12.
Placement
Comfrey, stoneroot, burnet.
Palva was sorting through her herbs, not really paying attention to what she was doing. It wasn’t the plants she saw before her eyes now; it was Leron. Leron, with his glittering grey eyes and slow hunter’s smile. Liyra knew, didn’t she? That he had tried to kill Tir? Palva had told her right away, in fact. She gritted her teeth and separated the comfrey, brushing it off into a neat pile. Liyra had understood the importance of Tir, of course—Tir being central to the prophecy, a prophecy of which Palva had, not for the first time, been required to remind Liyra.
But Liyra also understood the importance of pack stability. Leron was a powerful force among them—whether well-liked or not, he was tough and shrewd and good at keeping wolves alive. As captains go, he would be irreplaceable. Removing Leron from his position would create a power vacuum in the pack, which would force the Council members to turn on each other so that the place may be filled. And Rya knows that the last thing they needed, in this strange new land, was a pack fighting amongst itself.
So Liyra had warned Leron: that the outsider was to be left alone. But Palva knew Leron, and she knew that this would only serve to amplify whatever suspicions he may already have. And it would simply force him to seek cleverer means of getting rid of Tir.
Garlic, indigo, plantain.
Was he going to try it again? Not openly, Palva knew. His next step would be to call a Council meeting and do his best to get Tir cast out. That wouldn’t make a difference, of course. The rest of the Council didn’t know about the prophecy, but Alpha Liyra would never want Tir to leave her sight again.
Mint, burdock.
Palva frowned. She was almost out of burdock; she should go and search for some soon… Leron would soon know he could not shake Alpha Liyra. Would he dare try to harm Tir again? How far would he go to be rid of the “outsider”? Palva knew Leron hated strangers, and she had a good guess as to why. Leron had been the leader of a ragtag group of wolves, a group that could only roughly be called a “pack”. This group had consisted of Sirle, Xelind, Xelind’s sister, and two others whose names Palva had never known. Sirle and Xelind were still devoted to Leron—though whether this was out of respect for what he had led them through or fear of how he had come to lead them, Palva did not know. She did not know where Leron had come from before he had taken leadership of his “pack”—but he had killed its current alpha, and in doing so had created a life for himself.
It was possible that Leron was once an outsider himself, a renegade. Palva growled in her throat. That would explain his current paranoia of strange wolves, Tir included. He knew from personal experience—his own actions—how quickly things could happen, and the dangers which often accompany wolves with no backgrounds.
Yarrow, burdock, woundwort.
So Tir was still in danger, so long as Leron’s attention was focused on him. This new land was peaceful, as far as they knew. Leron did not trust peace. Leron needed something against which he could focus his energy, and that something, at the moment, was Tir—an outsider and survivor of a fire, the first creature the pack had come across in this new, strange land; a young wolf who may have ambitions. They knew nothing about Tir’s old pack, except that it was dead. For all Leron knew, Tir had been cast out. Palva would have been suspicious as well, if she were not convinced that Tir had been sent by Rya.
Leron did not believe in Rya. He would never—could never—understand the importance of the prophecy, for the same reasons he did not understand Palva’s own authority in the Council. Palva, the Gatherer, was a wolf who could not physically fight to protect those under her and thus, by Leron’s judgment, had no place giving orders to them. The malignant attention he had directed at Palva during their journey from the dangerous old lands had now been diverted to Tir—and, in a way, Palva knew that she was to blame. After all, the only reason Tir hadn’t been killed once they had found him was because Palva had seen him for what he was and had not allowed it. To Leron, Tir was also a thriving symbol of the Gatherer’s power over him and the rest of the pack.
Palva had not considered it from this angle before. If Tir was killed, she would share some of the blame. But there was nothing that she, Palva the Gatherer could do—was there?
Chamomile, yew—
Palva looked down at the bundle of innocent-looking red berries which contained a horrible power. Amazing, really—it was not often thought of the way herbs could harm as well as heal. Not the berries themselves, but the tiny black seed which they protected inside the red flesh. She remembered Nerasa, days ago, joking with her as she often did:
“But really, if you have any yew berries lying around—”
Palva had rebuked her then. But now her paws were beginning to shake. Leron had fought his way to his Captain position. No wolf in the redoubt, save Alpha Liyra, could beat him in a fight. Leron hated Palva because of her lack of physical strength—a paradox, when placed alongside the authority she wielded in the Council. To Leron, strength is authority, because strength means survival. But not even the strongest of wolves could survive a poison. Poison can only be defeated by an antidote, something of which only Palva knew.
She stared at the yew berries, mesmerized. These berries spoke the same as Leron—the brutal language of survival. Devour us, they said, And we shall devour you. It would be so simple. A wolf like Leron would never imagine that a plant could defeat him at his own game, under his own terms. He would never imagine the terrible power at a crippled Gatherer’s disposal.
