This is the letter that I write you on the wind. I know of no place I can send it to where it will get to you secretly enough for our circumstances. So I'm writing it to you, and, in the old way, burning it over a bowl of clear water, when it is done, and letting the ashes fall into the bowl. I know you will get it, for the old ways are still very much alive, and ever so dependable, in fact, I would be surprised if I did not see your beautiful face, even if for just a moment, in the flash of firelight hitting water.......
 

This is the story of the heart felt love of Mary for her Bryean, and how she waited, and held herself for him, knowing that someday, he would come to her.............

I know why you have stayed away, especially from your messages in your last notes, oh, you take such chances but word and space so well that only the subtlest poets among us could read it........
"I know I've been arm's length but that's just because . . .
"I
know I've been distant, haven't gotten you my play, etc. but it's just
because . . ."

Oh, and how I would LOVE to see that play! Remember when you taught me to play, oh, how a change of just the eyes expression could change everything, how the voice could pause and hover when telling a tale and effect a tension in the hearers than was thicker than the tension between us. Okay, perhaps not.

For, dear Bryean, the tension of the love between us is so strong now, yes, it would not be possible for us to be next to each other even one more time without rushing to each others arms!

And it cannot be, not now.......for you belong to another, and, even more so, now it seems that I shall be dying quite soon.

It happened one night many moons ago, too many already, which is why I must flee soon, before my condition becomes evident....

I was by the lighthouse out on the craigs, watching the sun sink into the sea. The wind was blowing lightly, it was a beautiful eve'nin. Then, I saw a flash like lightning.

Soon, it seemed at the time, I came to, I had thought myself to have dosed for awhile, though the sun was just setting, as it had been, and I was grateful for this, since with Granne gone there's no one to cover for me at home any more. OH! If she was just here now! SHE would know what this is all about!

When I arrived home, the house erupted. It seemed I had been gone for three whole days! It had stormed for two of those, and they had thought me lost! But, my clothes were dry and fresh! I had no explanation, except that I had been leaning against the old Linden tree by the craigs, had thought myself to have napped, woke up, and found myself still in the same time of day!

Many exchanged looks, and there were murmurs, without Granne here the household has become more "Christian" it seems. They may charge me as witch or whore if they discover my pregnancy!

Where this child came from, what manner of spirit it could be, I dare not wonder. Fact is, if you recall, because of the fall from my Stallion all those years ago, it was known that I should never become with child, why I have not ever married..... even not to risk the grandmothers herbs dependency, for I shall surely die if I am to try to give birth, and what else IS there but to push the child out of my damaged organs, and bleed to death?

Of course, there is never just one possible destiny to be had from any situation. There are so many ways to author the story, as you taught me so well!

Oh, yes, how I wish my granne was still alive on this great green earth! But, I can still IMAGINE her alive, in my mind. Bryean, when I do, she tells me what to decide. She guides me. Maybe it's not REALLY her, just her essence, her past words, that live inside me, but, then again, is that any LESS her than her "spirit" would be?

It was YOU that taught to me the deepest secrets of The Bard, extending the sub-rosa studies I had done before we met. Well, I shall go yonder, on a walking journey, I shall leave this place and not return, I shall change my name and take upon me The Cloak, only, I will go humbly, as a student bard, collecting stories. I shall be The Listener, and therefore will get shelter and food for free along the way, and, where there are none to tell their tales to me, I will use some of the coins sewn into my cloak (though I fear no robbers, I'll use what Magic I know to keep double safe, believe it). I suspect that once I begin showing, many a farm woman will give me milk and bread and a comfort shoulder just because.

Under this charade, I shall use the skill I was born with. I shall heal all who my hands touch, quietly, and, as the old ones know, each time the healing passes through my body, it will strengthen mine, and the unborn lightning-child. It could grow my organs back to normal. That's what the old ones say. That's what my granne would say.

If I should survive, you shall find me some day. See, I have broken my magic wand into two pieces, and one is yours, though, as you know, I can only give it to you in person. I shall carry both halves with me, hoping that some day the fates will fix this mess they put us in, and that some day, somehow, you shall be free to come unto me, and, yes, then we will rush into each other, to meld and mesh and be the whirlwind we are.........

If I do not survive, I shall die with your wand and mine together besides me in the bed, for they will be there as I birth. They will be laying together as we should be.

And, if it ever should be that you see a young bard with a magic wand that is a root of an oak tree split by lightning, that seems as though it was broken in two completely separate pieces, and joined back together by some supernatural force, know it is yours, ask my lightning child for it, they will know it is yours.

And, when you touch it, when you stroke it, when you hold it tight and firm in your clasped hand,

Think of me, my love.
 

Mary