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Sep. 11th, 2013 12:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
alien_snipeTitle: Under the Skin
Author: Alien_Snipe
Summary: A mysterious figure stalks a seaside town. But a monster hunter named Linkara suspects that he may be the one who needs help. Fantasy AU.
Pairings: Jaeris/OC
Warnings: Implied non-con and coercion. Mild violence and language.
Word Count: 4601
On the open ocean, far out amidst the wild cries of gulls and the rush of the waves, the mermaids sing. They sing melodies of spun glass, delicate and breathtaking, sharp enough to cut your soul. They sing of wonders untold, far beneath the surface, if only someone, someone, would come to them and see. Mermaids only sing for an audience, even when there isn't a soul around.
There are other parts of the sea, closer to shore, in brighter, colder waters, where the selkies, the seal-folk, sing instead. Selkies love to sing, but their songs are nothing at all like those of the mermaids. Their songs are joyful, all about the thrills of chasing fish and leaping high above the surface and playing merry pranks on sailors. Unlike the mermaids, who sing to lure in doomed souls, selkies sing for pleasure.
Of course, selkies sing for their own pleasure, not necessarily for anyone else's. They bark and yawp back and forth to one another in boisterous rounds that are usually improvised right on the spot. They are off-key more often than not, and they use volumes and tones more likely to make an unsuspecting human clap his hands over his ears than to fall into a blissful trance. Still, any sailor on the northern seas knows it's better to hear a selkie barking away in the distance then to risk the sweet tones of a mermaid. As loud and artless as they are, there is something in a selkie's songs that cheers a weary heart.
It's easy to imagine that selkies themselves are always so joyful. What reason do they have to be sad? Any creature that can walk among humans as easily as swim in the sea is blessed indeed.
Oh, true, there are stories. Some whisper about men who found a careless selkie-maid's skin, and took her by force for a wife. But those are only stories. No different than the cautionary tales you've probably heard about heartless wizards who slay unicorns for eternal life. Surely no creature is wicked enough to slay another creature's joy, and all for greed.
The sea spray was chilly in the air, and the sky above was gray as ash. Dark waves rolled in on a desolate beach, hissing and crashing around the jagged stones that jutted like fangs around the shore.
There were no people around to watch the seal come ashore. It skidded on its belly through the seafoam, and when the waves retreated, it began to pull itself along with its flippers, inching forward with single-minded purpose. The seal's movements were clumsy at first. It lurched forward, sleek body undulating in a way that would have propelled it through the ocean with speed and grace. Finally, when it was out of reach of the waves, it stopped, and slumped down to rest.
The seal's eyes closed; its body rose and fell ever so slightly as it inhaled and exhaled deeply. Gathering strength.
The seal stirred, and writhed on the sand, and its skin started to fall away. The mottled gray pelt rippled and wrinkled, invisible seams opening to reveal smooth light flesh. With a shrug of its shoulders and a roll of its powerful neck, the seal's head rolled back, freeing a long, flowing mane of white-blond hair.
The man emerging from the seal's skin took a few quick breaths and started to roll the gray pelt down, past slender shoulders and a torso of lean muscle. He only thought to look around when he had nearly freed himself from the seal skin and begun to stand, cautiously. His shins quivered a little, the uncertainty of a foal still discovering its body. The man only set his jaw, muttered something darkly to himself, and stood upright until the trembling in his limbs ceased.
If the cold air bothered him in his new skin, he didn't care to show it. If those shaky new feet were tender and apt to be get blisters from the unpolished rocks scattered around the beach, he never said a word. He simply folded his old pelt up into a neat little bundle, drew himself upright, and started to walk, with not even a glance at the sea behind him.
Several seasons passed, as seasons do, and man's nature never changed.
The old lady in the little general store at the edge of town had warned Linkara not to stay after sundown, if he could help it. That was when the gunslinger came out, she said, and only the Devil himself knew what excuses he found to stalk unwary travelers. Linkara thanked her for the advice, wished her a pleasant day, tipped his hat, and headed out to explore the town.
The average passerby on the street most likely wouldn't have expected Linkara to be much of a match for any trouble on the road. He didn't fit anyone's image of a Shadow Hunter, not with his plain and oddly out-of-fashion clothes, or his boyish face that never even allowed patches of stubble. Shadow Hunters were supposed to be dark, grim, dangerous sorts, the type to look a charging werewolf or vampire in the eye and put the fear of God into it. Linkara hoped that most of the village residents shared the same preconceptions about people in his line of work. It would keep them unaware and out of trouble until his mission was finished.
He browsed the stores in town, the way any traveler might have done. A slow, meandering path from the silversmith to the haberdasher to the spice shop, getting ever closer to the plaza at the center of town, and his target.
Linkara emerged from the town drug store, deliberately sipping a phosphate soda, looked at the store front on his right, and frowned. “Aw!” The short cry of disappointment was loud enough to attract attention from the people passing by, but not loud enough to be theatrical, or at least he hoped so.
He casually looked around and caught the eye of an older man. “Excuse me!” He smiled and jerked his thumb back at the boarded shop behind him. “I was hoping to take a look at the record shop, do you know if they've moved, or-?”
The man paled and hurried away, bundling his coat against a chilly breeze that wasn't there. Linkara blinked. “OK,” he murmured. He looked around again, and he was in luck; there was another woman standing nearby, and she'd probably seen the entire conversation. He smiled awkwardly at her. “Was it something I said?”
She laughed in response, but it was thin. Sounded forced. “You must be new in town.”
“Oh, yah, just passing through.”
“Well, that store's been closed for a while. The owner was selling...” She clutched her bag with a nervous twitch, and lowered her voice. “...indecent music.”
Linkara made himself look shocked. “Really!”
