MELODY: Atlantis Lost – Chapter 9 By Sharon Collins

Word(s): MELODY/PASSAGE
Word Count 499

Atlantis Lost – Chapter 9
By Sharon Collins

I once again find myself in the under-earth, weary within Gaia’s warm womb. Carefully toeing
my way along winding walls carved from the stone of her bones and damp with her breath, I
seek The Source, a well sacred to the Mother, revered by Druid and peasant alike. On this eve of
Imbolc, under the coldest moon of the twelve, wrapped in coarse wool and worn leather, I waited
my singular turn to enter the passage, to kneel and to plead that I might receive the same blessing
all barren women beg. I would have a child. No, not a child of my bone nor blood, but my
crystal darling made whole again. Holding hope hard against my heart, I bring my broken blue
daughter into Her presence to request the boon of Her healing.
The guttering candle spits its rancid tallow upon my wrist. I welcome the brief burn, the fleeting
pain. My other hand cradles the bits of bitter blue that were once whole and contained my sweet
Sapphire’s song. I have carried her fragments across the Narrow Sea to the land of the Carnutes,
away from my brother’s henge of stone and chalk, away from the terrible price of his ambition,
but not away from sorrow. Weeks of wild weather drove us into the setting sun until we
despaired of seeing land ever again. When the wind-maddened waves tired of toying with us,
they tossed us upon empty shores, stranded us among the harvesters of sea salt and their eerie
alignments of ancient stones. Wherever I looked, endless rows and countless circles of standing
stones haunted me, taunted me, condemned me … Stone beings of every shape and size marched
across the landscape. The magnificence of their multitude dwarfed my brother’s henge, and
whence they marched, it seemed they drummed a death dirge for my daughter. Unable to bear
their judgement, I fled. I joined the salt caravan and journeyed into the rising sun, finally halting
here, among the Druids, taking shelter at their Mystery School with its sacred well hidden within
a grove of towering oaks.
The very air feeding the flame thins to almost vanishing. As I blink farewell to the candle-
glow, my ears welcome the running-rush of water. The pulse of the Mother’s blood fills my
senses even as my lungs lose their struggle to fill with breath. Bowing my head to banish the
sparks blossoming behind my eyes, I kneel at the verge and gaze down. Bending, beseeching,
imploring, I offer the fragments of my dearest one, to the water’s dark surface. Near fainting, I
freeze mid-stretch. Eternal eyes, dark with denial, ignite my soul. The answer is – No. There will
be no Mother’s miracle for me this moonless night. No sapphire melody shall evermore
serenade the shining sun. Too shattered, her fading voice finally fails; silence embraces
…her…me…us.. Consciousness crumbling, my fingers loosen, and together we fall as grace-
notes of blue bounce round the stone walls of the well.

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