Wild Watchtower: Shield & Claw Book One

Chapter Twelve: Of Dominance and Cowardice

I woke to a new day with a sense of trepidation and anticipation. The previous night’s dinner had almost come to blows when Lord Styrkr decided he could pass Cróga to take a seat closer to the alpha pair. Both my brother and our guest had ended up chest to chest, snarling in the way that future alphas seemed to learn through instinct alone. We'd all waited with bated breath for the first punch to be thrown, especially as Cróga's wounds from his fight with Father had all but healed. Bruises had become pale yellow stains, and cuts had become silvery scars, yet the sight of those tell-tale signs of a previous brawl seemed to urge Lord Styrkr on rather than intimidating him.

Cróga, on the other hand, reacted as a wolf who was used to being ahead of his peers. It didn't matter that Lord Styrkr had royal blood; Cróga simply saw another male who needed put in his place. I suspect the two would have clashed, and clashed fiercely, if my father hadn't intervened, snapping Cróga's name in warning and reminding him that Lord Styrkr was already a beta male in his own right. Cróga stiffened at that, because in any ordinary pack, he would have already claimed beta rank too. In many ways, he and Lord Styrkr should've been equals, and I decided my father should tread carefully, or he could incite Cróga into challenging Aonair. And unlike with father, I felt certain that Cróga could already win that battle.

A low, grating growl continued to vibrate through my brother as his body tensed, still ready to fight, but he made no move to attack our guest. Instead he cast a resentful glare at our father, and I suspected he was wondering if defying Father was worth another beating. Maybe the idea of being forced to submit in front of Styrkr seemed unpalatable, or maybe it was the brush of Aoibhinn's hand against his back that quietened Cróga, but he did eventually take his seat, letting Lord Styrkr pass him.

A mere few weeks earlier, I would have done the same. I would have been terrified of standing my ground, because I feared strangers and how easily they could destroy my world. But having had my world turned on its head already by my father's command, I had little left to lose, and that made me reckless. When I caught sight of Lord Strykr's smirk at my brother’s capitulation, it sparked enough indignant fury in me that I stood next, stepping in front of Lord Styrkr instead.

“You are not my beta,” I gritted out, my eyes narrowing as instincts which I thought I'd lost as a frightened cub pushed forward.

“Fiáin!” my father hollered, expecting me to back down as easily as Cróga had done.
It didn't surprise me that he expected my submission, after all, I'd submitted over becoming Lord Físí’s mate. But that had been before Cróga fought for me, and before my brother taught me how to play a role. That had been before Éiri submitted by choice, and before I'd taken a place only a few seats down from my mother and father themselves.

“You are not my beta,” I repeated, without looking in my father's direction. “My beta and my alpha are in another pack, far from here. If you wish to be seated above me, then you will have to fight for that right, my lord. You cannot expect to be given everything on a silver platter because of who you are. If you are a wolf, then we do this like wolves.”

At that, Lord Styrkr looked genuinely taken aback, and I wondered what he'd been told of me to have him so surprised when I chose to stand. Perhaps news of my weaknesses had spread far and wide, just as Lord Físí's reputation preceded him. Maybe all the pack in Tírlaochra and beyond had heard of the cowardly female, dishonouring the reputation of the pack guarding the first watchtower. That possibility stung.

It also made me wonder if assessing Físí's worth, when it had been years since any of us last saw him, was more than a little unjustified. At the same time, if Lord Styrkr had heard tell of the timid female who would likely cower behind her brother all her life, then he had heard the truth. The description was accurate, and it was possible the rumours of Físí's lack of strength were true too. Either way, only one person controlled how I would be viewed moving forward, just as only Físí Faireinbhear himself could change people's perception of his worth. Hadn’t that been the point my whole family had tried to make; that only I could to decide to want more?

Was I willing to keep playing the game, as Cróga had advised? To see how far it could take me? Dare I stay on my feet as a warning growl rumbled from Lord Styrkr, or did I sit down now, submit as I almost always had, and fade into the background once more. Didn't my guilt over Mis's death come from being ashamed that I hadn't stood and fought, even though it would have been pointless and self-sacrificing? All my life, I'd been ashamed because I hadn't stood, and yet I'd continued to hide, to draw no attention and invoke no wrath, and where had that gotten me, really?

“I can't sit. If I do, I'll never stand.” I breathed, more to myself than to Lord Styrkr. Then, with more force, I added, “How this goes is up to you, my lord. Take a seat now, or make me move aside.”

His brows pulled together and his grey eyes raked over me, assessing me as he would any opponent, or maybe as prey. Then his gaze flicked to my father, and whatever he saw there, made his decision for him.

“I am not here to make enemies, and I will not bruise you when I have been tasked at delivering you safely to your mate,” he conceded. “I will sit by you, but be careful that you haven't chosen to prove yourself against the wrong male. I am not your mate, who may need your strength to retain control of his pack. I am not you brother, who would give up his position for you, even though he should be fighting to gain his own rightful place. If you push me, I will push back.”

