21 Nyka Larkin

_Nyka Larkin_

They had been walking for three days now, heading north, and no one knew where they would be stopping- if they ever could. These people had been after Nyka his entire life, and the six years that he had been out of their grasp might have been the best 6 years that he would ever see. The thought stung.

Lots of things stung at the moment, but the most noticeable one was his feet and his burns. Ingrid had made him wear shoes but that did not stop the blisters from forming as they walked all day. Getting north would take longer since they were staying off main roads too- so his feet would have to get used to it. As for his burns, those had to be checked every couple of hours. None of them were particularly well versed in the workings of medicine, so they did not know how easily the burns could be corrupted.

If a wound this large were to fester out here on the road, Nyka would surely die. This is why they changed his bandages as often as they could. In fact, Ingird had stopped at her own small house- one she shared with two other unwed women. She had never before specified where it was that she lived so it had been a surprise to hear. From there, she had taken everything of value that she owned, and all of her savings- which wasn't much for a woman who worked at an inn.

 Byrne had stopped by his place too- which he did not tell them about. He had not wanted Nyka to come into the town and be seen so Nyka had not gotten to see his housing. When Byrne returned he had all of the money he made, and mysterious objects that looked to be of value. He would not say where he got these things, and Nyka did not want to ask. This did not stop Ingrid from asking, and scolding the southern man for stealing, which he continued to deny.

They slept outside, Ingrid made fires to keep them warm in the dark but Nyka always insisted on staying far away from them- so far that their heat did not reach him. He would not go within ten feet of the thing, even though its flames were under control. It seemed that a fear had developed inside of him- and it was understandable.

Fire had taken the woman he had known his entire life- his only constant that he had. The woman who had taught him everything he knew. Fire had wounded him emotionally, and physically, and it still threatened to take his life should it become infected. Fire had given him a constant pain to deal with throughout the day and to struggle to sleep with at night. Fire would leave more than one kind of scar on him.

Still, fears like this were not the kind a young boy should have. Fire would also make his survival in the north. It would keep him warm, allow him to see in the dark, and cook his food so he did not get sick off of raw game. Ingrid had tried to explain this to him, and he wholeheartedly agreed with her- however the fear was still there. It seemed, he nearly preferred the cold at the moment. Ingrid had managed to make some soup during their travels, and he did not feel comfortable eating it till it was cold.

Eating itself was a challenge. Every time he took a bite the robed man's face flashed to mind, along with the memories of what he had done to the man. He could still feel the blood on his body from the splash. He could still smell it too. He saw it all over again when he closed his eyes to sleep. He even had nightmares about it. Sometimes he didn't kill the man in those nightmares- but the man killed Byrne and then came for him.

Sometimes he watched Ingrid die too- and other times, he watched his grandmother burn with a headless man laughing at the sight. Ingrid tried to give him tea to help with his sleep but he did not like that it was warm. He would try to drink it cold but by then it tasted like soil. It was a conflicting thing.

Byrne's hands had healed some, but he struggled to play the lute. He kept promising the other two that he would be back to normal once all healed but even now he sometimes mentioned the loss of feeling in his hands. Nyka was sure he would be able to play again, but without feeling the strings, he was not sure Byrne would ever be as good as he once was, and with that though, Nyka felt worse.

He had done this to the both of them. He had uprooted them from their lives because it was him these robed bastards were after. Nyka had to get stronger to protect himself, so that he could protect the people he cared about. So that these two would not die for him like his grandmother had. He would have to practice the very thing that people were after him for. Make his weaknesses his strength.

With that thought, his eyes came to rest on the fire fifteen feet away from him. He would have to make his weaknesses... into strengths. He swallowed. Not all of them, surely. One could survive without fire. He would work on other talents- find out what it was that he could do with his abilities. He had killed a man just by yelling at him, surely he could do it again, perhaps in some way less messy and traumatizing.

But with this terrifying ability came the pressure that built up with it. He did not want to hurt people- even if they were bad. He promised himself now, that he would never hurt a person unless it was in defending himself or Byrne and Ingrid. He would never be a killer like the robed man said. He would be a good person- in fact he would help people! Nyka decided now, that if his magic was for protecting, it was also for helping people. He would never hurt an innocent. He would help them.

"Nyka," Ingrid's words snapped him out of his thoughts.

He looked in her direction but did not say anything. He had been quiet after his outburst with his grandmother, but now he hardly spoke at all, and it distressed Ingrid to see him this way.

"Come eat, babe" She ushered him closer. Ingrid had been less strict with him now, and she was more affectionate as well. It was a bit of an odd change but he had almost died after all.

He slowly shook his head and she frowned. "Ya have to eat, Nyka. Yer burns will never heal and it will be harder to make it north if ye do not." She reasoned with him.

"I will wait a moment then," He told her.

"It will be cold by then,"

"That is alright."

Byrne and Ingrid shared looks with each other now, almost like concerned parents. "Nyka," Byrne spoke up. "You cannot eat everything cold,"

"I can," The boy said with a shrug.

"At least warm yourself by the fire..." Byrne tried.

Nyka made an uncomfortable face. He would rather eat hot food than get closer to the flames. "Ye have to lose that fear some time," Ingrid told him this time. "Once we get far enough north, yew will freeze to death in yer sleep."

