Blackwater Islands mother

@The Listener 

Creeping creeping creeping.

The waves slapped at the skull turned over his back, but they did not dislodge. Pelagius had grown in this sea like a brain eating amoeba, slinking its shores, tasting its air. When the choir in his head shrieked its agreement finally to return, he bid farewell to his followers with whispers of torture should they defect, leaving his god wife in charge.

They would understand. All would understand. All was ordained in such.

He slithered out of the churning waters like a seal, his haggard face and sharpened wide eyes making him appear something worse. The choir hissed and shook their wings in his head.

Shh He seethed to them. They settled, the buzzing quieted in harmony, and he slunk deeper into the shores. The scent of milk, of new birth, it touched his nostrils fiercely and he pulled his head up into an uncomfortable arch to blink at the dirt.

What this? What this? What this?

A cacophony of voices. Some of them had names, he’d learned, but he couldn’t pronounce them. Not aloud, at least.

He swung his head to the side, neck cracking as he did, before he skuttled forward several steps.

Mother? He called into the deep dark around him.