“Oh yes. Judge Jungblatt put a stop to that nonsense, though. This is a decent community.” She gestured up the road. “If you want some music while you're here, they sometimes sell recordings at the opera house. I wouldn't trust any of the second-hand shops. You wouldn't want him to think you've been doing something illegal.”
Linkara cocked his head to one side. “'Him'?”
The woman nodded pleasantly, but her eyes had the growing tension of someone who had said too much. “Y-yes. Well! Have a nice afternoon.” And she hurried away.
Linkara gave a friendly wave after her and furtively looked around the street. Enough people had passed by to see him talking to people about the closed record store, and to have heard the Judge's name dropped. Word would spread.
He fished his map out of his pocket and consulted it for his last stop of the day. He had to go by the fish market before sundown.
Linkara flicked his pocket watch open and squinted to read in the fading light. Two minutes until sunset, at least according to today's entry in the almanac. Not that the gunslinger was likely bound by the actual rising and setting of the sun; he wasn't undead, by the reports that had come in to the Society, and that was good, because there was no record whatsoever of what an undead selkie might be capable of.
And it was pretty likely this mysterious gunslinger was a selkie. Linkara had read the attack reports. Mysterious, silent gunman, able to ambush from the sea as easily as he could move on land. There weren't an awful lot of other ocean-dwellers who were comfortable in human shape. And there were plenty of stories about unethical people who exploited a selkie's weakness … although Linkara really hoped those were just stories.
There was a little prickling sensation at the back of his neck. Something coming. Linkara's eyes flicked up from his pocket watch, and he saw a tall shadow cutting across the deserted street, just a block away. It was time.
The gunslinger moved straight towards him with a slow, stalking gait. Bright eyes peered coldly from under the brim of his hat. His gloved hands stayed tight at his sides, tense and ready, and Linkara flashed back to the reports the Society had received of bodies felled by single, uncannily precise bullets.
He smiled, and gave a jaunty wave. “Evening!”
No response.
Linkara smiled wider, but there was no mirth in it. “I've been looking for you.”
The gunslinger responded this time, with a southern drawl that Linkara hadn't expected. “Well, y'oughta be very proud.”
Linkara never took his eyes off the other man as he paused several yards away. Sizing him up. Showdown distance. His voice was calm and clear when he called out again. “Are you here to kill me?”
The gunslinger didn't flinch from the question. “That is a distinct possibility.”
“Do you have to kill me?”
“Is this the part where you beg for your life?” The gunslinger sounded idly curious. “I should tell you that doesn't make a difference.”
“Sorry, I misspoke. Were you ordered to kill me?”
The gunslinger's eyes narrowed. He didn't respond.
“Or if you were ordered to kill me, and not just to stop me asking uncomfortable questions, would I be dead right now?”
“I'm decidin' on that,” the gunslinger snapped.
“Oh really.” Linkara slowly drew his dusty brown jacket open. There was no pistol at his hip; his partner was safely secured in a magic pocket in the lining. He couldn't draw her right away if this turned sour, but that was a risk he had to take for a chance at a peaceful meeting. “Let me help you make up your mind.”
Before Linkara even had the chance to pull the package out of his coat, the gunslinger's nose twitched. His eyes brightened, but he set his jaw and smoothed his face into a stony mask, and watched with tense indifference as Linkara revealed the brown paper bundle.
“I thought I should bring something. Just to show my good intentions.” Linkara began walking forward, slowly, keeping his eyes on the gunslinger's hands. When he was a few feet away, he unraveled the paper to display a neat little bundle of silver mackerels, cleaned and beheaded.
The gunslinger stayed still as a statue. He gave Linkara an inscrutable look.
“Just take them. If I'm wrong about you, throw 'em away. If you want them, then eat.” Linkara held out the bundle of fish and smirked. “Right here, if you want. Trust me, I don't have a delicate stomach.”
The gunslinger folded his arms over his chest. The look in his eyes was hard, cold and cutting as a nor'easter. “What is it you want?” he snapped.
“Why do I need to want anything?”
“You're a human. Humans don't give gifts. Anything they give comes with a steep price. I'm not a pup.”
“Not all humans are alike.” Linkara held the gunslinger's angry look without flinching. The space between the two men was chilly and tense.
The gunslinger was the first one to lower his gaze. “Let's say you do want something. Just supposin'. It's possible that I might not be able to do it for you.” He looked up sharply. “Supposin' I cared to, and that's a lot of supposin'.”
Linkara's voice was quiet. “I know. But he'll let you stand here and listen, won't he?”
The gunslinger flinched. He turned his head sharply, as though he'd felt someone breathing along the back of his neck. “He...” He growled under his breath. “If he finds I out I did talk to you. He might have me kill you just because. And that I will have to do, whether I care to or not. You wanna risk it?”
“Absolutely.” Those deep blue eyes hadn't broken the stare. “Do you think you're the first selkie to get into a mess like this? I can help. And I can take whatever Judge Jungblatt has to throw at me. Not bragging.”
The gunslinger raised one eyebrow. The corner of Linkara's mouth twitched up into a smirk again. “OK, that is bragging. But it's well deserved. Trust me.”
An uncomfortable silence hung between the two men. The gunslinger reached out his hand for the fish. Linkara turned the package over, watching carefully, noting visible tendons and light blue vein tracings in the selkie's hand.
There was a flash of sharp white teeth as the gunslinger started to tear into the first fish. Linkara looked around as casually as he could, but there was still nobody around to watch. “Does he have you living off human food?”
The gunslinger glowered over the remains of the mackerel. “Th' hell do you think?” he snapped, voice muffled.
“Sorry. I know that's tough. Next question.” The gunslinger nodded and started to gulp down the next fish. “What are your orders? Does he keep you from speaking to the townsfolk?”
