6 Nyka Larkin

_Nyka Larkin_

Nyka sat up fast in his bed, the book on his face flying to the floor. He'd gone and done it again, hadn't he? It was not a rare thing for the boy to fall asleep with a book. He just couldn't keep himself interested enough to stay awake sometimes. He wondered if his grandmother knew. She would not be pleased with him. He should have had this book completely read two days ago and here he was still falling asleep.

From the sounds of it downstairs, his grandmother was home now, possibly having returned from the market. She usually checked on him every time she got home so it was likely she knew he slept through his reading time again. It would be no surprise. Nyka was fully prepared for a bit of a scolding.

He hopped out of bed as soon as he heard a familiar voice from downstairs. It was singing, followed by the strum of a stringed instrument. Nyka smiled at the sound of the voice and hopped out of bed, racing down the stairs and stumbling on his way.

He faced the direction of the music and smiled all the more at the sight of his tanned friend, strumming a lute and humming a tune. Nyka quickly bounded over to the man and greeted him. "Byrne!" He called enthusiastically to the man.

Byrne's face brightened Andre stopped humming, coming to slap Nyka on the back. "Nyka," he greeted in return, a fond look crossing his face. The bard pushed his wavy chin length hair away from his brown eyes, moving to set his lute down.

"Wait wait, can you play me that song I like?" Nyka asked him in an excited manor.

Byrne smiled and shook his head. "You always ask for that song," he said with a chuckle. "How about you play it? I taught you it, didn't I? Besides, I have not even gotten the chance to warm up completely,"

Nyka scrunched his nose. "I always mess up though, and I have not warmed up at all,"

Byrne laughed again and thrusted his lute in Nyka's direction. "Go on, you know the chords. Don't be afraid to mess up, even I do."

Nyka swallowed, unsure if he wanted to do this. A quick glance around the tavern part of the inn proved that there was just a handful of people here at the moment. No doubt many more would fill in around dinner time. "I don't know..." he said slowly.

Byrne shook his head, the wavy brown mass of hair finding its way back into his eyes. No doubt the women around here found him as a foreign charm, what with the accent and all.  "Try," he pressed, his R rolling with the word. "Is that old man going to laugh at you if you stumble?" He asked, gesturing to an older gentleman who was drinking away at the bar. "Who cares what he thinks," Byrne leaned in and whispered now, "He's a drunk anyway."

"Fine, I will try, I suppose..." Nyka said without much confidence behind his words. He placed his hands where Byrne had thought him and took a breath, trying to remember the song.

He strummed some random chords, testing the waters before he got serious, playing out the first bits of the song. He was a bit hesitant to sing, not being the best singer himself and surly paling in comparison to Byrne's talent. He cleared his throat quietly before he started in a delicate voice.

"Gunter was a poor young man,

Who's grin was bright as coal,

He was born to a prideful clan,

But he had naught to eat, not even a bowl,

Guuunter, a poor wretched soul

Guuunter, a man without a goal

Then one-..."

Nyka has forgotten the next word and looked at Byrne for help. The man was grinning now, nodding at Nyka to continue. "Sorry evening" he whispered.

"-Sorry evening, Gunter came to say,

'Boy I am so tired,

of working all damn day!"

Nyka had raised his voice now, his fingers flying across the lute as best they could. But he was making mistakes due to his inexperience. Despite this, he kept going, bringing energy into the song.

"So Gunter joined the army

And he trained up really well

The king would lead him to the field

Where he hacked and he slashed and he worried all day

But still he got no pay

Gunter was miffed

He cursed the king

And lead men to revolt!

Ohhh ohh Gunter

Ohh ohh Gunter

A poor man was Gunter who caused his own demise

Poor poor Gunter

Poor poor Gunter

A daft fool was he

He hacked and he sliced and he caused his own demise!" Nyka shouted the end gaining an annoyed glare from the old drunken man at the bar. He didn't mind that and looked to Byrne for his reaction.