Nyka paused for a moment before he slowly shrugged. Ingrid sighed and handed Byrne a bowl with meat in it. It seemed that Byrne was good with a bow- though he would not tell either of them why. Nyka figured it had something to do with the south and why he came to the Midlind, and he concluded it was a bad memory that the man did not like to talk about.

Byrne stood and walked to Nyka, handing the boy the bowl. He looked down at the meaty contents, mixed with a few cooked vegetables. Even on the road Ingrid insisted to cook. He was grateful, but he did not think they needed to waste that kind of time. All they needed to do was throw something over the fire and eat it, but still her years of working in the kitchen showed through- even in a place like this.

He picked up a piece of the food and stuck it in his mouth to show Byrne that he was eating. Byrne nodded and walked back over to the fire and sat down a few paces from Ingrid. Nyka cringed now, at the warmth of the meat in his mouth. For some reason it had his skin crawling and his throat closing up- threatening to gag if he were to swallow. He took a deep breath and swallowed, trying not to think anything of it. He held back the gag and blinked, looking up at the dark night sky. From where he sat against a tree, he could not see much through the canopy, so his eyes traveled elsewhere, wasting time before his food got cold. 

______

He had slept terribly. He had woken up a couple times because of the cold, and a couple more because he had tried to roll onto his left side. The side with the burn. The boy was now sitting up, wiping his eyes with his good arm, trying to look around without the blurriness. A look at the sky showed that it was still very early. He glanced over to where Byrne and Ingrid were. They were still asleep. Slowly, he pushed himself up to his feet with his good arm.

The burn was uncomfortable, and walking all day made it worse. The more he walked, the more he sweat and it was that sweat that was the bane of his existence. It stung the wound greatly- he hated it. Only another reason for him to like the cold. At least it did not make him sweat. The whole thing was a giant reminder of what had happened- and even after he healed the scar would not go way. It would remind him what had happened for the rest of his life. And it was all his fault. 

He walked silently over to one of their bags and dug through it for what he was looking for. He picked out replacement bandages and a jar of honey and grease. Next he silently walked of to look for a nearby creek. They had camped near one but it had been dark so now things looked a bit different in the daylight.

Once he found the creek he found himself a rock to sit on and set his things down next to himself. With a little struggle to lift his left arm, he managed to get his shirt off. He set to work, slowly peeling his bandages off. He normally had help from Ingrid and Byrne why doing this, but he was tired of it. He did not want anyone to see his burns anymore. He did not want their help either- he could take care of it himself.

He bit his lip at the feeling of the bandages peeling away from his wounds, it hurt. They had bonded to his burn a little- stuck there with help of his healing skin and the stickiness of the honey. He cringed as he continued unwrapping himself, the cool morning air making his skin prickle like a plucked goose. The breeze did feel nice on the burn, though.

He struggled to unwrap himself with only one arm, finding it hard to reach around his back to get it off. Sometimes when he reached the hard spot on his back and was barely able to grab it, he would pull too hard and hurt the sensitive burn. This always made him cry out- however, he kept the noise as quiet as he could manage.

Finally after what seemed like forever, the entire bandage was off and he set to work, rubbing honey and grease over the wound as carefully as he could, cringing at the pain as he did so. Again he struggled to reach parts behind himself, but still he would not ask for help. Getting to his arm was the easiest part, and he rubbed the stuff on until he reached his elbow, where the burn stopped.

 The boy then stood and made his way to the creek to wash his hand off. He held his left arm out at an awkward angle so that it would not touch his burnt torso, though as he lowered himself to the water, he slipped a little and the two touched. He winced and seethed through his teeth as he separated them, the stickiness making it all the worse. He washed his hand as best as he could without the use of his other that was becoming sore from being held up for so long.

When this was done he went back to his rock and picked up the bandages. He started at his arm, just above his elbow where the wound started. His arm was a small challenge but it was doable. However when it came to his shoulder and torso, he froze. He reached his arm around a bit but realized that he could in fact, not do it by himself.

The frustration made him glare at the ground in silence. He did not want to ask for help- but he did not want his wound left out to fester. With an annoyed sigh he stood and walked back to camp just as the sun was peeking over the hills in the distance. He felt hot tears stinging his eyes, threatening to spill out over his cheeks. He did not want to cry over something like this- but even more so, he did not want to ask for help.

He stopped in front of the two packing up to leave. They both looked at him as he stopped in front of them, not even half bandaged. Ingrid stood as Byrne packed up, his eyes continually glancing at Nyka. The boy felt a great shame build in him as the tears finally fell from his eyes.

"I... I could not do it myself." He admitted, sniffing and wiping angrily at his eyes.

Ingrid gave him a sad look. "It is nothing to cry over, I could not do it myself either. Yew should have waited for one of us,"

Nyka shook his head, almost violently. "I wanted to do it by myself. I am tired of your help,"

"Oh Nyka," Ingrid said as she tried to hug Nyka's head to her chest but he stepped away from her, avoiding the contact.

"I just need help finishing." He said briefly, avoiding eye contact.

Byrne said nothing as he watched the two silently walk back to the creek, where Nyka had left the supplies.

Nyka did not mean to be rude, but he could hardly think straight most days. To sum how he was feeling up in only a few words, he would have to say he was struggling and tired. Always struggling and tired.