the oak tree
This Story contains a number of my favourite supernatural themes. Witches and Werewolves.
The sky was a beautiful clear blue on that last day and the sun was shining warmly. It had been the same on that first day when as a young child Kara had covered the small brown acorn with the black earth at the top of the small rise. She could recall that her mother had been cross with her because she had smeared the front of her blue smock with the mud from her hands. Kara had grown up in these woods with her mother in a small wooden hut built in the lee of the valley. For her first sixteen years Kara’s mother had taught her the ways of the forest, the use of each plant and how to live in harmony with the woodland creatures. Then just as the leaves had begun to turn on Kara’s seventeenth year so turned her mothers health.
Kara had prepared the potions and boiled the brews that eased the pain and lessened the hacking of her mothers cough, but when the snow started to fall Kara knew that her mother would not make it through the winter. It happened less than two weeks before the spring thaw. Kara had sat on the floor with her head resting on the bed. She cradled her mother’s hand in her own as she listened to the harsh breathing sounds that her mother made in her sleep. Kara could not recall falling asleep but when she awoke the fire had died to embers in the hearth and a strange hush lay over the cabin. It was the completeness of the silence that made Kara realise that she had slept as her mother had taken her last breaths.
Slowly she rose and loathed to break the heavy silence, quietly stepped from the house. The snow was crisp under her bare feet and the cold air stung her cheeks turning them red. Numbly she walked to the oak tree where she knelt beneath its outspread branches to dig a grave for her mother. Kara had no shovel so she began to scrape at the snow with her bare hands. At first only the snow moved away but with effort she began to move the earth underneath. She had made little progress when her fingers began to bleed but the cold had made her numb and she could not feel the pain of her torn flesh.
The pain at the loss of her mother was different though and she could feel it rising like a wave that threatened to crash over her and wash her away. Tears of anger and despair welled up inside of her and over flowed. They streamed down her numbed cheeks to pool under her chin before falling away to the earth. She leaned slightly forward and rested her forehead against the oak, using it as a support to quell the shuddering that had come with the tears. Kara shut her eyes and clenched her hands into the dirt. “Its not fair!” She thought to herself
Brannan had thought she was dead when he first emerged into the clearing and seen the lithe form lying in the snow by the witches oak. Upon approaching the girl he had seen the small white cloud of cold air that clung about her face each time that she exhaled that told him differently. All colour had gone from the young girls face and her hands were muddy and bleeding. He bent down and levered his arms beneath her so as to pick her up. As he stood he could feel how cold she was and also see that her feet were blue and icy. Brannan turned and carried her across the clearing to the witch’s cabin that had been his original destination.
Once inside he found the witch still lying on the bed where she had died. He closed the door and crossed the room where he gently laid the girl on the floor in front of the hearth. He turned and quickly re built the fire in the grate. He used the flint stones and struck a spark to the kindling. Leaning low he blew twice into the bundle of wood, making certain that the fire would catch before he turned his attention to the girl. Her dress was sodden from where she had lain in the damp snow so he peeled it from her and wrapped her now naked form in a blanket he took from the empty bed. Brannan pulled his gloves from his hands as he sat himself on the floor next to the girl. Rhythmically he rubbed each of her limbs with his bare hands until he was certain that they had thawed and that the blood was flowing properly. Once that was completed he washed the mud from her hands cleaning and bandaging her wounds.
Brannan rose and picking up one of the iron pots that hung by the fire, filled it with snow form outside. He placed the pot on the hook over the fire and walked to the small kitchen that occupied the north corner of the hut. He looked through the cupboards until he had found what he was looking for. He retrieved a large bag of oats from the rear of the cupboard and carried it back to the fire. When the snow had melted he scooped a few handfuls of the oats into the pot and stirred them with the large wooden ladle from the mantle piece. When he had finished Brannan sat back and waited for the contents of the pot to boil.
When Kara awoke she was startled to discover that she was inside, wrapped in a blanket and lying on the floor. A strange young man with black hair, wearing a woollen tunic and leather breeches was sitting on a chair by the fire occasionally stirring the contents of a large pot. As she rose from the floor Kara could smell the oats the man was cooking.
“Who are you?” Kara questioned him. Brannan turned and looked into the pale blue eyes of the young woman. “My name is Brannan.” He told her.
“I came to see the witch but I found you lying half dead in the snow! I hope you don’t mind but I made some oats for us.”
Kara walked to a large trunk at the foot of her bed and pulled a blue woollen tunic from it. She tossed the blanket back onto the bed and slipped into the tunic. Kara walked back across the room to the table to where Brannan was ladling the oats into wooden bowls. They sat and ate together in silence. When she had finished Kara sat staring into her empty bowl she told Brannan her name and how her mother had died. Brannan told her how he had come from over the mountain to see the witch and ask for her help. He paused then and stared into the fire for a long time. Finally he told her that he needed a potion for his father’s rheumatism. They talked then long into the night. The next day they buried the witch, Brannan had dug the grave whilst Kara had collected the stones to place on top. As they stood together at the grave Brannan held Kara as she sobbed. Finally Kara stopped and looked up into Brannan’s dark eyes.
“I can make your fathers potion but I need fresh elder flowers and they will not bloom until the spring. Will you stay until then?” she asked him. Brannan replied that he would. By the time the snow had melted Kara and Brannan had fallen in love.
For many years Kara and Brannan were happy together. She was his breath and without her he felt starved of life. He was her strength and without him she felt weak. Many years past and Kara continued to travel to the village to sell the villagers the potions and cures that her mother had taught her to make and every month Brannan would travel across the mountain for four days to visit his father. That was when it was hardest for Kara because she could not sleep in the large wooden bed that Brannan had built for her without him next to her. Their lives, on the whole, were good and although they had no children Kara and Brannan were very happy together as the years passed.
