“Is that why you look so sad?” Catherine took Bowen’s hand, looking up at his face.
“This place was once filled with oak trees. They were old and glorious. Now they are all gone, uprooted and cut from the earth . . .” his voice grew quieter.
“A lot has happened in two thousand years, Bowen,” Catherine said. “From what I’ve studied of the ancient druids, there wasn’t much peace coming from other cultures and religions. Oak trees were very sacred to you, right? Didn’t that come from the Greeks?”
“Yes, the oak trees are very sacred. They represented life to us, among other things. After that day, that day when Conall’s life was destroyed before the oldest of oak trees in the grove, this place only represented death and sorrow to me,” he looked deep into Catherine’s eyes, then glanced up at one of the remaining stones next to him. He took his hand from it and then answered, “Some of our religion was connected to the ancient Greeks, yes. They too upheld the oak tree as sacred.”
Catherine nodded, and tugged on his arm to walk with her. They looked for any clue, scanning with bird-like vision, but found nothing. Only stone.
Mary waited for them where she sat, too tired to walk. Sometime later, when they returned to her, she simply said, “Aye, I’m an old woman, I am,” answering an unasked question, before turning around to begin the descent. The two companions exchanged looks and smiled. As they walked, Catherine wondered why it was so easy to trust her.
“Mary?”
“I can hear you, Caty,” was her response.
Catherine made a face at the nickname, but continued “How do you know about the curse, and that we’re involved?”
Mary opened her front door and let them into the empty living room before she securely locked it behind her. “Hmm,” she said, gesturing for them to follow. She opened a door down the hall and they were hit with the smell of old books. The room was filled to the brim with yellowed and worn pages between battered covers, as well as rolled up documents. Catherine was the first to step in. She’d never seen so many books in one place outside of a library. A large wooden table was in the middle of the room, covered with old newspapers and other papers. Catherine raised an eyebrow at a mug half-filled with cold coffee, looking as though it had been there for a few days. Some of those rolled documents were on the table as well as a bench nearby. Catherine looked back at Mary in the doorway who was clearly enjoying watching them browse.
Bowen wasn’t as fascinated as Catherine was. However, he did enjoy seeing her eyes light up at the relics, artifacts, ruins, and anything old. He wondered if Catherine liked him for that reason, that he was basically a relic. She certainly didn’t seem to take to him when they first met, not outwardly at least. Then again, he had given her the wrong first impression. Even though she now knew he had done that only to protect her, he couldn’t be sure what her true feelings were for him. Their journey had brought them closer. But how close, he couldn’t tell.
Drawing out Catherine’s positive emotions was like trying to get one sip from a thick ice cream shake through a thin straw. She did not disclose things freely. He walked around, in between the standing bookshelves, casually picking up a book to skim through. Bowen looked up through the top of a shelf and met Catherine’s eyes. His heart felt on fire. She batted her lashes while blinking the moment away and turned around to page through another text. Bowen continued casually viewing trinkets placed on a windowsill, a tiny music box, that he didn’t wind up, and a glass figure of an elephant. The elegant grace of the animal and design of the artwork itself made him smile. He stood upright and walked back around.
When Mary saw Bowen, she moved from her spot in the doorway. “I know about the curse because I read about it,” she said looking at Catherine. “I’ve studied druids for a long time,” she added, stepping into the room fully, “My ancestors were ancient druids. I don’t know if they were descended from those here, but my family has lived in this town for as far back as can be traced. They passed on knowledge throughout generations.”
“That’s why the Gaelic you spoke to Bowen is different from his and the Gaelic spoken now? You learned it from them?” Catherine asked.
“Aye, what pieces of it that survived centuries of change,” Mary said.
Bowen had already surmised all this based on their brief conversation earlier. “My people didn’t keep records other than orally. Tell me, Mary, where did you read about the curse?” he asked.
