We grounded ships on Pythian beach
then trekked high up to the Seer's lair;
fasted and prayed then, purified,
we tendered our relics there:
sacred coins, blade of saw,
whistle and dangerous serpent;
she played out a prophecy
transforming gifts to fiery portent.
The coins, transparent, struck
in symbols became difficult to read;
the blade turn rusted dull
the whistle lacked its bead.
When we brought forth the viper
we found fortune could not be true
for writhing before the Seer on cold cave
floor the snake bit itself in two.
In anxious horror I looked at the mage:
smooth face in this guttering light;
felt her eyes pierce me through,
felt pain as if I’d suffered that bite.
Futilely I took the snake and pulled
the severed body from its fangs,
pushed ends together as somehow
magic would heal - remove my pangs.
The Seer merely glowered within her hood
no smile nor frown to make me sure,
no soft display or feminine comfort;
it seemed the offerings were impure.
Slowly we bowed and took our leave
stumbled back down the mountain
heavy hearts brought us away - no hope
would come from this dry fountain,