It was just after Kara’s thirtieth year when the attacks on the villagers began. Some sort of wild beast had attacked and killed a young shepherdess who had been tending her flock in the high valley at night. Then a month later a young man had been killed on his way home from the tavern after closing. It continued in this way for several months. The beast would attack a lone villager who was outside during the full moon. After that the villagers arranged a hunt to find the beast thinking that it was just a wolf that had lost its fear of man. They searched the valley and most of the wood and by nightfall they had culled twenty wolves. That was thought to be the end of it until the next full moon when a goatherd was killed along with five goats. With the villagers now aware of the attacks they would lock their doors and stay at home. At first the beast resorted to eating cattle but in the eighth month it leapt through a farmhouse window and killed the family inside. Kara and Brannan had laughed at the requests from the villagers for protective wards and spells, but Kara made them anyway, hoping they would protect the villagers.
Kara had been picking flowers in the woods when Brannan called to her. She looked and he was stumbling thru the woods towards her his shirt was stained with blood. Kara dropped her basket and ran to him helping him back to the hut. Stripping his shirt from him Kara found a deep wound in Brannan’s side. Kara washed the blood from his chest, hands and face then dressed the wound. She did not ask him what had happened and Brannan could not tell her. A week later whilst peddling her potions in the village she had heard that one of the beasts victims had fought it off with a hunting knife and wounded the beast badly in the side. It had run away and the man was still recovering. Kara had returned to the hut late that night and crawled into the bed beside Brannan. He had stirred and she laid one hand on his broad chest and stroked his hair with the other.
“Did you know you have always talked in your sleep?” Kara quizzed him. He smiled then and they spent the night in each other’s arms.
Three more times the beast attacked, with the latest kill that of a small boy who had been waiting by the gate for his father to return from the fields. The man had seen the beast but had been to late to save the boy. Another town meeting was called and the villagers discussed what they should do, especially since the beast was eating their children. After hours of heavy debate a vote was taken and all the villagers except for the young children marched toward the valley where Kara and Brannan’s hut stood.
Kara was baking bread when the villagers arrived. When she heard the commotion she wiped the flour from her hands and stepped out to see what they wanted.
“Witch!” some of the villagers cried as she came out.
“Why are you here?” Kara asked them suddenly afraid, Brannan was out in the forest and would not be back until the morning. A tall and lean man with grey hair stepped forward and replied “We have come for you witch! We know it is you who has been turning into a beast with your black arts to attack our children and steal their blood!” Stunned by this Kara told them “If I was the beast why would I give you charms and wards to protect you from it?” The farmer whose son had been killed in the last attack stepped forward and threw something at her. Kara looked at it and realised that it was one of her charm pouches but it was stained with blood. Kara closed her eyes as she realised the beast had killed a child who wore one of her charms.
“Burn her!” came a cry from the crowd and other villagers repeated it making the chant echo around the valley. A woman stepped forward and threw a stone that glanced of Kara’s forehead. Blood streaked down her face and Kara stumbled sideways. The crowd surged forward and men grabbed her arms. They pulled her half stumbling to the clearing and the large oak that Kara had planted all those years ago.
The farmer bound her hands behind her and tied her to the great trunk. The villagers hooted and hollered as they piled wood at her feet. Kara pleaded with them. “Do not do this!” she cried with blood and tears streaming down her face. She called to them by name those that she knew. “John, was it not me who saved your Cora when she had the fever. Or you Lidda, I was the one who saved you and your babe when the midwife could not!” But her pleas fell on deaf ears. Kara looked each of them in the eye but they all looked away.
A torch was lit by the fire of her hut and carried out into the clearing. The village elder that had spoken earlier carried the torch to the Oak and held it above her. “Kara” he asked. “Will you confess to your crime and go to the house of the Lady with a clean soul?” Kara looked into the man’s face. “How can I confess to something I did not do?” was her reply. The elder stepped back and placed the burning brand against the pile of wood at Kara’s feet. At first it seemed that it would not catch then with a loud roar the wood around her feet was ablaze. Kara wanted to plead with them to save her but the searing pain of the fire eating at her legs was excruciating and she began to scream as it slowly began to spread upwards. “Oh Brannan!” Kara thought as she looked up at the sky. The pain had become unbearable, she wanted to close her eyes to it but the sky was such a beautiful blue!
Standing in silence the villagers watched the witch’s body writhed as the fire slowly crept up over her. Just before the flames and smoke obscured her face many of the villagers were shocked to see her smile peacefully as she looked to the sky. Kara was gone then and the flames passed over her body and onto the tree. The villagers stood there silently watching the fire burn until the sun had disappeared behind the mountain and then slowly in small groups they started to make their way back to their homes.
The beast was a large grey wolf with powerful muscles and long blood stained teeth, it watched the villagers from the long grass as the witch burned. Its eyes glowing red with anger, the witch had been his breath and the pain at having lost her was almost unbearable. The villagers would pay dearly for stealing her from him. They had accused her of the killings with out a single shred of evidence, even ignoring her pleas of innocence. He was the beast they were looking for and he would visit upon each of them his bloody vengeance. As the last of the villagers made their way back to the village the Brannan/Beast stepped out of the long grass. He smelt the air and made sure the quarry was headed in the right direction. Brannan knew which of the farmsteads belonged to the village elder that had lit the fire. With one last look back at the smouldering tree the beast howled and bounded from the clearing, Brannan wanted to be certain he got to the farmhouse first!