tip of the braid resting on the lower portion of his back.

"There," the boy said simply once he had finished, running his fingers over the braid one last time to make sure all the hairs were fastened securely. "That ought to give you less trouble."

 Sinclair turned part way to face him then, his own hand coming up to brush over the braid, before he nodded in satisfaction. "Now then, what were we talking about?"

"Ah... yes." Liam hesitated, his words choking the back of his throat like bad air as the taints of the previous conversation rushed back to him, his thoughts returning back to that of Malcom and his other friends-- the friends that had gotten him into so much trouble and caused him so much pain.

They were the reason he was here, weren't they? They were the ones to blame, surely?

So why did he feel horrid all of a sudden? It was not as if he had killed Malcom-- that had been Sinclair's fault. Yet, if Liam thought about it, he supposed the entire incident would have been avoided if he had simply said no. 

Perhaps he could have stopped it in some way. Perhaps if he had done more to stand up for himself, he would have been at home then braiding Eliza's hair rather than Sinclair's. Perhaps, in a way, this entire situation was partially his fault...

Or perhaps he had simply brought about the inevitable.

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