She leaned a hand on the table for balance before she spoke. “If you go back to the circle ruins of your people, then walk a bit further, you will find a message written in the stone. I believe it is for you, Bowen.”
Bowen looked at Catherine, and she gave his hand a squeeze before letting go.
He thanked Mary, and left the house. He rushed back the way they had come and searched. Thinking he had missed something, he was just about to go ask again when he noticed the ground further out was raised slightly. The years had helped conceal it, but walking over, Bowen realized it was the massive tree stump that was once the largest blooming oak tree of his people. He noticed many more such stumps now, and wept for the trees. He forgot how much he loved them.
Tracing his steps back from the largest tree stump, before he went too far, he found the engraved stone slab Mary spoke of. The ancient Latin script told the brief history of Conall and his followers. Eager to know more, he read in anxious haste. He looked closely and realized this was written by Arlana’s father, the high priest. He read on to find that Arlana died shortly after she cast the curse, and her last wish was for her father to leave this for Bowen. Below that the text stated that if Conall should be freed, the one who freed him was the only one with the ability to seal him again. This made Bowen’s mind pause. He had his answers now, but they were not the answers he wanted.
Bowen closed his eyes imagining the high priest, clothed in his white flowing garments, lifting his hands to seal the stone, knowing one day Bowen would find himself there. Bowen opened his eyes to see the gray sky above him, covered with clouds. Looking back at the stone, he thought of Arlana. It was her vindictive nature that had led to this. To put such burdens on the woman he would someday love. Bowen hated Arlana more than before. He squeezed his fists and hit his thigh hard, gritting his teeth in his chiseled jawline. Bowen decided he wouldn’t let Arlana get away with this. Yes, Catherine would have to enact this curse, but she would succeed. He would not let her suffer any more.
He remembered the need to know how, and continued reading. The text told of the staff, now destroyed in the hunter’s lair, but it also told of another item to use with it or alone.
“It can still be done . . .” Bowen exhaled.
He stood, fuming. The stone message seemed to have ended. He scrapped and kicked out some of his frustration to help reveal anything further down on the slab. But no more of the ancient script was shown. The enactment of the curse was up to Catherine now. Bowen breathed in deeply, taking in the crisp Irish air. It filled his body, and made his blood pump. He felt lightheaded as he thought of Catherine’s possible reactions to this news. With everything he felt for her, he was not looking forward to telling her, or what would spiral from it thereafter.
CHAPTER SIX
DANNY WOKE WITH a splitting headache, and soon realized he was bound to a stone fence. He saw strange-looking men and women everywhere he looked. Then he remembered his blind chase for Síne. He needed to find her quickly, to get back to his sister. He knew Catherine would be safe with Bowen, but he also knew she would be worried sick about him. He didn’t like the way he left, but he needed Síne to lead them to Conall when they were ready to enact the curse. When he returned to his normal life, he needed her so he could keep his promise to the Gardai. But he couldn’t find her, no matter how hard he tried. He couldn’t be sure he was tracking her. Days and days with hardly any food or water and sleeping without shelter had left him shaky and unwell. The last thing he remembered was feeling relief when he suddenly spotted Síne and stalke
d her movements before she snuck up and clubbed him from behind.
Grimacing as he tried to shift against his binds, he bitterly regretted leaving his sister on this foolish attempt to recapture an ancient druid woman who was clearly more intelligent than he was.
Suddenly, noticing that Danny was awake, some men stopped in their tracks. They spoke in an unknown language. The conversation ended abruptly and they came over. Danny tried to brace himself. But to his surprise they freed him. Still, Danny’s hopes of escaping were quickly dashed when he realized there were too many of them for him to sneak around, even if he could struggle enough to remove himself from the men. He was too weak from hunger and illness to even try.
The men brought Danny to a clearing where what looked like an army of wild-looking men and women were gathered. They seemed to be separated into two contentious tribes. In the middle of the two groups stood three men, who were clearly unhappy with something. Danny couldn’t hope to figure it out. His two captors carried him towards the middle, and waited patiently for a break between the three men.