With that, Lord Styrkr sat, taking a position between me and Cróga. For a moment, I stared at our guest in surprise, having not expected him to bend so easily. When I glanced at Cróga, my brother smiled and winked, then nodded towards my own seat, telling me without words to take the place he'd given me, as if I owned it. I felt grateful for that reassuring gesture. Even though I knew that having Styrkr sat next to him would nettle my sibling, he still sought to bolster me, and that meant more to me than I'd ever be able to tell him.

What surprised me most, though, was that when I looked at Father, I found no anger in his expression. Sadness lingered because I'd as good as declared he was no longer my alpha, just as I'd declared I’d no longer see him as my father if he sent me away, but there was worry too. Doubt creased his brow into a frown, and for a moment, I held his gaze, my head high, and hoped he saw the challenge in my expression. Wasn't this what he wanted? Hadn't this been his goal?

The meal that followed hadn't been the most relaxed affair I'd ever attended, and when I finally climbed the stairs to return to my room, I'd felt relieved to escape both the grim silence of Father and Lord Styrkr, and the disbelieving sidelong glances which my siblings cast my way. It had been nice to seek out the privacy of my room, and climb back into the safety of my bed. But dawn brought a new day, and I suspected the previous night's tension would remain at breakfast.

“You could always just stay up here and let them get on with it,” I murmured to myself. Then I realised I'd be letting Cróga down by resorting to hiding again, so I climbed out of bed and pulled on a robe, then headed to the bathroom with a bundle of clothes clutched in my hands.

The warm water, fragranced with lavender oil, was nice. At least that’s what I told myself when I lingered longer than necessary in the bath, delaying another face off with my family at Lord Styrkr for as long as possible. Then, once my skin had winkled from spending too long in the water, I finally climbed out a redressed in another tunic and britches combination that would likely earn more of Aisling's disapproval.

My sister had always been the golden-haired beauty of the pack; the one who took inspiration from elven ladies in their fine gowns, who knew she would draw male attention as soon as she decided she wanted it. Yes, she hunted and sailed too, but she was neither as fast as Céillí and I when chasing down deer, nor as adept at navigation. In those areas, she performed adequately, but not exceptionally; her skills lying in her patience with the cubs, even though she had lost patience with me, and her ability to fight to keep her position, a talent which would give her an edge when defending any pack she might join as alpha female.  She would be an attractive mate, an elegant lady, and a fierce mother wolf, all the things her rank demanded of her.

Me, on the other hand? With hair the colour of dark earth and more interest in ships than in socialising... I was neither a beauty nor much of a lady, really. I felt out of place, a feeling which would only increase when I travelled inland to a manor house in the country. Gowns had no interest for me, and while I love my younger siblings, I had always feared having cubs of my own, cubs I could lose just as we had lost Mis.

I couldn't imagine that pain; the pain of losing a child that I had given life to. It set my heart racing just to think about it. And yet, in the next winter, when I would likely become fertile again and my biology would ensure I craved a male, I would have a mate to see to my needs. Where in years past I’d stuck to my room, my temperature soaring and parts of me that I ignored most of the time aching for something I'd never experienced, by the coming winter I'd have a male who expected me to bear his young. It would be my duty to let him take me, to put a cub in my belly, and instinct would likely take over, forcing me to allow it just to ease the torturous ache brought on by a surge in hormones. I'd give in, because the was what females in season did. Then I would have to live with the consequences, caring for a fragile young life when I wasn't even sure I could care for myself.

“Stop thinking about this,” I growled at myself. “Stop procrastinating and go downstairs.”

With that, I stomped out of the bathroom and stalked down to the hall, following my nose to the smell of bacon and eggs, even while my mind continued to spiral with doubts and self-flagellation. Food might soothe my tempestuous emotions at least. A balm to my irritation which would only worsen with hunger.

Of course, my irritation flared more anyway when I entered the hall to discover Lord Styrkr sat beside my aunt, with a gap between him and Cróga. Maybe he wanted to avoid getting too close to my glaring brother, but more likely he wanted me to take that place, behind him, despite the previous night's display.

A growl rumbled out of me and I stalked the length of the hall, feeling some small amount of triumph when Ion and Éiri both ducked their heads in respect. Cróga grinned as I march up to our guest, passing him to stand behind him and my aunt.

“Move,” I demanded, not willing to show any weakness, no matter how I felt about myself.

Lord Styrkr didn't budge, shovelling bacon into his mouth and ignoring me completely, which provoked more indignation than I realised I could feel, considering I’d been kept low in the pack for most of my life. My aunt didn't share Styrkr's reluctance, and she shuffled closer to my mother, making room for me, which I took before Styrkr could close the gap again. A low growl of his own escaped him, and I responded in kind, the challenge I'd set the night before still lingering between us, but he made no move to press the matter as I loaded up my plate, and nor did anyone else.

