House of Serpents

Enchanteur and her favourite rook Cor have arrived at the House of the Serpents
Heather Blakey May 2009

Enchanteur is waiting at the House of the Serpents. She is with Selene in the grove where the Listening Trees reside.
Make sure to visit this Grove while you are at the House.

Persephone Finds Her Own
by Sen – Travels With Mystery

The last of the group arrives at table
(having lost their leader)
and one found as a snake (others watch her warily–she reeks of animal herself)
but she, she is at ease now
a place sacred to her kind
she takes no food
but wanders the trees to touch the bark and feel the thrumming therein
messages of satiation satisfaction

she stops and low in her throat replies a message
all is silent at the one at once a serpent and an intruder

yet the question was correct
and the thrumming begins again
she sits against the tree this maiden of the caves
allowing the scales to form and reform at will
and watches the snakes appear one by one to coil at her feet
around her arms and neck taking in her warmth

a snake maiden the slide of scales senuous
against the ever changing skin to scale
and she rises for her performance
grateful to the Gorgon for this chance
to be with her own

a feast for the eyes the snakes move her body
offering glimpses of skin and scale with thrumming
that enters as a trance in the minds of the watchers
blissful they can close their eyes and watch through their eyelids
for all are snakes for now

and it ends as all the most beautiful must
the writhing stops the statue collapses
and all arise to applaud
but the girl has gone
a neat trick an unnerving trick
or not a trick at all

and the Gorgon is pleased

The Medusa
by Megan Warren

Oh priestess
hiding behind
the mask
of the
goddess
mortal woman
Athena transformed
into a
gorgon
golden winged
with lizard scales
and hair
of vipers
blood spilt
sends forth
snakes
to every
corner of
the earth
one look
upon your
face turns
a man
to stone.

Skinned
by Almurta

Almurta approached the House of Serpents on foot. Beside her walked Leonie, the woman who had come to her aid at the cave of the undead. Around them strode other women of her tribe. All were bare breasted and many had one or both breasts removed. They wore their scars with impunity. ‘We are survivors,’ they said. Behind them trailed the donkey pack, Shadow among them. He seemed happy to be with others of his kind and a lopsided donkey grin was slathered all over his face.

The music Almurta had heard the women playing the night before still echoed in her mind. Just after sunset the women had taken her to a natural amphitheatre deep in the forest. Cushions and rugs were strewn over a section of the embankment. Many of the women carried music instruments and took positions to the front of the seating area. Almurta took her place with the women towards the rear who reclined back on the cushions and soft grassy slopes.

On the far side of the amphitheatre a white water river cascaded down in a rush of sound. As darkness fell a woman plucked her guitar strings. One by one other instruments joined in until the space was filled with music that meshed and merged with the sound of falling water. Horns gave forth plaintive wails that were answered by long chords from electronic organs. The wafting notes of a flute seemed to dance and skip across the top of the wall of sound.

Far above stars glittered like ice crystals in the velvet black sky. The night was warm and Almurta felt cocooned within the soundscape. As the music soared then fell to hush then soared again she was swept up by it and carried to a place beyond words, beyond thought. The sounds seemed to flow into her body and reach down into her to touch her being on a cellular level revitalizing her and washing away accumulated stresses. For an unaccountable length of time she became pure sound.

After midnight the moon rose. The women ceased their playing and returned to their camp. Almurta fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. She woke before dawn to the gentle sound of rain dripping melodically down the sides of her canvas tent. It seemed the perfect ending to a magical night.

Now as the women walked the world had a washed clean look, a sparkling freshness. Some way in front of them a building seemed to shimmer in the light as if it was partly constructed from air. ‘The House of Serpents,’ said Leonie. ‘You will be required to make an offering before you can be admitted.’

‘Another one!’ Almurta muttered to herself. ‘I’m running out of ideas.’ Leonie ignored her and led the way through a series of white stone archways to an open balcony. Thousands of silvery snake skins hung across the intervening spaces rustling faintly in the breeze. The shed skins were almost translucent and tissue paper thin. They had an opalescent sheen that shimmered in the light. Almurta was transfixed by them.

‘I feel I have shed a layer of skin since I came to Lemuria,’ she thought. ‘It is as if I have been stripped of some outer membrane that I had developed in order to cope with the demands of life in the world beyond these shores; that world which places so much emphasis on outer successes while neglecting to nurture the inner being. The experiences I’ve had since coming here have stripped much of that outer skin from me. I feel less worldly now yet more open to life.’

A tall elegant woman came toward her. ‘Welcome to the House of Serpents,’ she said in an imperious tone. ‘What offering do you make?’

‘I offer you layer of skin,’ said Almurta without hesitation.