Skyrun

Chapter 32; A spell of life.

When Liam awoke gods-knows-when, he discovered that he was in captain Valentine's bed, surrounded by feather pillows and silk sheets.

Thankfully, however, the captain herself was not IN the bed, which put Liam at ease up until he realized that the pain in his shoulder was worse somehow; a knife-like burning pain that nearly numbed his whole arm, making him want to cry out from the intensity of it.

Yet before he could do so, the door to the captain's quarters swung open and Sinclair walked in, his arms laden with what appeared to be bandages and an ointment of some kind.

"Don't look so surprised, Liam." the quarter master said, "Tophsy isn't the only one on this ship who knows how to work a bandage."

It was strange, hearing the man use Liam's name outright, seeing as he had been calling him Hawk for months now, yet at the sound of it, Liam was reminded of the events of earlier.

Of him being a pirate.

Of the deaths he had caused.

It all brought back that same, unfamiliar sense of guilt he had worked all his life to suppress, only for it to come bubbling back up from the depths of his consciousness.

Shaking his head, he pushed the thoughts from his mind and attempted instead to sit up, crying out in pain when his shoulder was jolted in the process.

"I wouldn't do that." Sinclair said, deadpanned.

"Really? Did you come up with that observation on your own?" Liam snapped, flopping back down onto the warm softness of the pillows beneath him.

"You don't have to snarl at me-- I might simply be tempted to let the wound get the best of you. In any case, Valentine would never suspect me."

Liam grimaced as Sinclair sat on the edge of the bed, pulling back the covers to reveal the boy's chest, which was completely bare save for the oozing bandage that had already begun to turn a hideous, off-white colour.

The worst part, however, was the smell-- especially when the silver haired pirate pulled back the cloth, revealing an ugly, gaping hole in Liam's flesh that flared an angry red, oozing puss from swollen skin.

"Is it bad?" Liam asked, averting his eyes as Sinclair began to dab a bit of ointment on the wound, every move he made sending a shock of pain rocketing through the boy's body.

"Does the pain answer your question?"

"I bloody hate you."

"You won't when you realize I'm trying to save your life, as lost of a cause as it is."

Liam's eyes widened then and he felt his blood run cold. "I could die?"

The quarter master was quiet, however, his lips pursed in silent concentration as he worked, carefully avoiding Liam's gaze.

"Sinclair?"

Finally, he sighed, his hands still rubbing the medicine in warm, slow circles on the boy's shoulder, before he replied gravely, "It is... probable. And while Topsy and I both have some knowledge of the arts of medicine, neither of us know how to do a proper surgery should you need it."

"How bad is it now?"

"It may go septic within a day or two and, within that time if we do not find a doctor, you will succumb to fever and eventually..." he trailed off, not needing to finish what he meant to say.

Liam understood perfectly.

Now, staring what could be a horrible, slow death in the face, he found that it scared him more than when he had been about to face the sky serpent and, despite Sinclair still being in the room, Liam felt a steady stream of tears begin to slide down his face, staining the pillows under his head.

"I don't want to die." he whispered.

For a moment, Sinclair said nothing, letting the silence stretch on between then as he simply continued with the ointment, rubbing the wounded flesh in slow, gentle circles to keep it from hurting. Then, with a careful deliberateness, he whispered back, "I will not let you die."

I will not let you die.

There was power in those words-- Liam could sense it-- and as he turned his head to look once more upon the wound that would likely be the death of him, he gasped at the sight that greeted his eyes. For there, springing from Sinclair's fingers like sparks from the embers of a dying fire, was an orb of glowing green light.

Above the man's palms it came to rest, and once Sinclair was seemingly satisfied with the size of the orb, without warning he drove it into Liam's wound, his palm slamming against the boy's flesh.

Immediately, pain erupted from the wound and Liam screamed, his arm feeling as though it were aflame, his mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood, the scent of burning flesh clogging his nose and throat as the crackle of magic sizzled with fury all around him.

Yet as soon as it had began, it was over, and Sinclair quickly slumped back, breathing heavily.

There was a beat of silence, penetrated only by Liam's occasional whimper as the pain continued to seer up his arm, albeit with less force than before.

"What was that?" he gasped, already feeling as though he knew the answer.

Then, with a gaze that seemed to be ablaze from within, Sinclair looked at him, a small smile on his lips.

"That," he said calmly, "Was magic."

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