A swift kick from one man to another caused an uproar from all around. The perpetrator gave a barbaric growl and sneered menacingly. He turned his angry glare on Danny.
The hateful man approached them, leaving everyone behind to wait. He looked Danny over like he was a captive animal to be surveyed. The men were clearly speaking to the man about him, and so he waited, hoping to be released. He suddenly spotted Síne in the crowd. She was walking towards them, apparently called on by this evident leader. An explanation followed.
The leader stood with one arm wrapped around himself, and the other propped so he could massage his cheek with ease. Danny felt uncomfortable, being forced to watch the man disrupt the healing process of a large cut near his left eye. Suddenly the leader punched Danny in the gut, and his legs collapsed under him. His weight fell completely on his two guards as he was carried back to the fence and bound alongside it against a tree. It didn’t matter what happened now, Danny thought, as he lost all his strength.
*
“Is that all I need to do?” Catherine asked, when everything was explained to her. She leaned against a tree with ragged bark.
Bowen looked surprised, “No, there is more that wasn’t written there.”
“How are we going to find that out then?” Catherine sounded pained, and tapped her fingers impatiently on the tree.
“The rest, I know,” Bowen answered.
“How did Arlana know you would?”
“Because every one of us knew the beginning rituals of our religion. It was part of our worship,” Bowen paused and stepped close to Catherine in a serious manner. “It will be difficult, but I will help you.”
Catherine looked concerned, but she nodded slowly.
Bowen watched her face carefully as he spoke. “We must find a chalice,” his voice rumbled in his throat.
“What kind of chalice?” she asked.
“It is an ancient Greek chalice,” he said.
“. . . Okay, will any ancient Greek chalice out there do?”
“No, it’s a specific kind of chalice. It holds knowledge of the stars,” he answered.
“Of course it does,” Catherine laughed. “Unless there’s more you can tell me, we’ve got a problem. I’ve never heard of a magical cup from ancient Greece.”
Bowen smirked, “It’s a particular kind of skyphos.”
“A two-handled wine cup,” she said. He raised his eyebrow. “I don’t know why you’re shocked. You know I work at an art and history museum. Not to mention I have a degree in ancient studies with an art and history minor. But that last part you didn’t know, so I can’t blame you for that.”
“I do know that. I know a lot about you, Catherine. I observed you for a long time before we met.”
Catherine didn’t find it strange that he’d watched her now that she knew why. But still it was disconcerting to talk to him and find out he already knew something she had only just revealed to him. She knew she should feel more violated, but she didn’t. She shrugged, and continued on.
“If it’s a specific skyphos, then can you tell me what it looks like?” she asked.
“It will be decorated with many stars,” he answered.
Catherine hesitated, “. . . I don’t know if I’ve seen one with stars on it.”
“Truly? They should be common, with constellations that make up a snake, or lion, among others,” Bowen was skeptical.
“A lion? Oh! Why didn’t you just say it had animal drawings on the side?” Catherine remembered pictures she had on her old phone. Pictures of an old clay cup with images of a lion, rabbit, a bull, and a few more animals painted below the rim.
“There’s one at my museum. It’s been in the collection a few years. Are you saying the animals are actually meant to be constellations?” she asked, amazed. Catherine was relieved to be helpful to Bowen for once. But she wasn’t sure how they were going to get any skyphos for whatever Bowen planned to do with one. Ancient art wasn’t exactly in her budget.
Bowen’s eyes widened at her sudden revelation. He thought it would be near impossible to find a skyphos intact nearby. He hadn’t been sure where to start looking. He remembered a few places his people kept them for ritual purposes, an altar built for a skyphos to be stowed away forever in some instances. But he wasn’t sure if they had remained in place all these years. He never had any reason to track them down. Visibly relieved that one was more readily accessible to them, he thanked Catherine, and said, “Yes, most are constellations.”