“You youngsters should get out of the tower for a while,” Father stated when silence fell, the tension becoming oppressive. “You should show Lord Styrkr around, take him to temple, perhaps. Or up to the ruins of the first elven barracks, where the high elves were stationed during the construction of the watchtower. Stretch your legs. Burn off some energy. Get out from under our feet while your aunt cares for Aonair, and while you mother prepares for the arrival of your new siblings.”

“What about the grotto?” Aisling offered, her tone cheerful. “It's a nice walk and the grotto is pleasant. Wasn't the sacred ash tree grown from a seed brought from the northlands when the first wolves sailed here? It's a connection between our people and Lord Styrkr's.”

“No!” my father and Cróga said together, too forcefully not to draw the scrutiny of everyone else in the room.

I kept my head down, munching bacon in the hope that my expression didn't give away my brother's secret, that the tree had already begun to turn.

“I don't want you to go that far,” Father amended. “While there's been no further sightings of the white wolf, I would prefer you stayed closer to home.”

“The white wolf?” Lord Styrkr asked, his attention suddenly so focussed on my father that suspicion rose its head again, and for the second time in as many days, I had to remind myself that he had been a cub himself when Mis died.

“My twin brother's murderer,” I answered when the rest of my family hesitated. There was little point in sugar coating the truth, and it had always bothered me that my family chose to skirt around the issue rather than being direct. “We never managed to bring him to justice, but a wolf matching his description recently attacked a family on the causeway. He evaded capture again, but his reappearance is the reason I am being exiled.

A frown creased Lord Styrkr's brow, and his grey eyes grew stormier. Whatever caused his grim expression, it increased my suspicion, and I narrowed my eyes at him.

“You know something,” I stated, and it wasn't a question, which caused the rest of the pack to turn towards us.

The wolf beside me hesitated, reluctant to admit whatever he knew, but surround by an unfamiliar pack, he could do little other than tell the truth. It would've been dangerous to remain quiet, a point emphasised when my father's warning growl added strength to my own.

“There are rumours,” Lord Styrkr confessed at last. “Tales of a white wolf stalking the coastal regions of Veðrheimr. They say he isn't part of a pack, but that he wanders alone, attacking both people and prey with equal ferocity. His reputation is part myth, and part a response to several unsolved crimes. Over the last decade or two, several boys and men have vanished, or their bodies have been found, either in some blood-drenched field or floating in the surf. While it's likely the murders and disappearances are unrelated, the archetype of the white wolf has gained notoriety; he's become a creature that mothers use to terrify their cubs into behaving, and no one knows what is true anymore.

“Some say the white wolf is accompanied by another, but sightings of that second male are rarer, and he might not have any basis in reality at all. In truth, many doubt that either are real, and they claim that the white wolf is just the personification of the common folk's superstition. And I can understand why they believe as much... We've tried to find this outlaw, but he's always evaded our guards and us.  He's a ghost, appearing like a grim spectre and bringing death on his heels, then merging into the darkness or the sea fret without a trace. At times, even my father doubts he exists at all, or that he didn't die years ago. No person has ever actually seen him. No one who lived to tell about it, anyway.”

“I saw him,” I answered, irritated that anyone would doubt the existence of that vile murderer. “I was there when he clamped his jaws around my brother, shook him until his bones broke, then tossed him to the ground like a discarded rag. I was close enough to see the unnatural red of his eyes, and the stunted appearance of his tail, without its missing tip. I can describe the blood staining his white fur, and dripping from his maw. He exists, Lord Styrkr, and his ability to evade capture doesn't make him an incorporeal ghost, it makes him dangerous.”

“How old were you?” Lord Styrkr asked, and something that might have been empathy sparked in his eyes.

“Four. We were playing in the meadow, not far from where the pack were hunting, waiting for their return. Mis trusted easily, and we didn't know anyone would want to hurt us...” I murmured, regretting that truth, and also regretting that I'd had to learn otherwise.

“You're lucky to be alive,” he answered, studying me, his frown still in place. “You were fortunate not to share your twin’s fate.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” I retorted, my voice brittle with regret. “Cowardice kept me alive, then, and it's the reason I'm being sent away now.”

“You were a cub...” Mother began, from her place at Father's side.

Shaking my head, I insisted, “I'm a wolf, and I was his twin. Better he had died knowing someone had fought for him, than knowing I'd hidden, as if his life was worth less than my own.”

I pushed my plate away, my food barely touched, saying to no one in particular, “I'm going to the library, come and get me when you’re ready to leave for the temple or ruins.”

Then I escaped, conscious that I was once again being studied, each word and act being dissected by my family and our guest. For a moment, I wondered what they saw, then I decided I was better off no knowing.