The gunslinger grunted and swallowed his latest mouthful. “No. Ain't I talkin' to you?” He stopped, collecting himself, taking a deep breath. “He … just … after he had me kill some folks, I figured it was … better...”
His slim body started to tremble. Linkara watched, biting his lip as the selkie brushed fiercely at his eyes. “I'm really, really sorry. I mean that,” he said quietly.
The gunslinger snorted. “Sorry's worth about a fart in the west wind.”
“Colorful. And, uh, point taken. So what's your name?”
“Jaeris.” He peeled another fish out of the bundle.
“Jaeris. OK. Do you happen to know where your skin is?”
Jaeris gagged on the latest mouthful of fish. Linkara's eyes widened, and he rushed to Jaeris's side. But the selkie straightened up soon enough, and Linkara could read pain written all over his boyish face. “Dammit … you're not allowed to talk to anyone about it.”
Jaeris shook his head.
“OK, OK. I'm sorry. Can you talk about it indirectly?”
There was a flash of pain in Jaeris's eyes, and he seemed to struggle with his words, but he eventually shook his head, slowly.
Linkara thought. “OK, can you maybe gesture, or pantomime-?”
“Quit tryin' to be funny,” Jaeris snapped. He breathed out slowly. “And no. Judges can use lots of fancy talk, and they can think up lots of ways you might get around them if a nosy fella asks. So stop askin'.”
Linkara's shoulders sagged. “I'm sorry. Just wanted to help.”
“And ya still haven't told me why,” Jaeris said. He nipped at the last fish. At least he didn't seem as ravenous as before.
“Oh, right. Well, I'm part of an organization. The North Star Society. We study people like, well...” Linkara gestured at Jaeris.
“So you're a hunter,” Jaeris said, coldly. “I have family who got done in by hunters.”
“No. We only accept a hunt if we get proof that there was a crime committed. More often, we have to protect other people from being hunted.” Linkara cleared his throat and started to pick his words carefully. “We have another mission. To disseminate and protect knowledge. Magical knowledge, specifically.”
“Uh-huh.” Jaeris idly picked at his teeth with a mackerel bone.
And we really don't like people who ban supposedly 'heretical' knowledge and burn books. Like this judge who's got your skin. Linkara mulled the words over in his head, but he knew they would be unwise to say. He couldn't risk triggering any of the Judge's orders and forcing Jaeris to attack him. He simply smiled. “Well, we thought you might possibly need a friend, that's all.”
“I'm not ready for 'friend' yet.” Jaeris's bright eyes burned with the light of a past betrayal.
“Right.” Linkara watched Jaeris carefully. “So what was it you were sent to do?”
“Make sure you stopped askin' questions. And by the by, it's a good thing you stopped. I had orders to kill if you didn't.”
“And we can't have that. So. I'm going to be a good little tourist from now on and mind my own business. What do you do now?”
“Go back.” There was a flat, reluctant tone in Jaeris's voice.
Linkara took a deep breath. “I know … you told me not to ask questions, but I need to know this. Does he-?”
Jaeris flashed a harrowed look at him, and silently shook his head. Don't ask. Linkara fell silent.
With a heavy sigh, Jaeris touched the brim of his hat and turned to go. Linkara raised his voice a bit. “Maybe we can meet tomorrow, if you've got some time.”
“Not likely. But if you bring more fish next time?” Jaeris waved casually over his shoulder. “Have 'em leave the heads on. Those are the best part.”
“Got it.” Linkara started to wave, then awkwardly put his hand down when he realized Jaeris wasn't turning around to look at him. He watched the tall figure slip into the shadow between two buildings and disappear. “Huh, that went pretty well.”
He blinked, and looked up at the tree next to him, into the shadows between the branches. “Well, sure he's cagey. His experiences with humans this far have probably been terrible. I'm still gonna try to turn that around for him.”
There was a rustle from the tree, and a soft, concerned, brooding sound. Linkara sighed. “Yes. I know.” He turned his head and looked up at the hillside, where warm lights shone in a dark manor home. “And that I want to end tonight, if I can.”
The great hall was deathly quiet as Jaeris entered. Every slow step echoed in the darkness. Nobody was waiting for him. Maybe he'd be allowed to go to bed.
A dim firelight flickered from Judge Jungblatt's study. Jaeris held his breath. Could he get by without being heard? Maybe the judge would be too wrapped up in his work to hear if he went by...
“Jaeris?” The selkie froze. “I hear you, boy. Come on in.” His fists clenched at his sides, and he walked.
The judge was sitting in his armchair by the fireplace, nursing a glass of thick amber spirits. He grinned as Jaeris crossed the threshhold. “You're back early. Stranger give you any trouble?”
Jaeris held himself rigidly, uncomfortably still as soon as he came inside. “No, sir.”
“Good. Good. Come over here.”
Jaeris shuddered, and started to walk. Slowly as he could. The judge hadn't told him to hurry. His lip curled as he met Jungblatt's eye, with that dark gleam he'd come to hate, and he halted just out of the judge's reach, stiff and straight as a birch tree.
The judge leered and patted the arm of his chair. “Take your hair down, pretty boy. We'll have ourselves a little game.”
Jaeris shuddered again as he slowly, deliberately started to untwine his braid. He could feel the fish the stranger had given him flopping around in his stomach. God. This had been a nice night.
A loud crash, and the brittle sound of shattered glass. Upstairs. The judge leapt up to his feet, staring at the ceiling, and Jaeris didn't even try to hide his sigh of relief.
“There's trouble. Get going. Now.”
Jaeris fled the study without glancing back once. He swept up the stairs, long coat billowing behind him, quiet as an owl. As he rushed towards the heavy attic door, his hand tightened around the grip of his weapon, and he steeled himself to fire. The judge would have him shoot to kill. He had no mercy for burglars.