“What do they do?” she asked curiously.
“You will see,” he answered.
“The next question is how are we going to get it, especially when I’m supposed to be dead right now?” Catherine frowned.
Bowen had forgotten about that.
“Perhaps I can help?” a voice rang from around the corner.
Catherine and Bowen turned their heads to see Kenneth approach. Raising a hand, Kenneth said apologetically, “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”
“Well sure, if you think you can . . .” Catherine wondered how he could possibly help, but decided to wait and see what he had to say.
Kenneth held out his tanned arm to show a uniform draped neatly over it. Catherine leaned forward, and her eyes widened. It was the same uniform that the guards wore at the museum.
She looked at Kenneth, “Where did you get this?” she asked, her voice sharp.
“I work there a few times a week. It’s near my flat,” he explained.
“What shift?”
“It changes each week. I’m not permanent, even though I’ve been there awhile. I fill in when I’m needed.”
“I—I don’t know if I ever saw you before . . .” Catherine held her temple trying to recall, stepping back against the tree. No bells were ringing.
“I don’t think you did. I saw you there,” he shrugged, “a handful of times. You were very busy receiving and cataloging the artifacts. Your attention was rarely diverted to anything else,” Kenneth responded.
Catherine didn’t say anything, but she guessed Kenneth was right because she had no memory of any of the guard’s faces. She only recognized this uniform. She wondered what he thought about her “death,” if he even knew. Catherine traced her fingers in tiny circles on the tree behind her absentmindedly, pressing in hard. Her finger-tips lost the little color they had. She felt nervous. Finally, Catherine pushed off from the tree in a decided manner. “How can you help us?”
“I could get you inside, easily.”
“You mean . . . to steal it?”
Kenneth held her questioning gaze without flinching.
“Why do you want to help with this?” Bowen asked.
“Because helping you would help my Gran. She’s always wanted to be a part of that old druid legend.” He gestured up the hill to An Garrán Oaken.
It was Bowen’s turn to fall silent.
Catherine nodded awkwardly to Kenneth, as if to finis
h the conversation.
“I’ll be going back late tonight,” he said, and he turned to walk back towards the small house.
“Well, this just might work,” Bowen said when they were alone again. He looked confidently at Catherine, who frowned. “It’s perfect. Because you’re dead, no one should suspect it’s actually you. We may just be able to use that to our advantage.”
Catherine disliked the idea of stealing the chalice, almost as much as she disliked being dead to most everyone she knew. But she had to stop Conall, and she had to find her brother. At her breaking point, she decided she would do whatever she had to do to finish this . . . whatever she had to do.
*
Mary had been told about their objective, without the details. Kenneth saw to that, and they didn’t object. The less people involved in their crime, the better.
Catherine relaxed against her seat where she could, though her healing wounds made it almost impossible to do so at first. She hadn’t slept much in the car when they left last night. She gazed out the window at the now familiar terrain. Turning to Kenneth she asked, “Are you close with anyone at the museum?”
“No, it’s too erratic a schedule for that. The only other guard I talk to is a superstitious man who hates his job. He’s always telling me he feels it’s bad luck to have such old artifacts together in one place,” he answered. After scratching behind his neck he added, “Though I hardly ever see him these days.”
Catherine nodded before leaning forward a bit on her lap. The sun felt good against her back. She could almost sleep like this if it weren’t for the swaying of the car. Drifting off alone in her own world of thoughts, she stayed like that for as long as it was comfortable, feeling calm for once. The potent fragrance of Mary’s laundry detergent was still wafting off Bowen’s black shirt, practically smacking her in the face. She soon reached to roll her window down enough for some relief.
Kenneth looked innocently at Bowen, his eyes full of curiosity. “How did you know you couldn’t leave Ireland?” he asked bluntly. “Had you tried before?”
Oak & Mistletoe Page 15
