calliope

Time had little consequence in Aislinn Grove, in fact, Calliope had long forgotten how many slippery years had snuck by her in her exile in the lost grove. Three centuries at least, each time she ventured to the mainland, the little people of Earth spoke new words, wore new dress and harnessed new powers of science, taking one more step to the power of Gods. No matter how many times she saw them, they never changed in heart, still as innocently vulnerable and struggling to make best with what their elusive lives offered, same as they had done so since Calliope’s youth when man only just arrived on Earth and will do so into the murky future. Calliope did not seem to register all that went about her, or maybe, she just didn’t care, her salty tears fell for those who had long since made the journey to the underworld, she was a tiny fragment of glass from a magnificent, but long since crumbling mosaic of an ancient era.

In hopes of finding some peace, Calliope would, as she did so now, saunter through the ethereal woodland of towering oak where moonlight pranced through the shades of the weatherworn branches, towards the cerulean sea. Settled on the grey shores of Poseidon’s battering waves laid a shack, it camouflaged itself in the branches of the wailing Cypress trees. The glassy timbre of its decorative sea shells acted as a mellowing beacon, relaying sparks of glistening lustre, calling forth for a daring soul to step into a gallery of disintegrating memories and growing legends. Just as the weary sailor is magnetized by the tantalizing allure of the harmonizing siren, Calliope wandered in dazed marvel towards the shack in the same hypnotic state, through the same eroded path under the same lulling moon as the many other sleepless nights ordered. She past under the dangling vines of cherry blossoms that ornately draped the shack much like a veil on a glowing bride, the wispy vine leaves of the despondent willow tree caressed her tear stained cheeks in tender sincerity, or maybe it was just the wind. As she walked on, the hectic scramble of fallen twigs produced the crinkling sounds of nature, overthrowing the reign of still silence that hung lightly over the grove.

A resplendent grotto was tucked away inside the discordant shack, tyrian purple vicuña wool was thrown over puffed silk pillows, presiding on the polished granite lounge. A hostile flame snapped vividly at the air from the confines of a marble fireplace, its luminescence invited a homely aura enhanced by the embellished cedar furniture. Calliope reclined on the lounge and embraced a small quilt of dusk blue embroidered with fading silk feathers and cloudy pearls which was slumped in the corner of the grotto by a cedar cabinet, collecting dust. Her eyes did not waver from the fire, but her thoughts had long since left the island and rested on Pieria, the base of Mount Olympus. It was there that Calliope first saw the light of day, it must have been 10 000 years ago, Mnemosyne, the personification of memory laid in the fruitful garden of Pieria, around her buzzed about many ocean nymphs, strained with the responsibility of providing a smooth labour for the mighty goddess. The king of the Gods, illustrious Zeus himself was magnetized by the mysterious Allure of Mnemosyne. For nine consecutive days (although time for Gods seems to wash away like shells during a high tide, so we may be safe in assuming it to be 900 years), Zeus courted Mnemosyne and in doing so, she conceived 9 mystical daughters.