With a loud crack, Jaeris kicked in the door and entered, pistol drawn. The fancy leaded glass window with the picture of Lady Justice had been shattered, and a chilly wind blew into the attic, stirring dust from the stacks of boxes and old furniture. Shards of colorful glass crunched under Jaeris's boots as he walked forward, scanning the shadowy, formless towers all around for a sign of movement. His gaze flicked to the ground briefly. No blood, no sign of a stone or brick that someone might have thrown through. Was it just vandalism? Someone still outside?
No, there! A whirr of motion and a rustling noise , somewhere in the darkness. Jaeris spun and drew back the hammer on his gun. “You get out here right now,” he demanded, “'cause I'm in no mood to get in trouble for shootin' up this place.”
Another rustle, a whirr of … wings? And the unseen culprit hopped up onto a nearby crate. If Jaeris hadn't been surging with adrenaline, he might well have fallen over laughing.
A chicken. To be more precise, a rooster, with oddly-handsome black feathers that glimmered blue in the light. Jaeris lowered his gun. “Somehow I doubt you busted in to steal anything.”
The rooster turned his head to preen briefly at one wing, then looked back at Jaeris, watching him with alert golden eyes. Jaeris frowned. “There's not a scratch on you. Somehow, I don't think you did this on your own...”
Jaeris's entire body jolted then, as somewhere deep in the recesses of the manor, he heard a sound that had echoed through his more pleasant dreams for the past few months: the Honorable Parker Jungblatt, screaming in terror.
Jaeris ran, nearly tripping over his own feet. Down the stairs, across the great hall to the Judge's study, through the hidden door in the bookcase that the Judge had left wide open in his haste. Of course he'd go there if he thought there might be thieves around, to his private vault, just to be sure that Jaeris's pelt was safe. But the real thieves had never caused that commotion in the attic, had they?
The sounds of struggle, bodies slammed against the old wooden walls, made Jaeris quicken his pace. He rounded the corner to the Judge's personal vault, and there they were; the Judge, and that mysterious stranger in the brown coat and hat he'd spoken to not an hour ago. They had Linkara's gun between them; he was putting up a vicious fight, but the Judge was a big man and his greater mass was a weapon. Linkara grabbed desperately at the Judge's coat, but he was sent flying with a rough shove, collapsing against the wall with a gasp.
“Damned interfering little-!” The Judge aimed the ill-gotten weapon dead at the intruder, but the trigger only clicked dully under his finger. He snarled and hurled the weapon at the wall.
“HEY!” Linkara struggled back up to his feet, eyes blazing. “You treat her with respect, asshole!”
The Judge ignored him as he saw Jaeris standing in the doorway. “Jaeris! Kill him!”
Jaeris's arm moved with inhuman grace. The gun in his hand pointed directly at Linkara. Linkara just watched, bright eyes probing his, unblinking.
There was silence.
Jungblatt looked back and forth between the two men. “I SAID, kill him, boy!!”
“I...” Jaeris's gun hand started to shake. His eyes widened, brightening with a look they hadn't held for months. “...I don't have to!!”
Jungblatt's horrified gaze fell on Linkara … and the sleek, silver cloth he was drawing from his jacket. He scrabbled at his own clothes, growing paler and paler as he realized what was going on.
Linkara grinned. There was more than a little sadistic satisfaction behind the smile. “I think you need one of these to compel a selkie, you unrepentant prick.” He raised his voice, never taking his eyes off the Judge. “Jaeris.”
Jaeris flinched. Was it all going to start over again? Had he traded one master for another?
With one smooth motion, Linkara tossed Jaeris his pelt. “Just don't kill him.”
Linkara tore another piece of bread from the load in his hands and tossed it to the rooster at his feet. “Think I should check on him?”
The rooster clucked tersely before pecking at the bread.
“I know, Pollo, but the Society's gonna be all over my ass if he does kill the guy.” He sighed and looked nervously at the house behind them. “Anyway, we're not gonna be too welcome here, after--”
The creak of a door drew his attention. It was Jaeris, with a threadbare pack slung over one shoulder. Linkara called out to him. “You're leaving already?”
“I don't care to stay here a second more. Or come back. Ever.”
Linkara's voice was solemn. “Jungblatt. Is he-?”
“He'll live.” Jaeris smiled grimly as he approached. “A fella can live through a lot.”
“You headed home?”
Jaeris shook his head. “Can't. Not 'til I finish what I set out to do.” He looked wistfully to the west, where the stars were starting to dim and fade, one by one. “I came to land lookin' for my wife. Jungblatt knew who took her. He said he'd help me at first. I just never expected the bastard to...”
He fell silent, seeming to fold in on himself. Linkara stepped a little closer and paused, not knowing if a touch would be comforting or distressing at this point. “It's over,” he said softly.
Jaeris nodded. “I know.” He looked into Linkara's eyes; Linkara nearly flinched from the pain he saw there. “Thank you.”
“Just doing my job.” Linkara smiled. “Speaking of which. Do you know where you're headed now?”
“Yes. Jungblatt gave me a city name, and a shop.”
“Do you know how to get there?”
Jaeris waved the question off. “I'll make my way somehow.”
“I'll rephrase that. Do you need some company?”
Linkara tried to sound as friendly as he could, but Jaeris still looked stunned. “...you want to go with me?”
“If another selkie's being held against her will, that's Society business. I can check in once I get to one of our branch offices, but somehow I doubt they'll mind me taking on this case.”
From behind them, Pollo clucked sharply. Linkara glowered down at him. “And you can lay off the smart remarks, if you want your job title to stay 'familiar' and not 'Sunday dinner'.”
Jaeris couldn't help chuckling, in spite of himself. “As long as we're goin' the same way, I guess. At least 'til we get to another town...”
The three left the little town as dawn rose up behind them, making their way along the road. Anyone watching them go might have heard the tall, slim fellow with the long braid start to sing.