Byrne was smiling from ear to ear, clapping. "Very good Nyka, though I think you left out a few verses," he pointed out.

Nyka blushed, rubbing the back of his neck as he handed the lute back to its owner. "I was nervous and on the spot..."

Byrne chuckled and shook his head. "That's alright, singing and focusing on the chords are a challenge. You'll get it some day."

"You think?" Nyka asked with his own smile. "I haven't yet considered to be a bard... but it sounds fun!

"Yes, I have lots of fun," Byrne said with a smile. "I go to lots of places and sing for people. Not many respect the job but they don't think about how boring taverns would be without a little music to brighten the room."

"Music can do that?"

"Of course! Sometimes when I see two drunkards about to have a quarle, I play a sweet tune and it calms them down."

Nykas brows raised. "That sounds like magic," he said now.

Byrne laughed again, chuckling at the child. "I suppose it is, isn't it? Perhaps the last magic in this world."

"The last? Was there magic before?" He asked, curious now. He thought back to what he practiced by himself in the forest. Was that magic? It seemed so, but he had never really thought about it before.

"Well, it's all recalled as legends at this point, but in the past there are plenty accounts of things that one would consider magic." Byrne explained to him.

"And what would you consider magic to be, exactly?" Nyka pressed, wanting to know more.

Byrne opened his mouth to elaborate but someone beat him to it. "Don't let that man fill your head with silly talk," a female voice rang out.

Nyka spun around to meet eyes with his grandmother. She had long grey hair held back in a neat bun, blue eyes and skin far fairer than his own. They looked nothing alike and people often thought she had adopted him- and in a way, she had.

"Silly talk?" He repeated.

She nodded once. "That rabble will get you no where and fill your mind with illusions and confusion." He noticed the towel draped over her shoulder. So she'd been doing the dishes? He felt bad for not helping like he usually did.

"It's just myths, Byrne said so himself, right Byrne?" Nyka said, turning to the bard for conformation.

He chuckled nervously. "Well according to most people it is myths sure... I happen to think they're true to some extent."

"Then you are a fool," Ingrid chimed in, coming out to collect abandoned cups from the tables no one was occupying.

"And I second that. Magic talk gets you no where, remember that, Nyka. The only magic in this world is birth, and hard work."

"And music," Byrne added confidently.

His grandmother sighed, a smile finding its way on her face. "Aye, fine. And magic." She said with a small shake of her head. Byrne smiled at her acceptance. "Now stop distracting the boy so I can make him slave away in the kitchen for me. We have to prepare supper for our customers tonight."

"Oh, oh, let me start the bread, that's my favorite part!"

She chuckled and waved him off. "Get started with it then, I have to talk to Byrne for a moment."

Nyka nodded at the command and walked into the kitchen, Ingrid following behind him.

His grandmother approached Byrne now, a stern look on her face. "I thought I asked you not to speak about things like magic with him," She said now, her stern expression falling into more of a pleading concern.

"He brought up the word, it would have been odd for me to merely shoot the subject down..."

    "And then you go on to say you believe it true? He really looks up to you. He'll believe it too."

    "And he has his right to, the boy can make his own decisions. Is believing in magic really that big a deal? Plenty of children think it true- even the old ones. I mean, what are the gods, if not magic of some kind?"

    The old woman shook her head. "It is not like that. I cannot explain it to you, but just keep away from the subject around him. Please?"

    Byrne's eyes narrowed now, confused and looking for the reason in all of this. "What is it that warrants this? What are you hiding?"

She shook her head. "I hide nothing but my concern."

    "I have known you for quite some time now, Ira, and I can smell a lie from a mile off."

    "I- I cannot say," She said, sounding conflicted.

    "Then it is important. What is all of your fus over?"

    She took a breath and gave Byrne a serious look. "Nyka... he is not well. He is not sound of mind. He is fine now but later in his life... there is a great chance that he will become very unsound- he could become a danger.