Palva was jolted out of her thoughts by a sharp howl. It shattered the cold air like a stone, and Palva leaped to her feet, shedding her terrifying ideas like wisps of dead grass as her mind resurfaced to the immediate issue. Liyra was calling Council meeting. She had been expecting it.
Palva arrived at the redoubt as soon as she could. Liyra, Simetra, Sirle, and Leron were congregated in the very center of the redoubt main, and Simetra was busy irritably shooing a few stray wolves away. Palva ran up to them, lopsided on her three good legs. She was almost never lopsided.
The others stared at her as she arrived, but she ignored their glances. Instead, she focused on Alpha Liyra.
“I assume this meeting was called under the decision of Tir’s Placement?” she said.
Liyra nodded, and waited until Simetra had finished snarling at the persistent bystanders. Simetra sat down beside Palva, looking sullen, and Liyra stood taller to address all of them.
“You all know the reason of this meeting?” she asked.
“’Course we do,” Simetra snapped. “It’s the newcomer’s Placement.”
Liyra nodded again, ignoring her irritable tone. “That is correct. The newcomer, Tir, his name is, has completed both of his assessments. Correct?”
Both Sirle and Simetra nodded. Palva smiled grimly.
Liyra nodded in reply, satisfied. “Well then,” she said, “We must weigh his displayed abilities in each of the assessments. You know how the reports go. Sirle? Would you care to go first?”
Sirle stood up and padded into the space beside Liyra. He surveyed the others with his cold, black eyes and frowned.
“This outsider,” he spat the word with distaste. “…is not suitable for pack life. He was impudent to the Captain, and he showed disregard for orders.”
“Nonsense,” Simetra said, rising. “I found him to be very agreeable, and a fine hunter as well.”
Palva looked at Leron, pale eyes gleaming.
“I have heard much about his first assessment, too,” she said. “And might I say, Leron, you have very interesting training techniques.”
Leron met her gaze evenly. “I’ve been told that before, Gatherer,” he said, smiling with the sort of gracious smile that told Palva he knew exactly what she was talking about. “But I’m afraid I must agree with the Chief Sentinel in this case. My best efforts had little effect on the outsider. Perhaps he requires different tactics?”
Liyra was w
atching this exchange with a nervous interest.
“Well,” she said. “Why don’t we let Sirle finish his report? Please, Palva, Leron. Simetra?”
Simetra sank back down, her fur flattening. Leron said nothing more, but did not remove his gaze from Palva, and continued smiling. Sirle, standing before them, also spread his tiny white teeth in what was obviously meant to be a mimicry of a smile. He continued speaking at a sort of dull, monotonic pace, but Palva doubted that anyone heard his report. Doubtless, Leron had already told him what to say.
“…His fighting skills are poor; and he shows no promise of getting better. He has absolutely no knowledge of scouting and patrolling the land. This wolf is useless.”
Sirle finished and sat down, looking rather pleased with himself. Liyra appeared a bit taken-aback by Sirle’s bluntness, and her voice had a distinct note of crispness when she spoke.
“Thank you, Sirle, but whether he is useless or not will be for me to decide. Simetra appears to think differently, judging by the note of her outburst. Your report, please, Simetra?”
Simetra stalked up to the place beside Liyra and glowered at the wolves in front of her.
“Simply because a wolf cannot fight well is no reason that he is useless. And it seems to me that you were implying that any wolf who is not a Sentinel is useless. Might I remind you that the only reason you are fed tonight is from the hard work of the useless wolves hunting out in the cold.”
She surveyed them all challengingly, but none had a comment to make.
“This newcomer has all the makings of a proper Hunter. He caught a rabbit faster than I have ever seen any wolf do it, and did well patrolling also. He followed my orders straight to the line, and got along well with the others.”
She paused and looked at Liyra, yellow eyes sharp and irritated. “Need we discuss this any further? Obviously, this useless wolf has a place among the Hunters.”
Liyra dipped her head in agreement, looking pleased. Palva nodded in approval, and allowed herself some relief. Tir had found himself a place; and it was far away from Captain Leron. The Hunters were a clannish bunch; he would make friends with them easily, and they would be quick to protect him.
Liyra looked around at the wolves in front of her. “Well?” she said. “Are there any objections? Do we all agree?”
Palva and Simetra said “yes” at the same time. Sirle and Leron looked at each other.
“Yes,” Leron said at last, and Sirle gave a short nod.
“Well then!” Liyra said. “It is time for his Placement!”
At this, the alpha raised her head to the setting sun and filled the frigid air with her summoning howl.