Author: Alien_Snipe
Summary: A mysterious figure stalks a seaside town. But a monster hunter named Linkara suspects that he may be the one who needs help. Fantasy AU.
Pairings: Jaeris/OC
Warnings: Implied non-con and coercion. Mild violence and language.
Word Count: 4601
On the open ocean, far out amidst the wild cries of gulls and the rush of the waves, the mermaids sing. They sing melodies of spun glass, delicate and breathtaking, sharp enough to cut your soul. They sing of wonders untold, far beneath the surface, if only someone, someone, would come to them and see. Mermaids only sing for an audience, even when there isn't a soul around.
There are other parts of the sea, closer to shore, in brighter, colder waters, where the selkies, the seal-folk, sing instead. Selkies love to sing, but their songs are nothing at all like those of the mermaids. Their songs are joyful, all about the thrills of chasing fish and leaping high above the surface and playing merry pranks on sailors. Unlike the mermaids, who sing to lure in doomed souls, selkies sing for pleasure.
Of course, selkies sing for their own pleasure, not necessarily for anyone else's. They bark and yawp back and forth to one another in boisterous rounds that are usually improvised right on the spot. They are off-key more often than not, and they use volumes and tones more likely to make an unsuspecting human clap his hands over his ears than to fall into a blissful trance. Still, any sailor on the northern seas knows it's better to hear a selkie barking away in the distance then to risk the sweet tones of a mermaid. As loud and artless as they are, there is something in a selkie's songs that cheers a weary heart.
It's easy to imagine that selkies themselves are always so joyful. What reason do they have to be sad? Any creature that can walk among humans as easily as swim in the sea is blessed indeed.
Oh, true, there are stories. Some whisper about men who found a careless selkie-maid's skin, and took her by force for a wife. But those are only stories. No different than the cautionary tales you've probably heard about heartless wizards who slay unicorns for eternal life. Surely no creature is wicked enough to slay another creature's joy, and all for greed.
The sea spray was chilly in the air, and the sky above was gray as ash. Dark waves rolled in on a desolate beach, hissing and crashing around the jagged stones that jutted like fangs around the shore.
There were no people around to watch the seal come ashore. It skidded on its belly through the seafoam, and when the waves retreated, it began to pull itself along with its flippers, inching forward with single-minded purpose. The seal's movements were clumsy at first. It lurched forward, sleek body undulating in a way that would have propelled it through the ocean with speed and grace. Finally, when it was out of reach of the waves, it stopped, and slumped down to rest.
The seal's eyes closed; its body rose and fell ever so slightly as it inhaled and exhaled deeply. Gathering strength.
The seal stirred, and writhed on the sand, and its skin started to fall away. The mottled gray pelt rippled and wrinkled, invisible seams opening to reveal smooth light flesh. With a shrug of its shoulders and a roll of its powerful neck, the seal's head rolled back, freeing a long, flowing mane of white-blond hair.
The man emerging from the seal's skin took a few quick breaths and started to roll the gray pelt down, past slender shoulders and a torso of lean muscle. He only thought to look around when he had nearly freed himself from the seal skin and begun to stand, cautiously. His shins quivered a little, the uncertainty of a foal still discovering its body. The man only set his jaw, muttered something darkly to himself, and stood upright until the trembling in his limbs ceased.
If the cold air bothered him in his new skin, he didn't care to show it. If those shaky new feet were tender and apt to be get blisters from the unpolished rocks scattered around the beach, he never said a word. He simply folded his old pelt up into a neat little bundle, drew himself upright, and started to walk, with not even a glance at the sea behind him.
Several seasons passed, as seasons do, and man's nature never changed.
The old lady in the little general store at the edge of town had warned Linkara not to stay after sundown, if he could help it. That was when the gunslinger came out, she said, and only the Devil himself knew what excuses he found to stalk unwary travelers. Linkara thanked her for the advice, wished her a pleasant day, tipped his hat, and headed out to explore the town.
The average passerby on the street most likely wouldn't have expected Linkara to be much of a match for any trouble on the road. He didn't fit anyone's image of a Shadow Hunter, not with his plain and oddly out-of-fashion clothes, or his boyish face that never even allowed patches of stubble. Shadow Hunters were supposed to be dark, grim, dangerous sorts, the type to look a charging werewolf or vampire in the eye and put the fear of God into it. Linkara hoped that most of the village residents shared the same preconceptions about people in his line of work. It would keep them unaware and out of trouble until his mission was finished.
He browsed the stores in town, the way any traveler might have done. A slow, meandering path from the silversmith to the haberdasher to the spice shop, getting ever closer to the plaza at the center of town, and his target.
Linkara emerged from the town drug store, deliberately sipping a phosphate soda, looked at the store front on his right, and frowned. “Aw!” The short cry of disappointment was loud enough to attract attention from the people passing by, but not loud enough to be theatrical, or at least he hoped so.
He casually looked around and caught the eye of an older man. “Excuse me!” He smiled and jerked his thumb back at the boarded shop behind him. “I was hoping to take a look at the record shop, do you know if they've moved, or-?”
The man paled and hurried away, bundling his coat against a chilly breeze that wasn't there. Linkara blinked. “OK,” he murmured. He looked around again, and he was in luck; there was another woman standing nearby, and she'd probably seen the entire conversation. He smiled awkwardly at her. “Was it something I said?”
She laughed in response, but it was thin. Sounded forced. “You must be new in town.”
“Oh, yah, just passing through.”
“Well, that store's been closed for a while. The owner was selling...” She clutched her bag with a nervous twitch, and lowered her voice. “...indecent music.”
Linkara made himself look shocked. “Really!”