And thoughts of things like magic will only endanger himself and others around him."

The man gave her a weary look. "And how do you know all this? The boy seems perfectly sound to me- perhaps a little childish for his age but he is still learning."

    The grandmother, Ira, merely shook her head, unsure of what to say that would sound believable and didn't blatantly give everything away. "It runs in the family," another lie, but it would have to do.

    Byrne silently examined her face before he shook his head. It was clear he caught her lie as he leaned back against a support beam. "Whatever you say, Ira. I do not know why you want to lie, but I will not bother you about it anymore."

    "I wish I could tell you." She said with her own sigh before they both nodded in deparcher and the elder woman hobbled back to the kitchen.

    A smile came to her face when she entered. Before her now, she saw a messy Nyka, rolling dough and getting nagged at by a grumpy Ingrid for making such a mess. Nyka only laughed in response, not at all caring for her words. The old woman herself had to chuckle as she watched Ingrid become panicked and irritated, taking care of the mutton chops and keeping an eye on the messy boy.

    "It is alright Ingrid, I will take care of him from here- and make sure he cleans up his mess."

    "That boy is an entire mess, I am sure I will be cleaning up his idea of 'clean'. She said with a chuckle before taking a rag with her, out into the dining area to wipe down their old tables.

    Immediately after she left the room, Nyka spoke up.

    "Why do you not like magic?"

    "It is merely silly talk. You are too old for such things."

    "But Byrne is twenty-four and believes it true," He tried to point out.

    "Byrne is hardly educated, he came from the south and they don't even have books there. He does not know how to read nor write."

    Nyka tilted his head at her reasoning. "Byrne is still smart. If he believes it, then so do I." the boy decided.

HIs grandmother narrowed her eyes and stopped what she had been doing, turning to him with a stern expression, her wrinkles creasing. "You must not. They are nursery tales."

    "Why does it even mean anything to you, grandmother?"

    She shook her head. "False beliefs are foolish."

    "False beliefs? Are my tricks not magic?"

    "Your tricks are not magic, Nyka. They are tricks because they merely fool the eye into thinking they are real. Nothing but silly mind sorcery."

    "That does not do any good explaining why I can't tell people about them." He said now, holding back his irritation.

    "People will think you are of the devil. They will try to harm you if they see such a thing."

    "Is that not magic of the bad sort?"

    "In their eyes, yes." Ira said with her own growing irritation.

    Nyka had stopped what he had been doing as well, turned to face his grandmother. "So my tricks are magic?"

    "No. Nyka-"

    "I don't understand why people cannot see! They may think it evil but once they meet me they will realize it is not so!"

    "It is not that easy to convince people who have their minds decided-"

    "I know this! I am talking to you right now, aren't I?"

    She narrowed her eyes. "Nyka Larkin, you will watch your tone with me!" she warned him.

    "Do you think I am evil?" He asked her now, disregarding her warning.

"What? No, of course not,"

"Then I can convince everyone else the same." He said in a tone that made this claim sound final.

"You have been practicing in the forest, haven't you?"

"And what if I have?"

    "That is dangerous, Nyka!"

"No it is not! If people see, which they do not, but if they see and think of me as something evil, then I can protect myself!"

"You cannot!"

"I can!" He shot back. "I have made sage smoke, I can do the same to a person!"

"You what?" She asked him now, bewildered. "That is even more dangerous. You could harm yourself!"

"You treat me like a child! I am nearly a man- I have the hair under my arms to prove it! You do not need to worry as much as you do! My tricks are fun, I look forward to practicing them every day because they are the one thing I am good at!"

"Oh Nyka, you are good at plenty of things," She urged him.

"And that is? I cannot read well, I am a poor baker, and I am very messy- even when I try my hardest not to be!"

"You are a good singer, I heard you out there earlier, it sounded like you were having fun with Byrne," She pointed out.

