Oak & Mistletoe

by McCauley, J. Z. N.

  “Catherine, you’re alive!” Bowen’s voice echoed sweetly in Catherine’s ears. Though her heart swelled with happiness to know he was near, and she was thankful for his help, her heart also sank at the thought that he too was in danger.

  The guard saw him too, and rushed forward, thrusting from his side then swinging a crude sword. Bowen grabbed the man’s arm and twisted it over so he could knock the wind out of him with his knee jabbing hard in his belly. The guard collapsed, and Bowen punched him quickly before he could make much noise. He fell silent on the ground, breathing with difficulty in his unconsciousness.

  “Bowen! You shouldn’t have come here,” she whispered.

  “I couldn’t leave you, Catherine!”

  “You know he wants to kill you, this is too dangerous. I could have already been dead!”

  “Yes, I was sure he would kill you on sight, but either way I had to know,” he squatted next to her as he looked around to see if anyone else had noticed him.

  “. . . Bowen,” Catherine mumbled. She started to stand, but wobbled like she was on the deck of a ship in a wild storm on the high seas. Grabbing hold of the tree behind her with one hand she lowered herself back to the ground carefully.

  Bowen’s strong arm grabbed her waist and eased her down until she was stable. Catherine saw his face in the fire light. He seemed worried but also amused. “Are you really angry with me for trying to rescue you from a madman?”

  “I’m angry because you could have been killed. You still can be!”

  “If we run this way they shouldn’t catch us, especially in the dark,” he said quickly, pointing behind Catherine’s steadying post.

  “I can’t, the vertigo. I can barely stand.” Her head felt on the verge of bursting.

  He looked her over, “Come on, I’ll carry you!”

  Before Catherine could think to put her arms around his neck, a great laugh rose from behind them. That laugh had been burned into her memory and left a chill every time she heard it. Conall couldn’t be seen, but they both knew he was near.

  Suddenly, Catherine felt empty air where Bowen once stood, and a blast of cold air stung her face as if someone had run past at unthinkable speed. Bowen was pulled and thrown several feet away, with Conall standing over him. From where Catherine was it looked like Bowen’s body was contorted in a way that his neck must be broken. Catherine heard a horrid scream escape her dry throat. Tears welled up in her eyes. Letting go of the tree she had been clutching for support, she moved her hands up to her face and saw that they were shaking. At first her mind and heart revisited the image of Kathleen lying dead, but soon all she could think over and over was Bowen.

  She watched Conall yell over his limp figure, and hoped that meant maybe Bowen was still alive. When Bowen had first been thrown, his arm around Catherine’s waist had been ripped sharply from her at such a speed that his arm wrenched from its socket, and was scraped badly as it hit a passing branch. His head hit the ground so hard that it knocked him out.

  Catherine’s screams now roused him, but he couldn’t move. His body felt weak because of the position he had fallen in. Pain surged through him. Conall, his face illuminated by the fire, stared down at him. “Conall,” his voice was raspy and quiet as he tried to speak.

  “Your woman is still in Ireland, a risky choice. There must be a reason. Ah, what are you planning, Bowen?” he paused, but no answer came. “Hmm . . . no matter, I will find out another way. I knew you would come after her. You thought I would kill her immediately, didn’t you? Because you know you deserve that. With every action you prove to me your guilt!”

  “Conall, please listen to me,” Bowen spoke in their ancient language, and managed to twist enough to lay on his side. He suppressed a cry from the searing pain in his arm.

  Conall wouldn’t listen. “For years you told me you didn’t do it. You acted like it was an accident. But I knew! I knew the truth, Bowen! You can’t hide from me . . .” his voice screeched as his rage grew.

  Bowen felt his strength returning, though the pain still tortured him. He let it go out of his mind as he tried to signal to Catherine in some way to run. Looking over, however, she seemed too fragile. He could see such relief in that deathly pale face that just a second before had been filled with sorrow. He was sure when she lost Kathleen that she couldn’t possibly look more distraught, but he realized he was wrong now. Bowen had only seen that face on one other person before, the man standing between them now.