So we arrive in the flowering Garden of Pieria, where under the watchful eyes of the olympians, Mnemosyne prepared to gift the heavens 9 daughters. By Zeus’ orders, Eileithyia Goddess of Childbirth provided Mnemosyne with soothing herbs to ease the severity of contractions, performed ceremonial rituals to cleanse the Goddess and increase the felicity of the birth. Eileithyia placed tokens of blessing around the Goddess, a writing tablet, a scroll, a lyre, a tragic mask, a flute, a globe, a comic mask and sacred poetry. Calliope's fine lips ever so slightly weaved into a smile as she recalled seeing the sun, the golden apple of the blushed sky, grace her with it's light for the first time. Calliope was the first to leave her mother's womb, by then she was no longer a helpless baby, but a growing child. Eileithyia draped her in a large Dusk blue quilt with embroidered feathers of iridescent silk accentuated with opulent pearls. Nothing was too sumptuous for a God. Nymphs flocked to her, scrubbing young Calliope's velvety skin. Her black eyes held a swirl of fiery bronze that watched observantly as her sisters joined her in sweet life. Each was blanketed in their own decadent quilts and were bathed by their own cohort of nymphs. When finally joyous Mnemosyne beamed down upon 9 daughters, Zeus hailed down to the bountiful Earth in glorious majesty, his gilded chariot zooming through the budding dawn. His blazing eyes gripped by prophetic vision as he intently observed his children. "Each shall be a muse of the arts, science and literature, it shall be their gift to mankind and so shall be called, eldest Calliope of epic poetry, Euterpe of music, Clio of history, Terpsichore of dance and chorus, Urania of astronomy, Thalia of comedy, Melpomene of tragedy, Erato of love poetry and Polyhymnia of sacred poetry”. Stirring from her walk down memory lane, Calliope felt her heavy eyes sting and her surroundings swirl disconcertingly, a single salty tear leapt to the unravelling quilt, how did her life come to this, exiled in a remote grove somewhere off the island of Greece, a goddess, wisest of all muses who judged princes, kings and Gods alike, now an alone immortal in a foreign world. Wishing to escape once more, from the top of a looming cedar cupboard, Calliope whisked a silver jewelry box, it was marked with the fine craftsmanship of Hephaestus who carved mermaids of bronze frollicking around a silver rock pool. Inside it however, was the real treasure, its blue velvet linings sheltered a quill, however it was an odd quill being in shape of an arrow, the ferocity of its glint had long since been tamed by age and its companion dust. Calliope stroked it gently while blowing away at the dust, bathing it in the pooling moonlight by the window, she sighed heavily with relief tinged with remorse when she saw the engravings on the golden quill still were obstinate enough not to yield to time. “All blurs under your impeccable shine” read the quill. It's still cute, just like it was thousands of years ago when she received it, it was a gloomy day, the Earth was chilled under a grey lens and rain thundered down from the pale sky. Calliope, then an adult of 5000, laid on a soft couch by her sisters under a white garden gondola supported by granite columns and protected from rain by a persian green dome. Euterpe sat slouched in the corner playing her lyre, its melancholy melody moved the most detached of hearts. “Euterpe, I'm writing a comedy and so far all the jokes are falling flat, play something happier”, groaned Thalia. “Well I think it's gloriously romantic, imagine a dashing suitor eloping with a dazzling princess with this sweet tune giving them fresh heart”, chirped Erato. “I think it is most fitting considering the piteous downfall of rain is drowning the chrysanthemum I worked so hard to plant”, complained Melpomene, who sighed frustratedly. “I think you all should shut up and get back to your work, Apollo will be back any minute”, Calliope sharply rebuked her sisters who complied in fear, after all, no one wanted to incur the wrath of Apollo. “This is so very boring, ever since Achilles bit the dust, there hasn’t been much exciting stuff for me to record into history, I do hope another war starts”, grumbled Clio who fidgeted with a leaf which she mutilated under the pressure of boredom. Urania looked sharply at Clio and threw a quill at her, “There will be a war for you to record if Apollo finds out you haven’t finished your poem”. “Says you, he actually likes me, because I’m muse of something people actually care about”, retorted Clio, who threw a pebble back at her sister which smacked her in the nose. Calliope looked up from her poem just in time to see a vague shadow lunge towards Clio. Everyone leapt to their feet, trying to pull Urania away from Clio who both threw their limbs about hoping to wound each other. “Ow you stupid , you hit me”, Thalia whined to Urania. Calliope, eldest of them all, snorted in amusement as she got up and dragged Clio away from Urania and hurled her into the rain and did the same to Urania, soaked in mud they screeched at the rest of them. “At last the two animals are back in their natural habitat”, smirked Calliope, before she knew it, a revenge mud ball was launched at her from Clio. It went right on target, except it didn’t, its ickiness splattered over the refulgent beam that tore through the sky which revealed the majestical Apollo. Now they were terrified. An awkward silence strangled the life out of the playfulness of the situation. “I left for but a moment believing you all to be mature enough to continue composing and now I see two of you in a mess and all of you neglecting your duties”, grumbled Apollo as he scraped the sludge off his divine features and blinked rapidly to get his sight back. Each of them dashed back to their work and Euterpe solemnly played her wistful melody now met with silence. “We were piously following our duties Archer God, but an altercation distracted our work and punishments were due”, explained Calliope, her eyes hinted towards Clio and Urania, Apollo’s silver eyes rested on their sorrowful sight and he sighed “you two may clean yourself, but I expect you to hastily get back to composing”. The pair jerked up and raced through the bitter rain, “Calliope, I should like to speak to you”, exclaimed the God. With a swish of his wrist, the wild weather froze in time, each droplet pausing in mid air, a simple feat for a God. Calliope followed nervously, but years of pressure had moulded a pretense of graceful confidence and so she silenced the jitters, she lifted her ivory tunic from the muddy clutches of the damp ground. Indulging in sincere thought, Apollo’s pensive face betrayed not one thread of emotion for Calliope to follow and so they continued to drift through the viridian gardens and entered an eerie maze. “I have called on you, because I wish to congratulate you, of the muses, you have shown superior knowledge and skill, being the eldest naturally I expected no less, however your poetic abilities and intelligence are regarded highly even by myself”, conceded Apollo brightly, his lyrical voice inspired hope. At that moment Calliope realised just how sweet Apollo smelt. The ecstasy she felt boiled in her, its severity intensified like a pressure cooker, but the only steam she could release was a radiant though inelegant smile. “I’m most pleased my prowess impresses you Apollo, I believe I can teach mankind much from the guidance I’ve received and indeed I’ve worked hard and am rather tired of being the student”, candidly replied Calliope, who attempted to maintain some nonchalance. “Your haste shows your eagerness which is earnest, but patience Calliope, you have found your powers in the patronage of literature and Zeus is pleased with your progress, he often inquires into the business of his children.”