Nyka wrinkled his nose. "I made a lot of mistakes. I am no good."

"Maybe if you spent more time practising on the lute, and less time with your silly tricks, you would be better."

He glared at her now. "Anyone can play a lute, but not everyone can do magic!"

"Tricks, that is what they are!"

"Magic, tricks, sorcery- it is all the same! Something I can do that others cannot! Something that makes me special!"

"Aye, you are special, Nyka, but it also makes you a target!"

"And I do not understand why! Why do people think it is of the devil? I do not know him. I do not pray to him. I do not pray to any gods!"

Her brows raised in offense. "You will take that back right now. The gods do not take kindly to your dismissals!"

"What gods? The winter gods? The summer gods? The sea gods or the sky gods? What gods, grandmother? They do not speak to anyone, they do not show anyone anything! They are not real!"

A loud smack rang across the kitchen and Nyka went deathly silent. He kept his eyes to the floor as he cradled his reddened cheek with his hand. "You will never say such things again. Do you hear me? I say the things I say because I care about you. If it were safe to let you do as you pleased, then you could do all the tricks you liked all day long. But it is not so, and it never will be. Now you listen to me, and listen close. You will not be practicing your little tricks anymore. You will not be allowed to go into the forest alone anymore. And, lastly, you will be going to bed early and reading for an hour longer every day for the next week. Do you understand?"

"But you can't take the forest away from me!" He looked up at her with panic in his eyes now. "Everyone is to0 busy all day to go to the forest!"

"Normal people don't go into the woods for hours everyday, Nyka."

"Obviously I am not normal. Look at me, it's not even my tricks that set me aside from everyone. I look different too!"

"Your mother was foreign, that is why-"

"Yes I know that is why. And I know why I don't see others like her often either. Was she like me? Could she do tricks too? Is that why she died?"

    "No-"

"And father?"

"He could not either."

    "And you?"

    "No, no one but you."

"The people after us. The reason why we moved around for so long... it is because of my tricks, isn't it?"

"Yes, Nyka we should not be talking of this. Just go to your room."

"Then I will convince them I am good."

"Nyka-"

    "I will do it! I know I can!"

"You cannot!"

    "And I cannot keep holding everything in like it is fine! I cannot keep pretending every day that I do not feel like a caged dog! No matter how much I run, explore, and keep myself busy, I feel trapped all the time!" He raised his voice again.

"You will move past that feeling- you only feel the way you do because you have been told no-"

    "That is not it!" He yelled at her, the candles and lanterns in the room flickering violently.

"Nyka-"

"I finally feel normal when I do my tricks!" Cupboards started to slam open and closed as a cold breeze took the room.

"Nyka," she warned, looking around the room frantically.

"It feels good to do my tricks! I no longer feel trapped when I do them! For a moment, I am actually happy!"

"Nyka!" She screamed at him now, tears streaming down her old face. This snapped the boy out of it and he found himself staring at his grandmother who slid to the ground. His eyes looked around the room as she cried. He took notice of the mess he had made now. When had he not heard the dishes being scattered around the room? The potted plants being tossed to the floor and uprooted? The candles that were no longer lighting up the room.

He took a shaky breath, surveying the result of his outburst. This was all his doing? Just by some shouting? Part of him felt elated at the exertion, but another part of him felt bad. He turned back to his weeping grandmother, tears misting his own vision. However, a noise had him quickly snapping his head to the kitchen doorway. There stood Ingrid and Byrne watching him with wide eyes. He did not know what to make of their expressions.

His bottom lip quivered, and he bit it in attempts to keep his tears in but it was of no use. They came anyway, slipping down his cheeks and tickling his chin. He wiped at them as he sniffed, his chest shaking with the breath. When his eyes were cleared by the back of his hand, Ingrid was giving him a reassured look, and Byrne was looking around at the mess of the kitchen.