Writing for Fun
October 2016
The Oak and the Mistletoe - Maureen Rampersaud
Aleen drew the rough blanket around her shoulders as she perched precariously in the oak tree above the Sacred Place. A cold wind had arrived with the promise of snow not far behind. She knew that the mysterious Druids made their sacrifices here and she wanted to know more. Her parents told her to keep away from these powerful people as there were whispers of human sacrifices among the villagers. Aleen had just come of age, sheltered and innocent of the world outside.
Her long, red hair, the colour of autumn leaves, hung around her shoulders, catching in the branches when she turned her head. She spied mistletoe sprouting profusely not far from her, so she whiled away the time fashioning a circlet from the leaves and white berries and placed it on her head.
She was startled by a sound beneath her and looked down to see a youth, so handsome, that it took her breath away. His hair was as dark as a raven’s wing and he was even taller than her father. He was placing a goblet and other things on the altar. Aleen saw something glinting in the moonlight and jumped when she saw it was a long-bladed knife. The branch started cracking under her weight, alerting the youth in time to break her fall.
Pulling her up to face him, his black eyes were blazing, but seemed to soften as he gazed into her green eyes, wide with fear. She felt that he could see into her very soul.
‘I am Cathbad, son of Cathbad the Powerful and you must be Aleen, the Curious!’
‘How do you know my name?’ she asked with a confidence she did not feel.
‘Nothing can be hidden from me.’
He looked hard at her again with eyes that would almost pierce the rocks around them with their power. She felt a fiery heat within her, despite the snow swirling around them.
Cathbad picked a white berry from her hair.
‘You know what this means, don’t you?’
Aleen shook her head.
‘It means I must kiss you.’
He put his arm around her waist and kissed her lips, gently.
‘What else can you see?’ she whispered.
‘Our lives, intertwined forever . . . like the oak and the mistletoe.’