Misfits of Aquila (Aquila's Originals 1)

Chapter 1: Ihra, Part 2

"NO! LISTEN TO me! I'm telling you, we have to go to North Point. North Point!" The furious young woman jabbed her arm in a northerly direction, no doubt unaware that the island kingdom in question was actually to the east of Ihra. "We can't just turn back."

Orla looked from the skinny young woman to the enormous man she was shouting at and swallowed. She knew outsiders were generally taller than Ihrans, but this man wasn't just tall, he was huge – broad shoulders, long legs, strong arms. He wouldn't have looked out of place in her mother's forests, standing with his roots in the ground. The expression on his face was as forbidding as the way his arms folded across his broad chest and Orla felt a momentary pang of worry for the angry young woman.

"No."

That was it, that was all he said. No.

Orla blinked, she had expected roaring, bluster or intimidation. Instead he'd used brevity.

The other woman didn't appear to share Orla's appreciation, for she raised her arms to the air and practically howled, "Why won't you listen to me?"

The tall man's lips twitched, ever so slightly. "Is your name Kilpapan?" he asked, almost sweetly.

The woman scowled. "No."

"Are you married to a Kilpapan?"

A slight hesitation, followed by a swift glance around the skyship deck – which was crowded with sailors watching the exchange with obvious amusement. Her face turned sullen. "No."

"Are you paying for this trip?"

"No!" She stamped her foot. "But -"

"Were you invited on this trip?" the man continued, raising his voice to drown out her protest.

The woman merely growled.

He smiled. "Precisely. Now, tell me again why it is that I should listen to you?"

"My father will hear about this," the young woman snarled and stormed off, leaving the tall man chuckling.

"You'd best hope he doesn't," he muttered, before catching Orla's eye and winking at her. "Esteemed Forester and Master Artisan, you've returned."

Orla's parents grasped her hands and towed her across the deck, sweeping her helplessly along on the tide of their enthusiasm.

"Yes, captain, yes. Here, look. Here is our daughter. Isn't she wonderful? Don't you want to take her away? Won't you make something of her so that she stops being this quiet, sensible disappointment to our adventurous souls?"

They didn't use those exact words, of course, but Orla had been through this dance enough times to understand the subtext. While her father burbled excitedly, her mother performed the correct introductions.

"Well met, Georlanash Apprentice Uhra daGeanarla," the ship's captain greeted with flawless courtesy, his Westron falling into the rolling cadences unique to Ihra. As far as Orla could tell, no outsiders ever spoke Ihran, but few enough bothered to pick up their quirky additions to the trade language of Westron either. Her parents had ensured her grasp of both Westron and Imercish was passable enough to survive the world-travelling adventures they longed to subject her to, but she still appreciated this man's attempt to make her feel welcome. "It is a pleasure to welcome you aboard the Miryhl Heart."

"The pleasure is all mine, captain," she replied, her voice gruff and a little stilted as she tried to keep all trace of her accent and Ihran cadence out of her Westron. "She is a fine ship."

He smiled, not condescendingly or with amusement, but with genuine friendliness. "I like to think so," he said, running his hand across the rail of the stairs that led to the navigation deck behind him. "I hope you will find her as fine to live on as she is to look at."