  Bowen looked quickly back at him, hoping he didn’t notice his gaze change, “It’s true that I am to blame for some of this. I understand why you can’t forgive me Conall, I do, but—”

  “DON’T!” Conall yelled angrily, “You admit it! You admit it!”

  Bowen fell silent as he watched the madness unravel in horrid awe. Catherine did the same as her body grew rigid, her heart blackened by her hatred for the man who had caused her so much suffering.

  Conall hunched over and began to shiver at an alarming rate. His body shifted slightly and began to contort, adding to the already unnatural movements. He seemed to almost grow in stature, but before much change occurred, Conall looked as if he changed his mind and everything halted briefly. Bowen’s eyes grew as he watched, and it suddenly clicked.

  “It was you!” Bowen exclaimed.

  Conall smirked. “You didn’t know?”

  Catherine was puzzled by Bowen’s sudden outburst.

  “You truly are a madman to dabble in such magic!” Bowen shouted at Conall. “By manipulating what was not yours to manipulate, you’ve brought evil to your body. You’ve made yourself inhuman!” Bowen felt sick to his core.

  “Ah Bowen, inhuman strength is what I wanted, what is wrong with that?”

  “That you ask, tells me there is no point in answering you . . .” Bowen felt defeated. He dejectedly looked to Catherine, who had puzzled at the animal-like cry escaping Conall. Then it clicked in her mind as well.

  “He was the bear!” she shouted, then quickly looked to Bowen for affirmation.

  Bowen nodded sadly.

  “I didn’t do it for your approval, did I? I did it so I could destroy everything, and slowly. No matter how strong I became, you would always be stronger. I knew I had to change, to transform. So I found a way.” Conall looked pleased with himself.

  “How? Who of our order would teach you?”

  “I stole the knowledge. I forced answers during some of the raids, before that detestable Arlana came along,” Conall squirmed when he said her name as if she was standing there in front of him, like a hideous wound in his leg that he couldn’t bear look at.

  “Wha-you can’t retain the change long can you?” Bowen said, beginning to understand.

  Conall scowled, “I couldn’t get the complete manipulation, no. The hateful woman ended everything before I could.” Then he smiled slightly. “I’ve been perfecting it slowly on my own all these centuries,” he finished proudly.

  Bowen was astounded. Catherine had replayed the bear attack, trying to see Conall in the monstrous animal that towered unbelievably high that day. She couldn’t believe it, but knew it was true. She shook her head.

  Conall became hysterical and lost all sense completely. In a flash, he was in front of Catherine. He stood her body up in one motion with his strong arm, his hand grabbing the curved bare spot between her neck and shoulder, his fingers digging hard into her collarbone. Catherine gasped in pain, but then was caught against a short stone wall as he threw her down behind them, causing her to quickly suck in a gulp of air. She felt a terrible sharp pain in her ribs which hurt with each breath. Her blood was warm as it trickled down her spine. The gash on her back had reopened. Bowen ran towards Conall, trying to rush him. He was forced to stop short when Conall pressed a jagged stone knife to Catherine’s throat. Conall was swift with the knife but careful not to cut her at first.

  “You tell her!”

  “Wait! Conall, please!”

  “Everything! Tell her NOW!” Conall
screamed.

  Catherine felt faint from the pressure of the cold, sharp stone against her neck. The surface of her skin was cut at Conall’s last emotional outburst, and a single stream of blood soaked her tangled hair.

  “I didn’t tell you everything Catherine,” Bowen said quickly in English, though in a thicker accent than usual. He was flustered. He didn’t want to say something that would push Conall completely over the edge, so he had to tread carefully. Conall relaxed his hand. Catherine’s neck stung but the knife wasn’t as heavy on her throat. Blood dampened the front of her clothes. The warmth rapidly cooled against her chest. She found it difficult at first to register what Bowen was saying, especially in such a painful position.

  “I told you about my heritage, and that I knew Conall. The reason he went mad . . .” he paused to gather his thoughts, “Conall was married, I told you. They were very much in love. They had been married for a few years, and his wife badly wanted to give him a child. They went to the priest, seeking help.” Conall shifted his weight as his eyes bored into Bowen.

