Page 1 of The Rake OR The Orca Who Met His Match in a Selkie Desiring Revenge

Chapter one

Elspeth

IN WHICH A SELKIE IS CAPTURED, IN THE USUAL FASHION

The morning Elspeth O’Farriage'sprevious life died dawned like any other. It was deceptively, decidedly normal. As every morning, she woke before dawn with her mother and brother Feann and prepared them breakfast before they headed out for the day. After tucking both of their pelts tightly around their shoulders, she kissed them each on the cheek and trailed her fingers over her father’s where it’s still hung on his peg by the door.1

She cleaned up from breakfast, settling their three plates atop the other ontheir shelf, nestling their three forks alongside her father’s. She checked that everything else in the house was in its place, mentally reviewing her daily checklist.

Once done, she banked the coals of their little fire and grabbed her own pelt, clutching it around her shoulders against the chill northern winds. Wearing thick socks and sturdy boots, her long ash brown hair tucked into a hat, she tromped across the moors toward the village to begin her rounds.

Situated thirty miles off the coast of the continent of Caihalaith, farther north than any other settlement, lay the remote island of Hillskerry. It was a harsh place, with rime frost covering the stark cliffs and huddled houses that disappeared among the rolling moors. The colonies of seals that crowded the island's beaches were, perhaps, the first clue one might get as to the nature of the local population.

On the coldest days, most of the island’s villagers would shut up their homes, don their pelts, and join their brethren beneath the waves.

Elspeth had never intended to spend her life caring for the elderly, but after losing her father, she couldn’t bear the thought of anyone going uncared for. She’d often had nightmares of him, trapped on a sliver of rock alone, unableto swim home, starving. He’d been blown so wildly off course after the wreck of his boat, that it took them weeks before they’d been able to find his body, despite her mother’s directions.

If only…

If only she hadn’t had his pelt that day for cleaning, if only she’d been on the boat with him. If only she’d gone with him to check the rudder.

If only.

That day served as a testament to the sorts of accidents that could result from a lack of organization—of control. Her work with the elderly was just one of the many ways she mitigated such dangers.

Never leave your pelt behind.

Travel only exactly where you mean to be.

Never go out on the ocean alone.

Though she’d never wanted her task, it was the least she could do. It was an atonement, of sorts, but also a failsafe. This way, no one on Hillskerry would be alone, and those who needed it would have someone to organize their days. She’d gained a fair bit of medical knowledge from assorted texts she’d collected and the instructions left with her patients by the healer they saw on the mainland, which had proven usefultime and again.2

After arriving in the village proper, Elspeth began her rounds, lancing Mrs. Callahan’s leg sores, cleaning and reapplying her bandages. With a plea for her patient to shift, or at least wade into the sea, she instead dabbed the sores with sea water. Elspeth carried a bottle of it with her wherever she went, but that didn’t replicate the healing one got from bathing in the sea.

The first inkling that something might be strange came upon the wind as she left Mrs. Callahan’s house. Her eyebrow whiskers twitched in the chill morning breeze, and she squinted at the horizon, floppy ears wiggling. In the distance, she could almost make out the darting of boats on the horizon, but she dismissed them as nothing more than a gathering of fishermen.

Years later, she’d wonder if things might have been different, had she been able to give warning, had she been able to prepare.

But some things you just couldn’t plan for.

Instead, she mounted the steps of the Pathian temple, as she did every morning. It was meant to be called a Waypoint, but everyone in the village always referred to it as the Pathian temple. The words gave a distance to it, serving as a consistent reminder that this was not their place—that the Pathian God was not theirs.

After lighting the lanterns and the many tapers littered about, she decided to let Hamish sleep a bit while she swept, she was ahead of schedule and had the time. She tidied and hummed to herself, wondering if she’d manage to stay ahead and have enough time to sketch before her mother and brother returned that evening.

A commotion outside drew her attention, and she cracked the door to see what might be happening.3

Eyes sweeping down the street, she immediately found the source. A group of Sentinels, the usual mix of elven officers and orcish infantry, marched up the high street, a snooty-looking high elf breaking off to mount the steps of the temple.

Taller than any selkie, the elf towered over her as he slammed his hand on the door. Elspeth jumped back, clutching the broom to her chest. It didn’t seem to be the same elf she’d dealt with in the past, when they’d established the temple, but it remained to be seen if this one would be similarly demanding.

With stiff pointed ears and a nose to match, everything about the elf seemed… crisp. The high collar of his uniform seemed as if the corners were sharp enough to poke his chin, and he even walked in jerky movements. The bars on his chest indicated that hewas a Navigator, a reasonably high rank in the Empire’s navy, if she understood correctly. Snapping his heels together, he stopped inside the door and ran proprietary eyes over the building’s interior.

“This Waypoint is the sorriest excuse for a temple I have ever seen, Traveler...” The Pathian soldier ran his finger along the top of the Guide’s lectern and trailed off, apparently waiting for Elspeth to supply her name.

With a jump, Elspeth nodded and whispered her name. Eyes darting to the Guide’s chambers, she raised her voice. “You came on cleaning day! We maintain the Waypoint every day of course, but we—erm—had to move a great deal of furniture around yesterday and it got dust everywhere.”

There was no way her voice sounded confident or convincing, but hopefully it was loud enough to wake Hamish. She wasn’t about to tell a high elf the truth. “Well, we hate this place, and your religion, so no one ever comes here. Why bother cleaning it for no one?” Most days, she unlocked the door, woke Hamish, and scurried out of the Waypoint and on to the rest of her life. Everything else, she kept fastidiously neat, but leaving the layer of dust had always been the one small rebellion againsther people’s rulers she could do.