Misfits of Aquila (Aquila's Originals 1)

Chapter 7: Family, Part 3

"YOU'VE DONE WHAT?" Amber liquid spewed across the cramped room as Hethanon Armsmaster Nehr diHentaron reacted to Orla's announcement with less enthusiasm than she'd hoped. "What were your parents thinking, letting you chase clouds this way?"

Orla looked down at her stockings, sad to see that the plain white wool was now as badly stained as the boots she'd left in her almost-uncle's kitchen, freshly scrubbed and being left to dry before the banked fire. At least this stain would smell of whisky and not... well. Other things.

"They should have sat you down and given you a much needed talk years ago. Ihrans aren't Riders. We can't be Riders. We can work alongside them, no harm there, but we aren't part of them. The Riders aren't for us."

Orla gripped her hands in her lap and stared at the man whose short but fascinating letters had ignited a small fire in her childhood. One she'd thought long gone out for lack of kindling. Yet her parents had remembered the enthusiasm with which she'd once greeted each letter from her mother's cousin's husband's brother, far away in distant Nimbys, and how she had once hung on every last word as it was read out by one relation or another. Adventures and tales about Rift Riders, students and kaz-naghkt. Hethanon had been an uninspiring writer, but even he couldn't hide how exciting his life was – or how exciting the people in it were. And miryhls. Even he'd grown near-poetic when he wrote about miryhls.

"Why?" she dared to ask the man who had planted this seedling dream inside her head all those years ago and was so eager to rip it up by the roots now.

"Why what? Why should they have sat you down? To save you all this bother and fuss now. They shouldn't have let you get hurt this way. They should have protected you."

Orla tried to imagine her parents stamping out her dreams instead of doing everything possible to encourage them in her. With very little help from her.

She shook her head. "No. Why aren't the Riders for us? Why shouldn't we try to join? What's so different about Ihrans?"

Hethanon stared at her, his mouth moving soundlessly for a long moment. He leant forward and reached for his whisky bottle, pouring himself a generous new glass. "We're too short."

Orla blinked. While it was true that Ihrans were far shorter than most on the Overworld, and preferred it that way since their mountains were cramped and overcrowded and didn't offer much room for people to grow, she didn't think that was good enough. "Miryhls come in many sizes," she replied. "Or so Zephyr told me. She's a miryhl," she explained, before he could ask.

"I know who she is," Hethanon grumbled, drinking his whisky. "Pesky interfering feather bag, just like the rest of them. Planting these ideas in good Ihrans brains, sending them off chasing clouds. I won't have it."

Orla raised her eyebrows. "Do you think Ihrans aren't good enough for the Riders, uncle?" she asked, an unexpected insight blossoming in her brain. "Or do you think we're too good for them?" In which case, why did this fool not come home and live in peaceful isolation with the rest of his xenophobic kin?

"No, no." He waved a dismissive hand. "Neither, neither. I like the Riders, they're good people. Mostly. I like Ihrans too. Mostly. But not together, never together. Isn't done."

"Just because it hasn't been done before, doesn't mean it can't be done now," she pointed out calmly.

Hethanon stared at her again, sipping slowly at his whisky. "No one's ever tried."

"So no one ever should?"

He thought about it, drained his whisky and slammed his glass on the table. "Maegla's bolts, no! You're going to try," he suddenly announced, and Orla guessed his quick turn around was more likely fuelled by too much drink than her persuasiveness. Still, she would take it. "My niece, the first Ihran Rift Rider. Ha! Heirayk witness that!" He grabbed her hand, pulling her to her feet and raising her arm in the air like she'd just won a boxing match. "I'll train you. You'll be the greatest Rider that ever there was."