  “There is a ritual. Pliny wrote about it. It’s one of the only things about my people that has survived. The ritual of oak and mistletoe. It is a fertility ritual. The mistletoe was believed to bring healing. The high priest told them he would perform this ritual, so that a baby would be born. But then Conall’s wife became obsessed with having a child. She also became very ill over time in a way I could not then diagnose. They came to me when Conall noticed she wasn’t well. When I examined her, I couldn’t explain where the fever and delusions came from. It was as though she had made herself ill. I gave her herbs to calm her, to help heal her condition. But I’m afraid it didn’t do much good.” Bowen looked regretful.

  “Keep going, Bowen. I may not speak this new language, but I’m watching this woman’s face and I’ll know when you’ve told her,” Conall smiled an evil smile. “It’s one of the things I have lived for, Bowen!”

  Bowen closed his eyes briefly, seeing himself there again. He breathed deeply and continued, “The herbs merely helped her sleep for a few days. Because of her illness the priest decided to put off the fertility ritual. He suspected she was no longer in her right mind. She started to have hallucinations, at first mild, but they increased rapidly. Conall had put all of his faith in me to heal his wife. He had become bitter with the druid priest order. He hated them for not going forward with the ritual. He believed if she conceived a child she would be well again. He came to me many times hoping I would try to convince them. I refused. One day he brought her to me to watch over while he went to work. While I was watching her, I was asked to visit someone else who was sick. I locked her in, thinking everything would be fine for just a short time. When I returned she had escaped. I couldn’t find her anywhere. I didn’t tell Conall. Instead I told everyone else I could find to help me search. It wasn’t long before we found her.”

  “Say it!” Conall screamed as he looked back and forth between Catherine and Bowen.

  “She must have gone straight to the sacred oak, where the ritual of oak and mistletoe is done. I believe she thought she could get the mistletoe herself and make the tea without the ritual. She was very delirious from the fever when I left her. She had been mumbling incoherently as she laid there barely moving. I didn’t think she had the strength to lift herself. But she did, for she climbed that oak tree, into the highest branches. I assume she slipped. We found her body contorted and broken on the ground. She was dead.” Bowen showed no sign of tears. They had dried up over the centuries. But the regret was palpable in his voice and the deeply pained look in his eyes. Catherine swallowed back tears of empathy.

  Bowen went on. “Conall had heard the commotion and, worried, joined the search. He appeared beside me very shortly after we found her. No one had touched the body yet. He screamed, Catherine, a horrid blood curdling scream that I will never forget. It was so heart wrenching, it tore at my very soul. He laid over her, his tears mingling with her hair as he kissed her and held her. He pleaded with her not to leave him. Then he begged to go too. His face was sunken in and he became a man destroyed completely.

  Conall had slowly became more and more unstable as he had watched her illness progress, the woman he loved withering away in front of him. Then, when she was completely ripped away from him, what was left of the Conall I knew disappeared. I saw him go mad with grief. He couldn’t bear it. She shouldn’t have been out in that cold, in her condition. It’s true, I should have stayed with her, or gotten someone else to watch over her until my return. Though she was already on her deathbed, and he hated the priests who refused them, he blames me entirely for it all, their inability to conceive, and her illness as well as death. After he buried her he swore that I would suffer and feel his pain before he killed me. That’s when he left home to rally his followers against our priests and create a violent divide. From that moment forward, he was the Conall you see now, torn and empty inside, consumed with his sorrow and writhing with hatred for me,” he ended sadly.

  Conall watched Catherine’s face closely. When he saw the momentary flash of judgment in her face as Bowen admitted to leaving his sick wife alone, he smiled and felt a deep satisfaction. Much like when he killed Kathleen. He knew it was hurting Bowen somehow. Yet now Catherine felt Bowen’s overwhelming pity for Conall as her body was still sprawled on the stone wall that burrowed into her back sharply. But she herself did not feel pity towards him. She still hated him, and wanted to inflict on him that which he desired for Bowen. She realized now she couldn’t hurt him any more than he had already suffered, but she wanted to rid the earth of him. She wanted him dead, and his remains to be burned so the earth would never have to bear his weight again. Then it occurred to her—from the beginning why did Conall want to hurt her to get to Bowen?