“In personal regard for your performance, I thought it befitting to show my appreciation through a gift”, beamed Apollo, revealing a irradiant quill of smooth silver finely crafted in shape of an arrow, its tips encrusted with cool amethyst. What truly banished the faded tones of that icy day was the euphoria of the engravings on the quill, “All blurs under your impeccable shine”. Calliope in the sombre present still felt the significance of the quill closer to her aching heart than the day she got it, her memories were one of the few things time could not rob her of. Tenderly brushing the dust off the fragile quill, she let out a faint giggle, remembering her aivd sisters crowding to get a touch of the quill and interrogating her on what she did to procure a gift from Apollo. How their youthful spirits went wild in joyous shock when they learnt of Calliope’s new fancy for Apollo and his, perhaps, returned affection.

Helplessness swelled sharply in her chest when she pictured her sisters, Urania’s otherworldly grace, Clio’s exuberant grin, Thalia’s sarcasm which she puzzled as to how she once found it ungrateful. Terpsichore’s breezy maple hair always twisted in an updo, Melpomene’s wide and curious eyes, Erato’s wild laughter and sweet Polyhymnia’s unwavering loyalty. Where her sisters now dwell, Calliope did not know, whether they’re even alive, she dared not hope, when man’s prayers in the Olympians ceased, the reign of the ancient Gods tumbled from its once untouchable immortality and as the Gods faded to dust, dear Apollo, Athena, Hera and even Zeus, man and God became one, they were swept away into an infinite expanse of nothingness. Her sisters may have been snatched by hungry emptiness as well and bitter reality all but confirmed it, but who knows. All Calliope knows is her duty, to whisper eloquence and inspiration to the authors who called upon her, those authors who refused to stop believing in her power, desperately held onto her so that their words may one day rest in the protection of history that Clio so scrupulously recorded, literature kept her alive.

So in safe self exile on an undiscovered island in the wistful Aislinn grove, Calliope watched a fire flicker and reminisced, sometimes she left her self exile to breathe imagination into the writers who invoked her, just as she did to Homer as he wrote the Iliad and the Odyssey. Calliope placed the quill back in its box and made her way to a chest that slumbered under the window, it creaked in surprise as she heaved it open after numerous peaceful years. Little trinkets, age worn clothes, ornate handicrafts and a chaotic mix of papyrus preserving Calliope’s early poems were scrambled in a delightful mix, each holding the weight of precious joys and sorrows, triumphs and losses, love and heartbreak. In perhaps the lengthiest walk down memory lane, Calliope decided to escape through each of the knick knacks she collected in all 10 000 years of her life, but it was fine, Calliope had all eternity.