“Oh yes. Judge Jungblatt put a stop to that nonsense, though. This is a decent community.” She gestured up the road. “If you want some music while you're here, they sometimes sell recordings at the opera house. I wouldn't trust any of the second-hand shops. You wouldn't want him to think you've been doing something illegal.”
Linkara cocked his head to one side. “'Him'?”
The woman nodded pleasantly, but her eyes had the growing tension of someone who had said too much. “Y-yes. Well! Have a nice afternoon.” And she hurried away.
Linkara gave a friendly wave after her and furtively looked around the street. Enough people had passed by to see him talking to people about the closed record store, and to have heard the Judge's name dropped. Word would spread.
He fished his map out of his pocket and consulted it for his last stop of the day. He had to go by the fish market before sundown.
Linkara flicked his pocket watch open and squinted to read in the fading light. Two minutes until sunset, at least according to today's entry in the almanac. Not that the gunslinger was likely bound by the actual rising and setting of the sun; he wasn't undead, by the reports that had come in to the Society, and that was good, because there was no record whatsoever of what an undead selkie might be capable of.
And it was pretty likely this mysterious gunslinger was a selkie. Linkara had read the attack reports. Mysterious, silent gunman, able to ambush from the sea as easily as he could move on land. There weren't an awful lot of other ocean-dwellers who were comfortable in human shape. And there were plenty of stories about unethical people who exploited a selkie's weakness … although Linkara really hoped those were just stories.
There was a little prickling sensation at the back of his neck. Something coming. Linkara's eyes flicked up from his pocket watch, and he saw a tall shadow cutting across the deserted street, just a block away. It was time.
The gunslinger moved straight towards him with a slow, stalking gait. Bright eyes peered coldly from under the brim of his hat. His gloved hands stayed tight at his sides, tense and ready, and Linkara flashed back to the reports the Society had received of bodies felled by single, uncannily precise bullets.
He smiled, and gave a jaunty wave. “Evening!”
No response.
Linkara smiled wider, but there was no mirth in it. “I've been looking for you.”
The gunslinger responded this time, with a southern drawl that Linkara hadn't expected. “Well, y'oughta be very proud.”
Linkara never took his eyes off the other man as he paused several yards away. Sizing him up. Showdown distance. His voice was calm and clear when he called out again. “Are you here to kill me?”
The gunslinger didn't flinch from the question. “That is a distinct possibility.”
“Do you have to kill me?”
“Is this the part where you beg for your life?” The gunslinger sounded idly curious. “I should tell you that doesn't make a difference.”
“Sorry, I misspoke. Were you ordered to kill me?”
The gunslinger's eyes narrowed. He didn't respond.
“Or if you were ordered to kill me, and not just to stop me asking uncomfortable questions, would I be dead right now?”
“I'm decidin' on that,” the gunslinger snapped.
“Oh really.” Linkara slowly drew his dusty brown jacket open. There was no pistol at his hip; his partner was safely secured in a magic pocket in the lining. He couldn't draw her right away if this turned sour, but that was a risk he had to take for a chance at a peaceful meeting. “Let me help you make up your mind.”
Before Linkara even had the chance to pull the package out of his coat, the gunslinger's nose twitched. His eyes brightened, but he set his jaw and smoothed his face into a stony mask, and watched with tense indifference as Linkara revealed the brown paper bundle.
“I thought I should bring something. Just to show my good intentions.” Linkara began walking forward, slowly, keeping his eyes on the gunslinger's hands. When he was a few feet away, he unraveled the paper to display a neat little bundle of silver mackerels, cleaned and beheaded.
The gunslinger stayed still as a statue. He gave Linkara an inscrutable look.
“Just take them. If I'm wrong about you, throw 'em away. If you want them, then eat.” Linkara held out the bundle of fish and smirked. “Right here, if you want. Trust me, I don't have a delicate stomach.”
The gunslinger folded his arms over his chest. The look in his eyes was hard, cold and cutting as a nor'easter. “What is it you want?” he snapped.
“Why do I need to want anything?”
“You're a human. Humans don't give gifts. Anything they give comes with a steep price. I'm not a pup.”
“Not all humans are alike.” Linkara held the gunslinger's angry look without flinching. The space between the two men was chilly and tense.
The gunslinger was the first one to lower his gaze. “Let's say you do want something. Just supposin'. It's possible that I might not be able to do it for you.” He looked up sharply. “Supposin' I cared to, and that's a lot of supposin'.”
Linkara's voice was quiet. “I know. But he'll let you stand here and listen, won't he?”
The gunslinger flinched. He turned his head sharply, as though he'd felt someone breathing along the back of his neck. “He...” He growled under his breath. “If he finds I out I did talk to you. He might have me kill you just because. And that I will have to do, whether I care to or not. You wanna risk it?”
“Absolutely.” Those deep blue eyes hadn't broken the stare. “Do you think you're the first selkie to get into a mess like this? I can help. And I can take whatever Judge Jungblatt has to throw at me. Not bragging.”
The gunslinger raised one eyebrow. The corner of Linkara's mouth twitched up into a smirk again. “OK, that is bragging. But it's well deserved. Trust me.”
An uncomfortable silence hung between the two men. The gunslinger reached out his hand for the fish. Linkara turned the package over, watching carefully, noting visible tendons and light blue vein tracings in the selkie's hand.
There was a flash of sharp white teeth as the gunslinger started to tear into the first fish. Linkara looked around as casually as he could, but there was still nobody around to watch. “Does he have you living off human food?”
The gunslinger glowered over the remains of the mackerel. “Th' hell do you think?” he snapped, voice muffled.
“Sorry. I know that's tough. Next question.” The gunslinger nodded and started to gulp down the next fish. “What are your orders? Does he keep you from speaking to the townsfolk?”
The gunslinger grunted and swallowed his latest mouthful. “No. Ain't I talkin' to you?” He stopped, collecting himself, taking a deep breath. “He … just … after he had me kill some folks, I figured it was … better...”
