Jewels of the River: The Lost Offerings of Old Britain

If you ever find yourself on the banks of the River Thames at low tide, keep your eyes on the mud. You might spot the usual debris of history—ceramic pipe stems, brass buttons, coins worn smooth by centuries. But if you’re lucky, you might find something far rarer: a deep red gemstone, glinting among the silt like a drop of frozen blood.

They call them Thames garnets, and their presence in the river is something of a mystery. Garnets aren’t mined in England, nor are they common along the foreshore—except in certain, closely guarded spots. Some think they’re remnants of industrial polishing. Others believe they were smuggled in long ago, tossed overboard by sailors looking to avoid a hefty import duty.

But there’s another theory. One that goes much further back.

Offerings to the Water

The ancient Britons had a habit of throwing their most valuable possessions into lakes, rivers, and bogs—not out of carelessness, but as offerings. To them, running water wasn’t just a feature of the landscape; it was a passage between worlds, a bridge between the mortal realm and the divine. Weapons, jewelry, and even entire hoards of treasure were cast into rivers as gifts to the gods or spirits that dwelled beneath the surface.

This practice is why the Lady of the Lake legend exists—why Excalibur, Arthur’s sword, wasn’t just placed in a tomb but returned to the water. It’s why archaeologists have pulled stunning gold torcs, intricate bronze shields, and swords still sharp enough to draw blood from the depths of Britain’s rivers.

Which raises an interesting question: could the Thames garnets be remnants of this same ritual?

The Blood-Stones of the Thames

Garnets, with their deep red hue, have long been associated with power, protection, and sacrifice. To an ancient Briton standing on the banks of the Thames, a handful of these stones might have seemed like drops of solidified lifeblood—perfect for an offering. Perhaps these gems were cast into the river as a plea for victory in battle, or as a gift to ensure safe passage into the next world.

Or maybe they weren’t meant for the gods at all.

Maybe they were part of something older—something best left undisturbed.

Tapping into the Old Magic

If this sounds familiar, that’s because the myths and magic of ancient Britain have been woven into the Magorian and Jones series from the very beginning. The idea that magic lingers in forgotten places—buried in riverbeds, sealed in ancient hoards, locked away in objects that people no longer understand—comes straight from the real-world traditions of the Celts.

The lost artifacts of my stories, the rituals that bind magic to objects, even the way certain places hold power long after their builders are gone—all of that is rooted in these old beliefs. Rivers, in particular, are potent places in the world of Benjamin Magorian and Dr. Michael Jones. They are conduits for magic, hiding lost knowledge beneath their shifting currents. And just like the real Thames garnets, some things that wash up on shore are best left where they lie.

Which brings me to my final question:

If you found a deep red garnet washed up on the shore, would you keep it? Or would you wonder if it carried ancient powers?

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