Misfits of Aquila (Aquila's Originals 1)

Chapter 8: Midwinter, Part 1

THEY BEGAN WITH running. Hethanon led Orla through the winding streets of Nimbys for the first morning, ordering and goading her on, making her run until she was sick. It didn't take long; she was terribly unfit. Her life had been a sedentary one and she'd been perfectly happy about that. The most exercise she ever did was joining her mother on a walk through the forests, which was by necessity slow and careful, intended to check the trees rather than improve their own health. Orla liked walking; she hated running.

"Come on, come on," her almost-uncle growled, sounding far too full of breath while Orla was struggling to even put one foot in front of the other, let alone fill her lungs. "You think you'll get far in the Riders this way? You won't last a quarter moon. Move!"

He ran literal rings around her, getting in her face, driving her forward. Orla lost track of time, distance and direction as she stumbled from one street to another.

Midwinter celebrations raged all around her, but she hardly noticed. All she wanted was to stop, to sit down, to breathe.

Hethanon wouldn't let her. "Don't stop," he ordered, even when he let her slow down. "Keep moving or your legs will freeze. You don't want to ache tomorrow, do you?"

At this rate Orla didn't think she'd even see tomorrow.

They walked long enough for her muscles to stop shaking and her breath to stop rasping in her throat, then it was running again. On and on, all around the city, past the great cathedral, down along the docks, then up, up, up along the winding streets to the base of the great cliff.

Orla was almost on her knees when they stopped, the craggy rock looming over them.

Her almost-uncle eyed her thoughtfully, looked at the steep path, then mercifully shook his head. "Tomorrow," he announced, and jogged back into the city.

Orla stumbled after him, but her torturer was soon out of sight. Thank goodness. Blessing Maegla for her infinite mercies, she sat on the edge of a frozen fountain and hissed at the cold stone beneath her. She would pay for this, she knew, but right then she didn't care. Her legs ached, her lungs ached, her back ached, her feet hurt and all of her was sore. Even her fingertips hurt when she stretched out her arms and tried to flex some life back into them.

As her heart slowly calmed and breathing became easier again, Orla noticed how cold it was. Snow had fallen during the night, leaving a light dusting of white over ice. The water trough behind her was covered in a thick layer of it, tiny pockmarks showing where the local sparrows and starlings had come down, searching for a drink.

Wishing for one herself, Orla pressed down on the ice. It didn't crack, but it did sink a little, the water beneath seeping around the edges to flow over the top. Cold bit at her sore hands and she hissed, cupping her palms quickly in the chill and taking a short, sharp drink.

It hurt, biting at the inside of her chest and making her regret the impulse.

Shaking out her hands, she jumped back to her feet and rubbed her arms as she got moving again. That hurt too, her tired muscles having seized up against the cold. She limped down the icy street, looking at the houses around her. Clean and big, they weren't the great mansions she'd seen on the east side of the city, but they clearly belonged to the wealthier sort of Nimbys citizen. Glass glittered in large windows, held in place by decorative lead frames. Candle light glowed behind many of them, warm and inviting. Orla wished she could walk in any one of the doors and warm herself for a while.

Instead she blew into her reddened hands and stumbled on, knowing she should start running again but unable to face it. Cramp gripped her left leg and she limped, hissing and grumbling beneath her breath.