His slim body started to tremble. Linkara watched, biting his lip as the selkie brushed fiercely at his eyes. “I'm really, really sorry. I mean that,” he said quietly.
The gunslinger snorted. “Sorry's worth about a fart in the west wind.”
“Colorful. And, uh, point taken. So what's your name?”
“Jaeris.” He peeled another fish out of the bundle.
“Jaeris. OK. Do you happen to know where your skin is?”
Jaeris gagged on the latest mouthful of fish. Linkara's eyes widened, and he rushed to Jaeris's side. But the selkie straightened up soon enough, and Linkara could read pain written all over his boyish face. “Dammit … you're not allowed to talk to anyone about it.”
Jaeris shook his head.
“OK, OK. I'm sorry. Can you talk about it indirectly?”
There was a flash of pain in Jaeris's eyes, and he seemed to struggle with his words, but he eventually shook his head, slowly.
Linkara thought. “OK, can you maybe gesture, or pantomime-?”
“Quit tryin' to be funny,” Jaeris snapped. He breathed out slowly. “And no. Judges can use lots of fancy talk, and they can think up lots of ways you might get around them if a nosy fella asks. So stop askin'.”
Linkara's shoulders sagged. “I'm sorry. Just wanted to help.”
“And ya still haven't told me why,” Jaeris said. He nipped at the last fish. At least he didn't seem as ravenous as before.
“Oh, right. Well, I'm part of an organization. The North Star Society. We study people like, well...” Linkara gestured at Jaeris.
“So you're a hunter,” Jaeris said, coldly. “I have family who got done in by hunters.”
“No. We only accept a hunt if we get proof that there was a crime committed. More often, we have to protect other people from being hunted.” Linkara cleared his throat and started to pick his words carefully. “We have another mission. To disseminate and protect knowledge. Magical knowledge, specifically.”
“Uh-huh.” Jaeris idly picked at his teeth with a mackerel bone.
And we really don't like people who ban supposedly 'heretical' knowledge and burn books. Like this judge who's got your skin. Linkara mulled the words over in his head, but he knew they would be unwise to say. He couldn't risk triggering any of the Judge's orders and forcing Jaeris to attack him. He simply smiled. “Well, we thought you might possibly need a friend, that's all.”
“I'm not ready for 'friend' yet.” Jaeris's bright eyes burned with the light of a past betrayal.
“Right.” Linkara watched Jaeris carefully. “So what was it you were sent to do?”
“Make sure you stopped askin' questions. And by the by, it's a good thing you stopped. I had orders to kill if you didn't.”
“And we can't have that. So. I'm going to be a good little tourist from now on and mind my own business. What do you do now?”
“Go back.” There was a flat, reluctant tone in Jaeris's voice.
Linkara took a deep breath. “I know … you told me not to ask questions, but I need to know this. Does he-?”
Jaeris flashed a harrowed look at him, and silently shook his head. Don't ask. Linkara fell silent.
With a heavy sigh, Jaeris touched the brim of his hat and turned to go. Linkara raised his voice a bit. “Maybe we can meet tomorrow, if you've got some time.”
“Not likely. But if you bring more fish next time?” Jaeris waved casually over his shoulder. “Have 'em leave the heads on. Those are the best part.”
“Got it.” Linkara started to wave, then awkwardly put his hand down when he realized Jaeris wasn't turning around to look at him. He watched the tall figure slip into the shadow between two buildings and disappear. “Huh, that went pretty well.”
He blinked, and looked up at the tree next to him, into the shadows between the branches. “Well, sure he's cagey. His experiences with humans this far have probably been terrible. I'm still gonna try to turn that around for him.”
There was a rustle from the tree, and a soft, concerned, brooding sound. Linkara sighed. “Yes. I know.” He turned his head and looked up at the hillside, where warm lights shone in a dark manor home. “And that I want to end tonight, if I can.”
The great hall was deathly quiet as Jaeris entered. Every slow step echoed in the darkness. Nobody was waiting for him. Maybe he'd be allowed to go to bed.
A dim firelight flickered from Judge Jungblatt's study. Jaeris held his breath. Could he get by without being heard? Maybe the judge would be too wrapped up in his work to hear if he went by...
“Jaeris?” The selkie froze. “I hear you, boy. Come on in.” His fists clenched at his sides, and he walked.
The judge was sitting in his armchair by the fireplace, nursing a glass of thick amber spirits. He grinned as Jaeris crossed the threshhold. “You're back early. Stranger give you any trouble?”
Jaeris held himself rigidly, uncomfortably still as soon as he came inside. “No, sir.”
“Good. Good. Come over here.”
Jaeris shuddered, and started to walk. Slowly as he could. The judge hadn't told him to hurry. His lip curled as he met Jungblatt's eye, with that dark gleam he'd come to hate, and he halted just out of the judge's reach, stiff and straight as a birch tree.
The judge leered and patted the arm of his chair. “Take your hair down, pretty boy. We'll have ourselves a little game.”
Jaeris shuddered again as he slowly, deliberately started to untwine his braid. He could feel the fish the stranger had given him flopping around in his stomach. God. This had been a nice night.
A loud crash, and the brittle sound of shattered glass. Upstairs. The judge leapt up to his feet, staring at the ceiling, and Jaeris didn't even try to hide his sigh of relief.
“There's trouble. Get going. Now.”
Jaeris fled the study without glancing back once. He swept up the stairs, long coat billowing behind him, quiet as an owl. As he rushed towards the heavy attic door, his hand tightened around the grip of his weapon, and he steeled himself to fire. The judge would have him shoot to kill. He had no mercy for burglars.