  As if Conall had read her mind, he hurried Bowen to finish with a threatening look. Bowen sighed, “He hates you because you matter more to me than anything in this world.” Catherine didn’t have a chance to digest his words.

  Conall was suddenly distracted as bitter memories replayed in his mind, and he carelessly loosened his grip on the knife until his weight was no longer painfully pressing down on Catherine. This was her last chance to break free, she told herself for courage. She lifted her legs up from the ground and kicked hard at Conall’s torso, bracing herself against the stone wall. Then she grabbed his wrist with the knife and pushed it as far away from her as possible. When Conall snapped back to her, the moving knife stabbed him in the face. He screamed, and blood dripped down on Catherine. She stood quickly as he pulled away and stumbled backwards, his hands grabbing at his bleeding face. His stone knife fell to the ground at Catherine’s feet. Frantically, Conall smeared blood everywhere, searching for the wound. In his panic, he checked his eye since the cut went up in a slit, just missing his left one. He forgot about Catherine and Bowen as he screamed.

  Bowen ran to Catherine, and swooped her over the short stone wall. They kept running. After a time, the echoes of Conall’s mad ravings faded into the distance. They had survived once more.

  As they bobbed and weaved through the thick grass, they managed to get across the field far enough so Conall couldn’t hope to see them under the cover of the forested hills. They stopped at a paved road as dawn brought them some morning light. Breathing heavily, they stretched out on the grass beside it. The sun rose quickly. Catherine’s body ached, her lungs burned inside her chest, and she only heard the loud thumping of her heart in her ears as she squeezed her eyes shut. Bowen’s dislocated arm throbbed, and he was exhausted, but he kept his eyes on Catherine.

  “Catherine . . .”

  Catherine simply waved some fingers for acknowledgment.

  Bowen stood, and looking determined he said, “I have to do something that you’re not going to like . . .”

  Catherine struggled to turn her head to look at him, confused. But before she could speak, Bowen turned away from her quickly. He walked over a few feet to a tall tree, suddenly
rushing it on the last step, smashing his dislocated shoulder against the thick trunk. His other arm had been precisely placed on the limp arm to steady the impact. A very unpleasant grinding noise erupted, and Catherine cringed.

  The impact of tree and bone were so blindingly painful that upon contact he lost control and the force threw him sprawling backwards on the ground. He lay still, and his eyes leaked tears as he breathed sharply through the pain. Catherine couldn’t look away, silent with shock. Eventually Bowen sat up slowly. Checking himself carefully, he found the movement in his arm was back to normal, but would ache badly for days at least. He looked over his good shoulder to Catherine still laying on the ground. The corners of his mouth tugged at first in a grimace, but then he managed a small smile.

  “Don’t ever do that in front of me again,” Catherine finally said.

  Bowen nodded, and losing strength to hold himself up, he fell back to stretch across the grass again.

  Despite herself, Catherine fell asleep. In her dream, she saw Conall crying over his dead wife. She wept for him. But then Kathleen appeared and Conall killed her. Catherine screamed and fell over her sister, rocking and holding her. When she looked up at Conall, he was laughing. This turned her pity to cold stone. Then everything vanished and she was standing under a stone figure of Bowen reaching out to her. Startled by this she backed away until she stumbled onto two tomb stones that read Kathleen and Catherine Green. She looked back up to Bowen but in his place was Danny with Conall. They both turned from her with hateful glares and walked away. Though they walked slowly, no matter how hard she ran after them she could not catch up.

  Catherine woke up with a jolt. Her body felt weightless and warm. But she was jostled from the unnerving feeling of falling. She awoke at the precise moment she was lifted away from the warmth in mid-air and she returned to the waking world as she was being pulled back in Bowen’s full grasp, his cradling arms around her.