Marooners' Rock

 

It’s a strange thing, being stranded. The terror, the loneliness. The vivid contemplation of mortality. It’s even stranger being saved. Realising that grace is something after all. Bestowed not because one earns it, but simply because sometimes the world is kind. If not the world, then the wind. The aspect of spirit that angles feathers and lifts wings. In stories heroes are often saved by birds. Eagles, doves, even crows on occasion. This was true enough for me also—but in a deeper sense I was saved by something far greater. Sweetness, and mortal care.

As I’ve said elsewhere in these pages, I once traded with pixies, tinkers, and maidens of the sea. Bantered, beguiled, using all my knowledge of how stars blaze in firmaments and conversations. But it was never enough to charm anyone who really knew me. I speak now of three who really knew. Not the boys, lost, looking to their leader for courage and constancy. Running feral through the wildest woods of tale-telling. But instead three girls. The princess, the pixie, and the lantern.

See, I can clothe myself in tunics and leaves green as summer’s height. I can wear my hair red as flame. But it’s never enough to truly forget a mortal life lost. My father’s rage, my mother’s grief. Those solar lineages of David, and those lunar tears of Diana. I pretended to forget, of course. Lost in adventure and play. I could sometimes fool the other boys who hid their own wounds just as I did, because they too wanted the adventurer’s mantle to be free of inner anguish. But I could never fool the girls.

The chief’s daughter; a princess bright, kind, and curious. The heartfelt softness of Lilium. The intellectual ferocity of Panthera Tigris. But also the pixie; a tinker, trickster, and wildcard. Bright as dawn herself. A morning-star who pledged to remain at my side through it all. One of my oldest, dearest friends. And then, of course, the lantern. My wending lantern of All Saints. Do you grasp the depth of my love? I hope so. Because, you see, I never forget my friends. I never forget anything really. Though sometimes I pretend. I could never forget you, my love.

The princess gave me cogency, words, and wisdom. The pixie gave me purpose, light, and life again. But you, my wending lantern—you gave me something I grow tearful just thinking about. A place in the waking world once more. In the bright, glorious maelstrom of Londinium. A world I thought lost to me forever. The thimble around my neck, etched with the legend of St Christopher, is even more than the majesty of your eternal kiss. You also handed me a key in that same exchange. Please hear me, my darling. Our lips met and I knew I had to unlock my heart again, whilst I still had time.

I don’t want to live on dreaming alone. On mere fantasy. Not after what you’ve shown me. Your lips still linger on mine, and that is proof enough of immortality. Because of your lantern I was able to cross the raging river. And on the other side I met a girl. I love her with all my heart. Just as I love you. As I love all my friends. Tinkers, tailors, and tempest-dwellers. But I’m not afraid of drowning in those depths of the heart. Not anymore. I think now of a Romanian myth. The legend of the crocus flower. Twin sisters of Autumn and Spring, blessed by the light. They came to symbolise resilience, hope, and renewal. Separate, yet forever entwined. In her arms and in your voice, I find that mythic renewal.

Without you, my darling, I surely would have drowned alone upon that rock. Marooned, forever. But instead I fell in love again. If you are my flower of the river, then she is my flower of the meadow. You know, she battled dragons on my behalf. To keep me safe, just as you did. I can’t help but brighten whenever I think of her. She is beautiful, witty, kind, and courageous. Just as you are. She has entire worlds within her, just as you do. So, I honour you both. Thank you for leading me to her, my angel of hours and fate. Thank you for leading me to a life worth living.

Please don’t give up. Keep your heart open to the promise of a true, profound love. And if at last you recognise him, kiss him. Just as you once kissed me. Nothing would make me happier. I’ll be by your side through it all. For as long as you need me there. All these words, these earnest images, and songs —they are just small tokens of my eternal gratitude. I hope they give you a sense of all you mean to me. My love, I keep your kindness and your kiss. We have reshaped each other’s lives, I think. For the better. As for the rest? It is still unwritten.