With a loud crack, Jaeris kicked in the door and entered, pistol drawn. The fancy leaded glass window with the picture of Lady Justice had been shattered, and a chilly wind blew into the attic, stirring dust from the stacks of boxes and old furniture. Shards of colorful glass crunched under Jaeris's boots as he walked forward, scanning the shadowy, formless towers all around for a sign of movement. His gaze flicked to the ground briefly. No blood, no sign of a stone or brick that someone might have thrown through. Was it just vandalism? Someone still outside?
No, there! A whirr of motion and a rustling noise , somewhere in the darkness. Jaeris spun and drew back the hammer on his gun. “You get out here right now,” he demanded, “'cause I'm in no mood to get in trouble for shootin' up this place.”
Another rustle, a whirr of … wings? And the unseen culprit hopped up onto a nearby crate. If Jaeris hadn't been surging with adrenaline, he might well have fallen over laughing.
A chicken. To be more precise, a rooster, with oddly-handsome black feathers that glimmered blue in the light. Jaeris lowered his gun. “Somehow I doubt you busted in to steal anything.”
The rooster turned his head to preen briefly at one wing, then looked back at Jaeris, watching him with alert golden eyes. Jaeris frowned. “There's not a scratch on you. Somehow, I don't think you did this on your own...”
Jaeris's entire body jolted then, as somewhere deep in the recesses of the manor, he heard a sound that had echoed through his more pleasant dreams for the past few months: the Honorable Parker Jungblatt, screaming in terror.
Jaeris ran, nearly tripping over his own feet. Down the stairs, across the great hall to the Judge's study, through the hidden door in the bookcase that the Judge had left wide open in his haste. Of course he'd go there if he thought there might be thieves around, to his private vault, just to be sure that Jaeris's pelt was safe. But the real thieves had never caused that commotion in the attic, had they?
The sounds of struggle, bodies slammed against the old wooden walls, made Jaeris quicken his pace. He rounded the corner to the Judge's personal vault, and there they were; the Judge, and that mysterious stranger in the brown coat and hat he'd spoken to not an hour ago. They had Linkara's gun between them; he was putting up a vicious fight, but the Judge was a big man and his greater mass was a weapon. Linkara grabbed desperately at the Judge's coat, but he was sent flying with a rough shove, collapsing against the wall with a gasp.
“Damned interfering little-!” The Judge aimed the ill-gotten weapon dead at the intruder, but the trigger only clicked dully under his finger. He snarled and hurled the weapon at the wall.
“HEY!” Linkara struggled back up to his feet, eyes blazing. “You treat her with respect, asshole!”
The Judge ignored him as he saw Jaeris standing in the doorway. “Jaeris! Kill him!”
Jaeris's arm moved with inhuman grace. The gun in his hand pointed directly at Linkara. Linkara just watched, bright eyes probing his, unblinking.
There was silence.
Jungblatt looked back and forth between the two men. “I SAID, kill him, boy!!”
“I...” Jaeris's gun hand started to shake. His eyes widened, brightening with a look they hadn't held for months. “...I don't have to!!”
Jungblatt's horrified gaze fell on Linkara … and the sleek, silver cloth he was drawing from his jacket. He scrabbled at his own clothes, growing paler and paler as he realized what was going on.
Linkara grinned. There was more than a little sadistic satisfaction behind the smile. “I think you need one of these to compel a selkie, you unrepentant prick.” He raised his voice, never taking his eyes off the Judge. “Jaeris.”
Jaeris flinched. Was it all going to start over again? Had he traded one master for another?
With one smooth motion, Linkara tossed Jaeris his pelt. “Just don't kill him.”
Linkara tore another piece of bread from the load in his hands and tossed it to the rooster at his feet. “Think I should check on him?”
The rooster clucked tersely before pecking at the bread.
“I know, Pollo, but the Society's gonna be all over my ass if he does kill the guy.” He sighed and looked nervously at the house behind them. “Anyway, we're not gonna be too welcome here, after--”
The creak of a door drew his attention. It was Jaeris, with a threadbare pack slung over one shoulder. Linkara called out to him. “You're leaving already?”
“I don't care to stay here a second more. Or come back. Ever.”
Linkara's voice was solemn. “Jungblatt. Is he-?”
“He'll live.” Jaeris smiled grimly as he approached. “A fella can live through a lot.”
“You headed home?”
Jaeris shook his head. “Can't. Not 'til I finish what I set out to do.” He looked wistfully to the west, where the stars were starting to dim and fade, one by one. “I came to land lookin' for my wife. Jungblatt knew who took her. He said he'd help me at first. I just never expected the bastard to...”
He fell silent, seeming to fold in on himself. Linkara stepped a little closer and paused, not knowing if a touch would be comforting or distressing at this point. “It's over,” he said softly.
Jaeris nodded. “I know.” He looked into Linkara's eyes; Linkara nearly flinched from the pain he saw there. “Thank you.”
“Just doing my job.” Linkara smiled. “Speaking of which. Do you know where you're headed now?”
“Yes. Jungblatt gave me a city name, and a shop.”
“Do you know how to get there?”
Jaeris waved the question off. “I'll make my way somehow.”
“I'll rephrase that. Do you need some company?”
Linkara tried to sound as friendly as he could, but Jaeris still looked stunned. “...you want to go with me?”
“If another selkie's being held against her will, that's Society business. I can check in once I get to one of our branch offices, but somehow I doubt they'll mind me taking on this case.”
From behind them, Pollo clucked sharply. Linkara glowered down at him. “And you can lay off the smart remarks, if you want your job title to stay 'familiar' and not 'Sunday dinner'.”
Jaeris couldn't help chuckling, in spite of himself. “As long as we're goin' the same way, I guess. At least 'til we get to another town...”
The three left the little town as dawn rose up behind them, making their way along the road. Anyone watching them go might have heard the tall, slim fellow with the long braid start to sing.
