Conversation remained stilted when I returned to my siblings. Lord Styrkr had offended them, and they had closed ranks, while he remained sullen, still disgusted by what he saw as our betrayal of our own heritage. The tension which lingered would be noticeable to anyone, and considering we had come dangerously close to grating on our alpha's last nerve with our earlier posturing, it seemed sensible to avoid the watchtower for a while longer... Even if I suspected Cróga and Styrkr might come to blows.
“We should go up to the ruins, like Father said. Burn some energy,” Taibh suggested as we escaped the temple and stepped back into the sunshine and the bustle of the street, seeming to read my mind. “It's a nice walk.”
“I'm sure Lord Styrkr has no interest in visiting the ruins of an elven fort,” Éiri answered, glaring at our guest. “He seems to have a problem with non-wolves.”
“I have no problem with other species,” Styrkr snapped back, baring teeth, his expression indignant. “We still value trade, and the alliance which allows us to defend both our countries as a joint, co-ordinated force. But I have a problem with wolves who show no respect for themselves, for their heritage.”
“We should go to the barrows,” Aisling butted in, and the rest of us stared at her in surprise.
“Why on earth would you want to go there? It's dark, and cold, and it gives me the creeps,” Céillí interjected, and while I agreed with her, I also understood what Aisling was trying to show our guest.
“Each new barrow is built over a ship, over a longboat, like those our ancestors first sailed in. We don't place our dead in a stone crypt like wealthy humans, or cremate them and scatter their ashes on the wind like the dragon riders. We don't place their bodies under a sapling oak or birch like the forest elves, or in stone crypts like the dwarves. We lie them in the boats, and bury them within the confines of their wooden planks, then we build mounds around them, to protect the dead and the treasures they took with them to the grave. That ritual isn't the way of the elves. It came with us from Veðrheimr.”
“The old gods are still carved into the beams and stone that hold up the entrances to each mound,” Cróga remembered, realising what Aisling and I were suggesting. “Even though the High Priest presides over each funeral, offering the blessing of Tírlaochra's gods, afterwards we carry our dead to the barrows, to be eternally watched over by the gods of our ancestors. It's a long time since any of us went and lit candles at the gate, for the dead we are supposed to honour. It isn't such a bad suggestion; making the effort to do so.”
Céillí opened her mouth to protest, but one look from Cróga silenced her, and I suspected the decision had been made. No one asked Lord Styrkr's opinion, and he didn't offer any argument, perhaps realising that he was outnumbered by a group of his peers; wolves who he'd already antagonised. Our guest's expression remained aloof, though, only shifting between silent disinterest and icy scorn, and I doubted he approved of the suggested venture.
Turning towards the citadel’s main gate, Cróga led us further from the tower, pausing only briefly to tell the guards on duty where were we going, in case Father came looking for us. Not that we imagined he would; we were old enough to care for ourselves, and we were in a large enough group that no lone assailant would dare attack us. Still, I remained alert, scanning the now bare earth of the fields and the trees beyond for any sign of movement; and flash of white fur.
The skittish way my eyes flicked to every fluttering butterfly or hopping rabbit didn't go amiss, and neither did the way my ears twitched, turning to every sound, no matter how ordinary. To my siblings, my wariness was nothing unexpected, although I imagined Cróga would prefer that I relaxed, playing his game of pretend. But either the recent sighting of my brother's killer, or Lord Styrkr's stories of the murderous legendary wolf preying on youths in Veðrheimr, had made me nervous. Too nervous to settle.
YOU ARE READING
Wild Watchtower: Shield & Claw Book One
WerewolfWhoever Fiáin was born to be died along with her twin brother. She died when a strange white wolf came into their territory and murdered her brother in front of her. All her life, Fiáin had lived with the guilt of having hidden rather than trying to...
